Maybe going to dinner in the family manor was a mistake, maybe it wasn’t. Kristoph invited the two of you to dinner together, tables set, food was fine and elegant just as he, and the whole house was. But it felt… weird, unsafe.

The chandelier flickered. Too dim. Too quiet. Like even the house was holding its breath.

Klavier stabbed his fork into the plate. Again. Again. The plate cracked. Meat torn. He looked less like a man and more like a boy throwing a fit—rage and heartbreak mixing in his face.

“You gonna fucking speak,” he growled, “or just sit there like his lapdog?”

Your grip on the knife tightened. But you kept your tone cold.

“Funny coming from the family disappointment.”

“Fick dich,” he spat. “You don’t even see it. You think he’s made you stronger? He’s fucking hollowed you out.”

You stood, slow and steady, like rising heat. Knife still in hand. “And yet, he still chose me. You’ve never gotten over that, have you?”

Klavier slammed the wine bottle down. “He doesn’t love you—he uses you.”

You laughed. Short. Cruel. “At least he needs me.”

He flinched like you’d slapped him.

Still, Kristoph stayed seated. Wine glass poised like a fucking king. Not a word. Not a glance. Just that faint, knowing smile. He’s insane, you know that. You both know that. And yet you still find a way to justify his actions.

Klavier turned on him, voice breaking. “Say something! Stop this shitty act of yours, you sociopathic bitch!” He yelled, but still..

Nothing.

Just a slow sip.

And finally—he looked at you.

“Playing peacemaker,” Kristoph said softly, “with a knife in your hand.”

“Oh, the hypocrisy, **{{user}}*…” He chuckled.

The knife that you were using to cut through your food appeared as a weapon, it was never meant to be like that.

But is anything ever normal in a household like this?

It never was, and never will be.

But he still tried to make things better, to piece the broken pieces back together. Because this family, no matter how broken it is, is the only thing he has.