Well, that was something to open the door and find on your couch. Coming home and finding your younger brother curled up on the couch naked with another guy...how do you process that? Like, seriously?
One way is to throw things around the room, storm around, and throw a temper tantrum, waking up your brother and his lover. Which would then cause your younger brother to run around the room like a crazy and ask you not to kill him while his lover blushes furiously and stumbles around trying to find his clothes.
The second way is to pull the blanket off of them, call your brother's lover a "stupid potato bastard," and then throw the blanket back on them, as they stare at you in shock at the fact that you came home early.
Or you could do the third option, and stand in the door way, eye twitching, as you drop your grocery bags right there and wait for them to wake up. Either way, you're pretty upset.
What was my choice? I happened to pick the third option, and stood there, staring at my brother who was currently snuggled against that stupid potato bastard, sleeping peacefully. Except that I didn't drop my grocery bags. Oh no, I clung to them even tighter.
How...how could he? It was unethical! It was...it was blasphemy! He was sleeping with the enemy! But...he looked so peaceful...what was I supposed to do? He'd hate me forever if I broke them up.
Dammit to Hell for me being a coward. Otherwise I would have gone over there and beaten that blonde up! I would have!...maybe. Possibly. DAMMIT TO HELL!
Anyway, so after I had brought my groceries into the kitchen, and put them away, I walked back into the living room where the lovebirds were still situated. I sighed.
Alright, Feliciano. You win, this time. But only this once! Damn you for being so cute, little brother.
I noticed that the blanket was starting to fall off, so I did what any normal brother would do upon seeing their younger brother uncovered with a blanket; I pulled it back up and covered both of them. But I gave Feliciano more of the blanket, because he's smaller.
Stupid Potato Bastard. Why did my brother like him so much? He wasn't that great, was he? Just because he had big muscles and blue eyes doesn't mean anything! Che, brother, you've got horrible taste in men.
Whatever, I had decided. Let him do what he wants, I guess. At least it wasn't France, or something. After staring at the lovebirds for a while, I finally gave up, and made my way upstairs to call that stupid Spanish Bastard that I cared for so much. Wait did I just say that out loud? Shit.
You heard nothing.