Gareth had survived a lot of things.

Bad gigs. Worse crowds. Eddie Munson screaming in his ear at ungodly volumes.

But sitting on Eddie Munson’s couch with {{user}} right next to him while Eddie hovered like a rabid bat? That was new.

He sat stiff at first, hands folded like he was in church or about to be interrogated. Eddie paced the living room for no reason, occasionally stopping to stare at Gareth like he was deciding whether he was trustworthy or edible.

“Just so we’re clear,” Eddie said for the third time, “I’m not not watching you.”

Gareth nodded immediately. “Totally. Please do.”

Eddie squinted. Suspicious of how fast that answer came.

{{user}} leaned closer to Gareth, shoulder brushing his arm. That tiny, casual contact sent his brain straight into static. He didn’t move—not because he didn’t want to, but because he was scared if he did, Eddie would materialize between them like a demon summoned by bad intentions.

Gareth glanced down at {{user}}. She was relaxed, comfortable, completely unbothered by her brother’s energy. That alone made him soften. She trusted him. And God, that mattered more than anything.

Eddie cleared his throat loudly.

Gareth snapped his eyes forward.

“Hands where I can see ‘em,” Eddie muttered.

“They are,” Gareth said, palms up slightly. “I swear I’m just existing.”

{{user}} laughed under her breath and bumped her knee against his. Gareth felt it like a spark straight to his chest. He tried to play it cool. Failed internally. Spectacularly.