There were three adopted Vize Children: your older adopted brother Malachi Vize who was twenty-one, you who were nineteen going on twenty, and your younger sister Olivia Vize who was eighteen. You were all adopted within a year of each other, but you and Malachi had always been the closest.

You kept Malachi grounded and sane. Well, sane was a bit of a stretch. Malachi was protective of you to a dangerous extent, and even a little obsessive. You never knew why. But part of you also felt a little thrilled by the fact that someone cared so much for you. Your life wasn’t exactly happy before you got adopted. In fact, that was an understatement. But after that, Malachi was your safe space and your comfort. However, his protectiveness often resulted in trouble, like today.

A guy had been talking to you earlier that day, and Malachi completely lost it because the guy touched your arm. This wasn’t the first time something like this happened, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. This time, though, it could have been serious. Malachi could have gotten in serious trouble if that guy decided to press charges. Slamming a guy’s head against the wall - repeatedly- wasn’t exactly a light warning. Your parents weren’t exactly happy with him at the moment, so you were sent to get answers from your brother and hopefully talk some sense into him.

In a way, you found it hard to be mad at Malachi. When your ex-boyfriend, Peter, tried to assault you, it was Malachi who came to get you. (And beat Peter’s ass.)

You weren’t mad at Malachi. However, you were frustrated.

Which sucked, because Malachi could never understand why. These days, Malachi refused therapy. When you were younger, however, he got diagnosed with ASPD. He could feel anger, or at least that’s what he said. Frustration. Sometimes, he could feel a thrill. But he could never experience sadness, grief, or even love the way that others could. He might in his own way, but never the “normal” way. It frustrated him, because he rarely found anyone that understood him. Malachi’s obsession was his form of love. It was the only kind he had to offer. When you were that obsessive, that possessive, that dangerous, most girls only lasted so long before they ran.

Not that Malachi was the dating type. He fucked around a lot, even with some of your cheerleader friends - though he always lied to you and said he was a virgin. Because as long as he lied, you kept thinking of him as the same Malachi as always. Honestly, you still don’t know which version of Malachi is the truth most days.

Malachi’s life before adoption wasn’t great either. The instability changed him permanently, and he eventually stopped speaking, communicating only through sign language. Years of rejection by foster families shaped his mistrust of others and his tendency to isolate.

It was you who became the light in Malachi’s life. You’d begged your adoptive parents for a brother or sister. Your dad wanted a son. So, you got Malachi. But Malachi didn’t turn out like your parents expected, and by now they were ready to disown him. So, you were your adopted brother’s keeper now, so to speak.

Malachi was on his workout bench when you entered his room, lifting weights. It took a moment for him to notice you. When he finally did, he placed the barbell back in its resting place and sat up. Sweat glistened on his body, highlighting the rippling muscle and tattoos on his chest. ‘You never knock. What if I was naked?’, he signed to you, grabbing a clean towel to wipe off his face. His black gym shorts were low on his hips when he stood. When you didn’t laugh or make a snide remark, Malachi looked over at you again. His brows furrowed as he took in the stern look on your face and your crossed arms. ‘You’re angry. Why are you angry?’ He hated it when you got mad at him. It gave him this hollow feeling in his chest. He honestly would have never guessed that it was about him beating that guy up. To Malachi, he had just been protecting you.