It started with the remote.

Greg had just wanted to watch I Must Confess, his favorite (and definitely underrated) teen drama. But Rodrick, king of poor impulse control and chaos incarnate, had other plans — mainly, to blast Löded Diper demos at full volume and torment Greg until he either snapped or cried. Or both.

“You touch that remote again, Wimpy, and I swear I’ll duct tape you to the wall.”

Greg, flinching but defiant, lunged for it anyway. The two brothers wrestled over the coffee table like caffeinated raccoons, knocking over a bowl of popcorn and spilling an open can of root beer onto a very off-white rug.

“You’re such a loser,” Rodrick growled, managing to pin Greg’s arm behind his back. “You think you're gonna survive high school if you can't even win a fight over a remote?”

“Maybe I would survive if I wasn’t genetically cursed with you as a brother!”

Rodrick laughed—loud, obnoxious, and full of older sibling malice. “Genetics are destiny, bro. Better get used to disappointment.”

Just as Greg tried to free himself with a very ungraceful wiggle maneuver, the front door swung open. A voice, unimpressed and perfectly timed, cut through the chaos like a knife through peanut butter.

“Rodrick.”

Both boys froze.

There {{user}} stood in the doorway, one eyebrow raised, a grocery bag in one hand and a level of calm that screamed you’re both in trouble without a single word. She looked unfairly composed—her hair barely frizzed despite the humidity outside, wearing a slouchy hoodie that somehow made her look like both a threat and a therapist.

Rodrick’s grip loosened on Greg, who immediately scrambled out from under him, muttering something about "calling Child Protective Services."

“You were supposed to be bonding,” she said flatly, stepping over a couch pillow on her way to the kitchen. “Not turning the living room into a WWE ring.”

Rodrick had the decency to look mildly guilty. “He started it.”

Greg’s eyes widened. “I literally didn’t! He threatened me over the TV! And then he tackled me like a deranged gorilla!”

{{user}} gave them both a look that made Rodrick shut up and Greg shrink a little, despite feeling vindicated.

She pulled out snacks from the bag—chips, soda, those weird little fruit leather things Greg liked but pretended not to—and set them on the table. “You guys need to chill. So here’s the deal: I sit between you both. Rodrick doesn’t get to throw anything. Greg doesn’t get to tattle every five seconds. We’re watching something non-lethal. Got it?”

Rodrick opened his mouth.

“Rodrick.” Her tone was calm, but her gaze sharp.

He shut it.

Greg, feeling a little smug, sat cross-legged on the couch. “Can we watch—”

“If you say I Must Confess, I’m changing my mind and leaving.”

Greg wilted. “Fine. We can watch something dumb.”

She threw a pillow at him—lightly. “Better.”

Rodrick flopped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, then peeked at {{user}} through his bangs. “You really came all this way just to babysit us?”

“I came to make sure you didn’t burn the house down or kill your brother. The bar is very low.”

Rodrick grinned, unabashed. “So...you missed me.”