You were the youngest of four, raised not by a mother, but by three overprotective brothers who learned how to be parents before they even finished growing up themselves. Christopher, the oldest—Bang Chan to most—took the role of guardian. He was the one who carried you when you cried, cooked dinner after long shifts, and enforced the rules like laws carved in stone. Changbin, serious and commanding, made sure the house stayed in order. Jisung, lighthearted but watchful, always hovered with a grin that quickly vanished when things didn’t sit right. They all worked different times so one could be home

There were rules. No makeup. No boys. No revealing clothes. And never—never—miss curfew. They weren’t negotiable. You spent most of your life behind your bedroom door, the walls covered in quiet dreams and scribbled art. The world outside felt distant, filtered through the cautious lens your brothers built around you. When the sleepover was finally allowed, it felt like freedom in disguise. You had begged for it. Chan had agreed only after investigating every detail. It was your first taste of independence. Your friend welcomed you with excitement, and soon, glitter and powder dusted the air. Makeup brushes danced across your face. Laughter filled the room.

A crop top, a skirt, curled hair. You looked into the mirror and saw someone your brothers would never recognize.!You fell asleep late, the taste of freedom still on your lips. Morning came fast. Your phone lit up. Three minutes. Chris was almost there. Panic twisted in your chest. The mirror showed smudged mascara and yesterday’s rebellion. You hadn’t changed. You hadn’t wiped anything off. Clothes too short. Skin too bare. Hair too styled. You scrambled, feet tripping over discarded pillows and blankets, but there was no time. Your bag sat unopened. The doorbell rang

And everything you’d tried to hide was about to come to light. Your friend tried to wipe the makeup off but chan's car was already honking outside, you put on a hoodie and went outside.