The late afternoon sun beat down on the asphalt court as Mason and Ethan dribbled a slightly deflated basketball, the air heavy with the hum of cicadas. The nearby park was mostly empty, save for a jogger in the distance and a few kids on the playground. Mason had already shed his hoodie, and Ethan wiped sweat from his brow as they warmed up with a few half-hearted shots.

“Man, you’re off today,” Mason called after Ethan’s third missed layup in a row. He caught the rebound and tossed it back lazily. “What’s up? Still hungover?”

“Yeah,” Ethan mumbled, but that wasn’t it. His head was somewhere else entirely, replaying his earlier conversation with Emma. The way her hazel eyes had sparkled as she explained her story. The way she’d laughed, unguarded and carefree, at his silly impressions. And the way she’d looked—so much more mature than he’d expected, her confidence adding something intangible he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Seriously, dude,” Mason said, snapping his fingers in front of Ethan’s face. “Earth to Ethan. You good?”

Ethan blinked, catching the ball Mason had lobbed at his chest. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s play.”

They started a casual one-on-one, but Ethan’s focus was elsewhere. Every time he ran down the court, he found himself thinking about Emma’s comic. He remembered the mentor-robot character she’d described and wondered how she came up with such intricate ideas. Was she just naturally that creative, or had she been working on this for years?

He hesitated before asking, “Hey, does Emma, like, show her comics to anyone else?”

Mason glanced at him, frowning as he shot and missed. “Not really. She’s weird about it. Says she doesn’t want people judging her stuff.”

“Why? It’s really good,” Ethan said quickly, dribbling the ball absentmindedly.

Mason shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s always been like that—super into her little worlds and stuff. I think it’s cool she’s got a hobby, though. Keeps her busy.”

Ethan nodded, chewing on his next question. “Does she want to be, like, a comic artist or something? She seems really into it.”

Mason tilted his head, giving Ethan a sideways glance. “What’s with all the questions, dude?”

Ethan laughed awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Just thought it was cool. Forget it.”

Mason grinned, shaking his head as they continued their game. But the seeds of suspicion had been planted. Ethan resolved not to press further, worried he might come across as too interested.

---

By the time they got back to Mason’s house, the sky was painted in warm oranges and pinks. They left the basketball by the door, only for Mason’s mom to intercept them as soon as they stepped inside.

“Mason,” she said sternly, pointing toward the garage, “you left a complete mess in there. Go clean it up. Now.”

“Seriously?” Mason groaned, shooting Ethan a helpless look. “I’ll be back in a bit, I guess.”

Ethan shrugged, watching him trudge toward the garage before wandering back upstairs. At first, he flopped down on Mason’s bed, scrolling through his phone aimlessly. But Emma’s laugh echoed in his mind again, drawing his attention to her creativity.

Should he go talk to her?

His fingers drummed against the edge of Mason’s desk. On one hand, he didn’t want to seem weird or give her the wrong idea. But on the other, she had seemed genuinely happy when they talked earlier, and maybe she’d appreciate having someone to bounce ideas off of.

The thought of sitting next to her, talking about those stories again, tugged at him. _She’s Mason’s sister,_ a voice in his head reminded him, but another, quieter voice replied, _So what? You’re just being nice._

Finally, he stood, shoving his hands into his pockets as he made his way down the hall. Emma’s room was easy to spot—her door was painted with bold red and blue stripes, her name written in block letters across the top in a mix of sharp black and playful silver. Ethan smirked at the sight. Of course, her door would be as creative as she was.

He paused, nerves bubbling up. _What if she thinks I’m bothering her?_ He shook his head, taking a breath before knocking lightly.

---

“Come in,” Emma called from inside.

Ethan pushed the door open, stepping into a room that was as vibrant as its door. Posters of superheroes and animated movies covered the walls, and the bed was a riot of mismatched pillows and blankets. Emma sat cross-legged in the middle, her sketchpad resting on her lap and colored pens scattered around her like confetti.

“Hey,” Ethan said, trying to sound casual. “Mason’s cleaning the garage, so I thought I’d see how your comic’s coming along.”

Emma glanced up, surprised but not displeased. “Oh, yeah? It’s going... okay, I guess.”

“Can I see?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. One of the pens rolled onto the floor, and Ethan picked it up, setting it back on the bed.

Emma hesitated for a moment before flipping to a page and handing it over. “I was working on this fight scene.”

The panel was dynamic, the lines sharp and full of movement. Ethan studied it, impressed as always. “This is insane. I don’t know how you make it all look so alive.”

Emma smiled shyly, leaning closer to point out a detail. “See here? This is where she dodges, but I think I messed up the angle on her arm.”

Ethan laughed. “I didn’t even notice. But now that you mention it…” He trailed off with a teasing grin, and Emma playfully shoved his shoulder.

“Shut up, you don’t know anything about anatomy,” she said, laughing.

“Fair enough.” Ethan grabbed one of the pens and drew a quick, wobbly stick figure in the corner of her page. “There. I think I fixed it.”

Emma burst into laughter, her shoulder brushing against his as she leaned closer to inspect his creation. “What is that supposed to be?”

“Clearly the coolest character you’ve ever seen,” Ethan said, feigning seriousness. “Look at the detail on those muscles.”

They both laughed so hard that one of the pens toppled off the bed, leaving a faint smudge on the white carpet. Emma noticed and gasped, but instead of panicking, she started giggling again.

“You’re such a bad influence,” she said, shaking her head as she wiped at the spot.

“Hey, it adds character,” Ethan joked, picking up another pen. “Want me to ruin more of your art?”

“Don’t you dare,” Emma said, nudging him with her knee.

Their closeness hit Ethan suddenly. Her knee brushed his thigh, and she was so close he could smell the faint scent of her shampoo, something light and floral. She was sitting cross-legged, the hem of her hoodie just brushing her knees, and he caught himself noticing the way her hair framed her face when she tilted her head. For a fleeting second, he thought about telling her she looked really good. But he stopped himself.

_No. Don’t go there._

Instead, he focused on her sketches again. _She’s just a kid,_ he reminded himself. _She needs someone to encourage her, not make it weird._ He decided he wanted to be her safe space, someone who supported her creativity without any expectations.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat and picking up another pen, “what’s this guy’s deal?” He pointed to a snarling villain she’d drawn in the background.

Emma’s face lit up as she launched into an explanation, and Ethan leaned back, content to listen. The moment felt surprisingly natural, her enthusiasm pulling him out of his own head. Whatever complicated feelings he might have had didn’t matter—what mattered was seeing her so happy, sharing the stories she clearly loved.

For now, that was more than enough.