Don't Tell My Cousin

Silence used to be the only permanent resident in my family’s house. Perched on a quiet hill, the sprawling mansion had more empty rooms than memories. My parents were perpetually out of the country on business, leaving behind a hollow estate that felt less like a home and more like a high-end museum. For as long as I could remember, I had learned to thrive in the quiet. At twenty years old, balanced between endless lectures and piles of thick organic chemistry textbooks for my Pharmacy major, the quiet was the only thing keeping me sane. Then came Leo. Growing up, Leo hadn't just been my cousin; he was my absolute favorite person. We were practically inseparable as kids, building forts in the living room and sharing secrets during family gatherings. But when he moved into the mansion for his third year of college, my peaceful study sanctuary vanished overnight. Leo didn't just move in—he invaded. Within forty-eight hours, the marble foyer was cluttered with sneakers, the quiet air was replaced by blaring music, and the kitchen became the unofficial hangout spot for his college crew. “Tina! Tell me you didn't touch my vintage leather jacket!” Leo’s voice echoed from the top of the floating staircase. A second later, he bounded down the steps, taking them two at a time. He was frantically tucking in a shirt, looking stressed. At twenty-one, he still had that same reckless energy we shared as kids, but there was a new layer to him lately—something guarded he hadn't quite opened up about yet. “Why would I wear your jacket?” I asked without looking up from my pharmacology lecture notes spread across the kitchen island. “It’s sitting right there on the banister where you left it. And it smells like motor oil.” “It’s a look, T. It gives me character,” he scoffed, grabbing the jacket as he slid into the barstool next to me and snatched an apple from the fruit bowl. He took a crisp bite, his eyes nervously scanning the room. “The guys are coming over tonight. Just a low-key study break.” I sighed, tapping my pen against my notebook. “Leo, your idea of 'low-key' usually turns into half the campus showing up.” “Hey, live a little, T,” Leo grinned, though his fingers tapped rhythmically against the granite counter. He kept checking his phone every thirty seconds, locking and unlocking the screen with a subtle, jittery tension he’d been carrying for weeks. “You’ve been staring at drug mechanisms for six hours straight. You need human interaction before your brain turns into a textbook.” Before I could retort, the heavy front door swung open without a knock. “Speaking of human interaction,” a smooth, deep voice called out, carrying an effortless charm that filled the high-ceilinged entry. I turned. Standing in the doorway was a guy I’d seen around campus but had never spoken to up close. Christian Thompson. At twenty-two, he possessed the kind of magnetic, easy confidence that made people instantly pay attention. He had dark hair, warm amber-brown eyes, and a slight tilt to his smile like he knew something the rest of the world didn't. Beside him was Julian—another one of Leo's tight group of friends, quiet and sharp-eyed, carrying a box of drinks. “You're late, Thompson,” Leo said, standing up a little too quickly. “Traffic near the campus quad was brutal,” Christian replied. His gaze drifted past Leo and locked onto mine. The casual grin on his face paused, softening into something far more intrigued. “And who’s this?” “My favorite cousin, Tina,” Leo said quickly—his tone carrying a sudden, protective edge. He shifted slightly into Christian’s line of sight, his posture stiffening. “Tina, this is Christian. You know Julian already.” Christian stepped right around Leo, extending a warm hand toward me. “Christiana, right? Leo mentions you all the time.” As I reached out to take his hand, his fingers brushed mine. A sudden, unexpected spark shot straight up my arm, making my breath catch. He didn't let go immediately, his eyes lingering on mine with a subtle, playful warmth. “Tina... and Christian,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “Sounds like a pair, doesn't it?” My heart gave a foolish, erratic thud against my ribs. I pulled my hand back gently, trying to look unimpressed. “Don't get ahead of yourself, Thompson. It's just a coincidence.” “Is it?” Christian teased, his eyes dancing. “I call it good timing.” “Okay, alright, back off, Thompson,” Leo interrupted abruptly, stepping between us and clapping a hand on Christian's shoulder. His voice was lighter now, but his eyes were darting between Christian and Julian with a strange, guarded conflict that had nothing to do with me. “Patio's outside. Go set up the music.” Christian chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender, but his gaze lingered on me over his shoulder for one long second before he walked out the glass doors. I watched them head toward the pool deck through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Christian was bantering with Julian, but Leo was watching the two of them with an intense, unreadable expression—his jaw set, torn between two worlds he wasn't ready to talk about. I sank back into my chair, my pulse still humming from the way Christian had looked at me. Leo had made one thing clear when he moved in: his college friends were strictly off-limits. But as I watched Christian laugh under the outdoor lights, I realized surviving this semester was going to be a lot harder than passing my Pharmacy exams.