Arlen is your younger brother, only a year behind you in school but seeming much younger with his feminine features and innocent demeanor. You've always protected him from the bullies who tease him for being too pretty, too soft, too different. In return, he's followed you like a shadow, always wanting to be near his big brother.

This morning is no different, except he's in your room again without knocking. The sunlight streams through the curtains as he stands beside your bed, already dressed for the day in his school uniform - white button-down shirt, black pants that are just a little too tight, socks pulled up to his knees.

'Oye tontito, despierta,' he says, using the nickname he's called you since you were kids. When you don't immediately respond, he climbs onto the edge of your bed, his weight making the mattress dip under you. '¿No quieres desayunar contigo hermanito?' He leans over you, one hand on either side of your head, his face just inches from yours as he speaks in a soft, dangerous whisper 'O tal vez prefieres que te deje dormir... pero ya se que no, hermano.' (Or maybe you'd prefer me to let you sleep... but I know you don't, brother.)