Disguise♔ z.m

Thirty three

"My brother?" I monotonously say. Suddenly, all sounds and lights become defined. The spinning fan on the ceiling becomes loud, the air becomes chillier, the soft giggles that filled the air sound like sirens to my ears, the waiter who had previously asked me what I wanted had re-appeared in my mind.

"Yes," he breathes out. "Was a shock to me, too."

"How could have this happened? How old are you? What's your name?" I was bombarding him with questions that left an enormous space in my heart and bones.

"Chill," he sits upwards. "My name is Yves."

Nice name. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen," he answers collectively and motionless.

"Are you my blood brother?"

"Step."

"Woah," I rest my back on the leather seat.

"I know, right?" He rubs his unshaven chin.

"How did it happen?" I ask him and watch him flicker his long lashes.

"We should ask our father."

I hold to the table with my hands and try putting the pieces together. If Yves' mother was the reason for my dad's absence every night, then I won't know how to feel. I still remember the days he never came back home and my mother had to stay up all night, forcing us to get back in and not worry and that daddy had work. I still remember how shattered my mother looked every time I left for school. I was young, I couldn't have understood what it meant then, but it all makes sense.

"How long have you known this?"

"Probably my whole life... I just never remembered having a sister who's a few years older than I."

"I am twenty three," I look up. "Four years."

He smiles, but I know it's fake.

"I have seen you before, you know?" I decide bringing up the topic I have been trying to push away ever since the day I laid my eyes on him.

"You must have seen me a week ago."

"So, was it a coincidence?"

"No, I had been following you for a while now," He sweeps his head to the side, making his chestnut brown hair flow along with his motion, leaving a permanent posture once he looks back at me with those similar eyes that had made us look related.

"This is so much for me to take it." It was more than I could take in. My life has not certainly been a lie, but how could my parents keep such a story away from me? I am sure their favourite daughter would be disappointed as well when I call her as soon as I leave this place that was making me feel sick. Not only do I feel upset about Liam, but about all this mess that will soon be the death of me.

"It's not something you should constantly think about," he shrugs his shoulders. He looks the teenager I could have dreaded to go for particularly because he looks arty. Maybe that's why you like Zayn.

I have no idea what sort of personality Yves has, but I believe he might be the careless boy, who escapes school just to catch up with his life and music. He looks flaunting, you know, the way he tapped his fingers on the edge of the table, waiting until he was able to be done with our daddy issue. But, there was more to his regularly washed denim buttoned up shirt, accompanied with a blue beanie that he kept on his thigh as he ran his hand through his hair. There was more to his serious look that kept blocking my curiosity. He puts the beanie back on.

"What?" He says rudely.

"What?" I repeat, crossing my arms and rubbing my elbows.

"You keep staring at me. It's creepy," he comments and looks away.