"Shut the door." I had said—closer to an order, it would most definitely serve as an act of respect—so Tommy left the door open, I groaned annoyed over the immaturity of my younger brother, having to now take the less then five seconds walk to my door shut it and sit back at my desk to pretend like I am working.

I sighed, pushing my chair and lifting my feet on my table, most of my stuff was on one side for this exact reason. Tommy emerged a few moments after, his face scrunching up in mild disgust and confusion over me resting my feet, I looked back at him, having only the silent connection a brother could have. He wanted something, and I was not about to give him it.

I let my feet drop and swiveled my body to face the desk again, resting my head on my hand as I scribble down important notes that I should probably be reading more carefully than I am.

A conscription (or as Tommy had taken to call them "The Kill People Pass) layed on the desk, ready to be sent off with the rest, all having the loopy swirls of my own handwriting, (the one I was doing was far more messier than the first one I had done)

I didn't turn when I heard shuffling of paper and saw a small thin hand take one of the dozen of conscriptions half stuffed in the envelope.

The words were too long for Tommy to know what they meant—I knew this not from Tommy being too young, he was fifteen now, or lack of teaching, I had made sure of that since I got enough money to give him private tutors.

Still, just because I gave him all the options to learn, doesn't mean he ever chose them, or even embraced them.

"Lee" Tommy said, it was my nickname I hadn't been called in a while, a small ping went though me of anger then resigned as I focused on the words I needed to copy.

—The king and his people would be most—

"—Lee, you've been in here all day—"

—delighted, to know you have accepted the challenge of—

"—missed breakfast and lunch—" Tommy continued breaking my train of thought and derailing it.

—joining the war efforts—

I heard something made of glass move on my desk. I paid no heed on it whatsoever, until my feather stabbed into the wooden table, my ink jar moved an inch too far away from my hand, a pale finger wrapped around the top of it, the owner staring daggers into my eyes.

"Tommy, stop it I need to finish this. What do you even want?"

Tommy smirked at me his face still showing the boy he still was, his cheek having a dimple on it when he smiled.

"Starvation is a shit way to go," Tommy commented plainly.

"Especially for someone like you." He added quickly.

Showing two small apples in the palm of his hand. Placing one in front of my face—like I was some starving animal on the street, I rolled my eyes and took it and bit into it.

If it would make him go away faster, I would have choked on it.

I swallowed "What's the 'people like me' supposed to mean?" I asked already waiting for the insult he planned out.

"You are literally a general for the king, how do you think the king himself would feel to know you died because of your own stupid logic of how eating works?"

I bit again feeling the pulp on my tongue as I let the words process then said stirrly "I am not a general for the king. I'm a captain of the king"

"Still get to beat the shit out of people,"

Tommy said happily even if he was wrong—and keeping me from my work, he was always happy when I was irresponsible, and being stupid. So he was having a grand time.

"I get to lead people Tommy—I'm meant to protect people not hurt them." Tommy rolled his eyes at me, taking a huge bite of his apple and opened his mouth, before I let apple chunks fly in my face I warned him. "Don't talk when eating." Narrowing my eyes at him—and my paper work. It was quite boring being in a stuffy room all day pouring over letters again and again, but if apple chunks ruin what I have accomplished today, I would throw him off a balcony.

"You ain't the boss of—cauh."

Tommy's eyes began to water as I give him my tea left out from Gods know when, he drank it greedily gulping it down like a wild animal after a life-threatening attack—which for Tommy, this might have been the most interesting thing that happened this week.

"Stop looking at me like that—and your tea sucks ass." He said looking personally wounded over the tiny teacup in his grasp I took the edge of my thumb and wiped off the grin I had on my face, and probably some saliva too. Gross.

"But I was right, wasn't I?" He knew it, I knew it, everything I said I did with moderation who was in the room when I practically predicted the future, and who would spill what I said. I was always right, always have and always will be.

It wasn't that I was narcissistic, I just knew how to do my job, make calculations and expect an outcome.

"Since when did you being right ever stop you from acting like a dumbass?" I bristled at the hash comment, what did he know? He was my younger brother he had no right to say that—I am the king's captain that will soon lead the kingdom's army to war.

"You know not of what you speak." My hands stiffened by my voice, like a rope one taut away from unraveling.

"Maybe you don't either. Maybe we're both two lousy bastards that crawled our way here and—"

"You are just a ridiculous child." It was a common insult that we both intentionally made fun of, a soft word we used to bother one another quickly turned spiky and painful.

"I'm not a child."

Tommy said softly idly letting his eyes wonder. I wanted to bark out a laugh. "Look at yourself Tommy," I gestured to him, like something I needed on a shelf that was too high trying to show someone what it was. But I didn't need Tommy.

"You are a child."

I said my eyes pinning him to where he was still sitting on my desk.

"You spend your days walking around the castle, play fighting with the trainees, bothering the guards—bothering me, and wasting my time."

The words came out before I could stuff them back in my mouth my throat felt sore and dry—maybe I should have told Tommy to save some tea for me. However I was not about to let this argument go without proving my point, so I sent it off with a way so he could never forget, a way for him to have to think about it late at night and shake around that empty head of his.

"What part of your behavior is not childlike?"

The remaining apple on my tongue turned rancid, and bitter. My quill layed untouched and still as I look down at my page and see the words I had written a word being cut short and in half since Tommy came in.



Tommy haphazardly and hastily got to his feet before anyone could see the redness of his cheeks, his gut churned by the insult, it stung more then it ever should have.

"Tommy." He hear being called behind him. However he already crossed the room and was making it to the door.

"Tommy wait."

"You're not the fucking boss of me." Tommy spat without turning around—without showing the crystal like tears forming.

" I am actually, but that's besides the point." Leoh said rolling his eyes, Tommy couldn't see his eyes but he heard the way his voice scratched—he most definitely was annoyed.

Tommy put his hand on the doorknob he heard Leoh's chair scrape against the floor—but not a single foot step.

"You're proving my point if you walk out that door."

Leoh said without mercy, lacing the words with bitter truth.

"I don't care, screw you Lee, screw you!"

He pulled the door open and marched past the threshold startling and confusing the guard that stood watch.

Feeling the heat in his cheeks almost blister from how much he was trying not to scream—he wanted this shame to dissipate to leave and never return.

He should not be this angry.

He should never be this angry.

The two of them, Leoh and Tommy had said worse things to and about themself but it never truly hurt. It never truly bothered them—if at all.

Maybe it was from the way Leoh had bags under his eyes Tommy had never noticed before, or how he was wearing the same attire from yesterday, or how this had been the first real, talk, in a proper week.

Maybe it was because Leon was right.

Leon was always right.

The door slammed shut reverbing off the empty hallway walls.

—Come on—

Tommy thought, prayed, begged,

—Run after me—

—Run to me—

But the doors never opened, and that was the most convincing answer yet.

«»«»«»«»«»«Two Years After»«»«»«»«»«»

I sat on a soft comfortable and far too expensive bed. There was no real reason to have something be so much money—unless you wanted to show off how much money you could spend in one sitting.

The room was bland showing nothing interesting from the many other medical room I've been in. Still I was overjoyed to be alive, sometimes people could not be so thankful for such a thing (like the other twenty thousand people laying dead in a ditch at the moment)

A soft knock hit the door, once twice thrice, I aloud whoever wanted to come in and was startled when I opened his eyes to. . .

"Tommy?"

"Didn't think I'd grew up to be so damn handsome, did you now?"

His smile not changing after all these years having the same dimple. He left the door open and moved closer, I tensed slightly—being a captain did not have its perks—then I remembered who was standing in front of me.

"Someone beat the shit out of you."

Tommy laughted leaning closer surveying me like a hawk, seening my patched shoulder and stitched eyebrow, I rolled my eyes fondly, it had been—two years by now, right?

"Time sure has. . . Dissipated it seems."

Tommy wrinkled his nose.

"You haven't changed with your shit way of talking yet, so I don't think it's been long enough."

The lack of a warm celebrating joyful welcome was exactly what I needed most. Just one person who saw me as a friend, an older brother—and not some dying person, not someone traumatized from their time away, but still living and breathing.

A moment came, it lasted less then a second but felt like another two years apart.

A moment of quite as Tommy's smile slipped slightly, a small crack turning into something more, a fissure of silence being filled with screaming questions. When he first came in, I didn't recognize my own brother, and that-that isn't right, I should always know what Tommy looks like, what he likes and dislikes, but it had been so long.

Too long?

Them the moment was swiftly swept away, and light returned to Tommy's eyes.

"Um" Tommy started swaying on his heels, I didn't object as he opened his mouth.

"Did you kill any bastards?"

"Yes and no." I said simply, Tommy rolled his eyes and gestured for me to explain.

"I killed—just not bastards innocent people, good people." I muttered the last words, feeling fresh shame fall over me.

Tommy's face contorted, his eyes wide and flashing with an emotion I couldn't read. For a moment I lost my brother again.

He quickly turned away. "Tommy what's the matter?" I asked, scared I answered wrong to the question.

"Do you remember the last thing you told me before you left?" Tommy sniffled—he hadn't changed a lot, still that young reckless, stubborn, rowdy, sharp-tongued sailor-talk perfect brother.

"I. . ." My words stopped as I looked away too. Racking my brain to no avail. What was the last time we talked? I don't remember ever saying goodbye.

Tommy laughted thought it lack warmth almost bitter—he had changed a lot.

"You told me I was a child, I told you're not the fucking boss of me. . ."

I had no idea what he was talking about, the memory didn't even register for me.

"I just. . ." His words drifted off.

He sat on top of the bedside table I had, moving the glass jug and lifting himself on it sitting crisscross.

"I'm sorry, and I would like you to say it too. So we could." He gestured to the gap between us.

"Be, friends again?"

I don't know when or where it happened, but along the way of trying to teach Tommy to be a good person, I somehow lost him becoming a good brother.

"No." I shrugged.

"I don't think I will." I added simply.

"You, you—what?" Tommy sputtered, brows furrowed and eyes wide with hurt. If he wanted an apology after two years of not seeing each other. Now was not a good time—there was never a good time.

"But you—"

"If after, two years of not seeing you, and the first thing you want from me is an apology, then I agree with my past statement."

I looked at him, frowning.

"You are a child."

Then I felt it, saw it. The apple turning rancid on my tongue, and saw Tommy's young bright face looking at me.

That was my Tommy.

Not this other boy wearing his face.

His mouth opened and closed, his eyes darting from my left eye to my right. For once, Tommy was silent.

And then—

"Fuck you Lee," Tommy whispered softly.

"Fuck. You." He sat up walked to the door and looked back at me. The small fithteen year old had been gone for a good long while, I had merely revived it, to kill it again.

I was expecting him to do what he always did, make his grand exit with a petty gesture of disrespect. I was expecting it, prophesized it, calculated it—but I was proven wrong.

Tommy closed the door, softly. Then I heard his footsteps slowly drifting away.

Somehow, somewhere in my own home—of all places I had never felt so alone.

That I had. . . Lost my baby brother, that I had send him to the slaughter, that he was running away from me, but this time I couldn't run after him—couldn't make things right.

I would have screamed, but instead I waited, waited for him to come back, me to say two simple words and then be done with this. So we could be friends again—brothers again.

But the doors never opened, and that was the most convincing answer yet.

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Art By Ethereal ⭐ on Twitter
Inspired By Passerine on Ao3
This was a little writing exercise I wanted to do, I've never done perspective like this before and wanted to try lol don't worry the story gets happier (?) there's one more after this. :D (Also sorry for not posting I got sick) (and sorry again for the swearing I should probably add a disclaimer or something but don't know how)
© All Rights Reserved
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