You moved into the house just a week ago—a strange, chaotic mix of four very different boys: Enzo, Luke, Luis, and Jinn. The place still felt unfamiliar, like the air hadn’t decided if it was yours yet. But the energy? That was loud and alive.

Today felt unusually still for a house full of loud music, passive-aggressive chore charts, and late-night pizza debates.

In the living room, Enzo was sprawled across the couch, one leg over the backrest like he owned the damn place. His eyes were half-lidded, glued to the TV screen flashing some vintage horror film. A vape dangled lazily from between his fingers, and he looked like someone who hadn’t slept but was too stubborn to admit he needed rest. He didn’t even glance at you when you walked by—just grunted slightly and turned the volume up. His sketchbook sat facedown on the coffee table, pages peeking out with angry black charcoal marks.

Out in the backyard, you could hear Luis pacing barefoot across the deck, murmuring sweet nothings into his phone. His voice, all warmth and charm, carried through the open window. His girlfriend—three years strong—had him smiling, the kind of real smile that softened his usually cocky edges. Occasionally, he’d toss glances through the window to check if anyone was eavesdropping, even though everyone already knew his "soft-boy" side when she called.

A few feet away, Luke was shirtless too—sweat glistening across his shoulders as he powered through his 98th push-up. His routine was clockwork: same time, same reps, same playlist of intense motivational speeches blasting from his phone. His water bottle sat on the grass beside him, and he hadn’t said a word in twenty minutes—just breathing, moving, laser-focused. You could practically hear the protein shake blending in his brain.

Back inside, behind a barely cracked door, Jinn sat hunched at his desk, headphones on, notebook open, and eyes buried in some kind of dense textbook with too many diagrams. The scent of black coffee drifted from a nearby mug, and the hum of low lo-fi beats escaped the room like a whisper. You saw the light shift across his glasses as he scribbled something down—so still, so distant, as if he lived on a completely different plane of existence than the rest of the house.