Closer Than Strangers

"Closer Than Strangers"

"I don't want to be your brother anymore."

That day, I brought my new boyfriend home for dinner. That evening, Su Yan knocked on my door. Before I could react, he pressed me against the doorframe, leaning in until his forehead touched mine. His voice was low and husky as he spoke.

"The question you asked me a year ago—I can answer it now."

My heart pounded like a drum.

"Aren't you the one who always used to follow me around? The clothes you wear are mine. Your scent is mine. Even your heart belongs to me. So why do you insist on being with someone else?"

His fingers tangled in the strands of hair by my ear, his thumb gently brushing against my cheek.

"Claire, I don't want to be your brother anymore."

1.

My name is Claire Ashford. Ethan Ashford is my brother in name only. We share no blood, yet we carry the same surname. To put it simply, my mother married two different men, both named Ashford. During those years when Ethan ignored me, I clung to this accidental connection as if we were truly bound by blood—an unbreakable tie.

At fifteen, I left the damp, dark rental apartment and followed my mother into a strange villa—the place I now call home.

I met my stepfather, Vincent Ashford. His face was full of smiles as he patted my head and led me to see my new room. Looking back now, there was something almost ingratiating in that smile, but at the time, everything in the room seemed as delicate as a princess's chamber from a fairy tale. While Vincent was teaching me how to use the water heater, I stared blankly at his moving lips, a surge of indescribable joy welling up inside me—no more hauling heavy buckets of hot water up the stairs after boiling it in the communal kitchen.

I said "Thank you, Uncle" timidly, and Vincent just smiled knowingly, as if he wasn't in a hurry to make me call him Dad. My mother gave a few instructions before leaving with him.

Once they were gone, I threw myself onto the new bed, sinking into what felt like a beautiful dream. I stared at the pink canopy for a long time, so long that I didn't notice when someone appeared at the doorway.

That was my first meeting with Ethan.

I was startled, frozen in place like a thief who'd broken into someone else's home, only daring to glance at him from the corner of my eye.

He was handsome—tall and lean, far more striking than the most popular boy at my school. One hand braced against the doorframe, the other holding a basketball. He stood there for a moment before asking who I was and why I was in his house.

I scrambled to my feet and answered nervously:

"My name is Claire Ashford. My mother is Rose Ashford. Uncle Vincent said this is my room."

He seemed to think for a few seconds, then walked over, pulled open the canopy, sat on my bed, and leaned in to study me.

"So, Rose is my wicked stepmother, and you're the random sister I've somehow acquired."

I was genuinely offended. "My mother isn't wicked."

"Hah." Having gotten what he wanted, he seemed to lose interest. He stood up. "Sorry."

With that one word, Ethan walked out of the room without even telling me his name. A moment later, I heard the slam of a door from the next room. I stood there, unable to accept the fact that I'd suddenly gained a brother—even if his looks did satisfy my teenage fantasies.

2.

At dinner, the four of us sat around the table. Vincent introduced us one by one: "This is Aunt Rose, the one I told you about before. She'll be living with us from now on and taking care of you together with me."

My mother smiled warmly at him, calling him "Ethan" in a friendly tone.

Ethan just mumbled a vague response, keeping his head down as he ate.

"And this is Claire, Aunt Rose's daughter. She's your sister now. She'll be starting at your high school next semester, so you need to look after her."

Ethan looked up, glanced at me, and replied dismissively, "Got it. I'm done. Going to my room." He set down his chopsticks and left.

I watched his retreating figure, vaguely sensing that he didn't like me much. But it didn't matter.

In the days that followed, I rarely saw Ethan. After moving into the new house, my mother shed her old frugal habits and signed me up for a slew of tutoring classes and extracurricular activities. The heavy workload consumed most of my summer break. The only time I saw him was at the dinner table, and he always ate quickly, as if afraid to spend an extra second with us.

After a while, once I'd settled into the new life, I barely saw my mother either. The construction materials factory Vincent ran was far from home, and accidents on the worksite were frequent. To avoid the back-and-forth, she and Vincent stayed at the factory's break room during the day.

Before she left, she told me, "From now on, since there won't be any adults at home, you'll cook for your brother. I taught you how back in the rental apartment."

She also said, "Being able to live this well is our blessing. Don't act like a spoiled princess. Get closer to your brother—he's a great student. You need to know how to look out for yourself."

So, on the first night when it was just Ethan and me at home, I headed to the kitchen. The fridge was stocked with vegetables, meat, and eggs. Plenty of ingredients. I started with confidence.

Ten minutes later, the kitchen was a disaster—pots and pans scattered everywhere, scallions and ginger strewn across the floor.

I stared at the burnt-black egg in the pan. After a moment of hesitation, I screwed up my face and knocked on Ethan's door. When he opened it with a puzzled expression, I delivered the line I'd rehearsed in my head:

"Ethan, can you help me make dinner?"

It was the first time I'd ever called him "brother."

3.

He raised an eyebrow at that. I couldn't read his expression as he followed me back to the kitchen. He stood there, silently surveying the chaos, before finally speaking: "To make a mess this bad—that's a talent in itself."

Embarrassed, I moved to clean up—at least to scrub the pan. He reached out, grabbed the back of my collar, and gently pulled me back, signaling me to stay out of his way.

"Don't trouble yourself, Your Highness. Just watch and learn from the sidelines."

A strange joy bubbled up inside me. I wasn't sure if it was because he'd spoken more than a few words to me today or something else. But watching him work with practiced ease, his face expressionless, felt like fireworks going off in my chest.

Boiling water, washing vegetables, dropping in noodles, cracking eggs, seasoning. A few minutes later, Ethan and I sat across from each other at the table, two steaming bowls of egg noodles in front of us. They tasted as good as I'd expected.

The table was still silent. Ethan focused entirely on his noodles, not sparing a shred of attention for me, as if his earlier teasing had never happened. A little disappointed, but too thin-skinned to push, I hesitated before finally mumbling:

"How did you learn to cook noodles? That's amazing."

"?"

He paused, as if he didn't want to engage, but answered out of politeness: "Isn't it something anyone can do?"

"...Right."

This time, I was the one who fell silent.

As he got up from the table, he nodded toward the empty bowls. "You can at least wash the dishes, can't you, Your Highness?"

I nodded frantically.

"Good. Wash them, and don't break any." As he passed me, he paused briefly. "You didn't call me 'brother' just now."

I blinked up at him and softly said, "Brother."

He looked at me, a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, then went back to his room.

4.

The break flew by, and the start of school arrived quickly.

My new high school was the same one Ethan attended—the city's top-tier public school, with boarding. It was my first time living away from home, and I felt resistant. Group living made me uncomfortable, and I wasn't confident I could get along with new things.

My mother was worried. The day before school started, she fussed over me, packing all the necessities. Finally, she carried a bowl of fruit and knocked on Ethan's door. I peeked from around the corner.

"Ethan, come have some fruit."

"No, thanks."

Ethan declined politely.

"It's like this—Claire is starting high school too. She's never lived away from home before, so I wanted to ask you to look after her."

From my angle, I couldn't see my mother's expression, but I could see Ethan's clearly. My heart tightened. I had a bit of a people-pleasing personality, and I hated being a burden—especially to Ethan. I didn't want him to dislike me.

I tried to catch a flicker of impatience on his face—but there wasn't any. He just looked indifferent, as if he'd been asked to do something trivial, like passing someone a pen.

He said, "Sure." After a pause, when my mother had nothing else to say, he closed the door.

What did "sure" mean?

No matter how I turned it over in my mind, I slept well that night. It felt like a safe landing, yet also like floating on clouds.

Once at school, the first thing was a week of regular military training. My life became a monotonous loop of the sports field, the dorm, and the cafeteria. The outgoing kids had already shone in group activities, while I lingered on the sidelines, watching in silence.

One night during dorm chat, as I was writing my training diary, the conversation turned to family. After a moment's thought, I said, "I have a brother. He's in his second year at this school."

The dorm erupted, as if having a brother was something enviable. But the truth was, Ethan probably didn't see me as a sister. He always called me "Claire" without a hint of warmth.

I felt a pang of sadness. Three days into school, and I hadn't seen him. I knew deep down that his casual "sure" was just a perfunctory response, a way to quickly close the door my mother had knocked on. Still, I was disappointed. I secretly hoped to run into him. When I snapped back to reality, my notebook was filled with the word "brother."

I tore out the page.

5.

Finally, on the fifth day, I saw Ethan.

I was walking back to the dorm from the cafeteria, slowly eating an apple. As I passed the basketball court—a route I always took—I habitually glanced at the speeding figures. Out of nowhere, a voice shouted, "Watch out!" A basketball arced toward me in a parabola. Before I could react, it hit me square in the temple. Everything went black, the world spun, and a sharp pain shot through me. The half-chewed apple fell from my mouth into my hand, and tears streamed uncontrollably down my face.

I stumbled and fell to the ground, clutching my temple, my mind blank.

"Are you okay?!"

"I'm so sorry, so sorry!"

"Are you alright? Can you stand?"

Within moments, a few people had gathered around me. They were talking, but it was all noise—I couldn't hear clearly, couldn't see clearly. I just kept my head down.

"Claire?"

One voice cut through the chaos. I looked up, tears still flowing. I squinted, trying to make out his face.

"...You okay?"

Ethan's face came into view. I looked at him, and a storm erupted inside me. The委屈 and frustration I'd bottled up for days broke loose, and I cried in front of him. There was really nothing to be upset about—my classmates were nice, the teachers were nice, everything in my new life was unfolding smoothly. But seeing Ethan's face, I just felt wronged.

Through sobs, I managed to say, "Ethan, it hurts."

He froze for a second. "I'll take you to the infirmary." He grabbed my hand, draped it over his shoulder, and crouched down in front of me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed myself against his back.

On the way to the infirmary, I gently rested my head against the back of his neck, sniffing.

"Stop crying. Does it still hurt?"

"It really hurts..."

He tilted his head slightly. "Bear with it. You should watch where you're going."

I wanted to argue, but the words died in my throat. I rested my chin on his shoulder and muttered, "I was looking for you, but I didn't know which class you were in. I passed by the court to see if you were playing. And besides, is dodging a basketball something you can do just by watching where you're going?"

Ethan sighed. "I'm in Class One, the building right next to yours."

Next door was the science building. Class One was one of the top classes in each grade. My heart lifted—at least now I knew where he was.

At the infirmary, the school doctor checked my injury, gave me some medicine for bruising, and handed me a warm towel for a hot compress. I reached for it, but Ethan took it first.

"I'll do it."

He pressed the warm towel against my temple, his fingertips gently massaging. His movements were tender, but his expression was calm.

He looked at me. I wondered if he realized how awkward this atmosphere was. But as long as I didn't feel awkward, it was his problem.

After a moment, he broke the silence. "You really did get darker."

"..." I was speechless. "Don't rub it in."

I tried to find a topic. "Ethan, were you playing ball this afternoon?"

"Yeah."

"Do you play every day?"

He seemed puzzled. "Occasionally. Why? You want to bring me water?"

I tilted my head. I wouldn't mind, honestly.

"Stay away. Give the court a wide berth. If you get hit again, you can crawl to the infirmary yourself."

He said it in a flat tone, but it made me inexplicably happy. The awkward fog lifted.

Ethan and I weren't really siblings—just two families merged together. To me, it felt more like I was boarding at his house. There was more distance and politeness than closeness. The occasional "brother" I called him was only in context. Most of the time, I didn't dare.

I looked at his face, trying hard not to say the word "brother," but another sentence slipped out instead:

"Can I come find you when I want to see you?"

6.

Ethan stared at me for a long moment, then suddenly laughed—a cryptic laugh.

"Can I ask what you're thinking?"

My heart skipped a beat.

What was I thinking? I wanted to see him. Every day.

I looked into his eyes. His expression was calm, almost innocent, as if he were asking me what one plus one equals.

"I want to see my brother," I said, holding my injury and looking away. "I told my classmates I have a brother. He's in his second year."

Finally, I turned back to him. "Aren't you my brother?"

Ethan raised an eyebrow and leaned in slightly. "So I'm your brother now?"

My nose stung. I turned my head away, not wanting to look at him anymore. At that moment, I almost wanted to bow and apologize—sorry for my wishful thinking, I'll drink three glasses as punishment.

I opened my mouth, but no words came. Then Ethan's hand landed on my head, ruffling my hair playfully.

"Take care of that injury. Don't bump it again." He stood up, looking down at me. "Come if you want. I'm heading back to class."

I nodded dumbly. If I were a puppy, I'd be wagging my tail at him. I watched his retreating figure and whispered to myself, "Brother."

After the uneventful military training, my equally uneventful first year of high school began. I occasionally wanted to go see Ethan, but I never had a good reason—did a sister need a reason to find her brother? But was Ethan really my brother? He'd said "come if you want," but I didn't take it seriously. That was just how he was—always indifferent, always in control, his words light yet weighty.

At the end of the first month, on a Friday, I finally stood outside Class One's door. I was going home with Ethan.

Their class wasn't dismissed yet, so I didn't dare peek in. I just waited quietly. Finally, the classroom buzzed with noise. I leaned against the windowsill, searching for Ethan. He was easy to spot.

I saw him, slouched casually against a desk, stuffing papers into his backpack. I tapped the shoulder of the girl closest to me. "Excuse me, can you call Ethan for me?"

"Excuse me?"

The girl turned around. She was pretty—a恰到好处的 innocence, without being overly polished. But she looked at me with a strange expression. "You're a freshman? What do you need him for?"

I was wondering how to explain. I didn't think Ethan would want to acknowledge his random new sister.

Just then, Ethan spotted me, and I waved at him.

He nodded, slung his bag over one shoulder, and walked toward me.

The girl saw Ethan and patted his shoulder familiarly. "My birthday's this weekend. You said you'd come."

"Alright, enough. You're annoying."

"Hey, some girl was looking for you... oh, there she is." She pointed at me. "Who's this?"

Ethan came up to me and loosely draped an arm around my shoulder.

He said, "She's my sister."

7.

My heart raced.

After saying that, Ethan looked down at me. I blinked at him and smiled.

"Since when did you have a sister? I didn't know."

"Do you have to know everything?" Ethan shot her a sideways glance. "Later."

"Oh, hey—should your sister come tomorrow?" The girl's eyes lit up as she looked at me. "I'm Rowan. It's my birthday tomorrow. Want to come sing karaoke?"

I was taken aback by the sudden enthusiasm. I looked at Ethan. He asked, "Do you want to go?"

It felt like Ethan was standing at the doorway to his world, asking if I wanted to step inside.

I said, "Yes."

He nodded. "Then let's go."

After we got home, Ethan and I went to our separate rooms. My mother pulled me aside to talk, asking why I looked thinner and if I was adjusting to school. I answered one by one. The door was open, and I could hear Vincent chatting quietly with Ethan.

That night, it was just Ethan and me at home again. I hesitated, then finally knocked on his door.

The door opened, and before I could speak, I was stunned—Ethan had clearly just showered. A towel hung around his neck, his hair was still wet, and his upper body was completely bare.

"What's up?"

I snapped out of it, flustered. "Oh, I was just wondering if I need to bring a gift to Rowan's birthday party tomorrow."

"That's up to you." Ethan started to close the door, then paused. "Anything else?"

"No." He nodded and shut the door.

I lay in bed. The nightlight seeped through the canopy, and I reached out, as if to grab that faint glow—or maybe an invitation.

The next day, Ethan and I headed to the agreed-upon karaoke place on the fourth floor of the mall.

As the elevator reached the third floor, I said to Ethan, "Go on up. I'll buy a gift."

He nodded in acknowledgment and held the door open for me.

I wandered for a while, picking something out. When I finally pushed open the karaoke room door, I saw Ethan and Rowan singing a duet, and a bunch of unfamiliar faces howling and teasing.

My spirits sank.

Heads turned to look at me, curious. Being the center of attention made me uncomfortable.

Ethan waved me over.

"Ethan, bringing your girlfriend?" a guy in a black tank top teased.

"She's my sister," Ethan said again.

"Ohhh! Family! Gotta keep her close!" someone else laughed.

I handed Rowan the gift bag. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks, sis~" She smiled sweetly, her eyes crinkling. "Sit down and grab something to eat."

I sat next to Ethan. The unfamiliar, boisterous singing made me feel out of place. I stuck close to him—at least I wouldn't get lost.

After a while, the singing continued, but some people had started playing dice at the table, drinking round after round. Losers had to play Truth or Dare.

The noisy environment eased some of my unease. I realized that in this crowd of old friends, no one would notice me, so I settled into my role as an observer, idly playing with a bottle on the table.

"Hahahaha! Drink! And tell us the most embarrassing thing you've ever done!" the guy in the black tank top shouted at someone in a blue polo.

"The most embarrassing thing is having a son like you!"

Everyone laughed again. Ethan pushed a glass of Sprite toward me, brushing aside my fidgeting hands. "Drink this."

I turned to look at him. Even when he was happy, he was subdued, a faint smile on his lips as he watched the commotion. He wasn't looking at me.

Bang, bang, bang—

"Oh! Finally, it's your turn, Ethan!" The crowd erupted, as if they'd been waiting for this moment. Even the people singing gathered around with their microphones.

Ethan's smile widened, almost mischievously. He downed his beer in one gulp, wiping his mouth.

The questioner asked the most cliché yet most intriguing question:

"Who do you like?"

My heart clenched.

8.

The room fell into a brief silence after the question. A few seconds later, it exploded into even louder chaos.

No one noticed me taking a deep breath.

Ethan tapped his glass casually. "I don't like anyone."

"That's not an answer! Penalty!" The crowd protested.

"Isn't this supposed to be Truth?" Ethan looked even more innocent.

Still, they pressured him into accepting a punishment. Relieved, I joined in the teasing.

"Fine, fine." He sighed.

"Then pick any girl here and give her a kiss~" the questioner said with ill intent, and the onlookers egged him on. My eyes widened, my heart pounding against my chest.

Maybe it was my imagination, but Ethan seemed to sense something. He turned and looked at me. Our eyes met, and I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Hey, my sister's here. Don't push it." Ethan's tone was light, but there was no warmth in it.

"Alright, alright. You got off easy this time."

Maybe realizing it was inappropriate, the group laughed it off. But Rowan, still holding the microphone, suddenly spoke up:

"Ethan, it's my birthday. Can you sing a song for me?" The dim lighting in the room made it hard to see, but even without looking, I knew her face was red. She quickly added, "Just think of it as my birthday gift!"

Don't, Ethan.

I stared at her bright eyes, silently pleading.

"The birthday girl has spoken. Sing one, Ethan." The first cheerleader chimed in.

"Yeah, yeah. Sing." The second one agreed.

Him singing for her—what could it mean? What did it represent? Weren't they already singing a duet when I walked in?

But I didn't want it.

Ethan's expression remained unreadable. He was still smiling. I selfishly thought it carried a hint of weariness. So, were you going to give in to the crowd again?

I picked up another microphone on the table, tapped it lightly, and looked at Rowan with a faint smile. "Let me sing for you instead."

Ethan froze. Rowan was stunned. The room fell into another dead silence, but this time, it didn't come back to life. I knew I'd done something stupid. The awkwardness nearly suffocated me, and I instinctively wanted to flee.

But then Ethan stood up, walked over to Rowan, and took the microphone from her hand. He looked at me and said, "Let's sing together."

I was saved. I saved him, and he saved me.

9.

I picked a song called "The One." I knew Ethan could sing it—his favorite band was Accusefive.

Ethan sang the first line. His voice was low, with a touch of huskiness, but he kept it soft: "Do you really understand the definition of 'the one'? It's not as simple as breathing... Do you really wish you could sort it out? Without true connection, how can it be explained..."

My body trembled, barely able to contain myself. I looked at him, my heart racing, my throat tight as I continued:

"I really love you. Every word is not spoken lightly."

You're my brother. You're Ethan, and I'm Claire. We're bound together for life—no one can compare.

Driven by some strange默契, we sang line after line. Nothing felt out of place. It was perfect.

By the end, I could barely see anyone else—only my brother. I softly sang the last line: "You don't want to prove it. Prove that I am your one and only."

"Prove that I am your one and only."

When the song ended, the room erupted in applause, mixed with a few whistles. Rowan sweetly said, "Thank you."

My legs felt weak, my throat dry. I sat back down next to Ethan and reached for water, but I noticed him looking at me with a strange expression—one I couldn't decipher.

My heart skipped a beat for no reason.

The party wound down. After saying our goodbyes, Ethan and I walked out of the mall. He hailed a taxi, and I followed him in.

We sat on opposite sides of the back seat, a wide gap between us. He asked casually, "Did you have fun today?"

"Yeah... a little boring, but still fun."

He suddenly turned to me, his expression serious. "Why did you come today?"

Because this was a rare chance to be by your side without guilt.

My eyes flickered. I pursed my lips. "Because you're my brother." After a pause, I added, "You know I don't have many friends here. But I still want to go out and have fun."

"Am I your brother?" His voice was flat.

What did that mean?

Ethan had called me his sister twice in front of others, and now he was asking me the same question again. But I'd learned to answer without flinching:

"Yes, you're my brother.

"Otherwise, why would you bring me today?"

I blinked at him. "Brother, I'm really happy.

"I'm truly your sister now, aren't I?"

10.

I thought that after that night, I'd have my invitation and seamlessly step into Ethan's world. But instead, he quietly pushed me further away.

At the dinner table, I'd sneak glances at him. He just ate faster than before, never letting his eyes rest on me. When he was done, he'd push back his chair and head to his room.

I'd help wash the dishes in the kitchen, then pick up a plate of fruit my mother had cut and knock on Ethan's door, as if it were the most natural thing.

"Brother, have some fruit. It's freshly cut." I smiled at him, trying hard to do what a sister should.

"Thanks." Ethan didn't hesitate, grabbing a grape—I was sure it was random. He thanked me and closed the door.

I stood there, holding the fruit plate, looking a bit foolish. My mother noticed and said, "What are you standing there for? Go study. I'm still simmering soup. You two come out later and have some."

I nodded, hiding my disappointment, and went back to my room.

Maybe I was distracted. Before long, my mother knocked on my door to call me out for soup. I answered, and she headed toward Ethan's room.

I kept an ear out. After my mother's repeated coaxing, Ethan finally came out.

He glanced at me, then looked away as if I weren't there. He sat down, one hand holding the bowl as he drank, the other scrolling through his phone, looking focused.

I wished he'd say something. Finally, I couldn't hold back. "Brother, how are you getting back to school tomorrow?"

He seemed to notice me for the first time. His gaze shifted from his phone to my face, expressionless. "By bike."

"Can I go with you?"

"..."

He was silent again.

I mentally sentenced myself to death, suddenly feeling deflated. Why was it always so exhausting to talk to Ethan? I might have a people-pleasing personality, but I wasn't socially clueless. I could tell he was even less willing to engage with me than before.

Why? Because I went to his friend's birthday party? Because I grabbed the microphone? Did he really like Rowan? Or maybe he was unhappy that I'd barged into his world and intruded on his life. Was he reminding me that I'd crossed a line?

As I was lost in thought, Ethan spoke. "Don't you take the bus?"

"Yeah, but the bus takes forever. It only comes every twenty minutes. If I don't time it right, I'm late."

Ethan stared at me. I half-expected him to ask, "Then can't you leave earlier?"

But he didn't.

He just nodded and said, "Fine."

I was happy again. All my doubts and worries melted away. At least Ethan hadn't rejected me.

11.

The next day, Ethan knocked on my door for the first time.

I was brushing my hair. Thinking it was my mother, I held a hair tie between my teeth, one hand holding up my ponytail, and opened the door.

There he was, in his school uniform, leaning lazily against the doorframe, looking down at me. "Just checking if Her Highness is ready. Time to go."

I nodded eagerly, grabbed my backpack, changed my shoes, and followed him out. We took the elevator to the basement garage, where I watched him unlock his bike.

He swung a leg over, gripped the handlebars, and tilted his head at me. "Get on."

I sat on the back.

He rode slowly, weaving through the neighborhood and cutting through small alleys, turning at one intersection after another. My balance wasn't great, so I gripped the small seat base awkwardly, trying to steady myself.

Then we hit a bump. My face slammed into Ethan's back, his spine digging into me painfully. I yelped:

"Ah!"

Ethan paused, slowed down, and stopped by the roadside. He turned around, both feet on the ground, and saw me clutching my face. He reached out, pulled my hand away, lifted my chin, and leaned in. "Where did you hit?"

I pointed at my nose. It really hurt!

He let go of my chin, then gently pinched my nose, a hint of a smile in his eyes. "Still hurt?"

I glared at him and slapped his hand away. "It hurts like crazy! It's flattened!"

Unfazed, Ethan simply said, "Then hold on tight," and turned back to continue riding.

With that permission, I didn't hold back. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my cheek against his back. Maybe it was my imagination, but I felt his back stiffen slightly.

I held onto Ethan, watching the traffic and the sunset all the way until we reached school.

It was near evening, and the sun wasn't harsh, but my face was strangely hot. I didn't need a mirror to know it was flushed.

"Let's go." Ethan locked his bike, glanced at me without any particular reaction, and didn't tease me. I told myself it was just the heat, that my face wasn't red, but my heart raced even more.

We walked side by side in silence toward the teaching building. Then a voice called out from behind:

"Claire!" Both Ethan and I turned around.

It was my roommate, Mia. I remembered her well—she was an art student studying broadcasting, with a striking voice, face, and figure. She saw me, then saw Ethan beside me, and froze for a second.

"Claire, let's go to class together later. Who's this?" She jogged over and linked her arm through mine affectionately.

I wasn't good with overly friendly people, so I answered awkwardly, "This is my brother."

"Oh! The brother you mentioned in the dorm!"

She exclaimed softly, making me even more awkward. I couldn't see Ethan's expression, but he didn't say anything.

Mia beamed at Ethan. "Brother, you're really handsome."

12.

My chest tightened, suffocating.

Who's your brother?

I turned to look at Ethan. He glanced back at me, raised an eyebrow, smiled at Mia, patted my head, and said, "Let's go."

I nodded, a little dazed. We were becoming more like siblings. That should be a good thing.

On the way back to class, Mia chattered endlessly, but I found it annoying. Finally, at the stairwell, she stopped and looked at me with utter seriousness. "Claire, you don't mind if I go after your brother, do you?"

I looked at her face. The sunset cast a dreamy glow over her features—a breathtaking beauty.

But I smiled, knowing it was a bitter smile. With equal seriousness, I said, "You won't succeed."

She paused, but didn't seem to take it to heart. She just winked at me, smiled, and said, "You never know," before heading upstairs.

I walked slowly, feeling a surreal detachment, followed by an inexplicable panic, which gradually settled into stillness.

I told myself, there's nothing to be afraid of.

The days that followed were uneventful. Ethan and I saw each other occasionally, went home regularly, and life settled into a quiet rhythm.

Until one day, at home, just the two of us at the dinner table, I casually asked, "Brother, did you sign up for any events at the sports meet?"

"50 meters, 1000 meters, relay."

"...Oh."

Good stamina.

Ethan looked up. "What about you?"

I answered honestly, "Long jump."

He feigned surprise. "Impressive."

Not as impressive as you.

I felt embarrassed by the half-hearted compliment. "I'm just filling a spot for my class."

Ethan paused for a second, then laughed. "Then be careful not to trip."

Friendly conversation. Warm atmosphere.

I poked at the rice in my bowl, flattening a few grains, then rolling them into balls. "You know my stamina—I'm not cut out for long-distance running. When you compete, I'll come cheer for you."

He replied simply, "Okay."

But when his race day came, I realized he didn't need me to cheer him on.

Ethan was at the check-in station, already surrounded by a crowd. I recognized some faces—Rowan, the others from the karaoke party, and a bunch of strangers, both guys and girls.

I scanned the group, relieved not to see Mia. But then I felt annoyed at myself for caring.

Maybe to her, it was just a joke. Taking it seriously made me look foolish.

When Ethan finally stood at the starting line, the track was lined with people shouting for their favorites. I kept my eyes on him, watching him rotate his ankles and do simple stretches, too afraid to call out.

Then I heard Mia's voice: "Ethan! Go! You're the best!"

Her shrill voice cut through the noise. I looked at her. She was wearing a white dress from the opening ceremony—a "princess" costume—with delicate makeup and a tiny crown on her head, standing out among the school uniforms. A girl like that naturally drew everyone's attention.

Her cheer dropped a bombshell among Ethan's classmates. They joined in, shouting:

"Ethan! Your goddess is cheering for you!"

I tried to look at Ethan, but before I could turn, the starting gun fired. A blur of figures shot past, leaving only a gust of wind. The cheers erupted, and the crowd jogged toward the finish line.

I kept my eyes locked on Ethan. The 50-meter dash was over in seconds. He crossed first. I didn't go over, but I saw Mia approach him. She handed him a bottle of water.

13.

He took it. Maybe they said something. Maybe Ethan remembered her from that day.

I didn't watch any longer. I turned and left—it was my turn to compete.

I walked toward the sand pit. I'd been roped into signing up, and everyone in my class knew I'd come in last, so there was no pressure.

I stood at the starting line, ran, jumped, and nearly face-planted into the sand. My foot twisted from the awkward landing.

Pain. Embarrassment. The distant cheers felt alien.

Maybe because I was used to it, or maybe because I looked too calm, no one seemed to notice anything wrong. They just accepted that I was out, waited for me to struggle out of the sand pit, and called the next person.

I sat down outside the shelter to rest, suddenly feeling tired.

"Young hearts belong to sports, young hearts belong to pursuit..."

The announcer's voice droned on over the speakers. The stands were packed. The wind blew through the uniforms of the running teens.

Youth. Passion. Glory.

And I just sat there, watching.

"Want some water?" someone asked.

I looked up. It was Caleb, a classmate. He