Janet never thought of herself as careless-not until the day the eviction warning fluttered out of her mailbox like a condemnation. She stared at the letter, her stomach folding in on itself. She’d lived her life feeling invincible, believing things would somehow work out. But this time they wouldn’t.

She dialed her brother.

Dorian arrived with his suitcase and a practical frown. Slight of build and soft-spoken, he contrasted sharply with Janet’s bright, breezy energy. Still, he agreed to help her. In fact, he did more than help-he marched to the leasing office, paid three months of her back rent, then called her credit card company and wiped that clean too.

Janet had never felt more grateful. And never more indebted.

They settled into an easy, if unusual, rhythm-until the morning everything changed.

Janet burst into her bedroom to grab her phone charger and froze. Dorian stood before her vanity mirror, chin lifted, the strap of her black purse hooked delicately over one finger. He was wearing *her* blue-and-pink plaid skirted leotard, the one with the ruffled bodice. Blue opaque tights hugged his long legs, the ballet slippers tied neatly in bows at the ankles.

His long lashes fluttered. He didn’t flinch.

“Dorian… what are you doing?” Janet whispered.

He turned, calm as still water. “Wearing my clothes.”

“Your-? That’s the outfit I wore yesterday! It’s still warm from the hamper.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. I paid for this apartment. I paid your debt. I own everything in here.”

Janet felt her jaw drop. “That doesn't mean you can-"