Chapter Text
“Mate, please, anything at all, let us know, alright?” The older blond leaves them at the school entrance. He nods belatedly at the instruction, able to read the deep concern and exhaustion reflected in his eyes. “Take care.”
His younger brother and his cousin are there too. Both of them are far more careful now than they have ever been when addressing him. He notices. It has only been a few days, but it’s painfully obvious. It’s like they’re walking on eggshells. They don’t speak to him directly, they soften their tone, and they’re even careful when mentioning him. He doesn’t blame them.
Even if he wishes they wouldn’t.
That they wouldn’t treat him so carefully.
He doesn’t deserve it.
The two shorter ones nod at the adult’s instructions, and it’s the last he sees of the three of them. He waits. Until they leave. He silently thanks whatever allowed him to return to school. The therapist said it was better to stay in safe places, but—
He couldn’t stand the silence.
Not at all.
It’s been three days since it happened. The swelling on his cheekbone has gone down. He was taken to a doctor to check for any head injuries and, fuck, thank God there weren’t any.
He looks at his class schedule on his phone, which he only just managed to turn on this morning. He doesn’t have friends, so there are no messages or missed calls from the week he was absent. The only friend he might have had walked away, and rightfully so.
«Mathematics.» He reads. His head still isn’t processing things properly. Or memories.
It’s nothing physiological or pathological, they assured him. It’s a trauma response.
According to them.
He doesn’t listen.
He can’t.
He hasn’t seen his twin in two days.
He wouldn’t know how to define that.
His steps lead him to his classroom. He can feel the looks and whispers around him. He has to remind himself that absolutely no one knows what happened that night. They aren’t talking about that.
Maybe about his absence.
Maybe about his twin’s absence.
His short nails dig into his palms. He can’t stand the looks. He doesn’t even have the strength to defend himself. He shouldn’t have to endure this. He doesn’t want to. He just wants them to ignore him. To not know him.
His nails press deeper. It won’t hurt him, but it anchors him. To the ground. To his steps. They feel unsteady. He prefers to believe it’s just how he perceives them.
He reaches the classroom.
He practically clings to his desk.
The class is simple. And boring.
He’s grateful for it.
Solving problems isn’t much of a distraction since it takes him little time, but it helps. He checks them over a few more times before handing the assignment to the teacher. He can still feel eyes on him. He flinches at the slightest contact from another person.
He’s never liked physical contact.
But this goes beyond what he considers normal.
He can’t stand it.
He feels like he might throw up right there.
He doesn’t. By some miracle.
And he survives the first hour.
The same happens during the next two. He gets confused at first. He can’t remember the hallways properly and has to retrace his steps to find his way again.
He makes it to lunch.
He almost considers walking toward the reading area. But brown eyes stop him cold.
He can’t stop thinking about his brother. About what he said. About the only thing he managed to catch before he begged for forgiveness.
His head is cotton. And at the same time, submerged underwater. «I have nowhere to go, tell them—»
He tried.
To tell them.
He ends up walking behind one of the buildings. He isn’t hungry. He didn’t buy anything from the cafeteria. He’ll just wait for the half hour to pass in silence.
That was his plan.
Until those same brown eyes appear suddenly and grab his arm.
Hands. Hands. Grabbing his hair. Dragging. Pulling. Slamming, slamming, slamming—His head.
Concrete.
Two hands grip his head tightly. Lift him by his hair. And slam him as hard as possible against the pavement beneath him.
It hurts.
His face. His cheekbone.
His brown eyes, burning with fury.
Am I going to die at my brother’s hands?
“Let him go, idiot!”
Crack.
His body slams against the brick wall. He recoils at the shout, thinking instantly: «Not again. Please. Not again.» He covers his head with his hands. Terrified.
His brother was the one who hit him.
Wasn’t he?
Even if he won’t admit it out loud. Even if he doesn’t want to remember. He can still feel his hands dragging his hair. Slamming. Slamming.
I don’t want to die.
He thinks, desperately.
He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to.
There are shouts in the background. He can hear them. A ringing dominates his hearing. But the shadows moving around him are visible.
He’s sitting on the ground. Hugging his knees. Hiding his face.
He wouldn’t hurt him. He already did.
He promised to protect him. From everyone.
He’s his brother.
And it hurts.
“Can you hear me? Please.” a voice. Not his guardian. Not his family. Hands enter his vision and he thinks they’ll touch him, and he curls in on himself even more. “I won’t touch you. I swear. Please. Look at me.”
The words calm him. A little. He stops retreating, as if that were physically possible, and tries to lift his gaze.
Green eyes are the first thing he sees. Uncomfortably close, maybe. But the hands remain at a respectful distance. Always visible (His brain realizes, belatedly, that knowing where his hands are makes him calmer).
Messy blond hair. Freckles across his cheekbones. A white mask covering half his face.
Oh.
“Techno, I need you to tell me what the hell just happened.” The bell rings. He can see the blond roll his eyes at the sound, probably. And all he can think is, yeah, right, what the hell just happened? That’s what he’s asking himself. “It’s… it’s okay, alright? I know- I know you didn’t want me to talk to you. I’m sorry.”
“I… I don’t know what happened.” He can’t stop shaking. He feels like his brother is nearby. Is it paranoia? Did he finally break? His body doesn’t feel like his, but he can still control it. “What did you see?”
If he looks at him like he’s crazy, he’d understand. It wouldn’t be the first time. Not even close. They’ve looked at him like that in court too. It shouldn’t surprise him. It shouldn’t hurt (that’s a lie, it would hurt anyway if he looked at him like that).
So he forces himself to face him. Because he needs to know who he’s dealing with. And what he should say.
He doesn’t find judgment in his eyes.
Patience. Concern, if he’s reading it right.
The blond takes a moment before, against all odds, lowering himself to the ground too. Sitting right in front of him.
“I saw you coming this way. I wanted to try talking to you. Before I saw someone grab you and… well, I thought you were going to hit him.” He says it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And he.. fuck, he knew he had the strength. But he could never raise a hand against his brothers. (Especially not after yesterday.) He nods slightly, for him to continue. “You didn’t. You looked… fuck, uh… scared? I didn’t… I didn’t think. If I’m being honest. I just stepped in. Then I realized it was Wilbur.”
His name.
His face is wet. His body fails him again, worse. He trembles like he’s freezing. The blond’s gaze stays on him.
No judgment.
“And you weren’t even looking at him. And he pushed you. And I reacted worse.”
Well.
He should tell him.
Tell Phil that his missing twin brother showed up again when he was alone.
He should start worrying.
He doesn’t have the strength to.
“Are you… are you okay?” It sounds stupid. Very. Stupid. He doesn’t even have the strength to answer. He just hides his face against his knees, before feeling something new settle over him.
A jacket.
Neon green. Stupidly bright.
“Please, wear it. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I know you made it clear you don’t want to be my friend, haha.”
The jacket is… warm.
Surprisingly warm.
It’s a little too big. He’s lost weight these past weeks.
Even so, he almost curls into it.
“I’ll be fine.” he says instead. Because he’s survived worse. He’s survived what could be called hell, at best. “Thank you.”
The blond seems to process that. Then gives him a small smile.
“I can’t… I don’t think I can tell you everything. But… I hope you know my brother is… one of the most important people in my life. You know that. And that’s why we fought.” It would be nice if that were true. A fight. Something fair. It wasn’t. The green eyes stay on him. Patient. Attentive. “My family kicked him out of my house. We’re… not speaking.”
“They kicked him out?” His brow furrows. He can see the confusion clearly. “Mr. Phil is… the most understanding teacher I know. Was it a fight that caused that?”
“…Dream.”
“He was holding you. Against your will.”
He flinches.
Every time someone grabbed his wrist, it felt like losing control of his entire body.
“Something… something doesn’t add up.”
“Don’t judge him. “ he snaps, almost immediately. He doesn’t know if Tommy told his two best friends. He hopes not. But they’re practically family. “I… I think I caused that reaction.”
He presses his lips together.
Maybe he should say it.
Maybe it would help.
“Did he hit me? Did he hold me and slam my head against the pavement?”
His hands clasp together.
He can’t look at him.
“It’s… it’s partially my fault. You know? I—“
“He did what?”
He’s never heard him that angry.
And he can’t help but think— The blond was his friend. His first friend here. The one who approached him first. The one who followed him during breaks. Who talked to him. Even when he tried to bore him on purpose. Hoping he’d leave. The one who watched Greek mythology movies with him. Who listened. Who learned. Who let him talk about books without interrupting. Who paid attention. Even when he didn’t understand.
The same person his twin forced him to leave. Forced him to choose between them.
He never understood why.
He still doesn’t.
And even after everything.
He’s still here.
Offering comfort.
Company.
A jacket.
More than he deserves.
“And… and you say… you say it’s your fault?!” He physically recoils at the shout. The green eyes, furious, soften just as quickly. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just.. Prime. Obviously. That idiot.”
“He’s my brother.”
“One bad hit—“
“I know!” His voice crack. “I know.” he repeats, staring at the ground. “But he’s my brother. My twin. How can I be angry at him?”
“You’re not angry, Techno.”
He looks at him.
Confused.
“You’re terrified.”
…