"You know man, I've always got your back, and anytime you need someone to talk to, I'm always here. Okay?"
"Bass c'mon you know I'm not one for the touchy-feely stuff let's just go home."
"But Miles-"
"No, Bass, I'm fine. Let's go."
The darkness hid any emotion from being seen on Bass's face, but Miles didn't need to see it to know exactly what it would look like. He would have these big-wide eyes, and he, he had this way where he would turn his lip up ever so slightly, and there had never been one day when Miles had been able to tell him no.
"Bass why would you think we need to talk about mushy stuff?"
"Because you look sad. Not all the time, you know, but when you think people aren't watching."
"Bass I-"
"No Miles, it's my turn. You've always cared for me and now it's my turn to care for you. You'll pretend you don't care, and that you couldn't care, and you'll never care but I just, I know I can always count on you, and I want you to feel the same way about me."
"Bass, I, I don't know what to say."
"Well then let me say it for you; Miles, we're brothers, and nothing's ever going to be able to change that. We may hate each other to death, but we're always going to be family. Okay?"
"Okay Bass, let's just go."
You know, Bass's eyes hadn't changed in fifteen years, besides looking a tad more tired. But that stupid puppy dog look still worked on Miles fifteen years later, whether he was tied up silently begging for freedom or pleading for Miles to come and help him with a report and Miles hated him even more for it. He hated the fact that he knew he could never walk away from Bass, and he hated the way his initial reaction was to save him.
As Bass stood up, the eyes of brothers met, but not necessarily in ways of fond memories.
"Bass I think I could use that touchy-feely talk now."
"Anytime Miles, anytime."