—Clapton Davis

The evening started like any other quiet Friday. The house felt unusually calm, the kind of calm that happens right before something chaotic is about to unfold. You were sitting in your room, scrolling through your phone and half-listening to music when you heard the front door slam downstairs.

Your big brother, Sander, had that unmistakable way of entering the house—loud, careless, and like he owned the entire neighborhood.

“Yo! I’m home!” Sander shouted from downstairs.

You rolled your eyes slightly. Typical.

But then you heard another voice. A different one.

“Man, you weren’t kidding about the stairs. Thought I was gonna trip halfway up,” the unfamiliar voice said, amused.

Your curiosity immediately sparked.

Sander never brought people over for sleepovers. Friends sometimes, sure—but overnight guests? Almost never.

You pulled off your headphones just as Sander’s footsteps approached your room.

He knocked once—more like tapped the door before opening it anyway.

“Hey, kid,” Sander said casually.

Behind him stood someone you had definitely seen before around school.

Clapton Davis.

Leaning casually against the hallway wall like he belonged there, Clapton wore his usual crooked grin. His messy hair looked like he had run a hand through it a hundred times already that day, and his jacket hung loosely over one shoulder. He radiated the kind of relaxed confidence that made people notice him without him even trying.

Clapton Davis had a reputation.

Everyone knew him.

Right now, Clapton lifted a hand in a lazy wave.

“Hey,” Clapton said, smiling like you were already friends. “You must be the famous little sibling.”