Robot-Oscar and Morris Delancey

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A little different than what I'm usually writing, but you know—it's good to try different.

Also, disclaimer: this chapter shared depictions of a loss of self-worth regarding aromanticism. Please know that no matter how much love you feel, or how little, there is nothing wrong with you.

Enjoy!

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Oscar sighed as he felt the pencil land on his stomach, the attempt to throw it into the ceiling having failed. He was bored out of his mind, a side-effect to getting grounded that he would just have to deal with. But it was bogus that the pencil wouldn't stay.

No matter how hard he threw it, how much force he put into sticking it, the pencil fell down and landed on him. He grabbed it again and trajectories it into the air, only for the tip to graze the ceiling and the pencil to fall onto his chest.

"This is bullshit", he sighed, sitting up and swinging his feet onto the side of the bed. It wasn't his fault he punched the kid, not really. He was basically asking for it, and Oscar just fulfilled his request. He shouldn't have to suffer for it, especially not on an empty stomach.

Oscar got out of bed and scratched his back, yawning out of boredom as his feet pattered the fake wood of the floor. He was starving, hungrier than a fasting lion.

He walked out of his room and into the hallway, his mind focused on all of the possible things he could eat until he stopped. He'd heard crying.

He was only familiar with crying because of the times he'd made kids cry, but he had a high lack in personal experience. The last time Oscar cried was when he broke his arm at his last birthday party, before he started living with Uncle Wiesel.

But this wasn't some outside noise, some kid he'd scared in the hallways. This was from Morris' room.

Morris didn't cry. He was the softer between the two—which some out fit, considering Oscar was the words and Morris was the muscle—but he'd never cried. Oscar didn't think he had the capacity to. But as he opened the door to his older brother's room, he watched as he wiped his tears and kept his head held in his hands.

Oscar felt nervous, uneven. He hated the way he felt himself feel all of a sudden worried for his big brother, wanting to know what happened more than anything. He'd never seen Morris cry. Never.

"Mo...Morris?" Oscar called quietly, and he watched as the teen hastily wiped his tears away with the palm of his hands. "Um...you okay?"

Morris nodded quietly, sniffling away any other fluids. His face was stoic and calm, almost like he'd practiced what his face was supposed to look when he wasn't crying. "I'm fine."

Oscar's brows furrowed as he watched the older boy's lip quiver, like a dam barely holding it together. Even as he put his lip back in place, his eyes still held sadness. "Why are crying?"

"I'm not." Oscar walked into the room, finding a seat next to his brother on his bed. He sat closer than usual, wrapping an arm around him.

"Don't fucking lie to me", Oscar sighed, rubbing Morris' shoulder in comfort. The older sighed.

He had to admit, having his brother there was making him feel better. Knowing that there was someone who he loved, and who loved him, unconditionally was comforting. Morris even leaned into the touch ever so slightly, and he felt his heart slow down and his tears delay. "Sure."

"Why are you crying?" Morris sighed and placed his head onto his brother's shoulder.

"Because I'm weird."

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