Tyro // Les Twins

chapter 14 > weep

Larry doesn't actually leave. He can't. His heart won't let him and with how he can't stop spilling angry and hurt tears, he knows it wouldn't be a safe decision.

He hasn't felt loneliness until this moment. Usually when he has an argument with his brother—never to this degree, but still—they just part ways for a couple hours or so, usually hook up with a friend and let themselves be distracted from the conflict.

Because even though it happens often, neither of them want to fight. Usually they're harmless little tiffs but this is different. This was like a fight. And the scratches all along Larry's arms can attest to that.

It doesn't ever get physical between them. It never has and they never thought it would, because their arguments never really got that serious. Maybe a couple times it got pretty bad but not like this.

Larry leans his head against the steering wheel in his car, just crying, just thinking, just hurting. Part of him thinks of Laurent, thinks that he might need him, thinks about how he must be feeling. Hurt and angry, even more so than him.

But at the same time Larry scowls at the fact that he's still sitting here thinking of his brother when he's probably in there thinking of himself.

He knows it isn't true, and yet some part of his brain is twisting his thoughts into something toxic.

That's the part of his mind that's saying, good, let him hurt.

And he cringes whenever the thought passes him.

He doesn't want him to hurt, he never has. He's hurting enough as is.

After almost an hour, Larry sighs shakily, swallows the lump in his throat and manages to get his phone out of his pocket. He hasn't called Mami in a couple weeks, and despite his promise of contacting her soon, he never did. He feels guilty about it, and hopes he won't face a scolding for it when she picks up the phone.

It rings until a sweet voice is calling out, "Bonjour."

"Mami," he didn't mean to let his anguish escape in his tone, but she would've been able to tell anyways. She's Mami.

"What's wrong, my love?" Larry breathes deeply as he recounts everything that happened before he left the house, trying to quell his emotion long enough to explain everything without blubbering like a baby.

"Laurent and I had a fight. A really bad one."

"Where are you right now?" He notices she doesn't ask what happened.

"In the car, just sitting in the driveway. I told him—" Larry pauses, bites his lip as it shakes, "Well I...I told him a lot of things."

There's brief silence and Larry doesn't know what to do with it, just hanging there ominously.

"And did you call me thinking I could fix it?" Her tone isn't judgemental or harsh, but Larry still goes to defend himself.

"No, I—" Larry stops himself. He called her because he needed someone to talk to, because he felt alone and doesn't know what to do and thought that maybe she would, because she always seems to. Not necessarily for her to fix it, but just her advice on how to fix it. "We've never fought like this before."

"Yes you have." She chuckles as she says it, and Larry frowns. "When you were kids, just toddlers, you guys would be at each other's throats in one minute and playing around, laughing and smiling the next like nothing ever happened. Sometimes I'd have to pry your brother off of you because you wouldn't stop screaming. Half the time he wasn't even doing anything, but sometimes you guys would be scratching and biting and pushing and throwing things. It never stuck, though, it never made you stop being brothers."