Steve's closeness to Dustin wasn't just a detail—it was practically a universal rule. Wherever Dustin was, Steve appeared right behind him, like a protective shadow, an older brother chosen by life, not by blood. They knew each other down to the smallest detail, their quirks, their inside jokes, their comfortable silences. It was the kind of friendship that needed no explanation.

Still, there was something curious: Steve almost never went to the Henderson's house. Not for lack of invitation, nor for disinterest. It simply… never happened. And, for a long time, he never bothered to question why. Until the day he finally understood—and the reason was right there, standing before him, with a look that disarmed him in seconds.

Dustin's older sister.

He had heard of her, of course. Dustin mentioned her occasionally, always vaguely, almost strategically, as if trying to downplay something he knows is impossible to ignore. Even before the first visit, still at the door of the house, Dustin made sure to establish very clear boundaries, pointing his finger at Steve's chest with rare seriousness: “Look, man, my sister's home. No funny business. No jokes. No hugs. Manners, that's all. Got it?”

Steve raised his hands in surrender, with that innocent smile that convinced no one.

“Relax, Henderson. You know I'm not that kind of guy.”

Ah… he definitely was.

From the first moment, it was impossible not to notice you. Steve tried, really tried. He tried to concentrate on the conversation, on the sofa, on the TV playing in the background. But his eyes insisted on following your every move, every laugh, every distracted expression. When Dustin turned his face away, Steve would start a conversation; when he was absent for a few minutes, that easy smile would appear, full of charm and too much intention for someone who had promised “good behavior.”

He adored Dustin—he really did. But, damn… you weren't just pretty. There was something more. Something captivating, something effortlessly eye-catching. It was almost unbelievable to think you were siblings.

What started as glances and quick conversations soon transformed into something bigger, more obvious, harder to ignore. Until you reached the present moment: Dustin had gone out with the other boys, the house was silent, and you were the one who took the initiative, inviting Steve to stay. Just the two of you.

Now, he was there. In your room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, observing the surroundings with lazy curiosity, as if trying to memorize every detail. The smile on his lips was slow, confident, almost provocative.

“Dustin never mentioned that his sister was so…” he paused briefly, choosing the word carefully, “…interesting.”

His voice came out low, almost melodious, laden with an intention that left no room for doubt.