a house of cards (and us, inside)

16: are you the definition of insanity? (or am i?)

He barely had time to duck as the projectile shattered against the wall behind him, raining ceramic shards across the floor. Virat turned, chuckling at the remnants of what seemed to be a hand-painted pot.

Since when did pastel flowerpots grace his penthouse? What once was mostly empty and cold now seemed strangely lived in. He couldn't quite pinpoint it but Virat but found himself liking those little things. Signs of Naseem were scattered all over –  a sketchbook on the coffee table, lights strung over the hallway.

On the second floor, the boy stood with a lamp at his feet, arms crossed and face stony, as if he hadn't nearly taken Virat out moments ago.

"You have scarily good aim." It was a genuine compliment.

Naseem didn't seem to appreciate it though. "Have you lost your mind? What do you think you're doing?"

Standing near the base of the staircase, Virat tilted his head slightly, studying Naseem as if he were a complex puzzle. "Protecting what is mine."

Naseem's incredulity was evident in his echo. "This is not what protection is."

"It's for the best. There will be no risks, pain will never touch you."

"No more pain? That's bullshit, Virat! I have never been more miserable. I have never been more alone!"

"Haven't I given you your friend?" Virat's voice was steady, as if that ridiculous man was convinced he was speaking sense.

Naseem threw the lamp. It shattered at Virat's feet, the pieces reflecting the dim light in the room.

"How dare you?" It was strange, how even raw anger could not raise Naseem's volume. "I always had him. I always had Babar. You don't get to give him to me now, I don't want him!"

Virat's brows knitted. He took a step forward, uncaring of glass crunching under his shoes.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want him here!" He repeated, hands gripping the railing in a too harsh grip. "I never wanted him involved. That was our deal, you don't get to drag him into this!"

"But.. why?" The genuine confusion in Virat's tone would almost be sad, if Naseem's frustration wasn't threatening to bring the entire building around them any second.

"He is your brother, you... love him."

You love him so surely you should want him close. In your sight, safe. You love him so he is yours to have.

Naseem descended the stairs in a flurry of motion. "Because that's what people, normal people, do. We let go! Even if it means I never see him again, I want him gone, I want him free."

The space between them had shrunk, but it felt like an unbridgeable chasm. Virat could not reach him.

"You're such a pretty liar, Naseem."

Naseem levelled a truly lethal glare at him. Virat hesitated for a moment, considered stopping, but this wasn't the time to. He extended a hand, only for Naseem to slap it away.

"Don't you get tired of these pesky morals always in the way of what you truly want?"

For a second, Naseem looked as if he might stab Virat with his paintbrushes. But all he did was turn away, staring out at the moon, jaw clenched so tightly that the muscle ticked visibly.

"Let him live his life, Virat. You don't have to win everything. I'm here. I'm who you want."

That was the undeniable truth, set in stone. But the problem seemed deeper than Virat wanting someone he already had. It had never felt enough to have Naseem on his arm as a pretty thing. And now, it did not feel enough to have him so close yet still so far away.