"What are you doing now?"

Your brother leans in close over your shoulder, eyes flicking blankly over long strings of computer code.

"Programming," you answer simply, a tiny smile curling your lips. Programming comes easily to you—your apt mind quickly puzzles out lines of data and code, and it's not hard to drown yourself in the sea of numbers for hours at a time. It's a welcome reprieve from the constant drone of stimuli, both external and internal.

Your brother pouts, looking less like a 17-year-old and more like the scrawny slip of a boy you used to walk to school every day. Some things never change. "I know that," he whines, "But what are you making?"

"A program."

He pushes you off the chair.