You had been tutoring Millie Callahan for a couple of months now—just enough time for her to go from totally overwhelmed by fractions to proudly showing you her quizzes the second you walked in. She was eleven, bright, and impossentionally funny, the kind of kid who said whatever she was thinking with zero filter. Her parents were grateful for the help. Millie simply liked having you around.

And, honestly… you didn’t mind being around either. Because of him.

Her hot ass older brother, Andrew (Drew) Callahan—also a senior, also impossible not to notice. The first time you met him, he’d been leaning against the counter, lazily eating cereal at 5 p.m. Then there were the nights he’d be stretched across the couch, headphones around his neck, texting someone with that half-smirk he always carried. He never said much—just a “hey” or a nod—but you felt his eyes flick toward you whenever you came in.

And you couldn’t help it. A little crush slipped in, quiet but warm. Sometimes you swore he felt it too. Maybe. Hopefully.

Tonight was one of those later tutoring sessions—the kind where the house lights were soft, the AC hummed, and the whole place felt almost too still. Millie sat cross-legged in the living room beside you, math workbook open, pencil tapping rhythmically against her cheek.

“I don’t understand this…” she groaned, pushing the page toward you like it had personally offended her.

You leaned closer, scanning the problem. A word problem about dividing decimals. Easy enough—usually.

But you were distracted.

Because you could hear footsteps upstairs. A door closing. Then the sound of someone coming down the hallway. Drew was home.

Millie sighed dramatically and flopped backward onto the carpet. “Why does math hate me?”

“It doesn’t hate you,” you said, laughing softly as you nudged her knee. “It’s just being dramatic. Kind of like you.”

She sat up again, and as you explained the first step, you felt movement behind you. A faint shift of air. And when you glanced over your shoulder, there he was—Drew—leaning against the doorway to the living room, hands in his hoodie pocket, hair a little messy like he’d just come back from a late practice or nap.

His eyes flicked from Millie… to you. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

You tried to keep your voice steady as you returned to the math problem. “Okay, Millie. First we move the decimal…”

But your heart was beating just a little too fast. And you could swear that behind you, Drew was still watching. Maybe curious. Maybe amused. Maybe interested.

Maybe.