library card /brohm + an

He's drowning in his own inadequacy. It's a cruel little feeling scratching at the back of his skull - the kind of thought he can't share because no one will agree but he can't quite bring himself to disbelieve. There's calluses on his fingertips, worn raw by hours he'd wasted trying to reach perfection and never managing to surpass perfectly adequate. Where his siblings are made of vibrant neon it is undeniable that Brohm Rathbone is rather muted.

So that's why he's found himself is in the Salvatore library - a place he has absolutely no business in being. There's a lock-pick burning a hole in his pocket that he hadn't ended up needing because the window was open and there seems to be some sort of party going on anyway. Breaking and entering had ended up being an anticlimactic affair.

While Brohm's intent was malicious, he'd yet to decide exactly what havoc he intended to reap. Most of his time preparing for tonight had been spent figuring out how to get in to the estate, not what he'd do once he had. So he takes a moment to admire the Savatore's expansive library. They might all be stuck-up bastards but they were rich bastards.

Alas, it seems he spent far too much time admiring. "Who's there?" The boy's gaze lands on him and Brohm freezes like a deer in headlights.

"Is it any of your business?" Brohm bites back, ignoring that it is entirely Anselm's business. "Aren't you meant to be -" He bites his bottom lip, casting about for something witty to say "somewhere else?"

He'd come up dry.

It was supposed to feel dangerous. Walking into the lion's den and baring his throat, locking eyes with a predator from across the room. Unfortunately for Brohm, Anselm is in no mood to fight. Brohm watches him melt, caving in on himself with a tired breath. Not so impressive under the library's soft yellow lighting, in fact Brohm would say he looks almost melancholy.

"It's a comeback." He mutters under his breath as Anselm speaks, deciding the cover of Wuthering Heights is far more interesting than the interesting boy across the room. He hears the tentative steps of his companion drawing closer, so he turns over the book and studies the back as well. There's a good chance he'll lose his nerve if he meets his eyes - Brohm isn't very good at this.

"Don't you think you're a bit too... calm? Considering I'm obviously-" He gestures to his all black outfit, down to his black socks and navy blue gloves. If he's being honest his pride is a bit wounded at how little threat his presence exudes. Nonetheless he takes the seat he's offered, drumming his fingers on the table and chewing on his next sentence.

"You probably don't have the kind of alcohol I like." Because Brohm has never drank before and is too prideful to admit it, "I have expensive tastes." The way his tongue fumbles around the lie is painful and obvious.

"And I don't think I make for very good company."