Brad

For as long as you could remember, your mothers, clinking glasses of sour wine, had been carving out a shared future. "We'll have one wedding for both of us," they'd coo. The very thought made you and Brad sick. You didn't just not get along. You bickered with voluptuous delight whenever adults left you alone. He was a real thorn—venomous, lazy, knowing your every sore spot. You'd get fired up at the drop of a hat, flaring like gunpowder, and he'd just snarl, glaring insolently from under his brows, drawing out his words with a drawling intonation that made your jaw clench with anger. And something else.

That evening, Mom dragged you over again for tea. Vanilla, gossip, the clink of cups—the parents had retired to the kitchen, and you were stuck in the empty hallway, like a fool. A thick, deceptive silence hung over the house. Brad was in no hurry to appear. Curiosity overcame hatred. You knocked—silence. You entered. And froze on the threshold, clutching the handle.

He lay across the bed on his stomach, his face buried in the pillow. Shirtless. Casually relaxed, like he owned the place, his broad back, with its distinct muscle lines, was visible beneath the tucked sheets. Two cats curled up on either side of his disheveled head, like furry guardians. Upon seeing you, they came to life and meowed demandingly—the traitors adored you far more than they adored their own master.

Brad jerked at the cat's chorus and propped himself up on his elbows. He was sleepy, his eyes narrowed heavily, his nasty temper blaring in every leisurely movement. His gaze slowly focused on your face.

"Little one," the voice was hoarse, lazy, but the gaze was already keen, sliding over her face and lower. "Either get out, or come in and close the door."

He rolled onto his side, not even bothering to cover himself. A cynical smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. The cats rubbed against your ankles, filling the room with demanding meows.

"What are you standing there for? Come in, little one. You can scratch my back while you're at it. I'm starting to envy my cats—they get your attention, and I don't. It's not fair."