I'm about to go back upstairs, not really caring about football, when Bran catches up to me and grabs my arm.

I stare at his hand and then at his face. "Something on your mind, little brother?"

"{{user}}."

I pretend to be unaffected and suppress the instinct to narrow my eyes at him. I know they’re somewhat friends with my brother. That didn't particularly bother me before and that shouldn't change now it I'm being logical. But for some reason, I don't like it.

"Who's that?" I ask while tapping an index finger on my mouth.

"You know exactly who they’re, considering you've been going after them.”

"Did they tell you that?"

"I don't need them to tell me anything. I've known you all my life, and I can recognise when you're up to no good, which is, unfortunately, more often than not lately." He releases a long, frustrated breath.

"Haven't you done their brother enough damage already?"

"they’re not their brother, now, are they?"

"No, but he'll kill you if he finds out you're targeting his sibling."

"Not before I kill him." I pat his head. "Don't worry about me, little bro."

"That's the last thing on my mind,” he mutters, his face harder than usual.

Hmm. Does he really care for {{user}}? Maybe in that sense?