You can feel it the second you step out of the car.

This isn’t your world.

The houses are closer, louder somehow, music spilling out of open windows, people sitting on porches like they’ve known each other forever. It’s nothing like the quiet streets you’re used to, nothing like the polished, careful life you came from.

And yet—you’re here.

Standing on the sidewalk in clothes that suddenly feel too clean, too expensive, waiting for your best friend to open the door.

It swings open eventually. But it’s not her.

It’s him.

Her older brother leans against the frame like he’s been there the whole time, eyes dragging over you slowly, taking in every detail you suddenly wish you could hide.

There’s no smile, no greeting. Just that look. Amused, disbelieving. A little mean.

“Well, damn,” he mutters, voice low, rough around the edges. “She really got you out here, huh?”

You shift under his gaze, suddenly too aware of everything—your posture, your voice, the way you don’t quite fit.

He notices. Of course he does. His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to figure you out… or maybe just decide what to do with you.

“Y’know you stick out, right?” he adds, almost casually.

A pause.

Then, quieter—closer—

“…Real bad.”