Chapter 18: Sydney Teasing Ryan

The old wooden stairs creaked under Sydney’s weight as she finally made her descent. I had been expecting her to emerge in something more… substantial fitting her goth style. Instead, what greeted us was far from what any of us had anticipated.

Sydney appeared wearing nothing but an oversized black t-shirt that hung loosely around her frame, the fabric soft and worn from countless washes. The shirt fell to mid-thigh, but with each movement—each casual step or turn—it shifted and swayed, offering glimpses of black lace underneath that made my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I quickly averted my eyes, focusing instead on the peeling paint on the far wall.

“U-Um, Sydney?” Rachel eventually stuttered out. She cleared her throat and tried again, this time with more conviction.

Sydney paused at the bottom of the stairs, one hand gripping the banister while the other worked through her tangled damp black hair. “Hm? What’s up?” She asked, gathering the strands into a messy ponytail. “Are you hungry? I think there might be some leftover pizza in the fridge, though I can’t guarantee it’s still good.”

Rachel’s eyes darted between Sydney and the rest of us, clearly struggling with how to phrase her question diplomatically. “No, that’s not… I mean, why did you change into… that?” She gestured vaguely in Sydney’s direction.

Sydney looked down at herself as if suddenly remembering what she was wearing, then shrugged with complete nonchalance. “Why do you ask? It’s way more comfortable to be like this. Besides,” she added, stretching her arms above her head in a way that made the shirt ride up dangerously, “I’m planning to sleep soon anyway.”

“Sleep?” The word escaped my lips before I could stop it.

Sydney’s blue eyes fixed on me with barely concealed exasperation, as if I’d just asked the most obvious question in the world. “Sleep, yes,” she repeated slowly, rolling her eyes. “What did you think we were going to do? You want to leave in this pitch-black night? Look outside, Ryan.” She gestured toward the window where indeed, thick darkness had settled over the landscape like a heavy blanket. With the infected indeed it was pretty scary.

“We should be resting tonight and leave tomorrow morning when we can actually see where we’re going.”

Rachel opened her mouth to say something. “But…”

Sydney cut her off with a wave of her hand, already moving toward the kitchen. “If you want to leave now, you’re welcome to,” she said over her shoulder. “But don’t count on borrowing my car.” She opened the refrigerator with perhaps more force than necessary, the bottles inside rattling as she retrieved a carton of milk. Without bothering to pour it into a glass, she tilted it back and drank directly from the container.

I found myself considering her words despite the awkwardness of the situation. She had a point, as much as I hated to admit it. The roads around here were treacherous enough in daylight, and attempting to navigate them in complete darkness seemed like asking for trouble. Besides, it wasn’t as if I was in any particular hurry to leave. I had nowhere specific to go, no one waiting for me. I had simply been following Sydney’s lead, assuming she had some grand plan mapped out. But her suggestion to rest made practical sense.

“So?” Sydney turned back toward us, lowering the milk carton and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I have two bedrooms upstairs, which is more than enough for all of you. You should probably take my very generous offer while it’s still on the table.”

I made my decision quickly, before I could second-guess myself. “I’m staying,” I said.

Rachel and Rebecca exchanged a meaningful look, one of those silent conversations that sisters seem capable of having without words. I caught Rebecca’s slight nod and Rachel’s barely perceptible shrug in response.

“I knew you couldn’t leave me, Ryan!” Sydney’s face lit up with a triumphant smirk. She raised her free hand to partially cover her mouth, though her stage whisper was loud enough for everyone to hear. “He has a huge crush on me, actually.”

Her whisper was aimed at Rachel and Rebecca but I damn heard it.

I felt my expression twist into what I was sure was an unflattering grimace. “I can hear you, you know…” I muttered, though my protest lacked any real conviction.

Sydney cleared her throat dramatically, though she kept her gaze fixed on the two sisters rather than acknowledging my embarrassment. “So, what do you decide?”

Rachel looked to Rebecca one more time, searching her younger sister’s face for any sign of hesitation. Rebecca’s expression showed concern, but also a weary acceptance that seemed to say they didn’t have many other options. Finally, Rachel nodded with resignation. “Yes, thank you. We’ll accept your offer to stay here tonight.”

“Well, good,” Sydney said, clapping her hands together once. “But I want to make something clear—I’m not running a charity house here. Since I’m providing you with shelter and beds to sleep in, I expect payment in services.” She pointed at each of us in turn, her finger moving like she was assigning roles in some twisted game. “The two sisters will cook us a proper dinner with whatever’s in the kitchen, and Ryan will clean up the guest rooms upstairs.”

Rachel actually chuckled at this. She seemed amused. She nodded her agreement while Rebecca leaned close to whisper something that sounded suspiciously like “I don’t actually know how to cook.”

Sydney’s attention turned back to me, and she planted her hands firmly on her hips, giving me what could only be described as an exaggerated glare of authority. “What are you waiting for, Ryan? Do you need me to hold your hand and show you where the cleaning supplies are?”

I sighed deeply, already resigning myself to whatever tasks lay ahead. “Yes, ma’am,” I replied which earned me another smirk from Sydney.

The stairs creaked under our combined weight as Sydney led me upstairs, pointing out the location of the broom closet and explaining which rooms needed attention.

Two of the bedrooms were clearly guest rooms that had been neglected for some time, dust motes dancing in the thin streams of light that managed to penetrate the heavy curtains. But Sydney’s own room, which she insisted I clean as well, was in a category all its own. Clothes were scattered across every available surface, books lay open and forgotten on the floor, and I could barely make out the color of the carpet beneath the chaos.

“Don’t judge,” Sydney said, though she didn’t sound particularly embarrassed. “I’ve been busy lately.”

As I stood in the doorway, broom in hand and wondering where to even begin, I couldn’t help but think that this night was turning out to be far more complicated than I had originally anticipated.

“Indeed, you have been very busy…” I mumbled under my breath, stepping carefully into the disaster zone that was Sydney’s bedroom.

The chaos was overwhelming. Before I could even think about sweeping, I needed to create some semblance of order from the hurricane of belongings scattered across every surface. Books lay spine-up with their pages splayed open, empty water bottles had rolled into corners, and what appeared to be an entire wardrobe’s worth of clothing had somehow migrated from dresser drawers to form small textile mountains across the hardwood floor.

I glanced over my shoulder to find Sydney leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching my every move with obvious amusement. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, as if she was enjoying some private joke at my expense.

The logical part of my brain expected her to offer some assistance—after all, this was her personal space, her mess to clean. I found it strange that she seemed so comfortable having a relative stranger, a guy no less, rifling through her most private belongings. Most girls would have been mortified at the thought right?

“What are you looking at, Ryan? You want to see my breasts that much?”

Heat flooded my face instantly. “I don’t!” I shot back, whipping my head around to focus determinedly on the task at hand.

Fine. If she wanted to make this awkward, I’d just power through it professionally. I set the broom against the wall and began the methodical process of sorting through the debris. The books came first—an eclectic mix of fantasy novels, art history texts, and what appeared to be several volumes of poetry, all dog-eared and well-loved. I stacked them carefully on her desk, noting the wide range of interests they represented.

Then came the clothes, and that’s when things became significantly more challenging.

Sydney’s fashion sense was distinctly her own—everything seemed to be black or dark gray, with flowing fabrics and unique cuts that spoke to an artistic, goth style. I picked up each item methodically, trying to maintain clinical detachment as I sorted them into what I hoped was a dirty clothes basket tucked behind her dresser.

But as I worked my way deeper into the room, the task became increasingly difficult to approach with professional neutrality. I found myself handling delicate tights with runs in them, soft cotton socks that still held traces of her perfume, and then… the more intimate items that made my hands shake slightly despite my best efforts to remain composed.

I tried to keep my expression neutral, focusing on the mechanical act of picking up and sorting, but my pulse was definitely quickening. When I reached for what I initially thought was just another piece of black fabric, I realized I was holding a bra—substantial, well-constructed, clearly designed for someone more generously proportioned than Sydney’s slender frame had initially suggested.

I paused, the garment in my hands, processing this unexpected discovery. The size tag confirmed what I was thinking—this was easily a D cup, comparable to Rachel’s figure.

Never judge a book by its cover…

“I knew you were a pervert, Ryan.”

Sydney’s voice suddenly came from directly behind my ear. I hadn’t heard her move from the doorway, and her unexpected proximity made me jump nearly out of my skin.

“What?” I stammered, quickly depositing the bra into the basket and turning away.

“Ah~” Sydney let out a long, theatrical sigh before settling herself on the edge of her unmade bed. She crossed one leg over the other and began swaying her foot in a hypnotic rhythm, clearly settling in to observe my continued embarrassment. “You know, you’re actually pretty good at this cleaning thing, Ryan.”

I forced myself to focus on gathering the remaining items, grateful for something to do with my hands. “No, it’s just that you’re particularly bad at it,” I replied.

“Hey, that’s rude!” Sydney protested, though her tone was more playful than truly offended. She stuck out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout that somehow managed to be both childish and endearing.

Despite everything—the awkwardness, the embarrassment, the strange circumstances that had brought us all here—I found myself smiling. Actually smiling, for what felt like the first time since my mother’s death. The realization surprised me.

There was something genuinely refreshing about Sydney’s energy. She was vivacious and outgoing in a way that felt completely authentic, unlike anyone I’d encountered before. Even Emily, who I’d always considered easy to talk to, seemed reserved by comparison.

Most of the outgoing girls at school had intimidated me for two main reasons: first, they were never interested in someone like me, and second, their constant chatter usually felt superficial and exhausting. They were the type who would talk behind your back the moment you left the room, adapting their personalities like chameleons depending on their audience.

But Sydney was different. Every word she spoke seemed to come from a place of genuine honesty, even when that honesty was inconvenient or embarrassing. She didn’t seem to have any filters or false personas—what you saw was exactly what you got. Perhaps that’s why I felt surprisingly at ease around her, despite the circumstances.

I grabbed the broom and began sweeping with renewed focus, the rhythmic motion of the bristles against the hardwood providing a satisfying sense of progress. The physical work felt good, purposeful, and I lost myself in the simple task of creating order from chaos.

After about five minutes of thorough sweeping, I paused to wipe a bead of sweat from my brow, feeling accomplished as I surveyed the now-visible floor.

“Don’t stop now, Ryan,” Sydney said with a smile, her foot still swaying in that mesmerizing rhythm. “You still haven’t dealt with my bed.”

I glanced at the rumpled mess of sheets and blankets, then at Sydney who was still perched on the very edge, clearly with no intention of moving. “Right…” I set the broom aside and approached the bed, reaching out to grab the corner of the bedcover. “Could you move away, Princess?” I asked.

Sydney’s smile widened, and something mischievous flickered in her blue eyes. Instead of moving away as requested, she reached out with lightning-quick reflexes, her fingers grasping the front of my t-shirt and pulling me toward her with surprising strength.

“Woah!” I exclaimed as I found myself being drawn forward, my balance completely compromised, heading straight toward the bed and toward Sydney herself.

Instinct kicked in and I managed to catch myself just in time, my palms slamming down on either side of Sydney’s face as I found myself suspended above her on the bed. My arms shook slightly from the sudden exertion and adrenaline, and I could feel my heart pounding against my ribcage.

“W—What are you doing?” I stuttered, looking down at Sydney who was now lying beneath me on the rumpled bedsheets, her fingers still clutching the fabric of my shirt.

Sydney didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she simply stared up at me with those piercing blue eyes, her expression unreadable. The playful smirk had vanished, replaced by something more intense, more focused. The silence stretched between us, broken only by the sound of our breathing and the distant murmur of Rachel and Rebecca’s voices floating up from the kitchen below.

Damn…

Being this close to her was overwhelming in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Every detail of her face was suddenly crystal clear—the light dusting of freckles across her nose that I’d never noticed before, the way her eyelashes cast tiny shadows on her cheeks, the subtle curve of her lips. She was absolutely breathtaking, and I realized with a jolt that she had nothing to envy Emily or any other girl. The comparison seemed almost ridiculous now.

My heart was hammering so hard I was certain she could hear it. The position we were in felt intimate and dangerous, and I was acutely aware of every point where our bodies were almost touching. Her warmth radiated up toward me, and I caught the subtle scent of her perfume—something floral and light, with undertones of vanilla that made my head spin slightly.

Is this how all women smell? Or was this uniquely Sydney?

Despite her bold personality and confident demeanor, she looked surprisingly delicate from this angle. Her face seemed smaller, more vulnerable, framed by strands of black hair that had escaped from her ponytail and spread across the pillow beneath her.

“S—Sydney?” I managed to call out, though my voice came out embarrassingly weak and shaky.

“Shh.” The sound was barely more than a breath, her warm exhalation tickling my face and sending an unexpected shiver down my spine.

I felt heat flooding my cheeks and spreading down my neck. Why was she looking at me so seriously? The intensity in her gaze was making it difficult to think clearly, and I found myself getting lost in those green depths.

“Is there something wrong?” I asked, genuinely concerned now by her unusual silence and the way she was scanning my face as if she was memorizing every detail.

Sydney continued to stare for another long moment, and then slowly—agonizingly slowly—her lips began to twitch. The serious expression cracked, and that familiar mischievous smirk spread across her face.

My face burned bright red as understanding dawned on me. She was playing with me again, enjoying my flustered reaction and obvious discomfort. Of course she was. I should have known better by now.

“You’re impossible,” I muttered, trying to push myself back up and create some distance between us, but Sydney’s grip on my shirt only tightened in response.

She chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent another wave of heat through me. “Wait,” she said, her voice still tinged with amusement, “you have something in your hair, Ryan—”

But as I tried to pull away more forcefully, my foot slipped. My balance, already precarious, completely abandoned me, and I found myself falling forward despite Sydney’s grip on my shirt.

“Woah!” Sydney exclaimed as I collapsed on top of her, my face landing in the crook of her neck, our bodies suddenly pressed together in a way that made my entire nervous system go haywire.

The impact wasn’t painful, but it was startling. I could feel Sydney’s heartbeat against my chest, rapid but steady, and her hair tickled my cheek. Her perfume was even stronger now, surrounding me completely, and I was hyperaware of every point of contact between us.

“Well, that was a close call,” Sydney murmured, and I could hear the smile in her voice even though I couldn’t see her face from this position.

I was just beginning to process the situation—trying to figure out how to extract myself without making things even more awkward—when the sound of hurried footsteps echoed up the stairs.

“Dinner is ready—”

Rebecca’s cheerful voice rang as she appeared in the doorway, but the words died on her lips the moment she took in the scene before her. Her eyes went wide, her mouth falling open in shock as she processed the sight of me sprawled on top of Sydney on the bed.

Now this was clearly a misleading scene.

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