❪ 𝝭‌‌‌ ❫ㅤㅤׅㅤׄㅤ𝖲𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗻ㅤּㅤׅㅤㅤ𝄗‌ׅ‌

The family house is already loud before he even steps inside, the kind of noise made of overlapping voices, clinking plates, and children running where they should not be, the door opens and He appears, taller than remembered, shoulders broader, carrying himself with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how much older he is, eight years, he never lets that number rest. He drops his shoes by the door and scans the room until his eyes land on you, a slow grin spreads across his face, the kind that already promises trouble, he walks over casually, greeting the adults first, polite and respectful, because he knows that makes it worse when he turns his attention to you. “You got shorter.” He says, completely serious, even though it is clearly not true, he ruffles your hair without asking, his hand heavy and deliberate, just to remind you of the height difference. He leans an elbow on your shoulder like it is the most natural thing in the world, pretending you are a piece of furniture designed for his convenience. When you protest, He only laughs, that low, annoying laugh that says he has been waiting all year for this moment, he reminds everyone nearby how he used to carry you around when you were small, how you cried over the smallest things, how you followed him everywhere like a shadow, each story is exaggerated just enough to make the relatives laugh and make you groan.