Two Minutes (part 1)
so there was this picture and a (kinda) prompt that came across my dash. And it sounded like fun - which is to say that the first sentence bit me and once I’d written that, more came. I feel like there’s more but in these few minutes between chicken chasing and leaving to pick up my dad this is what came out. @theprojectava I don’t know if this is what you wanted but its my start at least.
He’s not Takashi.
He will never be Takashi. Takashi, who’s the oldest by a mere two minutes and forty seconds and wears every nanosecond of that birth order in his very bones.
Not that his twin is all straight-laced propriety. Taka can cut loose and subvert the rules with an almost serene joy. But he knows it when he does. Because Taka always knows the weights and balances in everything he does and he manipulates and maneuvers the scale like a pachinko grandmother who’s riding her entire month’s pension check on it. Ryou gave up trying to match or even meet him when it comes to things like odds or strategy before they were even out of their pre-teens. Taka can turn on a heartbeat, ride the edge of an eyelash, slip through the tightest spot and keep climbing. Takashi, bluntly put, is the golden son of the Shirogane family. And, sometimes, he would be lying if Ryou didn’t admit it was hard, seeing that gleam ahead of him all the time. It would be harder if his brother was anyone other than his Takashi. Because Taka never saw him as his shadow, never treated him like an accessory, never loved him with anything less than his whole fierce loyal heart and Ryou - well, Taka wasn’t just the Shirogane family’s golden boy. He was Ryou’s too. There had always been a strong, consistent comfort and reassurance in that steady gleam of gold. Taka had always considered Ryou included in that glow.
If Takashi was the family mon in human form though, Ryou had his own place. Because every mon needed steel to partner it. And no one could match Ryou there.
first time he got into trouble, really got in trouble, it was when he took apart his
grandfather’s prized timepiece to see what made it chime. He’d been
six. By the time he was seven he’d put it back together and for the
first time in a century it had ticked time perfectly. His mind didn’t
make the leaps ahead that his golden twin’s did, his mind dug deep and kept digging.
Taka was naming the stars and learning his grandfather’s poetry as
soon as he could talk. Ryou had sat in their father’s study and poured
over old, vanilla smelling books about biology and chemistry, learning
to enjoy the way things slotted so perfectly into place when enough
parts were present. Taka mastered go and Ryou card games, preferring the
patterns he could watch for and manipulate to make things fall perfectly
into place. Taka dreamed up adventures for them around the family fish
pond and Ryou built small soldiers out of loose bolts and their
grandmother’s fabric scraps to accompany them. When they were old enough Taka learned to
make a hovercraft dance like a petal in the wind and Ryou learned to
tune it so that it whispered or purred or sang. They weren’t complete
opposites. They were almost evenly matched in combat, training
together young, with Taka having the advantage of strategy and Ryou the
advantage of recognizing patterns quickly. They both laughed easy,
loved bad movies, told worse jokes - but Ryou was the one that would do
something just to see what would happen while Takashi preferred figuring
it out ahead of time and acting accordingly. That - last trait meant
that more than once it was Takashi that played the hero to Ryou’s
messes, not always graciously, but, more often than not, wanting all the
details afterward, just as knowledge hungry as his two minute younger
twins, they didn’t often play the identical twin joke. None of the
family had ever fallen for it, their cat clever grandmother least of
all, and Taka was too soft-hearted to use it on other students or their
teachers. Ryou had empathy. His just wasn’t as sensitive as Taka’s.
Sometimes a good joke outweighed someone else’s temporary dignity. As
long as it wasn’t done maliciously, Ryou was more willing with the twin
hijinks. And, sometimes, when he was taking his brother’s actions apart
in his mind, curious as always, he wondered… if his brother didn’t
play twin jokes for Ryou’s
own sake. Because he knew and he knew that his brother could have
envied him his golden position. Sometimes Ryou did. But that happened
less and less the older they got and the more Ryou found his own
strengths outside of his brother’s.
Because if Taka could pilot anything - Ryou was the one that could build it.