“Perfect timing for what?” he asks me directly, but Drako answers for him.
“Nero’s in trouble.”
Atlas nods and comes down to the kitchen. Realising the conversation might take a while, he puts a pan on the stove and grabs his pancake mix, ignoring the fact that breakfast time is still far away. Drako, meanwhile, disappears down the hallway and returns shortly after, dragging Apollo by the arm.
“I want my pancakes with butter and strawberry jam,” the youngest demands, sitting on the counter.
“Do I look like your servant?” Atlas complains and points a finger at his face in a silent threat when Drako looks ready to answer yes, but his attention is drawn to the two identical women appearing at the top of the stairs, looking slightly awkward.
Apollo stands up and walks them to the door with a proud expression, promising to make it up to them for the early end to the night and kissing one, then the other, both on the mouth—shocking exactly no one.
He closes the door and defends himself before Atlas even has a chance to complain about his reckless behaviour.
“I brought one for me and one for you, but when I got here, you were already asleep.” He shrugs with a smile as fake as his innocence. “I wasn’t about to send the girl away, so, as a good brother, I made the sacrifice of staying with both,” he explains with the most shameless expression in the world, grabbing an apple and biting into it casually.
Atlas shakes his head, judging, and turns back to the pancakes without a word.
“So, where’s the fire we need to put out, people?” Apollo asks, trying to understand what’s going on, and Drako points at me before moving around the kitchen to start the coffee machine.
He sets four mugs on the table, then plates. When Atlas brings the stacked pancakes on a board, Drako comes back with the coffee pot and pours enough into each waiting mug. It’s a routine we’ve done a million times before.
When everything is ready, we sit around the table. Atlas and Apollo on one side. Drako and I on the other—but the youngest abandons me and squeezes in between the twins. He straightens up completely, slicks back an imaginary long hair he never had, and speaks in a solemn tone.
“Defendant Nero, you may begin your testimony. The defence is listening.”
The twins laugh, and all three pick up their drinks and take the first sip simultaneously, which somehow makes me feel even more judged.
I take a deep breath, trying to control the anger and sadness threatening to take over, and begin telling them everything that happened between Nina and me. They listen attentively without interrupting, and I can see the indignation growing on their faces.
***
“And the worst part is that while she was lying straight to my face, I was there like a complete idiot, blaming myself for her distancing, her disappearances, her lack of attention.” I pause to control my exasperated tone. “I tried to fix what wasn’t my fault. My idiot diploma can already be hung next to the others on the office wall,” I declare.
The three of them look at me as if a second dick has sprouted from my body and I’m the only blessed one.
“Let me see if I understand this correctly,” Atlas begins in his infuriatingly calm tone for this time of night. “You got yourself a girlfriend with whom you shared a bit of your past.” He raises one finger, counting like we’re in primary school. “She’s studious, hardworking, and dedicated.” He raises a second finger, and from his tone I’m already pissed because I sense he’s not on my side. “Her biggest dream is to repay the sacrifices you know her mother made so she could graduate.” He looksat me with mockery, as if he were talking to Apollo or Drako. “You parade around with her all emotional.” The last finger goes up and he points it straight at me. “And when she shows the slightest bit of sense by not throwing her plans away and taking a responsible step, you abandon her on the pavement as if she were worthless?” He rubs his right temple like he can barely believe it. “Is that really what I just heard? Because please tell me I’m wrong. You can’t possibly be this much of a spoiled brat — how did I miss it all these years?”
“The problem is that she lied to me, damn it!” I shout, hurt.
“You’re thirty years old, Nero—get a grip,” Apollo adds, to my eternal surprise. “Nina is only twenty-one. She just got out of university.” He lifts his palms and shrugs, as if it’s obvious. “If you expected her to be a fully mature woman, with life experience and who never makes mistakes, I think you did the math wrong.”
His words hit almost physically, because for a second I agree with him, and seen through that lens, I’m just an idiot. No. They must not be understanding. I must have explained something wrong.
Drako circles me, inspecting, and I pull my face back when he tries to poke it with his index finger. He insists anyway and jabs my cheek.
“Yeah. It’s confirmed. The wicked witch succeeded,” he declares. “Sorry to inform you, brother, but you’re starting to look exactly like the spoiled rich asshole your mother thinks she raised.”
Their words blend with Nina’s caution over the past days—how careful she was, how she never fully relaxed. She was suffering too, not knowing what to do. And when she finally trusted me and told me, what did I do? I proved her right—that she couldn’t count on me to be even remotely reasonable—and acted like an irascible brute.
“Fuck. I screwed up my relationship, didn’t I?” I ask, not waiting for an answer.
“I hear chocolates and flowers work,” Apollo suggests, “but I can’t really say—I’ve never given flowers to anyone.”
“Or we could beat the shit out of you, she’ll feel sorry and come take care of you, then you give her a nice—” Atlas cuts Drako off with a smack to the back of his neck. Drako glares, indignant.
He opens his mouth to keep talking, but Atlas locks him in a headlock and keeps his mouth shut while addressing me.
“Or you can wait for a decent time, think up a coherent speech, apologize properly, and try not to be such an idiot again so soon.” Drako elbows Atlas in the ribs, making him release him, rubbing his side. “It’s a relationship, Nero—not a contract. Even your employees, ruled under your iron fist, would’ve had more chances to explain themselves than you gave your girlfriend.”
