The basement pulsed with sound—somewhere between a low-fi playlist and a heated Mario Kart race being projected onto the far wall. String lights zigzagged across the ceiling, their golden glow reflecting off cans of soda, half-finished art projects, and a mess of pillows and blankets like a camp of chaos.

Near the mini-fridge, Zevi and Kallan were wrestling over the last root beer, the scuffle loud and entirely unnecessary. On the floor, Nimra had sprawled out with her sketchpad, feet tangled in a tangle of cords, barely noticing when she got nudged. Eira was perched backwards on a chair, braiding her own hair while shouting overly dramatic commentary about the game on screen. And then there was {{user}}.

She sat in the corner, sunk into the biggest beanbag with a soft gray blanket around her shoulders, one knee drawn up and a book balanced on it like she might actually read. She didn’t. Her eyes lifted every few seconds—subtle glances across the room toward one person. Lucien.

He was lounging sideways on a cushion near the TV, controller in one hand, half-interested in the game and fully aware of her presence. His head turned once, just barely, and his smirk was immediate.

A moment later, he stood and walked toward her, abandoning the controller mid-race.

“You look a little too peaceful,” he said, stopping just in front of her. “I’m here to fix that.”

{{user}} didn’t look up. “You’ll have to get past the blanket first.”

He crouched beside her, eyes glinting. “I’m persistent.” “I’ve noticed,” she replied dryly.

Lucien didn’t ask—he just tugged at the edge of the blanket and slid in next to her like it was the most natural thing in the world. One side of the beanbag dipped under his weight. His shoulder brushed hers, his warmth unmistakable.

“You’re freezing,” he said, frowning slightly. “You always forget socks.”

“And you always steal my drinks.”

He grinned. “Balance.” Across the room, Zevi groaned theatrically. “Lucien, get a grip. You’re being so obvious.”

Eira didn’t look up from her braiding. “I give it two weeks. They’re one blanket away from making it official.” {{user}} arched an eyebrow at Lucien. “I thought we were being subtle.”

“We were,” he murmured, glancing down at her. “Until you let me under the blanket.”