The Balance of Brothers

Canto VII: The Peanut Butter Paradox

The kitchen was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional scrape of a chair against the tile. Dylan, as always, was plotting. His latest plan, though petty by even his own standards, was born of pure spite. Nick had once again bested him in a debate about humility the night before, casually dismantling Dylan's arguments with his infuriating blend of pragmatism and wisdom. Dylan was determined to get back at him—no matter how small the victory.He stood at the counter, holding a jar of peanut butter, the lid carefully unscrewed and placed loosely back on top. It was perfect. A seemingly innocuous setup designed to frustrate Nick when he inevitably tried to make his morning toast. Dylan imagined the jar slipping, the lid popping off, and a cascade of peanut butter tumbling onto Nick's hand. It was the kind of small, petty chaos that would give Dylan immense satisfaction."Let's see you humble yourself after this," Dylan muttered with a wicked grin as he slid the jar back onto the shelf.---The next morning, Dylan sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, pretending to read a book but actually watching Nick's every move. Nick entered the kitchen, humming to himself as Duke followed at his heels. He opened the pantry, grabbed the peanut butter jar, and carried it to the counter. Dylan held his breath.Nick picked up a knife, paused, and then casually twisted the lid. It tightened with a click. Dylan's heart sank."Seriously?" he muttered under his breath.Nick, oblivious to Dylan's anguish, spread a thick layer of peanut butter onto his toast, replaced the lid securely, and put the jar back in the pantry. He didn't spill a single drop. Dylan felt the sting of defeat before Nick even turned around."What's with the face?" Nick asked, taking a bite of his toast.Dylan blinked, forcing a neutral expression. "What face?""That face," Nick said, gesturing vaguely at him. "You look like someone stole your thesis notes."Dylan waved him off. "Nothing's wrong. Just... thinking.""Thinking, huh?" Nick took another bite. "Don't hurt yourself."---Dylan fumed silently as Nick left the room, toast in hand, Duke trotting happily behind him. His meticulously crafted plan had failed spectacularly, leaving him to question not only his execution but the very nature of his rivalry with Nick.He stared at the pantry, at the jar of peanut butter now sitting smugly in its rightful place. It was mocking him, he was sure of it. How could something so simple—a loose lid—be rendered completely ineffective by Nick's maddening competence? Was this a sign of Nick's superiority? Or merely a fluke?Unable to let it go, Dylan grabbed the jar and twisted the lid off, glaring at the smooth, creamy surface of its contents as if it held the answers to the universe. "It's not about the peanut butter," he muttered to himself, pacing the kitchen. "It's about principles. About justice."But even as he spoke, Dylan couldn't help but feel a twinge of self-awareness. Was he really so petty as to obsess over a failed prank involving peanut butter? Was this what his life had come to?---Later that evening, Dylan cornered Nick in the living room, where he was sprawled on the couch, half-watching a rerun of a nature documentary. Duke was curled up at his feet, snoring softly."Nick," Dylan began, his tone accusatory, "do you always tighten the lids on jars?"Nick glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "Pretty much. Why?""No reason," Dylan said quickly, but Nick's curious expression made him continue. "It's just... unnecessary, don't you think? Who tightens the lid every single time?"Nick shrugged. "It's a habit. Keeps the pantry neat and avoids messes. Why do you care?"Dylan hesitated, then blurted, "I don't. I just think it's... excessive."Nick smirked, sitting up. "Dylan, did you try to sabotage me with a loose peanut butter lid?""No!" Dylan said too quickly. "That's absurd."Nick laughed, shaking his head. "You really need to find better ways to spend your time.""It wasn't about the time," Dylan snapped. "It was about the principle!""Principle?" Nick echoed, laughing harder. "What principle? That I'm too responsible for your tricks to work?"Dylan glared at him, crossing his arms. "It's not about tricks. It's about exposing your reliance on boring, predictable habits. You're practically a machine."Nick chuckled, leaning back on the couch. "And yet, somehow, this boring, predictable machine outsmarts you every time."---Dylan stormed off, muttering under his breath as Nick's laughter echoed behind him. He shut himself in his room and opened his notebook, furiously scribbling down his thoughts in a chapter he would later title *On the Tyranny of Predictability.* But as he wrote, a nagging thought crept into his mind.Maybe Nick wasn't just boring and predictable. Maybe he was consistent. And maybe—just maybe—that consistency was the very thing that allowed him to navigate life so effortlessly while Dylan stumbled over his own elaborate schemes.But Dylan quickly pushed the thought aside. There was no way Nick could be right. Not about this. Not about anything.He slammed the notebook shut, vowing to perfect his next plan. The peanut butter may have failed, but Dylan's war against Nick's pragmatism was far from over.