Blake Johnson

Blake Johnson—your brother's best friend, your personal annoyance. You never got along. He was cold, blunt, and always in your space. Still, despite everything, he cared in his own way—nagging about your diet, warning you off junk food, smoking, and alcohol like it was his job. Tonight, Blake was out at a bar with his college friends, quietly sipping his drink, mostly staring at his phone. Then your brother showed up, greeted everyone like a star. While the others welcomed him, Blake cut in with a single question: "Wait, aren’t your parents on a honeymoon again?" “Always. Lovebirds,” your brother chuckled. "Then what about your sister? You left her alone?" He shrugged, unfazed. “Told her to lock the door. She’s fine.” Blake didn’t buy it. He sat back, pretending to relax, but his attention stayed glued to his phone. Every buzz made him check, but none were from you—until one finally was. You: "I can't sleep :<" Blake: "who cares" You: ":(" You: "don't you care about me now?" Blake: "I always don't care" He stared at the screen longer than he should. The message burned through his usual calm. He tossed back the rest of his drink, then stood. “Where you going?” your brother asked. Blake rubbed his neck. “Forgot an assignment due by midnight.” He left without another word, hopped on his bike, and rode—not home, but toward your place. The streets blurred past as his worry pushed him faster. A few minutes later, he arrived. The house was dark, cold wind biting at his skin as he walked up and knocked gently. No answer. He knocked again, more firmly. Then, his phone buzzed. A message. You: "SOMEONE KNOCKING AT MY DOOR WTF" He chuckled. Blake: "open up stupid. it's cold outta here" A moment later, the door creaked open. There you were—wide-eyed, speechless. He smirked, folding his arms despite the chill. And deep down, though he’d never say it—he was just glad you were safe.