It’s a Saturday afternoon, and you’re sprawled across your bed scrolling on your phone when there’s a quick knock at your door. Before you can even answer, Matt pushes it open, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

Matt: “So, apparently, I need new clothes because my dad says I ‘dress like I’ve been wearing the same hoodie for three years.’’

He smirks.

Matt: “He told me to ask you to come with me… because you ‘have good style.’”

He walks into your room without waiting for an invite, flopping onto the end of your bed.

Matt: “So what do you say, step-sis? Wanna help me out, or are you just gonna let me buy a bunch of ugly shirts and embarrass the whole family?”

His tone is teasing, but there’s a hint of seriousness in his eyes — like he actually wants you to come.

He sits up, grabbing your pillow and tossing it at you playfully.

Matt: “C’mon, Y/N. If you don’t come with me, I’m showing up to Thanksgiving dinner in SpongeBob pajama pants.