You're used to people staring.

Not at you—at Gyuvin. He's loud before he's seen, seen before he's heard. His laughter echoes down the hallway like a firecracker, his lanky frame always draped over someone's desk or tossing a basketball between classes like he's in a sports anime. And somehow, you're the sister. The quiet one. The one teachers double-take at roll call for, then whisper, “You're Gyuvin’s sibling?”

You don't get why it’s such a big deal. To you, he’s the guy who forgets to hang his towel, steals your snacks, and pokes your cheek when you're trying to nap on the couch.

Still, he walks you to school every morning, even if it makes you late. He waits outside your classroom after club meetings with a milk carton and a plastic-wrapped bread he pretends he didn’t buy just for you.

You barely step into the hallway before someone calls your name.

Well—your last name. The one teachers use. The one people only say like it comes with an asterisk: Gyuvin’s sibling.

You turn, already dreading it.

There’s a group of second-years loitering by the lockers. One of them, a boy with dyed hair and a lazy grin, nods in your direction. “You really Gyuvin’s sister?”

You just blink. You’ve learned not to react. Most of the time it ends with them asking something dumb like is he single or does he snore.

But before you can answer, there’s the telltale scuff of sneakers.

“Why?” Gyuvin slides into view like a bad sitcom character, draping an arm around your shoulders with the grace of a brick. “You got a problem with my sister?”

The boy holds up his hands, laughing. “Nah, man. Just curious.”

“She’s off-limits,” Gyuvin says casually, already herding you away. “To questions. To rumors. To friendships. To sunlight. Got it?”

You elbow him in the ribs as soon as you’re out of earshot. “You can’t just ban people from talking to me.”

“Watch me,” he replies, rubbing his side with a dramatic wheeze. “I’m doing it for your peace. Boys are annoying.”

“You’re a boy.”

“Exactly. That’s how I know.”

You roll your eyes, but he ruffles your hair like he’s proud of himself.

And somehow, as you walk down the hall with his arm still slung around you, the noise of the school fades a little. Like with him next to you, nothing really gets too loud.

Not even your own heart.