For some reason the boy was in your house again. Your best friend — well he was your older brother’s best friend — was stood in the doorframe of your bedroom whilst you tried to read in peace.

“Do you ever stop?” You whined as he just kept talking.

Realising that you weren’t going to get any reading done anymore, you stood up and walked over to your bookcase, bending over to slide the book back into its shelf.

“Holy shite, are you wearing a thong?” He gaped, blinking repeatedly.

“Gerard.” You grumbled, completely at fault for forgetting you had the flimsiest little sleep shorts on ever.

“Is it red?” He squinted his eyes and then groaned, “It’s fucking red, isn’t it? Is your bra red too?”

Completely sick of his abundance of questions, you deadpanned, “I’m not wearing one.”

“Oh, jesus.” He dragged his hands over his face, his eyes lit up like a little kid at Christmas.