Bryan

Mom walked into the living room, her steps slow and drained, exhaustion etched on her face.

She stretched, suppressing a huge yawn.

"Hey, Bryan," she mumbled sleepily. "I'm going upstairs to take a quick nap. I've been up for a few days without much rest."

Without another word, she disappeared down the hall, leaving the room quiet and still.

Henry turned to me, his hand finding mine, fingers warm and steady against my skin.

"Why don't we finish the movie in your room?" he suggested, voice soft and easy. "That way, we won't disturb her sleep with the big TV."

I paused, then nodded.

"Okay." We stood up and headed to my room.

As we walked in, Henry glanced around like he hadn't seen it before—even though he had. He was such a dork. Posters of Ozzy the Max lined the walls—one of the most popular bands out there, known for playing straight from the heart. My bed wasn't some cramped twin either—it was a full, draped in a deep red comforter that added a little drama to the room. A lava lamp glowed softly on the nightstand beside it, and a few books were stacked neatly on the shelf above my computer desk.

Oreo was curled up right in the middle of the bed, fast asleep. His eyes flickered open, and the second he saw me, his grouchy little self stretched out with a long yawn. Then he waddled over like a drunk man, rubbed the side of his head against my hand like he was doing me a favor... and darted out of the room like the crackhead he is.

Henry laughed. "He's such a menace."

"Yeah, but he's my sister's menace," I said, grinning as we sat down on the bed together. "She found him on a rainy day when she was thirteen, soaked from head to toe. He was just a kitten then. And man, she begged Mom like a madwoman to keep him. It was the first time she ever really asked for anything."

I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV across the room, putting the movie we'd been watching back on. The screen flickered to life, casting soft light over us as we settled in, close, comfortable, like we'd done this a hundred times before.

We snuggled for a while, his presence so familiar, so safe, but something beneath it—something unspoken—hung between us. 

The warmth of the room shifted, not just from the closeness of our bodies, but from the growing tension, thickening like the air itself.

Every breath felt heavier.

Every movement—charged, deliberate.

I could feel the weight of his gaze—steady, searching, reading the emotions I hadn't yet found the words for. Then he leaned in, close enough for his breath to brush my skin, and the world narrowed to the space between us. His hand found my thigh, grounding me, and his kiss came hard and urgent, like he'd been holding it back for far too long.

A soft moan escaped him as I reached for the back of his neck, fingers threading through his red hair. I closed my eyes, and our lips parted just enough for him to slip his tongue in—slow, deliberate. Our mouths moved in sync, overlapping, deepening the kiss until it felt like we were breathing each other in.

Then he pulled back just enough to hover over me, peeling off his shirt with a grin that was all heat and hunger. His eyes gleamed as he licked his lips, like he was about to devour the best meal of his life. He leaned back in—and this time, I let him. It had been a while since we'd had the chance to do this.

I turned up the TV just a notch, letting the sound mask what we were about to become.

And then— A knock at the door.

"Hey, bro, where's Mom?" Jackson's voice filtered through, casual but expectant.

I sighed, forehead dropping back against the pillow. "She's asleep!" I hollered.

A pause.

"Oh. Well... shit. I was gonna see if I could borrow her hair dryer," he said—right as he swung the door open, before Henry had a chance to move away.

And there stood my brother, frozen, wide-eyed, jaw practically on the floor. Completely shocked.

His expression flickered between disbelief and sheer awkward panic, his gaze darting between me and Henry. But the panic didn't last long. His face twisted into a smirk.

For a split second, none of us moved.

Then, he slowly, deliberately, started closing the door, like he could erase the scene from existence. "Have fun fucking," he muttered.

But I reacted fast.

I launched forward, grabbing his arm before he could shut the door all the way, and dragged his startled self into the room.

"Nope. You're not running away from this," I said, locking the door behind him.

—

After the movie ended, Henry stretched and stood up, letting out a tired sigh.

"I should head out," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. "Gotta be up early for work tomorrow."

I nodded, the quiet comfort of the evening settling in like a blanket.

"Alright. Sleep well."

He gave me a small, lingering smile and kissed my cheek before grabbing his jacket and heading for the door.

The house settled into a soft silence, wrapping around me and Jackson like a fragile cocoon.

The glow of the TV flickered across the room, casting long, stretching shadows against the walls.

Jackson had snuck a horror movie from his room, and we watched it on low volume—the quiet only adding to the eerie suspense. It felt like we weren't supposed to be watching it at all.

Time slipped by, each chilling scene pulling us in deeper.

Then—

Raised voices shattered the peace.

Mom and Anna.

Fighting.

The air shifted, thickening with unseen weight as frustration bled through the walls—sharp, raw, and impossible to ignore.

The once-calm space twisted, tense, charged, like a storm brewing just beyond reach.

Anna

I woke to the soft glow of morning light spilling through the window, warmth curling around me like a quiet embrace.

Something solid and protective pressed against my side.

As I shifted, a familiar weight tightened around me—an arm wrapped securely across my waist.

Nick.

His shoulder-length hair had fallen messily across his face, strands catching the light, and his thick eyelashes rested against his cheek, peaceful, unbothered.

I giggled, brushing his hair back with my fingers, letting them linger.

The moment I did, a slow grin spread across his face—lazy, teasing—before his eyes fluttered open.

"Hey, sleepyhead," he murmured, voice husky from sleep, his emerald gaze warm and knowing.

"Nick," I whispered, watching him closely. His name barely left my lips before I started to sit up.

But before I could escape, he grabbed my arm and tugged me back into his hold.

I gasped as I fell against him, his arms tightening like he had no intention of letting go.

"Nope. You're mine, Princess," he whispered, lips brushing the crown of my head, voice dripping with something both possessive and playful.

"Nick, come on," I groaned, half-heartedly squirming in his grip.

But he just chuckled, burying his face in my hair, his breath warm against my skin.

I sighed, giving in, melting against him.

He was always clinging to me.

And honestly?

I didn't hate it.

I kinda really liked it.

His cute side—the way he held on like I was something precious, something he never wanted to let slip away.

Nick hummed against my hair, fingers lazily tracing circles along my arm, his grip tightening just enough to keep me there.

"You're too warm," I mumbled, attempting one last push against his chest.

He chuckled. "Then stop being so soft, Princess."

I groaned, flopping back against him, which only made him laugh harder.

"There she goes," he teased.

"Shut up," I muttered.

But when I glanced up at him, his gaze had softened—deep, fond, something undeniably gentle settling in his emerald eyes.

"I like this," he murmured, voice quieter now. "Being close to you."

Heat crept into my cheeks.

"You're so sappy."

"Only for you."

The words sent a shiver down my spine—unexpectedly bold, yet undeniably his. The kind of response that always caught me off guard, always left me breathless for just a second.

Before I could retaliate, he leaned down, brushing the tip of his nose against mine, his voice nothing but a whisper.

"Come on. Just five more minutes," he coaxed, teasing, but soft. Not a demand, but a quiet request. One that made giving in way too easy.

And against all logic, I sighed, letting my forehead rest against his shoulder, my lips curling into the faintest smile.

"Fine. But only five."

"Mmm. You say that now."

I relaxed against him, letting the warmth of his arms and the softness of the moment wash over me—letting that rare, quiet happiness take hold.

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Hey, lovely readers 🖤

This chapter is about closeness—how it comforts, how it complicates, and how it sometimes collides with reality. Bryan and Henry share a moment that’s been building for years, only to be interrupted by the kind of sibling chaos that makes everything feel real. Anna wakes up wrapped in warmth, but the night before still lingers in her bones.

Echo and I leaned into the contrast: the heat of connection vs. the chill of being watched. The softness of love vs. the sharpness of family tension. And somewhere in the middle? The quiet truth that love—especially hidden love—always comes with a cost.

Thank you for walking through the rewrites with us. These scenes are deeper now. More vulnerable. More dangerous. And the storm is still gathering.

🕯️ Stay tender. Stay watching. Stay bitten. —Luna-chan🥀

Next time...

What Allen offered wasn't salvation. It was seduction—with fangs and a smile.

Chapter 12 is coming. And it bites.

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