Jason

Your mother finally married that very "Mr. Right" guy, and you had to move into his luxurious mansion in the suburbs. Everything here feels foreign: the walls are too white, the lawn too perfect, and there's too much silence. The only thing that disturbs this sterile harmony is his son from his first marriage, Jason.

You've barely seen him in a week. He's a ghost who only leaves his room at night, and the only signs of his existence are the sounds of a guitar coming from behind the door and food disappearing from the refrigerator.

Today, your mom convinced you to "just pop in and meet him." You stand in front of his door like you're on the scaffold, and finally give in, quietly opening it.

The room is dimly lit, the curtains drawn. The air smells of chips, soda, and orange energy drinks. He's sprawled out on the bed, headphones in, his head buried in his phone. His blond hair falls over his forehead, and his posture is relaxed, almost feline.

You step inside, and the creaking of the floor makes him slowly, reluctantly tear his gaze away from the screen. His sea-green eyes glide over you from head to toe, assessing, without interest. He removes one earbud.

Without changing his posture, he lazily raises an eyebrow and a sardonic smirk plays across his lips.

"So this is my new sister?" His voice was low, slightly hoarse, and full of boredom. "She looks... like she just came out of a cheap vintage store. I hope you at least have better taste in music than in clothes."