more than kin, less than kind
(Part 2) Part 1 of Lads x Identical Twin Non!MC
Pre-view : Being MC’s twin is similar to being a shadow. Less tangible, less noticeable than the real deal. Made by the dominating light of the sun. Your twin is that sun. Bright and captivating.
Warnings : Mentions of alcohol and drinking below the cut.
Notes : Dividers from @andromeda-graphics. No pairing (yet?), MC is referred to as she/her, Reader is referred as You. NonMc is a biased perspective and the fic isn’t specifically written to hate on mc.
Being MC’s twin is similar to being a shadow. Less tangible, less noticeable than the real deal. Made by the dominating light of the sun. Your twin is that sun. Bright and captivating. She’s a genuine person most of the time, and you can never forget the number of times she’s tried to include you in her groups of friends. But those efforts were useless. People drew to her and people drew from you. It’s a joke made by some god with a sense of humour worse than yours. Yes, make one twin extremely likeable and the other one extremely off-putting. You’d laugh if it wasn’t a joke played on you.
You worked very hard to get away from your sister’s blinding light. Just as hard as you pretended to appreciate MC’s efforts to make friends for you. Those friends never last long and it was humiliating for you more than anything. It was always painfully apparent to you when a person was talking to you because they were asked to. In every one of those forced conversations, your shortcomings compared to her were glaringly obvious. You never made the right jokes, the right references, or smiled the right way. You threw people off, and you were fine with that.
Just before you and her were about to start attending high school with Caleb, Josephine gave into your begging. She enrolled you in a boarding school outside of Linkon. And you left as quickly as you could and stayed far away as long as you were able. MC, and Caleb by association, fought very hard to keep you as if Josephine had forced you to go. You told them it was your choice and that had upset MC so bad that Caleb glared at you for making her cry. As you left, she was being comforted by Caleb, and you figured she’d be fine.
You avoided going home for the holidays that year. MC had begged you to come home. Caleb did, too, but with more restraint. His texts were more about how upset she'll be all winter break than actually wanting you there, but nevertheless, you got almost just as many texts from him as you did from her. The dozens of notifications didn’t convince you that much; they just annoyed you. So, when the day came, you had sent a ‘wish you well’ text to both of them before putting everything on Do Not Disturb to listen to Mariah Carey. Did you feel guilty about it? Yeah, a little. You grew up with her and maybe you felt some affection for her, but you couldn’t force yourself to go back to being a shadow again. It felt good being separate from them.
The summer after that year was your own personal hell. First and second year students couldn’t stay during the summer break, so you were forced to go home. The moment you’d stepped foot back into the house, MC had attached herself to your side like you were conjoined twins. All day every day you’d been stuck at her side for two months. Caleb, too, but at least he was there by choice. That was one of two darkest times in your life. The second was the following summer when MC did the exact same thing.
Third and fourth years didn’t have to go home for the summer if they were picked for experiential learning with the local businesses during the school year and had contracts through the break. You fought to get a spot into the program, and managed to stay from home for both years. When the summer before university came, she was subdued and quiet around you. Briefly, you’d considered if she’d grown more sombre in the last two years, but then you saw her with Caleb and figured she’d accepted that you two were never going to be as close as other siblings were.
MC went to the same university as Caleb, and you went to a different one. That summer was the last time the three of you were under the same roof.
Fitting six people in a five-seater is certainly a feat. A feat that involved too many strong-smelling perfumes and colognes inside a car with no open windows, and loud noises from every side of you. It’s…an experience. You aren’t exactly a social person and everyone around here seems to be. Always nice and smiling. You chose this town after graduation because it’s reclusive. Also, small enough that it didn’t draw attention, but big enough not to know everyone. You hadn’t taken into account how small town people take to new neighbours.
Everywhere you turn, it seems everyone wants to say hi and ask how you were doing, and at the time you minded it very much. You had enough fake niceties growing up, and now you had no patience for it as an adult. The hi’s and how are you’s got easier to tolerate when you realized these people weren’t so fake. They were just being friendly. Just trying to be nice to you. So, you returned the favour by saying those hi’s and how are you’s back. And eventually those exchanges turned into actual conversations you enjoyed having with what you would now call your friends. They were NPCs but it’s kind of part of their charm.
So, why had you agreed to cram yourself in a small car for an entire thirty minute drive to Linkon? Karaoke night. The supposedly ‘new tradition’. The town itself didn’t have one but Linkon City did and you fought tooth and nail to avoid going. It didn’t work and they broke you down with their insistent words and pretty smiles. Linkon is a large city anyway. The chances of running into people you used to know is slim. And, if your old assessment still holds to be true, then you doubt they’d ever step foot into a karaoke bar anyway.
The fresh air when you squeeze out of the car is the freshest air your lungs have ever taken in. Hopefully, on the drive back, you’ll be drunk enough not to choke on Taffy’s jasmine and rose scented perfume. She goes through those 50ml bottles like a child with a bag of candy on Halloween.
The bar is loud and disorienting. But the promise of alcohol is great and persuasive enough to make you ignore that fact. You’re led with your friends to the room reserved for your lot and almost immediately Taffy takes the stage. She’s good but she’s not Beyonce, so you take one of your friends with you to order rounds for everyone. Micah orders easy shots for the group while you order your own drink. You aren’t a big fan of just vodka shots so you ask for a sweeter drink to take back. The bartender gives you a tired look when you clarify that ‘yes, I want you to mix ice, orange juice, and pineapple juice, in with it— I’m sorry’. The sigh she gives you in response is enough for you to slide her a five dollar tip after; you sympathise with the soul-crushing feeling of realizing you had three more hours to work and will most likely encounter worse customers.
You and your friend go back to the room where Taffy is somehow riffing with the microphone. Everyone takes turns picking a song and butchering it, and throughout the night you go back and forth for a refill of the drinks. Mainly yours. The bartender sees you enough times that she makes your drink upon seeing you near the counter.
You open up your purse and pull out your walkman. Your friends affectionately call you a historian because of your fascination with practically ancient objects. What can you say? You like the old stuff better. Not that the new technology didn’t have benefits. You put your earbuds in and a song immediately starts playing. One of your favourites. You jump on the stage just as everyone starts pushing for you to go. You sing (badly) along with the song with an enthusiasm that only high levels of alcohol and the music could bring out of you. Only you can hear the background music that goes with it, but everyone is too drunk to care that there’s no sound except your slurring.
You hog the stage for a while until the world seems to have had enough of your singing, and the door slams open loud enough to startle you into stopping. Someone rushes over and pulls the cord from the port. “You need to leave now! There’s a wanderer attack near—” The words were spoken with clear urgency and command, with a voice not unlike yours. Your friends cover your view from the speaker as they crowd around the faceless person with questions and panic arising. You’re slow to pull your earbuds out but everyone else is fast to vacate the room, following the instructions of the lady who has identified herself as a wanderer hunter. You follow after Taffy who’s the last to leave because she’s too busy urging you to come with her.
Maybe you’re moving too slow for the hunter’s liking, because suddenly a hand wraps around your bicep and drags you forward to the exit. “Hey!” Even though you’ve been said to have the urgency of a walnut and the quick response of a turtle, you still didn’t like being grabbed and led like a dog. You snatch your arm back. “I’m going! I’m going!”
“Well, you—” The hunter turns as she talks and you both stop as you’re met with a face exactly like your own. The chances were low but not zero. Somewhere beyond this karaoke bar, there’s a god that has a vendetta against you.
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