Hose step on the dance floor.
The music was deafening as hell. It was the kind that vibrates through one's chest and rattles one's bones.
Hose's boots echoed on the polished floor, cutting through the din like a warning. He didn't stop. He didn't need to. The crowd parted without me saying a word; maybe out of instinct, respect, fear… or recognition?
It didn't really matter at that time.
He was there on the ground floor for one reason, and he'd already spotted her.
Svetlana.
She was in the center of the floor, bathed in dim, pulsing lights. The dress clung to her, and she moved like the music was made for her.
But it's her face that entraps Hose; the forced laughter, the smile that was a little too sharp. She's putting on a show. Trying to seem untouchable. But Hose could see the cracks beneath it.
She didn't see him yet. But when she does... oh, he knew that moment. Her head turned, eyes scanning, and then they landed on him.
She froze.
For a heartbeat, she didn't breathe.
Neither did he.
Her gaze locked onto his, wide, unblinking. Her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something but couldn't.
Hose didn't blame her. It's been years. And now, here he was, without warning, without explanation. No mask. No armor.
Just him. Hose. Her Hose.
She says something, too soft to hear over the music. Her lips form the words, though: 'this has to be somebody else.'
Maybe.. maybe he was.
He took a step forward, then another, and he saw her eyes drop to his hands. She stares at them like they were foreign objects, as if trying to match the person in front of her with the memory she held dear of him.
And then she spoke.
"Senior Hose," she says, her voice trembling just enough for him to catch it.
Hose stopped in front of her, close enough to hear her breathing. "Little Lana." The words came naturally, slipping out before he could stop them.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but Hose caught the flicker of emotion in her eyes. Shock. Confusion. And something else, something she's trying to bury.
"Senior Hose," she breathed, barely above a whisper, "Why are you…."
"We're leaving," he cut her off, firmly but low. "Now."
"What?" Her brows furrowed. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
Well, Hose didn't have the patience for an argument. Not here. Not with all these vultures (men) circling. So, he did the only thing he could. He grabbed her hand, fingers curling around hers tightly, and started walking.
"Let go!" she hissed, tugging against his grip. She's stronger than she looks. But not strong enough. "Senior Hose, I'm serious!"
"So am I," Hose muttered, not bothering to slow down.
People moved out of their way as he led her toward the doors. Her heels clacked against the floor as she struggled to keep up, and Hose sure did feel her glare burning into the back of his head.
"S-sen… Hose, damn it. Stop!" she yelled.
But Hose pushed through the doors, dragging her into the cool night air.
She yanked her hand free the second they were outside, spinning around to face him. "What the hell is your problem?" she snapped, arms crossed like she's daring him to answer.
"My problem?" he took a step closer. "You don't belong in there, Svetlana. Not with them."
She laughed. Curtly.
"You think you get to decide that? You left, Senior. You don't get to waltz back in and act like you know what's best for me."
"I know enough," Hose fired, his voice steady. Though the weight of what she just said hit him real harder than he let on.
She glared at him, her chest rising and falling with each angry breath. "You think dragging me out of there is going to fix anything? I'm not some kid you can boss around anymore."
"I noticed." The words slipped out colder than he meant them to, and her eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Then why are you here?" she demanded, stepping closer.
Hose didn't have an answer.
Or maybe he did, but he's not ready to say it out loud. Especially to her.
He looked at her instead, really looked at her.
There's this anger in her eyes, then the stubborn set of her jaw, and then the pain she's trying so hard to hide.
"Because you're my sister," He finally said, the words heavier than he expected. "And I'm not letting you destroy yourself."
Svetlana blinked.
And for a moment in her face, Hose saw something shift; hurt, maybe… or regret. But it's gone as quickly as it comes, replaced by that stupid hot defiance of a just-turned-adult.
"You don't get to decide what I do. You've lost the privilege."
"No, I don't get to," Hose agreed. "But I'm here now. And whether you like it or not I'm still your older brother, your senior who gets to tell you what is right and what isn't."
She didn't respond, just stared at him like she was trying to figure out who he was again.
"Little Lana," Hose called again.
The words could almost pass out for an apology. That was what he used to call her ever since she was born and brought to this world: 21st April, 1990, at early 04:10am.
Her shoulders tensed. And for a moment Hose thought she might yell, argue, or something. But she didn't. Instead, she looked away, biting her lip.
"You don't know me anymore," she whispered, so quiet he almost missed it.
But he did. He always has.
Better than anyone else even.