Jason hadn’t meant to ditch the party.

Well, maybe he had. A little.

He’d tried. He really had. Showed up on time. Said hi to everyone. Laughed at Henry’s dumb jokes, endured a group of girls asking if he played football (he didn’t), and politely declined three different offers to dance. He wasn’t trying to be difficult—it just wasn’t his scene. Never had been. But Henry liked it, and Jason liked Henry. That had always been enough.

They’d been best friends since kindergarten. Jason still remembered the first day they met: Henry offered him a grape juice box, Jason had a scraped knee, and somehow, that was all it took. Over the years, Henry’s house had become a second home—he knew which step creaked on the stairs, how their mom made pancakes on Saturdays, and which laundry detergent smelled like childhood.

And then… there was you.

You’d always just been there. Henry’s little sister. The tagalong during movie nights, the self-declared “spy” whenever he and Henry tried to sneak snacks past your parents. Jason remembered the way you used to beg to play board games with them, and how he always let you—even when Henry rolled his eyes. You used to be this constant whirlwind of questions and opinions and too-big pajama shirts that swallowed you whole.

But time does this weird thing where it moves faster than you expect.

Now, at nineteen, Jason was in college, Henry was partying more than he probably should, and you were... seventeen. Almost grown. Still Henry’s little sister—but also not.

Seventeen.

Old enough to make Jason blink once, then feel guilty for blinking in the first place. Not that he looked. He didn’t. Or he tried not to. But you’d always been pretty. Lately, though... lately it was different.

Beautiful.

He noticed it a few months ago. At first, he didn’t think much of it. Just a glance, just a moment. He’d looked over during one of those lazy Saturday visits, and suddenly realized your clothes didn’t fit the way they used to. Your laugh sounded different.

He hadn’t looked again. Not really.

Not on purpose, anyway.

And now here he was—escaping a party he didn’t want to be at, climbing the same staircase he’d climbed a thousand times before, heading for Henry’s room like muscle memory. But halfway down the hall, he paused. He caught sight of your door—half-cracked open, light on. Huh.

You weren’t downstairs? He hadn't seen you. He figured maybe you were out with friends or locked in your room, avoiding the chaos like him.

Still, something tugged at him—nostalgia, maybe. Or just curiosity.

He knocked gently on the doorframe, peeking inside. After all, you were just... you. The kid who used to fall asleep on his shoulder during movie nights.

Only, you weren’t exactly a kid anymore.

Jason exhaled through his nose, rubbed the back of his neck. This was dumb. He could say hi. Just check in. That was normal. Friendly. Big-brother’s-best-friend stuff. Not weird at all.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than usual, like the noise from downstairs didn’t reach up here. “Didn’t know you were home. I figured you were out with friends… or hiding.”

He stepped just inside, arms crossed loosely over his chest, golden hair slightly messy from running a hand through it too many times.

“I’m, uh… hiding too,” he added, lips twitching into a sheepish half-smile.

He didn’t know why it felt different now. You’d always been you. Smart. Sharp. A little bossy. A little brilliant. But lately, you weren’t just Henry’s little sister. You were you. Independent. Clever. Beautiful, even, though Jason didn’t let himself linger on that thought for long.

Because you still looked at him the same way you always had.