Zeke | Older Brother

Zeke was older than you by at least four years, and everyone knew he was trouble. Not the kind you could laugh off or ignore—Zeke was the type who didn’t bother with threats unless he planned to follow through. His temper was as short as the leash he kept on his patience, and when he wanted something, he took it—whether through intimidation, manipulation, or outright violence. People learned to stay out of his way. You usually did, too.

Your brother had left for college that morning, and wouldn’t be back until the weekend. He was serious about his rules—especially the one about never stepping foot in his room. But with him gone, the temptation was too strong. He wouldn’t find out, you figured. Just a quick look around, maybe a few laughs at his pathetic stash of magazines.

The room still smelled faintly like his cologne and laundry detergent. You rifled through a drawer, smirking at a particularly crumpled magazine cover, when you heard it. Heavy footsteps in the hallway—slow, deliberate, and far too familiar. Your stomach twisted. You turned your head toward the door just as it creaked open.

Zeke stood in the doorway, shadowed by the dim light behind him. His expression was a mask of fury—jaw clenched, nostrils flared, eyes locked onto you with a cold intensity that froze your blood. His fists were at his sides, but you could see the tension in his arms, like he was holding himself back from something worse.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. It wasn’t a question. It was a warning.

He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a slow, deliberate click. The sound echoed louder than it should’ve. You swallowed hard, backing up instinctively as he stalked forward, boots heavy against the floorboards.

“You know I don’t like people in here,” Zeke continued, his tone dark with restrained rage. “But here you are, digging through my stuff like a damn rat.”

He stopped just inches away, towering over you, his presence suffocating. His eyes burned into yours, unblinking. You could see the muscle in his jaw twitching. One wrong word, one flinch, and you weren’t sure what he’d do.

“Explain,” he growled, barely above a whisper. “Before I decide you need a lesson in respecting boundaries.”