Black Velvet (31) (Patreon)

"What do you mean, did anything happen between us?"  I eye my brother, defensiveness creeping into my words.  "What's gotten into you?"

Nic gives a frustrated sort of sigh, reaches over, and plucks the snow globe from my hands as he stands up.

"I see how you look at him, alright,"  he gives a jerky shake of it, then holds it out in front of him like it's some sort of evidence. "and how he looks at you. I'm not an idiot."

A flash of white-hot fear blooms in my chest,

"Nic — no."  I don't know why I sound so afraid,  "it's not like that."

"This isn't...  I'm not going to out you. And, to be clear, I don't care if you like dudes, Oli."  I inhale.  Nic appears to be sincere, shrugging in an attempt to show his absolute indifference, "I wouldn't even say anything if it was some other dude buying you cheesy snow-globes — I mean, as long as it wasn't some gross sugar daddy shit. But — this?  This I care about."

"Why?"

"Toby doesn't do this," Nic yanks the sticky note from where I've pressed it back under the stamp,  "Doesn't say sorry.  Doesn't buy gifts.  Not for you — despite the looks.  So what changed?  Why didn't you tell me that something's changed?"

"... I don't know," I shove myself up into a sitting position, "he did say sorry, and — I didn't know how.  It didn't seem right to tell you."

"Yeah?"  Nic scoffs,  "you didn't think playing taxi cab from the police station after his shit stepdad slugged him wasn't something I should've known?"

It's quiet, uncomfortably so.  I look at the ground, and Nic does too.  It's a weird sort of shame, held with secrets that have ripped into our bond.

"... I don't know how to say what I want to say — but first, you know that I love you," Nic's tone has shifted into something sad; something that doesn't fit him. His stare is suddenly direct, and his eyes share the same greens as mine.  "I'm not trying to be a dick.  You're my little brother; I care about you most."

"I know that you're not a dick.  It just seems disproportionate to be this upset over a snow globe —"

"It's more than a snow globe.  I told you to leave him alone," it is, and my brother sounds pained, scared at the idea that I hadn't,  "to stop picking at him when he puts his walls up — but instead, you're pushing him to let you in."

"What's wrong with that?  What if that," I whisper, "what if letting someone in — what if that can make him happy?"

"What if it doesn't?"  Nic's voice is too raw, "what if it makes things worse?"

"Nic?"

"He's spiraling.  I can see it.  Hell, everyone can.  You picked him up from the goddamn police station."  He grimaces,  "you've heard the shit they're saying."

"That was Richard's fault,"  his name is venom to me, and my expression shapes to suit it,  "not Tobias', all of this is Richard's fault."

"I know that but — you're giving Toby hope,"  Nic whispers, "and it's misplaced.  I know him.  You're his daydream — you're not supposed to be a tangible thing — something else he can't have."

"He needs hope, and I'm not a thing,"  I frown, "he can have me if I say that he can. It's not something I need to discuss with you just because you think you're protecting him."

"... Don't be selfish," he mutters.  "you know he can't."

"Selfish?  Is it better to let him spiral — is it better to keep pretending like everything's okay?  It might've worked for you before, but it isn't working now — you think you're guarding him, and you're not."

"It's better,"  he says it so simply,  "Oliver — do you know how many times I've wanted to do something — but we're his normality.  He needs that; he clings to it.  This is Jameson.  He doesn't need something else to..."

"Jameson is a town.  It's not — not a monster.  And that normality?  That's a false, intangible thing, Nic — that fake normality," Our voices are turning into a spidery sort of thing, quiet and menacing — a fight that loses itself at each corner of our words.  "that's worse than any daydream.  The town became part of his mask and now look at what these rumors are doing to him —"

"Listen to me.  The reality is that his mom is never going to leave.  She's so far gone that she'll never leave, and Tobias has this hero complex — he needs the normalcy we give him to get him through that.  Not two-hundred more rumors tied to you both."

"Tobias could leave,"  my heart is racing,  "he could leave and have what we have.  We just have to be there for him, both of us — all of us. He needs support."

"No.  Toby won't.  He'd do anything for his mom — and she's stuck.  He's stuck right along with her."  Nic sounds harsh, but his hands are shaking,  "He's so bent.  He's so crooked from that stupid house — what if we do what you say, try to help him, and can't? What if we're the straw that breaks the camel's back?"

"He needs us —"

"We can't," he drops the snow globe on my sheets with a soft thump,  "We can't take the only dreaming part of him, dangle you in front of him, have the town rip both of you apart.  He won't be able to be with you — and he'll have to let that go too.  It'll crush him.  We can't be the ones to crush him."

And Nic leaves — pulling the door shut behind him.

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