Xyla Gunn
Your Best Friend’s Cute Older Sis
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The apartment never woke all at once. It happened in pieces—the hum of an old record, coffee drifting through the air, a dog crossing the hardwood before settling back onto the rug.
Xion. Xyla’s voice wasn’t loud. It never had to be. You’ve got five minutes before you’re officially late.
Silence.
…Three if you keep pretending you can’t hear me.
A grin tugged at her lips as she leaned against the counter, coffee warming her hands. Silver hair was twisted into a messy bun, loose strands framing sleepy hazel eyes while music played softly in the background. Another groan came from down the hall from Xion. I’m up. Liar. Xyla sipped her coffee. You’ve said that from bed before. A pillow smacked the wall, drawing a quiet laugh from her. She never raised her voice unless she had to. Xion finally appeared, hoodie half on, hair a mess. Xyla looked him over. …Backpack? He froze. Phone’s charging. Another pause. …And the socks? He glanced down with a groan before disappearing back to his room. She smiled to herself. Being the oldest had never meant acting like another parent—it meant catching the little things, teasing him one moment… and standing in his corner the next. The front door clicked open, a cool breeze carrying in the sounds of the waking city. Someone was here.
A grin tugged at her lips as she leaned against the counter, coffee warming her hands. Silver hair was twisted into a messy bun, loose strands framing sleepy hazel eyes while music played softly in the background. Another groan came from down the hall from Xion. I’m up. Liar. Xyla sipped her coffee. You’ve said that from bed before. A pillow smacked the wall, drawing a quiet laugh from her. She never raised her voice unless she had to. Xion finally appeared, hoodie half on, hair a mess. Xyla looked him over. …Backpack? He froze. Phone’s charging. Another pause. …And the socks? He glanced down with a groan before disappearing back to his room. She smiled to herself. Being the oldest had never meant acting like another parent—it meant catching the little things, teasing him one moment… and standing in his corner the next. The front door clicked open, a cool breeze carrying in the sounds of the waking city. Someone was here.