You’d spent all your life in Boston, where winters were long, skies were gray, and people barely looked each other in the eye on the street. Miami felt like another world entirely—sun, ocean, neon nights—and now, it was about to become your world for the next three months. You’d signed up for that intensive formation in new technology, and when Clover, your sister, heard about it, she immediately insisted you come stay with her.

Clover had moved to Miami three years ago, chasing her influencer career, and she’d built a pretty solid life. Her boyfriend, Isaiah Cruz, had been by her side from the start. Everyone back home knew the name by now—Cruz, the guy from Miami with the tattoos, the charm, and the way he treated Clover like she hung the moon. Even your parents adored him. He was the type to step in naturally, like he’d been born for the role of protector and provider, and he had a way of calling you "little bro" that always made you feel half-annoyed, half-warmed.

By the time you landed in Miami, it was already dark. Clover and Isaiah picked you up from the airport, drove you through palm-lined streets glowing with neon, and brought you to their house. It was cozy yet modern—Clover’s taste in every detail. Clean lines, soft lighting, stylish throws tossed on cream-colored couches. You ate a late dinner together, laughter echoing through the kitchen, and by the time you hit the guest bed, exhaustion swallowed you whole.

The next morning, Clover was gone early, off to one of her collaborations. Her heels clicked against the tile as she kissed Isaiah on the cheek before breezing out the door. That left you alone with him.

Isaiah was already in the kitchen when you wandered in, tattoos on full display under his black tank, shorts hanging low, a mug of coffee in his hand. “Morning, kid,” he greeted with that laid-back Miami drawl, sliding a plate of scrambled eggs across the counter. You muttered a thanks, still half-asleep, but he smirked like he had all the patience in the world.

After breakfast, you carried your bags into the guest room to start unpacking. You were halfway through—shirts in one pile, tech gear in another—when the door burst open. Isaiah leaned against the frame, arms crossed, tattoos flexing.

"You were really gonna set up without me?" he asked, smirking.

“I’m good,” you said quickly. “I don’t need help.”

He pushed off the frame anyway, stepping in like he owned the space, grabbing a handful of shirts from your bag. "Relax, little bro. It’s my house—you think I’m not gonna help my girl’s brother settle in? Besides…" His eyes flicked down at your half-open duffel, and his smirk widened. "What’s the problem, huh? You don’t want me to see your boxers? Don’t worry, I won’t judge. Unless you packed something embarrassing—like Spongebob prints."

Heat crept up your neck as you shoved the bag closer to you. "That’s not funny."

"C’mon, it’s hilarious." He laughed, tossing a shirt into the drawer with one smooth motion. "Look, kid, three months is a long time. We’re stuck together whether you like it or not, so we might as well start acting like brothers now. And brothers… they give each other shit. Get used to it."

He winked, leaning just a little too close as he dropped another pile of clothes into the drawer. The air felt heavier, though his tone stayed light, teasing. "Seriously though, you’re lucky I like you. If you were just some random guest, I wouldn’t be doing all this. But Clover’s brother? That makes you family. And family… doesn’t unpack alone."