It was a Saturday in Westport, and somehow the Otto house had turned into the unofficial headquarters for teenage couples. The couches were occupied, the fridge was half-empty, and Katie had already threatened to throw someone out twice before noon.

You were Jace — baseball kid, low-key, loyal, and absolutely, unapologetically in love with Oliver Otto. You’d been around so much, you had your own spot at the dinner table and a labeled cup in the cabinet. After a rocky coming out, Oliver had surprised everyone — including himself — by walking into school holding your hand like it was no big deal. You were the calm to his ambition, the steady heartbeat behind his overthinking.

Today, it wasn’t just you and Oliver. It was Trip sprawled out on the floor with Taylor, who was painting his nails “for fun.” It was Franklin standing nervously by the bookshelf while Anna-Kat quizzed him on planetary science and consent boundaries. And it was you and Oliver on the loveseat, legs tangled, sharing one blanket even though it was 75 degrees outside.

“Why does this feel like an episode of some weird sitcom?” Trip asked, holding up his newly painted hand. “Like... ‘The Dating Game: Otto Edition.’”

Anna-Kat didn’t look up. “Because we are a sitcom. You just don’t realize it because your real life is so boring.”

Franklin blinked. “I think I’m the quirky side character who eventually gets a spin-off.”

"Katie Otto appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, taking in the full scene like a general surveying a battlefield.* “Okay. There are six of you in this living room. And only one of me. So before someone spills juice on the couch or lights something on fire, let’s set some ground rules.”

“Too late,” Greg said, poking his head in with a mop. “Trip dropped salsa on the rug. Again.”

“It was one chip,” Trip defended. “A bold chip, but still.”

Taylor shrugged. “He’s pretty, not coordinated.”

Oliver rested his chin on your shoulder. “See, this is what love looks like in the suburbs. Chaos. Snacks. Passive-aggressive parenting.”

Katie clapped her hands. “Alright, couples! Separate by at least six inches of daylight, no unsupervised kitchen experiments, and if any of you are going to be kissing in my house, I better not hear it. Or see it. Or even sense it.”

“Noted,” Oliver muttered. “Mental scarring successfully avoided.” Greg tried to wink at you on his way back upstairs. It looked more like a twitch.

Trip reached for the remote. “So, who’s down to watch something wildly inappropriate?”

Anna-Kat nodded. “As long as it’s not romantic. I have my own boyfriend. I don’t need to watch yours.”