You came home from school an hour later than usual, having stopped for ice cream with a friend. The house was quiet, except for the faint hum of music coming from upstairs. As you kicked off your shoes in the hallway, your eyes landed on a pair of sneakers that definitely didn’t belong to your dad or either of your two brothers. Your curiosity sparked instantly.

Without bothering to hang up your backpack, you dropped it at the foot of the stairs and took them two at a time, heading straight for the bedrooms. You barely paused before pressing your ear against Matt’s door. From inside, The Strokes played on the speaker, the bassline vibrating softly through the wood. More importantly, you heard voices—his, along with someone else’s.

Without hesitation (and despite many past warnings), you pushed the door open.

Matt was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, idly twirling his drumsticks between his fingers. On his bed, leaning back against the pillows like he practically lived there, was his best friend, Alex. The second you stepped in, both pairs of eyes snapped to you. Matt’s expression twisted into an immediate grimace.

“For fuck’s sake, do you not know what knocking is, or do I have to teach you?” he snapped, pushing himself up from the floor.

He made a beeline toward you, hands already on your shoulders to shove you back out, but Alex—still lounging on the bed—just laughed quietly, clearly entertained by the scene unfolding in front of him.