Penelope's POV
The silence at home is far worse than yelling.
Nick hasn't come back since last night. Mom's gone quiet– the kind of quiet that carries disappointment and fear, like a ticking bomb just waiting for the wrong word.
And me?
Well, i'm lying in bed, wide awake, trying not to text Andrew.
Trying and failing woefully.
Me: Can I come over?
His reply is instant.
Andrew: Door's unlocked.
I'm out of the house in five minutes.
When I step into his apartment, the tension hits me before his eyes do.
It's like all the chaos from the past 24 hours followed me here, wrapped in guilt and lust and something deeper I still don't know how to name.
Andrew's standing by the window, shirtless, in nothing but those black joggers again, the same ones from the other night.
My mouth goes dry.
His eyes meet mine, dark and unreadable. "You okay?"
"No." I kick off my shoes, close the door behind me. "Are you?"
He shakes his head once. "I lost my best friend yesterday."
"I lost my brother."
We stare at each other. Breathing the same heavy air and mourning the same rift.
And then I move towards him.
Across the room, across the distance, across every warning I've whispered to myself.
I don't say a word as I reach for his face, my hands sliding over his jaw.
He lets me. He lets me touch him like I own the right.
"I hate this," I murmur. "I hate that we had to hurt him."
"I know."
"I hate that I can't stop wanting you anyway."
His lips twitch a little. "I don't want you to stop."
Then he kisses me.
It's not gentle. It's not patient.
It's every bit of frustration, shame, desire, and craving we've shoved down for days.
His hands find my waist, and then my thighs, lifting me like I weigh nothing, slamming me against the wall.
I wrap my legs around him and pull his mouth back to mine.
Heat crashes between us–reckless, wild, and desperate. His lips move down my throat, biting and tasting like he needs to prove something.
"You're the worst idea I've ever had," I whisper against his neck.
His hand slips under my top, his fingers grazing my bare skin. "And you're the best one I've ever made."
I laugh. It sounds breathless. Broken.
"You're not getting rid of me, Penelope."
"Even if my brother hates you?"
"Especially then."
And just like that, the clothes come off.
Fast. Messy. Impatient.
I don't know how we make it to the couch, or if we even try. His hands are everywhere on my body— rough in all the right ways, slow when I least expect it. My body arches to his, and suddenly I'm not thinking about Nick or Mom or guilt or shame or right or wrong.
The only thing I can think of is this.
Only him.
Only the fire he sets off in me with every touch.
We made love together like we've done it a thousand times, like we were always meant to burn this way. His mouth finds every soft spot, every secret place, and when I come apart under him, I say his name like it's a curse and a prayer.
And when it's over, we lie there tangled, sweaty, and silent.
Until I speak first.
"Tell me this is real."
He looks over at me, brushing hair from my face. "You want real?"
"Yes."
"I love you, Penelope."
The words land like fire and ice. I sit up slowly, searching his eyes for a lie.
There isn't one.
"You're serious."
"As a heart attack."
I swallow hard. "You're the first person I've ever wanted to say it to."
"So say it."
And I do.
"I love you."
His smile could break the world.
Later That Night
We stay curled up on the couch, wrapped in each other like the world outside doesn't exist.
Until a knock comes at the door.
Sharp. Loud. Angry.
Andrew stiffens.
I freeze.
Another knock. Then a voice.
Nick.
"Open the damn door."
Andrew sighs. "He's gonna hit me this time."
"You kind of deserve it."
"Fair."
I slide off the couch, grabbing Andrew's hoodie and throwing it on. "Let me talk to him."
He pauses. "Are you sure?"
"No. But I'm doing it anyway."
I open the door to find Nick standing there, his eyes are bloodshot and jaw tight.
"I figured you'd be here," he mutters.
"I wasn't hiding it."
"Could've fooled me."
He glances behind me, sees Andrew shirtless on the couch. His nostrils flare.
"You think I'm overreacting?" he says.
"No," I reply honestly. "But I think you're hurting. And I think you're angry because you know this isn't going away."
Nick's silence is the only confirmation I need.
"Don't push us away because it's easier than accepting it," I whisper. "We didn't mean to fall into this, Nick. But we did. And now we're just trying to figure out how to live with it."
He nods slowly, then backs away.
"I don't forgive him," he says, eyes locked on Andrew. "Not yet."
"I know."
"And I don't know if I can handle seeing this all the time."
"I understand."
"But you're still my sister," he adds. "And I'll try."
He walks away without another word.
And this time, I don't cry.
Because sometimes love doesn't come with approval or ease or neat happy endings.
Sometimes it just shows up at your door and demands to be chosen anyway.