Seth first messaged me out of nowhere—the kind of bold, cheeky confidence that usually only comes from extreme youth or genuine stupidity. His proposition was simple: if I brought him some bud, he’d make it worth my while. I laughed when I read it, scrolling through the bravado, but curiosity has always been my most expensive habit.

Instead of going to his place, I told him to come to mine.

When he arrived, he played the part of the veteran. He leaned against the doorframe, acting cocky, trying to channel an experience he clearly hadn't earned yet. But the facade was paper-thin. Once the door clicked shut and he dropped to his knees, that swagger didn't just crack; it shattered. He fumbled with my belt, his hands a fraction too shaky, constantly glancing up for a nod of approval. He began trying to please me with a frantic, eager energy—more raw enthusiasm than actual skill.

Halfway through his performance, I tilted his chin up, catching his eyes, and let a small, deliberate smirk pull at the corner of my mouth.

“Your sister does this better.”

The words hit him like a physical switch.

His eyes narrowed, flashing with a volatile mix of embarrassment and that specific brand of determination fuelled by pure pride. Suddenly, the hesitation evaporated. He became surgical—focused, competitive, and desperate to prove a point. Maybe he was trying to prove it to me, or maybe he was fighting the ghost of every comparison he’d spent his life trying to outrun.

I’ll admit—watching him try to bridge that gap was the most entertaining part of the night.

Time blurred on. A year or so later, Bianca found her way back into my orbit, and eventually, my bed. She always moved like trouble in high heels—sharp-tongued, wearing a wicked grin, and possessing the kind of effortless confidence that made saying ‘no’ feel like a personal failing.

We picked up exactly where we’d left off, the rhythm between us as natural as if no time had passed at all.

At the perfect moment, I ran a hand through her hair, leaned into her ear, and murmured—almost as an afterthought:

“Your brother does better.”

She froze. The temperature in the room seemed to drop three degrees.

She pulled back slowly, looking up at me with eyes full of disbelief, then sharp annoyance, and finally, something far more dangerous.

“You’re lying,” she breathed.

I didn't argue. I just smiled, lazy and knowing.

Bianca sat up, brushing her hair aside and staring at me as if she were dissecting a puzzle. She was trying to decide whether to laugh, slap me, or prove me wrong on principle alone.

“My brother?” she said, her voice dripping with incredulity. “Seth? That Seth?”

I gave a casual shrug. “What can I say? The kid surprised me.”

That was the spark in the powder keg. Her eyes narrowed instantly. It was the same look I’d seen on Seth—the competitive fire, the sibling rivalry that ran through their blood like a fever.

“No chance,” she snapped.

“Jealous?” I asked, leaning back.

That did it. She moved in closer, her chin lifted, that razor-sharp confidence returning in full force.

“Please. He copies everything I do anyway. He’s always been the runner-up.”

I laughed, the sound low in my throat. “Then maybe talent just runs in the family.”

Bianca bit her lip, clearly annoyed at herself for the half-smirk she couldn't quite hide. “You’re an asshole.”

“Never claimed otherwise.”

For a long beat, she just stared at me, then shook her head, a soft, breathless laugh escaping her. “I can’t believe he’d actually brag about it.”

“He didn’t.”

That made her pause, her hand stilling on my shoulder. “Then how do you know?”

I stepped into her space, lowering my voice until it was barely a vibration. “Because I know when someone is trying to impress me. And I know when they’re succeeding.”

The tension shifted. The outrage was gone, replaced by a cold, calculated challenge. Bianca placed a hand flat against my chest, that wicked grin returning, sharper than before.

“Forget Seth,” she whispered.

“Why?”

“Because,” she said, her eyes locked onto mine with predatory focus, “I hate losing to family. Especially him.”

And just like that, sibling rivalry became the most potent motivation in the room.

Later, Bianca rolled onto her side, tracing a slow, idle finger across my chest as the adrenaline finally began to ebb.

“Maybe I just wanted the rematch,” she said softly.

I smirked. “Funny.”

“Why?”

“Because I was hoping you’d finally admit you cared.”

She laughed, shaking her head against the pillow. “About beating Seth? Absolutely. To my core.”

“About me?”

The question hung in the air. For the first time all night, the sharp tongue vanished. The competitive fire softened into something quieter, something real.

“You always do that,” she said, her voice dropping.

“Do what?”

“Turn a joke into something that actually matters.”

I looked at her, truly looked at her. “Maybe because the real parts are the only ones that stay interesting.”

She held my gaze for a long second, then leaned in and kissed me—slower this time, without the edge of the challenge, without the desperate need to win. When she pulled back, she had that small, knowing smile again.

“Don’t get carried away.”

“Too late.”

She slid out of bed, gathering her clothes from the floor with zero shame and all the lethal grace that made her dangerous in the first place. At the door, she paused, turning back with one hand on the frame.

“For the record…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m still better than Seth. Don't ever forget it.”

I laughed, the sound echoing in the messy room. “You two really need to find some hobbies.”

She pointed a finger at me, her eyes dancing. “You’re the hobby.”

Then she walked out, leaving the room a wreck and me laughing to myself in the dark.

Some nights are passionate. Some nights are chaotic. And some nights leave you wondering how the hell you ended up as the trophy in a sibling rivalry you never meant to start—and yet, you wouldn't trade the view for anything.

Chapter Two: The Undisputed

Seth didn’t just leave the "fold"—he vanished from the conversation entirely. I heard through the grapevine he’d moved a few towns over, found a girl who didn't compare him to anyone, and traded his bravado for a steady job. He’d effectively retired from the game, which, in the world of sibling rivalries, is the ultimate forfeit.

You’d think that would satisfy Bianca. It didn't.

A few weeks after our "rematch," she was back at my door at 2:00 AM. No heels this time, just boots and an oversized jacket, but that same dangerous energy was buzzing under her skin. She didn't wait for an invite; she brushed past me, her eyes scanning the room as if looking for traces of a ghost.

"He's gone, you know," she said, tossing her keys onto the kitchen counter.

"I heard," I replied, leaning against the doorframe. "Does that mean you finally won?"

She turned to face me, her expression unreadable. "You can't win a game when the other player quits. It just leaves the score unsettled."

She walked toward me, her pace slow and deliberate. She stopped just inches away, her height making her feel like a physical challenge. "I’ve been thinking about what you said. About how you know when someone is trying to impress you."

"And?"

"And I realized you’re a liar," she whispered, though there was no heat in it. "You played us. You knew exactly which buttons to press to make us both act like idiots."

I didn't deny it. "It made for a very interesting few nights, didn't it?"

Bianca’s hand moved to my collar, her grip tightening just enough to be felt. "That’s the problem. You think you’re the one holding the controller. But now that Seth is out of the equation, there’s no one left for me to beat. No one to compare me to."

She leaned in, her breath warm against my neck.

"Which means," she murmured, "I have to make sure you forget he was ever here. I have to make sure that if you ever try to pull that 'someone else does it better' line again, you’ll know you’re lying to yourself."

The rivalry hadn't died with Seth’s departure; it had just narrowed its focus. Bianca wasn't competing with her brother anymore. She was competing with my memory of him. She was fighting to become the only name on the leader board.

"You're becoming obsessed, Bee," I said, a laugh catching in my throat.

"I'm becoming thorough," she corrected.

She pushed me back toward the bedroom, her confidence no longer fuelled by spite, but by a need for total narrative control. She wanted to erase the very idea of a runner-up.

As the night went on, the air in the room felt heavier, the stakes higher. Bianca wasn't just performing; she was colonizing. Every touch, every look, was designed to overwrite the past.

Much later, as the first grey light of morning filtered through the blinds, she sat up and looked down at me. She looked exhausted, but her eyes were triumphant.

"Still think he was a surprise?" she asked, her voice raspy.

I looked at her, truly seeing the effort she’d put into winning a war that was already over. "I think you're the only one still keeping score."

She leaned down, kissing me hard—one last punctuation mark on the night.

"Good," she said, sliding out of bed and reaching for her jacket. "Because I don't share my hobbies."

She walked out without looking back. Seth was gone, and Bianca had claimed the territory, but as I lay there in the quiet of the morning, I realized the game hadn't actually ended. It had just changed. I wasn't the trophy anymore; I was the ground they fought over.

And even if Seth never came back, Bianca would spend the rest of her life making sure I never missed him.