He peered around the room that was his brother's dorm, his living space at college. (Nonchalantly, of course). His brother: a sophomore at the university, and the reason for his visit: a sophomore [in high school].

He considered the can of beer in his hand, lazily oozing tears of condensation, and debated taking another sip to 'break the silence'. When he told people that he drank, he meant, naturally, that he had the occasional Bud Light ("like, twice a year"), not anywhere near ready to obtain the fine wines that others were accustomed to stealing from parent's liquor cabinets and getting totally smashed (yet classily). [But he did have licenses to drive three separate cars, so he wasn't too deprived. And proud of this fact, too.]

His brother belched lightly, suddenly; covering it with a closed fist to his mouth. Such are the consequences of drinking, he supposed. He excused himself, but his younger confidant didn't really care.

"So," the brother started off, kicking off his shoes (he'd had to make a beer run—well, not fully—just swing over to the room opposite his, same floor, and remind its inhabitants that he'd supplied for them the last time) and relaxing further into his nest on his bed. He had the bottom bunk of a shared bed set, and had propped up pillows so that he could make eye contact and stay awake, but be comfortably reclined, and blankets pooled at the foot of his bed because he had awkwardly diagonally placed himself, but was too content to even think of shifting positions. "What's up? How are things at my alma mater?" He cracked a smile. Only two years ago it had been he who was the unsure senior, already accepted into college (early admission) but still trying so hard and yet trying so hard to not appear as it were.

He grinned. "It's good." This family, they had a habit of taking after the ones before, in all characteristics. He and his older brother both slurred their words together, to put a façade on every one of their phrases and, frankly, to distract the observer from hearing the witty remarks they so often felt compelled to make.

"Any hot chicks?" His brother openly cocked this question, an eyebrow raised as if to say, 'try me'.

He knew that this question was coming, in fact, that's why he'd made the trip out at all [not that it was hard to get access to a car, or his parent's permission for that matter—he was nearing his eighteenth birthday]. "There's, ah, there's this one girl."

"Tell me more, tell me more," his brother sang with such a clear undertone of mocking that even he laughed like it had been a funny joke.

"What is this, the fifties?" He mumbled, and shyly continued, "Yeah…she's, she's alright. But the—but there's one thing."

His brother sat up, nearly knocking his head on the bottom of the bed above him. His roommate wouldn't be there to document it this time, which was a definite bonus (it was kind of a regular occurrence. Even he was shocked that he hadn't caused any self-concussions thus far).

"I'm waiting with bated breath!" the brother joshed, batting his eyelashes a mile a minute and pressing his hands to his heart.

He just shook his head. "She's a sophomore. Not even an older one, like, not even fifteen and a half yet."

His brother whistled. "If she still counts her ages in halves she is too damn young for you. Is she cute?"

He blushed, but not noticeably, and his brother wouldn't have noticed if not for the fact that he paused until he regained his composure to speak.

"You've got it bad…" he teased. Nearly twenty years old and the maturity of a toddler, his mother always said.

"I guess. She's pretty cute, yeah, but is that, like, totally creepy?" He tried to subtly ask for his brother's advice, without truly asking. That wasn't cool. He sighed inwardly. What was he, a middle schooler? Caring about what was 'cool' and the 'popular' thing to do?

"To crush on a minor? Yeah, it's fine—you clearly can't help it!" His brother was obviously making a jab at him but he let it happen because, well, he was the underdog in this situation.

He did, though, come for words of wisdom from the wise high school veteran that his brother purported to be and wouldn't leave without it.

"Does she like you, is the question," his brother mused, setting his can of beer down on a nearby nightstand as he sat up to engage in conversation like an actual human being would.

"That's the tricky part; I think so, but she's like…way naïve."

"So a virgin?"

"Definitely a virgin. Not sure she even knows what sex is, to tell you the truth."

"You kidding?" The 'are' was implied.

He laughed a bit shakily. "I hope."

"So she's one of those, eh? I got to ask—what do you see in a girl like that?"

This, he actually had to think about. Hard. It was endearing, her innocence, but he couldn't hardly explain that to his brother in terms that wouldn't make him sound like a wimp.

"I don't know," he fumbled, "it's—I think it'd be really fun, to—to show her stuff. You know…like for the first time."

His brother threw a pillow at him, nearly knocking over his still very much filled beer can over and out of his grip. "Watch it!" he warned. (But not so intimidatingly. His brother was bigger. And drunker.)

"Dude, you are so whipped and you're not even with her yet! Do you have any pics of this looker?"

"No—she's completely disconnected, that's another problem. Doesn't really use her cell so I can't casually ask for the number and doesn't have a Face-Book."

"What, is she Amish?" His brother guffawed loudly and began to cough, caught on his laughter. A few moments and sips of beer later he was fine.

"Nah, but like I said, she's really not with-the-times. So to speak," he was quick to add, so as not to sound like an old geyser. This was, after all, a college dormitory.

"So? You going to make a move? What's the plan, little bro?" He watched as his brother, having downed his third can of the night, threw his latest drinking receptacle to the ground and stomped on it so that it was flat as a penny run over by a train.

"Not sure yet, honestly. There's a lot going for it, but a lot on the opposing side, too. And I don't want to freak her out."

"So what I'm hearing is that you think she likes you but is too much of a prude to do anything? Or if you did something, she'd be too much of a prude to oblige?"

"Pretty much, yeah," he nodded, almost as if in defeat. All that had been said was, essentially, true, but still—sometimes the truth could hurt. And to hear it like that, so blunt, it was a hefty load to be smacked with at once.

"Say, how do you even know her so well, anyway?"

"Band." He half-cringed. Yeah, yeah, senior band geek on the run. So what? He had nothing better to do with his time!

His brother smirked. "Cute. Real cute. So you're what—stand partners, or something?"

"Or something," he agreed.

His brother explained the next part to him like it was so palpable anybody could've seen the answer from a mile away, like he was slow and couldn't put two and two together. "So go to some dumb band-related thing and use that as an excuse to get her number, flirt her up and see how that goes, and bam!—you're in her pants."

He blushed. "I don't think so—I've got a feeling she's definitely one of those 'wait until marriage' types. She—well, now you're not going to like her."

"Oh?" Clearly intrigued and amused, his brother leaned in. He grabbed the remaining can of beer (his, but he had been done for quite some time now. Truth be told, he didn't even like the taste of the singing liquid. It just burnt his throat, and not in a way that he craved more of.) and took a swig in such a second-nature manner that he wondered if his brother knew whose it was to begin with. But he juts shrugged as he did with most things.

"She—I told her that I drank, like, maybe twice a year and she got real upset. I said only when I came down here to visit you. So in her mind, you're kind of a terrible influence."

"No comment. But hey, who knows? Maybe you'll rub off on her! But if you bring her down here, tell her first time, she's buying, OK? OK. That enough sage advice for you?"

"Yeah, I-uh-I think that'll suffice actually. Good, uh… good talk."

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The next time he saw his brother he had a petite girl on his arm, a tiny brunette who could only be described as quirky. "This her?" His brother had mouthed, and he just nodded happily in reply. His brother rolled his eyes, but he could tell that he was happy for him. Even if she hadn't changed her conservative ways, and would most certainly not be "buying." OK?