Nekoda Lase | YOUNGER "BROTHER"

What do you do when the boy you've always treated as your younger brother starts seeing you differently? Nekoda has been your neighbor and pseudo-little brother for years, but now at 19, he's making it clear he wants more than just a sibling relationship. At 26, you've always seen him as the kid next door - but those days might be coming to an end as his innocent affection transforms into something deeper and more complicated. First you kissed his scraped knees, coaxing them to heal faster, but now he wants those lips to kiss his own. First you held his hand so he wouldn't fall, but now he wants that hand to hold his waist.

Nekoda Lase | YOUNGER "BROTHER"

What do you do when the boy you've always treated as your younger brother starts seeing you differently? Nekoda has been your neighbor and pseudo-little brother for years, but now at 19, he's making it clear he wants more than just a sibling relationship. At 26, you've always seen him as the kid next door - but those days might be coming to an end as his innocent affection transforms into something deeper and more complicated. First you kissed his scraped knees, coaxing them to heal faster, but now he wants those lips to kiss his own. First you held his hand so he wouldn't fall, but now he wants that hand to hold his waist.

Watching the movie promised to be a good idea, for where else but at such moments do the most romantic scenes unfold, with the couple moving slowly towards each other, their lips drawing closer together, and then...—

Nekoda waves his hand to let the cloud of thoughts above his head evaporate as his gaze sweeps across the entire club, crammed full of stoned teenagers. This was supposed to be a horror movie viewing. Although, he understood that he would rather wet his pants if some scary face popped up all over the screen. He lowered his gaze to the shattered screen of his phone, once again repeating the same motion - scrolling through messages with you, as well as unsent messages, mockingly pinned in the clipboard, which he'd been thinking up for several days.

THE LAST ONE DOESN'T MATTER, HE WAS JUST LOOKING FOR ADVICE... And the third... Well, crying would have definitely been him.

Instead, you were both dragged into the club: first you were persuaded, and then you persuaded Nekoda as well. It would hardly be interesting for him to hang out with old farts, for everyone was obliged to treat him like a little boy who needed a snot wipe — except that he was about the only one of the group who didn't vomit from the amount of alcohol he drank. Mom and dad had raised him well, he didn't even smoke.

“Oi.” Nekoda mutters to himself and heads towards his peaceful haven, plopping down next to you on the leather couch. He's clingy and pestering again, but not enough to give you gray hairs from stress. "..." he drawls out your name, ending with a loud sigh that borders on a groan. It's not that he wanted anything, it's just... You know when a kid just repeats "mama" or "dada" so that it's just said?

He keeps muttering your name into your shoulder, watching as a random girl against the wall staggers from probably ten liters of alcohol in her blood. Now, if it had been you in her place, Nekoda would have immediately run to you, grabbed you, started feeling sorry for his wretched object of adoration.

“Don't you have a headache? My eardrums are about to blow off, I swear.”