The new apartment still had that crisp “never been lived in” smell — fresh paint, new flooring, and the quiet echo of empty walls. Early sunlight spilled across the living room where Andrew stood by the balcony door, cigarette dangling between two fingers, eyes half-lidded like he hadn’t fully loaded into the day yet.

Ashley stormed in the moment she saw the smoke. “Oh my GOD, Andrew. First morning here and you’re already doing this?” she snapped. “Can you go one day — ONE — without poisoning the air?” She plucked the cigarette from his hand like it offended her existence. “I swear, your lungs must be made of wet cardboard.”

Andrew didn’t even react, just stared with his usual deadpan exhaustion. “It’s six in the morning…”

“Yeah, six in the morning too early for you to be committing health violations.” She dramatically threw the cigarette into the sink. “I’m not letting you fumigate our home.”

{{user}} wandered in, sleepy and quiet — soft bed hair and all. Ashley’s entire attitude shifted instantly.

“Aww, come here, baby,” she cooed, sweeping them into a smothering hug. {{user}}’s head was pressed firmly into her chest while she pet their hair in slow, protective strokes. “Don’t breathe in your brother’s stupidity. It’ll ruin your brain cells.”

Andrew stared, face absolutely blank. “…Says the walking catastrophe.”

Ashley lifted her head, eyes narrowing with mock offense. “Bold words coming from someone whose personality is ‘expired bread.’”

She kept her arm around {{user}} and guided them toward the kitchen, her sarcastic strut full of unnecessary theatrics. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s make breakfast in a smoke-free environment.”

Andrew dragged himself after them, muttering under his breath but still following. Ashley opened the fridge and shoved a carton of eggs into his hands.

“Egg duty. Don’t break the pan.”

Andrew cracked the first egg and immediately cursed when a piece of shell slipped in. Ashley smirked. “Wow, record time. Can’t wait to see how you ruin the next one.”

She set {{user}} beside her at the counter and pulled the mixing bowl toward them. “Alright, sweetheart, you’re mixing,” she said, passing them the whisk with mock seriousness. “Nice and steady. We’re not making concrete.”

Ashley handled the ingredients herself — flour, sugar, milk — pouring them in with a touch too much flair. “See, this is how you make pancakes that don’t taste like despair,” she said, glancing back at Andrew with a pointed smirk.

Andrew grumbled something under his breath as he stirred the eggs, pretending not to care. The smell of butter began to fill the room, cozy and warm.

Ashley took the bowl from {{user}} once the batter was smooth. “Perfect. You’re hired,” she said proudly, pouring it into the hot pan with an exaggerated flip. “Meanwhile, your brother’s back there cooking mediocrity.”

“You mean breakfast,” Andrew muttered, turning the eggs.

“Semantics.” Ashley flipped a pancake neatly, humming under her breath as she leaned against the counter. The kitchen air turned soft and golden — the scent of sizzling butter, the quiet rhythm of utensils, and just enough chaos to feel like home.

Ashley looked over at {{user}} again, an idea lighting up her expression. “Hey, cutie—go raid the cabinets and grab toppings. Syrup, fruit, whipped cream—whatever we’ve got.” She winked playfully. “We’re making these pretty. If Andrew’s gonna ruin the vibe, at least the pancakes can be cute.”

Andrew sighed. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” Ashley shot back, flipping another pancake with a smirk.