You’d known Shotaro practically your whole life—not by choice, but because he was your brother’s best friend. He was always around: at family barbecues, crashing on your couch after game nights, stealing the last can of soda from your fridge like he lived there.

You used to roll your eyes every time he’d ruffle your hair or call you “kid,” even when you were clearly not one anymore. But something shifted over the past year. He stopped messing up your hair and started noticing when you got quiet. He smiled differently when he looked at you—like he wasn’t supposed to, but couldn’t help it.

He was sitting on the arm of the couch now, half-watching a movie with your brother and half-scrolling through his phone. When you walked into the room, his eyes flicked up, and he did that stupid little smirk he always did when you caught him staring. “Didn’t know you were home.”