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Losing a brother was never on his bucket list of 'things-to-do-before-I-die.'
It was pathetic—he was pathetic, despite all the frustrated words he had spewed to his dear sibling—the way he wouldn't listen, the way he kept latching onto hope.
That disgusting, misleading string of gold.
Watching his brother now—his partner in crime, his pillar in life, his debut partner—he swore a simple thing to himself on his hospital bed.
He would never love.
Loving ruined his brother—his life, his health, his everything. He—no—they had such a promising future together.
And it was gone. All because his brother had begun to love.
"Venti."
The sound of a weak voice broke his train of thought, bringing his mind back to the pristine white room that smelled of sickening mint.
"Himmel."
His brother offered a weak smile. Despite his condition, he was ever the optimistic one of the two.
"If you look so angry like that everyday, you'll get wrinkles."
Venti simply sighed, relaxing his face at Himmel's words.
"Why won't you just let her go?" Venti furrowed his eyes, but his gaze remained on the bed, unable to look at his brother.
Dying of a broken heart—it was rather poetic.
His brother was always one for poetry.
"I'm sorry, Venti." Himmel gave him a smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "You must think I'm pathetic, huh?"
"I could never, so..." Venti reached for his brother's pale hands, squeezing them tightly. "...just get better, okay?"
"Okay."
+++++++++++++++
Funerals always struck a wrong cord with Venti.
Everyone would talk about the passed—how wonderful they were, how kind, how amazing they were—despite, perhaps, meeting them only once in their life.
"He was a kind soul."
You don't even know his favorite poet.
"He will be dearly missed."
You don't even know how he would embrace his favorite stuffed animal at night.
