head over heels

24 ~ bitter - sweet

[A/N - almost forgot to post the chapter today, ooops. I need to start scheduling them again, i do not trust myself to remember lol.]

Evan ignored Ethan the entire ride home, not sparing his brother a word, despite his best efforts. He talked about Dan, about Coach, but Evan didn't want to hear it.

He skipped dinner, feeling like he had no appetite, his stolen protein bar tasting like cardboard in his mouth. He lay in his bed, scrolling through some nondescript webcomic. He was too tired to get up, yet too tired to sleep.

Eventually though, he did. Fitfully.

He woke early the next morning to the sound of a car pulling out from the drive. He assumed it was his parents leaving for the weekend. The thought should have made him happy, instead however, he felt a small pang of wistful sadness.

"Happy birthday," he mumbled, staring at the one little star sticker on his ceiling. 

Before he could even start to marinate in his dull sadness, a knock sounded on his door. He didn't answer. He knew it was Ethan. His brother knocked like a freight train slamming into the wall. Loud and obnoxious.

"Evan, I'm coming in," Ethan barked.

He sighed, making no move to stop his brother.

The door was shoved open, and in the door frame stood Ethan, his brow furrowed and arms crossed in frustration. He looked slightly dishevelled, short cropped curls sticking up unusually, his face paler than usual.

"Talk." Ethan ordered.

"About what," Evan muttered dryly.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine."

"Your face looks fucked up."

Evan gingerly poked at his nose, wincing. He was sure there was a bruise there. He just shrugged, making no move to get out from under his covers.

Ethan shut the door behind him, and moved to sit next to Evan.

"Don't do this," Ethan warned, "Don't start your whole I'm fine bullshit. Talk."

"I am fine."

"Hah, funny."

"Ethan, leave it—"

"Happy birthday," Ethan cut him off, "Mom did try to see you this morning by the way, said you were asleep."

"Mmm, lemme guess, Dad didn't give a shit?"

"That's just Dad and you know it."

"He give a shit about you?" Evan muttered, "What did you get this year then, xbox? Volleyball gear? TV?"

"Stop it," Ethan said, "I tried to talk to him, I always do—"

"Great. You really are the golden boy of the family aren't you—" Evan drawled. He didn't want to hurt his brother. Not really. He just wanted him to stop prying.

Ethan glared, "This thing you do, the deflecting bullshit, not going to happen anymore okay? I know there's something wrong, just talk to me please—"

"I'm. Fine."

Ethan shook his head, "Why don't you talk to me Evan? What have I ever done to make you hate me like this—"

Evan felt a sharp pang of guilt. "I don't hate you," he managed.

"Then what—"

"I just don't want to talk about it," Evan muttered.

Ethan inspected him, frustration clear on his face. He moved, sitting cross legged on Evans bed, staring him down.