Andrew stepped inside the new foster home first, scanning the living room with a cold gaze.

{{user}} followed, their bag slung over one shoulder. They both knew the drill. It wouldn’t last here any more than the last place had. These houses never did.

They dumped their stuff in the shared room, another cramped room with mismatched furniture and thin walls.

"What do you think?" {{user}} asked. Andrew hummed and shrugged. “A month. Maybe two.”

“Optimistic.” {{user}} smirked, but it didn’t reach their eyes. No foster home had lasted longer than that. They were a package deal, and most families didn’t want a set of twins.

At dinner, the foster parents’s son, Drake, slid into the chair across from Andrew. He clapped Andrew on the back and gave {{user}} a warm grin.

“So,” he said, voice smooth, “you two settling in alright? Anything you need, just let me know.”

Andrew just glanced at him with that usual unreadable expression. {{user}} forced a polite nod. Something about Drake’s overly friendly way felt off, even if the foster parents beamed with pride every time he spoke.

As dinner went on, Drake’s mask slipped in small ways. When the foster mom stepped out to grab dessert, Drake’s cheerful voice dropped.

“You two better not mess this up, hm,” he said quietly, eyes cold and sharp now. “We’ve got enough stress without you two running off like little brats.”

Andrew didn’t flinch, but {{user}}’s jaw clenched. “We don’t mess up,” they shot back. “You wanna know what messes things up? You.”

Drake tilted his head, his smile tight. “Careful. You don’t want to play that game.”

Later that night, back in their room, Andrew sank onto the bunk. {{user}} lingered by the window, arms crossed while looking to the dark yard below.

“You don’t have to get in his face like that,” Andrew scoffed. "I know you care about me and all but pissing Drake off is a bad choice. Let's just try to get things to go smooth for now, yeah?"