Chapter 1: The Line We Crossed

The house felt different when they were alone.

Elijah had noticed it the moment his father's car disappeared around the corner three days ago, taking both parents on their long-awaited anniversary trip to Napa. Without the buffer of adult presence, the tension that usually simmered beneath polite family dinners and forced movie nights had thickened into something almost tangible.

He stood in the kitchen now, mechanically chopping vegetables for a stir-fry he didn't particularly want to eat, his shoulders carrying that familiar knot of stress that seemed permanently lodged there whenever Samantha was in the vicinity. The sound of her music drifted down from upstairs—some indie rock band with a vocalist who screamed like the world was ending. It had been going for two hours straight.

At least she's contained, he thought, tossing bell peppers into the hot oil with more force than necessary. The sizzle was satisfying, drowning out the bass line that seemed to pulse through the floorboards directly into his skull.

Three years. Three years since their parents had married and merged their broken families into this awkward constellation of forced civility. Three years of walking on eggshells, of being the responsible one, of playing the role of protective older brother to a girl who looked at him like he was the enemy.

And maybe he was.

Elijah pushed his dark hair back from his forehead, ignoring the way it immediately fell back into his eyes. He needed a haircut, but that would require leaving the house, and lately, the idea of going anywhere felt exhausting. College, work, home—rinse and repeat. The only constant was Sam's presence, like a storm cloud that followed him everywhere.

The music cut off abruptly.

The sudden silence was somehow worse than the noise. Elijah found himself straining to hear any sign of movement upstairs, his hands stilling on the wooden spoon. In the quiet, he could hear his own heartbeat, steady and too loud.

This is ridiculous, he told himself. She's probably just changing songs.

But minutes passed, and the silence stretched on. Despite himself, Elijah felt a familiar twist of concern in his chest. Sam was many things—chaotic, infuriating, beautiful in a way that made his jaw clench—but she was never quiet.

The concern won.

He turned off the burner and took the stairs two at a time, his bare feet silent on the carpet. Her door was closed, painted wood decorated with a collection of band stickers and art supply catalogs she'd never bothered to remove. He raised his hand to knock, then hesitated.

They'd had another fight this morning. Something stupid about dirty dishes and whose turn it was to take out the trash. But with Sam, it was never really about the dishes. It was about the way she looked at him like he was failing some test he didn't know he was taking. It was about the space between them that felt simultaneously too much and not enough.

He knocked. "Sam? You okay in there?"

No answer.

"Sam, I'm coming in."

He turned the handle before she could protest, stepping into her familiar chaos. Canvases leaned against every available wall surface, some finished, others abandoned mid-stroke. The smell of acrylic paint and turpentine hung in the air, mixed with her shampoo—something fruity that always made him think of summer.

She was sitting on her bed, back against the headboard, knees drawn up to her chest. Her blonde hair fell in waves around her face, hiding her expression, but he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers gripped her bare shins.

"What's wrong?" The question came out softer than he'd intended.

She looked up then, and the raw vulnerability in her blue eyes hit him like a physical blow. Her face was flushed, whether from crying or anger he couldn't tell, but her lips were pressed into a tight line that he recognized as her trying not to fall apart completely.

"Nothing," she said, but her voice cracked on the word. "Everything's fucking perfect, Elijah. Just like always."

He should have left then. Should have backed out of her room and pretended he'd never seen her like this—stripped of her usual fire, looking young and lost and heartbreakingly beautiful. Instead, he found himself stepping closer, his protective instincts overriding common sense.

"That's obviously not true." He sat on the edge of her bed, careful to maintain distance. "What happened?"

Sam laughed, but it was bitter. "You really want to know? Or are you just asking because you think you're supposed to?"

"I'm asking because I care." The admission surprised them both.

For a moment, her mask slipped entirely. He saw the Sam who used to sneak into his room during thunderstorms before everything got complicated, before they learned to hurt each other with surgical precision.

"I called Mom," she said quietly. "Wanted to tell her about my portfolio review next week. She was too busy to talk. Again." Her voice grew smaller. "Sometimes I think she married your dad just so she wouldn't have to deal with me anymore."

The words hung between them, raw and painful. Elijah felt something crack in his chest—the careful wall he'd built to keep her at arm's length.

"That's not true," he said firmly. "She loves you, Sam. She's just... bad at showing it sometimes."

"Like you?" The question was barely a whisper, but it landed like a punch.

Their eyes met across the space that had always been too much and not enough, and suddenly the air felt electric. Dangerous. Everything he'd been trying to ignore for three years crystallized in that moment—the way she bit her lower lip when she was nervous, the flush creeping up her throat, the way she was looking at him like he might be the answer to a question she was afraid to ask.

"Sam..." His voice was rough, warning.

She shifted closer, close enough that he could see the paint stain on her oversized t-shirt, close enough to count the freckles across her nose.

"I'm tired of pretending," she whispered. "Aren't you tired, Elijah?"

Yes. The word screamed in his head, but he couldn't say it. Couldn't cross that line.

But then she was reaching for him, her fingers ghosting across his jaw, and every rational thought scattered. The contact was electric, sending shockwaves through his entire system. He should have pulled away. Should have been the responsible one, like always.

Instead, he caught her wrist, his thumb brushing across her pulse point. Her heart was racing.

"We can't," he said, but his grip tightened.

"Why?" Her blue eyes were fierce now, challenging. "Because they got married? Because you're afraid of what people will think?"

"Because you're my—"

"I'm not your anything," she cut him off, her voice sharp. "That's the problem, isn't it? I'm just some burden you got stuck with. Someone you have to tolerate."

The accusation stung because it was partially true, but not in the way she thought. She wasn't a burden—she was a temptation he couldn't afford. A want so deep it scared him.

"You don't understand," he started, but she was already pulling away, hurt flashing across her features.

"No, I understand perfectly." Her voice was cold now, armor sliding back into place. "Sorry for bothering you, brother. Go back to your vegetables."

The dismissal hit him like a slap. Years of frustration, of walking on eggshells, of pretending he didn't notice the way she looked in those tiny shorts or how her laugh made his chest tight, all of it came rushing to the surface.

"You want to know what I don't understand?" He was standing now, looming over her. "I don't understand why you go out of your way to make my life hell. I don't understand why every conversation with you feels like a war. And I really don't understand why you're looking at me like... like..."

"Like what?" She was on her feet too, chin tilted up defiantly despite the tears threatening to spill over.

"Like you want me to kiss you."

The words hung in the air between them, dangerous and true. Sam's breath caught, her lips parting slightly, and Elijah knew he'd crossed a line there was no coming back from.

"Maybe I do," she whispered.

The admission shattered his control.

He moved without thinking, hands framing her face as his mouth crashed against hers. She melted into him immediately, her arms winding around his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss was desperate, angry, three years of tension and want poured into the slide of lips and tongue.

She tasted like cherry lip balm and bad decisions.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, the weight of what they'd done settled between them like a third presence in the room.

"Fuck," Elijah breathed, running his hands through his hair. "Fuck, Sam, we can't—"

"Don't," she said sharply. "Don't you dare take it back."

But he was already backing toward the door, panic replacing desire. "This was a mistake."

The hurt that flashed across her face was quickly replaced by fury. "Of course it was. Everything with me is a mistake, right? That's what you do, Elijah. You run away the second things get real."

"I'm trying to protect us both."

"From what? From feeling something?" She stepped closer, her blue eyes blazing. "You felt it too. Don't pretend you didn't."

He had felt it. Christ, he was still feeling it—the phantom pressure of her lips against his, the way she'd fit perfectly against him, like two pieces of a puzzle he'd been trying not to solve.

"It doesn't matter what I felt," he said roughly. "We're family, Sam. This is—"

"We're not family!" The words exploded out of her. "We're two people who got stuck together by our parents' bad choices. And you know what? At least I'm honest about what I want."

She was right in front of him now, close enough that he could see the hurt beneath her anger, the vulnerability she was trying so hard to hide.

"What do you want, Sam?" The question came out as barely more than a whisper.

Her answer was to rise up on her toes and kiss him again, softer this time but no less devastating. And God help him, he kissed her back, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

This time when they broke apart, neither of them pulled away.

"I want you," she said simply. "I've wanted you since the day you moved in here with your brooding silences and your stupid protective instincts. I've wanted you through every fight, every awkward family dinner, every time you looked at me like I was something you had to endure."

Her words hit him like physical blows, each one stripping away another layer of his defenses.

"Sam..." He didn't know if it was a plea or a warning.

"Tell me you don't want me back," she challenged. "Look me in the eye and tell me this is all one-sided, and I'll never bring it up again."

He opened his mouth to do exactly that, to lie and salvage what was left of their careful distance. But the words wouldn't come. How could he tell her he didn't want her when she was all he thought about? When the sight of her in the morning, sleep-rumpled and beautiful, made his chest tight with longing?

His silence was answer enough.

This time, when she kissed him, he didn't pull away. Didn't think about consequences or family dynamics or all the reasons this was impossible. He just kissed her back like he was drowning and she was air.

They stumbled backward until her legs hit the bed, and then they were falling together onto the unmade sheets that smelled like her shampoo and artistic dreams. His hands tangled in her blonde hair as she pulled him closer, their bodies fitting together like they were made for this moment.

When it was over, they lay tangled in her sheets, both breathing hard, the weight of what they'd done settling over them like a heavy blanket.

Elijah stared at the ceiling, his arm around Sam's shoulders, feeling her heartbeat gradually slow against his chest. The familiar guilt was already creeping in, but underneath it was something else—a fierce satisfaction that scared him more than any regret.

"So," Sam said quietly, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "What happens now?"

It was the question he'd been dreading. What did happen now? How did they go back to being the responsible older brother and the chaotic younger sister when they'd just crossed the line that had defined their entire relationship?

"I don't know," he admitted.

She was quiet for a long moment, then: "Are you going to pretend this didn't happen?"

The hope and fear in her voice made his chest tight. He looked down at her, taking in her flushed face, her swollen lips, the way she was looking at him like he held all the answers.

"I should," he said honestly.

"But?"

"But I don't think I can."

The admission surprised them both. Sam's face lit up with something dangerously close to happiness, and Elijah felt the ground shift beneath him. There was no going back from this. Whatever they were to each other before, they were something else now.

Something infinitely more complicated.

"Good," she said, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. "Because if you tried to go back to treating me like your annoying little sister after this, I'd have to kill you."

Despite everything, he almost smiled. "Noted."

They lay in the growing darkness, the weight of their new reality settling around them. Outside, the world continued unchanged, but here in Sam's paint-scented bedroom, everything had shifted.

The line they'd spent three years carefully maintaining was gone, destroyed in a moment of desperate honesty and want. And as Elijah felt Sam's breathing even out against his chest, he realized that despite all his fears about consequences and complications, he wasn't sorry.

He was terrified, but he wasn't sorry.

That, more than anything, told him just how deep in trouble they both were.

But when Sam stirred against him, murmuring his name in her sleep, trouble felt like the sweetest word in the English language.