Series: 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.
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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.
