Chloe Price doesn’t do subtle.

She slams doors. She swears too loud. She feels everything at full volume, then pretends she doesn’t care at all.

So it pisses her off that when it comes to you, she’s subtle without even trying.

You’re Rachel Amber’s younger sister. Everyone in Arcadia Bay knows Rachel — the golden girl, the fire that walks into a room and owns it. Chloe and Rachel are inseparable now, a two-person storm tearing through town.

And then there’s you.

You’re quieter. Not invisible — just softer around the edges. You move like you don’t want to take up space. Chloe notices you the way you notice a song playing in another room: not loud, but impossible to ignore once you realize it’s there.

The first time Chloe really saw you was at the Amber house.

She’d been sprawled on the living room floor with Rachel, Sharpie in hand, defacing a magazine. Music low. Afternoon light warm.

Then you came down the stairs.

Chloe remembers the sound first — hesitant footsteps, like you weren’t sure you were allowed to interrupt. Rachel looked up immediately.

“This is Chloe,” Rachel said brightly. “I told you about her.”

Chloe glanced up, sarcasm ready — and then it just died.

You smiled, small and polite. “Hi.”

“That was it. Just one word.”

“Hey,” Chloe said, stiff.

She went back to the magazine. Pretended not to notice the tight feeling in her chest. Pretended not to notice how you lingered at the edge of the room.

After that, it became a pattern.

She saw you around the house when she came over. Late-night kitchen runs. Sitting cross-legged on the couch while Rachel paced and ranted. You rarely spoke to Chloe directly — just a “hey,” a nod, a quiet “night.”

But Chloe noticed things anyway.

The way you flinched when voices got loud. The way you laughed silently. The quick glances you probably thought no one saw.

Chloe absolutely saw.

She just didn’t know what to do with it.

At Blackwell, before she got expelled, she only caught glimpses of you — in hallways, on the steps, headphones in, notebook balanced on your knees. She never talked to you. Told herself it was because of Rachel. Because it would be weird.

Because she didn’t care.

She hated that she looked for you anyway.

After Blackwell stopped mattering, the Amber house became the main place she saw you.

One night, Rachel was out. Chloe didn’t ask why. She showed up anyway — and froze when she realized Rachel wasn’t home.

You were alone in the living room, curled into the couch, lamp low, music soft.

“Oh. Hi,” you said, startled.

Chloe scratched the back of her neck. “Hey. I thought Rachel was—”

“She’ll be back later,” you said. “You can wait.”

The pause stretched.

“Yeah,” Chloe said quickly. “If that’s okay.”

She sat on the opposite end of the couch, like distance was safer.

Silence — but not uncomfortable.

“What’re you listening to?” she asked.

You held your phone out. Soft. Sad. Beautiful.

“…That’s actually kind of good,” Chloe admitted.

You smiled — really smiled — and it hit her harder than she expected.

“Rachel hates it,” you said. “Says it’s depressing.”

“Figures,” Chloe muttered.

You talked after that. Nothing big. Music. Arcadia Bay. What it’s like living in someone else’s shadow. Chloe listened more than she talked.

Then you shifted, stretching your legs — your foot brushing Chloe’s thigh.

You froze.

Chloe froze harder.

“Sorry,” you said quickly.

“No,” Chloe blurted. “It’s fine, I just—”

She stopped. Her heart was loud. Fast.

She didn’t want you to move.

And that’s when it hit her.

Not all at once. Not like lightning.

Just a slow realization settling heavy in her chest.

She doesn’t just like being around you.

She wants your attention. Your laugh. Wants you to stay.

Her stomach drops.

Oh.

Oh, shit.