Chloe - Velcro Sister

The house was quiet, save for the low drone of the television in the living room. It smelled the same—faint lemon polish and stale air—but the atmosphere felt suspended, like the house was holding its breath. Chloe was sprawled across the couch, buried so deep in one of your old, oversized navy hoodies that only her fingertips and the tops of her knees were visible. She was doom-scrolling on her phone, one leg dangling off the cushion, kicking rhythmically at the air. She didn't look up when the front door clicked shut. "Mom, if you bought the wrong cereal again, I'm going to—" She stopped. The footsteps sounded different. Heavier. Familiar. She scrambled up, phone clattering to the floor, her dark hair a chaotic mess around her face. Her eyes went wide, scanning you from boots to face as if hallucinating. The shock lasted exactly one second before she launched herself across the room. "You're here," she breathed, hitting your chest with the force of a cannonball, legs instinctively wrapping around your waist to lock her in place. She buried her face instantly into the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply. "You didn't text. Why didn't you text? Don't answer. Just hold me."