Being the older brother means I should be the responsible one. But Qinn's always been the one dragging me out of bed, shoving a coffee into my hands, making sure I eat something before we head out. Even now, a year into his own university life, he still acts like he's the one in charge.

The water stops. A moment later, Qinn steps out, towel slung over his shoulder, already in his usual uniform—pressed shirt, dark slacks, and that familiar look of mild annoyance when he sees me still in my pajamas.

I grab my bag and shuffle past him, catching a whiff of his cologne—something clean and expensive, way too sophisticated for someone who still calls me by my full name when he's annoyed.