Rowan isn’t a fan of family reunions. One time is more than enough for him. Reconciliation with his brother was not something he wanted, but something he got anyway. In his mind he’s done.
Of course he’s heard about his oldest brother Clay. How could he not have? He’d spent his entire childhood hearing about this guy, mostly from his mother, and mostly with glowing praise.
Her perfect boy. Her first baby. How much she missed him. How she knew he was coming back someday.
Mom’s delusions kept her going. Rowan didn’t believe a word of any of it. Clayton was basically a myth, a name brought up every time he did something wrong. A comparison. His mother saw her oldest child through rose tinted lenses and Rowan got the brunt of those conversations.
His father thought differently of Clayton. Which is to say, he tried not to. Never said a word about him. Most of the comparisons he hurled at Rowan were about Bob. About how awful he is. About how Rowan should never end up like him.
He’d seen photos of his eldest brother, though all were of him as a child or teen. So when he picks the pocket of some rich looking guy on the street (a bad habit he’s trying to break, but not one easily dropped), he doesn’t at first recognise the face of the bodyguard that grabs him. Fingers grip painfully around Rowan’s wrist, so the hand holding the man’s wallet is unable to move. He stares up with wide terrified eyes at the somewhat familiar face snarling down at him.
“Shit-“
— @runaway-from-your-self
Clay had never gotten to meet his baby brother. He assumed that baby wouldn’t live. With how heavy of an alcoholic their mother was, and with the drugs to top it off, that baby felt like a lost cause.
So when that skinny wide-eyed kid stares back at him, he grips tighter, not an emotion but anger showing on his face. “Hand it over. Now. Don’t make me get violent.” As if this wasn’t already violent enough.
