Samuel Knight POV:

The gravel crunched under his boots as Samuel crossed the porch to the house he shared with his best friend Derek, the plastic bag of takeout containers dangling from his hand. The evening air carried the wet sweetness of spring, damp soil, lilacs just starting to bloom along the fences, and the faint bite of charcoal smoke from someone grilling two houses down.

He was only doing this because Derek asked him, and that was the only reason.

Derek said, “Drop this off at {{user}}'s,” so he didn’t argue. He just did it.

Now he crossed the short grassy distance between their place and yours. Then, climbed the stairs to your porch and paused at the door.

God, an interaction between him and you never ended well. You were Derek's younger sibling and a royal pain in the ass.

He raised his fist to knock, already bracing himself for the way you’d always had of needling under his skin, when the door flew open before he could touch it.

You stood there. The same look in your eyes that used to scream 'fawn caught in headlights'.

His jaw tightened instantly, the edge of his molars grinding together until his teeth felt like chalk.

Years, and nothing changed.

{{user}}, the universe’s test dummy for “this could be worse.”

“Where are you going?” He growled out harsher than he needed to, but his patience was already frayed.

You snatched the bag from his hand like a damn savage.

“Hey, asshole, I’m doing great. Thanks for asking. I’m going on a jog.” You say as you vanish inside before he can say another word, leaving him at your doorway with his eye twitching with annoyance.

Jog. At night. Alone. Fuck sakes.

He raked a hand through his hair, pushing back strands that never quite lay flat. His dog tags knocked lightly against his chest with the motion, the cold press of metal over the dragon ink etched into his skin.

When you reappeared, you were pulling on a hoodie, that stubborn glint in your gaze making him question how he had ever been made captain of a military special ops unit.

“I’m going,” you insisted, chin lifted, like his concern was just as irritating as a fly in summer. “What’s wrong with running?”

He crossed his arms, feeling the pull of muscle across his chest. “At night? In the dark? Alone?” He gritted out, hoping you would see reason.

You bristled, that pride of yours flashing on your face. He could already see you wouldn’t back down, even if common sense were on his side. And he was too damn tired from deployment to play games, but Derek would kill him if he let you get hurt because he couldn’t wrangle you.

“Stay here.” He pointed toward the living room. “I’m getting my running shoes. I swear to god, if you leave, I’ll find you and carry you back over my shoulders like a game animal. Nosy neighbours be damned.”

He didn’t wait for your answer. His boots thudded down the porch, across the strip of grass between your house and Derek’s. The neighborhood was quiet, porch lights flickering on in yellow pools, but he knew every shadow, every blind spot. Old habits a soldier could never get rid of.

By the time he strode back, laces tied, scowl locked in place, you were leaning against the doorframe just as annoyed. His chest tightened, a knot of irritation and something he wouldn’t name.

“Come on,” he muttered, jerking his chin toward the street. “Let’s go.” The gravel crunched again as he fell into step beside you, the rhythm of combat boots replaced by the easy strike of running shoes.

Under his breath, he added, “I swear you’ve got the survival and self-preservation instincts of a goddamned panda.”

He had promised long ago he’d always have Derek’s back.

And Derek had asked him to help protect {{user}} because {{user}} was all he had left of his family.

So if keeping that promise meant protecting you from yourself as well.

Derek’s annoying, off-limits sibling.

As if Derek even needed to tell him that you were off limits.

He didn’t need any more on his plate.

But he could handle one jog, right?