It's wrong, you're my brother.

Ava's POV

He leaned back on his hands, staring up at the emerging stars, his profile sharp in the fading light. For a long moment, he was silent, the only sounds the distant hum of traffic, a neighbor's dog barking faintly, and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers dug into the blanket like he was grounding himself. "I've been waiting to say this for a long time, Ava. Since the wedding, actually. Hell, maybe even before that, when Dad first showed me pictures of you and your mom."

My breath caught in my throat. "The wedding? You barely knew me back then. I was just... some girl in a stupid dress."

"Doesn't matter," he said, his voice dropping lower, rougher. "I saw you—really saw you. Nervous as hell in that pale blue thing, smiling for the photos but looking like you wanted to bolt out of there. Your hair kept falling out of those pins, and you'd tuck it back with this little frustrated sigh. I felt... protective. Like you were something fragile I needed to keep safe from the world. And then we moved in together, and it just... grew. Watching you every day—laughing with your friends on the phone, biting your lip when you're concentrating on homework, dancing around the kitchen when you think no one's looking. The way you steal my shirts and think I don't notice."

I flushed hot, remembering the oversized tee I'd worn just last night, the one that still smelled faintly of his cologne. "I don't steal them. I... borrow."

"You do," he interrupted gently, a small smile tugging at his lips, though his eyes stayed serious. "And I like it. Makes you smell like me. Like you're already mine in some small way."

The admission sent a shiver racing through me, not from the cold. My heart hammered so loud I was sure he could hear it. "Tae, this is crazy. Our parents—they're right downstairs. Daniel, Mom, even Uncle Mike. If they knew..."

"Forget them for a second," he said, shifting closer, the space between us shrinking until I could feel the heat radiating off his body. His hand reached out, hesitating in the air for a beat before cupping my cheek. The touch was warm, tentative at first, his thumb brushing my skin like he was afraid I'd shatter. But when I didn't pull away, it grew firmer, more assured. "Tell me you don't feel it, Ava. Tell me to stop, and I swear I will. I'll go back inside, pretend this never happened, and we can go on like before—stepsiblings, nothing more."

I should have said it. The words were right there on my tongue: This is wrong. We're family. Stop. But they wouldn't come. They stuck in my throat, choked by the truth I'd been burying for years. Instead, I leaned into his palm, my eyes fluttering shut as his warmth seeped into me. "I... I feel it," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Every time you look at me like that, every time you're close but not touching. It drives me insane. But I'm scared, Tae. Terrified."

"Of what?" His thumb traced my jawline slowly, sending sparks dancing across my skin. His other hand found my waist, pulling me gently closer until our knees knocked together.

"Of ruining everything," I confessed, opening my eyes to meet his. They were darker now, pupils blown wide in the low light. "What if they find out? What if this blows up our family? What if it's just a phase, some stupid crush because we're stuck living together?"

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into me where we touched. It wasn't mocking—it was raw, almost pained. "A phase? Ava, two years of this shit isn't a phase. That's not how it works. I've watched guys at school hit on you, seen you go on those awkward dates your friends set up, and every time, it felt like someone was twisting a knife in my gut. I wanted to drag you away, tell them to back off because you're... you're mine. That's inevitability. That's me realizing I can't keep pretending anymore."

"It's wrong," I blurted out, the words finally escaping as panic surged. "You're my brother."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes narrowing, but his hand stayed on my cheek. "Stepbrother," he corrected firmly, his voice steady, like he was anchoring us both. "Not the same thing, Ava. Not by blood. Not in any way that matters."

"It's wrong," I repeated, my voice weaker now, trembling as the reality crashed over me. The forbidden nature of it all—the labels, the expectations, the risk—loomed like a shadow.

Before I could say more, he closed the distance, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that was soft, exploratory, like he was testing the waters. It was our first real touch beyond the brushes and nearlys that had tortured us, and it ignited something deep inside me—a fire that had been smoldering for too long. I gasped against him, my hands instinctively finding his shoulders, pulling him closer as if afraid he'd vanish. He deepened the kiss, one hand tangling in my hair at the nape of my neck, the other wrapping around my waist to hold me steady. The world narrowed to this: the taste of him, mint from his gum mixed with something uniquely Taehyung, dark and addictive; the way his body fit against mine like puzzle pieces finally snapping into place; the faint stubble on his jaw scraping my skin in the best way.

But as the kiss intensified, the warnings in my head screamed louder. Wrong. Forbidden. Dangerous. Panic clawed at my chest, overriding the heat, the want. I pulled back abruptly, breathless and wide-eyed, my lips tingling from the contact. "I... I can't," I whispered, scrambling to my feet. The blanket tangled around my legs, but I yanked free, heart pounding like a drum.

"Ava, wait—" Taehyung started, reaching for me, his expression a mix of confusion and desperation.

But I didn't wait. I turned and fled, crawling back through the attic window with shaking hands, my breath coming in short gasps. The attic stairs blurred as I descended, and I bolted down the hallway to my room, slamming the door behind me. I leaned against it, sliding to the floor, tears stinging my eyes. What had I done? The kiss replayed in my mind—electric, perfect, utterly terrifying. My fingers touched my lips, still warm from his, and a sob escaped. I loved him. God, I loved him. But it was wrong. So wrong.

The house was quiet, the adults still downstairs, oblivious. My phone buzzed on the nightstand—a text from him, no doubt—but I ignored it, curling up on the bed. Sleep didn't come easy that night, haunted by the taste of him, the echo of "stepbrother," and the fear of what tomorrow would bring.

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