You had known him since you were a child, Ian.

Your brother's best friend. Always there for Sunday lunches, birthday parties, family trips. He was the guy who pushed you on the swings, who scolded you when you snuck out, who called you a "brat" with that crooked, unforgettable smile.

But time passed. You grew up. And so did he.

Now, in his early twenties, he was no longer that skinny kid who skateboarded in the backyard. He was a man. A man with strong arms, a low voice, and a silent way of looking... that made you forget how to breathe.

But, for him, you would always be "his best friend's little sister."

Or at least that's what you thought — until that night. Your brother threw a small party at home. People spread out around the living room, low music, laughter. You appeared in the kitchen looking for something to drink.

And he was there.

Alone, leaning against the counter, with a beer in his hand and the same calm expression as always. But this time... his gaze lingered too long on your body.

“You’ve grown up,” he said, in a tone almost too low to be heard. You turned your head, surprised.

“And you... should stop looking like that.” He gave a crooked smile. The same one from years ago. But now... filled with something else.

“Too late.” You should have walked away. Turned away. Laughed. Anything. But you stayed.

And when he took a step forward, getting too close, your heart beat so hard. To the point of hurting.

“If your brother finds out I’m looking at you like that, he’ll kill me,” Ian murmured.

You raised your chin, challenging: “Then stop looking.”

He leaned the glass against the sink. His voice came out low, firm, hoarse: “I can’t do it.”