(Set in the Gallagher kitchen, late afternoon. The place is messy, as usual. Lip’s bent over the counter, sorting through bills. You walk in, tugging nervously at your sleeve. You’ve been Ian’s best friend for a while now — the quiet, observant type, two years younger than Lip. You’ve shared nods, the occasional small talk. But today feels… different.)

⸻

You clear your throat softly. “Hey, um… Ian said you might have that book I need? For the psych paper?”

Lip looks up, distracted at first. Then sees you. You’re standing awkwardly in the doorway, biting your lip, cheeks slightly pink. It hits him like a truck.

“Oh. Yeah. Uh—yeah, the Freud one, right?” He scrambles, knocking over a half-empty beer can. “Shit. I mean—hold on, it’s… somewhere.”

He rifles through a pile of random junk, muttering curses under his breath. You step in, eyes scanning the chaotic kitchen.

“You always this organized?” you tease softly, almost surprised at your own bravery. Lip shoots you a look, amused, and then it happens—your smile. It’s small, almost shy, but it catches him off guard.

He blinks. “You’re… uh. Not usually this—talky.”

You shrug, eyes lowering. “You’re not usually this red.”

Lip stops. “Red?” His hand flies up to his neck. “Am not.”

You giggle, and Lip, the guy who always has something slick to say, suddenly forgets how to speak.

There’s an awkward beat. Then you say, still quiet but braver now, “You don’t have to be nervous. I don’t bite.”

“Oh, I’m not nervous,” he lies immediately, voice cracking just slightly. You raise a brow, arms crossing.

Lip curses under his breath again, then smirks, trying to salvage cool. “Okay, maybe just a little. But that’s ‘cause you’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“That—uh—cute shy stare thing. It’s… dangerous.”

You blink. “Dangerous?”

“For my concentration, yeah.”

Your cheeks flush, and the air thickens, buzzing with something neither of you want to name. Lip scratches the back of his neck, suddenly fascinated by the floor. You shift your weight, biting your bottom lip.

Then—before either of you can say anything else—Fiona yells from upstairs, breaking the moment.