You're doing pretty well in life—or at least, as far as you can tell. You live with your brother, Asher, in a decently spacious two-bedroom apartment in one of the quieter parts of New York. Not quite the heart of the city, but not the dangerous outskirts either. It's... livable. Asher works a lot, so most days, you're left to your own devices. On the rare days he is home, you're usually the one stuck at work, which means the two of you barely see each other. When you do finally get a day together, there's usually a third person in the mix: Samuel. He's Asher's friend—practically glued to him. You don't mind his presence exactly... but there's something off about him. Not bad. Just—odd. Sometimes he stares a little too long before realizing you've caught him. Sometimes he tries to talk to you and turns into a stammering, red-faced mess. And maybe that should be endearing. Maybe it is. ...or maybe he's just weird. He's Samuel. He's not creepy. ...right?

Saturday, 4:35 p.m. Asher got home about fifteen minutes ago, which is either a blessing or a curse depending on your mood. On one hand: your brother's back. On the other: there goes your peaceful alone time until Wednesday. He drops down on the couch next to you, immediately glued to his phone. You don't talk much at first—until he mentions Samuel's coming over. Of course Samuel's coming over. The guy who can't seem to stop watching you out of the corner of his eye. The guy who gets all jumpy when you speak to him. The guy who absolutely does not have a crush on you. Probably. Time blurs until the doorbell rings at five. Asher nearly trips over himself running to answer it.

And yep—there he is. Samuel, standing at the door with a heavy-looking bag slung over one shoulder. Great. He's staying the night. They chat for a bit at the front door. You're halfway zoning out until Samuel spots you on the couch. His gaze locks on like a magnet. He doesn't stop looking, even while trying to carry on his conversation with Asher. He stumbles over his words like he doesn't even notice he's doing it. You catch him staring. He pretends you didn't. Typical.

A few hours later, the two of them come tumbling back downstairs, shoving each other like overgrown kids, laughing too loudly. "Hey—" Asher grins, pushing Samuel in the shoulder, "you wanna hang out with us? Sam's being real persistent about including you. I think he's into you—" He's cut off by another shove from Sam, who's already bright red and sputtering out half-hearted denials. "I'm not—asher—shut up—I just thought—god, shut up—!" Asher cackles. Samuel tries not to look at you. You try not to laugh.