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It was late at night, the time nearing eleven o’clock. Doppio and Diavolo were sitting at the back of some small, quiet bar, casually chatting and catching up with each other. The conversation got more heated as the topics of university and work got brought up.
“I mean, you have no fucking clue how tough it is,” Doppio complained, “every damn day I have to sit and work my ass off, and they tell us that if we relax for even a second we will not get a job,” he took a sip from his glass and rolled his eyes. “Thanks a fucking lot, Professor Fugo, I feel real motivated,” Doppio spat. This wasn’t the first time Diavolo had been hearing complaints about his professors (in fact, Doppio seemed to come up with a new way to insult Professor Fugo each time they got together), but today, his brother seemed angrier than usual.
Diavolo sighed heavily and took a moment to drink before speaking. “You think you’re tough shit?” he started, half-joking. “I’ve been suffering from insomnia lately, and I constantly feel so fucking tense, it’s killing me, Doppio,” he sighed again, rather dramatically this time. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he thought for a second, “but I think the stress of the job is getting to me.” Not wanting to say any more than that (unlike his brother, he hated going into detail), he raised his glass and gestured to Doppio to do the same. He obliged.
Both being young and exhausted, they clinked their glasses together and downed their drinks — Doppio downing a shot of whiskey (and reacting intensely afterwards, explaining, in his own way that, “that shit burns!”), while Diavolo decided to go with rum (choking on it because he was startled by Doppio’s yelling).
Diavolo and Doppio usually wouldn’t see each other until the end of the month, but today was April fifteenth. The younger brother practically begged for Diavolo to meet him sooner, and help. Help with what?
Finding a girlfriend.
Diavolo wanted to laugh, wanted to ridicule his brother, but Doppio was just so damn sad about this, and the elder brother knew better than to kick a man when he was already down.
Going back to the present, Diavolo was now tipsy, meaning he’d become extremely talkative. He ended up going on a rant about his work and how the sleep deprivation is giving him extreme eye bags — but it all went past Doppio’s ears. He was far too fixated on a woman that just walked in to give a single fuck about Diavolo’s personal issues. She was alone, and she was hot, to put it lightly. With the alcohol giving him the courage of a thousand army soldiers, Doppio stood up, and was about to head over there and talk to the ‘hottest chick he’s ever seen’ — until he felt Diavolo’s arm grab him.
“Hey, maybe it’s not a good idea,” he says, almost convincingly, and Doppio even looks like he’s considering turning around — but ultimately, he never planned to turn back. Now or never, he thought.
The pink-haired drunk gave Diavolo a quick, ‘who gives a fuck?!’ (likely thinking it would be comforting, but that made Diavolo worry more than anything), and the elder brother truly had to wonder where a law student got such vulgar vocabulary from.
Doppio started walking, overly confident, but extremely unstable — grabbing onto every chair and leaning against every table he’s encountered thus far. Which wouldn’t be many, because before he knew it, his brother stood in his way, physically blocking him from getting any closer to the woman. Apparently, he was extremely determined to get what he wanted, because he tried to go around Diavolo any way he could — climbing under him, getting onto the tables to go around, even ending up attempting to climb over him.
And while he was attempting to literally climb over his brother’s shoulder, the idiot college student yelled in the woman’s general direction, “daaaamn, you’re fine, mama! What the fuck!” Before Doppio could spew any more of that shit, Diavolo put his hand over the younger sibling’s mouth. The elder brother yelled something back to the absolutely horrified woman, some sort of an apology for his ‘imbecile of a brother.’
As much as Diavolo had hoped it would end there, it turned out the female already had a date, and that date was real fucking angry. Diavolo turned to face him, only to meet eyes with a goddamn six foot tall bodybuilder that looked more akin to a mountain than a man. Diavolo sighed to himself. He won’t listen to reason if he’s drunk, and that’s definitely booze I’m smelling.
Doppio peeked from one side of Diavolo to see who was approaching. If Doppio were not under such heavy influence, the kid would be running like hell right about now. However, instead of showing any sign of fear, Doppio actually stepped out from behind Diavolo, and got in front of him. It’s as if he was saying, ‘come at me,’ but that sentiment broke as soon as the man attempted to land a punch on the college student (luckily, he dodged).
Now, Diavolo wasn’t typically a violent man. Usually, he was able to keep his cool, and walk away from situations like these. However, the safety of his precious younger brother had been compromised. In Diavolo’s eyes, that was absolutely unforgivable.
He thought he heard the woman from earlier call out to the tall man. “Joseph, leave it alone!” she yelled. Being tipsy, Diavolo thought to himself, Joseph, huh? Him and I, we’re going to dance tonight.
The guy seemed to be backing down now. Oh no you don’t. Diavolo smashed his fist into the stranger’s stomach. Which, seemingly, did absolutely nothing — to this ‘Joseph’ guy, anyways.
Diavolo, on the other hand, felt extreme pain course through his entire fucking arm — starting from his wrist, and going up his arm, all the way to his shoulder. Had Diavolo been anymore drunk, he would probably cry out — but he was sober enough to keep his composure. He held onto his arm, and squeezed it, hard, hoping that maybe the pressure would help the pain subside. It did not.
Seeing how his brother reacted, Doppio decided to put his own two cents in by yelling, “Jesus christ, man, are your abs made of steel or some shit?” what an idiotic question, was all Diavolo managed to think up.
“You dumbass, you know it ain’t ste—” but before he could finish his sentence, Joseph planted a tight fist into Diavolo’s pink hair, lifting his head back (Diavolo swallowed back in anticipation) — and then he yanked down, hard. He let go immediately after.
The pink-haired man crashed into the floor with a loud thud, and an even louder groan. Doppio would assume that to be his reaction to landing square on his face. The younger brother physically cringed , realizing that his brother’s nose was probably very broken right now.
Diavolo thinks he heard a woman gasp, and chastise the ‘Joseph’ guy about knocking him down — but he really couldn’t care less over blood literally gushing from his nose. He felt his brother’s two thin arms try to (unsuccessfully) help him get up — but if anything, it seemed like Diavolo would have to be helping him out, instead. Even if the latter was simply super wasted, not physically hurt.
I’ll have to scold him for this tomorrow, Diavolo thought to himself as he watched Doppio attempt to maintain his balance. The elder brother didn’t get up — he rolled over on his back, sat up, got his phone out of his pocket, and called a cab.
And thus, Diavolo swore to never again take Doppio to a bar. Nor would he allow him to go on his own. If he acts like this, he’ll get himself killed.
As the elder brother patiently listened to the ringing of his phone, waiting for a cab driver to pick up, he made a decision.
I’ll make him to download Tinder tomorrow.