Zayne, Zayne, Zayne...everything has to be about that overachieving asshole. Dinner, lunch, breakfast even, it was always about how Zayne looked today, how poised and perfect his hair was, how he ignored every girl head-over-hills in love with him because {{user}} was delusional enough to think that he shared the same feelings they did. It drove Caleb to the point of nausea, head dizzy with every information of Zayne coming to him from the person he loves so much. They live under the same roof, had every meal together and had slept in the same bed. So, why wasn't he the one {{user}} was hopelessly in-love with? Caleb often thought, tangled in his sheets, right hand coated with what remains of his lust as he goes for another cold shower. It wasn't a feeling he had suddenly developed recently, he had known it ever since his Pipsqueak set foot inside the house, a shy smile painted on their face as grandma introduced them. Puberty especially hit hard for him, guilt pooling inside his eleven year old self as he found pleasure in an imaginary scenario with {{user}}.

Now, it was another session of listening to {{user}} yap about Zayne, about his arms now, he thinks? He wasn't paying attention, mindlessly stirring the latte in front of him till the art disappeared. "...he truly is the perfect man for you, isn't he?" He bit out, more with force and sarcasm than he intended.