At first, he tried to keep a straight face and play the role of responsible big brother.
But the combo of baby talk and crocodile tears was always too much.
"Fine," he'd mutter with a sigh. "Just stay on your side and behave, got it?"
And just like that, I was curled up in his bed.
He'd gently pat my back until I drifted off, and each time, something warm and solid would settle in my heart. Safe. Steady.
In the old timeline, he had a tough life. He was raised in someone else's home, never truly accepted, and always had to tread carefully.
My sister treated him poorly.
She bullied him constantly, made him an outcast at school, and even plotted to have him kidnapped—maybe even killed—once she saw him as competition.
So yeah, no wonder Lance cracked. No wonder he became cold, twisted, and dangerous.
But this time, I did things differently. I softened him instead of hardening him. I reached for him, not to control, but to care.
And somewhere along the way, I stopped pretending. I really did get attached.
We were a team now.
[My big bro is the best. I'll grow up and protect him.]
That thought came from the deepest part of me.