"Hi, Auntie," Noah replied politely. "We're just helping out at home."
His eyes drifted, inevitably, toward Lila. Running into her like this was the last thing he needed.
She was staring at him, wide doe eyes hazy, almost damp, as if she'd stepped straight out of childhood again. The look unsettled him more than anger would have.
"So obedient," her mother said with a laugh. "Unlike ours. She's been hiding in her room since she got back. Took forever to drag her out."
Clearly, she still didn't know about the breakup.
"Why don't you take Lila for a walk, Noah?" she added cheerfully. "Evelyn and I can handle the groceries."
Noah felt sweat gather instantly at the base of his neck. He forced a polite smile, scrambling for an excuse, but his mind went blank.
A hand at his side tightened hard enough to hurt.
He turned slightly.
Evelyn's face was ice.
"We're actually done," she said smoothly. "We're heading back now. Sorry, Auntie."
"Oh? Alright then, next time."
They exchanged goodbyes. Lila's uncovered half of her face showed quiet resentment, but Noah didn't dare look too long. He turned away, relieved to have escaped.
Lila's family had done well in recent years. A risky investment had paid off handsomely; they could have moved to a bigger city long ago. They stayed, mostly out of attachment—to the town, to old neighbors.
Her future would be easy.
He would never be the son-in-law they expected.
"You look distracted," Evelyn said lightly, tapping his cheek. "Regretting it? Or wishing you'd gone with your little ex?"
"Of course not," he said quickly. "I'd rather be with you."
"With me," she echoed, tilting her head and smiling sweetly. "Because you're scared… or because you like me?"
"A little of both."
She stepped on his foot—not hard, just enough to sting. "After all I do for you, that's what I get?"
He laughed awkwardly and reached for the canvas bag heavy with groceries, trying to shift the mood. Then he stopped in front of a fruit stall.
A loud-voiced vendor waved him over. Noah crouched, eyes settling on the bright red lychees packed in foam crates.
"Want those?" Evelyn asked, leaning closer.
"Yeah. Let's get some."
"If you like them," she said softly, "we'll get plenty."
She filled a large bag without hesitation.
When he was little, if he got something good, he always ran to share it with her. She usually refused, letting him eat it instead.
Except once—he had shown up with lychees in both hands, grinning—and she'd actually taken some. He had never forgotten it.
He realized, standing there, that he didn't really know what she liked. She never seemed to care about material things.
Except him.
Back home, their mother was dozing on the couch. They lowered their voices and covered her with a blanket.
They both understood she hadn't neglected them out of indifference. She had simply been exhausted for years.
Lunch was their responsibility today. Noah wasn't much of a cook. He washed vegetables, peeled potatoes, handed things over.
Cold water ran over his fingers as he rinsed greens under the tap, the chill seeping into his skin.
Warmth pressed against his back.
Evelyn wrapped herself around him from behind, her body fitting against his spine, lips brushing his neck.
"What are you doing?" he whispered, startled.
"I didn't finish having fun this morning."
"Why now…?" His voice wavered as her hands slipped beneath his shirt again, cool fingers tracing along sensitive skin.
"Because this is more fun," she murmured. "You have to stay quiet. If Mom wakes up, that would be awkward."
"Eve… stop…"
"This is your punishment. Did you forget?"
Her fingers moved deliberately, seeking every spot that made him twitch. He couldn't hold back the laughter building in his throat, biting his lip, one hand flying up to cover his mouth.
"Mm—"
He could barely form words, the sensations scrambling his control. She exhaled against his ear, slow and warm, and pressed closer.
"Just a little longer," she said. "We still have time before lunch."
"Please… stop…"
"Not yet," she whispered, smiling. "Say you like me."
"I—I like you. I like you, okay?"
"So obedient," she said softly, withdrawing at last and straightening his clothes with careful hands.
Part of her wished he'd resisted longer. She loved the feeling of controlling him like that, of knowing she could make him soften and yield whenever she wanted.
She understood his concerns about their mother. She didn't want to upset her either.
But hiding felt wrong.
He was supposed to be hers openly.
She wanted the world to see whose name was written across him.
Noah drew in a steadying breath. "Can we… cook now?"
"Go ahead. Peel the potatoes. I'll handle the rest."
He nodded.
"And Noah," she added lightly, tying on her apron, "your skin is so soft. I'm jealous."
"I can't compare to you," he muttered.
The moment passed. She moved efficiently, practiced and calm. Soon the table was filled with steaming dishes, fragrant and spicy, drawing their mother from her nap.
Early autumn. Holiday break. A peaceful family meal.
As if nothing darker ever lurked beneath the light.
—
His hometown still looked exactly the way it had when he was a kid, as if more than a decade had slipped by without leaving a mark. The same apartment blocks, the same old trees, the same cracked basketball court, all of it overlapping perfectly with memory, so familiar it felt unreal.
Night had not fully fallen yet. In that in-between hour, when daylight thinned and darkness crept in slowly, people were out walking around the complex. Old pop songs blared from a speaker in the open square, loud and tinny, while groups of elderly residents danced in loose formation, moving stiffly but with stubborn enthusiasm.
Noah found an empty stone bench and sat down, watching the town lights flicker on one by one, letting the evening breeze brush across his face, carrying with it the warm, ordinary smell of home.
Someone placed a cup of milk tea into his hand.
He turned his head. Lila was already sitting beside him, her hair tied back in a ponytail.
"A new milk tea place opened on the main street," she said casually. "Their fruit tea's pretty good, and cheap too. We could go sit there sometime."
"Maybe another time," he replied, puncturing the plastic seal and taking a sip. "You asked me out… is something wrong?"
"Do I need a reason?" she said lightly. "Can't I just take a walk with you? It's been so long since we actually talked."
He fell silent. The image of her old self, proud and temperamental, had been carved too deeply into his memory. This quieter version, one that had learned to lower her voice and soften her edges, felt unfamiliar, almost unsettling.
"We already—"
"So that's it?" she cut in before he could finish. "Not even friends anymore? Just strangers for the rest of our lives?"
He stopped. When he thought about it, there was no real need to draw such hard lines. They hadn't ended things in flames. A walk, a conversation, still fell within what friends could reasonably do.
Lately, though, he couldn't explain the unease sitting in his chest. It felt as if he needed to keep his distance from every girl his age, as though invisible walls had closed in around him, a cage he hadn't noticed being built.
"Alright," he said after a pause. "Want to walk for a bit?"
"Let's sit a little longer," Lila replied, tilting her head toward the dancing seniors. "It's funny. After all these years, it's still the same people out here."
"A couple of them passed away," he said quietly. "I think Ms. Carter's family."
"Oh… Ms. Carter," she murmured. "When we were kids, after dinner, we'd run around here, and if we ran into her, she'd always stuff candy into our pockets."
"Yeah," he said. "She always gave me extra and told me to bring some back to my sister."
He remembered it clearly. Evelyn had always been the neighborhood example child, polite, capable, adored by adults. When they gave him treats, they often told him to share them with her, though in the end, most of it still ended up with him.
"Evelyn," Lila said softly, the name itself seeming to irritate her. Images of the way Evelyn touched him, looked at him, rose unbidden. "Noah… does she like you?"
"She does," he answered without hesitation. "She's my sister. Of course she likes me. Why else would she treat me so well?"
"You know that's not what I mean."
His deflection only made her more certain. Using their sibling relationship as a shield felt thin, almost laughable.
He held the warm cup in his hands, stalling, searching for a way around the question, but Lila spoke again before he could find one.
"I didn't tell my parents about the breakup," she said. "I figured… you wouldn't want your mom to know either."
"Thanks," he said quietly.
"But how long do you plan to hide it?"
He didn't know. Her willingness to help should have been a relief. If not, the relationship between their families would inevitably grow awkward. But avoiding the truth forever wasn't possible either. Distance, eventually, would give them away. He couldn't ask her to keep acting forever.
Maybe… there was a solution.
He turned to look at her. Her expression was calm, unreadable, her voice steady. "I can do it," she said. "I won't make things hard for you anymore."
He closed his eyes, as if trying to shut out everything that made his chest tighten. "Let me rest a little longer," he said finally. "At least for now. There's no rush. Thank you, Lila."
"Suit yourself," she replied flatly. "It's not like I can force you."
"I should head back."
He stood, brushing dust from his pants, draining the last of the milk tea.
"Not staying a bit longer?"
"There's stuff at home."
He had slipped out without telling Evelyn. The vague guilt sitting under his ribs urged him to go back quickly. He remembered what she'd said before. This was her line. Her reverse scale.
And yet, weren't they still just siblings? Why did he feel so on edge?
Her possessiveness shouldn't exist. He knew that. And still, he couldn't stop it. It was as if every other path had been quietly cut off, leaving him only one direction to walk, toward the future she had already decided on.
When he got home, the TV was on in the living room, playing a familiar family drama. His mother sat on the couch, watching with relaxed focus, enjoying a rare moment of rest.
She smiled when she saw him. "You're back. Where'd you go? Want to sit with me and watch for a bit?"
"I walked around the park," he said. "I'm going to check on my sister first. Where is she?"
"She just finished showering. She's in her room. Need her for something?"
"Yeah. I'll be right back."
He knocked and stepped into Evelyn's room after she answered. She was sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to him, a thick textbook open in her hands.
"Where did you go by yourself," she said without turning around, her voice carrying a trace of grievance. "Didn't even take your sister with you."
"Just the park," he replied lightly. "You're always tired, so I thought you should rest."
"Really?" She flipped a page slowly. "You're sure you weren't hiding something from me?"
His heart jumped. He steadied himself and lied smoothly, already backing toward the door. "Why would I lie to you? I'm going to watch TV with Mom. You should sleep early."
"Don't run," she said calmly. "Come here. Lie across my legs."
"Eve…" He approached anyway, unease prickling under his skin, and sat beside her.
She wore a loose T-shirt that hung low over her hips, the hem covering part of her thighs, leaving long, pale legs bare. It took him a second to realize she wasn't wearing pants.
Before he could say anything, she leaned in, nose brushing his collarbone and neck, inhaling slowly.
"There's another girl's scent on you," she said coolly. "Did you go see someone else?"
"No," he said quickly. "You're imagining things."
"Do I need to spank you until it hurts before you tell the truth?" she asked, her tone light but dangerous. "You come home and suddenly you're this bold."
"It really wasn't that," he said, swallowing. "Maybe you should put some pants on. If someone sees—"
"I'm not going out again today," she replied. "It's just you and Mom."
He tried another angle. "Did you eat the lychees from the fridge? How were they? I remember you liking them."
"You thought I liked them because of that one time when you were little?" she said, smiling faintly. "I only ate them because you'd had too many and I was worried you'd get sick."
She closed the book, set it aside, and pushed him down onto the bed, climbing over him.
"You were wrong both times," she said softly. "I don't like lychees. And I'm not as easy to deal with as you think."