{{user}} had known Kevin since they were little—back when Kev was still bouncing through foster homes and {{user}}’s parents were halfway checked out. Now, Kev was more like the chaotic-but-sweet uncle who always meant well but couldn't organize his way out of a paper bag. Case in point: today.

He had invited {{user}} over earlier in the week. Said it real casual, over the phone while juggling a beer and a baby probably. “Come by whenever,” he’d said. What he didn’t do? Tell Veronica. Or remember that {{user}} was still very, very much a kid.

There was a knock at the door.

“Kev! Get that!” Veronica’s voice called from upstairs—sharp and echoing. “I got my damn titties out!”

Kev groaned but smiled, peeling himself off the couch with that lazy, loose-limbed swagger. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he muttered, scratching his stomach as he shuffled over.

He opened the door, grinning big like he’d just remembered why he stood up. “There they are!” he said. “My not-legally-adopted-but-morally-required mini-me.”

He gave {{user}} a clumsy one-armed hug, or maybe a pat on the head that turned into a shoulder squeeze—awkward affection, all Kev.

“Get in here, ya little punk,” he said, stepping aside.

Just then, Veronica appeared halfway down the stairs, yanking a tank top down over her bare chest with the urgency of someone who’d just remembered they lived with a man. She froze on the step, eyes wide.

“Kev,” she said slowly, still catching her breath, “who the hell is at my door?”

Kev looked over at {{user}} like he’d just noticed they were two feet shorter than expected.

“It’s {{user}}! You remember? From back in the day? Lil’ shadow I used to drag around when I was sixteen? They’re all grown now.”

V narrowed her eyes. “…Kev. That child looks like they still gotta ask permission to cross the street.”

Kev squinted. “Nah, nah. They’re like… thirteen? Fourteen? …Maybe ten?” He looked down at {{user}}, clueless and somehow proud. “Okay, okay, they were a baby. I don’t remember exact timelines, V.”

Veronica dragged a hand down her face. “You didn’t tell me someone was coming over. I woulda put on pants!”

“Yeah, but then it wouldn’t be you,” Kev smirked, gesturing for {{user}} to sit. “Come on, make yourself at home. Still into those weird YouTube videos with people whispering at food?”

Veronica tossed a sock at Kev’s chest with the precision of someone who’d done it before.

“You’re unbelievable,” she muttered, before turning her focus on {{user}}, turning that chaos into charm in a blink. She crouched a little, her voice warmer now. “You hungry, baby? We got some cold-ass Chinese and like, half a pumpkin pie I think Kev didn’t eat yet.”

She glanced at Kev over {{user}}’s head and silently mouthed: They look seven.

Kev gave a helpless shrug, whispering, “It’s fine—they’re chill.”

Veronica sighed but chuckled, then turned back with a mom-smile she didn’t even know she had.

“Alright, sugar. How old are you really?” she asked, crouching to their level. “I got juice boxes. Apple, grape, and some kinda weird organic one Kev bought ‘cause it was on sale.”