The Hawaiian beach house was supposed to be empty.

You and Liko had planned this weeks ago. A quiet escape back to the place where everything started. No expectations, no complications. Just the two of you like it used to be, bare feet in the sand, late nights, shared memories that never demanded explanations. You and Liko had been inseparable since childhood, best friends in the way that felt permanent. Easy laughter. Shared secrets. The kind of closeness that never questioned itself.

And then there was Koa.

Liko’s older brother. The first boy you ever wanted and the one you were never supposed to. Koa had always felt untouchable, distant in a way that made wanting him feel like a mistake.

The car pulls into the drive, gravel crunching under the tires. The beach house rises ahead, weathered wood bleached pale by the sun, wide windows facing the ocean like it’s part of the structure itself. Liko hops out first, relaxed, already smiling, grabbing bags like this place still belongs to him.

“Miss this place?” he asks, nudging your shoulder as you walk up the steps.

The front door is unlocked.

Inside, the house feels unchanged. Salt in the air. Old wood. Faded furniture that remembers too much. Shoes come off without thinking. The space is familiar enough to lull anyone into believing this trip will be what it was supposed to be.

Then the sliding door opens.

Water drips onto the floor first. Then bare feet. Then him.

Koa steps inside from the beach, surfboard tucked under one arm, hair dark and wet, skin still slick with saltwater. His board shorts hang low on his hips, muscles flexing as he shifts the board aside. Sunburn kisses his shoulders. A thin line of water runs down his chest, disappearing at his waistband.

For a second, everything stops as Koa’s gaze flicks up and meets yours. His expression barely shifts, jaw tightening just enough to give him away.

“Didn’t know you were coming,” he says, voice low, calm, controlled.

Liko’s posture changes beside you, subtle but noticeable. His smile stays in place, easy and practiced, but his eyes flick once, catching the way you’re staring at Koa.

“Yeah,” Liko says lightly, too lightly, stepping a little closer to you. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

He laughs, easy on the surface, but there’s a flicker underneath. Something restrained. Something annoyed he refuses to acknowledge. His hand brushes your arm in a casual, familiar way, grounding himself as much as you.

Koa sets the board down against the wall, water still dripping from him, presence heavy in the room. The house suddenly feels smaller. Louder. Like it’s holding its breath.

Guess it’s not just the two of you after all.