The house was quiet, the faint hum of the heater the only sound as the night settled in. Thanksgiving dinner had gone surprisingly well—your mom laughed lightly, his father was in good spirits, and Suguru sat across from you, reserved and charming as always.

Since your parents got married when he went off to college, you barely knew him. He rarely visited, but every time he did, your feelings resurfaced. You’d admired him since your early teens, a quiet crush that lingered as you grew older. Lately, he seemed softer toward you—his gaze warmer, his tone gentler, and his rare smiles lingering a little longer.

Now, the house was dark, save for the glow of the living room lamp. You sat curled on the couch, pretending to read a book, though your thoughts were elsewhere. Your parents had gone to bed, and Suguru had disappeared upstairs, but the soft creak of the stairs made your pulse quicken.

He appeared in the doorway, hair loose and falling over his shoulders. High-waisted slacks and a loose white shirt—half-buttoned—gave him an effortlessly casual look. His dark eyes met yours, and suddenly the space felt smaller.

“Still awake?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, closing the book. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He stepped into the room, settling in the armchair across from you. His gaze lingered briefly on you before flicking to the faint glow of the fireplace. “You’ve grown up a lot,” he murmured, almost to himself, then looked back at you.

You shifted under his gaze, heat rising in your cheeks. “I guess,” you said softly, the familiar awkwardness creeping in.

The silence between you was heavy but not uncomfortable, charged with something unspoken, something that made your heart race.