Oliver Damsdale had known Nathan for longer than he’d had a girlfriend. They had started out as partners on a minor case involving a few local gangs in a feud and hadn’t been separated since in the seven years since then until – well, now. The partnership between the two men had grown into a fast friendship, until Sunday nights became pint nights and once a month warranted a week long camping trip up north. Occasionally, their once a month trip came accompanied by whatever girlfriend either man had at the time. Until it happened to be Oliver’s own sister, Ophelia.<br/><br/>They weren’t twins, but throughout their childhood, the pair had been mistaken for such. Ophelia was a year and a half his senior, but the two had similar features and had been about the same size until she had hit a proud growth spurt at age eleven and became the superior of the two until he had his own halfway through his freshman year in high school. Where she had been a tomboy, he had turned into the punk of the school and on more than one occasion sent home sporting a black eye and a notice for his parents to sign stating that his detention duty had been extended.<br/><br/>When adulthood struck, the siblings had drifted apart, their interests even more vastly different. She enjoyed photography, writing, and art where he had picked up baseball, video games, and girls. Even with their chats becoming an occasional text message despite living in the same city, it still shocked Oliver when Nathan had approached him tentatively with the news that he was dating his sister – and had been for the last four months. It was only another six months after the news was broken that Ophelia went missing. And then found dead and sightless on the side of the road ten miles outside of town, with all evidence pointing to foul play.<br/><br/>A year later, Genevieve had stepped into the picture as a rocky replacement that had bloomed into more. Twice over the course of the next four years, Nathan talked about marriage, but it was followed up by hesitant, sidelong glances toward the man who looked so much like his sister and the topic dropped abruptly with the scar reopened into a wound. In a way, it was likely guilt that kept Nathan from proposing to Gen. Guilt that he had moved on and his best friend had not. And perhaps it was that same guilt that had dragged the three together now, with death being the thing that ultimately tied them together.<br/><br/>It was guilt that nagged Oliver now over the circumstances that had led him to the townhouse today. He hadn’t seen her since the funeral, where she had struggled with the kind of glassy-eyed composure reserved for widows still in shock, and hadn’t yet processed the reality of the circumstance. He should have come by sooner; he should have checked up on his dead friend’s grieving girlfriend. He should have stepped in and assisted her in everything, then spoke up to tell her the truth of what had happened and why Nathan had died. Fear and that same gut-wrenching guilt kept him away.<br/><br/>But then she had called. Said that she had found a few things of Nathan’s that looked unusual. Asked him to come over. During the four weeks since the funeral, the grim-faced thirty one year old had barely shaved, and sported a short, dark beard that hid the strong line of his jaw and the straight line of his mouth that refused to curl up in a smile. Hair that he usually trimmed weekly close to his skull had grown enough that it stuck out in places, made wild by the thrust of his fingers against his scalp as the stress from work caught up to him. It showed, too, in the hollow circles under his eyes that looked on through a lackluster gaze. The hazel orbs lacked their typical sparkle, and the fine lines around his eyes learned from years of laughter now deepened from grief rather than merriment.<br/><br/>Sporting a plain grey t-shirt and a worn down pair of jeans with an equally worn pair of loafers, he knocked on the door of the home with a heavy hand. Underneath one arm, he carried a pair of Styrofoam containers in a traditional Chinese takeout bag, complete with smiley face. He waited for the space of several heartbeats, then knocked again.