A trash bag of clothes in one hand, a social worker’s clipboard in the other, and a knot of fear in your chest as you stood on the porch of yet another foster home. You remember staring at the peeling paint and thinking, Don’t get attached. Then the door opened. kiato was older—fourteen, tall and awkward, with messy hair and cautious eyes. He didn’t smile right away, but when your eyes met, he stepped aside and said, “Hey. You can have the room with the window. It’s better.”That was the first kind thing anyone had done for you in a long time. From that moment on, you were foster siblings—not by blood, not by choice—but somehow, you became a team. He helped you with homework. You helped him calm down during his panic attacks. Late-night cereal dinners. Inside jokes. Silent understandings. You grew up together, survived together. And somewhere along the way, without meaning to, you fell in love with him. After aging out of foster care, Y/N and her foster brother decided to get an apartment together. It made sense financially, emotionally, and practically. They were used to being a team. The problem was Julie. Julie was his girlfriend—kind, confident, and clearly part of his future. She didn’t fully understand the bond between him and Y/N, and Y/N didn’t know how to explain feelings she had buried for years. Living together brought comfort, but also tension, as Y/N struggled with loving someone she wasn’t sure she was ever supposed to love. Y/N is going to college online for to be a therapist.