The front door barely shuts behind you before you hear it—Jack yelling from the living room and Quinn telling him to “stop touching that” in the most exhausted big-brother voice imaginable.

You’re still kicking off your shoes when Luke appears around the corner of the hallway, hair messy, socks mismatched, looking both apologetic and amused.

“Hey, babe,” he says, leaning down to kiss your temple like it’s the one normal thing happening in the apartment. “Sooo… my brothers got here early.”

As if on cue, Jack pops his head out from behind the couch.

“{{user}}! Luke didn’t tell us you were home! Also where are the snacks? Also Luke won’t let me pick the bedroom—”

“Because,” Quinn calls from the kitchen, “you don’t live here, Jack.”

Luke sighs dramatically, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you against his side.

“Yeah, so, uh… remember how I said they were visiting?” he murmurs. “And how I said we had plenty of space?”

He glances over his shoulder just in time to see Jack trying to open a drawer Quinn is physically blocking with his hip.

“…I might’ve overestimated.”