The cold seeped deep into his bones, yet Jake didn't close the door. Instead, he peered over his shoulder. Stephan was still in the bathroom, so he stepped outside on the balcony, only then closing the door behind him, ensuring that no one would overhear his conversation with Alexey—he wouldn't emulate Misha's mistake.
"Why did you take the words of a drunkard seriously?" The question left his mouth as Jake leaned against the railing, staring at the snow-covered yard. "Wouldn't it make more sense to ignore them?"
"I'd have," Alexey scoffed softly, "if the sober one hadn't played along, and if it didn't explain everything so perfectly."
Jake had no other choice but to nod. When he was ten years old, Misha's behavior did a turnabout impossible to ignore.
"Gulnas and I didn't probe too much," Alexey continued, "but we often thought about it, even to this day. Misha started to behave like a little adult at times for no reason, knew too many things for his age, was able to react maturely in stressful situations; then, his sudden frail health that remained inexplicable, his coldness toward me, his clinginess toward his sister and mother, his good grades during elementary school…"
Alexey's voice trailed off, and he sighed. It was a long, tired sigh.
"But if I accept everything he said as the truth, everything makes sense. Even if I want to pretend it's the nonsense of a drunkard, and deny the words I've heard, what good will it do?" Alexey had to take a deep breath. "That child… He took upon himself too much, but I'm not sure I have the right to ask about what happened. It's probably better that I don't, either."
So, he overheard about the beating. Jake felt his throat clench at the realization. No loving parent could ever imagine themselves abusing their children. Yet, Alexey did in the first timeline, thanks to alcohol. It left lasting scars on Misha, scars that still hadn't fully healed.
"Stephan is out of the bathroom, by the way."
"Let him be. He can wait."
"Are you sure?" Alexey laughed weakly. "He's making faces on the other side of the door." He paused. "Does he know?"
"Yes, he does." Jake turned around to look at the clown, whose face was plastered against the glass door. "Masha, Gabriel, Tristan, Yuki, Stephan, and I know. There's another one, but that jerk doesn't count. Let's pretend he doesn't exist."
"It's quite a lot of people, actually," Alexey let out a faint laugh.
"Well…" Jake bit his bottom lip, hesitation flashing across his eye.
How much could he say? He didn't know, and it was hard to gauge. To begin with, he had no idea what exactly Alexey had overheard, and perhaps Misha didn't want him to know too much, fearing it'd crush his father. But depending on what he'd heard, the man's heart was more than likely already throbbing with pain.
No one would turn the clock back if they were happy with their life; only those who held onto deep regrets would, and oh, did Misha have regrets from his first life.
"You don't have to tell me." Alexey patted his shoulder, snapping Jake out of his thoughts. "I think I heard enough to get the gist of it."
"Then," Jake locked his gaze with Stephan's, "did you hear that this clown was Misha's boss in his former life, too? He still holds a grudge about one or two outfits he had to wear in that life, and makes sure to remind him whenever the opportunity arises. It's the main reason why Stephan has been his favorite target for pranks all these years."
Alexey choked on air, eying Jake with a hint of a befuddled smile.
"…My son really is petty, isn't he?"
"He's pettiness incarnate, indeed." On the other side of the door, Stephan was getting impatient, crossing his arms and waiting for Jake to authorize him to open the door. Somehow, the clown had figured out that the discussion they were having was serious, too serious to interrupt on a whim. Jake tended to forget how observant Stephan was, as the guy behaved like a fool most of the time. "If you want, we can sit and talk about it a bit more, but inside the house. My hands are growing numb. Don't worry, Stephan knows how to hold his tongue when it matters. That's one of his rare qualities."
No answer came, so Jake peered at the man, who was fiddling with his broken cigarette. Ultimately, though, he shook his head.
"Well, I think I'll have to turn down that offer." He gestured toward the glass door. "Your brother is waking up, and it's not a discussion we should have in front of a kid, isn't it? Even if he knows about the time-traveling bit. Oh Lord, that feels weird to say it out loud."
A kid, huh? Jake pinched his lips before taking a step forward, opening the door, and crouching in time to catch his brother for a hug. Nowadays, Tristan couldn't stay asleep for long if one of his brothers wasn't near him. A habit, Jake knew, they would need to rectify before he reached adulthood. Maybe they had been spoiling him a bit too much.
"Jake, you're ice-cold!" Tristan cried out, cupping his cheeks with his hands. "How long have you been outside?"
"Hm, for a bit." His little brother was warm, warm enough that it felt like needles were prickling his skin. "Say," Jake gently started, leaning his forehead against Tristan's. "Can I speak of the secret we share with Alexey?"
His little brother froze in his arms, his eyes growing wide.
"Ah." Stephan clicked his tongue, gently ruffling Jake's hair as he gestured for Alexey to come inside. "Looks like sending Misha upstairs was a useless endeavor, huh?"
"He needs to learn to close the door," Jake grunted.
"…Well," Tristan peered over his shoulder, most likely to look at Alexey. In an instant, his childlike attitude was gone. "If you think that's the right call, I don't mind."
"Frankly, I'd rather not, but I think Alexey needs to talk to someone right now, just to sort out his feelings and not bottle them up," Jake admitted. He was once a father, just like Alexey, and he could not imagine how he'd have reacted if it had been one of his sons in Misha's shoes. "But he didn't want to talk about the whole thing in front of a kid."
"A kid?" Tristan blinked before giggling, a sweet smile on his lips. "I've got the memories of two lifetimes and a third-ish. Doesn't that make me at least twice as old as Alexey? I'm an old man, not a boy."
"What does that make me then?" Jake played along, picking up on his little brother's mischief. He pulled him into his arms as he got up and explained, "I've lived through two lifetimes that are thrice longer than yours, and I'm on my third life."
"Bro," Tristan deadpanned, habitually wrapping his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck. "Don't make me calculate things with a kid's brain. It's going to give me a headache."
"So, the debate between who's older between you two has yet to be closed, huh?" Stephan chortled, closing the door behind a stunned Alexey. "Both Misha and Gabriel have been left in the dust, though. Poor guys."
"Come on," Tristan chided, propping his chin on his brother's shoulder. "Gabriel went back in time for only a year, not years like Misha. He's definitely in last place. Wait." Tristan paused, excitement illuminating his face and brightening his voice. "I've just realized something. Isn't Gaby the youngest among us? So why am I the little brother? Shouldn't it be him?"
"Tell him tomorrow," Stephan enabled the child with a wink. "Anyway, let's go downstairs. I don't want to be in earshot of anyone."
Even if Misha, Gabriel, Masha, Yuki, and Gulnas were upstairs, they only needed to go to the bathroom and walk through the corridors to hear their voices. They might not hear what they said clearly, but it was better not to take any chances.
"Good idea," Jake nodded before glancing at Alexey, hoisting his little brother higher—the kid was growing heavy. "Are you coming?"
Very slowly, Alexey nodded, so Jake moved downstairs alongside Stephan. The room was similar to the living room above, but filled with boxes. It served as the storage room, and also a room for Gulnas to relax, sit by the hearth, and knit. Stephan pulled Jake to sit down on the rug with him, leaving the rocking chair to Alexey, who sat on it cautiously. The way he looked at the Laflamme brothers had changed; his eyes now filled with something akin to a morbid curiosity.
"Here, your glass of eggnog," Stephan handed the promised glass over to Jake, sensitively not proposing any to Alexey. "It'll warm you up a bit. Do you want a blanket, too?"
"No, don't worry," Jake shook his head. "Tristan is warm enough for the both of us. He's the best heater out there."
"If you say so!" Stephan shrugged, but still scooted closer, invading their personal space. "What? I'm cold too!"
Jake glared at the leech, but wisely decided not to comment.
"Why can't I have a glass of eggnog, too?" Tristan sulked.
"Misha waited until he was an adult before drinking anything, and you know he was a heavy drinker in his first life," Jake pointed out, although he omitted that the law in Ontario prohibited people under nineteen from drinking. "So, you're going to wait until you're eighteen, too."
His little brother rambled some gibberish complaints that Jake did not take to heart. Instead, he took a sip of his eggnog. It burned his throat even more than before, making him frown. He glared at Stephan, who was leaning his head against his shoulder, and accused, "You… Did you add more alcohol behind my back?"
"Did I now?" Stephan smiled innocently, leisurely taking a sip.
He definitely did. But Jake knew better than to argue with Stephan and instead shifted his attention back to Alexey. The man, somehow, appeared more relaxed than before. A barely discernible smile hung on his lips as he looked over them, not saying anything, just taking in the sight of the three people bantering with each other.
"It might hurt to recall," Jake cleared his throat, "but I think it would be better if you tell us what you have overheard, just so we're on the same page."
"There are things you don't want me to know, aren't there?" Alexey saw right through Jake, but didn't push the matter. "Sure, I'll try to tell you what I've heard as accurately as possible."
And so, Alexey did, starting with the first sentence he'd heard, a sentence that made him stop dead in his tracks, piquing his curiosity a little too much: …I love your face.Can't believe I demolished it twice in the past.