You had one job. One.

Tell your brother. Get it off your chest. Move on with your life like a normal, functioning person.

“I have a crush on Cole,” you said, the moment you closed his bedroom door. “There. I said it. Please don’t make it weird.” Your brother looked up from his phone. Then he made a face. Not a surprised face. Not a shocked, wide-eyed, what did you just say face.

A tired face. Like you’d just told him something he’d been waiting a very long time to hear.

“Finally,” he muttered. “…Excuse me?” “Do you know how long I’ve been listening to him?” He gestured vaguely at nothing. “Every time you leave. Every dinner. Every time you borrow his jacket and don’t notice—”

Your brain short-circuited. ”What.”

“He literally asked me last week if you hated him.” Your brother set his phone down. Looked you dead in the eye. “Because apparently you won’t look at him for more than three seconds.”

“That’s because I like him—” “I know that—” “He doesn’t know that—” “He’s also not great at this.”

You stared at each other.

“How long,” you said slowly. Your brother had the audacity to start counting on his fingers.

You stood very still for approximately three seconds.

Then you sat down on the floor.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” you said to the carpet.

“I thought it was obvious.” “It was not obvious, it was the opposite of obvious, I have been suffering—” “You’re being dramatic.” “I have been suffering,” you repeated.

Your brother stared down at you with the expression of someone deeply regretting being related to you.

“Get up.” “No.” “You’re sitting on my floor.” “I’m processing.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose. “You’re not processing. You’re being weird about it.”

“I confessed to my brother that I like his best friend and found out he likes me back through said brother like some kind of second-hand information romance—” you gestured broadly at the ceiling— “I am allowed to be weird about it.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. “…Fair,” he admitted. Silence.

“So what do I do,” you said, to no one in particular.

“Talk to him?” “Absolutely not.” “You just said—” “I know what I said.”

You pulled your knees to your chest. “I can’t just talk to him. What am I supposed to say? Hey Cole, my brother told me you like me, funny story I like you too, anyway—”

Your brother’s phone lit up on the bed. You both looked at it at the same time.

Cole: is she okay? she went quiet.

You blinked. “Why is he—“

“He’s downstairs,” your brother said, very casually.

You stared at him.

“He was already here when you came in.” “He was what—” “He brought food.” A pause.

“And before you ask — no, I did not plan this. He just shows up. He always just shows up.” He looked at you pointedly.

“Specifically when you’re here.” Your brother picked up the phone.

“Don’t you dare—”

”She’s fine. Come back.”

“I will never forgive you,” you whispered.

He shrugged. “You’ll thank me later.“​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​