Best typos ever. 
(WC: 378)
Claudius frowned. So Attila had only just found out about Noir’s death; that was why he was acting so strangely. Claudius wasn’t used to this contemplative silence, these long and drawn out hesitations or the quiet pauses from his brother. He expected bravery and braggadocio, not… this. Of course, Attila’s wry smile – which Claudius hoped was approval – at his insistence in remaining in AniWaya made the pale boy feel much better. No, the pale man; he was a few moons away from three years and he needed to start acting like it.
When Attila spoke again, it was calm and neutral. Claudius couldn’t remember if they’d ever had a real conversation like this before: it had always been sneers and cajoling cackles, the likes of which he still recalled quite clearly. Still agitated, Claudius uncrossed his arms and began twisting his fingers and intertwining them between one another. Once he had every two fingers twisted together, he twisted them the other way. He continued this repetitive action all the while Attila spoke, hoping that it would somehow calm him. He didn’t shake anymore, but he still felt that need to move and do something when he felt so helpless.
Claudius frowned when Attila mentioned Noir’s ‘thing.’ It wasn’t a thing; it was murder.
“It—” he began, but stopped abruptly when Attila continued speaking. He thought Claudius hadn’t gotten his hands dirty. But he had. He stopped twisting his fingers and let his hands hover in the air for a moment. He could feel the rope again. He scratched at his wrists as he replied: “I already… ha-a-a-ave.” He flattened his ears and then looked away. He wasn’t proud of it, but he had tried to help. He had only ended up hurting himself.
When Attila spoke again, Claudius felt his mouth fall open and remain there, suspended, in an ‘o.’
“Oh,” he replied, mimicking the shape his mouth had made. He hadn’t realized he had ever meant anything to his brother. He looked away. He couldn’t stand looking into his brother’s eyes; he was too earnest. “I—I… I guess. Yeah.” He frowned. “But I-I…” he began. Could he say it? “I’m not just… le-e-efto-o-overs. I… you can’t… just… prote-e-e-ct me cuz you-ou’ve go-ot no… one… e-else…”