The first morning in the Morgan's household starts with me almost brushing my teeth with anti-fungal cream.
I stumble into the shared bathroom, still half-asleep, my hoodie hanging off one shoulder, eyes crusted shut. I reach for the tube on the counter, squeeze it onto my toothbrush, and just as it's about to hit my mouth I catch the scent.
Minty, but weirdly chemical.
"Jesus!" I gag, dropping the toothbrush like it's radioactive.
A slow clap echoes from the doorway.
"You know, most people just read the label," Tyler says, leaning against the frame like he owns the place. He's shirtless, of course. Just plaid pajama pants and smugness.
I grab the nearest towel and throw it at him.
"Privacy, ever heard of it?"
He catches it one handed. Show off.
"Shared bathroom," he shrugs. "You're lucky I didn't walk in during your sad shower karaoke."
I glare at him, snatching my actual toothpaste from the drawer I claimed last night. It has a sticker now. A literal sticker. Because apparently, territorial toothpaste wars are a thing.
"What happened to the bathroom in your room?" I asked,but he ignored my question. He watches me for a second longer than necessary.
"Nice pajamas. Are those dinosaurs?"
"They're dragons. And they breathe fire. Unlike your breath, which smells like lies and bad decisions."
He grins and backs away, hands raised.
"Touché."
Breakfast is an awkward affair.
Mom and Mr. Morgan sit on one side of the table, sipping coffee like it's a scene from a cozy family sitcom. Tyler and I sit opposite each other, the emotional equivalent of an active minefield.
"So," Mr. Morgan says, buttering a croissant. "You two are both seniors. That should be fun."
Fun. Right. If by fun, you mean mortal combat with textbooks.
"Yeah," Tyler says, flashing his movie star smile. "Can't wait to carpool."
I nearly choke on my orange juice.
"Carpool?"
Mom beams. "Isn't that perfect? You can bond!"
"Or crash," I mutter.
Tyler kicks me under the table. Not hard. Just enough to say, I'm still in charge here.I stab my eggs like they've insulted me personally.
After breakfast, I escape to my room and try to breathe. I pull out my phone, scroll through messages I haven't answered, and finally open the one from Dan.
Dan: How's stepbrother hell?
Me: Worse than expected. He's shirtless. A lot.
Dan: Ugh. The hot enemy trope. Classic. Just don't fall in love with him.
I throw my phone across the bed like it burned me.
That afternoon, I find Tyler in the kitchen, raiding the fridge. He looks over his shoulder when I walk in.
"You eat leftovers, or are you one of those organic only, cruelty free air kind of guys?"
I grab a soda and lean against the counter.
"I eat sarcasm for breakfast. Goes really well with trauma."
He smirks. "Goes down smooth, huh?"
We stand in silence for a moment, not exactly hostile, but not friendly either. It's weird. This weird gray space between hate and... something else. Something I don't want to name.
He turns to leave, then pauses.
"You know, I never hated you."
I blink. "What?"
He shrugs, but there's something in his voice. Something heavy.
"You were just... easy to mess with."
My chest tightens. Is that supposed to make it better?
He leaves before I can reply.
And I'm left there, alone in the kitchen, wondering what the hell that meant.
Later, I go to the backyard just to breathe. The sky is gray, clouds heavy, like they're holding back something they're not ready to say.
Just like me.
I sit on the steps and stare at the grass. It's cut too neatly. Like someone manicured the chaos right out of it.
"You okay?"
I look up. Mom. She sits beside me, tugging her cardigan tighter.
"Yeah. Just... adjusting."
"He's not that bad, you know. Tyler. He just doesn't let people in easily."
I scoff. "Yeah, unless you count his soccer team, the cheerleaders, and half the teachers."
Mom gives me a look. The one that says, "Be nice. Or at least pretend."
"I just want this to work," she says softly. "For all of us."
I nod, not because I agree, but because she looks so hopeful it hurts.
That night, I hear laughter through the walls. Mom and Mr. Morgan are watching something in the living room. Tyler's door is shut. Mine too.
I lie awake staring at the ceiling.
What did he mean? Why say that now?
I reach for my phone again.
Me: Dan. I think Tyler just tried to be deep.
Dan: Abort. That's a trap. Emotions are traps.
I smile a little. But I can't shake the feeling.
Something's changing.
And I don't know if I'm ready for it.
The next morning doesn't go much better. I walk into the kitchen and find Tyler already at the table, eating cereal and watching a video on his phone with one earbud in. His hair's still damp, and for some reason that makes him look less like a villain and more like a guy my brain should not be noticing.
"Hey," he says without looking up. "I left you some coffee."
I blink. "Why?"
He shrugs. "You look like the type who commits crimes without caffeine. I'm trying to stay alive."
"did you poison it ?" I ask
"Maybe" he says without looking at me
I stare at the cup for a moment. It's steaming. Fresh. Not poisoned. Probably. I sit across from him and take a careful sip.
It's... good. Rich. Not burnt like my usual instant stuff.
"Thanks," I mumble, surprised by my own voice.
He glances at me, one eyebrow raised,like he is surprised I said it. "Did hell just freeze over or...?"
I roll my eyes and toss a sugar packet at him. It hits his chest and falls into his bowl. He grins.
"There he is."
Something about that moment ,quiet, weirdly domestic, sticks with me the whole day. And I hate how easily I remember it.
Because if I start to enjoy this... even a little...
Then I'm totally screwed.