Chapter Text
Malik wasn’t particularly a morning person, though he was usually the first to wake in the small three bedroom apartment. The living quarters were small and shared by Malik, the older brother; Kadar, the younger brother; and Altaïr, the “other brother”. It took years of hard work, but they were able to achieve a somewhat peaceful living as adults.
In the kitchen, Malik stood quietly in front of a small pan, gently stirring raw green coffee beans as they roasted. The wooden spoon made a soft noise as it lightly tapped the edges of the pan. Almost hypnotised watching the light colour beans begin to darken as they were rolled about. When they reached a familiar colour he poured them onto a large wooden plate to cool, before grinding them. He took the moment to start a small pot of water over the stove. When the beans cooled to room temperature he took the roasted coffee beans and cardamom, and ground them into a coarse texture. He scooped a small amount into the dallah, mixing it with hot water from the pot. In his peripheral vision, his tired eyes slowly processed a figure beginning to walk into the kitchen.
“Morning.” Altaïr said neutrally, as he made his way straight to the fridge..
Normally, Altaïr did what he could to avoid Malik. Although he was usually awake in the mornings, he would wait for Malik to leave before using the kitchen or leaving his room. Today was an exception.
Malik raised his eyebrows as he half muttered, “Mm.” He wasn’t used to seeing anyone this early. Though he was beginning to remember, today was a fairly special day.
“Will you be back early, or around the same time as usual?” Altaïr asked, opening the fridge to avoid eye contact. A few items on the door of the fridge wiggled back and forth.
Malik was slightly prepared for the question, although the gears seemed to be moving rather slowly on this particular morning. “I need to go in for a meeting and a debriefing, but after that I can leave. I should be back after lunch.” The dallah began to heat again and the coffee boiled. Malik stuffed a bundle of palm fibers into the spout to catch any of the ground coffee and cardamom. His one handed morning dance with coffee. “I’m not sure what I’ll get, but I’ll bring home something.” Malik poured the dark liquid into a small cup. He took a light sip. Turning around, his dark eyes began studying Altaïr, who had moved from the fridge to the cabinets for a cup. “Would you be able to ask Kadar, what he would like to do tonight for his birthday today?”, Malik casually asked before taking another sip. His eyes watched as the lighter hairs seemed to rise slightly on the back of the other’s neck. Malik raised an eyebrow, the other would never see, and curiosity woke his mind.
Altaïr almost dropped his glass, but didn’t. “Sure. I’ll ask him later.” Though Altaïr wasn’t exactly eager to ask the younger brother, he understood that Malik was and would be busy, and he needed Altaïr’s help. Every year, this day was one of the few days Malik would concede and ask Altaïr for some kind of assistance.
Malik found himself watching Altaïr nervously avoid too much eye contact, until Altaïr finally made a glass of water. At last, with glass in hand, he leaned back against the counter with Malik. Altaïr fixated on the sink, Malik bouncing between Altaïr and various parts of the kitchen as he finished his coffee. Not a single fiber or grain in the cup. “Would you like some coffee, brother?”
Altaïr caught off guard, first by the question, and secondly it had been many years since Malik had referred to him that way. Although Altaïr was not the most skilled at the coffee making process, and could recall countless times he’s over or under roasted the beans, or over-boiled a pot. So, his experiences have been typically less than ideal. “Sure.”
Malik emptied the dallah into the small cup he had been using, pouring the final serving for Altaïr. Malik hands Altaïr the small cup and turns around to wash out the dallah. As Altaïr takes his first sip, he is amazed at the difference in taste between the coffee he brews and the delightful flavor Malik brews. “This is really good.”, Altaïr admits, “I brew a terrible cup in comparison.”, and chuckles.
“Of course you would be a novice. No one has taught you how to properly make coffee before.” It had been a while since Malik had received a genuine compliment for something he’s made. He missed how close they once were, he’s haunted by the emptiness of Altaïr’s absence in his life. “If you wake up earlier, I could teach you how I brew coffee," he offered. A faint smile pulled at the corners of his lips.
Altaïr wasn’t sure what to make of Malik’s sudden softness. Could it be a truce for Kadar’s birthday? Or did Malik finally break down? Either way, “It's been a while since you’ve taught me something.”, he pointed out. Not out of spite, but more so, an acknowledgement. “I’ve missed your company, brother.” Altaïr thought back out loudly. Still smiling from the warm delightful taste, a few sips still held in his cup.
Thankfully Malik had his back turned during the entire conversation, as he rinsed the dallah. The light tint of blush, a fleeting moment as Malik washed his face lightly in the sink. He’s come to regret how disconnected they’ve become since the accident, but still hasn’t figured out how to rekindle what was lost.
One of the first and last things Malik ever taught was sewing. About a year or so after the two brothers arrived at the orphanage, Altaïr caught them in one of the extra rooms. They were sitting around the floor with a small box between them and one of Malik’s old tunics resting on the older brother’s knee. Malik was struggling to thread the needle. After witnessing Malik’s struggle, Altaïr decided to drop in on the two. Finding a place between the two brothers. Kadar beamed with excitement, “Brother Altaïr!”
“Hey!” Altaïr replies to Kadar, then turns to Malik, “Are you struggling to thread the needle?” Malik is a little frustrated that the thread won't go through and the additional pressure isn’t helping. “Here, give it to me.” Altaïr holds out his open hand.
Malik didn’t really need his help. He’s threaded a needle before, begrudgingly after a few more stressful seconds, Malik caved. “Fine. But I only need your help to thread the needle.” Handing the small items to Altaïr, Malik and Kadar watched as Altaïr licked the thread, twisting the fibers together between his fingers and then slowly maneuvering it through the eye of the needle.
Kadar lit up, cheering that Altaïr was able to do it! Altaïr handed the threaded needle to Malik, who tried his best not to be sour or spiteful, “Thank you, brother.”
Now, Malik could begin to teach Kadar. Picking up the bottom edge of the tunic, Malik showed Kadar, and Altaïr how to fold the edge like a pleat. So that when it is hemmed the bottom border of the tunic can still be seen.
Growing up only within the orphanage Altaïr didn’t understand why anyone would care so much about the edge of the tunic. “Why would you do all that trouble just to see the bottom edge? Does it really matter?” At the orphanage they would usually just fold and sew where they needed. “Why not just fold it once and sew it up?”, he questioned.
Malik didn’t want to lose what he remembered of their family, although Kadar was too young to remember most of it. “I’m showing Kadar how our mother would hem my tunics, so that they will look just as nice on Kadar as they did on me.” Malik continued to sew a line on the top pleat to keep it in place.
“But if you just fold it under, the border will look nice when they grow into it.”, Altaïr shrugged. Malik was getting frustrated with Altaïr’s additional remarks. He just wanted to be done hemming this tunic. Rushing a little he pricked his fingertips several times. The last one really hurt, and Malik needed a break so he handed the tunic to Kadar to finish, as he left the room to head toward the bathroom.
Alone with Kadar, Altaïr asked, “Is your brother always like that?”, as he pointed his thumb behind him.
Kadar was quietly finishing the last small section left of the hem. He moved slower than Malik. Kadar was still scared of the needle poking him. “Sometimes. I think it’s because he’s scared of forgetting them. I don’t remember much of our father, but I miss our mom.” Kadar smiled at the hem he was inches away from finishing. “I like when Malik teaches me things he’s learned, especially from them.”
Altaïr’s heart felt hollow. He couldn’t remember either of his parents, and all the other children in the orphanage were like his brothers and sisters. Although they did learn from each other at times, it did leave him feeling emptier than at the start.
Empty.
Empty like this kitchen after Malik leaves for the day. Altaïr goes to see if Kadar is awake, he usually was by now. Altaïr knocks gently on the door before opening it. He greets Kadar warmly, “Happy birthday Kadar!” Altaïr makes his way over to the younger one’s closet. “Is there anything you would like to wear today?” Altaïr begins looking through the different outfits hanging up.
Kadar smiles warmly from his bed as he stretches his arms above his head. He stuffed some pillows behind for additional support, but he was basically sitting up in his bed reading a small book. “I would like to wear something you think I would look good in.”
Altaïr settled on a dark pair of pants, and a soft cotton shirt. It was comfortable, and if they decided to go out, it would pair nicely with a collared button up, which Altaïr left hanging on the closet door. As he made his way back to Kadar, fresh clothes in hand. He stopped just in front of the younger brother, his blue eyes smiling warmly as Altaïr said, “Alright, lift up your arms.” Kadar smiled happily, and did as he was told, raising his arms above his head. Altaïr lightly grabbed the hem of Kadar’s night shirt. Gently and slowly, Altaïr removed the shirt from Kadar. Left only in his boxers from the night before, this rhythm and routine was familiar to them both. Altaïr aimed for as platonic as possible, even as he leaned in close to Kadar. “Okay, you can hold onto my neck now.”
Kadar reached up and locked his arms around Altaïr’s neck. This was his favorite part of the day, he was close enough to smell the scent of coffee that lingered around the larger man from earlier this morning. Kadar often feigned being tired so he could relax against Altaïr’s shoulder and neck. “You smell like Malik’s coffee.” It was a warm, delightful scent full of fond memories. “Will this be the year I finally get a birthday kiss from you?” Kadar thought out loudly, as he nudged his nose in the crook of his support.
Altaïr tried his best to gently guide the loose pants up Kadar’s legs. He does his best to keep his composure around the younger brother. “Kadar. Please, don’t get me in trouble.”
Finally, with pants fully on, Altaïr lifted Kadar into his wheelchair. “How would Malik even know?” Kadar whispered to Altaïr as he kissed his cheek, before slowly letting go, sinking into his chair. “It’s not like I would ever tell him. Would you?”
Altaïr stood straight back up, his sun-kissed skin blushed high on his cheeks. “Yes, I probably would.” Altaïr took both of Kadar’s hands, his thumbs rubbed gently back and forth on the smooth plane behind his knuckles. “I’m sorry Kadar. Even if Malik hates me, I promised him that I would never take advantage of you.” Altaïr bent down and kissed Kadar’s forehead. Kadar was looking up slightly, his eyes closed. In moments like this, he felt small again.
As Altaïr was beginning to straighten himself back up, Kadar pulled the eagle back down. Face to face, and nose to nose now, Kadar’s eyes were serious. He didn’t want to always be “The little brother”. He was proud and courageous. Sick and tired of how Altaïr has waited all these years for his brother to again acknowledge him. “What if I took advantage of you?” Kadar smirked as he leaned forward to kiss Altaïr. Claiming his mouth, and using his tongue to explore inside. He could taste the coffee Malik had brewed. Altaïr struggled a little to breathe through Kadar’s passionate kiss.
Finally releasing Altaïr, Kadar smiled as usual, “I told you, I love you too.”
Altaïr looked down puzzled at Kadar, “What do you mean ‘too’?”
Kadar doesn’t look back or make any eye contact. “I know you’re bad at math Altaïr, but surely you can figure that out.” Pushing himself towards the door, Kadar just smiles as usual, though perhaps it’s a little more fake than normal.
Altaïr usually had the duty of helping Kadar get dressed and ready for the day. Watching over him in the time Malik was away for work. Altaïr was basically Kadar’s caregiver since the accident. They played different games, or went out for walks around the neighborhood.
Malik usually was the one to help bathe Kadar and dress him for bed. Kadar recalled a few weeks back as he and Malik were soaking in the small bath house downstairs. They had just rinsed off all the soap. Kadar was leaning against the back wall of the bath, Malik had just sat down. “Brother, have you forgiven Altaïr yet?”
It was difficult to discern if his older brother was embarrassed, or irritated, or a mix between the two. Either way, Malik stumbled for his words, scratching the back of his head with his only hand. “It’s not that I hate him. I’m frustrated with the accident.”
Kadar’s blue eyes softened, “I love him too, brother.”, the younger one began. “It would be nice if you could stop torturing him, or offer some other solution.”
There was a pain in Malik’s chest, the realization that he has soured everyone’s happiness for too many years. “I’m sorry Kadar, can we talk about this some other time. I don’t want to think about this right now.” Malik sank a little lower in the bath. The water rested just below his nose. The older brother exhaled a sigh which felt like he’d been holding on too long. His arm ached, where his left arm was missing. A phantom pain that lingered, like his love for Altaïr.