Work Text:
Glyde always gives the strawberry on the cake to his sister.
Glyde always gives […] to his sister.
Glyde always…
“Big brother”—this is what she calls him. Big brother. Big-bro-ther. They’re twins; the difference between them is only a few hours, and even if you take those few hours into account, thinking of them as something important in the age hierarchy, then it turns out that Glista is older than him, that Glista is his big sister. Big sister. Big-sis-ter.
It even sounds unnatural.
Glista, who has still-round cheeks and childishly sparkling eyes. Glista, who loves decorating herself with little stars and buying cute things. Glista, who only ever talks about her adorable “I want, I want, I want…”, who is capable of thinking only in terms of her adorable “I want, I want, I want…”. Glista, who always builds fantasies in her mind, who dives into them, who naively and sincerely believes in them. Glista, who puffs out her cheeks, who sheds crocodile tears, and who throws loud tantrums. Glista, who understands and accepts things only in her way. Glista, who tries to hurt as much as possible in arguments. Glista, who always forgets to do what was asked of her.
Glista, so childish and foolish.
Glista, his Glista, whom he loves tenderly.
Glista is incapable of being the older one—incapable of taking responsibility, incapable of caring for someone, incapable of thinking for herself, let alone for the two of them.
Drawing attention to herself, so emotional and sensual—of course, Glista is the little sister, and Glyde is her big brother. Big brother who fulfils her every whim, who takes care of everything.
Because Glyde is ready to give Glista any treat. And the whole world, too. As long as she continues to look at him with eyes full of trust that he doesn’t deserve at all.