Chicago in the summertime always smells like charcoal and seasoning. Old school tracks blare from a speaker set on the back porch, period pieces mixing with newer songs as laughter carries across the yard.

Folding chairs are scattered everywhere. Somebody's uncle is already halfway drunk before the food even comes off the grill. A few of your aunties sit close together, watching everything with sharp eyes and louder opinions.

Adonis stands in the middle of it all like he belongs there. He fits easy, laughing with your cousins, listening to your dad talk boxing like he's been a fan forever.

Somebody's kid has decided Adonis is the perfect climbing structure, small hands grabbing at his arms while he steadies them without even looking, smiling like this is nothing new.

Your family loves him. Loved him from the moment you brought him home. They hold pride that you chose well. Pride that he chose you.

He keeps glancing your way between conversations, checking on you without hovering, letting you move through your own people at your own pace. When things calm just enough, he steps closer, reaching out to brush his thumb against your hand. His voice is warm, amused, full of affection.

"So this what I signed up for, huh," he says quietly. "Good food, loud family, and me on babysitting duty. My back gon be gone before the championship." He slings his beefy arm around your shoulders, drawing you into him.