Chapter Text
Brainless. Adrenaline junkie. Violent monster. Idiot. Brandon's dog.
These are some of the words Landon King would use to describe Nikolai Sokolov.
But then why he found himself staring at Nikolai a beat longer than necessary was beyond him.
He also didn’t know why his eyes would try to find Nikolai's whenever they were in the same area. Neither did he know why he especially liked to get on the man's nerves just to see him curse at him like a rabid dog. He didn't know why he always physically got closer to him whenever they were talking—insulting— each other.
And when he found out that Brandon and Nikolai were dating—he was furious.
Furious because how dare a total wank like him date his golden brother? Furious because he didn't want his brother’s heart broken by a man who inhaled violence as oxygen. Furious because he couldn't understand why a saint like his twin would date a monster like Nikolai.
Furious because something inside Landon's body dared to stumble in its robotic functioning.
Then when Brandon refused to break up with him—when he saw the sparkle in his brother’s eyes return after eight fucking years, Landon stepped back.
He watched them fall more in love. He watched them gravitate towards each other as if they were inseparable. He watched as Nikolai and Brandon exchanged devoted whispers. He watched them love each other.
For the first time in his life, the performer became the spectator.
And he couldn't do anything—couldn't act on his fury, because Brandon was happy. His twin brother was smiling. Even if it was directed at a monstrous man.
Landon couldn't lift a finger to point at Nikolai because Brandon trusted him. And that meant he had to as well.
So, he buried his anger. He sedated it. He kept it distracted with sculptures, sex, and the occasional anarchy.
He made sure it didn't bleed out to ruin his brother’s happiness.
He kept it hidden until the fury became numb. A gnawing tick at the back of his head. A small tightening of the black organ he calls his heart. A little tiwst of the bottom of his stomach. A little lump in his throat.
At first, he didn't understand. Yes, something had finally managed to tip the puppeteer off his game. Something so unusual enough that he couldn't grasp his head around it.
The anger and resentment he felt towards Brandon's and Nikolai's relationship had numbed to a persisting...pain?
Landon didn't even know what pain was. He only knew anger, obsession and boredom.
When those bastards in high school called Bran a fag? He felt anger. When that teacher insulted Glyn's art? He felt anger. All those times he had seethed in fury. All the weaker emotions like pain, sadness, and love were for people like his siblings who actually felt it.
So why—why the fuck was he feeling? Why did his heart clench whenever Nikolai leaned closer to Brandon and smiled like he hung the stars.
Why doesn't he stare at me like that?
Landon flinched at the thought. The chair squeeked in response to his reaction. His heart lodged itself in his throat, and his vision blackened for a split second.
Then, his eyes focused on the sculpture he was making.
The world became quiet when he realised what he had sculpted. The air inside his studio suddenly became suffocating. His fingers grasped the side of his work table, his knuckles turning white. His heart was hammering, but nothing ran through his mind. Yet, he couldn't tear his eyes off the statue.
He could not believe what he had just made. He couldn't hear his own breathing—only the thud of his heart. He felt lightheaded, felt like his lungs were constricted. It was the most he had felt in days. Bile rose in his throat when he put a name to his sculpture. His making.
Nikolai Sokolov.
His absent, racing, and fucked-up mind had made his hands sculpt the exact face of Nikolai Sokolov—his brother’s boyfriend.
His chest tightened at the self-reminder. Suddenly, the panic turned into self-disgust. Something he was much more familiar with.
He had sculpted his twin brother's boyfriend while thinking about him. He had let his mind out of his control, enough that it disobeyed him. Alienated him from his own world. Took control of the one thing he swore to never lose.
With a deep sense of dreed, he realised that the fury, pain, and every other thing he felt were directed towards Brandon, not Nikolai. He was jealous of his own twin brother. The realisation became as clear as glass. He wanted his brother’s boyfriend.
He wanted Nikolai.
A sound—half cry and half snarl—forced its way past his throat, and he jumped to his feet, nearly falling because of the tremor in his knees. The chair fell back with a thud, and Landon stepped back, physically putting distance between him and the sculpture.
The sculpture of Nikolai.
The same nose, the same eyes, and that same smile that he gives Brandon—not Landon.
Never Landon.
Landon only got the insults, the snarls, and the hate. Brandon got— and deserved—his sweet words, his smiles, and his unconditional love.
Landon didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve to be loved nor to love. He was the ugly twin. The twin with all the wrong things. The twin who acted like he was superior to everyone to hide the disgusting stench of the rot in his bones.
He was the fucked up twin.
He didn't deserve Nikolai. He didn't deserve his love.
He deserved nothing.
He should be the discarded twin. The one to use and satisfy. The one used to feel a thrill. The one to be a distraction. The one to be an option.
Never the choice.
No, the choice would always be the perfect one. The angelic one. The kinder one. The one that screamed safety and security.
Not the chaotic, blood-stained, psychotic one.
Moisture began to collect in his eyes. A lone tear slipped past his lower lashes, tracing a path down his cheekbones, and suddenly, he felt sick.
He felt like the space was closing in on him. He felt as though the world itself was tilting on its axis, and he was the one crushed. He felt the clay eyes of his creation stare into him with the mock of the real thing.
He saw Nikolai's real face and smile—directed away from him to the loving eyes of his twin’s.
His body moved while his mind remained still. His eyes were glued to the statue but his hand reached for a white sheet near his canvases.
Then, with a tightened heart and tear-stained face, he covered the statue with the sheet.
With that, he covered his feelings.
He grabbed the sculpture with trembling fingers and kept it at the farthest corner of his studio. Still covered, still locked away. He didn't want anyone to see it, but something stopped him from breaking it.
He would soon.
He had to.
He had to keep his feelings locked and buried until it got bored and left him alone.
Left Brandon's happiness alone.
Because he could never be Brandon. Definitely not in Nikolai's eyes.