“I’m so fucking done with this,” Adrian snapped. “I’ve put up with your crap for years, because you were a kid and I thought you’d grow out of it, but guess what? You didn’t. So go ahead, yell at me, punch me, whatever the hell you need to do. Just say it already. Stop skulking around with this silent, bitter bullshit. Get it out of your system!” Adrian’s voice tore through the stairwell, bouncing off the cracked walls.
Alon stood rigid, breath loud in the space between them, his hands balled into fists, his chest rising and falling like he was holding something in; something too heavy to carry anymore. His eyes were wild, but not just with rage. Beneath the blaze of fury, something else sparked in his eyes, a confusion steeped in pain, raw and mute, still searching for a name it had never been given. It was as if it had been quietly dormant within him all those years, concealed in silence, never having been able to take the form of language.
And then it all broke open.
“I’ve got two fucking days at home, Adrian!” Alon roared, his voice ricocheting down the stairwell. “Two fucking days before I go back! And even in that time, all I hear is you!”
Adrian froze mid-step, hand gripping the rusting railing.
Alon’s laugh was jagged, almost a choke. “High school wasn’t enough? You think it was easy? Everyone knew I was your brother. The gay brother’s kid. They mocked me, they beat the shit out of me because you decided you weren’t gonna hide. And I got the fire for it. I carried it.” His fist slammedinto the peeling plaster beside him, leaving a faint smear of dust on his knuckles.
“But I thought, okay, high school’s over. I’ll have the army. I’ll be my own man. Finally. Not in your fucking shadow.” His voice cracked into a half-sob, half-snarl. “But no. Even there. Even in the one place that was supposed to be mine, you’re still everywhere.”
Adrian tried to cut in, “What—” but Alon overrode him, louder, fiercer.
“I make Shayetet 13, the fucking elite naval commandos, and guess what?” Alon’s laugh was sharp, bitter. “No one cares! You know what they say? ‘Oh, you mean like Adrian?’ I call Dad during my one fucking hour of phone time, after a week that nearly kills me, and what does he say? He doesn’t ask about me. No, he doesn’t care about it. He says, ‘Oh yeah, Adrian did that too. He was great at it.’”
Alon’s breath hitched, his voice growing wilder, more frenzied.
“They came to my rank ceremony, Adrian. And guess what I heard the entire time? ‘Adrian finished his training with honors.’ ‘Adrian was number one.’ ‘Adrian aced every test.’ ‘Remember when Adrian was here? He was the best.’ Always you!”
Adrian swallowed, something thick and hot lodging in his throat. “You didn’t tell me you got your first ranks,” he said quietly.
Alon scoffed, eyes burning. “Yeah. Because I didn’t want you there.”
The words hit like a slap, but Adrian didn’t move.
“Everything in your life is so perfect,” Alon spat, voice dripping with resentment. “You’re always the golden fucking boy. The one they worship. The one who gets everything. The one who gets everything handed to him just by walking into a room. And don’t you dare stand there and tell me that’s not true.” He turned half away, then whipped back, the lastconfession ripping out of him. “Everyone chooses you,” he said, the edge of his fury trembling into something else. “Every person I’ve ever wanted… chose you.”
His voice cracked on the last word, the confession slipping out before he could stop it. He dropped his gaze, turning away sharply, like he could shove the feeling back down if he just didn’t look at Adrian. A breath hitched in his throat—not quite a sob, but close—and then he blinked hard, jaw clenched, as if anger might save him from the softness that had just broken through.
Adrian felt his pulse pounding in his skull.
And then, something inside him snapped.
“Are you out of your mind?!” he burst. “I’m dying, Alon! Do you get that?!”
Silence slammed down between them, dense and suffocating in the familiar street where they’d grown up. Adrian caught glimpses of neighbors behind half-drawn curtains, faces drawn to the spectacle of their Friday night shouting while the rest of the block shared Sabbath dinners in warm, hushed rooms.
Alon’s jaw tightened. His lips parted, but no words came.
And then—so quietly it was almost a whisper—he said, “Even with your fucking illness, I would still take your life over mine.”
Adrian’s stomach twisted.
“Shut your mouth.” His voice was barely above a growl. “Don’t say that bullshit.”
“Bullshit?” Alon let out a broken laugh, shaking his head. “You have any idea what it’s like to live in your fucking shadow? Have you ever—just once—asked what it’s like being me? To never be enough? To never matteras much as you? To live in your shadow and watch everyone fall over themselves to love you, to see you, and never once looking back to notice me?”
Adrian didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
Because for the first time, he saw it—not just the anger, but the exhaustion, the helplessness, the weight Alon had been carrying for years.
“Adrian made it to commando. Adrian’s a lieutenant. Adrian was number one.” Alon’s voice turned mocking, venomous. “Adrian’s an amazing musician. Adrian is coming home. Adrian is going back. Adrian is traveling the world. Adrian has a special man in his life, so beautiful, so perfect. Adrian is surfing, Adrian is jogging, Adrian is training, Adrian is so good at sports! Adrian’s heart was broken! Adrian is dying—poor, poor Adrian, dying of the same thing that took his mother—”
“Alon, STOP—”
“And even then, when you were a mess, when you couldn’t eat or speak or sleep without breaking, Dean was there every day for you! Every fucking day and night, he was at that house after you. Held you when you cried. Slept beside you so you wouldn’t wake up alone.” He let out a sob that was masked as a laugh. “Can’t you see a pattern here? I’m invisible.”
