#x breadwinner reader

Your younger brother loathed you. He despised every inch of your existence. His very skin crawling at the mere thought of you. Still, you loved him and treated him like a normal human being.

You were the perfect sibling, always striving for excellence, always pushing yourself to the limit.  It seemed like there was no room for anything less than perfect. It was hard not to feel a little envious sometimes.

He hated you because he felt like you had it all, the attention, the praise, the success, while he was there, in the sidelines, he's alway in your shadow, begging to be recognized and treated the same like you do.

It was so unfair.  He poured his heart and soul into making everyone proud, but you were always there, ready to snatch the spotlight, making his efforts feel pointless.

Oh, how his hatred for you burned.

You were the breadwinner, the one who brought home the bacon, while he was just the younger brother, left to feel like a burden, a useless thing left in the dust.

Perhaps a small achievement would have made all the difference, a chance to be recognized, even if it was just little. But no, you just had to make things worse, didn't you?

No matter what you did, no matter how much you loved him, his hatred would remain, haunting you forever.

He was tired of being overlooked, of his efforts being dismissed, of waiting for his moment to succeed while you always seemed to be one step ahead.

He despised you—and you know it.

But there he was, weeping over your lifeless body, your body, now gone, after the tragic decision to take its own life. It was a scene of cruel irony. The brother who had hated you so deeply, now consumed by grief, and regret.

He never knew the weight you carried, the pressure you felt to be perfect, the suffering you endured behind your success.

He was supposed to hate you. Why was he there, weeping over your casket, whispering apologies to a body that couldn't hear, a life that could no longer hear his words?

You died wishing he had known, wishing he had understood, wishing he had seen the pain you hid, but instead, his hatred was the thing you carried with you towards afterlife.

It was too late for him to chase you.

Too late to apologize.

Too late to say he had loved you.

Too late to save you from the pain you hid.

He couldn't escape the feeling that it was his fault, that his actions had led you to this, that he was the one who had taken your life away.

Did his envy kill you? Did his words kill you like a knife? Maybe he was really the reason you died.

He could finally achieved his dream and excel without you stealing the spotlight, but the victory felt nothing. But at what cost? You were gone, and the spotlight he craved now felt hollow, felt empty now that you weren't here with him.

Oh how he longed to turn back the clock, to rewind the past, to have another chance to make things right with you, his older sibling.

But its too late, because he cant.

You were dead now, and there's no turning back.