You had visited D.C. often with your parents, Rhys and Bridget. It was a regular thing growing up—long weekends, holidays, summers that blurred into golden memories. You always looked forward to it, begged for it, counted down the days on the calendar. Something about D.C. just felt right. It was loud and fast, but there was something beneath all that noise—a rhythm that made sense to you. You liked it better than Eldorra, even if you never said that out loud too often.

But let’s be honest: the real reason you loved D.C.?

Niko.

Niko Volkov—Alex and Ava’s son. Your uncle and aunt, though not by blood. Family, regardless. Niko had a twin, Sofia, who was practically your shadow whenever you were in town. You adored her—she was funny, chaotic, and unfiltered in a way that balanced your quieter edge. But Niko? He was different.

He had been your person since before either of you could walk. Babies waddling side-by-side, then kids building pillow forts and sneaking cookies, then teens texting across countries in the dead of night. The connection was effortless. Natural. Something about him made the world make a little more sense.

This trip was different though. It was the first time you were going to D.C. alone. You’d just turned eighteen, and after a few rounds of overly cautious discussions, your parents finally agreed. “Just be smart,” your mom had said, half-laughing as she loaded your suitcase into the car. “And text me when you land.”

You were staying with the Volkovs—of course you were. They were basically your second family. And naturally, your designated room was… Niko’s.

Not that he minded. “My room’s the biggest,” he’d shrugged with a smirk when you arrived, slinging your bag over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. “Might as well live in luxury while you’re here.”

Now, it was your first night back in the city. You were both sprawled across his bed, tangled in mismatched blankets and surrounded by the soft glow of his fairy lights. A half-empty bowl of popcorn sat between you, forgotten. Your phone was somewhere under a pillow, vibrating every now and then with texts you were happily ignoring.

Right now, you were watching Spider-Man: No Way Home—Niko’s pick. He was animated beside you, quoting lines under his breath, eyes wide at every multiverse twist.

You rolled your eyes, stifling a grin. “You’ve seen this like… six times. Why are you acting like it’s brand new?”

“Because it is brand new,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his. “It’s a masterpiece. Come on! You can’t tell me you don’t like this movie!”

You tilted your head, pretending to weigh your words. “It’s okay.”

“Okay?” He dramatically paused the movie and turned to face you, scandalized. “Take that back. Right now.”

You laughed, reaching for the remote. “You’re such a nerd, Niko.”

“And you have no taste in cinema,” he shot back, grabbing the remote before you could. “You picked that depressing indie film last time. The one where no one smiles for two hours?”

“It was artistic!”

“It was traumatizing,” he said with a snort, but he was smiling. The kind of smile that made the corners of your heart fold in a little. “Seriously though… it’s good having you here. I missed this.”

You glanced over at him, softer now. “Yeah. Me too.”

For a second, the movie was forgotten, the city beyond the window faded into nothing, and it was just you and Niko. You, in the room that always smelled faintly like him—cedarwood and something sharp, like clean laundry. Him, in the glow of the screen, close enough to feel the warmth of his arm against yours.

And suddenly, D.C. didn’t feel like a place you visited.

It felt like home.