I always hear everyone complain about being the oldest sibling... and the middle one... and also the youngest one.

The older one always gets blamed. Did the younger one hit them? Then the oldest one shouldn't have teased them. Or did the oldest one eat pizza with their friends on a night out? Oh, no, now the youngest sibling must get pizza for dinner as well.

But the younger one gets expected to do everything as well as their siblings. Or, in fact, they get judged because their siblings misbehaved. Teachers place them in the front based on their trauma of the other siblings or people say 'Ah, you must be blahblahblah's sibling'.

And then there's the middle child. The 'forgotten one'. Buried in the shadows of their siblings. Being ignored. Left out.

I can tell you that in my family, that is not the case.

Our parents are proud of Finn when he wins a match, and as proud of me when I finish sewing something, and as proud of Minho when he manages not to get detention for once.

They don't compare us, they divide their time over the three of us, and they make sure no one is ever left out.

But, after all, it's kind of impossible to maintain the exact relationships with your children.

Minho has a good relationship with both of them. He takes advantage of being the youngest one and acts how you'd exactly imagine a little sister would. Does that make sense?

Finn and Mom get along very well. While he sometimes struggles to maintain his anger about the tiniest things, she is calm and the way she helps him always does its job. Perhaps because she's a psychologist.

I'm close with my father. He teaches math at school. It's my worst subject, but it's fine, because it's Dad who teaches me and who can help me at home. And because he's a teacher, he isn't the type of dad that makes you cry over an 'easy' question.

Oh, and I also have Thomas to teach me. He's like, super good at it, almost better than my Dad. He does make me cry over the questions, though. Always gets frustrated at how I never understand and—

Something downstairs shatters into what sounds like a thousand pieces.

That was either Finn throwing something out of anger or Minho dropping a plate because of what could be many reasons.

One, he tripped over our cat.

Two, the doorbell went off and he startled.

Three, he's just that dumb to randomly drop a plate.

And I can go to like a hundred reasons.

Kind of hoping it is one of those hundred reasons (expect for the one where an intruder enters and tries to murder us all) and not Finn being angry.
He's very sweet, but he can be scary when he has those outbursts, not going to lie.

Then my phone lights up.

STEPHANIUSIBUSIUSYPUSSY

I'm lirellay swo deunj rifjt niw

Pronunciation: Stephanius-ibus-i-osy-pussy

(That's what I did with the Latin endings)

And the translation of Thomas's text: I'm literally so drunk right now.

I can tell, I type back. Where r u?

Ubjder yr bwed

You're not under my bed, Thomas
Do I need to come get you??

Noooooooooooooookjjkjjjhdusixisiskxi

Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhaidjehdienfkdiejd
Who's with you?

Tessssssssssssssssssssssss

Ohhhhhhh!!!!!
How surprising
Can she take you home?

She ssys sureeeeaaaa

Okay
I'll see you tmrw
Good night
ILY

I hwave a guelftiend
But good nighțťțťțtttt

Sigh.

I really do like Teresa Agnes, but ever since Thomas started dating her, things have been different. I mean, of course. He's loyal and I totally understand and agree that we shouldn't hang out with each other as much as we did before.

So I've been spending most of my time with a British boy called Newt Blaze. He was Thomas's friend first, but whoever is his friend, is my friend. Same goes for enemies.

Newt and I get along well and are pretty similar when it comes to school and I guess personality as well.

Then the door to my room magically opens and startles me so hard that I throw a pen at it, hitting Minho against the chest. He looks down at it, then up at me, and down again.

"Offense taken," he says, plopping down on my bed. My little brother has the same hair color as me. Same sharper jawline and face shape. But he likes athletics and I don't... at all.

He's built broad. Not as broad as Finn, who's a boxer, but still broad. Ever since he and Thomas figured out at what age they could get into the gym, they went. I've noticed some drastic changes in Minho's arms. At first they were little spaghetti sticks, but now they're buff and all. Going into detail about my brother's biceps is weird, though, so I won't.

I can go on and on about Thomas. How I swear he had way lighter hair when he was younger. The way he also grew from a stick man to whatever built he has now. The way I remember his voice changing, the cracks slipping through sentences making me laugh every time. I remember when he had to act he had never taken alcohol before, in front of both our parents.

They're not too strict in that sort of things, so they allowed us to start taking small drinks (as they were around) at sixteen. Now we're eighteen and in the last school year. Finn is almost turning twenty-one and Minho's birthday was a few weeks ago. He turned seventeen. Same age as Newt.

"What was it that you were doing?" Minho grabs my phone without consent and types in the password I swear I never told him.

"Hey!" I rip it out of his hands. "Ask me before you take my phone."

"Don't worry. You know I won't actually look through it."

Yeah, true, but still. I have nothing to hide, yet the thought of someone checking my phone gives me chills. I don't mind. They just have to ask. I guess I also have a little fear someone will post something I don't know of on my accounts.

"Thomas is drunk," I say. "Before freaking dinner time! He's with Teresa. He said she'd take him home."

"Well, then everything is fine, isn't it?" Minho gets back up. "Talking about dinner, it's ready. I made it. Cool, huh?"

"So it was you who dropped the plate."

"Nah, it was Willow."

"Our cat? Yeah, sure."

"No, our dog." He rolls his eyes. "Yes, it was Willow. He pushed the plate out of my hands."

I roll my eyes as we walk down the stairs. "Mhm."

Minho tries convincing me that our cat 'for real pushed the plate out of his hands' the whole way to the dinner table, where we then sit down, still bickering.

"Oeh, hamburgers!" And just like that, he stops talking to me and grabs the first food he sees.

"You literally made that," Finn comments, sighing as he shakes his head. "Why are you so surprised?"

"Because it's going to taste amazing and it looks amazing and is made by an amazing person," Minho replies, mouth already full. "Wow, best thing ever."

Once I've taken my hamburger and take a bite, I frown. My eyes meet Finn's, who looks just as disgusted.

Finn looks a lot like Minho but also not. It depends on how he dresses. When he's in the ring or training in a tank top with messy hair and all, he looks like Minho, but at work or at any event, he dresses casually and looks as kind as he is. Mom says he looks like me when we're in that situation, and I really like the idea of that.

"Is this a prank?" I spit the meat out in a napkin. "Tastes like rubber, Minho. Did you put rubber in our burgers? Is that why you wanted that exact one so badly for yourself?"

Offended, he glares at me. "No."

"Okay. Let me taste yours, then." I steal his burger and take a bite. My frown deepens at, once again, the rubber taste. It's hard to chew this shit and it tastes horrible.

Finn raises an eyebrow at Minho, triumphant. "I don't think they're that good, are they?"

"Well." He audibly swallows his lasts bits of food away. "It indeed might not taste as good as I said."

Dad starts snickering below his breath. "Guess that's gonna be another night of ordering pizza."

I'm not complaining.

☯︎

A/n: Short first chapter that just introduces everything a little bit!! x