Shorts: The Twins

Part of the shorts series. Shorts are short one off stories done by request of the person generally in the story. Meaning, they will be self contained even if they have characters from other stories. Good for when you are looking for a quick fight that won't hurt your eyes reading for a long time. 

The twins, Aiden and Evan, were once inseparable. Born minutes apart, they grew up mirroring each other’s every move. Same toys, same sports, same grades, even the same damn haircut until they were seventeen. It was cute when they were kids, people joked they were telepathic, finishing each other’s sentences like some novelty act. But now? Now they were twenty-four, and the sameness that once bonded them was starting to feel like a prison. It wasn’t just that they liked the same music or both preferred their steaks rare. It was deeper, more instinctual. If Aiden started going to the gym at 6 a.m., Evan would show up the next day at 5:45, just to be first. If Evan mentioned a girl, Aiden would find a reason not to like her. It was competition masked as connection, closeness twisted into rivalry.

The shift didn’t come with fireworks either, it was more like a slow burn. Little frictions here and there piling up over days, months and then years. But no one saw the final match being struck. Not even them. All anyone knew was one Sunday afternoon, a shout rang through their parents’ house. Then another. Then came the sound of glass rattling, doors slamming. Their mother tried to intervene, only for both boys to yell in unison, "Stay out of it!" It was chaos. Their father left the room, muttering something about letting them be men and settle it. Whatever the fight was originally about, who took the last protein bar, whose girlfriend had more substance, who was the real reason they both quit college, got lost in the storm of shouting. Every wound, every slight they had swallowed over the years was vomited up in ugly, bitter words. They stormed out. Then came back. The yelling resumed. Someone’s shirt got torn. A chair was flipped. Their mother cried quietly in the kitchen. And finally, they stopped. Standing across from each other in the living room, heaving for breath, fists clenched. The old photo wall framed them perfectly, baby pictures, matching graduation caps, childhood smiles.

Now they stared each other down. The same face, reflected in rage.

Everything in them screamed to throw the first punch. But something, pride, fear, the ghost of their childhood bond, held them in place. Muscles tight. Eyes locked. It didn’t happen that day, at least not in that hour. But they both knew it would. Their mother begged them to talk it out. Their friends said it was childish. But their father, old-school, gruff, and never much for words, just leaned back in his recliner and muttered, “Rent a ring and settle it like men.”

And to everyone’s surprise, they both agreed.

At the exact same time.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The silence that followed was worse than the shouting. Their father just nodded, like he’d handed them the key to some ancient ritual. In a way, he had. A week later, it was arranged. A warehouse on the edge of town. Private. One room, one ring, no audience. The kind of place where the walls sweat, the lights flicker, and the air hangs thick with stale blood and sour heat. No AC, no fans. Just concrete, ropes, and heat.When Aiden showed up, Evan was already inside, unpacking his gear.

White gloves. White trunks.

Aiden froze for a second. Of course. 

“You copied me again,” he growled.

“Screw you,” Evan said without even looking. “I’ve had these for months.”

“Bullshit.”

They didn’t speak after that.

No coach. No ref. No bell. Just the two of them taping up, lacing up, and letting the hatred simmer. The warehouse had a stillness to it, like the whole place was waiting. They stepped into the ring. No handshake. Just glares. Years of rivalry, tension, unspoken resentment, it all sat between them, coiled and ready to snap.

And then it did.

 

They launched at each other in a rhythm that looked more like a spar than a brawl. Aiden’s right hook cut through the air, quick and sharp, but Evan’s left forearm rose in perfect time, the leather thudding against leather. Evan’s counter, a jab for the nose, met nothing but the empty space where Aiden’s head had been a heartbeat earlier. They circled, feinting, watching, daring. Evan dipped low and swung a body shot toward the ribs. Aiden’s elbow clamped down, catching it, the force absorbed but not ignored. Aiden answered with a snapping uppercut, but Evan had already shifted his weight back, retreating just far enough for the fist to skim air. It was like watching mirrors collide. Each blow anticipated, each defense drilled into muscle memory years ago on cracked gym floors, when they had been partners instead of rivals. Aiden pressed forward, trying to overwhelm. Three jabs fired in succession, pop, pop, pop, aiming to test Evan’s guard. Evan’s gloves shifted just in time, parrying the first, sidestepping the second, slipping under the third. He grinned through his mouthpiece, a flash of teeth in the dim light.

“You’ll have to do better,” he taunted, breath hissing.

Aiden’s only answer was a sharp exhale and a brutal hook aimed at Evan’s temple. It should have landed, but Evan tilted his head by an inch, and the glove sailed past, dragging Aiden off-balance. Evan drove a counter punch toward the exposed ribs, but Aiden twisted just enough, his side tightening, the shot brushing across muscle but doing no damage. Back and forth they went, sweat beginning to bead on brows, gloves whispering against each other as much as they struck flesh. Every move was met by its shadow. Every trick was already known. It wasn’t just a fight, it was a chess match written in fists and footwork.The ring echoed with their steps, their breaths, the slap of blocked shots. An unspoken question hung in the stale air: who would find the crack in the other’s armor first?

As it would turn out, Aiden would be the first to strike true, or close enough to count. His left hand darted out, a stiff jab that caught the edge of Evan’s guard. It wasn’t clean, just a glancing shot that skidded off leather, but it rattled Evan’s balance a fraction. For the first time all night, the mirror cracked. Aiden saw it and didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, gloves snapping like hunger. Another jab, this one sharper, slid through the guard and clipped Evan’s cheek. Evan tried to reset, to bring his hands back up tight, but Aiden was already on him. A right cross slammed against the temple, thudding against bone, enough to make Evan’s head whip sideways. He staggered a step, and that was all Aiden needed.

“Come on, brother,” Aiden growled through gritted teeth, pressing his attack.

He unloaded, short, chopping hooks that battered against Evan’s defense, each one finding a way through. Left hook to the jaw. Right hook to the opposite side. A jab that forced Evan’s head back, eyes blinking, guard slipping lower each time. The rhythm was gone now, the perfect symmetry broken. Evan looked less like a mirror and more like a man trying to stay upright in a storm. Aiden hammered another cross  through the middle, smashing against the nose, and for a heartbeat Evan’s knees dipped. Evan’s eyes glazed for a second, his footing unsteady. Aiden could see it, his twin rocked, vulnerable, the years of hatred finally translating into bruises. And Aiden kept throwing, head shots raining down like hammers against stone, determined to carve cracks deeper and deeper until the whole wall broke apart.

Aiden pressed forward, relentless. His gloves cracked against Evan’s skull in a sicking rhythm. First was left jab, then a right cross, now left hook, then left hook again. Each one smacked against skin and bone, forcing Evan’s head to jerk, forcing him back a step at a time. Another hook snapped in, landing on the jaw. Then a jab cracked against the brow, leaving Evan blinking through sweat. Aiden snarled, throwing again and again, determined to finish what years of resentment had built. His twin’s face was the target, and Aiden refused to let up.

But aggression breeds risk.

Aiden wound up for another right hook, certain he had Evan cornered, and missed by an a half a inch. Maybe even less. The glove cut through nothing but air, dragging him off-line, his chin exposed for just a heartbeat. That was all Evan needed. He surged forward like a coiled spring snapping free, and his counter came mean, sharp, and fueled by pure fury. A left hook crashed into Aiden’s jaw, the crack of impact snapping his head sideways. Before Aiden could recover, Evan followed with a brutal right cross that  smacked against the temple, making his vision strobe white. Aiden stumbled, gloves wavering. Evan didn’t let him breathe. He drove another hook into the cheek, then a snapping jab straight to the nose, snapping Aiden’s head back. Each shot landed heavier than the last, fists fueled by years of being second, years of being shadow. Now it was Aiden’s turn to reel, gloves up but leaking through. The silence of the gym seemed louder with every punch, every thud of leather against flesh, every grunt of effort. 

Evan had tasted blood in the water, and he wasn’t letting go.
 

His gloves became weapons of pure vengeance, pounding Aiden’s head from side to side. A jab smacked across the cheek, then a cross slammed into the opposite jaw, snapping it back the other way. He followed with a short, savage hook that thudded into the ear, ringing Aiden’s skull like a bell. Each hit was meaner than the last, delivered not just with strength, but with all the years of swallowed words and bottled fury. Aiden staggered under the barrage, gloves up still trying to defend or deflect that blows, but still each strike bouncing his head like it was caught between hammers.

“Not so tough now, are you?” Evan spat, voice low and ragged. 

His breath misted the air as his fists kept working. He snapped another cross to the brow, sending sweat spraying, then an uppercut that clattered against the chin and rocked Aiden back onto his heels. Aiden’s legs wobbled, his guard drifting lower and lower as he tried to weather the storm. Evan pressed forward, his shadow swallowing his twin, fists firing in piston rhythm, left, right, left, right, smashing against cheekbones, forehead, temple. But then, in the chaos, he saw it. Aiden’s elbows had drifted too high, too desperate to shield his skull. The middle was wide open. Evan seized the moment. He dipped low, coiled his shoulder, and drove his fist deep into Aiden’s body. The glove slammed into the ribs with a crack like splitting wood, sinking into flesh until it seemed to dig for organs. The sound was thick, meaty. The impact doubled Aiden over, his breath ripped out in a hoarse grunt, arms dropping as if the pain itself had cut the strings holding him up. Evan stepped back just enough to watch his brother fold, chest heaving, eyes wide with shock. The head shots had rocked him, but that body shot was the one that truly broke through. 

 

 

The sound of the blow was profound, it was too thick, to wet, and to loud. The crack that followed was worse, echoing off the walls like a warning neither of them would hear. Had they been in their right minds, it would have ended there. A referee would have stopped it. Brothers would have stopped it. Something was broken, ribs maybe, or at least badly bruised, but in that ring, sanity had no place. There was only one way this would end, and that would be one down and not getting up. Evan smelled weakness, and he wasn’t about to let it slip away. He drove forward, his gloves no longer aimed at the head but hammering down into the open gut. A right hook slammed into the ribs again, folding Aiden further, a strangled groan tearing from his throat. Evan’s left glove shot up and buried itself into the solar plexus, knocking the air out of Aiden’s lungs in a ragged cough.

“Stay down” Evan hissed, though his fists said the opposite.

Another hook smashed into the side, digging deep, making Aiden’s knees buckle. Then came a cruel uppercut to the stomach, lifting him an inch off his feet before slamming him back down onto the canvas. His whole body jolted from the impact, arms falling uselessly to his sides. The silence of the gym made it worse. Every strike rang out sharp, the slap of leather against flesh followed by the guttural sounds wrenched from Aiden’s throat. No crowd to drown it out. No mercy to soften it. Just the relentless rhythm of fists punishing a broken body. Evan rained them in thick and hard, each punch sinking deeper, each one a shovel digging into the same wound. He worked Aiden’s midsection with brutal precision, ribs, belly, ribs again, until it seemed impossible the man could keep standing. Aiden’s face was twisted, his breaths short, desperate, strangled between pain and stubbornness. His body hunched, swaying, but still upright. Still refusing to drop.

And that refusal only drove Evan to hit harder.

Evan didn’t let up. He didn’t care about the damage, didn’t care what cracked or tore with every blow. His gloves were merciless, pounding Aiden’s body like hammers against stone, each strike sinking deeper into already battered flesh. A right hook slammed into the ribs, thud. A left uppercut buried itself in the stomach, whump. Another right, another left, each one landing heavier, crueler, more certain of its destruction. Aiden folded, gasping, his arms sagging lower and lower. But still he stood, and still Evan hit him. The sound was a brutal symphony: leather slapping meat, ribs groaning under pressure, grunts of pain spilling from Aiden’s clenched teeth. Evan drove him backward into the ropes, and there he punished him. Short, chopping hooks to the ribs. Straight drives to the sternum. A barrage that left no room to breathe. Aiden’s body jerked with every shot, his face twisted in agony, but Evan’s eyes burned with something colder than rage. Finally, Evan leaned in close between punches, his voice a rasp dripping with venom.

“You’ve always been the weaker one, Aiden…” His fist smashed into the gut, folding Aiden deeper. “…Nothing but my shadow.”

The words landed harder than the gloves.

For a second, Aiden froze. His pain cut off, his breathing went still. Then his eyes snapped open, wild, bright, blazing with something that wasn’t just anger, but defiance carved raw. His whole body stiffened, trembling not from weakness but from something that had been waiting, buried, clawing to get out.

And in that moment, Aiden snapped.

Evan’s words still hung in the stale air when Aiden surged up from the ropes like a man possessed. His right glove ripped upward, a monstrous uppercut that crashed into Evan’s chin with a crack like a gunshot. Evan’s head snapped back, his whole body jolting, knees wobbling as his balance threatened to give. Aiden didn’t wait. He didn’t breathe. He drove forward, burying his fists into Evan’s body with savage barbarian ready to end all civilization. Left hook to the ribs. Right cross to the stomach. A brutal shovel hook that dug into the side, making Evan’s chest fold inward. The gloves thudded thick and deep, each one tearing the air out of Evan’s lungs.

“You wanted to break me?” Aiden roared, his voice raw, furious animistic, between blows. His right glove slammed into Evan’s gut again, harder, deeper. 

“Break my ribs?!” He hammered a hook into the side, making Evan stagger.  

“Break my abs?!” Another punch, straight into the solar plexus, making Evan gasp and choke.

“I’ll do ten times worse!”

The words tore from him as his fists rained in merciless, each strike fueled by years of shadow turned to fire. He pummeled Evan’s core with everything he had, ribs rattling, stomach crunching, every punch an answer to every insult, every bruise a reckoning. Evan’s arms dropped lower, his guard faltering as his own body betrayed him under the assault. His jaw was slack, eyes blinking, every breath coming in broken gasps. And still Aiden kept swinging, his gloves pounding Evan’s midsection in a relentless storm, determined to shatter him from the inside out. Aiden’s fists became sledgehammers, pounding Evan’s body with a fury that wouldn’t relent. How could it? This was years in the making, years of frustration finally given life! Each blow sank deep, driving the air from his brother’s lungs and folding his frame bit by bit. Evan tried to plant his feet, tried to hold ground, but every shot forced him back another step. A savage right dug into the stomach, and Evan stumbled backward. A left hook crushed the ribs, sending him retreating again. Another straight shot speared into the gut, folding him over as his boots slid across the canvas. Step by step, punch by punch, Aiden herded him toward the corner like a predator closing in on its prey. Evan’s gloves sagged lower and lower, his defense more instinct than strength, his face twisted with pain. Evan’s back smacked against the turnbuckle with a hollow thunk. His arms half-raised, his body exposed, trapped with nowhere to go. 

 

Aiden’s eyes burned as he stepped in close, pressing his chest against Evan’s to pin him in place. Then he let loose. This wasn't over, the storm would not calm. Hooks, uppercuts, straight drives, all battering Evan’s midsection with brutal, merciless rhythm. The sound filled the gym: thud, thud, thud, leather colliding with flesh, ribs groaning under the assault. Aiden dug deep, each punch harder than the last, hammering the core of his brother until it seemed impossible it could withstand more.

“You feel that?!” Aiden barked between blows, his gloves pistoning up into Evan’s gut. 

“You wanted to break me?” Another right slammed home, making Evan’s knees quake. 

“Now I’ll break you!”

Evan’s abs, once strong, once unyielding just like his brothers, were breaking down under the storm. Every muscle twitched, convulsed, screamed in protest. His body shook against the ropes, breath stolen, face pale from the relentless punishment. And Aiden only pushed harder, doubling his power, every strike a vow to push his twin’s stomach to its absolute limit. Limit.... no limits. Something in Aiden’s eyes shifted. The fury that had carried him this far curdled into something darker, something detached. His breathing slowed, his face stilled, and in that silence he zoned out. It was no longer brother against brother, it was destruction for its own sake. His fists moved on their own, merciless, mechanical.
 

Thud. A hook caved into the ribs.

Thud. Another, deeper, striking the same spot.

Whump. An uppercut to the gut, so hard it seemed to lift Evan’s body off the turnbuckle.

Evan choked, a sound like a man drowning, spittle spraying as he sagged against the ropes. His abs, once hard and disciplined, were buckling. Purple and black bruises bloomed across the surface, ugly blotches spreading with each impact. And then, shockingly, horribly, red welts broke open. The skin split from the sheer force of the blows, thin trails of blood running down his heaving stomach. Aiden saw it, and he didn’t stop. If anything, it drove him deeper. He hammered his fists into the wounds, pounding until every strike smeared crimson across his gloves. The canvas beneath them darkened with spots, each drop a reminder that this had gone too far, that it should have ended, but Aiden didn’t care. His face was stone, eyes glazed, as if he wasn’t even there anymore. The sound of the blows grew sickening, no longer just leather on flesh, but flesh tearing, ribs creaking, organs failing under the assault. Evan’s body jolted with every impact, his abs quivering, muscles tearing apart under the unrelenting punishment. His breath came in strangled wheezes, his arms slack, his head hanging. But Aiden kept going. There was no pause, no mercy, no recognition left. Just fists slamming into meat, over and over, until the man in front of him was no longer a brother but a ruin. And still, in the hollow pit of his mind, Aiden’s only thought was a whisper: Not weak. Not shadow. Not anymore.

Evan was finished. He knew it. His body screamed it with every shallow breath, every nerve lit up with agony. His abs, once a shield, were nothing but bruised, swollen wreckage, dark purples, angry reds, and bleeding cuts that oozed down his trembling core. Every punch tore through him, rattling his spine, crushing the air from his lungs. But there was no escape, because really where could he go? His back sagged into the turnbuckle, arms draped limply over the top ropes like a man crucified. The ropes held him upright, nothing else. His legs shook but wouldn’t carry him. His head lolled, snapping forward with every strike Aiden delivered, then slumping back again, sweat and blood dripping off his chin. Evan’s mind slipped in and out, sometimes all he saw was black, sometimes the blinding white of pain. Aiden’s fists blurred together, an endless rainstorm that had no end. When awareness flickered, all Evan could do was register the horror of his own body failing, the dull terror of knowing he couldn’t defend himself anymore. He groaned, a sound raw and broken, but it wasn’t enough to stop his brother. Aiden didn’t hear him, or didn’t care. Another hook smashed into the side, forcing a spasm out of his ribs. An uppercut plowed into his stomach so deep it bent him over at the waist before the ropes snapped him back upright. Then came another, and another, each punch forcing him further past what should have been human limits.Evan wasn’t fighting anymore. He wasn’t even standing. He was just there, strung up on the ropes, forced to absorb everything Aiden poured into him. His body shook, his eyes rolled back, but still the punishment came.And somewhere inside the haze, Evan felt the bitter truth: he was broken. 

 

 

Evan’s world was nothing but pain. His body no longer felt like his own, just a collection of bruises, broken pieces, and failing nerves stitched together by agony. Every blow was a bomb detonating inside him, rattling his chest, stealing what little breath he had left. Aiden’s fists never slowed. They pounded into the shredded wall of Evan’s abs with sickening force, each punch finding softer flesh, each strike dragging him deeper into ruin. The bruises had turned near-black, skin swollen and split in jagged lines that bled freely under the gloves. His stomach spasmed violently with each impact, his body rejecting the abuse even as the ropes held him upright.

Thud.
Evan coughed, a spray of blood misting from his lips.
 

Whump.
His ribs groaned, a sharp crack carrying through the empty gym, and he wailed like an animal being torn apart.
 

Crack.
Another punch folded him in half, only for the ropes to snap him back up, arms flopping uselessly at his sides.

Aiden’s face was a mask of stone, his fists a blur. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t recoil at the sight of his twin unraveling in front of him. The sound of leather on flesh mixed with the wet, ragged gasps of Evan choking on every blow, and still the barrage went on. Evan’s mind flickered in and out. Worse now. Sometimes there was nothing but the void, sometimes a sharp, unbearable awareness of what was happening: his body breaking, his will shattering, his brother’s fists dismantling him piece by piece. He could feel his insides turning to fire, his chest tightening, his ribs screaming with each strike. His legs gave first. They trembled, then buckled, leaving only the ropes to hold him up. His arms sagged further until they dangled lifeless at his sides. His head drooped forward, chin to chest, sweat and blood dripping onto the mat. Still Aiden hit him. Still the fists drove in, merciless, until Evan’s body convulsed with each punch, his back arching and slamming against the turnbuckle like he was nothing more than a rag doll. Finally, after what felt like forever, Evan’s eyes rolled back, his breathing shallow, ragged. His body swayed on the ropes, every muscle twitching and spasming under the weight of the punishment. And then, at last... his knees bent, his grip on the ropes slipped. His body sagged lower, every nerve screaming surrender.

Evan was about to drop. 

He hit the mat like a felled tree.

Out cold.

 

 

Aiden stood over him, chest heaving, gloves twitching. The rage still burned... but so did something else. Something colder. Emptier. He flexed his arms in primal victory, muscles taut, veins bulging, and roared like a man who had just conquered everything, and nothing at all.

And then the silence came.

Just him. His brother at his feet. And a single, echoing thought, now what? The warehouse was silent now, save for the creak of old ropes and the steady drip of sweat hitting canvas. Aiden hung on the ropes, arms limp, chest rising and falling like waves in a storm. His white gloves were stained with blood, his own, his brother’s, maybe both. Every inch of him ached. His stomach throbbed with dull, endless pain. But he didn’t care, at least not anymore. All of this seemed so dumb now, so pointless, so without meaning. He kept his eyes on Evan. The body on the mat hadn’t moved for minutes. That scared him more than he wanted to admit. Had he gone to far? Had they gone far? Clearly they did, but …

Then, finally, a twitch...

A grunt....

Evan stirred.

Slowly, he rolled onto his side. Then onto his hands and knees. Every motion was a struggle, every breath a battle. But he rose. One shaky foot. Then the other. He didn’t look at Aiden at first. Just staggered across the ring, head bowed, arms dangling. When he reached the opposite side of his brother, he collapsed into the ropes like a dying man finding water. They stood(ish) like that, mirrored again. Both slumped, wrecked, breathing heavy, chests soaked in sweat, skin marked and bruised. The silence between them wasn’t tense now. It was full. They looked at each other across the ring, not as enemies, not even as rivals.

Just as brothers. Beaten. Battered. Still standing.

Aiden’s lip curled into the barest smirk. Evan rolled his eyes, but then gave a weak, tired chuckle.

And that was enough. No apology came. No grand gesture. They didn’t need it. They had said everything with their fists. Somehow, that was more honest. Eventually, they slid down the ropes, still facing each other. Sitting. Broken. Breathing the same air. And for the first time in a long, long while...

They understood each other.

 

 

The sun sank low behind the old fence, casting the backyard in a golden hush. The warmth of the day clung to the boards beneath them, but the air had cooled, just enough to feel like change. The kind of air that hinted a storm had passed. Evan sat on the left step. Aiden on the right. Bare-chested, both of them still wearing the same white trunks from the fight, though they were stained now, sweat, dirt, maybe a bit of blood. The bruises on their skin told the story of what they’d done to each other. The swelling around their ribs, the mottled blotches over their chests, the cut under Evan’s eye and the purple hue blooming across Aiden’s jaw. They would both get checked out at some point, find that much of the damage wouldn't take to long to heal, the rest just a bit longer, but the moment would shift into memory. Now... now they hadn’t said much since leaving the ring.

Didn’t need to.

The beer bottles were cold, though the sweat on them had long since dried in the evening heat. They each took slow sips, eyes unfocused, staring at the grass, the fading sky, the worn wood underfoot. The world felt... softer now. Worn out. Like them. Aiden winced as he shifted, ribs protesting. Evan noticed.

“Hurts?”

“Yeah,” Aiden grunted. “You hit like a bastard.”

“You too,” Evan said. Then after a beat, “Still pissed at you.”

Aiden nodded slowly. “Same.”

And yet… there was a crooked smile tugging at Evan’s lips.

They sat in silence for a while longer, the kind only brothers could share. The kind forged not from comfort, but understanding. Hard won. Very bloody. But actually honest. Aiden finally looked over, not with anger, but with something older, something tired and real.

“We’re never doing that again.”

Evan chuckled, winced, and nodded.

“No. Next time we argue, we flip a coin.”

“Yeah,” Aiden said, raising his bottle. “But I call heads.”

They clinked their beers together, the glass soft and final in the dimming light. Behind them, the back door of their parents’ house creaked. Their mother peeked out, saw them, and didn’t say a word. Just watched, lips pressed together in quiet relief. Whatever came next, years of tension, of rebuilding, of figuring out who they were when they weren’t trying to be better than the other, could wait.

Tonight, they were just brothers again.

Bruised.

Broken.

But together.

 

 

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