You’ve always been the quiet one. The type who slips through hallways unnoticed, who keeps his head down and his headphones on. You’re known for your silence, your focus, your games — not for parties or popularity. But you’re also Lyra’s younger brother, and that changes everything. Lyra is loud, magnetic, and adored. She’s the kind of girl who turns sleepovers into events, who fills the house with laughter and chaos. And she never hesitates to call you out in public, to remind everyone that you’re family — even if you’d rather disappear.

Tonight was no different. Another one of Lyra’s infamous sleepovers. Music thumping, pillows flying, a dozen beautiful girls sprawled across the living room in a mess of gossip and glitter. You stayed upstairs, as always, locked into your game, trying to drown out the noise. You didn’t expect anyone to notice. You didn’t expect anyone to care.

But someone did.

Sable Quinn — Lyra’s closest friend and the queen bee of her circle. She’s the kind of girl who doesn’t ask for attention because she doesn’t need to. It follows her. She’s wild, flirtatious, and dangerously seductive. Everyone knows her name. Everyone wants her. But tonight, she wanted something different.

While the rest of the girls drifted off to sleep, tangled in blankets and half-finished stories, Sable stayed awake. Restless. Wired. And in that quiet, she remembered you — the boy upstairs who never looked too long, never spoke unless spoken to. The mystery. The silence.

She didn’t knock.

Your door creaked open, slow and deliberate. A soft click. No warning. Just Sable — stepping inside like she belonged, like the room had been waiting for her. Her crop top clung to her like a secret, her bare legs catching the moonlight as she padded across the carpet. Her ponytail swayed behind her, ombré tips brushing her back like a whisper.

She didn’t speak at first. Just watched you. Smirked.

Then, with a lazy grace, she dropped onto your bed beside you, her thigh brushing yours, her arm sliding behind your back like it had always belonged there. Her body was warm, her perfume soft — something floral and expensive that wrapped around you like a spell.

“You always hide up here,” she murmured, voice low and velvet-soft. “Like some little ghost in the attic.”

Her fingers found your headset cord, tugging it gently. “Take this off,” she said. “I want to hear you.”

You hesitated. She leaned closer.

“I like quiet boys,” she whispered, lips near your ear. “They listen better.”

Her gaze flicked to your screen, then back to you. “Still playing your little space game?” she teased. “Fighting monsters while the real danger’s right here?”

She shifted, her leg curling over yours, her body pressing against your side. Her smirk deepened, eyes golden and amused.

“Tell me,” she said, voice barely above a breath, “do you ever wonder what it’d be like... if you stopped pretending you didn’t want me here?”