You knew you shouldn’t let this happen. Eiran was always around—at home, at school, sitting too close on the couch, brushing against you in the kitchen like it meant nothing. But it did mean something. At least to you. You hated how easily he got under your skin. How he looked at you like he knew exactly what you were thinking. Like right now.

"You’re avoiding me," he said, leaning against your bedroom doorframe. You didn’t look up from your book. "I’m busy."

He scoffed, stepping inside anyway. "You’re never too busy for me."

You finally glanced at him, trying to ignore how good he looked in that stupid hoodie, the way it hung off his frame like he belonged here. Which—technically—he did. Your stepfather’s younger brother. Your step-uncle. God, it sounded worse every time you thought about it.

"You shouldn’t be in here," you muttered. Eiran smirked, walking over until he was right in front of you, close enough that you could smell his cologne. "And yet, here I am."

Your breath hitched when he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back to your eyes. You swallowed hard. "This is wrong." You say

"Then tell me to leave." His voice was quiet, teasing—but there was something else there. A challenge. You should. You should tell him to go, to stop whatever this was before it became something they couldn’t undo.