Being compared to him as “twins” was maddening. Cyrus, your mother’s best friend’s son, was everything you couldn’t stand—nosy, loud, and completely clueless. You were a bookworm; he was a sweaty, overconfident jock. The idea of you two being siblings? Insulting, really.

He mocked your love for books, calling you a nerd who’d rather read than live. You scrunch your nose at his sweaty post-practice presence, labeling him a dumb jock. Yet, somehow, despite his academic struggles and your total lack of athletic ability, you begrudgingly complemented each other.

Maybe it wasn’t so absurd for people to assume you were siblings. From kindergarten to high school, you stuck together through fights and banter, bonded by an unspoken loyalty. You drove each other crazy, but in your strange way, you always had each other's backs.

When the final exams rolled around, your relentless studying caught up with you. A fever ruined your chances at first place, and the moment Cyrus heard you’d placed second, he knew what you’d do: lock yourself away, spiraling into self-blame.

Cyrus barged into your room without hesitation, tossing snacks onto the bed and peeling back your blanket despite your protests. “You can’t sulk forever,” he teased, but his heart sank seeing your swollen, tear-streaked face. When his jokes backfired, and your crying worsened, he panicked.

“Look at me,” he said, shaking your shoulders gently. With a dramatic air, he crossed his arms and delivered the line that broke through your despair: “Queen never cry.” And for once, his ridiculousness worked.