My Severe Brother

ch 22: Just like a baby

Marco's pov

At 4 pm, a surge of vitality swept through me, rejuvenating my energy and health. I attributed this newfound well-being to the soothing effects of the soup and Peter's considerate care. My brother seemed to be a great cook. Levio had checked on me three hours prior, assuring me that I would recover soon.

As I descended the stairs, a disconcerting sight awaited me. There sat Peter on the floor, lost in a cloud of haze, his focus fixated on his wrist. Despite my initial nonchalance, my eyes widened in alarm at the sight of blood oozing from fresh cuts. I sternly reminded myself that I couldn't allow him to inflict harm upon himself. This had to stop, unequivocally.

Without hesitation, I crouched down, snatching the razor from his hand. He met my gaze with heavy, glazed eyes, seemingly indifferent to his own well-being.

"Peter, what did you do again?" I queried, my tone betraying a genuine concern that clashed with my earlier attempt at detachment.

"It's my body, don't interfere," he retorted, his words a feeble defense against the undeniable distress etched on his face.

"Don't say that to me. Were you crying?" I pressed, my concern deepening.

"No," he replied, attempting to deflect.

"And the tears on your cheeks?"

"Just water."

"And your puffed eyes? You were sleeping?"

"Does this change anything?" he deflected again.

"Make me satisfied if I know," I said the opposite thing to my feelings.

"Leave me alone," he muttered, a plea tinged with frustration, as he retreated upstairs.

Though my words projected a façade of indifference, the undertones of genuine concern lingered, a conflict between my apparent detachment and an underlying desire to shield him from self-inflicted harm.

An hour elapsed, and I decided to summon him to the living room. "Peter, come here," I called out 

He entered, an air of curiosity in his response, "Yes?"

"Could you grab the popcorn from the microwave?" I requested.

"Sure," he replied, heading to the kitchen and returning with a bowl filled with the enticing aroma of freshly popped popcorn.

Handing me the bowl, he inquired, "Did you take your meds?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reassured him. As he started to head back upstairs, an unexpected impulse surged within me. "Hey, douchebag, come sit here. What movie do you want to watch?" I teased, trying to infuse a casual tone into the invitation.

He grinned, "Oh, okay. Zack Snyder's Justice League?"

"Ugh, fine," I sighed in mock exasperation.

As he settled beside me, the thought crossed my mind: the duration of this movie was a whopping 4 hours. Despite my lack of enthusiasm for his selection, I decided to embrace the extended runtime.

We decided to momentarily pause the movie for dinner, eagerly filling our plates with a delightful spread. After our appetites were satisfied, we returned to the couch and watched the continuation of Zack Snyder's Justice League. However, as the night progressed, fatigue took its toll on Peter, and he dozed off in the midst of the cinematic adventure. A soft, contented sigh escaped his lips, signaling a well-deserved rest.

His features softened in slumber, he appeared remarkably small and innocent, a stark contrast to the challenges life had thrown at him. It struck me how effortlessly he had taken on the role of caregiver, harboring no grudges and displaying a tender concern that resonated with the innocence of a child.