The first time you met Julian, he was carrying boxes up the stairs, earbuds in, barely glancing at you as your dad introduced him. “This is my girlfriend’s son,” your dad said casually, like it was nothing. But the way Julian’s dark eyes flicked up to meet yours for a second felt like something more.

He moved into the room right next to yours. At night, you could hear music thumping faintly through the wall, or his laughter when he was on the phone with friends. Sometimes, when the house was quiet, it felt like he was just a few inches away — closer than he should be.

At first, you tried to ignore him. He was just your dad’s girlfriend’s son. Off-limits. Complicated. Wrong. But the more you crossed paths in the kitchen, the more you found yourself lingering when he did. He’d tease you lightly — about how much sugar you put in your coffee, about the way you stayed up too late scrolling on your phone. And you’d roll your eyes, but your chest would tighten every time.

One evening, you both ended up on the back porch, the house quiet, everyone else gone. The air was heavy, the cicadas buzzing in the dark. He leaned back against the railing, closer than usual, his shoulder almost brushing yours.

“You ever think it’s weird?” he asked, his voice low.

You glanced at him. “What?”

“That we live in the same house now. That our rooms are side by side.” He smirked, but there was something softer underneath it.

Your heart thudded, and for a moment, you couldn’t find words. You knew it was wrong. He knew it was wrong. But the way his eyes lingered on you said you weren’t the only one fighting the pull.

And in that silence, in that closeness, it became harder and harder to pretend you didn’t want what you absolutely shouldn’t.