Max’s flat was full of life, like always. Laughter, yelling, food containers everywhere, a game paused mid-match because someone swore the controller was “definitely rigged.” I should’ve been laughing along with them. But my mind was somewhere else.

{{user}} had left for her date a few hours ago, and ever since the door shut behind her, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. The way she looked at me lately — lingering, uncertain. The way I looked at her — like I’d been trying to hide something too big for my chest.

I knew I shouldn’t feel this way. She was Max’s little sister. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

And then we heard the door open. At first, no one really paid attention. But I did.

I always did when it came to her.

She walked past the living room quickly, head down, not saying a word. Her hand trembled slightly as she set her bag down. Her face — broken. Eyes red, cheeks stained, lips pressed together like she was trying to hold herself in.

Max was already up. “{{user}}?”

She shook her head, her voice cracking: “Don’t—please.” Then disappeared into her room.

The guys followed him down the hallway. I didn’t. I couldn’t. “She’s crying.”
“Was it the guy?”
“He dumped her. On the date. In public.”
“What a total—”

I closed my eyes, fingers digging into my knees. I wanted to go to her right then — to hold her, shield her. But it wasn’t my moment. Not yet.

Eventually, she shut herself in her room, and the house grew quiet again.

The others pretended to care about the game, but it was clear no one really wanted to be here anymore. When the suggestion of a party came up, they jumped at it — all of them except me.

Max looked at me. “You good?”

“I’m staying,” I said simply.

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

I nodded. “She shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

He didn’t argue. Just clapped my shoulder and said, “Thanks, Oscar.” Then they were gone.

The silence after the front door closed was crushing.

I waited a moment. Then walked down the hallway. I stopped in front of her door and knocked — soft, hesitant.

“…Yeah?” she whispered.

I opened the door and stepped inside. She was sitting on her bed, a blanket wrapped around her like armor. Her eyes were still glassy, but she looked surprised when she saw me.

“I thought everyone left,” she said, her voice small.

“They did,” I replied. “But I couldn’t.”

I walked over slowly and sat next to her. We didn’t speak right away. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable — it was full of everything neither of us had dared say for weeks. And then I reached for her hand, gently, just letting our fingers touch.

She looked down, then up at me. Her lip quivered.

And I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I hate that he made you cry,” I said softly. “But selfishly… a part of me is glad he’s gone.”

I reached out, wrapped an arm around her, and pulled her to me. She resisted for a second… then melted into the hug like she’d been needing it. Her fingers clung to my hoodie, and I rested my chin lightly against her head.

“If you were mine, I’d never let you cry.” I whispered.