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Soon enough, the cheap ramen was heaped in bowls and the four strange compatriots were crowded around the milk crate that served as Claude's coffee table, balancing the styrofoam bowls on their knees.

"So, Grey, what d'you do for a living?" Luc asked (though his words were nearly unintelligible, seeing as he spoke while slurping down a huge forkful of ramen.)

"Ah . . ." Grey hesitated for a moment. He wasn't nearly as good as his brother at lying, but he could cobble together a passable half-truth - not lying, but omitting critical details. "I work in civil service. It's a family business."

"Yeah? That's cool . . . like, rehab and stuff?"

"Not exactly. I work in, ah, public protection. Claude used to work with me, too." Grey glanced over at his twin, who was listlessly prodding the soup noodles with his plastic spork. "He worked in . . . discipline . . . for a while, then moved to my department." 



"Then I got sacked," Claude mumbled, frowning. 



"Aww." Luc smiled sympathetically. "So what do you do now?" 



Claude laughed humorlessly. "A whole crapload of nothin'." 



There was a moment of awkward silence, then Luc spoke up again. "Well, I'm sure you'll get a job soon!" Claude snorted at that, but the young man continued, unfazed. "Maybe you could be Joan's model. She's really good at drawing you." 



"Paintings of you would sell, Claude," Joan whispered. It was the first time she had spoken up for almost ten minutes. 



"Pfft. Just paint Grey. We look the same, anyway. What's the difference?" Claude muttered sourly. 



"You've always had more allure than I, Claude," Grey replied quietly. "Socially, at least. People are drawn to you." 



"Yeah. People with a death wish." Claude rolled his eyes and continued to poke his food. 



"No, but Joan's right!" Luc gushed. He began to gesture wildly with his spork, getting excited the more he talked about it. "You're really good-looking, Claude. Grey is, too . . . omigawd, what if we did a portrait of the two of you?!" He glanced over at Joan and giggled. "Sorry. I mean, what if Joan did a portrait of the two of you? It would be so pretty . . . the symmetry . . . and you two look so good together. You can just tell how close you are." 



"I've never been painted before," Grey mused. "It may be interesting." 



"Then it's settled!" Luc tossed his empty bowl on the milk crate and turned to Joan, clapping enthusiastically. "A portrait of the Cordon twins will be your first contribution to the gallery!" 



"O-Okay," she stammered. For some strange reason, Joan really didn't think she could paint Grey. Somehow, he seemed inherently different from Claude. Like he wasn't supposed to be pinned down in images. "I'll try . . ." 



"What are you talking about? You're amazing, Joan." Luc gathered up everyone's empty bowls - and Claude's still-full one - and tossed them in the trash. "I'm sure it'll be gorgeous."

"Um, well . . ." Joan twisted her hands together anxiously, biting her lip. "I don't have any of my art supplies with me . . . I'll have to work for a while before I can afford any more." 


"Where are they?" Grey asked. "Did you use them all?" 

"N-No . . ." Joan fixed her gaze on her lap, avoiding eye contact. "They . . . they're all at my b-boyfriend's house." 



Luc shrugged. "So go get 'em. He won't mind, right?" 



Joan made no reply. Grey walked over to her and touched her shoulder, causing her to glance up at him. "Didn't we say we were going to go retrieve your things tomorrow?" 



"Well, y-yes, but . . . well, I-I don't know now, Grey. I don't th-think it's a good idea," she stammered quietly. "I don't want to make you or your brother go to any trouble." 



"You have a right to your belongings." Grey sat down beside her and held her hand. Claude raised his eyebrows, but his twin didn't notice. "Joan, you shouldn't have to be afraid of him." 



"I'm not scared!" she insisted, shaking her head. "I just . . . I just don't . . . I don't want to go back." 



"Once we pick up your things, you never have to go back again," Grey assured her. 



Luc frowned slightly, puzzled, then suddenly caught on. "Oh! You and your boyfriend are broken up? I didn't catch that part . . ." 



Joan bit her lip even harder, her pale cheeks flushing. "Yeah. He . . . he got drunk, and -" 



"What?!" Joan jumped at Grey's sudden, furious tone. "What do you mean, he was drunk?" 



"Calm down, Grey. I'm sure it was fine," Claude mumbled. "S'her fault for dating a loser, anyway," he added under his breath. 



Grey ignored his brother and took Joan's shoulders, turning her to look at him. "Did he do anything to you, Joan? Did he lay a single finger on you?" 



She started to speak, then closed her mouth and stared at Grey's shoulder, her expression dark and tense. 



"Joan." Luc, who had been transfixed for a moment by the awkwardness of the situation, walked forward and leaned over to speak to her. "We're trying to help you, y'know. If this guy's a total bastard, we're one hundred percent behind you, 'kay?" 



"It's not a big deal." Joan pushed Grey's hands away and wiped the corners of her eyes hurriedly. "It was never very hard - I mean, it's not like he was really -" 



"He hit you more than once?" Grey took a few deep breaths, trying to stop from bursting out the door and tracking the man down at that moment. Though Claude had been the specialist when it came to vengeance, Grey had the same passionate thirst for justice. Listening to Joan dismiss her own hardships was killing him. "Joan, you should press charges." 



"No. No, I just want it all to be over with. And I don't have the money for a court battle . . ." 

"I say we go deal with this guy right now!" Luc exclaimed. "Let's just go get Joan's stuff, let Claude beat the crap out of him, and get back here and celebrate!" 



"Celebrate what?" Claude asked incredulously. 



"Celebrate you beating the crap out of that guy!" Luc answered, rolling his eyes as though it should have been obvious. 



Grey, who abhorred violence of any kind, shook his head. "No. We don't need to turn this into a physical confrontation . . . but I agree that this man should be taught a lesson."

"Can we please just wait until tomorrow?" Joan pleaded. "Let's just go to his apartment, ask for my stuff back, and leave. It doesn't need to be a big deal." 



"But it is a big deal, Joan. If this man made you feel unsafe, I'm obligated to do something about it." Grey leaned forward, propping his chin up on his hand with his elbow on his knee. "I would like to go as soon as possible, but if you really are uncomfortable with going now, we can wait. But no later than tomorrow. I need to leave tomorrow evening." 



"Aw, really?" Luc climbed up on the backrest between them, letting his legs dangle between angel and human. "How come?" 



"I work abroad frequently, and I live rather far away. My employer . . . doesn't really want me visiting my brother." Grey's expression darkened for a moment, then he recovered himself. "But I should be able to visit more frequently now . . . or at least soon." 



"Whyzat, Grey?" Claude asked. "You get a visa?" 



"You live overseas?" Joan asked quietly. 



Grey laughed uneasily. "Something like that. Yes, I have an idea of how to acquire a visa . . . they're extremely difficult to come by in my occupation." 



"Nothing that's gonna get you in trouble, right, Grey?" Claude prodded. Even drunk, he had an instinct to protect his brother, even when his own sense of self-preservation had gone down the tubes a long time ago. 



"No. Nothing that will get me in trouble." Grey paused for a moment, then abruptly redirected the conversation. "Joan, what is your boyfriend's name?" 



"Max," she mumbled. "Max Siegel. He's older than me by four years." 



"I knew a Max once," Claude informed them drowsily. "Nice-lookin' guy. Of course, he didn't know I existed, but he had a really nice ass." 



Grey leaned forward, pinching the bridge of his nose with forefinger and thumb. "Somehow we’ve completely diverted from the original topic of conversation . . .” 



"Well . . ." Luc rocked back and forth on his heels awkwardly. "I should prob'ly get going. I've still got a lot a paperwork to sort out with the gallery, and the contractors should be coming . . . though, with this weather, they'll most likely be late. Hey, can I come along tomorrow when we bust Joan's jerky ex?" 



"No." Claude turned over and buried his face in the sodden couch cushions. "Oh, god, Grey, don't let him." 



"Of course you can." Grey sighed heavily, glancing over at Joan. "Though I doubt it will be an entertaining experience." 



"If Claude beats him up, I think I'll be happy," Luc chirped cheerfully. "So, um, I'll just swing by tomorrow morning, 'kay? Ten-ish?" 



"Of course. It's been a pleasure meeting you, Luc." 



"Oh, so now you're re-inviting people back into my apartment? Does the fact that I pay rent mean anything to you people?" 



"I thought you said you didn't pay rent," Joan reminded him softly. 



Claude grunted from the depths of the sofa. "That's beside the point." 



Luc giggled and waved goodbye, smiling from ear-to-ear. "See you guys tomorrow. Maybe afterwards you can swing by the gallery!”

Luc giggled and waved goodbye, smiling from ear-to-ear. "See you guys tomorrow. Maybe afterwards you can swing by the gallery!" He flashed a peace sign, wrinkling his nose in a charming grin, and popped out the door, closing it with a crisp click behind him. 



"Damn happy kid," Claude muttered. "His cheerfulness offends me."