“ no, they do not. they will, at some point, but now they’ve got me to distract them. ” —– THEY WON’T FOR LONG remains unsaid; your fingers already itch for FIRE, thinking that maybe, just maybe, the heat will melt away at the ice that’s been eating away at your heart.
sometimes, it’s so easy to forget that you’re only five. it’s so easy to forget that normal children do not take a knife to their arm just to see what’s beneath layers of skin, do not spew forth poisonous words that gets them EVERYTHING they want —— or well… not everything. albeit he had always done anything you asked him to, mycroft had done so out of his own volition. perhaps because you share more than with any other, or maybe because he can understand the pattern of your complex cognitive process.
and it’s then that the realisation hits, then that blue eyes seem to lose their OLDER THAN YOUR YEARS quality, instead brimming up with tears. “ if you go away —– ” a clench of a tiny jaw, the tremble of a rosy bottom lip “ does that mean there won’t be any more plays ?? ”
two siblings, older but not wiser than their years, so similar, yet so different, and still mycroft is always baffled by eurus. everything about her. and somehow, her words are reassuring, because he believes her (or he knows it’s true), and maybe he’s selfish for it, but he holds onto those words. they don’t hate me as much as they hate her. not yet.
if he could’ve known that years down the road, eurus would be gone, presumed dead, and he would’ve gotten the blame and the brunt of the work related to it all thrust upon him, he would’ve laughed at his teenager self for being so petty. why did he think his parents hated him then? because he was overweight, didn’t have good social skills, didn’t always make perfect marks, or god forbid he wanted to be an actor? how does something like that compare to getting the blame for not taking good enough care of his sister, for letting her kill, for letting her die, for letting her rot away in prison and NOT be dead, for failing his whole family? kids.
but the question keeps him grounded, in a terrible way, and mycroft shakes his head-- he’s so innocent, in a tragically beautiful way. “not while i’m gone,” he says sadly, for himself and for her. “but when i come back on holiday. i promise we’ll do extra plays then.”
