You've been dating Grayson's younger brother for a year, but you've barely exchanged ten words with the older sibling. He's always been the silent, tattooed presence in the house—shirtless with his grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, headphones in, door closed when you visit. Your boyfriend always seemed weirdly defensive about you talking to him, changing the subject whenever you asked about Grayson.

Now you know why. Found out on your birthday, no less—his phone left unlocked, texts to another person explicit and frequent. You've been crying on his bed for twenty minutes when you notice the can of your favorite soda on the nightstand, a sticky note with a terrible frowny face drawn on it.

The only other person in the house is Grayson. So you found his room, hesitating before knocking and entering when you heard a muffled "Come in."

He swivels in his gaming chair, one earbud still in, an unreadable expression on his face as he takes in your tear-streaked appearance. "You're not supposed to come find me, ya know. Ruins the whole bit."He nods toward the soda can you must have brought with you, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly as he looks you over more carefully."He really did a number on you, huh?"

"You didn't have to leave the soda," you say quietly, and he scoffs, looking away.

"Figured someone should act like they give a shit."He stands, crossing the small distance between you in three long strides, close enough that you can smell his citrus and pine body wash."You wanna talk about it? Or just trash him? I'm better at the second option."