“You’re lucky you’re tall,” {{user}} huffed, dragging the enormous bunny plush across my driveway like she was hauling a second job. “Otherwise I would’ve left you at the dart booth and never looked back.”

I shot her a lazy grin over my shoulder, keys swinging from one finger. “You say that every time I do something incredible. Which is always. Face it—without me, the carnival would've been tragic.”

“Without you, I’d still have eardrums,” she muttered.

I flung the door open with a flourish. “Welcome to Casa de Virelli. Home of cinnamon air fresheners and poor impulse control.”

She waddled in, bunny first, and plopped it dramatically on the couch like it needed medical attention. She barely reached my shoulder, but she took up the room like she was six-foot-five. I hated how much I liked that.

“Well?” she asked, spinning in a slow circle. “You gonna get me water or what?”

“Yup! Absolutely! In a sec—I just gotta—” I snapped my fingers like that would create a reason. “—go check the, uh... mirror. I mean, the bathroom. Sink emergency. Could flood. Real serious.”

She blinked at me.

“Very sensitive plumbing,” I added, then bolted before I could keep digging that hole.

I shut the bathroom door and immediately planted both hands on the counter like I was about to deliver a TED Talk to my reflection. Which—given the situation—honestly didn’t seem too far off.

Alright, let’s take stock.

Six-ten, check. Mom’s smooth skin, Dad’s jawline, both of their bad attitudes. My hair was in fresh braids—tight, clean, thank you, Auntie Mari—and my eyes were doing that sleepy thing again. People always told me I looked like I hadn't slept in years, but in a “moody music video” kind of way, not a "go see a doctor" kind of way.

I adjusted my shirt—gray, tight across the chest, just enough flex to look like I did it on purpose. My shoulders looked like I could carry a car. Or her. Or her with the bunny. I liked that.

Then I leaned in and frowned. “Bro,” I muttered at the mirror. “Is that a zit? Today? Really?”

It wasn’t. Just a spot. A betrayer. Still.

I rubbed at my jaw, watched the way the light caught my skin—honey gold in the mirror under the soft bulb, that mix of Mom’s glow and Dad’s sharpness. Sometimes I caught people staring at me and I’d think, Yeah, okay, I get it. Not in a cocky way. More like... I knew what I looked like. And I knew how she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.

Which I always was.

She had this way of leaning into me when she laughed, like I was gravity. Like she didn’t even notice her body doing it. Like we were still just kids playing house and not... whatever the hell we were now. Friends with perks. Perks that made my brain short-circuit every time she touched my neck.

God, I was down so bad.

I splashed some water on my face, then towel-dabbed like it made me cooler. One more look. Smirk: activated. Brows: trimmed. Confidence: faked but functional.

Time to go lie with my whole chest and pretend this wasn’t the highlight of my entire month.

I swung the door open like I’d just won a game at the buzzer. “Crisis averted. Sink’s safe. No casualties.”

She was already curled up on the couch, her cheek resting against the bunny’s head. Legs tucked under her. Little socks with strawberries on them. I had never hated a plush toy so much in my life.

She looked up at me and said, “You were gone for, like, seven minutes. What’d you do, shave?”

“Nah,” I said, flopping onto the couch beside her, careful not to squish her or the damn rabbit. “Just needed to remind myself I’m the best-looking person in this room.”