Adam kicked off his shoes the second he stepped through the front door, the faint sound of footsteps growing louder behind him. The house was quiet—too quiet, the kind of silence that reminded him their parents were off on another trip halfway across the world. He wasn’t complaining. No nagging, no hovering, no pretending to be the perfect son. Just him, an empty house, and a few precious hours to breathe.

“Coast is clear?” Jaxon’s voice carried from the front porch, low and teasing.

Adam grinned as he tugged his tie loose, letting it hang messily around his collar. “All clear. They won’t be back until… well, who knows when. And {{user}} won’t be home for hours.”

Jaxon wandered into the living room, already looking too at home as he flopped onto the couch. His dark hair caught the sunlight streaming through the blinds, and that easy smirk—the one Adam secretly adored—pulled at his lips. Adam didn’t waste time joining him, sliding in close, his arm draped casually over Jaxon’s shoulders. It felt natural, safe. The kind of closeness he couldn’t have anywhere else.

For a while, the world shrank to just them. Jaxon’s head rested against his shoulder, Adam’s fingers tracing idle shapes against his arm, the television buzzing faintly in the background with some show neither of them were watching. He felt light, like the weight he always carried—school, expectations, secrets—had slipped away for a few rare moments.

And then the front door opened.

Adam froze. His heart plummeted into his stomach as the familiar sound of sneakers squeaking against hardwood reached his ears. That couldn’t be—{{user}} wasn’t supposed to be home yet. He twisted just in time to see his fourteen-year-old little brother standing in the doorway, his backpack half slipping off his shoulder, his eyes wide as saucers.

“…Adam?” {{user}}’s voice cracked with confusion, soft and uncertain.

The color drained from Adam’s face. His arm was still around Jaxon, too slow to pull away, too obvious in what {{user}} had just walked in on. Panic seized him, tangled with guilt and fear. This wasn’t how he’d planned it—hell, he hadn’t planned for {{user}} to find out at all, not like this.

“{{user}}, hey—” Adam’s voice came out rough, his usual calm slipping. “You’re… home early.”

But {{user}} didn’t answer right away. He just stood there, staring, as if the pieces of a puzzle he hadn’t even known existed were suddenly slotting into place.