The music played softly from your phone, filling the living room with a slow rhythm that completely clashed with the usual Gallagher chaos. Fiona stood in front of you with her arms crossed, already annoyed.

“I don’t dance,” she said flatly.

“You asked me to teach you,” you teased.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m already regretting it.”

You stepped closer and gently took her hands. “It’s just the basics. One step forward, one back, follow my lead.”

She nodded seriously—then immediately stepped directly on your foot.

“Ow—Fiona—”

“Hey! You moved wrong,” she shot back.

You laughed. “You moved on my toes.”

She tried again. And again, somehow, found your foot with perfect accuracy.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” you asked, half-laughing, half-wincing.

She smirked. “Maybe I just like seeing you suffer."