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White had never seen Black cry. He had seen him covered in bruises and blood, beaten up to unconsciousness, but he had never seen his eyes red and puffy and his cheeks wet with tears. He had never heard Black's sobs, never seen his body shaking from fear.
That explained why White almost didn’t recognize him as he met him again. Time had passed, but Black seemed to have stayed that reckless kid, always angry at the world around him. From their twin connection, White knew Black was hurting.
As the police sirens faded away, restoring the night to its calm, White stared at him. He could barely believe his eyes: Black had grown, looking just like White. Black was curled up against a wall just around White’s neighborhood, knees to his chest. His bruised eyes were squeezed shut as tears run down his cheeks. Slow sobs made his body shake.
“Black…?” White softly called him, approaching him as he would do with a scared animal. Slow and calm, too scared he'd run away.
Black opened his eyes and raised his gaze, meeting White’s for the first time in years. Black's hands reached for his own face, trying to brush away the tears in vain. They just kept running down from his blood shot eyes like a river in flood.
White had so much to ask him. What happened to you? Who hurt you? Where have you been all this time? Still, he couldn’t utter a word. His heart beat loudly when he crouched in front of him. He stared at his twin sniffling, trying to collect himself. White looked at him fondly. He hesitantly reached for his twin’s cheek, brushing away the tears leaving his eyes and the blood dripping down his nose.
“…Are you ok?” White eventually managed, his voice just above a whisper.
“Yeah…” Black answered, his voice breaking and hoarse. “I’ve had it worse. I’ll live.”
“Are you safe now?”
Black shook his head no and sniffed. “I'm not. They’ll get me, eventually.”
White's heart sunk. He frowned. “No, they won’t. You’re with me now. You’re my brother. Mine. No one can take you away from me. Not again.”
White took him in his arms and held him close. Black rested his head on White's shoulder and inhaled his brother's scent. It was no different from his own, but slightly sweeter. White had always been sweeter.
“Let’s go home. I can treat your wounds.” White smiled softly as he stood up. He offered his hand for Black to grab. Black got up, stumbling a bit upon his feet and keeping a hand pressed on his aching ribs.
White was ready to bring his brother home. He didn’t understand what was happening when Black violently pushed him to the side. A loud bang followed. Another bang. Then a shout.
White squeezed his eyes shut at the loud noises. As he opened his eyes again, his twin was holding a gun.
Black glanced back at his brother. “White, run!”
But White quickly grabbed Black’s hand, taking him along.
White didn’t care in what mess Black had found himself in. He didn’t even care if Black was the one at fault. That was his twin brother, damn it. And White had missed him so much. He truly loved him to death.
White didn’t need any explanation. As he ran in the streets, tightly holding Black's hand in his, he knew what he would do to his twin: he would bring him home, clean his wounds the best he could and have him take a warm bath. Then they would share the same bed, just like when they were kids. He would hug him from behind and protect him, just like Black had always done, from the world that hated him so much.
White thought Black was unluckiest in the world: life kept punching him left and right, showing him no mercy. Black had taken each and every blow alone. White would love him enough to make up for it.
“I love you.” White whispered in bed with him, because there was no use in denying. Not when his twin knew what he was feeling at all times. Not when White knew Black felt the same.
Black hummed in response. He turned around, now facing White.
White kissed his cheek, just like when they were kids. Black kissed his cheek back.
Their faces were so close when their lips pressed together in the dark.