Chapter Text
The dorm lobby was a mess of cardboard and noise.
Doors slammed. Someone cried into their mom’s shirt so hard you’d think they were being shipped off to war. A mini-fridge scraped loudly across the linoleum floors as two freshmen tried to drag it instead of lifting it. And two RAs in matching polo shirts herded clusters of new students toward the elevators, which kept jamming on every floor.
Outside wasn’t any prettier. Cars were packed bumper to bumper along the curb, their trunks wide open as the late August heat shimmered off the pavement.
You pushed sideways past a pair of boys wrestling with an overstuffed couch cushion, saying a quick “sorry” as one of them bumped into you. Really, you felt bad for your parents. They had to fight their way through it all behind you, weighed down with duffel bags and plastic storage bins. And your dad looked like he was on the verge of having a mental breakdown, muttering something under his breath about how he should’ve brought the dolly from home.
This was your new beginning, you reminded yourself, whether it felt like one yet or not.
Your palms were already sweaty from the crowd and the heat, and a tiny voice in your head whispered, What if this place ends up feeling wrong too? What if you made a mistake again?
“Room 408,” your mom read off the key envelope, very much breathless. “End of the hall, sweetie. Keep going.”
You nodded, your throat constricted with a mixture of equal parts excitement and dread, the kind that only existed in college hallways like this. With bright overhead lights, too many strangers, and too much possibility humming through the walls.
And finally, after struggling through this hormonal hellscape and scanning the numbers along the chipped drywall, your door came into view. Room 408.
You slid the cheap key into the lock, which had clearly been copied too many times with each passing year. It stuck before it finally gave way with a reluctant sounding click. And the door swung open.
For a moment, everything else – the noise, the bodies, the tension coiled deep in your gut – went blessedly quiet.
The room wasn’t big, but it was clean. Two twin beds with bare mattresses pushed against the opposite walls. Two wooden desks. And a tall window overlooking the quad, letting in a warm spill of afternoon light. It was a little echoey, a little bare, but it was new. A blank slate.
And it smelled like nothing, you realized. Not old carpet. Not someone else’s laundry detergent. Not the sterile scent of your last residence hall. Just space. Air. A room waiting for someone to live in it.
It was perfect.
Your parents stepped in behind you, dropping half of your life in a pile near the right side bed. “Well, I like this a lot better than your last dorm,” your mom said, looking around with her hands propped against her waist.
Your dad nodded in agreement, setting down a suitcase with a soft thud. “Yeah. Feels a lot brighter in here. Less…depressing. And it doesn’t have that weird smell. Remember honey? It was like mothballs and BO.”
You huffed out a laugh. They weren’t wrong.
This empty, unassuming room already felt like a reset button.
Your previous dorm (your previous school, really) had never felt like yours. It had been an impulsive choice that you didn’t plan to transfer from. But freshman year had been a blur of polite conversations that went nowhere, weekend plans that never included you, and a gnawing ache in your heart that got worse every time you checked the map on your phone and realized that home was six and a half hours away. Too far to drive on a whim. Too far to show up at the house and collapse onto the couch next to your mom.
You remembered the isolation. How each night in that cramped dorm bed never felt right. How you stopped calling your friends from high school because “How’s it going?” was too exhausting to answer honestly.
And it wasn’t that you hadn’t tried. You just…hadn’t belonged. Not there.
Your parents tried to be gentle about it, but your older brother had been less subtle.
“Just come here,” Suguru had said over a video call one night, his hair a mess from basketball practice, snacking loudly on something from a crinkling bag. “It’s stupid you’re that far. Apply, and worst case, you get in and ignore me the whole time.”
And your parents had agreed.
At the time, that had felt like admitting defeat. Coming home, even when you didn’t want to. But it was the only option that didn’t make you want to jump out of the nearest window after every lecture.
“Plus,” they’d said, “Suguru and Satoru can keep an eye on you.”
Amazing.
Fantastic.
Exactly the kind of surveillance you’d always dreamed of. Two overgrown boys with the moral maturity of preteens, babysitting you through sophomore year,
Which was either comforting or horrifying, depending on the day.
“Okay,” your dad exhaled, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he surveyed the room. “Half of your things are here. We’ve still got all the bedding, your art supplies, and…what else is in the car?
“There’s still the bathroom box,” your mom answered. “And that stupid shoe rack.”
Right. The shoe rack from Ikea that had taken your dad two hours to assemble.
“Why isn’t Suguru here helping?” you muttered, pushing hair out of your face.
Your dad gave you that patient look, the same one he gave you when you were fourteen and complained about doing the chores. “He’s moving into his house today, sweetheart, and there wasn’t any room for him in the car. He said he’d meet us later.”
“Uh-huh…” You crossed your arms. “He better.”
Your mom laughed softly. “Cut him some slack. It’s a big day for him, too.”
“It’s a frat house,” you deadpanned. “He didn’t have to join a frat. God forbid he take a break from his brotherhood rituals or whatever.”
Your mom raised a brow. “You can blame Satoru for that.”
Of course.
Because Satoru Gojo had talked Suguru into everything growing up.
Bad ideas, stupid bets, dangerous pranks. If Satoru did it, Suguru followed. Anything Satoru wanted, Suguru backed up.
They were a matching set, attached at the hip since middle school. Chaos twins. A two-for-one disaster deal that your parents had unwillingly adopted the moment they let him into the house for the first time. Your childhood had been defined by Satoru stealing your snacks, sleeping on your couch, and dragging Suguru into every braindead thing he could think of.
“You know how they are,” your mom continued, oblivious to your internal spiral. “Those boys do everything together. Always have.”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah. I know.”
You knew better than anyone.
You could picture them right now. Satoru – too tall, too loud, too much – slinging an arm around your brother in front of some huge house coated in peeling Greek letters, shouting about move-in day and beer kegs and sorority girls like they owned the world.
And now you’d be going to the same school as both of them.
Maybe you were the idiot here.
“We’ll bring the rest up,” your dad announced, ruffling your hair. “Start unpacking a bit, okay?”
“Yeah. I will.”
The door closed with a soft click when they left, leaving you alone in your new space.
The quiet hit you all at once, settling over your shoulders like a warm blanket. You sat on the edge of the mattress, the plastic covering crinkling beneath you, and you let your eyes wander across the room
Dust floated lazily in the sunlight near the window. A faint breeze slipped through the cracked pane, lifting the thin curtains. And down the hall, someone laughed loudly, bright, full of beginnings.
You exhaled slowly, the tension in your chest loosening.
College. Round two.
Closer to home.
Closer to your brother.
And unfortunately…
Closer to Satoru Gojo.
Great.
Unpacking didn’t take long with your parents helping.
After about an hour or so, the room slowly started to take shape. Everything had been hauled upstairs, bedsheets fitted over the mattress, comforter smoothed and pillows fluffed. Your dad even wrestled the shoe rack into the closet with irritated grunts of a man still reliving his Ikea trauma.
There were still a few things left – framed prints leaning against the desk, fairly lights sat coiled on the end of the bed waiting to be hung. And your parents triple checked that you knew where the fire exits were.
But by the time everything was settled, you walked them back down to the parking lot. The heat began to mellow out as the sun dipped lower, smearing warm golden light across rows of cars. Cicadas buzzed in the trees, their drone filling the quiet inevitable.
Your mom lingered near the trunk, smoothing your hair behind your ear. “Are you hungry? We could grab some dinner before we head home,” she suggested. “There’s that cafe near the bookstore. Your dad likes the sandwiches there.”
He nodded quickly, sliding the last of the collapsed boxes back into the trunk of their suv. “Yeah. Or whatever you want, kiddo. We’re not in a rush.”
They were trying to delay it.
Leaving.
The empty drive back without you.
You could feel their gentle desperation in the way your mom fussed with your sleeve, the way your dad pretended to organize the trunk like he was actually doing something.
You shook your head gently. “I should probably stay. I want to finish decorating my room. And I kind of want to meet my roommate when she gets here.”
“You sure?”
You gave them a reassuring smile, even if part of you wanted to hold onto both of them for another hour. “I’ll be okay. I promise.”
“Well,” your mom sighed, pulling you into a tight hug first, rocking you like she used to when you were small. “You’re going to have a good year. I can feel it.”
You nodded against her shoulder. “Yeah. Me too.”
Your dad hugged you next, his chin knocking into the top of your head like always. “Call us if you need anything.” He murmured into your hair. “Anything at all, even if it’s stupid. Like if your brother gets on your nerves.”
You huffed out a laugh. “So…in like, two hours.”
“That’s my girl,” he said, kissing your temple.
You stood on the curb and watched them drive off after your final wave. Their car slowly joined the line of vehicles exiting the lot and disappeared around the corner. And suddenly, you were standing there alone. No safety net, no familiar hands guiding the way. Just you.
You breathed in the warm air, let light breeze cool the sting behind your eyes, and went back inside.
The lobby had thinned out a little, though it still thrummed with leftover chaos. Your mind wandered as you made your way through the doors, thoughts drifting backwards without permission.
Suguru would show up eventually.
Satoru probably with him…
When you turned the corner, you were so lost in your own head that you you slammed directly into a wall.
Well, not a wall.
A person.
A massive one.
“Oh, shit. Sorry!” you blurted, stumbling back a little. But that apology quickly stalled when you looked up.
The guy barely budged. And he was huge, towering over you all broad shouldered, sunkissed skin, and wisps of pink hair that fell messily into his eyes as he narrowed them at you. He had tattoos curling up his arms that disappeared beneath rolled sleeves, dark intricate lines that made it impossible not to stare.
And he balanced three cardboard boxes stacked high in his arms, steadying them with a grunt and a mean looking glare. It wasn’t hostile by any means, but it wasn’t exactly kind either. More like someone perpetually irritated at the world.
“Watch where you’re going, dipshit.”
His voice was low, gravelly, and rough in a way that made your stomach unexpectedly flip. You blinked at him, stuck between embarrassment and the sudden realization that this stranger was stupidly, unfairly attractive.
God help you.
You opened your mouth to respond, to defend yourself, maybe, but nothing wanted to come out. Your brain felt like it short circuited the moment you realized you were checking him out like an idiot.
“Right. Yeah. Sorry…” you said quickly, feeling heat creeping up the back of your neck. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
He shifted his weight and the boxes in his arms with a grunt, and stepped around you without another word, boots echoing faintly down the hall.
You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you’d been holding, feeling how your pulse skidded against your ribs.
Bumping into sexy tattooed giants…off to a strong start.
Seriously, though. Who the hell was that?
If every guy at this school looked like that, you were in bigger trouble than you thought.
You shook it off and continued toward the stairs, unaware that his head turned over his shoulder, dark eyes dragging down your back and following your retreating figure for several slow seconds before he disappeared into the elevator.
Back in your room, you shut the door with a muted click and a shaky breath.
It was still empty, still quiet. No signs of your roommate yet.
And Suguru still hadn’t texted.
Not that you expected him to come sprinting over the second your parents left.
But you desperately needed a distraction, because boredom was quickly starting to creep back in. That, and the tattooed guy from earlier.
You tossed your bag onto the bed and let yourself fall back into the mattress with a tired huff, staring at the ceiling as your mind hummed restlessly. You couldn’t exactly put up your lights, the ceiling was too tall for that.
So you rolled upright and reached for one of the unopened boxes near your desk.
Pictures.
You unpacked them slowly, laying out fragments of the life you grew up with—
You and your friends from high school crowding into a booth at a diner after homecoming.
Your family at the lake last summer.
You and Suguru after his graduation ceremony.
And tucked between two frames, a slightly bent photo slipped out last.
You frowned as you picked it up.
Your mom must’ve slipped this in without telling you.
Suguru grinned at the camera with two missing teeth, while Satoru threw up some stupid peace sign as he tried to pull your brother into a headlock. He looked so young, long limbed and gangly, hair sticking up like a dandelion. And your eight-year-old self squished between them, clutching a melting popsicle and smiling like you had no idea your entire life would end up tangled in theirs.
You used to hate him.
With a passion.
The day he first walked into your house, into your lives, you’d been jealous. Suguru had looked at him like some long lost twin. And suddenly, you weren’t the center of your big brother’s universe anymore.
Satoru always stole his attention.
Stole your snacks, your spot on the couch, the tv remote.
Stole your peace.
He tormented you relentlessly, called you annoying. He poked you, teased you, flicked your forehead every time he passed by. He ate your favorite cereal. Hid your light up sneakers. Made you cry more than once and didn’t even look sorry about it.
And your parents adored him for reasons you never understood, brushed off his teasing like it was charming instead of cruel.
But somewhere along the way, things changed between you.
Maybe it was between middle school and the unbearable summer before the boys started high school. Satoru shot up like a weed, suddenly a head taller than every other boy you knew. His voice dropped, his jaw sharpened. Even that stupid smirk of his started doing something irritating to your insides.
He got…nicer.
Not always.
Never consistently.
But sometimes, in ways that made it feel impossible to hate him completely.
His voice would soften around you. His hands, once clumsy and reckless, became careful when he helped you up the stairs after you sprained your ankle, or when he passed you things from high shelves that you couldn’t reach.
Or when he sat beside you on the curb one humid June afternoon after you and Suguru screamed at each other over nothing, pressing a cold ice cream into your palm without even looking at you.
“You’re so dramatic,” he’d muttered.
But his shoulder stayed warm against yours anyway.
That was when the new ache had started.
You’d realized then, embarrassingly early, that you had a crush on him. One that sat heavy in your heart and made your stomach curl whenever he smiled at someone else. One that you tried to deny until Suguru finally noticed.
He caught you staring once.
Once.
He shoved you out of his room that same day, shouting something like, “Gross! He’s my best friend, and you’re not allowed to look at him like that. Ever. So stay away from us.”
And you tried.
You really did.
But it only got worse.
Because when high school came, Satoru grew into his stupid looks, the kind of beauty that people whispered about. He knew it too, you could see it in the way he leaned into the attention, the way girls lingered around him and his locker, desperate and hopeful for a shot. Dates that lasted weeks, flirting that burned bright and vanished just as fast, never serious about anyone longer than a month.
Always smiling. Always charming. Always untouchable.
And somehow still yours to remember.
You hated that you noticed everything about him
Hated how stupid he made you feel.
Hated how hard it was to pretend you didn’t care about him.
You looked down at the photo again, thumb brushing faintly over his familiar grin.
That was a lifetime ago.
Satoru Gojo wasn’t that boy anymore
And you weren’t that girl.
Thank god for that.
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You would think move-in day was a national holiday with how the guys in the house celebrated – voices bouncing down the halls, music thumping obnoxiously loud, the air heavy with that aggressive artificial citrus spray they’d used to pretend the place was clean.
Gojo didn’t hate being back.
The noise was familiar. Predictable. Safe in its own chaotic way.
He did hate unpacking, however.
His room looked like someone had dumped his entire life into a blender and hit pulse.
Boxes sat abandoned across the carpet, half unpacked and already forgotten. His bed a temporary disaster of clothes spilling out carelessly and sheets still in plastic. Rolled up posters leaned against the wall because commitment had never been his strongest trait. And a tangled mess of LED lights laid coiled in the corner, forgotten the moment he started drinking.
He stepped over a crumpled duffelbag and sighed.
There were easier, more interesting things he could’ve been doing. Drinking. Roaming around campus with his friends. Causing chaos. Anything that didn’t require pretending he had the patience to organize his existence into neat little corners.
His parents would’ve paid someone to do this for him.
They probably would’ve paid someone to breathe for him if it meant preserving the illusion that their son was flawless. Because illusion had always been more important to them than presence. More than warmth. More than love.
Even as a kid, he’d known that the Gojo house wasn’t a home – it was a showroom. Everything pristine. Everything distant. Silence at the dinner table. Touch that felt like an obligation. Praise that sounded like transaction.
He’d learned young that attention was earned, not given.
Which was why Suguru had changed everything.
He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment they’d become inseparable. Only that somewhere between childhood and adolescence, he’d started spending more time at the Geto house than his own. Weekends turned into weeks. Weeks bled into summers. Summers into something permanent until sleepovers stopped feeling temporary.
They never treated him like a guest.
They fed him. Asked about his day. Teased him. Scolded him. Let him sprawl across their couch like he’d always belonged there.
Sometimes, he almost believed he did.
Because it was easier to be careless than it was to be wanted.
He dragged a hand through his hair and stepped into the hallway, weaving past both new and familiar faces as the guys called out greetings.
“Where’s Suguru?” he asked no one in particular.
“Front porch,” someone answered. “Your husband’s getting parental approval again.”
He scoffed and made his way downstairs.
When he pushed open the front door, the late afternoon air hit his face, along with the murmur of conversation. Suguru stood near the railing, arms crossed loosely as your parents hovered nearby.
“Oh, there he is,” your mom brightened when she spotted him. “Our other son.”
And just like that, he was being pulled into a hug that smelled like her perfume and fabric softener, and something achingly nostalgic. Home, maybe. Or the closest thing he’d ever have to it.
He let himself lean into her embrace probably longer than he should have.
“You finally admitting I’m the favorite?” he murmured, trying to keep it light.
Your dad chuckled, clapping his shoulder before pulling him into another hug, one filled with sincerity and fatherly affection he’d only ever tasted with them. At their house, their table, on their couch during movie nights he pretended to sleep through just so he wouldn’t have to leave.
“Figured we’d come say hi,” he said. “Had to bring some boxes Suguru forgot at the house.”
Suguru rolled his eyes. “I didn’t forget. You guys took them out of the car to make room for all her shit.”
“Details.”
“And of course,” your mom added, stepping back to study both boys, "we just wanted to remind you two again…keep an eye on her this year, okay?”
“She’s still settling in. Starting fresh,” your dad said. “We know she can handle herself, but you know how overwhelming a new school can be. Just look out for her. Maybe help her make some friends. Make sure she doesn’t fall in with the wrong crowd.”
Wrong crowd. If only they knew what house you were technically falling into by association alone.
“She’ll be fine,” Suguru insisted, waving off their concern. “You guys stress too much.”
“Just keep an eye on your sister, alright? Be nice to her, please.”
“Yeah, of course,” Gojo nodded.
Because the warmth in their voices, the trust they had in him, was something he needed more than he cared to admit.
He’d grown up with everything – money, space, perfection. In mansions and private schools, in rooms filled with things that were expensive and meaningless. But none of it compared to this. To these people.
The first adults who ever hugged him simply because they wanted to.
Who asked him about school.
Who always saved a plate at dinner.
Who never looked at him like he was a commodity.
And you’d grown up under his roof, after all. You’d always been there – running through the halls. Getting into fights with Suguru. Glaring at him when he stole the last juice box from the fridge, like he was an inconvenience in your carefully curated world.
A presence that lingered, whether he acknowledged it or not.
“Alright, alright,” Suguru interrupted, clapping his hands impatiently. “You guys should get going before you start planning her wedding up here, too.”
They laughed, hugging both boys one last time, ignoring the teasing shouts coming from inside the house. Your mom squeezed Gojo’s arm, and your dad ruffled his hair.
“Behave. Both of you,” she warned, pointing at Gojo specifically. “And don’t corrupt him.”
“No promises,” he grinned.
They waved as the car rolled away, the porch falling quiet again.
“God,” Suguru exhaled deeply through his nose. “I thought they’d never leave. They hover way too much.”
“They just care.”
“Yeah,” his best friend muttered, already turning back toward the house. “And they don’t need to outsource that to us.”
Gojo followed him back inside. “So what now?”
“Some of the guys wanna start pregaming,” Suguru said. “But I’ve gotta stop by her dorm first. She needs help putting up lights and cords and all that crap.”
“You serious?” Gojo groaned. “She’s not five, dude. She can plug in a lamp.”
“She’s my sister,” Suguru leveled him with a look. “And I told my parents I’d help, so—”
Gojo rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You’re just trying to get brother points.”
“Shut up,” Suguru grumbled, grabbing his keys.
And somehow, without discussion or explanation, Gojo trailed behind.
He told himself it was because Suguru would complain if he didn’t.
Because it was habit.
Because he was bored.
He wasn’t curious. Not in the slightest.
It had absolutely nothing to do with the quiet, unwelcome anticipation threading under his skin.
It had been almost two years since he’d last seen you properly. More than a stiff hello at some awkward holiday gathering. You’d spoken to him politely then. Carefully, instead of an eyeroll, like he’d become something unfamiliar.
And he hadn’t thought about you much.
Not intentionally, anyway.
You were a background ghost. An old photograph. A fleeting memory.
A presence he refused to inspect too closely.
But now, you were back in his life.
He wondered if you’d changed.
Did you cut your hair?
Did you still bite your lip when you were nervous about something?
Did you still have that that stupid soft expression when you were embarrassed?
Did you still—
He cut that train of thought off.
Don’t do this, he warned himself.
She’s Suguru’s little sister. She’s off limits. Always had been.
And yet, he didn’t slow down. Didn’t turn back.
He just kept walking.
Suguru moved with purpose, his hands tucked into his pockets as he navigated the familiar paths between buildings, while Satoru dragged his feet half a step behind, already restless.
“This is so unnecessary,” he complained for the third time. “Do you know what’s happening back at the house right now? Fresh blood. New faces. Girls I can’t flirt with because you couldn’t tell her to wait.”
“You’re unbearable,” Suguru replied, not even looking back.
“And yet, here I am. Voluntarily walking to a dorm to help your baby sister hang lights like some suburban dad.”
“She asked,” Suguru said plainly.
“Did she, or did you just offer because you have some deep seated savior complex you refuse to acknowledge?”
Suguru stopped in front of a tall brick building and glanced up. “This one.”
Gojo let out an exaggerated whine.
“You’ll survive missing the first hour. The house won’t collapse without you.”
The lobby was still buzzing when they stepped inside. Carts clattered across the floor, voices overlapped, the scent of takeout and cheap carpet cleaner clung stubbornly in the air. Underclassmen shuffled past with wide eyes and nervous smiles, looking like they hadn’t figured out their place yet.
And annoyingly, neither had he.
A strange tension clenched in his chest as he followed Suguru down the hallway, scanning the numbers along the walls.
“Fourth floor,” Suguru murmured, checking his phone. “East wing.”
They didn’t bother knocking. Just twisted the handle and nudged open the door.
And there you were.
Standing on your bed.
Arms stretched above your head as you struggled with the string lights, frustration pinching your features as you tried to guide the hook into place. Sunlight filtered through the window and softened everything – the curve of your jaw, the line of your shoulders, the focus in your expression.
You weren’t a kid anymore.
The realization struck with uncomfortable clarity.
You’d grown. Filled out. Changed into something he wasn’t even remotely prepared for. There was an ease to the way you moved, a subtle confidence that tugged his attention no matter how much he tried to look away.
Your shirt lifted slightly as you stretched, revealing a glimpse of bare skin he absolutely should not have been looking at.
Oh.
That was fucking dangerous.
This wasn’t Suguru’s kid sister.
This was a woman.
And his body noticed long before his brain managed to object.
He was still staring when Suguru cleared his throat and elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “You gonna fall off, or is this your new workout routine?”
You gasped, spinning around too fast and wobbling slightly before steadying yourself. “Suguru! You could’ve knocked!”
“We basically live down the street,” he scoffed. “We don’t knock. We announce.”
Your gaze slid past him and landed on Gojo. And for a brief second, something unreadable flashed across your expression. Surprise, maybe. Or warmth. Something that narrowed the room down into that small exchange of air between you two.
“Hi, Gojo.”
His name sounded different when you said it now.
“Hey…” he breathed, like his brain wasn’t currently spiraling. “Cirque du Soleil on the bed seems like a risky hobby.”
You scoffed. “Someone had to do it, since Suguru apparently retired from manual labor.”
“Because I have common sense,” Suguru shot back, tossing his keys onto the empty bed. “Get down before you break your neck.”
You hopped down carefully, brushing your hands over your shorts as Suguru crouched beneath the desk to inspect the mess of wires. “Extension cords?”
“Bag by the closet.”
Gojo reached for the end of the lights without thinking, fingers brushing against yours for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
It was a simple touch. Barely anything, really.
But he didn’t pull away as quickly as he should have, because it lingered.
“I was thinking above the bed,” you’d said, glancing up. “Like, framing it maybe.”
“Are you trying to turn your dorm into a Pinterest board?” he teased mildly.
“What’s wrong with that? It’s cozy.”
“Nothing,” he smirked. “If you’re, like…twelve. Which tracks, honestly.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“And you always fall for it.”
You jabbed his side lightly, and something about that moment felt disorientingly familiar and painfully new.
Not childhood teasing. Not effortless comfort, either.
Something else.
Something that scared the shit out of him.
His gaze kept drifting back to you without permission, the curve of your lips when you smiled, the concentration in your eyes, the little sound you made when you hummed to yourself.
He shouldn’t have been cataloguing these things.
But he always had.
He’d just never let himself linger on why.
He never saw you as a sister.
Not once.
Even when you were small and stubborn and loud, stomping down the stairs in oversized pajamas, yelling at Suguru over the Wii, the urge had always been the same – to shield you, to make you laugh when he pretended to be cruel, to show up without being asked.
He’d buried the feeling beneath jokes and flirting and distance.
Laughed it off. Distracted himself with other girls, other lips. Anything that kept him from noticing the pull when you were near, because it was easier to pretend he didn’t care at all.
But standing here in your dorm, watching you exist so effortlessly, the truth wasn’t smothered by time or distance.
He’d missed you.
Missed your presence. Your voice. The way the room felt fuller when you occupied it.
“You’re being weirdly quiet,” you noted, glancing at him. “You okay? You’ve been staring off into space for, like…a suspicious amount of time.”
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Just trying to process your tragic taste in decor.”
“You always have to be a dick?”
“Yeah, that’s like my whole thing,” He smirked.
You shook your head, biting back a smile.
The worst part about all of this?
It wasn’t that you changed.
It was that he finally understood what he’d been trying not to see.
And Suguru was definitely going to kill him.