HOMRA One shots (K project)

My Troublesome Skateboarding Brother

~ Reader's POV ~

It wasn't always like this.

"You're so selfish, you know that?!"

We weren't always so hostile.

"I'm selfish? What about you, huh!? You're pulling the wool over our parents eyes."

We used to be really close.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, you bastard?"

I would've died for him.

"It means you're a self absorbed, lying, inconsiderate child! Mom says so too!"

would've.

"We don't even talk to mom and dad! They don't even care about us, so how would you know?"

Because I loved him.

"I... I just...do!"

He's my brother.

"I think that bruise on your face says otherwise, bro."

We were all we had.

"Sh-shut up. I'm...fine."

All we had.

"..."

"..."

It wasn't easy.

"I'm... sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

We were always by ourselves.

"I-it's okay... I'm sorry I started this stupid argument in the first place."

But that was okay.

"It's okay, let's get those wounds fixed up, alright?"

It didn't matter.

"Yeah... sure."

Because he loved me too.

~ 10 years later ~

Our childhood was rough, but that's what made us who we are. We're strong members of Homra, a couple of the toughest and under the orders of our king who we loyally follow, we always fought side by side, of course, not by choice.

To put it bluntly, Yata hated me.

And I hated him.

I can't quite recall how it happened, but we always fought, and one day we just didn't fix it.

Of course that fight wasn't just a heated argument, it turned into a full on fistfight and we beat each other up pretty good.

I needed a lot of stiches and he needed crutches and a sling for his broken leg and arm.

You don't really recover from that.

So here I was, staring out of the car window, as close to the edge of the seat as I could get, Yata was on the other side of the backseat and Rikio was in the middle of us. Just for safety reasons.

Although I highly doubt either of us would try anything, nowadays we stuck to witty remarks and sarcastic smack talk if we even had to communicate in the first place.

After that day, we never swung a fist at each other ever again. I think the reasoning behind that was because we just gave up trying, -who could fix a relationship after that anyways?- and the startling sense of fear.

I hated him, but he was still my brother, and when that happened, it all felt too real. So real, to the point where it was utterly terrifying.

We were transforming into our parents before we could even yell, "Stop".