“You’re in your books again,” came the teasing voice, breaking through your quiet concentration.

You didn’t look up right away. The familiar words barely registered as more than background noise—an echo of something you’d heard a thousand times. Your pen continued its steady rhythm across the page, the soft instrumental lofi in your AirPods keeping you in your focused bubble. Psychology wasn’t going to study itself, and you had three chapters to finish before your next seminar.

The soft hum of the living room had changed without you noticing. The door must have opened a few minutes ago. You only vaguely registered the sound of duffle bags hitting the wooden floor and the unmistakable thud of boys’ laughter—the kind that came from deep in their chests, unapologetic and chaotic. You knew instantly who it was.

Robbie and Nate.

Your older brother and his best friend. They were like a package deal. Wherever Robbie went, Nate wasn’t far behind—especially after hockey practice. You could always tell by the smell of liniment and sweat in the air, the slight chill from the open door that followed them inside, and the way the house suddenly felt... less quiet.

You scribbled down another note about cognitive distortions, brows furrowed in concentration.

All-or-nothing thinking: a pattern of viewing situations in extreme, black-or-white categories…

Then came a shift. A presence behind you. You didn’t hear it at first—didn’t feel it—until the warmth of a hand wrapped gently, but confidently, around your waist.

You froze.

You blinked, confused for half a second, then reached up and pulled one AirPod out.

“What the—?”

Before you could turn around fully, you felt the brush of someone’s chin rest against your shoulder. The stubble scratched lightly against your skin, and the scent hit you—soap, cologne, and something unmistakably... Nate.

“Hey, brainiac,” he murmured into your ear, his voice low and amused. “Still trying to figure out why people act the way they do?”

Your heart skipped, and not because you were startled anymore. You tilted your head slightly, your pen hovering above the page.

“Nate,” you said, half warning, half breathless. “What are you doing?”

“Just trying to understand what’s so fascinating in that giant textbook that you can’t even say hi,” he said, his voice teasing but softer now.

“I’m studying. Unlike you two, some of us actually care about our degrees.”

You finally turned to glance over your shoulder, and there he was—smirking, dark curls damp from his post-practice shower, cheeks still flushed with exertion. His eyes flicked from your face to your notes.

“You always write like this?” he asked, eyebrows lifting slightly. “Tiny handwriting, color-coded? It’s kinda... impressive. Kinda intimidating.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but your lips twitched. “If I didn’t, I’d fail.”

He leaned in a bit closer, scanning the title at the top of the page.

“‘Cognitive Behavioral Theory,’” he read aloud, pretending to sound scholarly. “Sounds intense.”

“It is,” you replied. “You’d hate it.”

“Oh, I already do. My brain tapped out after ‘cognitive.’”

Behind you, Robbie’s voice called out from the couch.

“Nate, stop bothering {{user}}. They turn into a gremlin if you interrupt their study time.”

“Shut up, Robbie,” you both said in unison—him grinning, you rolling your eyes.

Nate’s hand didn’t move, though. If anything, it tightened ever so slightly, grounding you. You felt the tension in his forearm as he leaned a little more of his weight against you.

“I’m not bothering them,” he murmured again, this time so only you could hear. “Am I?”

You glanced sideways at him. Your heart beat a little faster than before—not out of annoyance, not entirely. There was something else in his tone. Something quieter. Maybe even careful.

“No,” you admitted after a beat, your voice soft. “But I really do have to finish this.”

“I’ll be quiet, then,” he promised, still half-draped over your shoulder. “Just… let me stay here a minute.”