Syrus wiped feverishly at his blazing red eyes, a futile effort of stopping his crying. His mother has yelled at him again today—no, not yell, just spoke harsh words in a stern tone. But the volume of the words did not matter, it was the way she said them, and the actual words themselves.
"Why can't you be more like your brother?"
More tears stung his eyes as snot began soaking his shirt sleeve. How could she compare them like that? She knew his self-esteem issues! Or, at least, she should. She is his mother after all. And Zane was five years his senior. How could he be expected to have perfect grades and have talent and friends and…
There was a knock at the door.
"D-Don't come in! I-I-I'm busy!"
"It's me."
Zane walked in and sat next to Syrus a bit awkwardly, to say the least. Though try as he may, he wasn't particularly ever close with his baby brother, and he was certainly never good at comforting people. But he had heard their mother down-talking the young Truesdale again and he felt pity for his brother.
"Is everything, uh, alright?" he asked, patting Syrus's back.
Syrus said nothing, trying to fight back more tears. Zane looked around the room, looking for something to say, something to make Syrus feel better.
"You know, uh, she doesn't really mean the stuff she says. She's just trying to motivate you. She used to do it to me all the time."
"I doubt it," he said between sniffles.
Zane lifted an eyebrow, surprised. "Excuse me?"
Syrus balled his fist. "You heard me! Y-You're so, just so perfect. There's…no way…"
He suddenly buried his head into Zane's chest, the elder brother taken aback.
"I…hate you. I hate you, Zane. Big brother…" he continued, sobbing. "I…"
"Syrus…" he whispered, hesitantly wrapping his arms around him. "I'm sure you…"
"…love you." he finished, clutching his brother's shirt. "I love you, and I hate it…"
Zane sighed, kissing the top of Syrus's head. "I love you too, little brother."