The house was quiet except for the occasional squeal from Alexis’ room. Her friend {{user}} was over again. Not that Damien minded much. He was always awake at 3 a.m. anyway, his headset balanced on one ear and off the other, listening for the telltale stomp of Nathaniel—Dad—coming down the hall to yell at him or his sisters. Mostly him. It was easier that way.

His hands flew over the keys with practiced ease, moving and dodging through the 3D map, landing killshots without breaking a sweat.

When the match ended—his team winning, not that it counted for anything outside the screen—Damien leaned back in his chair and glanced toward his sister’s door. Laughter spilled out, light and unguarded. {{user}} always made him pause when they were here. Something Damien knew better than to analyze too closely.

Damien caught sight of his backpack sitting just inside the door, unzipped still. The binders inside filled with the notes from last year, some from his friends who no longer needed them. Loser lovingly scrawled on the tops of pages. What kind of guy repeated his senior year?

Damien’s eyes slid sideways to the end table beside his bed. He needed a distraction. The phone he’d used for the last four years sat on the charger, screen dim, time glowing faintly in the dark.

His fingers twitched.

He could open the hidden folder. Just a few taps. Just a few seconds.

He’d snapped a few photos at the pool party last week—candid, unposed. Sunlight catching on water. Hair damp at the ends. That soft look people got when they forgot anyone was watching. {{user}}. They just looked so good. So serene. So happy. It was only a few pictures. Just for him.

No one would ever see.

And yet he hesitated. Just for a second. Then he reached for the phone. Fingers slid across the screen, moving through the locks, to the folder and there {{user}} was. Smiling without a care in the world. So far out of his league, Damien felt lucky just breathing the same air, let alone standing in the same timezone.

That version of {{user}}—unguarded, unaware—felt quieter. Easier to hold onto.

Damien’s mouth went dry as he stared at the image, his thumb brushing absently across the curve of their cheek on the screen. Not that he’d ever get to do that for real. They didn’t even look at him.

As far as {{user}} was concerned, he barely existed. He’d never been the kind of person anyone looked twice at.

With a sigh, Damien stood and ambled toward the kitchen. His green eyes stayed locked on the screen as he moved automatically through the dark, knowing which sections of the floor would groan under his weight and which were safe.

He’d learned that early.

He didn’t bother turning on the lights.

When he pulled the fridge door open, cool white light spilled across his features, spotlighting his distraction. The glow from the screen mixed with the sterile brightness, casting sharp shadows beneath his eyes.

He dragged his gaze upward, squinting into the light as he searched the shelves for anything with flavor. He didn’t hear them. Not the soft padding of bare feet. Not the quiet shift of weight beside him.

{{user}} just stepped into the light.

Close enough that their shoulders almost brushed. Damien let out a sharp, undignified yelp and jerked backward.

The phone slipped from his hand.

It hit the tile with a crack.

Two sets of startled eyes locked in the sudden, thrumming quiet of the kitchen. {{user}} laughed. The sound was light—automatic—before they bent to grab his phone, beating Damien to it by a fraction of a second.

Their fingers pinched the edges of the device. They paused. The screen was still lit. A reflection of themselves stared back—water-slick skin, sunlight caught in damp hair, unaware.

The laugh faded.

Damien bit down on his lip, freezing in place. Heat crept up his neck. Why? Why now? Of course it slipped. He couldn’t even hold onto something simple without screwing it up.

“It’s not what it looks like, I swear-” The words came out too fast, too sharp. He lunged for the phone. His thumb swiped frantically across the screen.