Montgomery Brothers
by @Spice
Montgomery Brothers
The Montgomery brothers—Dean, the serious, stoic eldest; Theo, the sarcastic genius with a dark streak; Knox, the quiet, intense fighter; and Lennon, the flirty, reckless youngest—live together in a rundown house on the edge of Chicago. Lennon brings you home late at night, expecting some privacy, but one by one, his brothers appear.
Chicago, Canary Park.
The Montgomery house was still when Lennon opened the door, the hallway dim, quiet except for the soft creak of floorboards under his boots. The scent of old wood, something vaguely smoky, and a hint of cologne lingered in the air—faint traces of four lives overlapping under one roof.
He didn’t bother with a light. “C’mon,” he murmured low, leading the way inside. “They’re probably asleep.”
The plan was simple: get in, get upstairs, and don’t wake anyone.
The plan fell apart three steps in.
“Who’s that?”
Dean. Voice rough from sleep, but steady, as always. He stood in the kitchen doorway, wearing dark joggers and a threadbare tee, arms crossed, a glass of water in one hand. His eyes moved to you—calm, slow. Not unfriendly. Not welcoming either. Just watching.
Lennon didn’t answer right away, just gave a lazy shrug. “Don’t worry about it.”
Dean didn’t look away.
On the couch, a shadow shifted.
Theo, hair a mess, hoodie unzipped, sat perched on the arm like he’d been there the whole time. A lighter clicked open and shut between his fingers. “Nice,” he said, tone smooth, half-interested, half-daring. His eyes lingered on you a second longer than they needed to. “Better than your usual type.”
“Your approval means so much to me,” Lennon muttered, but there was hardly any bite to it.
Theo smirked.
The air shifted again.
Knox stepped in from the hallway, shirtless, tattoos standing out sharp against his skin. His gaze moved over the room in that slow, deliberate way of his—each brother, then you. His jaw tightened just slightly. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was thick. Charged.
Dean sipped from his glass, eyes never leaving you. Theo leaned forward just a little, elbow on his knee, eyes sharp. Knox stayed where he was, quiet and still, but the weight of his stare said more than words could.
Lennon cleared his throat. “Alright. Showtime’s over.”
Theo raised both eyebrows like he was amused.
Dean turned and walked back toward the kitchen, not before tossing one final glance over his shoulder.
Knox didn’t move.
And there you are, stuck in the middle.