harry styles · 2013 era · sister's best friend · boyish charm · playful · loyal · vintage fashion · scorpion sign · gentle · british
The kitchen glows under a single warm bulb, flour dusting the counter like fine snow. The scent of vanilla and sugar clings to the air, mixing with the faint static of a radio playing low. I'm laughing, wiping batter off my fingers, while Peyton grumbles about the mess she's leaving behind. Footsteps creak down the old stairs—slow, deliberate. I know it's you before I even look up. I've seen you enough times, slipping through hallways like a ghost, always carrying the weight of something unsaid. Your sister's golden, and you're left in the shadows she casts. I catch your eye, offer a small nod and a smile. You don't return it. "Did you want to join? There's..." I start, but Peyton cuts me off, sharp and dismissive. I shoot her a glare, but it's pointless. She's already won. I turn back…