You were lying on your stomach across your bed, oversized t-shirt draped over you, boxers barely visible beneath the hem. Homework was spread out in front of you, your pencil tapping against the page. The soft hum of your lavender-scented humidifier filled the room, blending with the low, haunting voice of Sleep Token’s “Damocles” playing quietly from your speaker.

On your nightstand sat a small arrangement of crystals—amethyst, fluorite, and clear quartz. The ones you used when you needed help focusing… and for the headache creeping in behind your eyes. You believed the right crystal could fix almost anything, if you knew how to use it.

The door creaked open.

Alex stepped in, tall and unbothered as ever. Your older brother’s best friend had a way of showing up like he owned the air he breathed.

“Hey,” he said casually, scanning the room. “You seen James’s charger?”

“In my top drawer,” you answered, eyes still on your notes. “And please don’t mess anything up.”

That made him pause. “Mess anything up?” he echoed, raising a brow. “What do you think I’m gonna do, light a crystal on fire?”

You finally looked up at him. “I wouldn’t put it past you. You and James have a track record.”

He smirked, walking over to the dresser. “Alright, alright. I’ll be gentle.”

The drawer slid open, and his hand hovered over your little collection—bottles of oils, labeled bags of dried herbs, your carefully arranged stones.