The door creaked open, revealing Michael and Nicholas silhouetted against the fading light. Michael, his face smudged with grime and exhaustion, carried himself with a quiet confidence that belied the battle he'd just fought. Nicholas, however, slumped behind him, his shoulders hunched, a storm brewing in his eyes.
Their father, Arthur, was waiting for them in there living room. The worry etched onto his usually stern features softened instantly as he saw Michael. He rushed forward, engulfing his elder son in a bear hug that squeezed the air from his lungs.
"Michael! You're alright!" Arthur's voice was thick with relief. "I saw what happened in the news… you finally awakened your powers. Saved so many lives. I'm so proud of you, son."
Nicholas pushed past them, his voice cutting through the warmth like a shard of ice. "You know, Dad, I was there too," he said, the words laced with bitter sarcasm. "But of course, you didn't see me, or notice me. Because I'm just… your other son. The one you never really had, the one that reminds you why you don't have a wife anymore"
Michael shifted, instinctively wanting to defend their father. "Nicholas, it wasn't like that—"
"Oh, wasn't it?" Nicholas spat, his voice rising. "Do you know what it feels like to exist in the shadows? To be ignored, forgotten, while you bask in his attention, his trust? You get to be seen, heard, praised… while I'm left to rot in the dark, clawing for a scrap of recognition, a single glance, a goddamn word of acknowledgement? All he fucking sees is *you*."
His voice cracked, a raw, wounded sound that made Michael flinch. Arthur looked from one son to the other, his face a mask of confusion and dawning horror.
"Nicholas, that's not fair," Michael protested, his voice tight with unease. "Dad's always loved you…"
"Loved? Loved me enough to even *notice* me?" Nicholas scoffed, shoving a hand through his already messy hair. "He spends hours coaching you, pushing you, celebrating your every tiny victory. Me? I'm invisible. A ghost in this house. A fucking shadow lurking in the corners." He took a shaky breath, his anger giving way to a crushing sorrow. "I've tried, Dad. I've *really* tried. But it's like talking to a wall. A wall that only reflects Michael's brilliance back at him."
Tears welled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. The suppressed rage simmered beneath the surface, ready to explode. "I'm not some insignificant extra, Dad. I'm your son too. And I'm tired of being treated like less than shit!"
Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but Nicholas cut him off with a harsh wave of his hand. "Don't. Don't even try to tell me how proud you are. Because your so-called pride feels like a punch in the gut. It reminds me of everything I am not, everything I'll never be to you. Everything you ignore." He turned and stormed away, leaving Michael and Arthur standing in stunned silence, the echoes of his accusations hanging heavy in the air.
The house felt suffocatingly quiet after Nicholas's outburst. Arthur sat heavily in a worn armchair, the silence amplifying the weight of his failure. Michael hovered nearby, his usual confident demeanor replaced with a hesitant uncertainty. He knew his brother's pain, had seen glimpses of it over the years, but had never truly understood its depth.
Nicholas reappeared, his face pale and drawn, his eyes red-rimmed but dry. He stood rigidly in the doorway, his gaze fixed on his father.
"Tell me," Nicholas said, his voice barely a whisper, "tell me what my first word was."
Arthur blinked, startled by the unexpected request. "I… I don't remember, son. It was so long ago."
Nicholas's shoulders slumped slightly. "Then tell me something, *anything*, you remember about me as a baby. Anything that shows you even saw me, that I wasn't just… background noise." A tremor ran through him, a fragile plea masked by defiance.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Arthur looked at his son, truly *seeing* him for the first time in years. He saw the simmering anger, yes, but beneath it, a desperate yearning for connection, for love. He saw the boy who had been overshadowed, forgotten, wounded.
"I... I remember you were a quiet baby," Arthur began, his voice cracking. "You didn't cry much, but you had this… intense gaze. Like you were observing everything, taking it all in." He paused, searching his memories. "And you loved… you loved this little stuffed bear I got you. It had one button eye missing, and you wouldn't let go of it."
Nicholas remained silent" WOW, dad that was fucking Michael's, you never give me anything, your attention or your love"
He took a deep breath. "You see me as the freak who fucking killed your wife," he said, the words raw and painful. "Michael is your hero, everyone's hero. The neighbors see me as a monster, they bully me relentlessly, and you? You couldn't even see me. All you care about is that Michael is safe, Michael awakened his powers, but you should know, Dad, *I* need a dad too. Not just a father to Michael, the golden boy." Tears finally spilled down his cheeks, hot and uncontrolled. "I need you to see me, to *know* me. To love me, not just tolerate me.you know was I was little and I saw other kids bring there dad for father's dad, I was left behind seen as the kid who doesn't have a father, I was laughed at by all of them "
His voice choked with emotion, his body trembling with suppressed sobs. The anger had faded, leaving behind only the unbearable weight of his loneliness and his father's neglect. He stood there, vulnerable and broken, begging for the love and acceptance that had been denied him for so long a silent testament to a forgotten childhood, suddenly seemed like a metaphor for his entire existence: cherished, yet overlooked, lost in the shadows of his brother's brilliance. The heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the sound of Nicholas's quiet weeping. The unspoken words, heavier than any curse, weighed down the room.
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, broken only by Nicholas's quiet sobs. Arthur watched his son, the years of unspoken resentment and neglected needs crashing down on him like a tidal wave. He saw the boy he had failed, the son he had pushed to the periphery, overshadowed by the brilliance of his other child. Shame washed over him, bitter and cold.
He rose from his chair, the movement slow and deliberate, and knelt before Nicholas. He reached out a trembling hand, hesitant at first, then gently cupped Nicholas's face. The touch was tentative, as if he feared breaking something fragile.
"Nicholas," Arthur whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I… I'm so sorry." The words felt inadequate, hollow, yet they were the truest he could manage in that moment. "I failed you. I let you down in ways I can't even begin to understand."
Nicholas flinched at the touch, the years of emotional distance creating an impenetrable wall between them. But the raw honesty in his father's voice, the genuine remorse in his eyes, chipped away at that wall, creating a tiny crack.
"I… I wasn't there for you," Arthur continued, his gaze locking with Nicholas's. "I focused so much on Michael, on his gifts, his potential… I forgot that you needed me too. I saw your pain, I saw your anger, but I didn't… I didn't *see* you. I didn't understand."
He paused, searching for the right words, words that could mend the deep wounds that festered for years. "The guilt over your mother… it consumed me. I was so lost in my grief, so overwhelmed by the tragedy, that I… I shut down. I retreated, and I took it out on you. I didn't mean to… I didn't want to."
Nicholas pulled away slightly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, but didn't pull away completely. He needed more, but fear kept him from fully trusting this unexpected empathy from his father.
"It wasn't your fault," Arthur continued, his voice gentle but firm. "The accident… it wasn't anyone's fault. But I should have been there for you, regardless. I should have been stronger, more present, more… loving. I failed as a father, not just to you, but to both of you."
He looked down at his hands, shame burning in his chest. "I want to understand your pain. I want to hear about the bullying, the isolation, the feeling of being unseen. Tell me everything, Nicholas. Don't hold back."
A tear escaped and traced a path down Nicholas's cheek. He looked at his father, his expression a mixture of disbelief and cautious hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, this was a start. A chance to finally be seen, to finally be heard, to finally be loved, not just as Michael's shadow, but as Nicholas, in his own right.