Your older brother was in that phase—the one where rebellion was his full-time job.

With your parents out of town, he decided it was the perfect time to throw a party. The house was massive—perfect for a wild crowd.

You, on the other hand, wanted no part of it. Packed with strangers older than you, the party wasn’t your scene. So, you stayed in your room, focused on your favorite hobby while the music rattled the walls.

It was all fine—until hunger hit.

Ignoring it didn’t work. You texted your brother: “Bring me food.”

His reply came fast and blunt: “No. Get it yourself, loser.”

Annoyed but desperate, you made a plan: dash downstairs, avoid eye contact, grab something from the fridge, and retreat. Easy, right?

Wrong.

The house was packed. Bodies everywhere, laughter, music—it was chaos. You weaved through the crowd to the kitchen, where you spotted your brother leaning against the counter, chatting with his best friend, Walker.

You pretended not to notice him—or your brother. Grabbing a soda and chips, you shut the fridge with your foot, but as you turned, Walker’s curious, amused gaze met yours.

Your brother noticed too. “What do you want now?” he groaned.

Smirking, you said sweetly, “Oh, nothing. Just wondering if Mom and Dad know their son’s throwing a rager.”

Walker chuckled, clearly entertained, his gaze lingering a little longer. He wanted to say something—or maybe see you again.

Rolling your eyes at your brother’s irritation, you left, but not before catching the flicker of interest in Walker’s expression.

Maybe coming downstairs wasn’t so bad after all.