This chapter goes out to raphsai_03. Thank you for being my friend, Mckenzie. Your words give me so much confidence that will live on within me forever. You mean so much to me, and I hope that your days are as bright as you've made mine. You're an amazing writer and drawer, and you fill me with passion every time I speak to you. Welcome to your suprise, sweetheart. You wholeheartedly deserve it.
I open my eyes. The first thing I see is the grimy ceiling and walls of my bedroom. I look over and read the blood-red colored numbers trapped inside the clock on the table: 5:37am. I'm assuming that the sun is shining over the beautiful city by now, but, what do I know? I'm just a mutant turtle stuck down in the darkened sewers of New York City. We're never able to go out to see the sunrise. Heck, we're not even allowed to go topside anytime when the sun is out. We can never be in daylight. We would be spotted by the very humans that call the surface their home. We aren't what the humans up there would consider "normal". We would be classified as freaks, or monsters. We would never be rightfully accepted into their world. Ever.
Anyway, getting to my point, every time I wake up in the morning, there's only one thought that courses through my mind ..
How am I possibly going to get him angry today?
Every part of me is dead serious when I say this, not only because the two of us are like mere enemies around each other, but due to the fact that anything I do always seems to set him off. Sometimes, I understand his reasons for getting angry, but others, I don't have a clue in the world. I'm at loss for answers, desperately trying to grasp some to hold, just to get to know my otōto a little better. Which leaves me pondering upon another question that swims through my mind, like a fish through water, never, never ending ..
What happened to us?
It's a weird question, if you ask me. What is the meaning behind such a question that is asked by so many? What does the question point out? What does it reveal? I have a strong feeling that neither one of us know. I have a feeling that the both of us are clueless to what has happened to us over the years. At least, I know he is.
He's in the dojo this morning; there's no suprise there. He's just standing there, beating the stuffing out of the old punching bag strung up loosely in the dojo, completely oblivious to my presence in the doorway.
He has always been the strength and anger of the team, taking down his enemies, like fire takes down snow. The snow swirls around and clouds the clear sky with its mist, similar to what an enemy does to the city. Once the enemy shows his crimeful self, the rest of the city is blocked, polluted, and out of mind. That's when the fire comes in. Like the element of fire itself, he is strong, passionate, deadly, and most importantly, powerful. He takes control in his actions, getting quick rid of his enemies, like the fire quickly melts the snow that covers the clear air.
But there's one very thing that I admire about my dear otōto ..
His personality.
I know what you're thinking: How could I love the personality of someone who seems so .. heartless? Well, you see, while at times he seems like a stick in the mud and savagely over the top, he makes sure that he's careful about his anger around others. He knows that they have feelings as well, and it can be easy to hurt them in ways that a simple apology could never fix. He respects how they feel, and he takes caution in himself to make sure that he keeps them safe and happy. He'll do anything for them. Who are those "others", you ask? Well, it's quite simple ..
His younger brothers.
That doesn't include me. You see, he always makes sure that he doesn't get too defiant around his younger brothers, but when it comes to me, he lets it all out. He'll always let out his anger by yelling and screaming, or threatening to "spar" topside on an empty rooftop. I know what he means when he says this; his view of sparring is far different than mine. Then there's other times, when he's had enough, he's too unmanageable, and he goes completely physical. He'll beat me like the very punching bag he uses in the dojo, leaving me with cuts and bruises to litter my body.
Now, I'm not complaining or anything, if that's what you're thinking. I'm just simply describing my dearest younger brother, who, I will say, I love very much, no matter what kind of things he's done to me. You would think that one like me would be afraid to be encountered by a hothead like himself. You thought wrong. I contradict that action. Instead of cowering in fear at the sight of him, I flutter in joy. You may be asking why I would make such an action towards someone who seems like he has a hatred towards me during every living day. Well, I'll tell you.
Whenever he's angry, he always gets close to me, closer than ever. I could smell his scent; I could take in a deep breath as I inhale it like fresh air. When he's screaming in my face in pure rage, I hardly pay any attention to his words. I stare into his eyes, locking mine with his own. I eventually trail my gaze down to his perfectly shaped snout, and then finally, his lips. Oh, god, the things that I've wanted to do with those lips. Sometimes I grab the sudden urge to lean up and kiss him with all the passion in the world. To wrap my arms around him and keep his lips to my own in a graceful dance forever. This urge grows inside of me throughout every living day. It will never go away, I know that. It will only grow and grow. When I say that I love my otōto, I don't mean in the way that brothers say to one another throughout every passing day. No, I mean more than that. I have fallen for my brother a countless amount of times, and those numbers only grow like the strong passion that I have for the hothead. I know that there will never be a day that he will feel the same for me, but hell, I'm waiting for that day anyway.
...
I don't budge from my place as I hear his grunts, still watching as his fists smack at the bag, which is still dangling from its post, earning more punches, kicks, and stabs from him. His emerald eyes are locked on the bag, as my eyes are locked on his body. His curves, his edges. I want to just grab him and keep him against me, just to know that he's there.
"-eo? Leo? You there?" I'm interrupted from my thoughts as I see the figure I was dreamily gazing at, waving his hand in my face.
"Huh?" I ask, completely oblivious to what he was doing.
"You were just standin' there, starin' at me. What were you thinkin' 'bout?" God, just hearing his alluring voice makes me want to grab him and kiss him with all the love and passion in this world. Instead, I bite my lip, fighting the sudden urge that has just taken over me.
"N-Nothing. I was just heading in here to meditate .. b-but you were training .. s-so I thought I would just come and-" He cuts me off, his gruff and annoyed tone overpowering my stutterful one.
"I don't need a whole explaination, Fearless. I just asked." I nod slowly, my gaze finally leaving his eyes—those glowing irises—and locking onto the floor below me. My voice sounds soft, quiet, like I'm shrinking into my own shame. "Right."
Then that's it. He walks away. Just seeing him walk away from me like he does makes me grab another powerful urge to call out his name—his beautiful name—and run up to hug him from behind, just so I could hold him forever in my arms and trail my hands about his sides. I want to gently nibble the delicate skin by the crook of his neck, just to receive a small moan in pleasure. That's all I want. I want to pleasure him. I want to make him happy. I want to love him to no extent, without having to deal with the feeling of being pushed away, rejected, or judged. But that will never happen, and I hate having to deal with that realization.
You see, we were never like this. Back when we were tots, I would never censure him about any form of growing exasperation, and he would never go around looking for someone to pick a fight with. We were never bland to each other, always expressing our feelings deeply to one another, letting everything spill out of us like a river. Everything was almost perfect.
Almost.
Then it happened.
I was chosen to lead the team with honor and pride, and he was left in the dust. He would always come to me, complaining as to why I don't spend time with him anymore. I would always tell him the honest truth, but he never believed me.
He still doesn't. He still doesn't believe me. After six years.
Six years of responsibility.
Six years of burdens to be carried.
Six years of separation between myself and my dear otōto.
Six years of hate.
Six years of fights.
Six years of sacrifices.
Six years of abuse.
Six years of my depression.
Six years.