Page 1 of Brother
CHAPTER ONE
It wasn’t like Nathan hadn’t known how much it wouldfuck him up. He could feel it in his gut, a fist that hadn’t lethim go since he’d sent his application in. Going to a differentcollege than his twin brother had never been in the plans. Shit,they’d barely been apart a few days at a time since they’d beenborn.
But that was the whole fucking point, wasn’t it? Tofix whatever strange dependency Nathan had developed. It wasn’tlike he’dliedto Simon about why he was doing it. Simon hadalways been braver, louder, more ferocious, but instead of gobblingNathan up, all that wild nature had wrapped around him. Nathanloved his family, but Simon was hishome, a warm shell thatkept him safe even as it stopped him from growing out of itsconfines.
It had molded Nathan, that passive way he’d lethimself be kept by his brother, causing some deep malfunction hewas terrified he’d never be able to fix.
But he had totry. Even if it hurt him. Evenif it hurtSimon, because if his brother knew the thoughtsthat had started creeping into his head in the deep of night,nothing would ever be the same.
So, no. Nathan hadn’t lied to his brother about whyhe’d chosen to move far away from him without so much as awarning…but he hadn’t admitted the whole truth, either.
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If it wasdistance Nathan had wanted, he’d sure as fuck achieved it.
Simon had beenso angry the summerbefore they’d separated, alternating between clingy andcold so that by the end of it, Nathan had been glad to just havesome space tothink.To not beso close to taking it all back and following Simon like his body sodesperately wanted to.
He’d known it’dbe difficult. He liked his classes—the ones related to hisveterinary course, especially—but he’d known everything would benew, and frightening, and overwhelming. He’d been a fucking idiot,though, not to realise exactly howlonelyit would be. Maybe it was because it was the first timehe’d felt that way, or because part of him had been sure he’d nevertruly be able to detach from Simon enough to feel his absence, butfuck if he hadn’t been wrong.
Simon hadjustkindof…disappeared. Or maybe that was too dramatic—they’d still textand call every once in a while, but the connection between them, soresistant to time and age and distance, had been pierced anddamaged by Nathan’s decision to leave.
In thebeginning,Nathan hadthought Simon might be punishing him. It was just like Simon to dosomething like that—to hold on to grudges, bury them deep and feedthem dark things. But Simon never seemed angry when they talked.The complete opposite, actually—he seemed perfectly happy with hisnew life without Nathan.
A small andsecret part of Nathan wasn’t surprised. Simon had always been…brighter. All Nathan had really done was bask inthat light, casting his own shadow. Now that Simon had gotten somespace to breathe, maybe he had realised it too—that Nathan was justa burden, following Simon around, getting nearer and nearer untilclose was never close enough.
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The gardenat Nathan and Simon’shouse had always been an intricate and beautiful thing. Theirparents owned a landscaping business, and they could both whisperto plants and make them grow, and bloom, and grow again.
Therewas a patch of earth, cradledin hydrangeas, that had always belonged to Simon and Nathan. Notbecause anybody had given it to them, but because they’d claimed itas theirs, curling up together in that damp and fertile spot tohide from the world.
Ever since theywere tiny, it felt like there were secrets kept between them. Theirmom would say how they used to babble at eachother as infants, holdconversations in noises and gestures. Even when they could talk,Nathan would mumble his words and Simon would translate, the onlyone who could fully understand them.
That small anddark place between their parents’ plants was also a secret. Simon would get angry and introuble at school, bite and kick some kid when they’d saidsomething to Nathan he didn’t like, and after school they’d runaway to their spot and press together and whisper in the afternoonlight.
“You need tostop doing that,” Nathan said gently even though he knew it was alost cause.
“Whatever. Hehad it coming, saying stuff to you…you’re notboring.”
“I kind of am,though.” Nathan didn’t mind it, really. It was always Simon who gotso worked up about these things.
“No, you’renot!”
“I mean, like, Idon’t really like sports or video games…that’s prettyboring.”
“Are you seriousright now? You believe that shit?”
“It’s not a bigdeal.”
“Itis. People don’tget to talk to you that way.”
AllNathan could do was sigh androll his eyes and feel pleased, deep down, in the certain knowledgethat Simon would always keep him safe.
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Nathandidn’t know how to feelabout returning home for the summer, desperate to see his family,his brother, even as he dreaded it.
The last timehe’d seen Simon waswinter break. They hadn’t even gotten together for springbreak—Nathan had assumed they would, but Simon never brought it up,and Nathan had become too scared to mention it. Which was fuckingridiculous—they did everything together. More things than theyshould have, frankly. But Nathan had been the one to put a stop tothat, so he couldn’t exactly complain.
