Mark hates the first day of school. It's got nothing to do with the fact that his holiday is over and he now has to spend all of his time studying once more – though, of course, that is part of it. What he really hates is that inevitable moment when his parents herd them through the brick wall and onto the platform, and then spend hours fussing over him and his brother.

Yixing, without fail, tries to come up with every excuse he can to ignore them. If he hadn't failed his apparition test, he'd make his own way to the station, but he did – so he's stuck with them. Mark would take some pleasure in his failure, if it didn't mean he was also stuck with his elder brother's sulky face for the entire journey.

He's currently plugged into his muggle iPod, the only thing he's ever managed to successfully modify with magic. Mark thinks that says a lot about his brother's values in life, but then seeing as they seem to mostly consist of music and , it's hardly like he was ever going to be a good role model.

“Yixing, honey, why don't you unplug yourself and talk to us?” Their mother pleads, leaning over and placing a hand on her eldest child's arm. Yixing doesn't even bother to tear his gaze away from the window, his posture mirroring that of their father's – only with much less enthusiasm.

Their dad has always been a little too excited by trains.

Mark rolls his eyes. “He's not going to talk, mum. That would be too much effort.” He throws the words out nonchalantly, but he knows Yixing can hear the venom behind them. It's not like he's trying to be nice. He gave up on that one years ago.

For just a second, Yixing deigns to drag his eyes away from the window. His gaze rests upon Mark for no more than a moment, but there's a look of such loathing in his eyes that Mark is forced to look away.

“. Off.” He says succinctly, already looking out of the window once more. Their mother opens to reproach him, a well worn speech about how expletives don't make you either funny or clever, but neither of them are listening to her. It's subtle, but you can see the rigid tension in the lines of Yixing's body, and Mark – unable to help himself – takes a dark, deep pleasure in making his brother uncomfortable.

She sighs, wrinkles forming on her forehead. “Why can't you boys just be nice to one another, eh?” She shakes her head, as if despairing of them – but the truth is, she has no idea just how much they resent each other. If she knew, she'd be heartbroken, but really, much of blame rests on her shoulders. She pushed the wedge between them, and let the rest of the family drive it down even further. “You two used to be such good friends.”

Yixing gives the tiniest snort of derision; Mark can see his lip curling in the mirrored reflection of the mirror. He swivels around in his seat, tugging one earbud out of his ear. His gaze rests on Mark for one second, before he stares at their mother instead. “Yeah. Used to be. I think that's the operative word here.”

If their mother is taken aback by the vehemence in his tone, she doesn't show it. She merely shuts , hands fluttering around uselessly. “Really, Yixing, I don't know what's gotten into you. You used to be such a sweet boy – ”

The words fall on deaf ears. Yixing's already stuck the earphone back in. Their father sighs, disappointed – but too used to Yixing's stony attitude to be surprised. “Leave them to it, sweetheart,” he says gently. “They're teenagers. It's normal. They'll sort it out when they're older, and more mature.”

Mark resists the urge to laugh. He's not sure his brother is ever going to resemble something even slightly mature. His father's words stop the argument, however, and the tension dies down. It does not recede, however; there's always tension in their family.

He's never been entirely sure why. He's aware that some of it is brotherly rivalry, but it's more than that. His parents – though ostensibly very happy with one another – have always have always been...odd around one another, as if their happiness is just another façade.

It's yet another reason he looks forward to coming back to school so much. At school, it's easy enough to ignore the rest of his family and pretend that nothing much is happening. It's childish, perhaps, but no child wants to know that their parents aren't getting on.

He's never been a fan of confrontation.

***

They reach King's Cross station with time to spare – his parents are unfailingly early, if nothing else – and, as usual, they start muttering about how different it was in their day.

“I don't know why they faff about with all this glass ceiling nonsense,” his mother tuts disapprovingly, “it looks awful.” She casts a disparaging eye of the station. “And imagine having to pay to use the toilet! What are you supposed to do if you've no muggle money?”

His father cringes. “Darling, we shouldn't draw attention to ourselves – ”

“I'm not drawing attention,” his mother says indignantly, though she is immediately proved wrong when a curious group of tourists look over at them. Mark can't be sure, but he thinks he sees the corner of Yixing's mouth turn up in amusement.

“Let's just get to the platform, yeah?” He interrupts, not wanting another passive-aggressive fight to delay them any longer. They're early, true, but he'd rather find a compartment on the train and wait for it to set off than stick around with his family for any longer.

I think my irrational hatred of King's Cross is obvious. It's too big and confusing and horrible to navigate when in a rush/wearing heels/carrying massive bags.