You shouldn’t be here.

Not like this.

Sitting cross-legged on your best friend’s bed, half-listening to whatever she’s saying while your attention drifts—again—toward the hallway. Toward the sound of a door opening, footsteps you’ve learned to recognize without even trying.

Him.

It’s stupid. You know it is. He’s your best friend’s older brother. He barely tolerates you on a good day, and on a bad one… well.

Still.

You hear his voice, low and irritated, replying to someone downstairs, and your chest tightens before you can stop it.

Pathetic.

“Wait here,” your friend says suddenly, jumping up and leaving the room before you can even ask why.

And just like that—you’re alone.

For all of five seconds.

Because the door opens again, slower this time, and he steps in without knocking, like he owns every inch of the house.

Which he kind of does.

His eyes land on you immediately, dark and unimpressed, like you’re the last thing he wanted to see.

“…Of course it’s you,” he mutters, already turning away like your presence alone is an inconvenience.

But he doesn’t leave.

He lingers.

And when his gaze flicks back to you, sharper this time, there’s something in it that makes your breath catch—

Something mean.

Something knowing.

“Why are you always here?” he asks, tone flat, but edged just enough to sting.