Man of the House

Originally posted on Tumblr: Jul 31st 2022

Original A/N: Here’s a bit of back story if you’re interested. (also slight spoiler if you don’t read the tags) I had this story in my head for a while and was already going to write it but what sparked me finally typing it out was a friend and I were talking about corruption stories. (A conversation that was independent of the last story I wrote.) They mentioned anti-corruption stories and I jokingly said wouldn’t that just be ‘purification’. And I got fixated on incorporating that dichotomy. it’s not overly overt but it was the driving force. Two conflicting transformations. Enjoy!

 

“Abandon hope all ye who enter here.” Mr. Clark laughed reading the plaque on the inside of his house. His new home that is. No longer was he partnered with his wife. Goodness no, she needed to fly the world with her trainer. No more Mrs. Clark. She didn’t want that title anymore. Sure, she got away with the hot guy, but at least Mr. Clark got custody of the boys. Though when she came back to the states, they’d have to figure out custody. If she ever came back.

“Dad, that’s creepy,” Max said trailing in behind with his cell phone out. Nothing but a single bookbag on his back. The teen was as skinny as a rail and was letting his brown hair get way too long. It looked like a mop. Dressed in all black, with a long-sleeved shirt and jeans for the matching set, the kid was every bit as goth as he wanted to be. The only line being he was too afraid to dye his hair black.

“Don’t be such a pussy.” Zane pushed his way into the house, carrying both his and his brother’s suitcases. Unlike Max, he had no problems showing off his body with his orange tank top and blue nylon shorts. Max the introverted intellectual, and Zane the outgoing jock.  With Zane’s burgeoning muscular frame and boisterous personality, it often came as a shock to people that he was the younger brother.

“Language!” Mr. Clark barked, causing both his boys to straighten up. He only meant it for Zane, but Max was too timid for his own good at times. People tended to think Mr. Clark, a former jock himself, would favor his son Zane more, but that wasn’t the case. Mr. Clark respected both his sons. He loved how smart Max was, that certainly didn’t come from him nor his cheating wife. Their family needed brains. Zane on the other hand was truly on the path to following his father’s footsteps. Though he was only a 10th grader, soon to be 11th, his body had started to put on some serious mass. While as a father he could revel in that, the brothers could only knock each other down for it. He got used to getting between their verbal arguments. Max being called a loser or freak, and Zane being called a meat-head or golden-boy.

Maybe it was true that Max could give in to doing things that other people did and railing against the norm wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. He could get outside in the sun and go for a walk. On the other hand, maybe Zane could stand to explore his own individuality more. Dye his hair, listen to strange music, watch that ‘anime’ thing Max is always talking about.

Mr. Clark pinched the bridge of his nose taking a deep breath. “Boys, we’re starting our new lives here. Can we please not argue?”

“Yeah, but Max always complains about everything. He doesn’t even realize we have a front and backyard now!”

“Sorry, I’m not excited for more space for me to not play sports in.” Max grumbled.

There was a knock on the open door behind them, as Mr. Evat smiled leaning on the door. “Glad to see you guys are already loving the place.” His sarcasm was obvious to even Zane. Then again, could they really hold it against him after he sold them the house fully furnished? He was Mr. Clark’s former college roommate, practically the boy’s unofficial uncle. Though he clearly had his own reasons for wanting to get a new house, one being his girlfriend’s pregnant belly.

“Sorry, Mr. Evat,” Max offered up. “I just thought the plaque was creepy and didn’t mean for it to get out of hand.”

Mr. Evat pointed to the Plaque on the wall, “This thing?” He started laughing uncontrollably. “I just bought that because I thought it was way funnier than the other one.” He walked over to a cabinet pulling out a wooden plaque. The words for this were etched in a darker brown, contrasting the tan background.

“Please take care of this sacred place.

If so, it’ll accept you in a warm embrace.

Don’t grumble, don’t grouse

and remember there must always be a man of the house.”

“That’s odd,” Max said, grabbing the plaque from Mr. Evat, “Who even wrote this?”

“Wasn’t Shakespeare, so I don’t expect you to know.” Zane said, snatching it out of his older brother’s hands. He held the plaque up, his eyes brows squinted together. “Um… its author is…obviously unknown.”

“Gee, so insightful.” Max said dryly.

Mr. Clark stepped between his sons and rubbed their backs, trying to let them know to simmer down the attitudes. He felt the tension in their backs dissipate, as the boys’ emotions deflated. He then kindly held out his hand and waited as Zane handed the plaque over. “I think it’s a nice plaque. We should put this one up for us. Waddya say?” He smiled at his sons.

“Wait, are you trying to say you don’t like my taste?” Mr. Evat gave a dramatic scoff, pretending to be insulted. The boys all shared a good laugh. And soon it was time for Mr. Evat to depart. The boys spent the rest of their day sorting out their rooms, while their father took responsibility for the rest of the house.

Max was excited to be in a new house. He had his own room now; no longer would he have to share space with that neanderthal brother of his. There’d be no more talk about sports, late night gaming sessions, or the terrible smell of a locker room. Max fell onto his bed soaking in his new space. Above all else, no longer would he have to feel envy seeing his brother every morning. Although they had the same genes Max had grown into a string bean, while Zane had begun developing into the kind of guy girls fawned over. Hell, even the bulge in his underwear sat heftier than Max’s own. It was that feeling of inadequacy that the older brother was proud to be rid of.

On the other side of the wall, Zane was also indulging in his new space. Now he could put up his sports posters with no complaints and a few female swimsuit models too. Their dad did tell them it was their space after all. His computer had to be hooked up first, that was his gaming system and how he kept in touch with his bros. Those were his people. Max was such a pinhead, who always had a stick up his ass. Sure, he was good at school, but he had no personality outside of that. Was sitting at home reading a book and listening to classical music like a grandpa supposed to be impressive? Zane sat his ass on his gaming chair and put on his headset. His friends were already online.  “Alright, who wants to get crushed today?” he smiled.

Downstairs, Mr. Clark mounted the former plaque on the wall, pleased with himself. The wood of the decorative piece gave the space a homier feel. The living room was just the beginning though Mr. Clark would still have to make it to his own bedroom. The one he’d be sleeping in alone, at least for the foreseeable future. That thought made the father hang his head down. He wanted his sons to be happy. He wanted to be happy. Reinvigorated he picked his head back up; He’d just make that future happen with his own hands.

—

Summer had ended and it was back to school for the boys. Max made note of how his friends avoided the topic concerning his mom. He wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or spiteful that they didn’t ask. Did he even want to talk about it? Those thoughts made the day drag on for him. When it was all over, he walked home alone. His brother had football practice, and though Max was 18 and had a license, there was no car to use it on. One of his mom’s empty promises.

Max truly believed she had been saving money to get him a car, but no it was for Javier. Sweet, sexy, accent-heavy, Spanish speaking, life ruining, Javier. Max could understand why mom fell for the guy. Max himself was still coming to terms with his feelings. He was so taken by Javier he never noticed the signs. Especially when his mom began requesting longer private lessons in their home. Looking back, Max wanted to beat himself up over how giddy he got whenever he’d see that hot 28-year-old show up at their door. Thinking that getting to see Javier with his shirt off was a treat. Oh, it was a treat all right, just not for him.

With a disgusted sigh, Max adjusted the crotch of his pants. Even when angry Javier could manipulate Max’s cock. As he made the way up to his house, the sound of the lawn mower running grew louder.  His dad was cutting the grass humming along and gave a wave, and Max returned it. Max walked into the house and ran up to his room shutting the door.  Even after they moved it still felt like his mom and Javier were still floating around. Max threw his bookbag off to the side.

Well, it’d only be a year then he’d be off to college. Studying, science, or math. Maybe go into med school. He walked over to his bookshelf grabbing a favorite fantasy series of his, the Tales of Grimhut. It was more of an anthological gay brothers Grimm than a straight narrative. They became Max’s favorite was because there were so many different kinds of men and it being gay was a bonus. Max knew he’d be out of the house soon and wondered if he’d end up married to a prince, The smartest scholar in the land etc.  Though his brother would either end up as a brute… or a hero type. If Max had to be painfully honest with himself.

—

Thinking wasn’t Zane’s strong point. Never had been. Unlike his brother he accepted that. He was the dude coaches called if they wanted to make plays, pass a ball, score a touchdown. He was the man people brought along if they wanted to spice up a party. So, after a month of living in their new house, Zane wanted to know why their dad had turned a small sliver of the left portion of the backyard into a dirt plot.

He hopped out of the shower, A man on a mission.  He stepped onto the bathmat drying his hair. He walked up to the mirror flexing in front of it. He shook his head, flinging the remaining water particles from his hair.  His hair was damp and a mess, but Zane wasn’t going to do too much to fix it either. He strode into his room grabbing the first thing he saw, a pair of workout shorts and a tank top hanging over his gaming chair. He grabbed his football over in a discarded corner, which he hadn’t had much time to play with since moving. With a smile on his face, he headed outside to the backyard.

“Dad, what are you doing?” Zane held the football in his left hand.

“I was thinking I could do some gardening, you know, to help pass the time.” Mr. Clark was crouched on his knees, gloves on touching the dirt. “Might help make this place beautiful.”

“It’s already a nice house dad, doesn’t need anything else.” Zane tossed the ball back and forth between his hands.

“That—that’s probably true. But maybe I’m the one who needs it.” Mr. Clark’s voice was low. He wasn’t directing his response at Zane, it was more for himself, but Zane heard it, nonetheless. “Anyway, would you mind playing in the front today? I promise I’ll make sure the garden isn’t in the way when your friends want to come over in the future.”

Zane nodded, walking away, nonchalantly. On the inside however, he was boiling. This was all Javier’s fault. That trainer took his mom away, had his dad gardening, and even made his older brother gay. Well maybe not that last one. Max told Zane that two weeks ago. The brothers could be civilized when they wanted to be, but why were things changing so quickly? As Zane moved to the front yard, he clenched his fists even harder.  

The worst part about it all was that Zane had so wanted to be Javier. A personal trainer who got to work with hot women all day, who wouldn’t love that? Yet working with them and sleeping with them, especially if they were a married parent, were two different things. Zane wondered how he could have let himself be so blinded with admiration he couldn’t see the affair under his nose.

—

Two months into their move, one evening Max was in the kitchen making dinner while Zane relaxed on the couch. Max kept walking out of the kitchen and into the living room before disappearing back into the kitchen. By the 10th time he did it, Zane groaned, “Dude what are you doing?”

“I was waiting for dad. We were supposed to prepare some of this food together, but he hasn’t come down. “

Zane shrugged, “So go upstairs and get him.”

“Wow Zane you’re so smart I never would have thought of that.” Max rolled his eyes, “I would have been up there if I knew he wouldn’t just send me back down saying, “He’s busy.” It’s the excuse he’s been using every time we’re supposed to cook together!” Max ended the last part loudly, glad to have gotten it off his chest. Because Max didn’t excel in extracurricular activities like Zane, cooking was most of the only father-son bonding time he ever got at home. “He’s been up in his bedroom all day.” Max said a lot calmer, with his initial anger deflating.

“Oh, is that all? Then he’s probably you know.” Zane put his hand over his crotch and made a jerking off motion. “Without mom he’s probably backed up.”

“You’re disgusting.” Max rolled his eyes walking over to the steps. He stood at the base wondering if he should go up. He knew what the result would be but was curious as to what was curious as to what dad had been doing today. Last time he was setting up his study, the time before that it was the family computer room.

“I’m just being honest here.” Zane said from the couch. “Don’t blame me if you walk in on dad, blowing a wad on his chest.” He put his attention back on the TV.

Max charged upstairs ignoring his brother. Zane was so far off the mark with that comment Max couldn’t justify a reply. As he got upstairs, he did start to wonder if Zane had a point, and their dad needed some alone time. Still though he couldn’t stand Zane being right, nor would his curiosity let him back down. He knocked on dad’s door. No reply. Max knocked louder and called his dad. Still no reply. Trying the door handle, Max was surprised when it opened. His dad had forgotten to lock it. Cautiously Max stepped inside not wanting to see what Zane had said.

Thankfully the scene he saw was completely PG. Mr. Clark sat in a chair, eyes closed, head bobbing to music from his headphones with the two windows in his room open. And about his room, it had gone from pale gray to a tan color. Max looked around, spotting paint cans on the ground. “Dad…DAD!” Max got no reaction, so he walked tapping his father on the back.

Mr. Clark spun around, shocked. “Geezus, you scared me!”  he nearly jumped out of his skin. He took a moment catching his breath. “Wait,” Mr. Clark slapped his forehead. “I completely forgot to help you with tonight’s meal.”

“It’s fine dad.” It was not fine, but Max wasn’t about to cause a scene about that. “Why did you repaint your entire room?”

“Just needed a change.” Mr. Clark said happily, “That reminds me you wanted your room to look a bit different too, right?”

—

Zane got up in the middle of the night. He was starving. Time for his midnight snack. A growing jock like him needed to keep his body, his temple, in the best shape. Which meant satisfying his hunger whenever it cropped up. Eating as much as he could was his form of worship. Dressed only in his long bottom pajamas, he walked out of his room scratching his abs. A quick jaunt down the steps, got Zane even hungrier. Now in the completely dark living room he had to maneuver to the kitchen. After five months of living in this place Zane had the layout down to a tee.

Then BAM! Pain shot up Zane’s knee as he fell over and spilt onto the floor. He ran straight into a table. He gripped his knee holding it close to his body. “Fuckkk!!” He cried out, rolling around on the floor. There were footsteps coming down the stairs as the lights flicked on. Mr. Clark had gotten to the light switch by the door. “Zane, what happened?” Mr. Clark rushed over to his son.  He bent over checking on it. No external damage, which meant the pain would probably subside soon.

“This table popped out of nowhere.” Zane said through gritted teeth giving the poor oak coffee table a death glare.

“That table? I put that there a few hours ago,” Mr. Clark stated. “I thought changing the living room around would spruce things up.”  The father said in disbelief that his son hadn’t noticed all his hard work.

—

“We gotta stop dad. He’s gone too far this time!” Max said pacing in his room biting his fingers. Zane sat on Max’s bed, legs crossed. Max’s beloved copy of The Lightning Thief sat unfinished on his desk with a bookmark. That had never happened before. He could read that book in one sitting. It was more of a comfort read and boy did he need comfort. The problem arose when he noticed his bookshelf had been completely reorganized. Now everything was alphabetized by the author. However, Max preferred to have all his books organized by his favorite series. Their dad was the only one who would have snuck in and done it. A similar event happened to Zane’s video game collection last week. Was it not bad enough that he had painted the boys’ rooms in their entirety, twice since they moved there? They were colors the boys had expressed interest in, but their dad had always sort of snuck in the question, then surprised the boys later with the result.

“I agree, we need to get him LAID,” Zane’s hands were wrapped around his ankles. He was dressed in a white tee, a pair of black nylon shorts, and white athletic socks. Max on the other hand, barely made an attempt to get out of his school clothes. Just looking at the navy-blue sweater and khaki pants, his older brother was wearing made Zane feel uncomfortable. Even when complaining his brother had to do it dressed like a nerd.

“I…agree,” Max said disgusted with himself. He didn’t want to admit that maybe Zane had a point. “He needs to get his attention on a woman or something else, anything else. All this gardening, painting, endless rearrangements of our living space is just him hiding how he feels.” Max stopped pacing, a much more serious look on his face, “Maybe dad needs to talk to someone… like professionally.”

“No, you’re making dad sound like he’s crazy.” Zane said, getting upset, “He’s not crazy.”

“Look, there’s no shame in having a therapist and it doesn’t mean he’s crazy. He probably needs a little push getting over the hump mom left him with.”

Zane threw his hands up and he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “And how exactly do you plan to get dad to see a therapist? This is why my ‘get him laid’ idea was a much better plan. Reason 1, it’s doable.”

“How is that any more doable?” Max retorted, crossing his arms. Zane may have been the more physically fit one, but Max wasn’t going to back down. Not on this.

“Yeah, if we just talk to him—

“Talk? When’s the last time you’ve had a conversation with dad that’s lasted over 5 minutes? Cause I know I haven’t. When’s the last time you two tossed the football together? Or has he even asked you how wrestling was going?”

Zane rubbed his hands through his hair, stressed, “Okay, so what smartass! What’s your plan? Oh, are you going to bring up therapy? You two aren’t slicing potatoes for dinner after school anymore either!”

Max didn’t have an answer for that one, he shut up for a moment. Sometimes Zane had great comebacks. “Fine, we can’t tell him but maybe we can subtly hint—

“Fuck that,” Zane got up and charged out the room. He went to their dad’s bedroom. Empty. “Where’s he at doofus? Zane asked.  Max was right behind him, “Maybe shoveling snow like he said he was going to be doing, dingus.” Zane pushed past his brother, making sure his shoulder rammed into Max. Soon Zane was throwing on winter clothes over his current outfit and headed down the stairs. Max hurriedly put something on and rushed after his brother. The boys came out to a barely cleared front yard. The walkway was only halfway done while the shovel laid off to the side.

“Where’d he go?” Zane asked

“Hey boys,” a voice came from behind them. They both turned to see their dad standing on a ladder up to the roof. “Need something?” he gave a goofy grin to his boys down below.

“Dad, what are you doing?” Maxed had never seen his dad go up on a roof after it snowed.

“Well, I noticed there was snow gathered in the gutter, and I knew it was going to break if I didn’t get to it in time.” He said.  “Maybe one of you guys could finish up on the ground for me?” he chuckled. The brothers both groaned, throwing their heads back. Just because their father had gotten into repeatedly fixing the house didn’t mean they did. “Aww, come on boys don’t be like that,” Mr. Clark said with a fake pout,” brighten up this can be fun.” he added.

The two boys held out their hands ready for their ‘settle this rock-paper-scissor style’ tactic. Then they heard a shift on the ladder. Mr. Clark mis-stepped and the ladder fell over. He grabbed for the gutter and was successful, but before the boys could even rush over and prop the ladder back, the gutter gave way.

Mr. Clark fell.

—

“Boys, I really am sorry about all this.” Mr. Clark sat in his hospital bed left leg propped up. His sons sitting across from him, eyes puffy from crying earlier. Their dad was going to be okay, but he had certainly given them quite a shock. The situation wasn’t made easier with their mother refusing to fly back to the states. Thankfully, Mr. Evat wasn’t as cold-hearted and escorted the boys to the hospital after the ambulance took Mr. Clark away. He was out in the hallway now giving the family some deserved alone time.

Mr. Clark grimaced. “I’ve had my head up my ass this whole time. I thought making this house the perfect place for us would help me get over your mother. It didn’t. When I was about to fall, hanging in the air I thought, ‘I wished she was here’. And realized that everything I’d been doing was meaningless. Then, when I was falling it hit me, I hadn’t been spending time with you boys. I’d let your mother consume my waking thoughts and to outrun it, pulled myself away from you two.” His gaze was on his two boys before it drifted over to the window.  Max and Zane watched as their dad stared out. He seemed a million miles away.

Zane and Max left their dad in his room a few minutes later, hearing him say “I love you two,” as they closed the door. Max let out a heavy sigh, being the one who shut the door. with his hand still on the handle.

“What the hell got into dad?” Zane asked as they walked away, off to find Mr. Evat.

“I think he was finally honest with himself about mom. Ya know that she’s really not coming back. And maybe that truth broke him a little.” Max said his head down in his coat, hands tucked in its pockets, with his eyes focused on the plain hospital floor, ugly blue and white tiles that made the entire floor look like a checker’s board.

Zane moved in front of his brother, “Well he also mentioned us, so maybe he’ll be back to his old self when he comes home.” The younger teen was much livelier and more animated talking about their dad. Zane didn’t want to get in his head about his dad’s woes. That concerned him too much and he wasn’t good at deep stuff. He wanted to focus on the positives.  

—

It was decided Max, being 18, could take care of himself and his brother at least for a week until their father came home. Mr. Evat dropped them off. “Don’t worry boys, in a few more weeks it’ll be spring and I’m sure you’ll forget this whole thing even happened.” He watched as the two brothers trudged their way back into the house. Leaving the shovel and fallen ladder still out in the opening. During the commotion they’d been panicking to care and now returning they didn’t care either.  Sighing Mr. Evat. Decided to at least carry it to the back yard for them.  They’d have to finish clearing off the snow when they felt better mentally.

Later that evening, around 7:00, Max was trying to get into a novel called Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson and he just couldn’t do it. He felt bad about his dad. It kept ruining his enjoyment. He got up and headed over to his brother’s room. Zane’s door was unlocked, but he was gaming, with his headset on yelling at his friends. Max was hoping to talk to him some more, but it’d probably end in a fight. Max closed the door. Walking into the living room, he collapsed on the couch. He huffed and turned his head outside. The walkway leading up to their door was still unfinished and the car wasn’t cleaned off either.

After 5 minutes of looking, he got up and headed outside. If dad wasn’t there, Max nor Zane were going to do it. So that just meant Max had to bite the bullet. No point in arguing with Zane for both of them to do a half assed job because they’d hate it. Max begrudgingly found the shovel placed in the back by Mr. Evat. Sucking his teeth, Max went to the front and began clearing off the payment. It took him a full hour to get rid of all the snow. He walked back into the house, his nonexistent muscles on fire. “I should have gotten Zane to do it.”  Max collapsed on the couch after kicking off his shoes and throwing off his coat. Then he was out.

“Hey, I’m hungry.” Zane was positioned over the couch, shoving Max awake. “Time to make dinner.”

“Guh-wha?” Max said half asleep. “Oh yeah, dinner.” He went to move, and his muscles ached so badly. It made him fall back on the couch. “I-I don’t think I can do it, tonight I’m sorry Zane.” Max muttered then he was out again. Zane tried to shake his brother back up, but Max was out for the night. Zane rolled his eyes and dragged his feet into the kitchen. Unwashed dishes were left in the sink. He walked over to the fridge, EMPTY. Nothing. Nothing to eat! Zane could barely boil water. What was a jock like him to do?!

He walked over to the sink and began washing the dishes. He could at least think clearer if he didn’t have to look at a pigsty. Although he knew most of the dishes in the sink were his. His ravenous appetite had come to bite him in the ass. Then again it was sort of Max’s fault for passing out so early. It wasn’t even 9pm yet. Zane continued to wash dishes unable to notice the subtle growth his muscles went through with every dish cleaned. Meanwhile on the couch Max dreamed peacefully as his body also began its own slow growth.

—

The first week, Mr. Clark was home, and he didn’t notice any changes. Mostly because the doctor’s orders had him confined to his room The boys would come in and watch TV with him for about an hour before leaving to do their own thing again. He recognized his sons were being more attentive than usual because of the accident. After a few weeks passed, Mr. Clark gained better mobility on his crutches while certain abnormalities came to light.

—

Zane woke up and the first thing he did was grab a fresh pair of underwear and a towel, heading for the shower. He turned on the hot water letting it cascade down his body. After a good 10 minutes he was out, no need to waste water. He looked into the mirror in front of him, checking his face. He did a double take in the mirror, his nose looked weird. He always thought he had a cute button nose, but it was looking straighter than usual. Zane shrugged it off dismissing it as weird bathroom lighting. He had better things to focus on. His new nightly skin routine for one ensured that not a blemish or pimple would crop up. He walked up closer to the bathroom mirror; his hair was a mess. That could be remedied. He grabbed his hair gel. It wasn’t actually his hair gel per se, probably his father’s or Max’s but they never even mentioned it so they might not have cared that he used it. Zane styled his hair up all proper as if he was a schoolboy from the 1950’s. Now he was getting somewhere.

Meanwhile, Max woke up with a jolt. He had pressed the snooze button on his alarm. Not meaning to, he had just been so tired from the previous night he ran out of his room only to find that Zane had once again got to the shower before him. “Seriously?” Max stomped back into his room. He didn’t understand why Zane had the sudden urge to start getting up earlier. That left Max with even less time to get ready in the morning. The moment he heard the bathroom door open he bolted into the bathroom.

Mr. Clark came downstairs for breakfast after his boys had already got dressed. They would have offered to pull out his seat to help him down the stairs, but he begged them not to. He needed to feel a bit of independence after his sons’ smothering. Which he knew to some degree was his own fault. Had he been more attentive before the accident they probably wouldn’t have been so worried about him. He was so deep in his own head he just mumbled ‘hey’ to one of the boys sitting across from him.  While he got a “Hey pops” in return. A plate of eggs, bacon, and potatoes were placed in front of him.  Mr. Clark was so ready to say, “Good morning, Max” that he had to do a double take when he saw it was Zane standing over him. Mr. Clark turned his head sure enough, reading a book at the table was Max.

“Morning Father,” Zane said, dressed to the nines. At least for him, A white dress shirt, khaki pants, a belt, loafer and a sweater vest! Mr. Clark turned to Max to say something; however, Max had on his own little ensemble. Max was in A short sleeve black t-shirt, jeans, and a denim vest. Mr. Clark leaned forward; Max’s nails were painted black. He sat back chuckling to himself. His boys had done another bet or dare. “Boys I’m not going to interfere with whatever you got going on but maybe choose clothing that fits better.” Zane’s dress shirt was several sizes too small. While Max had the same problem, it was his arms that were drawing Mr. Clark’s attention. When did Max start working out? His biceps were huge! In his obsession with his wife had Mr. Clark really missed that much?

His sons stared at each other, confused.

—

Loud bangs rang from outside Max’s door. “What?” a voice cried from inside,

“Turn down your music!” Zane stated.

“Huh?”

“I said—

“Dude, I can’t hear you. I’m going to turn this off.” Max opened his door. Zane was surprised to see Max was shirtless with only a small gold necklace that read ‘Max’ around his neck. No, it was worse than that, Max was only in his underwear leaning against the door frame.  He’d also cut his black hair short. And had he finally dyed it?  Zane noticed there was some serious heft in the front pouch of those white boxer briefs. A shock to Zane. He’d never known his older brother to just walk around in his skivvies. Where were the sweaters, and the stupid books he always had in hand? Instead, Max was looking thicker and muscular. When did his older brother decide to start working out?  Then there was the pair of drum sticks in Max’s hand. Zane peered around his older brother spotting a drum set and a guitar in his room. When had he bought that? Dad surely hadn’t gotten it for him.

“Did you need something? Max asked if he’d been waiting for Zane’s reply for a while. He tapped his drumsticks on his little brother’s head, getting his attention. “You, okay? Dad, okay?” he asked.

“Oh, um yes we’re fine,” Zane snapped back to attention, straightening out his clothes. “Just keep your music down. We’d like to hear ourselves think.”

“You, think?” Max said it pointedly with a smirk on his face.

“I’m studying for a test, and I need to think.” Zane snapped back. “We can’t all be as gifted as you and throw caution to the wind. I know you should be studying for the test too.”

Max sighed, “I don’t have to study because I already know it. It’s called actual studying instead of cramming. Though I’ll admit I never expected you to do either.”

“I’ll admit dear brother, I should have studied earlier but I didn’t have the time. I understand that I’ll have to schedule accordingly next time. That’s why I’m asking you to please help and turn down the music.” Zane didn’t know why it said it all so calmly. Normally he’d just demand Max do what he wanted, they’d get into a spat, then Max would usually turn it down because he was a nice guy.

“Dear brother?” Max raised an eyebrow. “Are you up to something, dude?”

“Perish the thought Max.” Zane said.

“Perish the? — Alright you know what, I’m not falling for whatever this is,” Max made a circle around Zane with his drumsticks. He went to close the door, but Zane’s hand stopped him. With all the funny talking it had slipped Max’s mind, Zane was still very much on the football team.  He was quite adept at using his muscles compared to Max.

“All I’m asking is for you to stop acting so barbaric, there are other people in this house. Show some goddamn manners, put some clothes on, and shave that freaking disastrous imitation of a beard.” Zane grabbed the door handle and slammed it.

Max mouth was agape at Zane’s outburst. Where did all that come from? Wasn’t Zane the one messing with him? It was like every day his younger brother was creeping up another inch. Was that a mind game to intimidate Max? And why was Zane so dedicated to studying suddenly?  And why had he been dressed like a kid at an all-boys private catholic academy? They went to public school. Max walked over to his mirror examining his face. Zane wasn’t completely off the mark with all his accusations. Max had a mean five o’clock shadow that needed a dire trim. Strange enough, Max didn’t recall waking up with facial hair or even having the ability to grow facial hair. He always believed he was a bit stunted in puberty, but perhaps his growth was coming in.

That thought turned him on as his underwear got tighter with his growing cock. Maybe he’d keep the five o’clock shadow too. Who cared what Zane said? Max was the older brother who made the rules. He strutted over to his drum set carrying a newfound sense of cockiness that came with his good looks. He plopped his ass on the seat and began to mess around. The drum set and guitar appeared in his room a few days ago, as if out of thin air, but Max knew it was probably a thank you gift from his father for taking such good care of the house.

—

Mr. Clark sat in his living room watching Max mow the front lawn. In truth, Mr. Clark was trying to catch something. A few moments ago, he had been watching Max clean the living room, wiping things down and dusting things off. He had long told his boys they could go back to their usual routines. He’d get back to the house when he had the time, but they told him no. The doctor had been very clear not to let their dad attempt anything too stressful. Mr. Clark had tried to explain that cleaning the living room wasn’t stressful, but Max wouldn’t hear it.

While Max was cleaning, shirtless, Mr. Clark had kept stealing glances. Max was looking different these days. Not the muscle thing, Mr. Clark had accepted Max was probably sneaking in workouts. It was more of a stature thing. The way Max carried himself was different; he wasn’t hunched inside of himself; he walked with his chest out. Then there was his face. He’d gone from looking like a teen to fully embracing his status as a young man. Mr. Clark was fine with all that he saw as latent puberty. Any parent would. But what he couldn’t explain was why Max’s beard grew thicker while he was cleaning. It was like it was alive.  

Of course, Mr. Clark questioned him, thinking he’d admit to it being a prank, but Max laughed thinking his dad was the one messing around. Max would wipe down a photo, crouch to clean the tv and every time his beard would be richer and fuller. The changes weren’t confined to his face; they flew down his chest and torso creating a dusting of body hair. Before Max went outside though, Mr. Clark told him he should shave.

Max laughed rubbing his face saying he didn’t realize how bad it had gotten. In truth Mr. Clark asked because he didn’t like not recognizing his son behind that hair. Max trimmed his beard returning it to its former status, then went to cut to grass, leading to now.

When Max turned the lawn mower away from the house, Mr. Clark could see his son’s back muscles rippling in the spring sun. sweat running down as his body sought more room growing.  Then Max would turn back around unperturbed and there would just be more of him. Max stopped wiping his forehead and happened to make eye contact with his dad. Max gave a wave, but his dad scrambled from the window.

His revelation that morning only made dinner much worse. He had sat in the living room all day stunned to move when Zane came home. He had weekend practice for lacrosse and came back smelling like lavender.  Zane threw off his gear and headed for the kitchen. Mr. Clark grabbed his crutches and joined him in the kitchen. “Hey, sport have you noticed anything different about Max?”

“Uh besides being a degenerate and playing that, God awful music? Not really.” Zane reached for an apron wrapping it around his waist. On cue a guitar riff came from upstairs. “So inconsiderate.” He sucked his teeth turning to chop green peppers.

Mr. Clark paused, “Zane, why do you talk like that?”

“What do you mean, father?”

Mr. Clark pointed a finger, “Like that! Calling me “father” Using big words.” He leaned forward. “Did someone call you dumb? Do I need to go down to the school?”  Once in middle school Zane pretended to be smart cause he didn’t like it when people thought he was stupid, but that had been years ago. Zane had really seemed to grow into his own since then.

“No…D—Dad.” Zane struggled with saying. “I just wanted to make a change. Be more responsible. Take care of the house. I always wanted to get grades like Max. I just never thought I could. But lately I’ve applied myself more.” He started chopping away at the vegetables, “I have a structured schedule for time management for games, sports, schoolwork and cooking. Not to mention there’s the garden I should get started on for you.

Mr. Clark should have asked about the garden, but he was currently watching Zane’s biceps triple in size as he continued chopping away. The father had to stop and think. Was this really his son? The boy who liked to go to parties, ruff around, and sweat was now into schedules, cooking and smelling like lavender? Nothing was wrong with those things, but for them to suddenly be his interest was drastic, wasn’t it? Then he watched as Zane ran a hand through his still wet hair, and it fell back stylized. Zane moved on to the next part of his meal preparation and his jaw began to change, growing squarer.

Mr. Clark backed out of the kitchen.

What the fuck was going on?

—

A few days later, Mr. Clark was starting to catch onto something. When he had initially thought of his boys being attentive, during his return, that was when they were acting strangely. Had they been growing since then? Yes, they must have but it wasn’t until recently it became obvious. Now it was officially spring, and Max was cutting the grass, cleaning the inside of the house, while Zane cooked all their meals and started gardening. Max ‘s interest in instruments, and Zane’s love for academics were there as well.  But it wasn’t as if everything about them disappeared completely. Max could be caught with a book in his hand and Zane might be found gaming. It just seemed less likely with all their other interests.

None of that was as concerning as to what was going on with them physically. His boys weren’t just getting bigger. They were growing older. The increased muscle mass, the height, it was all leading to permanent changes. It was easy to drop a hobby, but not physical growth. At first Mr. Clark believed it was superficial. Puberty made people look older, that was a fact. Max’s assertive personality, Zane’s more responsible one, all acceptable too. But then today his sons never got up to go to school. He knocked on their doors. And they looked at him like he was crazy. He honestly felt it, his sons looked way too old to be attending high school.

Mr. Clark contemplated for a long time in the living room over what was happening to his sons. His eyes happened to graze over to the plaque he’d placed when they first moved in here. On a whim he grabbed his cellphone and typed the line in google. A list of results popped up, causing Mr. Clark to sit up straight. Honestly, he only expected to get maybe one or two results, relating to poetry. Most of the links however were disastrous titles that read, Can a plaque be haunted? This is a curse, This destroyed my life, If you see this move out immediately! He clicked on the ``This destroyed my life,” link. It brought up a post to a forum. It read as follows:

UnknowX1994: Male 20 here. I just needed to vent somewhere. Earlier this year my stepmom (35), my little brother (11), and I moved into a little quaint house in Denver, Colorado. It had this little weird plaque on it that in summary said respect the place and there must always be a man of the house. Didn’t think much of it at first. I don’t want to get into what happened with my dad but needless to say, I guess I was the man of the house. Anyway, we lived there for like 2 years, all doing the chores around the place. Though when I went off to college, shit got so weird.  My little brother used to call me all the time to tell me how middle school was going, but one day he just stopped. My mom shared one day that he was also picking up more chores around the house. I remember specifically she said, “he’s becoming quite the little man.”

So, I couldn’t make it back for Thanksgiving (Poor people problems.) But I did make it home for Christmas and I was surprised to find a stranger having moved into my room. My stuff wasn’t anywhere and there was a high schooler sitting on the bed. Now let me tell you this dude was ripped.  I wasn’t dumb enough to pick a fight, but I did have a few choice words, but before I could get them out, he hugged me saying, “Big bro you’re back!” The dude lifted me off the ground. The first thing I did was ask my stepmom what happened because that was not my little brother up there. She didn’t see anything as wrong and simply thought I was upset because of my room. She said my brother simply needed the bigger space. I just stared at her, as if I cared about a room when my brother had been completely replaced.

As I would come to find out though, it wasn’t an invasion of the body snatchers’ type of deal. It really was my brother, but older. My stepmom and him briefly mentioned he was in high school, and my jaw dropped. Eating, talking, and watching tv with him made me realize he was kind of a douche. He was always texting on his phone or hitting up a girl. Way more popular than I was at that age. I didn’t want to ask my mom if he was bringing girls back and having sex, but I suspected it. By the time I returned for spring he was 32 and was my mom’s little brother.

Here’s a link to my brother before and after: [X]. [X]

 

Pokefan87: Um Sauce?

 

UnknowX1994: ???

 

HEROglyphics: it’s a joke he means source.

 

UnknowX1994: source…Myself???

 

HotterThanyou: These pics are fucking photoshopped. Next time try fucking harder.

 

UnknowX1994: They’re not but go off, I guess.

 

NoturMommascooking: The pics to the link don’t work.

 

UnknowX1994: The mods took them down :/.

 

That was the end of the thread. Mr. Clark couldn’t believe how abruptly it ended. No resolution or real discussion about the topic the person brought up. He went back and clicked on another link about urban legends. This time it wasn’t a ramble by a teen with some nonsense replies but a structure post.

Chances are if you live in the northeastern part of the US, you’ve come across these strange plaques denoting “There must always be a man of the house.” From that point on you might notice strange occurrences with younger members in your family. Contrary to popular belief these plaques aren’t cursed, haunted, or whatever you believe is a demon’s doing. They’re warnings—no less aggressive than that, more like notices. It informs new tenants to take care of the house and in turn the house will take care of you. However, should one fail, or be unable to take care of the house, the house will select someone new. It’s not that the house is alive per se, but if a male takes care of it, the house will push that person into their prime. Though there have been cases that multiple people taking care of the house with no central male figure can lead to strange results.

Mr. Clark sat in the living room, rereading the post over and over.

—

“Boys, we have to talk about what’s been happening.” Mr. Clark said to his two sons, who now looked like his younger, hotter roommates than his high school age boys. They hadn’t been acting like boys either, other than their fights. Zane having a stick up his ass and Max playing his music all day and night. Max was dressed in a ripped black tank top, arms on display. His coat was wrapped around his waist, jeans, and steel toe boots. Zane, seated beside him, was dressed like a youth pastor. Neatly combed hair, blue navy sweaty, white dress shirt collar sticking out, and navy slacks. Though he was dressed well there was no doubt he had muscles hiding under his clothes.

“Mr. Clark, I’m actually glad you set up this meeting.” Max and his dad exchanged confused looks. It’s not like Mr. Clark had told his boys about this. He had just come to the decision himself. Zane continued on, crossing his right leg over the left and putting his hands together. “It’s high time we had a house meeting and talked about manners and respect.”

“Respect?” Max cocked his head to the side and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “Here’s a lesson: you need to get some for me.”

“Why would I ever do that? You need to realize that I run this house.”

“You?” Mr. Clark and Max said in unison.

“Are you stupid?” Max retorted, “I’m the one that takes care of this place, the lawn, cleaning the rooms.”

However, Zane wasn’t backing down, “And I’m the one who makes this place look presentable, washing the dishes, cooking food, managing the garden in the back. Which by the way, your skills in the backyard are lacking? I often have to grab a weed whacker to tidy up after you.”

Max stood up from the couch, “Alright you pencil pusher, we can settle this with our first.”

“I am a CPA, which will actually bring in money compared to whatever you do, being a rockstar. Also fighting? Is that all you can think of to settle something.” Zane wasn’t backing down.

Mr. Clark did not enjoy his tension. It was like his boys fighting but this was more serious. They both wanted to be seen that stupid man of the house. The men in front of him kept spitting words, getting angry at each other. Mr. Clark didn’t know who threw the first punch but soon his former sons were rolling on the ground. They crashed into the coffee table, knocking things off as they ran onto the floor. Neither could seem to stay on top for long, equally matched. Mr. Clark used his one crutch, went into the kitchen, retrieved a cup of water, returned to the fight and threw it on his sons. The two stopped fighting looking at his shock. Max and Zane pulled themselves apart.

“Look at you two, fighting, for what?! To run this house. You know who runs this house? I do! Look around at what you did.” He spread his free arm out wide at the trinkets knocked over and broken material on the floor. “Men, REAL MEN, don’t fight like children.”

Zane fixed his hair back into place, “That’s what I was trying to say earlier.”

Mr. Clark shook his head, “No, Zack. You weren’t. Pretending to want to have a conversation where you’ve already decided the outcome is just as childish. Also do you think I’m stupid, stating it in a way that would intentionally get your brother upset so that you could appear morally superior and rational. That’s not you.”  He turned to Matt. “As for you, we get it son, you’re strong and blessed with a great body, but you always hated it when Zack lorded his strength over you. What you’re doing now is no different than then. Do you think I told Zack off all those times for the hell of it?” A tear rolled down Mr. Clark’s eyes. “This isn’t you boys.” Then his head went up. “I can’t change you back, but I can salvage us.”

The two men were at a loss for what Mr. Clark was rambling on about.

“Pack your bags. We’re moving!”

The two boys–men really– sat in silence, staring at their dad. At first, their faces were shocked, but that slowly morphed into looks of sympathy.

“Dad, are you feeling, okay?” Matt asked. 

“I’m fine.” Mr. Clark’s eyebrows scrunched. He had no idea where that question had come from. He was the only one who should have been feeling normal. “Why do I not look fine?”

“No, father, it’s just that. We don’t have that kind of money. With your hospital bills and mother gallivanting across the globe. Then there’s the matter of us not knowing how the divorce will play out.”

Mr. Clark found his confidence gone. A pin had been pricked into his overinflated confidence. In his concerns to save his sons, he hadn’t even considered whether or not he had the funds to do it. While there was no price, he wouldn’t pay to secure his sons’ safety, there was the actual reality of needing funds.

“Wow, man, why not just punch him in the nuts.” Matt said as he reached over and slapped Zack upside the back of his head.

“You Heathen!” Zack said.

“Me? You just went for the jugular and didn’t hold anything back. “Matt shot out.

“Well, I wasn’t going to sugarcoat it. Men need to know the hard truth. Fathe– Dad can take it.” Zack stammered, still struggling with his addressing his father.

“Boys, Please don’t fight. Not tonight I can’t. I need to process this.”

Mr. Clark’s sons wanted to go on for a few more rounds but hushed up when he asked. With a giant sigh Mr. Clark walked over to the couch and sat himself in between his sons. Matt and Zack sent each other angry glares at each other. Mr. Clark stretched his arms out along the spine of the couch, then slowly moved his hands to his sons’ shoulders, messaging them and easing the tension.

—

Zack’s shower had been over for a good ten minutes. But Matt’s insistent knocking on the door wasn’t going to make him hurry up any faster. To be well groomed and take care of himself took time and effort. Combing his hair to perfection was no trivial feat. Unfortunately, his father and the caveman outside the bathroom door, just didn’t understand that. Today it was taking longer than usual, because for the first time Zack spotted a gray hair. He saw it when he stepped out of the shower, but then he applied the gel and tried to ignore it. The sides of his head went gray where his fingers went through.

Zachary groaned. A man like him was naturally akin to a certain vitality that took the form of facial hair. However, Zachary was a much more refined and classy man than that, so it was worth it. He was always dressed to impress; never would he let a beard hint towards being unkempt. Zachary shuddered at the thought he’d look anything like his older brother. By the time his attention was back in the mirror, Zachary saw he was sporting a beard again. “What the?!” Zachary leaned forward into the mirror, inspecting himself. Never once wondering how strange it was how tall he stood in the bathroom or how he had to lean over the sink. No, he was much more concerned with his next shave. There was something about grooming himself that was liberating. He felt more adult when he was properly taking care of himself. The bulge under his towel was a proper indication, for just how much Zachary enjoyed it. The lump under the towel twitched, as Zachary shaved his facial hair away. There was explosive growth as his pubic hair began to peek over his towel. It bled onto his torso trailing upwards to his chest. Zachary was still occupied with his face to care. His balls grew larger, expanding and hanging down lower than before. The bulge expanded as Zachary’s shaft tripled in thickness. The more Zachary shaved away, the larger his cock got until it became an erection. His cock sprang up between the opening in the towel.  “Hello there.” Zachary said, smirking to himself as he reached down to stroke himself. 

“Wait, the hell?!” Zachary caught something in his peripheral vision, and it wasn’t his gray streaks. There was a wrinkle. A wrinkle on his unblemished perfect skin. Zachary pulled at his face, lines etched themselves onto his skin: permanent frown lines. It was a disturbing occurrence for sure, but the more Zachary looked the better he felt. The gray hair, the wrinkles, it all alluded to aging. Though none of it was a bad thing. After all age was the symbol of a man, One who was mature and wise in his years. Well maybe not *every* man but it was certainly true about Zachary. he remembered the years playing football on the field, being the talk of the town and how he had eventually taught his two boys to— 

There was a soft knock at the door.

Zachary threw the door open. He thought Matt had finally gotten the memo to wait, but now realized patience needed to be taught. “Can you not get it through your thick skull…”  Zachary stopped speaking as he realized his father was the only one standing out there. 

“You were in the restroom for a long time. So, I wanted to check.”  Mr. Clark stood awkwardly clutching onto his one crutch he now used to maneuver throughout the home. “You’re older.” Mr. Clark stuck out a hand and cupped the side of Zachary’s face. Zachary had become even more attractive as he approached middle age, he went from looking like a youth pastor to a businessman. The fact that Mr. Clark had to reach up to touch the 6ft 7 behemoth was shocking alone. Mr. Clark pushed his hands back into Zachary’s hair. Zachary grumbled it was not an action he appreciated after how much care went into his hair, but he made no moves to stop his father either. Zachary closed his eyes, relishing his father’s touch. It felt like years since he’d been touched so tenderly. 

Mr. Clark was utterly floored at how his football star of a son had been transformed into a tower of a man. Bad enough they were looking closer in age, rather Zachary was looking slightly older. Mr. Clark’s right hand moved on its own as he was entranced by how breathtaking Zachary’s body had shifted. Mr. Clark’s hand went from Zachary’s head down to his newly grown chest hair. Like paint trapped on his fingertips gray began to overtake the chest hairs. Unfortunately, the father didn’t begin to notice until his hand had traveled down Zachary’s abs closer to his navel. He snatched his hand away. “I’m so sorry.”

“Ah don’t, worry about it, kid.” Zachary brushed by Mr. Clark, trying to hide his reddened face. He retreated back into his room, closing the door. 

“Kid?” Mr. Clark said to himself in the hallway.

—

Matt pulled his new black Ford pickup truck into the driveway. He had his guitar in the trunk. He drummed along the side of his car with the window down and hummed along. His car pulled into the garage. Last week his father seemed shocked as to where the garage came from. Matt, however, was more concerned about when an old soul like Zachary decided it was cool to start dying his hair. Matt was the bad boy here and there was no way he’d dye his hair a stupid silver color. Old fart was more like it. Though Matt and his brother didn’t always get along, Zachary used to be fun. Now he seemed to have a perpetual stick up his ass, like an air of smug superiority was stuck to him. Matt was now attending parties and concerts with his band, While he’d come home and find Zachary listening to NPR or some stupid shit like that.

Hopping out of his truck Matt chuckled to himself. He didn’t understand why he had ever preferred to stay home and read books to partying. Reading books was fine for a boring Sunday, but fantasy worlds just couldn’t compare to living in the real one. Smoking, drinking, and fucking. It felt good to truly live. He retrieved his guitar from the back as his beard thickened once it was in his hand. Being a rockstar, living on the edge made him feel like a man nothing could compare. He checked himself out in the side view mirror. Matt’s jaw shifted, taking on a strong lantern shape. Reaching up to touch his face Matt thought he had popped his jaw or something but realized it was just a trick of the light.

In a single motion, Matt threw his guitar around his back. The strap landed firmly between his chests. The two pecs swelled, swallowing up the strap between their deep valleys. Matt made his way to the door that connected the garage to the house. While walking his biceps thickened, which repeated down in his thighs. Matt slammed into the doorway, too wide to make it through. He had to turn to the side to squeeze in, not noticing the doorway reframing itself to allow him through. 

The scene he came into in the kitchen was quite underwhelming. His dad and Mr. Clark were eating breakfast. Matt stopped walking. Mr. Clark was his dad, What was he thinking? Anyway, his dad and Zachary were sitting at the table though Zachary was reading from a newspaper. Matt walked right past them, snatching the paper out of Zachary’s hands. He was planning to tease Zane about it, but then he saw the walrus mustache that had taken over Zachary’s upper lip. Matt sputtered before releasing a deep laugh. “What’s going on there?” 

Zachary snatched the paper back and muttered something about being unable to fully shave the darn thing off. 

“Why don’t you join us? We missed you last night.” Mr. Clark asked.

Matt sucked his teeth, hanging with these two was not in the plans, but he found it hard to refuse Mr. Clark. With one foot he pulled out a chair and sat down taking off his guitar. The seat disappeared under the weight of his body and frame. One might have thought he was simply floating in the air.

“Seems you didn’t pick up any manners while you were out last night.” Zachari remarked while going back to his paper.

“Why would I need manners, when I have my two best friends,” he flexed his biceps, “Absolute and Power.” Matt planted a kiss on each. “Don’t cha agree bro!” Matt said proudly, but he wasn’t talking to Zachary; his attention was directed toward Mr. Clark. It took Mr. Clark a moment to notice Matt was talking to him and pointed at himself.

“Who else would I be taking to?”

Zachari slammed a hand on the table, “Don’t address your father as ‘bro’. It’s disrespectful.”

Matt chuckled, a true nervous laugh, “I didn’t mean it as like…”  He paused. What did he mean it as? He couldn’t believe that Zachari had actually flustered him. If Mr. Clark wasn’t here, he’d pound Zachari’s face in, A mental note for later. “Whatever *Dad*” Matt retorted, voice dripping in annoyance.

—

Mr. Clark had a problem. Several in fact, but one major compared to the rest. A few days ago, Matt had made a sarcastic comment referring to Zachari as ‘dad’. However, Mr. Clark was now conflating the image of his own father with Zachari. Whenever he tried to picture his father, Zachari’s large frame would pop into his head, shoving the image of Mr. Clark’s actual father to the side. Mr. Clark felt like he was starting to forget what his dad looked like. He couldn’t bring either of his parents to mind, only Zachari and his obsessive grooming habits, love of football, and strict nature came to mind. As if Mr. Clark’s entire childhood was being rewritten with his own son in the reins. Which sounded ridiculous but Mr. Clark could recall memories so vividly of his dad, Zachari, taking him to the gym, teaching him how to shave and dress etc. The memories just insisted upon themselves.

The reason it was a major problem was because it spawned another. Mr. Clark had noticed his clothes becoming a little tight but didn’t think much of it. Then yesterday his clothes simply refused to go on his body. When he stood in front of the mirror it was plain to see his muscles would never allow such small clothing to work. Which made sense he’d been working out with his dad, Zachari, since he was a teen, so he always needed to buy bigger sizes. But he knew for a fact these clothes had just fit recently. Instead, Mr. Clark had to opt to walk around the house with an unbuttoned dress shirt and unfastened slacks. His chest wouldn’t let the shirt button and the size of his ass and thighs wouldn’t let him close his pants either.

If that wasn’t bad enough, he was re-wearing the same outfit today. Though now he was more concerned about his face. When he woke up, he realized there were way fewer age lines on his face than there should have been. He couldn’t even spot a single gray hair, whereas Zachari was looking more like a silver fox these days. Mr. Clark not only looked but felt like he had been thrown back a good 10 years. It was only now he was realizing he hadn’t realized when his crutch and cast disappeared. His foot was healing then POOF gone. As if he hadn’t fallen off the ladder at all. His cast wasn’t the only thing missing, he hadn’t found his former wedding ring either.  Maybe he’d be more concerned about it if he wasn’t stopping every minute to stare at himself on a reflective surface.  The years kept peeling away from his face. He was a young man again. Perhaps 32 wasn’t the youngest, but Mr. Clark could feel himself reinvigorated.  He was sitting in the living room studying himself when Matt walked in from mowing the lawn shirtless again. There was one good thing Matt had stopped aging entirely, capping out at 27. Yet with his strong visage he could easily pass for older. Mr. Clark turned to get a good look at Matt seeing he only had his necklace on, though his name was morphed. The last two t’s appeared melted under the sun. 

“Hey little bro.” Mr. Clark said. “Is it that hot?” He pointed to the necklace

Matt paused, “Did you just call me bro?” He gave Mr. Clark a confused look, like his mind was trying to compute a riddle.

“Yeah, why?”

Matt smiled, “No reason. I guess I just thought you’d act more like that pompous ass we call a dad.”

“Don’t talk about him that way.” Mr. Clark smiled. “You two are both pains in my ass. You are both in *My house*” He playfully launched a pillow at Matt, which his younger brother dodged. “Anyway, what’s up with your necklace?”

Matt picked the pillow up, then flipped his necklace up to himself. “Nothing’s wrong with it. It says Max like always.” Then he tossed the pillow back. “Need your eyes checked?” 

“Max?”

“Yeah, that’s my name Duncan. Don’t wear it out.” Max said going up the stairs to his room.

Mr. Clark’s mouth fell open by Max’s casual use of his first name. That shouldn’t have surprised him, they were brother’s no doubt, but why did it feel so off to Duncan?

—

Duncan woke up to yelling. He buried his head in his pillow trying to drown the noise out. It was like being a teenager again. Eventually his annoyance with the arguing got to him. He stormed out of his room and came downstairs. His Father had taken up an armchair. Old man Zacariah, dressed in his best clothing. Although the silver fox didn’t see it that way. As long as his white dress shirt’s top buttons were undone and his sleeves were rolled, he considered himself dressed down. It didn’t matter how styled his hair was, or that he was wearing freshly pressed dress pants and polished black dress shoes. Max, on the other hand, had monopolized the couch. He was wearing a sleeveless denim jacket with a black undershirt that only served to accentuate his arms. Going for comfort he had a pair of dark blue jeans, that were on the verge of bursting from the size of his thighs and legs.  Duncan already knew the source of contention was the Tv remote in his father’s left hand.

Now Duncan’s old man, Zachariah, was not one to be trifled with. In his mind there were always rules and structure. He was unwavering in his beliefs about self-upkeep and only dressing in refined garments. Duncan could recall all the Sunday schools he had to attend. Growing up Zachariah had kept all his boys on a studious and righteous path. Up to a point. When Max hit his teenage years many of Zachariah’s plans for his boys came crashing down. While Max took to working out, he didn’t share his father’s love of dress quite the same. Max much preferred to wear whatever he wanted and go out whenever. All that to say; he was a rebellious punk.  And when he started to get stronger than Zachariah? It was game over. 

Duncan, on the other hand, wasn’t exactly in either of the men’s camps. He’d picked up some nice style tips from his dad, and his younger brother certainly had flair. But for Duncan being a man was so much more than how one dressed and acted. And he never truly felt like that till he got out from under his father and younger brother’s shadow. When he brought his first place it truly felt like an adult. And now with his recent purchase of a house has solidified that. It was just coincidence that His father’s place was getting renovated and Max needed a place to stay while on break from tour.

“Guy, guys, quiet down this is a calm place” Duncan walked onto the carpet. Getting between the two competing masculine energies was annoying but Duncan wasn’t going to let it continue.

“Your brother here has forgotten who’s in charge.” Zachariah scoffed.

“Maybe you forgot, I can bench press you now dad. Oh wait, I’m sorry, *father. *” Max shot back. He flexed his arms showing he was not playing around.

“You’re not big enough that I can’t put you across my knee for the first time in your life!” Zacariah puffed out his chest.

Duncan rubbed his head. “Alright! We get it, you’re both big and bad. BUT LISTEN there’s only one person in charge around here and that’s me! You two can either shape up or find a hotel to sleep at!” 

Zacariah grumbled, “As old as I am. I’ve been cooking, washing the dishes, and taking care of your garden in the back. You can’t just throw me out. I’m the oldest and I demand you and your brother fall back in line.”

“Eff that old man,” Max snorted.  “I’m the one that’s been mowing the lawn and cleaning this house up. Bet you can’t find a spec of dirt anywhere.  You guys should just bow down and praise me. Not like you can force me to do anything.” He flexed his muscles to put an emphasis on that last statement.

“You guys are real funny,” Duncan said sarcastically. “As if staying someplace rent free you wouldn’t be expected to help out in some capacity.” He walked over to his dad and snatched the remote out of his grasp. Walking over to the couch, he moved Max’s feet off causing his little brother to sit up. Ducan plopped his ass on the couch “You may think we’re the 3 kings but there’s only one person here who rules.” He smiled, changing the channel.