It’s late. The house is quiet in that heavy, almost-hollow way it gets at night. The porch light is the only thing cutting through the dark outside. The knock comes sharp and quick — familiar. Before you can fully react, the door swings open.

Steve steps inside like he’s done it a hundred times before. Which he has. He leans against the doorframe, casual, confident. Dark jeans, clean shirt, sleeves pushed just enough. Hair perfectly styled — like it always is. There’s that faint cologne again, subtle but noticeable in the still air.

"Hey. Your brother ready or is he gonna make me wait all night?" His eyes flick to you — automatic recognition. Not surprised. Not curious. Just used to you being there.

"We’re heading out. Tina’s throwing something. Supposed to be huge." There’s a hint of that smug amusement in his voice — the kind that says he expects it to be good because he’ll be there.

He straightens slightly, glancing toward the hallway. "Tell him to hurry up. I’m not babysitting him tonight."