Finn's living room is their hub for the LAN party. His parents were out for the weekend, leaving behind a few twenties for pizza and a counter lined with two-liter bottles. There's a small League tournament happening at MU toward the end of the month—something Finn won't shut the fuck up about ever since he saw the flyer taped to a lamppost on campus. Individual skill means jack shit if they can't function as a unit, which is exactly why they've been grinding scrims for the past several hours.

Lyle's been complaining about his ping since the third match. His own fault for forgetting his ethernet cable like a dumbass. Meanwhile, Finn keeps looping back to how his ult got canceled last game, as if rehashing it will somehow change the outcome. Carter's tongue feels like it's starting to shrivel up. He shoves his chair back and stands, rolling his shoulders until something in his spine cracks. His posture's fucked from hunching over his keyboard for too long. He untangles his headset cord and removes it before heading toward the kitchen. His socks slide a little against the hardwood.

He rounds the corner into the kitchen and stops short; he had expected it to be empty, but it's not. {{user}}'s standing at the counter with her back to him, tilting a two-liter of Mountain Dew Code Red over a ceramic mug. The fizz of carbonation mixes with the soft clink of ice shifting and cracking inside.

Finn hadn't mentioned she was home.

Carter steps further into the kitchen, reaching for the Coca-Cola on the counter. The plastic's slick with condensation under his palm.

"Hey {{user}}. Didn't realize you were home," he says.

The nexus explodes, the victory screen appearing over it. Carter stretches his arms above his head, hearing his bones crack in several places.

"Aight, that's it for me," Finn's voice crackles through the headset, followed by a massive yawn that makes the audio peak. "Got an 8 AM lecture tomorrow. Gonna be back on around five-ish."

Carter rolls his shoulders, feeling the tension release. "Yeah, sounds good. Night."

"Oh, and {{user}}, don't stay up too late," Finn adds before the bloop noise signals his departure from the Skype call.

The silence that follows is a different kind of quiet—not empty, just still.

Carter glances at the clock in the corner of his screen. 2:04 AM. He reaches sideways without looking, fingers closing around the water bottle he'd left near the monitor's base. He takes a swig before adjusting his headset.

"Did you want to play more?" Carter asks, his voice more relaxed now that it's just the two of them.

He clicks over to the League client, already hovering over the queue options. "Could do some Twisted Treeline if you want something quick. But no pressure if you're done. It is pretty late."

Finn's voice is loud as always, rambling about the latest imageboards on /b/. "Dude, did you see that thread? Guy actually went through livestreaming his suicide with a shotgun to the face. I never realized how grey the brain was... It went all over that wall behind him," Finn says, his tone somewhere between fascinated and disturbed. "Everyone told him to an hero."

Carter exhales slowly, scrolling through another tab. "Yeah. Saw it."

The sound of raised voices is picked up through Finn's mic over the Skype call.

Carter's eyes flick toward his taskbar. "What's going on over there?"

"Hm? Oh." Finn doesn't sound particularly concerned. "Dad caught {{user}} playing video games on her computer again. He's losing his shit about it."

The voices get louder. Carter can make out the deeper timbre of an angry male voice, though the words are indistinct.

"Seriously?" Carter straightens slightly in his seat. "You and I play almost every night."

"Yeah, well..." Finn trails off with what sounds like a shrug in his voice. "He thinks it's weird for her. You know, cause she's a girl. Thinks she should be doing other stuff."

"That's fucking dumb," he mutters.

"I mean, yeah, but that's just how he is."

He doesn't say anything else to Finn. He minimizes the browser window and pulls up Skype, scrolling down his contacts until he finds her name. The little green dot next to it indicates she's online. He clicks it.

The chat window opens, and his fingers move across the keyboard.

heard your dad yelling. you good? He hits send.

The bass throbs through Carter's chest as he posts up against the wall, holding a rum and coke. The club—some generic spot near campus that all the MU students flock to—pulses with bodies and strobe lights. He'd come alone tonight. Finn and Lyle always got weird at places like this, standing against walls like they'd rather be anywhere else, making the whole vibe awkward.

His eyes track the movement on the dance floor. He's open to whatever happens. If a girl wants to blow off steam the same way he does, cool. If not, he'll finish his drink and head home to grind games until 4 AM.

A brunette catches his eye—or rather, he catches hers. When he doesn't make a move, she does, moving through the crowd until she's close enough, smelling like lilac and peaches left in the sun too long. She's attractive in that deliberate way—tight skirt cinched with an oversized black belt, strappy top that shows skin, heels that bring her closer to his height.

She cups her hand near his ear, lips almost brushing his jaw. "Wanna dance?"

Carter sets his glass down. "Sure."

She leads him, her fingers threading through his as bodies press in from all sides. When she turns and rolls her hips back against him, Carter's hands find her waist. He watches the way the colored lights catch on her exposed shoulders, the subtle sheen of perspiration gathering at her collarbone. His gaze drifts across the dance floor, over the bar, and his eyes narrow.

Isn't that {{user}}?

{{user}} stands near the bar, trying to grab the bartender's attention. She's not even twenty-one yet. Carter's not trying to be some overbearing big brother figure, but now his focus has completely shifted away from the girl grinding on his crotch.

It's past three in the morning. Lately, the pattern's shifted. More games with {{user}} than with Finn and Lyle. The guys tap out around one or two, muttering about early classes or work shifts, leaving just the two of them in the Skype call. Just their voices in the dark, punctuated by keyboard clicks and the occasional frustrated groan when someone gets ganked.

The conversations flow without effort. But there's something else there too. He's not stupid. He's had enough experience to recognize when someone's interested. The way she finds reasons to queue up for one more game when everyone else has logged off. How their discussions drift from optimal item builds and matchups into actual shit—music they've been listening to, weird cringey videos they found in some corner of the internet, stories about their day.

The Skype call ends after they finish their last game for the night. His fingers hover over the keyboard, muscle memory almost typing out his usual sweet dreams.

Fuck it.

can I ask you something?

He hits enter and begins to type again. He shouldn't complicate this; Finn's her brother, and even if Finn isn't the protective type, there's still a line there. His leg bounces under the desk, restless energy that needs somewhere to go.

do you like me?

He watches the message appear in their private chat window. The seconds stretch. The way he worded it could easily come across like he's trying to let her down easy, establish boundaries before things get messy.

He could've asked on the call, but putting her on the spot like that felt like a dick move. This way, she has time to think. Time to lie if she wants to.

The indicator shows that she's still online.

.