I don't steal them. I... borrow.

Ava's POV

I stared at his retreating back as he disappeared up the stairs, his words hanging in the air like a challenge. "Roof. Ten minutes." My pulse raced, a chaotic mix of anticipation, dread, and something hotter twisting in my gut. The roof? Our house had that flat section accessible from the attic, a secret spot we'd stumbled upon during one of those lazy, rainy afternoons years ago, sorting through dusty boxes of old family photos and forgotten trinkets. It overlooked the quiet suburban neighborhood, with a view of twinkling streetlights and, on clear nights like this, a canopy of stars that made the world feel infinite. But it was private—dangerously private—for whatever this conversation was about to unravel into. My mind screamed warnings: This is insane. He's your stepbrother. Turn around, go to bed, pretend last night never happened.

But my feet didn't listen. I nodded numbly, even though he couldn't see it, and turned back to the kitchen sink, busying myself with helping Mom clear the dinner dishes. The clatter of plates was a welcome distraction, grounding me in the mundane. "Everything okay, hon?" she asked, stacking a rinsed plate into the dishwasher with that effortless efficiency she had. Her eyes searched mine, that maternal instinct kicking in like radar. She wiped her hands on a dish towel, her wedding ring catching the light—Daniel's ring, a reminder of how our lives had tangled together.

"Yeah, just... tired from studying," I lied, forcing a smile that felt brittle on my lips. "History test tomorrow is kicking my ass. Might turn in early tonight."

Uncle Mike—Daniel's brother, who had crashed at our place for the weekend after some family gathering—chuckled from the living room, where he was sprawled on the couch with the remote in hand, flipping through channels. Tall like Daniel but with a louder laugh and a perpetual five-o'clock shadow, he always brought a chaotic energy to the house. "Kids these days," he said, his voice booming over the TV hum. "We used to stay up all night at your age, causing trouble. Right, Daniel?"

Daniel, sitting beside him with a glass of scotch, nodded absently, his eyes on the news ticker scrolling across the screen. "Speak for yourself, Mike. I was the responsible one—studying architecture while you were out partying."

Mom rolled her eyes playfully, leaning against the counter. "Oh, please. You two were both troublemakers. Remember that time you crashed your dad's car joyriding?"

Uncle Mike burst out laughing, slapping his knee. "Hey, that was Daniel's idea! Blame him."

Daniel shot him a mock glare. "Lies. All lies."

Their banter faded into the background as I slipped away, my heart pounding louder with each step up the stairs. The hallway felt longer than usual, the family photos on the walls mocking me—smiling shots from the wedding, vacations, holidays where Taehyung and I stood side by side, looking every bit the perfect blended siblings. My room was a temporary sanctuary; I shut the door and paced the floor, glancing at the clock every thirty seconds. Nine minutes. Eight. What the hell was I doing? This was reckless, forbidden. We were stepsiblings—family, as society hammered into us. But the word felt hollow now, eroded by two years of lingering looks, nearly touches, and that unspoken tension that crackled like static electricity whenever we were in the same room.

I glanced at myself in the mirror: flushed cheeks, wide eyes, hair messy from running my fingers through it. "Get it together, Ava," I whispered to my reflection. But the pull was too strong. At exactly ten minutes, I crept to the attic door at the end of the hall, my bare feet silent on the carpet. The stairs creaked under my weight, and I winced, praying our parents were too engrossed in whatever movie Uncle Mike had picked to notice. The attic was dim, lit only by a single bare bulb hanging from the rafters, casting long shadows over stacked boxes and forgotten furniture. Dust motes danced in the air like tiny fireflies, and the faint scent of old books and mothballs tickled my nose. I pushed open the small window leading to the roof, the cool evening breeze rushing in, carrying the distant scent of jasmine from the neighbor's garden.

Taehyung was already there, sitting on the edge with his legs dangling over the side, looking every bit the brooding figure from one of those romance novels I secretly devoured. He'd spread out a thick blanket beside him, probably snatched from the linen closet, and a couple of pillows for good measure. He looked up as I emerged, crawling through the window with as much grace as I could muster in my jeans and sweater. His expression was unreadable in the twilight, but those dark eyes—always those eyes—locked onto mine with an intensity that made my stomach flip.

"Took you long enough," he said, a hint of amusement curling his lips. His voice was low, that rough timbre that always sent shivers down my spine.

"I was debating if this was a good idea," I admitted, climbing out carefully and settling on the blanket a safe distance away. The roof sloped gently here, safe enough if you didn't get too close to the edge, but the height made everything feel more precarious, like one wrong move could send us tumbling. Below, streetlights flickered on one by one, casting golden pools on the pavement, and a few cars hummed by in the distance. The air was crisp, stars beginning to prick the darkening sky.

He turned toward me, shifting so his knee brushed mine—deliberate this time, no accident. The contact was electric, even through fabric. "And? Is it? A good idea, I mean."

I hugged my arms around myself, the chill seeping through my sweater, though I knew it wasn't just the temperature making me shiver. "Depends on what you have to say, Tae. Last night... that whisper. 'Mine.' What the hell was that?"

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