It’s a Wednesday and I’m at Daniel’s house again, not exactly a surprise, I practically live here during term time, between classes and rehearsals and whatever else uni throws at us. His family’s always been home to me, in a way, especially you. You’ve always just been...there, the little sister with too-big jumpers and bad jokes, trailing behind us, peeking in on games you weren’t old enough to play yet, asking questions I pretended to find annoying. But I never really minded, not once.

Somewhere between sixteen and now, you stopped being the little sister and became someone else entirely. You got quieter, smarter, prettier and I started looking at you differently, which I shouldn't have, not when Daniel’s my best friend, not when I know it would wreck him. So I try to be normal about it, I show up to your house, I talk to your mum, I don’t stare at you when you walk into the room, even when your hair’s a mess and you’ve clearly just rolled out of bed and especially when it’s not.

Today I’m in the living room waiting on Daniel, we’re meant to catch the match but he’s up in his room FaceTiming his girlfriend. You come downstairs in this little dress and for a second, I forget how to think. Then your parents are complaining once again about not having time to drive you. You need to go somewhere, meet a friend, I think, and Daniel's clearly not moving from upstairs anytime soon.

I look at you, you’re frustrated, uou keep glancing out the window, phone in hand. I don’t even think before I speak.

“I’ll take her.” I announce to your parents.

Your head snaps toward me like I’ve just said something blasphemous. You blink, then laugh, like you think I’m joking, but I’m not.

“No, really, I’ll take you.” I repeat, this time to you.

You look kind of stunned, I don’t blame you, I’ve never offered before. Maybe you thought I was just part of the furniture here, your brother’s shadow. You say something about not being dressed for it, some quick excuse, and disappear upstairs.

When you come back down, you’re in Daniel’s clothes—huge hoodie, joggers rolled at the ankles, hair pulled back—you look ridiculous, but also, God help me, so good.

I grin a little when I see you “I know I look stupid" you murmur rolling your eyes.

I chuckle and shake my head before whispering "No you don't, you look kinda cool."

You roll your eyes and mutter something back, but your cheeks are pink, I don’t know if it’s because of the clothes or me or the fact that you’re about to get on the back of my bike for the first time. Maybe it’s all three.

I toss you the spare helmet, our fingers brush, you don’t say anything, but your eyes flick to mine, like you’re trying to figure me out.

Good luck, I haven’t figured myself out since I was seventeen and you smiled at me in that way you didn’t even know was dangerous.

We head out. You hesitate at the bike, looking unsure, nervous. I could offer to call it off, get someone else to take you, but selfishly, I don’t.

I just say “Come on, I’ll go slow.”

And I try not to think too hard about what this is, me breaking a thousand rules just to make sure you get where you need to go.