I wasn’t able to sleep the rest of the night, for my worry over Sean.

Four years. Four years taking care of him. Taking care of a boy who, for some reason, didn’t exist.

It bothered me. It bothered the directors. It bothered Clementine and Tadora, the only people I had told of Sean’s arrival and permanent dwelling in my home. Everyone existed, especially in a world in which we traded our privacy for security.

So why didn’t he?

Around six in the morning, I got out of bed.

I glanced into Sean’s room on my way downstairs, seeing that he was still sound asleep, laying on his stomach under the blankets and slightly snoring.

I crept down the stairs and to the kitchen. I put the kettle on, taking out a mug for myself and Sean’s favorite mug. I silently prepared tea and got out ingredients for brasillé, trying to be as quiet as I could.

As I put the brasillé into the oven, I heard it.

“D-Dad! Dad!”

“Coming, sweetie,” I called back to him, pouring hot water and honey into his mug. I stirred the warm liquid as I walked up the stairs to Sean’s room.

“Dad…,” he was in tears.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” I sat beside him on the bed, setting the tea on his bedside table. “It’s okay, Sean, you’re safe, I’m here.”

“C-can’t move.”

I began rubbing his back. Every muscle I touched was tense and locked up. I pulled away the blankets and replaced them with the heated blanket, turning it on to one of its lower settings. I continued rubbing his shoulders.

His sobs had ebbed. He was still half asleep, tired eyes clogged with tears. I stroked his hair, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead.

“Feeling better?” I whispered.

“...Mm, bit,” he nodded.

“When’s your next acupressure appointment?”

“Today,” he breathed. “At four. Come with me?”

“Of course,” I nodded.

Slowly, Sean was able to move enough to sit up. He gasped and whimpered at the pain in his back. I wrapped the heated blanket around him, leaning him against the wall, then handed him his tea.

“I’m making brasillé,” I told him. “Do you want me to bring it up here?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

I nodded, standing. I left his bedroom door open a crack, then went downstairs to check on the brasillé. It was done, just needed to cool for a bit. I topped it with powdered sugar, got out a pair of plates and silverware, then carried the two plates up the stairs.

“Okay, one for you, and one for me,” I sat beside Sean, giving him his breakfast.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, rubbing his teary eyes.

We were both quiet for a bit, Sean nibbling on small bites.

He finally asked, “How long will you be home?”

“The rest of the month,” I whispered.

He sighed, leaning on me. I put my arm around him.

After finishing breakfast and changing the bandages on my arm, I cleaned up the kitchen and began the more menial tasks of adulthood. We needed more food, which we could easily get before or after Sean’s acupressure appointment. Probably a better idea to get it either before or order online and pick it up.

I settled for the online option, and I made sure to add some sweets in for Sean. I made a mental note to perhaps take him to get ice cream after his appointment.

For lunch, I made some steak and potatoes with souffle.

“Hey, getting ready for maths?” I asked, entering his bedroom.

“Yeah,” he nodded, focusing on his screen.

“Mind if I stay here for a bit?” I requested.

A smile pulled at his lips, although he tried to hide it. “Sure, go ahead.”

I ate lunch on his bed as he attended maths class. I had my tablet in my lap. Clementine had emailed me a few times. Turns out Elijah Hall was sitting in for the month, assisting with learning about EW-54.

And 54 had tried to kill him multiple times.

So things were going great.

As Sean finished up with his maths class and began one of his two foreign language classes, I heard a distant knock. And then the doorbell rang.

I took Sean’s empty plate, telling him I’d be right back.

I went downstairs, put our dishes in the sink, then answered the door.

“Oh, thank god, you’re home,” Marc was leaning on the door frame.

I sighed, “What are you doing here?”

He hesitated, looking at anything but me.

I leaned forward, sniffing. Alcohol. I looked him up and down. There were rings under his sad green eyes, and his dark brown hair was messy, not to mention he clearly hadn’t shaved in at least a week.

I sighed, “Come on.” I led him inside, kicking the door closed.

I set him on the couch, where he began scratching at his forearms.

“Hey, stop that,” I gently prompted, pulling his hands away.

“S-sorry,” he breathed, shaking.

“Alright, tell me what happened,” I sat beside him.

“I… I went to the bar again,” Marc sighed.

“Hm. And you got laid?”

“...I think so. I-I can’t remember,” he put his head in his hands. “I-I woke up nearly naked in a stranger’s bed, so…. Probably.” He involuntarily shivered. He hid his face in his hands. “What the fuck is wrong with me, Calvin? Y-you’re a doctor, please help me.”

I sighed, “First off, biologist and technically robotics engineer. Second, you need to stop forcing yourself to have sex, especially with men. No one expects you to… to really enjoy it, not after what happened.”

He glanced at me through his fingers, “Mom and Dad do.”

I rolled my eyes, “Well, they’re kinda insensitive. More than ‘kinda’.” I scooted closer to him. “Marc, tell me, do you feel sexual attraction?”

“Wh-what?” He sat up. “What sort of question is that?”

“Just answer it.”

“Wh-what does that even mean?”

“When you see someone attractive, do you think about getting in bed with them?”

“...Not really. Sometimes.”

I nodded, “Okay, my professional diagnosis is that you’re likely asexual.”

I had thought of him being asexual and/or aromantic for a long time, even before everything that had happened. He cringed when our parents spoke of getting married and having children. He never had partners of any sort aside from in science class. Not to mention he was straight-up disgusted by health class.

“Wh-what?” Marc was staring at me, dumbfounded. “I-isn’t asexuality a plant thing? Like, reproducing by itself?”

I shrugged, “That’s one definition. Asexuality translates to without sex. In this case, it’s a person ‒ you ‒ that doesn’t feel sexual attraction that most of the human population does.” I laid my hand on his. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Marc. There never has been. You’re just part of the population that just… isn’t interested.”

He stared at me for a few moments, green eyes wet with tears. He sniffled, rubbing his face, “That sounds… so goddamn fake.”

I lightly laughed, “It’s real, I promise. You’re not alone; one percent of Earth’s population ‒ seventy million people ‒ feel this way. It’s normal, I assure you, not only as a doctor but as your brother.”

Marc shook his head, “B-but… I like… guys.”

I smiled, “Romantic desires are different from sexual desires. And, it’s completely possible that your sexual desire fluctuates, and can be non-existent one moment and overwhelming the next.”

“A-are you just going to ignore the liking guys part?” Marc frantically said.

I rolled my eyes. “Marc, that’s normal, too.”

“How do you know?!”

I grabbed his biceps, meeting his eyes.

When I spoke, my voice was soft, “How do you think?”

He stared for a moment. “Y-you’re…. You’re….”

“Into guys, yes,” I breathed, nodding. “I’m trusting you with this, Marc. Trusting that you won’t tell our parents or sister. I want to keep up my reputation as a complete hermit and a nerdy biologist so I can avoid being set up and/or told I’m going to Hell.”

Marc slowly nodded, “Y-you…. You like guys.”

I smiled and nodded, “And, for the record, I consider myself demisexual, which means that I have to have an emotional connection before much sexual desire arises.” I chuckled, “So my introversion has kinda screwed me over.”

That managed to get a laugh out of him.

He heavily sighed, “Look at us. Two gay, possibly asexual, Catholic brothers who have been pressured into getting into relationships with women by their insensitive, traditional parents.” He rubbed his face. “This is not how I expected this to go.”

I gently smiled, “I trust you to keep this secret. I know you’re good at keeping things to yourself.”

“C-could I maybe… stay here for a day or two?” He whispered. “Y-you know I’m a good cook, I’ll make all the meals.”

Now it was my turn to be worried. “That’s… probably not the best idea.”

“Oh, come on, do you even eat anything between your little experiments?” He poked my side. “You’re so thin.”

“Yes, actually, I do. And I’m not thin! I’m average.” I laughed, swatting his hand away. My smile wavered, “It’s just…. There are some things in this house that I don’t want you to see. Some aspects about myself that I’m not ready to share quite yet.”

He slowly nodded, “Okay. Okay, I get that. Everyone has secrets, I can respect that. Even if you didn’t,” he gave me a pointed look.

I sighed, giving him a disappointed, tired look.

He snorted, soon laughed, “I’m joking, obviously! You saved my life.” He leaned forward, hugging me.

I hugged him back, “You gonna be okay?”

He nodded against my shoulder, “Yeah. I think so. Thanks, Cal.”