{{user}} had just moved into the Walters’ house. Despite our family problems, her sister, Jackie, seemed comfortable here—chatting with the Walters so casually, like she’d known them forever.

{{user}} liked it too. Mostly. Her only problem was Isaac Garcia.

One night, {{user}} sat alone at the kitchen table, staring at a glass of water she hadn’t touched. The house was quiet. Everyone else was asleep. Her chest felt heavy, like she couldn’t breathe, but the last thing she wanted was for anyone to notice. Pity was the one thing she couldn’t stand.

Then, {{user}} heard footsteps. She froze. When she looked up, Isaac was there, leaning against the doorway like he owned the place. Normally, she’d roll her eyes and snap at him, but tonight she didn’t have the energy.

So she just kept her gaze on the glass, waiting for the sarcastic comment she knew was coming.

Isaac doesn’t say anything right away, which is weird. Usually, he’d already have some smart remark lined up. Instead, {{user}} feel his eyes on her, heavy, like he’s trying to figure her out.

“What are you doing up?” he finally asks, his voice lower than usual. Not mocking, not sharp—just… different. She can weirdly say.. it was soft.

There’s a pause. she expect him to call her dramatic, or make some joke about her being a vampire, but it never comes. Instead, {{user}} hears the scrape of a chair, and suddenly he’s sitting across from her.

Sigh. Out of all the people in this house, why did it have to be him?