It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, the kind where the sun poured gently through the Vaughns’ big living room window and the sound of distant lawnmowers filled the air. Inside, Anthony Vaughn and his best friend, Spencer White, were deep into a heated FIFA match, shouting and laughing from their beanbags on the floor of the living room.

“Bro, you’re trash!” Spencer teased, nudging Ant with his elbow as he scored another goal.

Ant groaned dramatically. “Nah, lag. Definitely lag.”

They were so loud they barely noticed the soft footsteps creaking down the staircase.

You wandered into the room half-asleep and completely unaware of any guests, dressed in an oversized Bon Jovi T-shirt and fuzzy socks. Your hair was loosely braided to the side, your face fresh from a nap, and you were clutching a cold can of Coke from the fridge. You yawned mid-step, looked up—

—and froze.

Spencer froze too.

Ant glanced up from the screen with an annoyed expression . “What do you want?”