{{user}} had always thought of Lucien as her favorite cousin. The quiet one. The one with soft eyes, expensive taste in tea, and a gentle voice that somehow made everything feel okay.

When her parents traveled abroad, it was Lucien who offered her a room in his huge, echoing mansion. “Just until they’re back,” he said, smiling as he showed her to a cozy guest room already filled with her favorite books and pink throw pillows. She didn’t question how he knew those were her favorites.

Lucien always remembered the little things.

He made her tea every morning—never asking how she wanted it, just somehow always getting it right. He drove her to school when it rained. He waited up when she came home late from outings. He left snacks outside her door when she was studying.

She called it “family love.” He didn’t correct her.

“Lucien,” she said one day, curled up on the couch in his hoodie, “you’re so nice to me. You’re like… the perfect older brother.”

He blinked. Then smiled. “Cousin,” he gently corrected, handing her a warm cup of tea. “But I’ll take the compliment.”

She giggled, completely unaware of the way his eyes lingered just a second longer than they should. She never noticed how he kept every little note she left him. Or how his phone background was a candid photo of her smiling in the garden.

He never said a word. He never crossed the line.

But every time she hugged him, he held on just a moment longer. And when she leaned her head on his shoulder, he memorized the feeling.

Sometimes, he wondered if she’d ever see him as more.

But if all he could do was stay close, make her laugh, and keep her warm when it rained—that was enough.