Mark Taylor sat quietly on the couch, his small frame nestled comfortably between the cushions, a slight smirk playing on his lips. From where he sat, he had the perfect view of the chaos unfolding in the living room. Brad and Randy were standing in front of the TV, voices raised, fingers pointing, caught up in yet another heated argument over something ridiculous.
The best part? The whole thing was actually Mark's doing.
He watched, completely unbothered, as his two older brothers bickered like usual. This time, the fight was over a missing remote—something that both Brad and Randy swore they hadn't touched but were somehow still blaming each other for.
"Seriously, Randy, this is the third time this week my stuff has gone missing! Admit it—you took it to mess with me!" Brad shouted, hands on his hips in that classic "I'm the older brother" stance.
Randy rolled his eyes, arms crossed defensively. "Oh, please. Why would I bother with your stupid remote? You probably lost it yourself. That's what you always do."
Brad huffed in frustration, ready to fire back with another accusation, while Mark just sat back, watching the scene with quiet amusement.
The truth was, Mark had hidden the remote. Not because he needed it or wanted to watch something else, but because he knew it would set off this exact chain of events. And now, as Brad and Randy squabbled like toddlers, Mark couldn't help but feel a certain satisfaction watching his plan unfold.
He leaned back, crossing his arms, his smirk growing just a little wider. As they continued to bicker, Mark allowed himself to think about his brothers, about how predictable they were.
Brad was… well, Brad was kind of stupid. Not literally stupid, but he acted before he thought, all the time. He jumped to conclusions, never piecing things together until it was too late. It was easy to push his buttons because Brad always took the bait. The second something went wrong, Brad's first instinct was to blame Randy—never stopping to think that maybe their little brother was the one orchestrating the chaos behind the scenes.
Then there was Randy. Mean, sarcastic Randy, with his constant digs and cutting remarks. To anyone else, Randy's sharp tongue would seem like the cruel behavior of an older brother who delighted in teasing his siblings. But Mark knew better. Randy wasn't mean just for the sake of being mean. His constant need to put others down, his habit of always needing to come out on top, wasn't about cruelty—it was about insecurity.
Mark had figured it out long ago, way before Brad ever caught on. Randy had this image of himself that he was desperate to protect. Smart, sarcastic, clever—he had to be the "cool" one, the "funny" one. And the only way Randy knew how to hold on to that image was by keeping everyone else—especially Mark—down.
But Mark didn't mind. Not really. He saw right through Randy's act, and because of that, his brother's words didn't sting the way they might have for someone else. Instead, Mark found Randy's insecurities kind of fascinating. It gave him a sense of quiet power. After all, when you know what makes your brother tick, you have control in ways they'd never even imagine.
"You're so paranoid, Brad! Maybe if you stopped accusing everyone all the time, you wouldn't lose your stuff," Randy snapped, breaking Mark out of his thoughts.
Brad threw his hands up in the air. "Oh, I'm paranoid? You're the one who can't stand when anyone touches your things!"
Randy's face twisted in frustration, and for a moment, Mark thought they might actually start shoving each other.
Mark's smirk grew into a full-blown grin, but he quickly wiped it away, careful not to give himself away. If either of them suspected that he was behind this whole mess, his peaceful little world on the couch would come crashing down.
"Guys," Mark said, finally deciding to speak up, "maybe you both just misplaced it. I mean, we all use the remote, right?"
Both Brad and Randy turned to look at Mark, their frustration momentarily diverted.
"Why are you so calm?" Brad asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Yeah," Randy added suspiciously. "You're never this quiet when there's a fight going on."
Mark gave them both his best innocent look, shrugging lightly. "I just think you guys are overreacting. It's just a remote. I'm sure it'll turn up eventually."
Brad frowned, still not convinced but too flustered to argue. Randy, on the other hand, stared at Mark for a beat longer, eyes narrowing in suspicion, but eventually turned his attention back to the argument with Brad.
Mark almost laughed. They were so easy to manipulate. Even when Randy suspected something might be up, his ego always got in the way of connecting the dots. Mark knew that if he stayed quiet and played it cool, Randy would eventually dismiss his gut feeling.
As the fight continued to simmer, Mark leaned back into the couch once more, feeling smug. He could end the fight at any time—just casually "find" the remote, toss it back to Brad, and act like he was doing them both a favor. Or, he could let them stew for a while longer, watch as the tension built, and enjoy the show.
After all, they had been torturing him for years. Brad's pranks, Randy's snark—it was all fair game now. The difference? Mark didn't need to get loud or obvious about his revenge. No, he operated in the shadows, getting his small victories in ways that his brothers would never even notice.
He didn't need the credit. He didn't need them to know. The real satisfaction was in watching them spiral, completely unaware of his involvement.
So, as Brad and Randy continued their pointless argument over the missing remote, Mark sat quietly, content in the knowledge that he had already won.
And the best part?
They would never know