_Silent

The dimly lit room was only illuminated with a sole oil lamp sitting on the edge of a wooden desk, threatening to fall off at any moment. The rest of the desk was adorn in pale sheets of paper that seemed golden the closer they laid to the small flame, filled with incoherent scribbles that seemed to get more and more disoriented the more one would read on. A figure sat on a wooden chair, hunched over a blank sheet, squinting his eyes as his pen dug fervently into the paper and wood.

The figure, under closer examination by a spectator who had just entered, had dark black hair, the kind he constantly tucked behind his ears to make sure his bangs weren't in the way. His eyes were brown, almost black in the near-dark, and lacked the glow they had when the morning sun had seeped through a few hours ago. His white button-up shirt was unbuttoned to his chest, and his torso and arms were thin and sickly pale.

The spectator, who looked almost identical to the figure, but perhaps more muscular and lean, knocked on the side of the doorframe aggressively. He was wearing a dark blue uniform that wrapped tightly around him, several golden embroilments dotting his chest. His entrance had not been acknowledged, and his façade was one of annoyance as he banged on the dull wooden frame, waiting for the figure to turn and look over at him.

"Yael!" He snapped at last, his voice echoing around the room. "The hell are you going to do there all day, huh? It's already midnight."

Yael turned his dull eyes over to the spectator, who had made an effort to be as loud as possible as he marched over to the window and flung the curtains aside, basking the two in moonlight.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know, going to sleep." The spectator slumped down on the lower bunk of a bunkbed right beside the desk, looking over at Yael. Yael looked down at him for a second, before sighing and blowing out the flame of the oil lamp.

"Of course, you must drag me down with you, Yin." Yael assessed the amount of papers adorn on his desk in the moonlight before gathering them together into one big pile and placing them on the farthest corner from the nearly fallen oil lamp. 

"Don't speak so lowly of sleep. If you didn't know, it's important for your body." Before Yael could respond, Yin cut in again. "What happened today? Did you get any work done?"

Yael nodded hesitantly, though his expression did not match his gesture. "This town is so boring. I managed to get a story about a neighboring town with rumors of a murderer, but you know how everyone is with all this fake news. All they do is gossip, so I don't have any reliable sources."

Their town, B2, had a similar habit to the ones surrounding them, one well known in their chessboard-like square kingdom. Any small problem that occurred would spiral into a mass serial killing, and before anybody knew it, people would start pointing fingers, and bodies would be hung. That is, unless a new story introduced itself and grew in popularity, and all loose-mouthed citizens lost interest of the old one.

For those not directly related to worsening rumors, life was constantly on edge, trying to gather information about the latest psychopath, or the store down the street that had been haunted with ghosts, and trying to fit the criteria of a "normal person." Anyone "unusual" would most likely end at the guillotine, unless whatever rumors circulating them died down and people forgot that they were in the middle of accusing a so-called alcoholic of overdose.

"Oh, that's interesting enough. What could ever not be interesting in this place?" Yin had sat up again, as best he could in the lower bunk, trying to rub dried blood off his uniform.

"The problem is that the rumors are uncontrollable. Nobody knows what is fact and what is not anymore."

"Then just write whatever crap you want to."

Yael rolled his eyes, turning his chair to face Yin on the bed. "It's not that simple. You could never understand my philosophy."

"Philosophy my ass. Just write something." Yin took off his uniform, wiping it more vigorously, as if that would magically make the stains disappear.

"Oh, I did!" Yael grabbed the top piece from the stack, waving it around indignantly. "I'm not proud of spreading rumors either, you know? So I just wrote about A2's supposed murder problem. It's harmless enough, but interesting enough."

Yin laughed at this, but didn't go on. Yael sighed, letting his shoulder drop and looking at his brother. None of them spoke for a while, Yael looking at Yin, Yin looking at his uniform.

"You're really going off to war?" Yael asked suddenly, making Yin's hands stiffen. 

"I turn eighteen next week. They're sending me off the day after my birthday."

"After our birthday." 

Yael stood up, walking towards the bed, where he kneeled down beside Yin and rested his head on the old, faded blankets. Yin smirked at him, not in an aggravating way, patting his dark, messy hair and tucking his bangs behind his ear, just for them to fall and rest over his eyes again.

"I'll be okay," Yin muttered halfheartedly. His tone had softened, but the mood and turned cold and uncomfortable.

"That's what everybody says."

Yin shook his head. "What can I say? What else is there to say?" He dropped his uniform, letting his head fall back and rest on the wall. Yael reached out for his brother's hand, squeezing it's strong, rough fingers with his own, thin and frail. Yin didn't respond to his, keeping his hand limp, his other resting across his stomach, staring straight in front of him at the moonlit window.

There's so much else you could say. Tell me you won't go. Tell me we're not turning eighteen in a week.

The next time Yin glanced over, his brother's shoulders were shaking, small sobs barely audible, muffled by the blanket. It was the only sound coming from the room, other than Yin's ragged breathing, and he felt his own eyes water a little as well. He turned back to the window, his brain spinning a little. He put his unoccupied hand over his eyes.

"You promised. It would always be us against the world." Yael's voice was small, not in the relaxed manner he had talked in a few minutes before, sat on the chair.

"I haven't broken the promise. I'll just be gone... for a little while," Yin replied weakly. Yael looked up at him, still holding his hand, tear stains on his cheeks. His eyes looked at Yin's pleadingly, but he knew that nothing could change now.

"It seemed like, just yesterday, we were still kids."

"Oh shush, you sound like a mom."

Yael ignored his comment. "I don't want to grow up. It used to seem so far away, but..." He sobbed, letting go of Yin's hand and wiping his eyes. "It's too close now. I'm scared to even blink, since if I do, I'm afraid years will slip by."

"Yael, I'll be back," Yin whispered, but there was now an uncertainty to his tone.

"I don't want to grow up. I don't want this week to pass."

"I'll be back."

"I don't want to grow up."

It seemed, right then and there, holding his brother's warm, rough hand, that he could hold onto it forever and not let go. Seconds went by, turning into minutes, into hours, into days. Each time he sat, hunched over at his desk in the small room they shared, watching the sun rise and set, rise and set, rise and set. Watching each day go by without warning.

He was afraid to sleep, thinking that if he closed his eyes, he would waste hours away, hours that he could never get back. After his brother fell asleep, sprawled carelessly on the bed, Yael would run away, walking in the empty streets until he grew too tired and could barely keep his eyelids open. Until his skin grew more pale and dark shadows stared to form under his eyes.

Despite that, morning would still come. Then, his brother would be off, just at sunrise, and return when the moon was high in the sky.

Despite that, Yin was gone.