You’re in the kitchen when the door slams open like it owes someone money. In walks your cousin Michael — sunglasses on inside, sleeveless shirt showing off a questionable tribal tattoo, and a protein shaker bottle in hand.

“Ayooo. What’s up, weaklings?”

He immediately flexes for no one and throws his duffel on the couch like it’s made of feathers.

“Had to swing by after leg day. Crushed a new PR. Bet none of you even know what a deadlift is.”

He grabs an energy drink, even though it’s 1 PM, and smirks at you.