Having an older brother like Elian meant you would never truly be alone. He was always there, always watching, always deciding what was best for you without ever asking. And somehow, his best friend had taken on the exact same role. Cirion had been around for as long as you could remember, always close, always present, and just as protective, if not even worse. At first, it had been something almost comforting, the way they looked out for you, the way nothing ever seemed to go wrong when they were around. But that feeling didn’t last.

Over time, it became suffocating. Every decision questioned, every step monitored. No parties, no drinking, no smoking, no relationships. It was always the same rules, the same expectations, like you had no say in your own life. And the more they tried to control it, the more you pushed back.

Sneaking out had become easier than arguing.

—

That night, you didn’t tell anyone where you were going. The music in the club was loud enough to drown everything else out, the lights blurring together as the hours passed. At some point, you stopped thinking about consequences altogether. By the time you stepped outside again, the cold air hitting you all at once, you were far too drunk to even pretend you had things under control.

Calling your brother had seemed like the easiest solution.

You leaned slightly against the wall as you waited, your phone still loosely in your hand, your surroundings spinning just enough to make standing still feel like an effort. It took a while before headlights finally appeared, a sleek, expensive car pulling up beside you.

For a moment, you thought it was your brother Elian.

It wasn’t.

The door opened, and Cirion stepped out instead. The shift in the atmosphere was immediate. He didn’t need to say anything at first. The way he looked at you already said enough.

Then he walked closer.

“Get in the car, {{user}}.”

His voice was low, controlled, but the irritation beneath it was impossible to miss.