Heterochromia

"How did you get those eyes?"

I'm startled. Did anyone ask?

I looked around and found him looking back seriously. Bump.

"Why do you ask?"

"Nothing particular." He made the same expression. I rolled my eyes. That 'I don't care but knowing it won't hurt much' expression.

After that long pause and silence, I decided to voice out.

"Waardenburg Syndrome."

"Hm?"

"A symptoms of the syndrome, Heterochromia. I got it since I was born. Genetically. Though I didn't literally experience the syndrome, but I have the symptoms anyway."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad you got them."

What? Is that the modest response he could give? My brain always works as fast as I speak.

"That the modest res..." I nearly shouted. Oh, I already did.

"At least you got the beautiful bicolor iris which I can look at everyday."

Another long silence.

I didn't know how to respond, then continuing this paperwork would be the best.

I started to pick some books and put them in the same old shelves, yet they had been cleaned properly even I could smell the old wooden.

He kept ignoring the fact that he should help me rather than kept reading those law books with heart to the full content.

The smell of old papers has flourished to the air, filled everywhere with the decent scent. It helped me remember the old house, the one we've stayed before. How Papa always smelled his books first

before reading them. How Mama kept telling me to make sure that their treasure are being taken care.

"That's how you get this silver hair?" Another shocking line.

"Stop saying things so sudden!" I finally shouted properly. It's not that his way of speaking freaked me, but my current condition on this fragile stairs of this shelf was not supporting any kind of shock treatments.

Another long silence. I'm getting used to it. Oh, and another stare.

"Muriel."

"I said, stop freaking me out! I'm working here!" A long sigh.

"Yes! Will you please stop saying things so sudden!?" I sighed long enough to make sure that he heard it.

Again, the long silence. The awkwardness appears within his words, not in silence.

I murmured bitterly. His words were all decent yet I felt like being stabbed over and over again. As long as he's over me -winning all those trophies and such- I can never have the place to defeat him. Or even to withstand him.

Another long silence is better than those random questions he kept blurting out. I mean, what if I cannot answer them? What if the questions are not in my major? What if it's beyond my expectation? It'll widen our difference, how great he is and how incapable I am.

I felt heavy, well my head to be exact. I always wanted to cut it short yet Papa begged not to. He said it's his charm, to win cases.

"It's charming." Another soft voice.

"Will you at least help me out? We still have dozen of these books to be put back," I complained heavily. It's been two hours since we started to work and not even half of the books were being put.

"Let me have your hair, then." He said bluntly.

"Are you nuts!? Stop making excuses and work already! What the hell is wrong with your head anyway!?" I shouted angrily. It's not like he used to do this stuff before.

He looked back at me sharply. No emotions, as always. Wonder why Papa even adopted him. Well, as a prosecutor, he's damn genius.

"You have no cuteness at all, dear little sister," said he while pulling my hair. Ouch!

"Snap out of it! Get back to work already or I'll let Papa know that you made me work alone." I challenged him.

"Let's. If only Papa knows how adorable you are while you're angry, he won't blame me."

Something really wrong has happened to him today.

Muriel