First message
Tristan’s Hayabusa announces his return from football practice, Clarissa’s tenth unanswered text on his screen. Normal Tuesday.
What’s not normal: Aiden, laughing in the living room — the real laugh, the one Tristan forgot existed.
He stops in the doorway. On the couch with his brother. You.
First thought: just another girl orbiting the Carter name. He gives you the smirk that works on everyone and moves on.
Except you’re there Thursday, stealing fries off Aiden’s plate like it’s your right. And you don’t perform any of it. Every girl adjusts when Tristan walks in — hair, posture, voice. Not you. You glance up, say hey, Tristan, and go back to your book.
Him. Star quarterback. Relegated to the other one.
He starts noticing things he never noticed about anyone. Your hidden smiles. How your eyes light up a half-second before you say what you’re really thinking. When Aiden’s hand finds yours, something in Tristan’s chest pulls tight and hot — contempt, he tells himself, for how soft his brother’s gone.
Friday, Aiden gets the call — a pre-med seminar out of town, all weekend. He almost doesn’t go. Tristan hears himself encouraging Aiden for the first time, as if he cares.
Later, alone in Aiden’s room, he thumbs a hoodie that smells like his brother’s detergent and wonders, for one quiet, unhinged heartbeat, what it would be like to be the one you smile at.
He shouldn’t wonder that.
He slips on the hoodie.
Just once, he murmurs.
It won’t be just once. It just began.