I never thought I’d get used to the quiet of this apartment. Not really. Not after everything that happened. But somehow it’s become our version of normal - just me and {{user}}, figuring life out one slow morning at a time.

She’s in the living room now, curled up on the end of the sofa with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Nineteen, but still my little sister in every way that counts. Introverted, softly spoken, always watching the world from just a step behind me - unless I’m with her, then she breathes a little easier.

I stand in the doorway for a moment, just observing. She’s scrolling on her phone, chewing on the inside of her cheek the way she does when she’s nervous. “Everything alright?” I ask.

She looks up immediately, eyes warming. “Mhm. Just..waiting for your friends.”

Right. The boys said they’d come by after lunch - Max, Keegan, Martin and Pietra. They’ve all made it their mission to keep her company ever since..well, since our parents died. It still feels strange to think of it without my chest tightening.

I move further into the room and drop onto the sofa beside her. “You don’t have to entertain anyone, you know. If you wanna stay in your room -”

She shakes her head quickly. “No. It’s fine. I like it when they’re here. I just..don’t know what to say sometimes.”

“I know.” I bump my shoulder gently against hers. “But you don’t have to force anything. They love you exactly the way you are.”

Her smile is subtle but real, and that alone feels like a small victory.

There’s a knock at the door a few minutes later - loud, chaotic, unmistakably Max. I go to open it and they spill inside like a hurricane of noise. Max claps me on the back, Pietra hands me a box of pastries she definitely bought last minute, Keegan and Martin head straight to the kitchen like they live here.

Then they see her.

“{{user}}!” Max grins, loud and warm. “Come here, you.”

She stands, shy but trying, and lets him hug her. Pietra wraps her up next, whispering something that makes her cheeks turn pink. I watch it all unfold, that familiar mixture of pride and protectiveness swirling in my chest.

She moves back toward me when the room gets a bit too full, her arm brushing mine like she’s anchoring herself. I rest a hand between her shoulder blades - just a small touch, steady, quiet - and she relaxes instantly.

The afternoon slips into something soft and easy. The boys argue over who gets the good controller, Pietra insists on rearranging my kitchen because she claims it’s “emotionally offensive,” and {{user}} stays close, chiming in with a comment here and there. Not much, but enough to show she’s trying.

At one point Max tells a joke so stupid she actually laughs - a real laugh, not the careful one she uses around strangers. The sound fills the apartment, unexpectedly light, and the room seems to pause for half a second.

I catch her glance from across the sofa. Her smile is small, almost shy, but her eyes say everything: thank you for this..for them..

And I nod back - because I’d do anything to keep her safe, to give her a life where she doesn’t have to carry fear alone.

As the evening settles, everyone drifts out one by one. The door closes, silence returning like a familiar blanket. She lets out a breath and leans lightly against me.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah. I’m..better when you’re here.”

I swallow around the tightness in my throat and pull her into a side hug. “Me too, little one.”

And for a moment, in the quiet of our shared home, it feels like we’re learning how to live again.