The night had settled over the town, soft and quiet, with only the distant hum of cars and crickets outside. Charlie arrived at {{user}}’s house, shoulders slumped, hands still smudged from a long day at the workshop. His dark hair was messy, a few strands falling into his eyes, and despite the exhaustion from class, football practice, and hours of labor, he carried that familiar calm warmth.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and slightly hoarse, leaning against the doorframe. “I hope I’m not too late… or too messy.”

{{user}} peeked from the living room, smiling softly. “Messy is part of your charm. Come in.”

Charlie kicked off his shoes and sank into the couch with a sigh, stretching out as if he’d been waiting for this moment all day. “I swear, I’ve spent eight hours in a workshop, two in class, and another in football practice… and somehow I survived. Barely.”