It was strange how fast things went back to pretending.
A week ago, I'd been ready to send her home. I thought it was the best thing for both of us. But the next morning, it felt like the volcano in me had cooled.
And now, we were back where we used to be. Kinda.
The air between us had changed, though. We didn't talk much anymore — just enough to survive. A question here, a one-word answer there. Nothing more. Nothing real.
Still, she moved around the house like she always did, barefoot, humming under her breath, wearing things that made my blood rush in directions I didn't want to think about.
That afternoon, I told her I was expecting guests.
She just nodded, brushing past me in the living room without a word. Her hair grazed my arm, and I caught that faint scent of her shampoo—clean and soft, like apples.
"Please put on clothes," I said, my voice sharper than I meant.
She stopped at her door, turned slightly, and gave me that look—the one that said you're being ridiculous again.
"I'm wearing clothes," she said, gesturing to herself. "Do these look like rags to you?"
Before I could answer, she shut the door in my face.
I didn't see her again for almost an hour.
When Miles and May came over, things felt normal enough. We spread our books across the coffee table, diving into equations that barely made sense to any of us. May talked too fast, Miles half-listened, and I floated somewhere between pretending to focus and actually trying to.
Then Faye's door opened.
I didn't notice her at first—not until Miles's head turned.
She padded into the living room like she didn't see us, wearing one of my old shirts—the grey one that used to hang loose on me but fit her like a damn invitation. It stopped just below her thighs. Nothing else.
Miles grinned. "Hey, Faye."
May waved without looking up.
Faye smiled faintly, said hi, and walked straight into the kitchen.
I should've ignored it. I tried to.
But when she stretched to reach the cereal box on the top shelf, the shirt rode higher—too high. I saw more than I was supposed to. And so did Miles.
He smirked. I saw it. That tiny, stupid grin that made something inside me snap.
I was up before I knew it, crossing the room.
"Faye,"
She turned, brows pulling together. "What is it now?"
I ignored the question, grabbed the cereal from the cabinet, and shoved it into her hands. Then I took her wrist.
"Come on."
She stumbled a little as I pulled her toward the bedroom.
"Harry, what the hell."
The door shut behind us. My pulse was loud in my ears.
"Why would you go out there dressed like that?"
Her eyebrows shot up. "Dressed like what?"
"Don't play dumb," I snapped. "You're not wearing anything under that shirt. Jesus, Faye, you were almost naked out there."
She crossed her arms, frowning. "What's your problem? You've been overreacting about everything lately."
She wasn't wrong. The fight from a week ago still hung between us, heavy and unfinished. But I didn't want to go there again. Not now.
"It's not an overreaction if your ass was out for Miles to see."
She blinked, then scoffed. "So what? He probably has a sister too. What's the big deal?"
I stared at her. I couldn't even find words.
She looked so calm, so effortlessly unbothered, and all I could think was—you don't get it.
You don't get that I couldn't stand anyone looking at you that way.
"Miles was looking," I muttered.
"Let him look," she said, shrugging. "Who cares?"
I almost said it. The truth.
I care.
But I swallowed it back.
My jaw tightened, my fists clenched. I turned away before I did something stupid.
She stood there, staring at me like she couldn't tell if I was angry or losing my mind. Maybe both.
When I left her room, I could still feel the heat of her skin where my hand had been.
Every step I took felt like I was walking deeper into something I couldn't escape. Because the truth was, I hadn't sent her home because I didn't want her to go.
I couldn't.
The thought of returning to a time before her... it scared me. More than the consequences I'd have to face for keeping her close.
When I came back to the living room, Miles was sprawled on the couch, flipping through his notebook. May sat cross-legged beside him, jotting something down.
The second he saw me, Miles grinned. "Bro, your sister's hot. When did that happen?"
I froze mid-step.
He laughed, oblivious. "Seriously, the last time I saw her, she looked like a kid. Guess puberty finally did its job."
I sneered before I could stop myself. "Don't talk about her like that."
May wrinkled her nose. "Ew, gross much?"
Miles raised his hands in mock surrender. "Chill, I'm just saying. She's not a minor. She probably has a boyfriend by now anyway."
That last line hit like a nail through my chest.
Boyfriend.
"Let's just get back to the assignment," I said sharply, pulling my chair closer.
May blinked, surprised by my tone, then nodded. "Yeah. Sure."
Miles shrugged, pretending not to notice. "Alright, alright."
For a while, the only sound was pens scratching against paper. I tried to focus, but the equations blurred. Miles's words kept replaying, scraping something raw inside me.
Then, as if he hadn't already said enough, he leaned back and asked, "But seriously though, does she? Have a boyfriend?"
I clenched my pen so tight it nearly snapped. "Drop it," I said, my voice low.
He raised an eyebrow. "Just asking—"
But he didn't finish, because Faye's door opened again.
She walked out like nothing had happened. In that same damn shirt.
Her hair was tied up now, cereal bowl in hand, eyes fixed on her phone.
She sat at the counter, scrolling, chewing, pretending I wasn't there.
I couldn't tell if it was defiance or indifference. Maybe both.
But it wasn't an accident. She knew I was watching. She wanted me to.
Miles glanced up, smirk tugging at his mouth, but said nothing.
May kept her head down, completely unaware.
The air thickened—heavy, electric.
I turned back to my notes, pretending to read, though every sense I had was tuned to her. The soft clink of her spoon. The quiet sound of her breathing. The way my old shirt rolled up slightly every time she reached for the milk.
Nobody spoke after that. Not until Miles finally stretched and groaned.
"Man, I can't do this anymore," he said. "I'm starting to hallucinate formulas."
May laughed. "You always give up first."
I forced a small smile, pretending everything was fine. Pretending I hadn't spent the last half hour drowning in the sight of her.
They packed their things, said their goodbyes. Faye waved lazily from the counter without looking up.
When the door shut behind them, the silence that followed felt heavier than it should've.
I started cleaning up—collecting papers, stacking books—just to keep my hands busy. I could feel her eyes on me. I didn't look up.
"You didn't have to drag me earlier," she said finally.
I stopped, exhaled slowly. "Yeah, well, you didn't have to walk out like that."
She shrugged, still sitting there, spoon tapping the edge of her bowl.
"Guess we were both doing things we didn't have to."
Her tone was soft, but the words landed sharp.
For a second, neither of us said anything.
Then she got up, rinsed her bowl, and went back to her room. Door shut. Click.
And that was it. Pretending resumed.
We'd fall back into our rhythm soon—shared space, unspoken tension, unacknowledged truths.
I told myself it was fine. That not talking about our problems was for the best.
But when night came, and the apartment went still, I could hear her laugh echoing in my head.
And I knew—no matter how much I pretended—nothing between us was ever really going back to normal.