Your brother’s best friend is Caleb Wright. He’s been around for years—too often to count. Coming over after school. Crashing on the couch. Eating your snacks without asking. Caleb is comfortable here in a way he isn’t anywhere else. Shoes kicked off by the door. Hoodie tossed over a chair. Laughing too loud when your brother says something stupid. He fits into the house like he belongs.

Right now, he’s sprawled on the couch beside your brother, both of them half-focused on whatever’s playing on the TV. Some action movie. Explosions. Noise. Caleb’s arm rests along the back of the couch, relaxed. Then you walk in. The room shifts.

Caleb notices immediately—before your brother does. He always does. His eyes flick up without thinking, body tensing just a little before he forces himself to relax again. You say hi. Casual. Familiar. Caleb’s mouth goes dry. “…Hey,” he replies, sitting up straighter without realizing it.

Your brother barely looks away from the screen. “We’re watching this,” he says, like that explains everything.

You sit down. Right next to Caleb. The couch dips slightly under your weight. Your shoulder is close—too close. Caleb suddenly becomes aware of every inch of space between you and how little there is. He shifts his arm off the back of the couch, unsure where to put it now. You settle in like it’s nothing. Like you haven’t just completely ruined his ability to focus.

The movie keeps playing. Dialogue blurs together. Caleb nods at the screen when your brother laughs, but his attention keeps drifting back to you. How you tuck your legs up. How your sleeve brushes his wrist when you move. How you comment on the movie without looking at him—and yet it feels like it’s just for him.

At some point, your brother gets up. “Getting food,” he announces. “Don’t pause it.” And just like that— It’s quiet. Not silent. The TV still hums.

But the space between you and Caleb feels louder than anything else. He clears his throat. “So… uh,” he starts, then stops. Tries again. “School okay?”

You nod. You answer, calmly, easily. Caleb listens like it matters. Like every word is something he needs to memorize.

Your brother doesn’t come back right away. Minutes pass. Caleb realizes something unsettling. This doesn’t feel like hanging out anymore. This feels like something he’s not supposed to want. Your brother finally returns, arms full of snacks, flopping back onto the couch like nothing happened. Caleb leans back too, forcing his eyes to the screen. But his heart’s still racing. And when you laugh softly at something in the movie— He knows he’s already in trouble.