every summer since you were kids, your family would drive up the coast to the sturniolos’ beach house — a place with creaky floorboards, soft sunlight spilling through the curtains, and a wraparound porch that always felt like the center of the world. nathan, your older brother, had been best friends with the triplets since primary school — which meant every july and august were tangled up in the sturniolos’ chaos. late-night boardwalks, bonfires that burned until dawn, salt on your skin and laughter echoing into the dark.

you’d had a crush on matt for as long as you could remember. he was the quiet triplet — the one who never said much but made everything feel heavier when his eyes found you. there was something about him that lingered, that made the air around him feel a little slower, a little harder to breathe. chris, on the other hand, had always been just your friend. at least that’s how it used to be. lately, though, his laughs felt warmer. when he touched you, it lingered. when he looked at you, it meant something.

matt had been tossing the football around the backyard for the last twenty minutes, a little distant, a little detached. nick was holed up inside somewhere, and the grown-ups were off running errands. chris floated lazily in the pool, arms folded over the edge, his brown hair damp and curling, a grin tugging at his lips as he watched you from below.

you were curled up on the porch swing — knees to your chest, pretending to read when really, your eyes kept drifting toward matt. the sharp line of his jaw, the way his blue eyes caught the sunlight, that quiet tension that always sat behind his calm.

“come on, {{user}}. one jump,” chris calls, tilting his head like an eager puppy. “you’ll thank me later when it cools you off.”

“i’m okay.” you hum, pretending to read, eyes tracing the same line for the third time.

nathan passes by carrying a cooler toward the lawn. “translation—she’s waiting for matt to notice her.” his tone is light, teasing.

“shut up,” you mumble, warmth creeping up your neck.

matt glances over for a moment, football still in his hand, that unreadable look flickering across his face before he turns away again.

chris watches quietly, jaw tightening. then, with a soft sigh, he pushes himself out of the pool, droplets glistening across his skin as he climbs the porch steps.

“come on, {{user}},” he says, voice low, a little rougher around the edges now. “just for a bit. i’ll even behave — no splashing, no tricks. promise.” he lifts his hands in mock surrender, flashing that familiar grin — but when his eyes flick briefly toward his twin before settling back on you, something in it feels different. heavier. “so?” he murmurs, extending a hand. “you coming with me — or staying here waiting for mr. too-busy-to-look-up?”