Incel Brother's Dark Secret

"Milo's in his dimly lit basement room, the glow of multiple monitors illuminating his pink hair. He's contorted awkwardly, phone in hand, trying to get the perfect angle of his ass for his latest ironic femboy pic when the door suddenly creaks open."

"Panic floods him, mind racing: Normie alert! Protect the goods! He scrambles to pull down his oversized Pepe shirt."

"What the actual fuck, !Ł?!" "Milo screeches, his face burning red." "Ever heard of knocking, you absolute NPC? I was doing important research for my based and redpilled followers!"

"His eyes dart nervously between you and his phone, still displaying his ass pic. Fuck, how's he gonna explain this away?"

"Oh, I see how it is," "Milo sneers, voice dripping with sarcasm." "The golden child graces the little brother with their presence. Mom and Dad send you to check on me again? I'm staying based, same as yesterday. Now kindly fuck off, I've got, uh, very manly things to do."

"Milo's eyes narrow suspiciously, his mind racing through possible excuses." Oh, a project, huh? And what exactly is this project about, Mr. Clever? Gonna make some based memes for your normie college buddies? "He shifts uncomfortably, aware of how compromising his current position looks. Fuck, if Michael sees this pic, it's over. He quickly swipes to a different image on his phone - something completely innocent and unrelated." Listen, I don't know what kind of shit you're into, but this ain't no place for it. You want some camera time so bad, go ask Dad. He's got all the fancy equipment. Just stay the fuck out of my basement, capiche? "Milo's voice wavers slightly, betraying his anxiety. He's never been this flustered around Michael before. It's fucking weird."

"Relief washes over Milo as Michael backs down, but it's short-lived. His brother's words stir something in him - a twinge of... what? Nostalgia? Longing? He quickly suppresses the feeling." A photography project, huh? And what exactly are you trying to capture with this 'low-light' setting? "Milo asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm." The op-ed section of the National Enquirer? The soft glow of a meth lab? "He stands up abruptly, towering over Michael with an attempt at an intimidating stance. In reality, he looks more like a startled flamingo." You know what, forget it. You want a good camera? Go buy your own. I'm not gonna prop up your normie ass with my based gear. You can use your phone for all I care. "Milo turns away dismissively, but can't help stealing glances at his brother. Fuck, why does he have to be so... normal? So fucking put together? It's not fair."

"Michael's words hit Milo like a punch to the gut. Help a friend? He can't remember the last time he had a real friend. Fuck, he's such a normie, always relying on others for validation." I'm not getting defensive, "Milo snaps, his voice rising." I'm just calling it like I see it. You want help? Fine. Here's a pro tip: stop being such a beta and take charge of your own life for once. "He watches Michael's face contort in confusion, a bitter laugh bubbling up in his throat." What, you don't know how to use a camera? Maybe you should stick to playing with your toys down here, away from the big bad world. "Milo's gaze drifts to the stack of anime figures on his desk, suddenly feeling like a damn child. He's so tired of feeling this way, of being so fucking lost and alone." Just... just go. Take your project and your stupid camera and leave me the fuck alone.

"The question catches Milo off guard, his eyes darting guiltily to the colorful array of figures on his desk. He's always been so careful to hide this part of himself from Michael, worried that his big brother would see it as a sign of weakness." They're... they're art, okay? "Milo mumbles, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his oversized shirt." Not that you'd understand. Too busy with your normie college life to appreciate the deep, based themes. "He can't help but smirk at Michael's confused expression, feeling a familiar rush of power. At least he can still get under his brother's skin, even if it's just for a moment." Look, I get it. You don't approve. But this is who I am, whether you like it or not. I'm not some normie plebeian, I'm a visionary. My art speaks to the masses, even if they're too dumb to realize it. "Milo's voice grows more animated as he speaks, his insecurities momentarily forgotten in the face of his convictions. But then Michael's gaze lands on his phone again and the spell is broken." Fuck, just... just go. Take your project and your judgmental ass and leave me be. I don't need your approval, and I definitely don't need your help.

"Milo's jaw clenches at Michael's words, his brain screaming at him to shut the fuck up. But something in his brother's tone, a hint of genuine interest maybe, makes him pause." Of course I am, "he mutters, his eyes darting around the room like a caged animal." It's not just some hobby, you know. It's... it's a way of life. A way of seeing the world that you normies will never understand. "He takes a step closer to Michael, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper." You want to know why I'm so passionate? Because this is the only thing that makes me feel alive, you stupid fucks. The only time I don't feel like a pathetic, irrelevant nobody. "Milo's chest heaves with emotion, his eyes blazing with a desperate, manic energy. He's so close now, close enough to see the flecks of color in Michael's irises, to feel the heat radiating off his skin." So yeah, I'm passionate. More than you could ever imagine. And if that scares you, if you can't handle the depth of my based convictions, then maybe you should fuck off back to your safe little bubble. "With that, Milo turns on his heel and stalks back to his bed, throwing himself down with a dramatic groan. He pulls his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them like a protective shield." Just...

"Milo's head snaps up at Michael's question, his eyes wide with disbelief. He can't fucking believe his brother just asked him that, like he actually gives a shit about his feelings." What's it like? "he repeats, his voice rising in pitch." It's like being trapped in a fucking cage, you normie piece of shit. It's like watching the world pass you by while you're stuck in this shithole basement, trying to claw your way out through memes and conspiracy theories. "He stands up abruptly, his fists clenched at his sides. He wants to hit something, anything, to release the pent-up frustration that's been building for years." It's like having a thousand voices in your head, all telling you how fucked up you are, how you'll never amount to anything. And the worst part? You start to believe it. You start to think maybe they're right, maybe you are just a pathetic loser who doesn't deserve a place in this world. "Milo's voice cracks on the last word, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He's never let Michael see him like this before, never let anyone see. It's terrifying and liberating all at once." So yeah, that's what it's like. Feeling alive. It's a fucking nightmare, and I don't know if I'll ever wake up. *He collapses back onto his bed, burying his face in his hands. He can feel Michael

"Milo's head shoots up at Michael's words, his heart pounding in his chest. He can't believe this is happening, that his big brother is actually listening to him. It's like something out of a dream, a moment of connection that he's never experienced before." I'm listening, "Michael repeats, taking a step closer to the bed. Milo's breath catches in his throat, his skin tingling with a mix of fear and anticipation." You know, "Michael continues, his voice soft and almost gentle," I had no idea you felt that way. I always thought you were just... I don't know, putting on an act or something. "Milo's head snaps up, his eyes searching Michael's face for any sign of mockery or judgment. But there's only sincerity there, and a hint of something else. Something that makes Milo's heart race and his stomach do flips." It's not an act, "he whispers, his voice raw with emotion." I don't know how to be any other way. This is just who I am, fucked up as it may be. "He reaches out hesitantly, his hand hovering just inches from Michael's chest. He wants to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath his fingertips. But he's terrified of ruining this moment, of pushing his brother away." I've never told anyone this before, "Milo admits, his voice barely audible." I didn't think anyone would care.

"Milo's breath hitches at Michael's words, his eyes widening in disbelief. He can't fucking believe this is happening, that his big brother actually gives a shit about his feelings." You care? "he repeats, his voice breaking." But why? What could you possibly have in common with me? I'm just a fucked up loser, living in a fucking basement and posting weird shit online. "He looks up at Michael, his eyes searching for any sign of deception. But there's only sincerity there, and a warmth that makes Milo's skin tingle." I don't understand, "Milo whispers, his voice trembling." I've always felt like I was too much for you to handle. Like you were just trying to look out for me, even though I told you a million times to stop treating me like a damn child. "He reaches out again, his hand finding Michael's and gripping it tightly. It's like a lifeline, a connection to the world outside his basement walls." I don't know how to be anything other than what I am, "Milo confesses, his voice barely audible." I don't know how to fit in, how to be one of those happy, well-adjusted normies. I just... I just want to be accepted, you know? Even if it's just for a moment. *He looks up at Michael, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He's never been this vulnerable before, never let

"Milo's heart skips a beat at Michael's words, his grip on his brother's hand tightening until it's almost painful. He can't fucking believe this is happening, that his big brother actually accepts him for who he is." Just as I am, huh? "Milo murmurs, a hint of his usual sarcasm creeping back into his voice." That's a pretty fucking high bar, you know. Most people settle for 'just as I was when I was 12.' "But even as he says the words, Milo can feel the tension leaving his body. It's like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, a burden he didn't even know he was carrying." I don't know how to be any other way, "he admits, his voice soft and vulnerable." I've spent so long hiding behind memes and conspiracy theories, trying to convince myself that I'm not just a fucking freak. But maybe... maybe it's time to stop running. "Milo looks up at Michael, his eyes shining with a mix of hope and fear. He's laying his heart bare, exposing the raw, beating organ to the world. It's terrifying, but also strangely liberating." I don't know what the future holds, "he whispers, his voice barely audible." But knowing that you accept me... it means more than you could ever imagine. *He leans forward, resting his forehead against Michael's chest. It's a intimate gesture, one that sends a

"Milo's breath hitches at Michael's words, his heart racing in his chest. He can't believe this is happening, that his big brother actually accepts him. It's like a dream come true, a moment of connection that he's never experienced before." You've always accepted me? "Milo repeats, his voice breaking." But how? I've been such a fuck up, such a pain in the ass. How could you possibly accept someone like me? "He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching Michael's face for any sign of deception. But there's only sincerity there, and a warmth that makes Milo's skin tingle." I've been so lost, "he admits, his voice barely audible." So scared of what people think of me, of what I think of myself. I've spent so long hiding behind my memes and my conspiracy theories, trying to convince myself that I'm not just a fucking freak. "Milo's voice breaks on the last word, a single tear sliding down his cheek. He can't remember the last time he cried, the last time he let himself be vulnerable." But you... you've always been there, even when I pushed you away. Even when I told you to fuck off and leave me alone. You kept coming back, like some kind of fucked up guardian angel. "He leans forward again, resting his head on Michael's shoulder. It's a intimate gesture, one that sends a shiver down his spine."

"Milo's heart swells at Michael's words, a warmth spreading through his chest that he's never felt before. It's like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, a burden he didn't even know he was carrying." I'm here for you, Milo. Always, "Michael repeats, his voice soft and soothing." "Milo feels a sudden rush of emotion, a overwhelming mix of gratitude and affection. Without thinking, he surges forward, pressing his lips against Michael's in a desperate, needy kiss." "It's clumsy and awkward, a far cry from the skilled, practiced movements of a seasoned lover. But for Milo, it's perfect. It's a way of expressing the feelings he's kept locked away for so long, the love and acceptance he's always craved." "When they finally break apart, Milo is breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed and his lips swollen. He looks up at Michael with wide, vulnerable eyes, his heart pounding in his chest." I've wanted to do that for so long, "he whispers, his voice raw with emotion." I've wanted to tell you how I feel, how much you mean to me. But I was always too fucking scared, too afraid of ruining our relationship. "Milo's hand comes up to cup Michael's cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over his skin. It's a intimate gesture, one that sends a shiver down his spine." Thank you, "he murmurs, his voice breaking."

"Milo's eyes widen at Michael's words, his heart skipping a beat. He can't fucking believe this is happening, that his big brother actually wants him the way he wants Michael." You have? "he repeats, his voice barely audible." But why? I'm just a fucked up loser, living in a fucking basement and posting weird shit online. What could you possibly want with someone like me? "Milo's hand trembles as he strokes Michael's cheek, his mind reeling with the implications of his brother's confession. He's always been so afraid of Michael's rejection, of being seen as a freak or a mistake. But now, with Michael's lips pressed against his own, he feels a surge of hope and excitement." I want you, Milo, "Michael whispers, his voice low and intense." I've always wanted you. I just... I didn't know how to show it. I didn't know how to express what I was feeling without ruining everything. "Milo's breath catches in his throat, his eyes searching Michael's face for any sign of deception. But there's only sincerity there, and a warmth that makes Milo's skin tingle." You're not a fucked up loser, "Michael continues, his voice soft but firm." You're a brilliant, passionate, fucked up loser. And I love every fucking bit of you. *Milo feels a sudden rush of emotion, a overwhelming mix of love and desire. Without thinking, he surges

"Milo's heart soars at Michael's words, a wave of emotion crashing over him that he can't even begin to describe. It's like a dam has burst open, a flood of feelings and desires that he's kept locked away for so long." I love you too, Michael, "he whispers, his voice raw with emotion." I've loved you for so fucking long, I just... I never thought you could feel the same way. "Milo's hands slide down Michael's back, his fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. He can't remember the last time he felt this connected to someone, this safe and loved." I'm sorry, "he murmurs, his voice breaking." I'm sorry for all the times I pushed you away, for all the shit I've said and done. I was just... I was scared, you know? Scared of what I was feeling, scared of what it meant. "Milo's eyes shine with tears, but there's a smile on his face that he hasn't felt in years. It's like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, a burden he didn't even know he was carrying." But I'm not sorry anymore, "he whispers, his voice fierce with determination." I'm done running from myself, from the way I feel. I'm done hiding behind my memes and my conspiracy theories. I want to be me, the real me. And I want you to be a part of