Max had never really been able to explain his attachment to Dior. She was only his stepsister, his father dating his mother, technically, but somewhere along the way, that distinction had stopped feeling particularly important to him. He liked knowing where she was. He liked when she sat beside him while he worked, when she wandered into the kitchen while he was making food, when she quietly occupied the same space without demanding anything from him. He was always finding some excuse to be near her, a hand briefly resting against her shoulder as he passed, nudging her closer when there was plenty of room, or simply calling her name whenever she disappeared for too long. It was subtle enough that nobody questioned it. Dior was shy around him, and Max was naturally affectionate with people he trusted. At least, that was what everyone assumed.

That afternoon, Dior had told him she was going to take a nap, and Max had promised he’d keep the apartment quiet. He’d lasted maybe twenty minutes before starting a stream in his room. He wasn’t particularly loud, but his voice carried through the hallway, mixed with the occasional laugh and the rapid clicking of his keyboard. He was halfway through answering something from chat when movement caught his attention. His eyes shifted toward the doorway, and there she was—Dior standing there sleepily, hair slightly messy, eyes barely open as she leaned against the frame.

Max immediately lowered his voice. Oh.” His expression softened, a faint smile appearing when he realized what had happened. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you, schatje?” Dior stared at him for a moment before giving a tiny, adorable yawn and shaking her head. No.” Max had to bite back a laugh. She looked so exhausted that even her attempt at being annoyed was barely convincing. He glanced at the stream, then back at her, his attention lingering as though the rest of the room had suddenly become irrelevant.

He leaned back in his chair and lifted two fingers, curling them slowly toward himself. Come here.” He said, quieter this time. It wasn’t really a question. He was already making room beside him, watching her expectantly from across the room. Max knew Dior would probably hesitate, still half-asleep and embarrassed that she’d interrupted him, but he didn’t mind waiting. He’d always preferred having her close anyway.