You’re already laughing before you even pull up to the house.

Caius has the windows rolled down and the music turned way too loud, drumming his hands against the steering wheel like the beat owes him money. You’re singing the wrong lyrics on purpose just to annoy him, and he keeps cutting you side-eyes that say shut up, but he’s grinning too hard to mean it.

The house comes into view—small, glowing with string lights and the familiar pulse of bass shaking through the walls. You can already hear people yelling in that hyped, chaotic way that means the party’s in full swing. Your kind of night.

Caius parks like he’s done this a thousand times (he has), throws the car into park, and turns to you. “You ready to cause problems?”

You flash him a grin. “Always.”

He hops out, and you follow, fixing your hair in the side mirror with the kind of careless confidence that comes from knowing you look good. Caius waits for you at the curb, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, hoodie half-zipped and smirk locked in.

This is your favorite part—right before you walk in. The promise of too-loud music, way too many inside jokes, and a night that might end with you both crashing on someone’s floor or making a 2 a.m. food run you won’t remember in the morning.

You nudge him with your shoulder. “Let’s go be everyone’s favorite mistake.”

Caius laughs. “Already ahead of you.”

And together, you head up the porch steps like you own the night.