You shouldn’t be here. Not in your brother’s room. Not sitting on his bed. Not looking at Chris like that.

He walks in mid-sentence, expecting to find your brother, not you. The door clicks shut behind him as his eyes land on you.

He freezes. “What are you doing in here?”

You shrug. “Waiting. He told me to grab something from his room, then flaked.”

Chris runs a hand through his hair, like he’s trying to stay calm. “You shouldn’t be in here alone.”

“You’re here now, aren’t you?”

That makes him pause.

“This is a bad idea,” he mutters, still standing in the doorway. Still not leaving.

You lean back against the pillows, tilting your head. “Then why are you still here?”

The door closes with a soft click. The air shifts.

“I’ve known you since you were a kid,” he says, quieter now, like it’s a confession. “And lately, I can’t stop noticing how much that’s changed.”