The silence stretched, only interrupted by the buzzing noise of the neon light and the sound of a vibrating phone.
Gabriel lowered his eyes to Pierrot's front pant pocket, on the right side. Here lay the culprit.
His phone had been ringing nonstop for a while, yet the man never glanced at it. No, he's been ignoring it in favor of staring at Gabriel, scrutinizing his face with an unfathomable light dancing in the depths of his eyes. That annoying smile was still lingering on his lips, too, taunting him.
Pierrot could have turned his phone off, but didn't. It was as if he wanted him to hear it.
Gabriel didn't point it out yet.
Even if by now, he was painfully aware the man wouldn't answer his question. Santa's end goal was still a mystery and would remain one as long as Pierrot kept quiet about it, not allowing Gabriel to gather any clue whatsoever. He neither lied nor spoke the truth; he simply said nothing.
It didn't exactly surprise Gabriel, but it nevertheless felt jarring.
In the end, if Tristan couldn't gather anything, even though he shared the man's memories and thoughts through his dreams, it'd be strange if Pierrot allowed himself to have a slip of the tongue in front of him, a man who had neither access to his memories nor thoughts. On the other hand, if Pierrot ever did have a slip of the tongue, Gabriel wasn't sure that could even be called a slip of the tongue, for it'd most likely have been done on purpose.
Therefore, the silence continued to stretch, and the phone continued to ring.
Eventually, Gabriel broke the standstill, saying, "...Shouldn't you answer that?"
"No, it's nothing important."
Whatever Pierrot said, the person on the other side of the phone didn't seem to share his opinion, and the ringtone echoed once more. Gabriel had an inkling of who it might be. Well, it was pretty glaring, considering the situation.
"My little brother can be quite stubborn," Gabriel deadpanned. "He's going to keep calling until you answer."
"Don't worry, I know," Pierrot nodded in acknowledgement.
Gabriel felt the corner of his eye twitch. It was a simple, short sentence, yet it reminded him of how much this guy knew about his little brother; he probably knew him better than anyone else, and that was an irritating thought. He quickly pushed it aside, however. Gabriel refused to allow the man to get a glimpse at his inner thoughts, whatever they might be.
"Turn it off, then."
To this, Pierrot's smile deepened.
"Why?"
Alright, the jerk was taking pleasure in leaving his phone open, luring Tristan into thinking that he'd answer sooner or later.
"You have a nasty personality."
"I've never said the contrary."
Pierrot readily agreed, not the least bit offended. Talking to him was like talking to a wall. Nothing seemed to affect the man, much less swing his mood one way or another. Every blow was cushioned by a knowing smile.
"But if you insist…" Pierrot shrugged a moment later, pulling out the vibrating phone. He waved it under his nose, his voice growing taunting, "I might just decide to answer."
"Please, I insist," Gabriel replied in a heartbeat, his voice devoid of emotion.
"How uncute."
With that said, Pierrot flipped the phone open and did as promised, answering Tristan's call, putting him on speaker. A second later, his angry, boyish voice resounded throughout the room.
"What the hell took you so long to answer the phone?! My brother better be alright, you—!"
"Don't worry. He's well and peachy. Aren't you?"
"...I guess I am."
There was a second of silence. That was Gabriel's voice, meaning his brother was also on the other side of the phone. However, Tristan wasn't the one to answer next.
"GABRIEL!"
The roaring scream came fast enough, and Gabriel's cold face cracked. It earned him a smirk from Pierrot.
Of course, hiding today's event from Misha was impossible, especially since he wanted to get Camille, her uncle, and the little group of thugs they were part of in jail. If he could link his parents to them in passing, even better. But still, he had hoped Misha would learn about it once he was out of troubled water, not while he was still knee-deep in it.
Did Jake have a mishap…?
"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU??!!! YOU BETTER COME HOME IN ONE PIECE OR I SWEAR I—!"
"Misha, calm down." Gabriel cut him off in the soothest voice he could muster. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."
"FINE?! Fine! Yeah, sure! In case you've forgotten, your goddamn captor plucked out Jake's eyeball, you dumb—"
A muffled cry of protest resounded as Jake seemed to take possession of the phone. His voice was even, albeit maybe a little colder than usual.
"Can we have your location? It'd make things easier on our side."
Gabriel lifted his eyes to Pierrot. He seemed to be thinking about something. It was impossible to tell what, however.
"And why should I give it to you? I went out of my way to warn you about Camille's little plan, and yet, your brother still chose to jump headfirst into the danger. I don't feel very compliant right now."
Silence was his answer.
"You've got nothing to say in your defense? Right, I guess you wouldn't. I've told you that I have no time to waste on this matter. But here we are. I'm stuck with your brother instead of going about my other obligations. It is annoying."
'You don't appear annoyed one bit, though,' Gabriel thought, scrutinizing Pierrot's calm, almost robot-like expression.
"I didn't think he'd—"
"Shh, I don't want to hear your excuse. You've got three days. Go see the police and let them take care of the matter. Unless they're incompetent, it shouldn't be too difficult to track Camille's current and past whereabouts. Let's say they aren't the most discreet bunch out there. That's the only advice I'll give you."
And then, he turned off the phone.
"Sorry for the delay. What were we talking about again?"
It was an aggravating tone of voice; confident, taunting, and knowing. Pierrot hadn't forgotten, and most of all, it had been dead silent before he answered the phone. Still, Gabriel took the olive branch and replied, "Santa Claus and his end goal."
Again, no answer. Pierrot tilted his head, his piercing eyes examining Gabriel for the nth time. And just as he was about to come to terms with the idea of getting no answer tonight, Pierrot spoke.
"Is knowing it really that important to you? Because I can at least tell you that you don't need to know to live a good life this time around."
Gabriel's eyes widened slightly. There was one word that struck him more than the rest: can. One simple word that held multiple implications. It could mean that Pierrot didn't have the right to talk about it, or it could mean that knowing would impact things too much on his side. There could be a reason behind his silence other than messing with him.
"This time around? Two of my lifetimes have already been messed up beyond repair. I can't trust a single word that's coming out of your mouth."
"Then, don't."
The smile was still there, the unfathomable emotions twirling in his eyes, too.
After meeting him in person, Gabriel could tell that Pierrot couldn't be shaken, and no word of his could be trusted. Because even if they weren't lies per se, they certainly weren't the truth, either. Everything had to be taken with a grain of salt.
So, what was the point of asking? What was the point in engaging in a conversation with him?
There was none.
All Gabriel had was a vain hope that maybe he could extirpate something useful from Pierrot. He didn't like the sword of Damocles hanging over their heads that was Santa Claus. It was a variable that had been perturbing him for a long time, and one he'd love to get rid of as soon as possible.
Misha didn't know much; he also didn't, for they hadn't thought Santa Claus was such a deceptive man.
They hadn't thought there was such a big lie in play. Or more than a lie, an omission. He never told them the timeline would create its own branch and continue without them, but he also never said it wouldn't.
Gabriel had many questions, but Pierrot had no answer to offer. He could only ask Santa Claus himself.
But meeting Santa Claus wasn't as easy as meeting Pierrot, who seemed to love meddling with their lives. Gabriel also didn't feel like waiting. Their next encounter was scheduled far into the future. They had to meet him again to return the watch of the first timeline in seven years, on Christmas, when Misha fatefully fell into Santa's crutches, intermingling himself into a scheme he couldn't fathom.
Until then, all Gabriel could do was hope no more surprise awaited them. No more tragedy, and no more twist.