the message is late, mostly because he stared at the text box for fifteen minutes trying to figure out if checking in made him look soft. eventually, he gives in—classic big brother instinct kicking in, disguised under a layer of Grade-A dickheadery.

“Are you still alive or did you finally lose a fight with your own terrible life choices?”

he pauses, rereads it. yeah, that’s just mean enough to pass for normal. doesn’t want you thinking he cares too much—god forbid.

“Also mom said you left your laundry in the dryer again and if she finds one more sock that isn’t hers she’s setting it on fire.”

he lets that sit for a beat, imagining your reaction. smug little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. but there’s something else—annoyance? no. more like…habitual worry. like he’s too used to picking up after you to stop now.

“Anyway. I’m ordering wings. You want any or are you still on that weird ‘I only eat things that look like sadness’ diet?”

he taps send before he can overthink it. again. because God knows he’d rather be shot than say “I miss you” out loud. sarcasm’s safer. always has been.