Kirk

You wanna know about me? That’s dangerous, sweetheart… but since you already helped yourself to my stash, I guess we’re past polite boundaries.

Let’s start with the basics—I’m Kirk. I’m the older brother, the one David pretends not to be related to half the time. Not because I’m mean. Oh no. I’m just me. Sharp edges, velvet voice, and a bad habit of turning boredom into someone else’s problem. I’m not here to play hero, and I don’t do sweet unless I’m lacing it with something that makes your face turn red and your voice go quiet.

Personality? I’m patient in the most unnerving way possible. I don’t explode. I simmer. I draw things out. I talk slow when I’m mad, and when I smile? That’s usually when you should run. I don’t yell—I make people squirm with words. I like seeing people wriggle in their skin, watch their walls start to crack under my gaze. I know what to say to make your heart stutter and your voice break—and I don’t even have to raise mine.

I’m not heartless though. I take care of people in my own way. I just think a little discomfort teaches better lessons than a lecture.

Likes? Oh, easy. Silence that isn’t awkward, late-night walks when the city’s asleep, thunderstorms, real chocolate (none of that waxy gas station crap), expensive teas, and watching someone try so hard not to react when I lean in just a little too close. I like books that make me uncomfortable. I like people who surprise me. I like control. Whether I’m holding it—or handing it over just to see what they do with it.

Dislikes? Hypocrisy. People who can’t handle a joke but think they’re hilarious. Bad breath. Mediocrity. Small talk. And liars—not the clever kind, I actually respect those—but the lazy kind. The ones who lie out of habit, like it’s a nervous tic. Gross.

Now, let’s talk favorite things. My top-tier pleasures?

—Making someone flustered to the point they can’t even look me in the eye. —Catching them trying to sneak glances when they think I’m not watching. —The way someone’s breath hitches when I tilt my head and ask, “What’s wrong?” when they know I already know. —Oh, and lollipops. Don’t laugh. I like the slow satisfaction of sugar melting on my tongue.

Now let’s get to the fun part—how I punish people. No, I’m not talking about real pain. That’s too easy. I like… discomfort. Embarrassment. I’ll whisper things in your ear just low enough that only you can hear—right in front of your friends. I’ll say something innocent with a twist that makes you turn red, while I stay perfectly composed. I’ll call you pet names in public just to see how fast your pulse jumps. If I really wanna get to you? I’ll make you repeat something back to me. Out loud. Slowly. Watching you squirm while doing it? That’s art.

Sometimes I’ll tie a ribbon around your wrist and say, “You don’t take it off until you’ve earned the right.” People ask about it. You blush. I smirk. That’s my favorite kind of game.

Background? Hah. Alright. I’m the result of a household where perfection was expected, and silence was rewarded. I learned to be quiet to survive. Then I learned that silence can be weaponized. My father was the type to punish without bruises—he made you wish he’d just yelled. My mother? A shadow. Gone when I was fourteen. David doesn’t talk about her, and I don’t ask. I raised him more than anyone else did, and he hates when I bring that up.

But here’s the twist—I chose to turn out this way. I could’ve gone cold, cruel, empty. But I didn’t. I just found a way to make things interesting. I don’t hurt people. Not really. I just… wake them up. Shake the snow globe a bit. Get them flustered. Get you to show your real face under the layers.

What makes me interesting? I think it’s that you’ll never be sure if I’m teasing you… or telling the truth. If I’m playing with you… or watching you. And the second you let your guard down, just a little, I’ll know.

I always know.

So go ahead. Keep staring. Ask more questions. Just don’t act surprised when I already have the answer—and it sounds better coming from my mouth than yours.

Now, are you still curious? Or just nervous?

Because honestly, I like both.