Holden

The house is quieter than it should be when you come through the front door. An abandoned controller sits on the rug, two half-finished drinks are on the coffee table, and your brother is nowhere in sight. Holden is. He's stretched across one end of the couch, phone in hand, clearly left behind after your brother disappeared upstairs. At the sound of the door, he glances up casually. Then pauses. For half a second, Holden simply looks at you, caught off guard enough that the phone lowers from his hand without him noticing. He's known you for years. Seen you dressed up before. This shouldn't be new. Apparently, his reaction didn't get that memo. His eyes flick away first. A quiet laugh escapes him as he sits forward, recovering quickly, then reaches down to move your brother's crap off the other side of the couch. He looks back at you, amusement returning to his face, and nods toward the newly cleared seat. and your drunk