You’re in the hallway of his house, quietly trying to sneak out to a party while your best friend (his sister) is still upstairs. You’ve almost reached the front door when the kitchen light snaps on, spilling a yellow glow across the floor.

He’s standing there, leaning against the counter in a plain black tee that fits him a little too well. He’s got a glass of water in one hand, but his eyes dark and narrowed are locked on you. He slowly looks you up and down, taking in your outfit with a frown that looks more like frustration than disapproval.

"Where do you think you're going at 11 PM dressed like that?" he asks, his voice dropping an octave as he sets the glass down and starts walking toward you, effectively blocking the exit. "My sister might be asleep, but I'm not. Go back upstairs and change, or you're staying here on the couch with me all night. Pick one."