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"He's not your real brother, is he?"
The question filters through the countless problems weighing on Fadel's mind, and settles heavy somewhere in his gut. He's laying on his side in a race car bed, pretending with every fiber of his being that his third largest problem is not handcuffed to the bed behind him. He even briefly entertains pretending to be asleep, but. This is Style.
"You never did act like proper brothers," Style continues without prompting, "and you look nothing alike."
Fadel sighs. He adjusts his sling for something to do. But Style could monologue to thin air so long as there was any to be had, and he certainly hadn't been using up his own portion. He's tried the half-brothers lie before anyway, and it had only earned a quirked brow.
"You love him, right?"
All the air leaves Fadel's lungs in a silent rush.
"Well, I know at least that it's more than you ever felt for me."
Fadel fights for fistfuls of words, but finds they all filter through his fingers like grains of sand.
"The way you look at him. It's always like he's the only thing in the universe."
He'd hollowed out his soul to make sure Bison got to keep his. Of course he was the only thing. He was all that was left. He was the only thing Fadel would ever choose to keep.
"It was pretty stupid to think you could look at me like that one day."
He feels like he's drowning, but can't make himself take a breath. He'd say I would have. Maybe somewhere else. If he'd gotten to be someone else.
"I don't care if you don't believe me anymore. I do have feelings for you," Style turns on his side at that, away from Fadel. It wasn't enough to muffle his sniffling.
"The least you can do is tell my dad. After. Let him know I'll be taking care of mom."
Fadel twists on the bed to stare at Style's form as it's wracked with silent sobs. His fingers hover in the air, already halfway to their destination of the other man's shoulder. To what? Soothe the pain and fear of impending death that he would be the cause of? Things are tangled, but he isn't stupid.
His fingers ball into a fist. It feels more natural.
"And...go for him. Show him what you feel. Who you are. Get out of this life. It's not right to be someone else the whole time you're alive."
Fadel tucks himself onto his side again and stares at the garish wall. He feels sick. The car-bed shakes under him as Style is hit with a fresh wave of sobs.
But Fadel knows already. Bison doesn't feel the same. The stolen glances, the almost-moments, the way he tore himself apart every single day to protect, he always knew he was alone in it. That to Bison, every chant of "brother" didn't sound like a plea that said love me wrong, like I love you wrong.
So he drags his eyes shut against the world, and wishes he'd brought his earplugs.
"I love you."