"Do you think there's something going on between Steven and Jane? I mean… they seemed really off today." Alya's voice cut through the quiet, her sharp gaze flicking between the girls gathered in the room.
She hadn't called them here for nothing. Alya wanted answers, and she wanted them now. In her head, the options were clear: one—they were just getting to know each other. Two—something fishy, maybe even intimate, was happening. And three—Jane was flat-out throwing herself at Steven.
"Yeah…?" Rora was the first to speak, her voice thoughtful. "Option one makes sense. She's only been here, what, two and a half weeks? Still new. Still adjusting. Option two? No. Steven has a girlfriend, don't forget. And option three?" She paused, shaking her head. "Jane doesn't strike me as that type. Not at all."
Alya smirked faintly, crossing her arms. "Let's be real here. Steven's fun, he's handsome, and everything in between. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if my last option is the right one."
"You can't just jump to conclusions like that," Kiara cut in, her tone calm but edged with firmness. Her eyes locked onto Alya's, steady and challenging.
"Exactly," Chloe added quickly, backing her twin up. "You're assuming, and assumptions can be wrong. Really wrong." She glanced at Kiara, her chest warming when her twin gave her a subtle smile of approval.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Alya waved them off with a flick of her wrist. "All I'm saying is—there's something going on. Jane knows it. We should figure it out together." Her voice rang with certainty, as though she had appointed herself captain of their little ship.
"I'm out." Brittany's voice broke the tension. She yawned mid-sentence, stretching lazily. "First, it's none of our business. Second, I'm dead tired. And third—seriously, chill. Jane's just a girl. Whatever she's doing, it's her life. My advice? Stay away."
"Yes, Alya," Kiara added softly, but firmly enough to be heard. "Britney's right. Don't get yourself tangled in something pointless."
Reluctantly, the girls nodded, but Alya's jaw tightened.
"But what if—" she began, only for Chloe to hush her gently.
"Shhh. Breathe, milady. Just breathe." Chloe slipped behind Alya and began massaging her tense shoulders, her hands firm but careful.
"I'm just… worried," Alya admitted quietly, her voice smaller than before. "But fine. Like you all said—we'll stay away. Still, I want to talk to Jane soon. She barely speaks to anyone." She let her eyes close, the tension melting under Chloe's touch.
"She's shy," Rora said after a pause. "Even around Steven, you can tell. The way she carries herself—it's… I don't know the word. Reserved, maybe. But it's there." She sighed when the right word escaped her. "Never mind."
"I'm heading to my room, homies," Brittany mumbled, stretching again before shuffling out. She looked every bit as exhausted as she claimed.
One by one, the rest drifted off, until only Alya and Rora remained.
"Nighty, pumpkin," Rora whispered, curling under the sheets.
"Nighty, muffin," Alya replied softly, and soon the two of them were lost in sleep.
But Ivan was not.
His thoughts tangled in the dark, restless and loud. He tossed, turned, shifted, but sleep refused to come.
"What is this? What's wrong with me? Why am I getting worked up about their relationship?" he muttered into the emptiness of his room.
Ryan and Ivan were the only ones without roommates, but Ivan's room was different. Larger, quieter, and far more plain than the others. The walls were painted in muted shades of grey, the furniture minimal, almost bare, like a space designed more for thinking than for living. Where other rooms in the house carried warmth—posters, books, little bursts of personality—Ivan's remained stripped down, a reflection of him. Clean. Controlled. Detached. Normally, he liked it that way. But tonight, the stillness of the room felt oppressive. The silence pressed against him, and every shadow seemed to echo his own restless thoughts.
"I mean… she can do whatever she wants, with whoever she wants. So why the hell does it bug me so much?" He groaned in frustration, pressing his hands into his face.
"Yes, I like her," he admitted out loud, the words tasting bitter. "But I shouldn't be this bothered. I shouldn't."
He pushed himself out of bed and walked toward the window, the pale light of the moon spilling across his face.
"I don't even know if a world where it's just you and me exists," he whispered, his voice softer now, almost breaking. "Because right now… I feel hopeless."
He stayed there for a long time, staring at the moon, until exhaustion finally pulled him into uneasy sleep near dawn.
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Far away, in the large study, a voice rumbled low, breaking the silence. "How's he doing?" The man spoke without looking up, his hand wrapped around a cup of tea.
"The same," the woman answered quickly, her words clipped. "Why do you want him to change so badly? Can't you just let him do whatever makes him happy?" Her tone was sharp, nearly a shout, though her posture remained steady and composed.
"Look at what you did to our first son," the man snapped, finally raising his eyes to her. His gaze was sharp, but his anger sharper. "He's useless now. And you'd do the same to Ryan?"
She stiffened, her lips pressing into a line. "You know what? This is pointless. Ridiculous."
She stood abruptly, her heels striking the floor as she strode toward the door.
"Come to your senses soon, Penelope," he said calmly, his voice cutting even as she stormed out. "See that you're doing it all wrong."
She didn't pause. She didn't look back. The door slammed shut behind her.
Ryan's father knew how Ryan was and he blamed himself for what his first son turned out to be and what Ryan was slowly turning into because he was never at home for the kids and his wife loves fashion more than her kids. He didn't want to make the same mistake twice so he'd promised himself that he would never let Ryan become utterly useless.