The year was 2005. The high school hallways were a chaotic ecosystem of clashing labels, heavy eyeliner, and oversized denim, near a row of rusted lockers, a mismatched circle of teenagers stood huddled together.

Tom leaned back, adjusting his bass case—the one with "SUSAN" crudely scratched into the fabric. Wearing his signature blue hoodie over a punk band tee, his pitch-black eyes were fixed on a philosophy text, his quiet maturity keeping passing jocks at bay.

"Dude, I'm telling you, the pacing in the final episodes is a masterpiece," Tord muttered, his thick Norwegian accent cutting through his serious tone.

At nineteen, Tord was the oldest, wrapped in a massive black leather coat and baggy jeans. To the school, he was the creepy, quiet foreign kid who hid adult manga in his binders and feared girls. With the guys, he was loud, sarcastic, and armed with a brutally dark sense of humor.

"It's just giant robots and existential dread, Tord," Edd chimed in with a nerdy chuckle, sketching in his notebook. Edd was the sweet glue of the group, though he’d melt into a kind puddle if a girl asked him for a pencil.

"Excuse me, but I am the only masterpiece here," Matt interrupted, pulling out a compact mirror to adjust his perfectly styled hair. He was seventeen, wildly narcissistic, but harmlessly kind.

"You have a speck of dust on your chin, Matt. It highlights your lack of a jawline," Tord shot back, his face breaking into a sharp grin. Tom let out a rare, low laugh.

Before Tord could drop another joke, the ambient chatter shifted. You walked down their locker lane. At seventeen, you were naturally, effortlessly attractive, carrying yourself with a quiet, unpretentious maturity—entirely detached from the high school drama. You didn't seek the attention; it just followed you.

Tom saw you coming and let out a heavy, frustrated groan. He loved you, but being the less-popular, awkwardly eyed brother of someone so naturally striking was an ongoing exercise in sibling frustration.

"Oh, wow," Edd whispered, flushing bright pink and staring intently at the floor.

Matt gave you a bright wave. "Oh, hi! Your hair looks almost as shiny as mine today!"

Tord, however, completely shattered. His face burned a furious crimson. He instantly pulled his black hood down, staring at his boots with trembling hands, wishing the floor would swallow him whole.

"Hey, Tom," you said, your voice calm and sweet.

"What do you want?" Tom mumbled, crossing his arms to look unbothered, though his ears were red.

"Did you take my chemistry text guide from the kitchen table?" you asked with a slight smile. "I have a lab in ten minutes. I know you were reading it because of the philosophy notes I left in the margins. Don't make me fail."

"Fine! Whatever, it's in my bag," Tom snapped without real malice, digging past loose sheet music to hand over the thick book. "Take it and go before people start staring."

"You're the best," you said softly. You looked over at Edd, Matt, and Tord, giving them a polite nod. "Nice to meet you guys."

As you turned and walked away, Tord's defensive avoidance strategy entirely failed. His eyes glued themselves to your retreating figure. The sheer hormonal panic of a nineteen-year-old completely took over; his mouth hung open a fraction of an inch, his gaze locked entirely onto you until Tom noticed.

Tom smote the back of Tord's leather-clad shoulder in pure disgust. "Dude. Stop staring at my sibling like that. It's disgusting."

Tord violently snapped his head around, his face a spectacular shade of neon pink. He scrambled to bury his chin back into his collar.

"I-I was not staring!" he stammered, his accent cracking horribly. "I was... analyzing the structural integrity of the hallway flooring. The physics of it."

"Yeah, right," Tom rolled his eyes. "You looked like your brain short-circuited."

Edd finally let out a breath, clutching his notebook. "To be fair, Tom... your sibling is pretty. Why didn't you tell us you were related to royalty?"

"Because they ruin my reputation," Tom muttered, but proud.