It was never hard to disappear. Not when your sister sparkled like sunshine and laughter and your brother commanded rooms with the easy confidence of a rugby captain. Their brilliance gave you all the cover you needed—like standing in the shade of something dazzling. Fading into the background became second nature, a quiet act of survival. Most people barely noticed you at all, and honestly, that was perfectly fine. You liked the silence, the simplicity. A drama-free life was a peaceful one. People didn’t ask questions when they didn’t notice you. And for the most part, that suited you.

Well—most people. But not him.

Gerard Gibson, or Gibsie, as the entire group affectionately called him, had never struggled to spot you. Growing up as neighbours to the Biggs family gave him front-row access to your world. He didn’t need to try hard to find you—he just had to cross the road and let himself in. And somehow, annoyingly, beautifully, he had slipped past every wall you’d quietly built around yourself.

You told yourself you hated that. The invasion. The disruption. But deep down, you liked it. You liked him.

Gibsie knew things about you that no one else bothered to notice—how you took your tea with exactly one and a half sugars, how you always used your left hand even though you pretended not to, and how you secretly adored tragic love stories but mocked them aloud to save face. Everyone else assumed he was sweet on Claire, your golden sister—the life of every party, the girl with the dazzling smile and perfect timing. It made sense on paper: the cheeky boy and the bubbly girl. But they were wrong. They had no idea. His eyes never lingered on Claire.

They found you.

Tonight was Claire’s birthday, and naturally, she’d thrown a house-filling bash complete with too-loud music, glittery drinks, and more laughter than your walls could probably handle. It was the kind of night that made you feel like a ghost in your own home. So you did what you always did: you escaped. You tucked yourself into the familiar solitude of your room, pulled out a book, and let the noise blur into the background.

You were safe. Hidden. Alone. Exactly as you wanted.

Until you weren’t.

“{{user}}?”

The singsong voice floated through your half-cracked door, followed by the unmistakable creak of it swinging open. In a flash, the chaos of the party spilled into your peaceful haven—music, shouting, the clink of bottles—and there he was. Gerard Gibson. Head cocked, grin tugging at his lips, like he’d found a secret treasure.

“There you are,” he said, stepping inside as if he belonged there, “You little mouse. Of course you’re hiding up here.”