The door clicked shut behind me. I dropped my bag, and the weight of it hit the floor with a heavy thud, but it wasn’t just the bag—it was everything I’d been carrying these past few months. The exhaustion. The pressure. The constant noise. I stood there for a second, letting the silence wash over me. Home. The word rang in my head like something fragile, almost unreal.

And then, the smell. Sweet, rich, unmistakably Mum’s cookies. My chest tightened, not with sadness exactly, but with something I couldn’t quite name—relief, maybe, mixed with guilt for staying away so long.

When I finally made it to the kitchen, it was like stepping into a pocket of warmth I hadn’t realized I was starving for. Mum turned, eyes bright, arms open; Dad gave me that half-smile that said more than words ever could. And then came the whirlwind of my siblings. For a moment, I just stood there, letting their energy crash over me, their laughter making cracks in the armor I’d built around myself these past weeks. I laughed too—genuinely. It felt good. It felt necessary.

But even in the chaos of voices, I noticed the gap. One absence that tugged at me.

“Where’s Cisca?” I asked casually, though I already felt the suspicion curling in my stomach.

Mum didn’t even try to hide her smirk. “Probably with her friend. You know which one.”

{{user}}. The name alone made my jaw tighten. My sister’s partner-in-crime, the girl who could unravel me in less than a minute with nothing more than a smirk or one of her razor-edged remarks. Every time we spoke, it turned into a battle I hadn’t agreed to fight but refused to lose. She was infuriating, relentless. And worse—she knew it.

I tried to shake it off, convincing myself it didn’t matter, that I was too tired to deal with whatever nonsense they were up to. I turned toward the stairs, ready to disappear into the quiet of my room. But then it came—the sound that made my pulse quicken against my will. The front door slamming, Cisca’s laughter filling the air, and layered underneath it, threading through like a note I couldn’t ignore, was her. {{user}}’s voice. Sharp, alive, carrying that unmistakable tone that set my teeth on edge.

I froze mid-step. A dozen thoughts clashed in my head—ignore them, walk away, don’t give her the satisfaction—but my body moved anyway. My chest felt tight, my heartbeat annoyingly loud as I climbed the stairs, following the muffled cadence of their conversation. I told myself it was curiosity. That I just wanted to know what they were plotting. But the truth was, it was her. It was always her.

By the time I reached Cisca’s door, my palms were sweaty, though I had no reason to be nervous. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. I pushed the door open without knocking, the quiet click of the handle giving way to the sudden hush inside.

Two pairs of eyes met mine.

Cisca stood with a glittering dress dangling from her hands, caught mid-laugh, her face flickering with surprise. But it wasn’t her who held my attention. It never was. {{user}} sat on the edge of the bed, perfectly at ease, as if she’d been expecting me. Her legs crossed, her back straight, her expression calm in that infuriating way she’d mastered. And then—her smirk. That damned smirk that both infuriated me and, deep down, did something I refused to name.

“Well, if it isn’t the prodigal brother,” she said, voice dripping with mockery, each word slow and deliberate. “Back to grace us with your presence, Lando?”

Something in me bristled instantly. My pulse spiked, my jaw tightened, and I leaned against the doorframe, forcing myself to look casual even as every nerve in my body lit up just from her voice. I should’ve ignored her, should’ve walked away, but I couldn’t.

“Didn’t know I needed your permission,” I shot back, my tone smooth but sharper than I intended. My gaze locked on hers, and for a heartbeat too long, neither of us looked away.

And just like that, it began again—the tug-of-war I hated, the battle I secretly craved.