The moment was still lingering between us—his last word sitting in the air like it could burn straight through the table.
Yeah, he'd said.He still wanted.
I was trying to hold onto that feeling, trying to stay inside it, when I heard the sound of keys at the door. Then heels. Then her voice.
Sabrina.
She entered like she owned the morning. Sunglasses in her hair, blazer draped over her arm, lip gloss already perfect. She looked rested, caffeinated, indifferent to anything that might've burned down while she was gone.
"Smells like hell in here," she said as she walked in, setting her bag on the counter.
Then she saw Logan.
And all her polish cracked.
She made a sound—half sigh, half grin—and crossed the floor with sharp steps, her heels snapping against tile. Her whole body leaned into him like gravity had been pulling her back for days.
And Logan?
He caught her easily.
One arm slipped around her waist. The other went lower.
Much lower.
She kissed him hard, mouth open, tongue slipping past his lips in a way that made my stomach twist. It wasn't sweet. It wasn't even romantic. It was raw. Possessive. Sloppy.
Her hands found his chest, slid down, hooked into the front of his sweatpants—and kept going.
She moaned into his mouth, quiet and breathy, her fingers disappearing beneath the waistband, stroking him slowly, deliberately.
And Logan just let her.
Right there in front of me.
His hand gripped her ass tightly, fingers digging in like he knew every curve already by heart.
And maybe he did.
She broke the kiss for a second, just enough to whisper something into his mouth I couldn't hear. Whatever it was made him grunt low in his throat. His jaw clenched. His grip on her tightened.
I couldn't breathe.
I didn't look away.
I should have—but I didn't.
Because I was hard again.
Just watching them.
Watching the way he took control of her body without saying a word.
Watching the way she melted into his hands like she belonged there.
Watching the way his cock clearly responded to her fingers, stiffening beneath the fabric.
And all I could think—all I could feel—was that it should've been me.
I should've been the one with his hand on my waist.
His mouth on mine.
His cock in my palm, thick and hot and twitching while I stroked it slow and wet just to hear him breathe harder.
I should've been the one pulling moans out of him.
Not her.
Not Sabrina.
She didn't even know what she had.
She didn't know how lucky she was.
I shifted in my seat, thighs tight, trying to hide the way my body betrayed me.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
Hard.
But it didn't help.
I needed them to stop.
Because if they didn't, I was going to lose it.
My skin felt flushed, like someone had dragged heat through my veins and left it there to simmer.
I cleared my throat once.
Louder the second time.
They didn't hear it.
Sabrina giggled softly against his mouth, hand still inside his pants, and Logan's fingers kept kneading her ass like he couldn't get enough.
So I coughed.
Deliberate.
Pointed.
Sharp enough to cut through the heat.
Sabrina pulled back with a tiny gasp, like she'd forgotten I existed.
"Oh," she said, glancing over her shoulder at me with half-lidded eyes and swollen lips. "Didn't see you there, baby brother."
She pulled her hand out of his waistband—slowly, smugly—and adjusted her shirt like nothing had happened.
Logan said nothing.
Did nothing.
But I saw it.
The way his eyes flicked to mine.
The way he blinked once, long and slow.
The way his jaw flexed like he'd just swallowed something he didn't want to admit.
And I knew he hadn't forgotten me.
He never forgot I was there.
Sabrina grabbed her mug like nothing had happened, already opening the fridge and scanning for milk.
"You always look like someone kicked your puppy in the morning," she said, pouring without turning. "Rough night?"
I blinked, forced a breath, and sipped my coffee. "Something like that."
She sat across from me, one leg folded over the other, swirling her spoon in circles with a little clink-clink-clink against the ceramic. Her blouse was open just enough to remind me of where Logan's hand had been moments ago.
She sipped. Smirked.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said, then tilted her head slightly. "You're just weird lately."
"Weird how?"
"Quieter. Moodier. Like you're writing poetry in your sleep or something."
I gave her a dry look. "That your way of checking in?"
She laughed. "It's my way of saying I notice things. Even if you pretend I don't."
I shrugged. "Not much to notice."
"Mhm."
The silence between us stretched—not uncomfortable, but not close either. Sabrina and I were like that. Siblings in the technical sense, orbiting each other without really crossing paths too often. She'd been the busy one. The bright one. I was the quiet detail in the background.
I stood and grabbed my mug. "I'm gonna head upstairs."
She waved her spoon. "Don't fall into another existential spiral or whatever you kids do."
"Right."
I walked off without another word, the mug warm in my palm as I climbed the stairs one slow step at a time.
By the time I reached my room, the tension in my chest had cracked open just enough to make room for something else. I shut the door quietly behind me, placed my mug on the desk, and sat on the edge of the bed.
I stared out the window.
Blank sky.
Blue.
Ordinary.
Until I heard the soft creak of the stairs again.
Then a knock.
Gentle.
Like whoever was behind it didn't want to disturb something they weren't sure was awake.
I opened the door.
Logan stood there, shoulders square, hands tucked into the waistband of his sweats.
His expression was unreadable.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
He looked past me, then down at his feet.
"I wanted to say sorry."
My throat tightened. "For what?"
His brow furrowed. "You know."
I waited.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't mean to do that in front of you."
"You didn't stop her."
"I know."
I crossed my arms.
"I just…" he started, then stopped. "That wasn't for you to see."
I wanted to ask him what was for me to see.
Instead, I nodded. "Okay."
But it didn't feel okay.
Because now I didn't know where I stood.
He had kissed me in a dream.
Said he wanted things he shouldn't.
Complimented me. Looked at me like he knew something I didn't.
And then let her touch him like I wasn't even real.
He stepped closer.
I didn't move.
He stared at me like he wanted to say more. Like his silence was a shape he didn't know how to carry.
Then—without warning—he stepped in and wrapped his arms around me.
Not hard.
Not hungry.
Just full.
Full of tension and apology and something that felt too much like care.
My body locked up. Then softened.
His breath was warm against my temple.
He held me like I mattered.
Like I hadn't imagined everything.
Then he pulled back just enough to press a kiss to my forehead.
Soft.
Unshakable.
Then he left.
No words.
No explanation.
Just the sound of his footsteps retreating down the hall, and the lingering burn of his mouth on my skin.
And once again, I was left standing still, heart in my throat, wondering what the hell he wanted from me—and if I could survive finding out.