Behind Closed Doors

Life as an adult was far easier than he’d been warned about by his father, and basically every other adult in his life since he was a teenager. It seemed a collective scheme by grown ups to want to terrify their teenaged children and acquaintances into thinking living on your own and having responsibilities was some gigantic pain in the bum, but it really wasn’t. Well, at least it wasn’t if you claimed the spare bedroom of your brother’s place as your own and let him do all the washing and dishes and sort of motherly jobs. Oliver helped out, of course, he wasn’t a total wankpot but the lion’s share of the housework was completed by Kit, including much of the cooking. This morning’s breakfast hadn’t involved too much cooking and hardly any dishes, so Ollie volunteered to was them before disappearing into the living room to relax.

Kit’s audible warning wasn’t required, Ollie had easily heard his big brother’s footsteps on the stairs. He could hear the squeaking of his trainers against the wood grain as each step fell, coming closer and closer. Kit’s words were nothing more than a pleasantry to announce his arrival. Ollie’s eyes barely lifted from the words on the page of the magazine he was reading, but his arm shot upwards and his hand clasped around the bright red apple with a loud thud as it hit his palm. If Ollie had been full human that could have taken the hand clean off at the wrist, but the impact caused little more than a sting that faded within a few seconds.

Taking a bite from the apple, Ollie’s eye met his brother’s. “Yeah, alright,” he mumbled through a mouth full of juicy apple, no manners in sight. He had been sitting on the couch, one leg extended onto the coffee table with the other leg bent and resting atop the first. “Can you believe this dragon dung?” he asked his brother, tossing the magazine he’d been reading onto the table and pulling himself into a proper sitting position so that he could slip on his shoes that had been kicked off and left on the floor the night before. The article Oliver was referencing was titled “Is Quodpod Fever Spreading to the UK?” and showed a famous American quadpod player wearing the Union Jack across his robes. Ollie shoved the apple into his mouth, biting down enough to keep it lodged there while his hands were busied with lacing up his trainers. With the job done, he took a more manageable sized bite and popped up off the couch. “Loser makes tea,” he smiled, ready to kick his big brother’s arse into next Tuesday.

A job at the Ministry sounded horrid. Ollie didn’t begrudge his brother’s ambitions and he was really rather proud of the man for all he had accomplished in his time working as an Auror but that definitely was not the life for Oliver Devereaux. Again, talking with his mouth full of apple he said, “Only if I get to be one of the lunch witches in the cafeteria with those hairnets they have to wear. I’d look bloody brilliant in a hairnet and apron.” Clearly joking, Ollie wanted nothing to do with a Ministry position of any kind but he didn’t express as much to his brother. They had different ambitions in life, and that was fine. It worked well for them thus far, but if quidditch ever took a hit, Ollie would find something equally as exciting to do, he’d not be stuck behind a desk or forced into a suit five days a week.

Kit pointed out that he, Kit, was the one always making tea and Ollie slapped him hard on the back, a broad grin on his face. “That’s alright, mate. You’ll beat me one of these days. Just gotta work a little harder, is all.” Insinuating the only reason Kit cooked so much was because he was constantly losing to his baby brother made Ollie chuckle. That was definitely far from the truth. Ollie wouldn’t mind cooking more often but if left to it he’d forget until he was too hungry to wait for anything to cook and end up ordering a pizza or getting take away from one of the restaurants nearby, ignoring his brother pointing out that he was still waiting for food to cook even if he wasn’t the one doing the cooking. Kit was the better cook besides, and the more responsible of the brothers. He cooked and cleaned dishes, did the washing, took out the rubbish bins. Even their home technically belonged to Kit. Ollie was just crashing indefinitely at his brother’s place. The only thing that made Ollie a real adult, besides his age, was that he had a job. It never really occurred to him that he needed to grow up any, so he kept on with his lifestyle, perfectly happy to be the slacker of the two.

Rummaging through the hall cupboard was not an easy task and so Ollie left it to Kit to do, choosing instead to stand there and continue working on his apple as Kit presented their options. “Baseball,” he answered, feeling in the mood to hit something with a bat.

Ollie watched his brother fumble in the cupboard as he took a step backwards and leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest with his apple still in reach. “If we’re dressing each other up, I’ll have to call in reinforcements. I’m sure Dora’s got plenty of ideas for what she’d like to put you in.” Bringing up their mutual friend, and the witch who unabashedly crushed over the older Devereaux boy, was a fun way to win an argument. A baseball flew his direction and Ollie caught it with his free hand as his brother summoned the bats in an attempt to avoid dealing with the mess of the cupboard again. Finishing his apple and having only the core left, Ollie turned and faced the long hallway, at the end of which he could see the rubbish bin in the far room. Sizing up his shot and screwing his face up to get the angle right, Ollie chucked the apple core down the hall and saw it knock the rim of the bin then fall into the can. A perfect shot. He grinned, pleased with himself and feeling arrogant about his chances of winning their little ball game, when he heard the soft swoosh of a bat heading in his direction. Animal-like reflexes snapped into action and he snatch the bat from the air mere moments before it collided with his shoulder. “Says the bloke throwing bats at people’s backs,” he retorted teasingly.

The weather was rather nice for late Autumn. Sun shinning and only fluffy white clouds in the sky. There was a little wind but nothing horrendous and it actually felt nice as Ollie and Kit ran around their makeshift baseball diamond, pitching the ball and practically smashing it to oblivion, forcing the pitcher to run full on to catch the ball more than two football pitchs’ length away. “Try to put it right here, this time,” Ollie said in a playfully taunting tone, gesturing to a chest high area right in front of him. “You’re not supposed to strike the batter.” Ollie stood sideways in front of the little rubber plate he’d conjured and set up on the grassy field. He pulled the bat back over his shoulder and gave his brother a cocky grin, wiggling the bat in a little cyclone motion as he waited for Kit to throw the baseball toward him.