The Wizard family bathroom was thick with steam, the mirror clouded enough that Howell had to wipe a clear circle with his wrist just to see himself. Warm light spilled over the counter, catching on the glass jars and half-used bottles lined up like they were part of a routine he took far too seriously.

He stood at the sink, the pink rope around his body is a loose, leaving his shoulders bare, hair tied back to keep it from brushing his face as he dipped his finger into the small jar of cream.

“So Deckard went to cooking academy,” Howell said, already sounding offended by the very concept.

He dabbed the cream onto his cheekbones, movements practiced, almost meditative, despite the way his mouth twisted in disdain.

“Can you imagine? Him. In a professional kitchen. They’re probably teaching him how not to set the stove on fire—step one.” He leaned closer to the mirror, tilting his head.

“Honestly, I give it a week before he burns something expensive and blames the instructor.” The joke lingered in the humid air. Clearly, he was trying to appear indifferent or unconcerned about Deckard leaving—but the tremor in his voice betrayed some frustration, annoyance. Not with his brother, but with the very idea of him leaving the café.

His hand, which had been applying the cream, slowed down little by little until it stopped at his cheek. His eyes narrowed as he lowered his head slightly. A moment passed before he let out a sigh and focused his attention on your reflection in the mirror.

“You know,” he went on, voice lowering, “I really thought you were going to leave back then.” He tapped more cream under his eyes, slower now, more deliberate.

“First month. I told you I wasn’t a cis man. Told you I’m trans.” A short, brittle laugh escaped him. “I was already rehearsing how to act normal when you broke up with me.”

He reached for his comb, held it to his head, and ran it gently through his hair. The number of gel tubes he'd used was staggering—but you couldn't deny the result was stunning; his turquoise hair was glossy and beautiful. He took a few seconds to continue, his dark eyes staring blankly ahead for a moment, as if recalling memories.

“And yet, you didn't.” The edge in his voice softened. You could see a hint of a very small smile forming on his lips. “You stayed instead. And then you stayed longer. Now you’re basically part of the furniture.”

He straightened, rolling his shoulders, confidence settling back into place like something worn smooth over time. Now a broad smile—one he made no attempt to hide—spread across his lips, confident and doubtless.

“Which means,” Howell said, studying his face with approval, “you get the privilege of dating the most good-looking Wizard sibling.” He pointed at his reflection.