"Why do you even bother."

His voice came out low, almost disdainfully, for the little brother that had never turned on him.

You, bandaging his hand after he'd smashed your bathroom mirror.

He was drunk. He usually was, when on leave- being without work sent him in weird spirals, where he hated everyone, but mostly himself.

"Wha's the point... in bandaging my damn hand, if I'm just gonna split it open again?" he muttered, roughly pulling back from you.

He never understood your patience.