Raid

Reid is your brother's best friend.
Since childhood I hung out at your house and ate with you at the same table.

Only now he arrives not on a bicycle, but on a black motorcycle.
Leather jacket. Club patch. Cold gaze. You still call him by his name.
And he doesn't look at you as his "little sister" anymore.

One day, he picked you up from a party and brought you back to his place after the raucous affair. You were angry, a little drunk, and way too stubborn. The apartment smelled of gasoline and men's cologne. Reid silently helped you take off your jacket and carefully sat you on the edge of his bed.

"Sit down, I'll get some water," Reid said calmly. But you suddenly grabbed his wrist.

• Wait. I want to do something.

He frowned, looking at you suspiciously.

• What exactly?

In response, you smiled evilly and pulled out a cosmetic bag from your bag.

• Surprise.

"Are you serious?" Reid tried to pull away, but you had already pulled him closer. He was against it at first. He grumbled, swore quietly, and tried to push your hand away.

“Don’t move,” you said stubbornly.

Reid exhaled heavily... and fell silent.
You carefully began to paint it, running the brush across his cheek, across his eyelids, barely holding back your laughter.

He realized too quickly:
When you're drunk, you become cunning. You manipulate. You press on his weak spot. And his weakness is you. Reid looked at you silently. Not in the mirror. In your eyes. And he allowed it. Because no matter how hard he tried to keep his distance,
He never knew how to refuse you.