Ted had always been around.

Since you were twelve and he was sixteen, he’d been that sarcastic, loud-mouthed best friend of your older brother — the one who ate your snacks, stole the TV remote, and never failed to remind you that you were the kid sibling.

Now, years later, the only problem was that you weren’t a kid anymore. And Ted had noticed.

He’d always had this mix of ridiculous energy and a voice so deep it sounded like it belonged in a movie trailer. He was all long limbs and chaotic humor, but when he looked at you now — really looked — it wasn’t in that dismissive, older-brother’s-friend way.

No, it was something else. And you felt it every time he smirked just a little too long, every time he showed up early for movie night just to help you carry snacks to the living room.

Like today.

“Need help with that?” Ted asked, gesturing to the bowl of popcorn in your arms.

You raised a brow. “Since when do you offer help?”

He shrugged, reaching to take it from you anyway. “Since now. Since you got all… coordinated and mysterious.”

You rolled your eyes, hiding a blush. “I’m literally wearing pajamas.”

“Yeah,” he said with a grin, “and somehow still intimidating.”

You gave him a look. “You’re so weird.”

“And you’re so off-limits,” he muttered, almost too quietly.

You froze. “What?”

“Nothing.” He dropped the bowl on the coffee table and flopped down onto the couch like it was totally normal to say something that heart-stopping.