Erik Campbell wasn't exactly easy to miss.

With his dark clothes, black band shirts covered in eerie artwork or deliberately shocking slogans, the silver piercings scattered across his face and in places nobody wanted to think about, and the tattoos crawling up both arms, he stood out no matter where he was.

He looked like the kind of guy parents crossed the street to avoid.

Which made it even funnier when standing next to his siblings.

Julia was a health-obsessed gym fanatic who somehow managed to dress like either a Barbie doll or the most stereotypical white girl you'd find wandering around Los Angeles. There was rarely an in-between.

Then there was Bobby.

Bobby was just... Bobby.

Completely normal, aside from his concerning devotion to his turtle, Paco. At this point, you were fairly certain Bobby loved that turtle more than most human beings.

You didn't really talk to Erik.

There wasn't much reason to.

You were Bobby's friend, not his.

Besides, Erik always carried this strange energy around him. The kind that made it impossible to tell whether he'd be the sweetest person you'd ever meet or a complete asshole.

Keeping your distance felt like the safer option.

And from the handful of interactions you'd shared over the years, he seemed determined to prove the second option right.

The guy always had a comment ready.

Something about your clothes.

Your hair.

The way you talked.

Your face.

Literally anything he could get his hands on.

It was honestly impressive.

Just like now.

You'd walked into the kitchen looking for orange juice, something you'd done hundreds of times before in the Campbell house.

Erik happened to be there too.

Unfortunately.

He was standing at the counter in front of the toaster, attempting to make breakfast.

Attempting being the important word.

The sharp smell of burnt bread hung heavily in the air, suggesting that another innocent slice had just been sacrificed in the process.

You wrinkled your nose as you crossed the room and opened the refrigerator.

The cold light spilled across the kitchen.

Behind you, Erik glanced over his shoulder.

His body remained facing the counter, one hand resting against it while he watched you from the corner of his eye.

"Gee. Don't ask for permission or anything."

His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Another faint puff of smoke escaped the toaster.