Chapter Text
“...Deon.”
Deon would recognize that deep voice anywhere. He made a disgusted face and turned around to see the person he hated the most.
His brother, Cruel Hardt.
Cruel seemed to be doing well. He was dressed in a regal black outfit with gold trimmings, no doubt made at an exclusive boutique. It highlighted his proportions very well, particularly his long legs and wide chest. The noblewomen at the ball were constantly ogling him and whispering amongst themselves as they fanned their blushing faces. But no matter how handsome Cruel was, no matter how well he dressed, Deon would feel nothing but contempt and disgust for his brother.
Scoffing, Deon turned away with a flick of his coat. There was no longer anything to talk about between the two of them. Not after his brother left him to die in the war, not after the death of their parents at his hands.
Thump.
A small, round object fell from him in his haste to leave.
Deon didn’t notice, but Cruel did. He picked up the round, palm-sized thing, which was surprisingly soft. It was dirty with dust and mud stains, looking like the most battered thing to ever exist, but...
"Is this... me?" Cruel asked with a raised eyebrow.
Deon froze in place. Comically, he turned around very, very slowly. His wide eyes fell on the round plushie in Cruel’s hand.
The plushie with green eyes and brown hair, with Cruel’s exact hairstyle.
“It’s not what it looks like!” Deon protested immediately. He snatched the squishy orb out of Cruel’s hands and squeezed it tightly. The face of the chibi Cruel morphed with the tight grip Deon had on it. It looked like it was going through immense suffering. “This isn’t a doll! It’s a stress ball!”
“A… stress ball?” Cruel tilted his head as he stared at the much smaller Cruel being choked in Deon’s slender hands.
“Yeah! And I do this to it every day!” Deon shoved the stress ball in Cruel’s face to give him a better view of how hard he was squeezing the plushie.
Cruel’s expression did not change. All he did was blink and stare at Deon.
With increasing desperation, Deon threw the stress ball onto the ground. He stomped on it with his foot, pressing the heel of his boot into the poor plushie’s face.
“And this!”
Instead of looking offended, however, Cruel simply asked with a raised eyebrow, “You carry it around with you every day?”
It was strange how Cruel didn’t look upset at all over his face getting curb stomped on the daily.
“Yeah, so I can abuse it every day while thinking it’s you! Take this! And this!”
Deon got very into his stomps. He used the full force of his body weight and jumped with every stomp for extra force. They were gathering quite the attention now, although Deon was too focused on bullying the Cruel plushie to notice.
After a couple dozen of stomps, Deon finally stopped. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and sighed.
“Hah… I feel better now.”
The poor Cruel stress ball was still being crushed under Deon’s foot. Deon looked up with triumph, sure that Cruel would get his point that he only had the round plushie because he HATED Cruel.
However, Cruel remarked, “Hmm. That’s good.”
Deon recoiled in horror.
Cruel was fucked up in the head. There was no other explanation for why there was a small smile on his face right now. Is he a masochist or something?
In his shock, Deon’s foot slipped on the mini Cruel and he fell backwards.
Instantly, a strong arm wrapped around his waist and held him up.
Everyone around them gasped at the sight of the two brothers. It was a scene of two handsome men with their faces close together, one of them dipped at the waist like it was part of a beautiful dance move.
Deon blinked at his savior, Cruel Hardt, in disbelief.
He’d rather fall and crack his head open than be helped by Cruel.
“Let go of me!”
Deon’s face was beet red. He couldn’t be more embarrassed.
Cruel refused to let go until Deon was back on his feet.
This time, Deon stomped off instead of stomping on the Cruel orb.
“My lord. You’ve received a gift,” Remember told him the next morning. “Would you like to open it now?”
“A gift?” Deon asked with interest. “From who?”
“It's from young master Cruel Hardt, my lord.”
“What?!” A dark scowl immediately twisted Deon’s expression. Nothing could sour his mood more easily than the mere mention of his brother’s name.
What the hell did Cruel even send to him?
He took the box from Remember and tore the gift wrapping apart. He lifted the lid of the black box and immediately screamed.
“Agh!!!”
Sitting in the box was a brand new Cruel stress ball.
