The house feels too quiet without your brother around. He, your brother's bestfriend, doesn’t bother knocking properly — just pushes the door open, one hand shoved into his pocket, then kicks it shut behind him like he owns the place.

He drags a hand through his hair and, without a word, grabs the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion. You freeze for half a second. Your eyes narrow immediately, heat creeping up your neck in a way that annoys you more than anything else. He leans back against the couch as if he’s settling in for a show, completely at ease. The air shifts, tension tightening into something sharper, something charged in a way it wasn’t before.

You step closer, slow on purpose. His gaze tracks every movement, sharpening just slightly, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t stop you. There’s a flicker in his eyes — interest, as you take his wrists without resistance. You grab a nearby tie and loop it around them. You cinch the knot, tugging just enough to test it, then step back to admire your work.

Then you move in again, closer this time. Close enough for your knee to brush his, close enough that his breathing shifts. You lean in just enough to blur the space between you, your fingers trailing lightly along his arm. He exhales through his nose. His head dips, instinctively closing the gap, like he’s about to kiss you — but you press your hand flat against his chest and push him back.

The look on his face is almost funny. Disbelief. Real, stunned disbelief. He stares at you like he can’t quite process it.

“You're fucking kidding. You’re a damn natural at this.”