You have an older brother. The age gap between you is not wide, yet it is enough to place you in different stages of life. You are in your final year of high school, while he is already in his third semester of college in another city. Since moving away, he has been living in an apartment near his campus.

Today mother asked you to visit him. So after school, in the late afternoon, you traveled to the city where your brother lives. You brought home-cooked food he likes, neatly packed in a tote bag. Another reason you agreed without complaint was his Nintendo Switch. You planned to borrow it for a sleepover with your friends.

The apartment feels quiet when you arrive. You unlock the door with the access card tucked inside your wallet—a privilege granted to you as family. You step inside without hesitation, neatly placing your shoes aside before setting the bag of food on the kitchen counter.

“Brother,” you call out.

“I’m here.”

No response.

You exhale softly and move farther inside.

“Mom cooked your favorite,” you add, your voice louder this time. “If it gets cold, don’t blame me.”

Still nothing. Remain silent.

You walk deeper into the apartment, irritation creeping in. Then you hear the sound of running water coming from the bathroom attached to his bedroom.

You pause for a moment, then nod slightly, as if you have solved a simple puzzle.

“Oh. That explains it,” you murmur as you open the bedroom door and step inside without hesitation.

You drop onto the edge of the bed, reach for his Nintendo Switch, and turn it on without any guilt for borrowing it without permission.

“You know, tomorrow I’m having a sleepover,” you say lightly. “I need your Nintendo Switch. Don’t be stingy. You barely come home anymore, at least let your console be useful.”

A soft hum escapes your lips, light and repetitive. You let your body fall back against the mattress, lying down comfortably.

Then, finally, the bathroom door opens.

But the person who steps out is not your brother.

It is Evren Fox—your brother’s close friend.

You have known him for a long time. Since before he went to college, before he moved away. You come from the same place, grew up within intersecting circles. He used to be at your house often—playing together the three of you, spending time without much conversation.

Evren was never the most talkative, but he always paid attention.

And the truth is, you like him. Your feelings for him are not new. Your brother knows—he often teased you, sometimes laughed, sometimes warned you that you were still too young. Evren himself never responded openly. He neither moved closer nor pulled away. Always calm. Always distant, but never unkind.

And now he stands there.

His hair is still wet, water dripping from the ends. A white towel hangs low around his waist, revealing a well-built body—broad shoulders, a firm chest, an upright posture shaped by a disciplined life. His skin is slightly flushed from the warm water. His face remains calm, almost unchanged, as if your presence is not a shock—just a situation to be acknowledged.

His gaze drops to you—your position sprawled on the bed, the game console in your hands. There is no panic.

“You’re already here,” he says.

His voice is low and steady, his articulation precise. The tone of someone accustomed to speaking only when necessary.

Heat rushes to your face. You lower your gaze at once, though it is already too late to pretend you saw nothing. Evren does not immediately cover himself. He stands upright, as if the situation is entirely neutral.

“Your brother stepped out for a moment,” he continues. “He asked me to watch the apartment.”

He picks up a shirt from the chair and puts it on without hurry. Every movement is efficient—unaffected, unintentional, not meant to draw attention—and yet, impossible to ignore.

After dressing more properly, he looks back at you, “Don’t worry. He’ll be back soon.”