Their German is all slurred and Duro can’t get out a fucking line without cackling and howling like a hyena.
It had been going on for at least half an hour. At least, that was how long until Nasir had cracked, his teeth grinding and ears desperately cushioned between pillows to keep out the godawful sound of the two brothers singing. Screeching. Howling.
He knew he should have politely declined those homemade brownies Gannicus was so eager to foist upon them, the little chocolate baked squares smelling slightly odd at first whiff. He also should have hidden the bottle opener, knowing full well the brothers would want to get drunk to celebrate the end of the first round of midterms. But, Nasir had lamented, if he hid the bottle opener they’d just more than likely try to twist it off barehanded or smack the tops against the sink like last time. Nasir did not want to take another trip to the ER because Duro had shattered yet another Heineken bottle against their countertops. Having to deal with Auctus’ nervous pacing in the waiting room had been enough of a trauma as it was without the sight of all that blood and glass.
Yes, he should have known that the brothers would get into some shenanigans, though he had hoped that they would have let him have at least a fighting chance to get some peace and quiet, some lulling sleep.
Another cackle, this time joined by the unmistakable slap of wooden spoons on metal pans as if the two were creating a mock drum line. Nasir hissed from underneath his blanket cocoon. If they were ruining his mother’s copper pans, so help him God…
After the fifth drunkenly crowed “scheisse,” and “die Arschmade,” Nasir had had enough. Throwing his warm duvet over his bare legs, he stumbled out of bed and into the dim light of the short hall, the gritty sound of music blaring from Duro’s shitty lap top speakers greeting him like an unwelcomed assault on his ears with each step he took.
Stomping into the little kitchen the three had begun to cohabit ever since Nasir moved in, the Syrian felt his eyebrows raise and his gaze widen in manic horror as he stood before the two brothers.
Duro’s mouth was wide open, like a gaping maw, drunkenly garbling out German at the top of his lungs merrily as his feet kicked up and down from his perch on the slightly stained counter-tops. The wooden spoons in his grip made a racket as he banged them against an upturned sauce pan as if the was playing the snare drum—and playing it badly. At one particularly powerful kick, one of his tie-dye socks came off at the toe and almost smacked Nasir in the face. The black-haired man would balk in a fit of rage if he wasn’t sadly already used to Duro accidentally throwing shit left and right when he got in a drinking row.
Agron was no better, marching along the tiny kitchen floor like a soldier, bare feet scuffing up the linoleum as he stomped his heels over smeared brownie crumbs and the last dregs of slashed beer foam. His eyes were screwed shut and his mouth was twisted into a bizarre scowling smirk as his head bobbed to the rhythm of the banging he was making with a spatula and a frying pan curled against his muscled arms.
Normally, Nasir loved it when the two brothers spoke in their native language—it was not only the anthropologist in him that loved the beautiful and crisp construction of it, but Nasir could also hear the love and comforting familiarity the two brothers expressed when they quipped and interjected in their mother tongue. Agron had even offered to teach Nasir a few common phrases, and for that the Syrian was grateful for. However, Nasir did not particularly fucking like it when it was being shouted out at the top of the brother’s lungs and being blared from the speaker of a god damn Toshiba laptop held together by duct tape and bumper stickers.
He was also keenly aware that he had a study session planned for tomorrow on Near Eastern Archaeology and he was not going to let Chadara laugh at him again when he tried to explain why he had raccoon eyes from lack of sleep because of the hellish plague and bane of his existence that was the giant bleating German goat brothers from the underworld itself.
Glaring at the two, who didn’t even seem to register that he had stumbled upon them in all his glaring and huffing disapproval, he finally addressed the jackasses—first with a swift slap of the laptop case, closing it and thus ceasing the drones of Peter Fox’s Alles Neu, and then by growing out a practiced “shut up!”—a phrase that was not unknown to either of them in this household.
Duro immediately startled at Nasir’s outburst, banging his head on the kitchen cabinets in his shock, too wasted to wholly feel the pain that would leave a vicious headache come morning. Nasir would feel sorry if he didn’t already know that the big curly-haired monster had probably dinged up his kitchenware all to hell.
Physically ripping one of his mother’s copper pans right from Agron’s hand—which wasn’t that terribly hard to do considering Agron was so drunk he was almost drooling—Nasir dumped it on the stove with a clatter, the sharp quake of noise further startling Duro into a snorting fit of laughter that dissolved into hiccups and a comical scrunched up face of annoyance at said hiccups.
While Agron was grinning foolishly at his boyfriend with glassy hooded eyes, Nasir snatched at Duro’s wrists and pushed him through the kitchen and out the door. Throwing a pair of sweat-pants that had been crumpled over the sofa for the younger German to wear over his cartoon Tasmanian Devil boxers, Nasir then slammed the door and locked it tight with a resounding click. After a few seconds Duro’s snickering dispersed into little quiet questioning coos of “hey??!” at his new change of scenery. Nasir would give it another ten minutes before the others foggy brain could wrap around the realization of where he was.
While returning to the kitchen to collect Agron from his shaky perch atop the kitchen table—he was trying to grab onto the swinging ceiling fan—Nasir snatched up his cellphone and pressed emergency speed dial #4 while trying to keep Agron from smashing an empty beer can to his forehead in childish glee.
“…Hello?” A groggy voice sounded on the other line, and Nasir instantly had a moment of pure petty delight at the realization that he woken up Auctus from his sleep—a sleep Nasir has long been denied since the douche-bag brothers decided to look up Germany’s greatest pop hits on youtube during his beauty sleep.
“Come and pick up your noisy fuckwad of a boyfriend.” Nasir hummed with false cheer. Like hell the younger brother was going to sleep here tonight. He was the loudest out of all the Müller clan and got the others all riled up, especially Agron.
He could already imagine Auctus pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed—the dance performance major was getting too old for this shit and Nasir could tell.
“Be there in five.” Nasir could already hear Auctus grab his keys, the jingling from all the little key-chains Duro has given him over the past months letting out a distinctive clatter in all their chaos.
“Make it three, it’s awfully chilly out there.” Nasir pushed open his and Agron’s own door, his boyfriend, now sleepy, following him obediently, if not stumbling entirely.
“You kicked Duro out into the hall???” Agron suddenly whispered loudly with realization, almost jabbing his nose into Nasir’s cheek as he leaned in close to the other. “You’re mean.” He decided, with a cheeky grin that made his dimples ache. If Agron hadn’t been so plastered, Nasir would have been sure the other would be more than a little mad that his brother was probably twiddling his thumbs and singing German nursery rhymes to himself outside in the apartment hallway. But, at the moment, Agron was trying to stare at the table-side lamp to make it turn on with only the powers of his mind, so….
“When I’ve had less than four hours of sleep? Yes. I am mean.” Nasir rolled his eyes and yanked the taller man away from the appliance by the hem of his Metallica shirt, thus sabotaging the further possibility of destruction that broken glass and electricity could bring.
Turning back to his phone, Nasir muttered a quick “hurry, I swear to Hades, Auctus,” to the Greek before he ended the call and threw his phone somewhere on his cluttered desk, too annoyed to care where it landed.
Leveling Agron with a glare, he pushed the other onto their shared mattress. “Bed. Now.”
“Yes ssssir!” Agron smirked, a clumsy wiggle to his eyebrows that almost had Nasir chuckle in its absurdity. The German tried to wink seductively but his drunken reflexes just made it look like a drawn-out blink that took him an embarrassingly long time to complete.
“Ugh.” Nasir made a face before joining the other in scrambling under the bed covers and screwing his eyes shut tight, trying to ignore the fact that Agron was burrowing his face into the back of his neck like a slobbery golden retriever. “Go to sleep.” Nasir sighed, a patient exasperation to his voice that only the green-eyed other could get out of him.
“Yes, Nasir.” Agron hummed, finally. Nasir decided to ignore the grinning amusement behind the voice and settled for what he could get.
Upon seeing Nasir the next morning on campus, Chadara offered to buy him the largest sized coffee the student cafe had, and only laughed for a good solid ten minutes while he explained the hell he had to go through the night before.