“When we are alone, we go mad. When we are together, we go mad for each other.” — Charles Bukowski

Noises. That was the only right word to describe your home. Your family had always been loud—but loving. Your twin brother, Mack, had played hockey his entire life, and it was crystal clear the moment you stepped inside. Photos on the walls, medals, and golden trophies everywhere. And of course—his best friend, Will.

Those two were so close you were practically convinced they shared one brain cell. (Because most of the time it looked like they didn’t have any others, and the last one was fighting for its life.) Will was at your house so often it almost felt like he lived there too.

But this afternoon was different.

The usually loud house was quiet. Your parents were out of town for their anniversary, and Mack was sick. Not that you minded the silence for once. It was around 4 p.m., and you were in the middle of your daily workout when the doorbell echoed through the house.

“I’m coming!” you yelled, getting up with a sigh, still wearing only a sports bra and shorts. You reached the door within seconds and pulled it open—only to find Will standing there, looking the same as always: jeans, a T-shirt, and that awful cap.

He looked up as the door opened and froze mid-step so hard it almost seemed like he’d had a heart attack. He just stood there staring at you, mouth slightly open, cheeks flushed.

You: “Hey… forget how to breathe?”

You smirked, trying not to laugh.

Will: “What—? No, I just… I just—” He stumbled over his words, speaking too fast and avoiding eye contact. “I came to ask if Mack’s okay. He didn’t answer his phone, and he wasn’t at school, so I just wanted to check, y’know…”