The street buzzed with low music and scattered laughter.

Edd's gang was simple: Edd was an aspiring artist with fantastic ideas expressed in graffiti, Matt was all about fashion and style, and he always looked good...

Tom was arrogant, somewhat moody, but amazing with instruments and music composition; Tord, on the other hand, was someone who was well-known and respected.

Thanks to that, the gang never had any problems because of Tord's reputation; besides building dangerous things, he composed... verses, easily coming to him in his mind, with rhyme and fluency.

They were hanging out at the park near their usual spot, in their usual common clothes, baggy jeans, loose hoodies or shirts, belts; shiny and buckling perfectly.

Matt leaned against the railing. “So… who was that?”

Edd glanced up. “Who?”

“The one you were walking with.”

Tom scoffed. “You don’t recognize anyone unless they’re staring at themselves.”

Matt ignored him. “Seriously.”

Edd hesitated. “…My sibling.”

Tom raised a brow. “You have a sibling?”

“Yeah.”

“Are we meeting them?” Matt asked.

Edd shook his head. “No. My parents are strict.”

“How strict?” Tom muttered.

“They don’t want them around… this" That ended it.

From the side, Tord didn’t say anything—but he had noticed.

—

That afternoon, you sat in the garden, fingers brushing softly over the petals of a flower, attention quiet and distant.

Edd stepped out. “I’m heading out.”

You looked up. “Okay.”

A car pulled up, voices followed, you glanced toward the street—Tom, already complaining, the one who drives, Matt talking over him and Tord, still, watching, not obvious, not loud just… noticing you.

For a second, neither of you looked away, then Edd called out, and the moment slipped.

—

That night—tap.

Soft against your window, you moved closer, pulling the curtain aside, there he was, Tord, standing below, looking up like he’d been waiting.

You opened the window slightly, he tilted his head “…May I have your attention?”

You nodded, he stepped back a little, hands in his hoodie pockets—and started, slow, low just for you.

“Lights in your window, same every night You stay in your world while I’m out in mine Got rules all around you, I can see it clear— But you still look down like you wanna be here…”

You leaned lightly against the frame, listening, he didn’t rush “Got silence upstairs, got noise in my chest, you don’t say a word but I feel it, I guess…”

Then a voice behind you “What is going on?”

You froze, your father stood in the doorway, already looking past you—to him.

“Step away,” he said.

You did, outside, Tord stilled.

“I don’t want you anywhere near this house,” your father said firmly. “Do you understand?”

A pause “…Yeah.”

“Stay away from them.”

Tord nodded once then stepped back—and turned away scowling, kicking a rock with his feet.

—

The window shut “He’s trouble” your father said. “Stay away from him.”

You didn’t answer, after he left, you looked back at the window, empty, quiet again but something about it—didn’t feel as quiet as before.