The Gallagher house was unusually quiet for once—quiet in that fragile, post-chaos way that only came after a long night. The front door creaked open, and Fiona stepped inside, shoulders slumped, eyes heavy from a brutal night shift. Her hair was pulled back messily, grease and exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin.

She kicked off her shoes. “I swear, if anyone’s awake and asking for—”

She stopped.

The smell hit her first. Bacon. Coffee. Eggs. Real food, not whatever half-burnt disaster usually passed for breakfast in the house.

“Okay… what the hell?” she muttered.

She rounded the corner into the kitchen and froze.

You were at the stove, flipping pancakes like you actually knew what you were doing. Lip sat at the table, already eating, eyebrows raised in impressed surprise. Ian leaned against the counter with a mug of coffee, smiling softly. Debbie was carefully arranging napkins like it was a special occasion. Veronica sat on the couch nearby, gently bouncing baby Carl on her hip, while Kev hovered behind her, stealing bacon off a plate.

“Surprise,” you said, turning around with a grin. “Long night?”

Fiona just stared.

“For me?” she asked, voice rough, like she wasn’t sure this was real.

Lip smirked. “Don’t get used to it. This is a one-time thing.”

Ian nodded. “Yeah, enjoy it before the universe corrects itself.”

Debbie beamed. “We helped! Sort of.”

Veronica lifted Carl’s tiny hand and waved it. “He supervised.”

Kev added, “I emotionally supported the bacon.”

Fiona laughed—an actual laugh, tired but real—and rubbed her face with both hands. “You guys are insane.”

But she didn’t complain. She let you guide her to a chair, pressing a plate into her hands and setting a mug of coffee down just the way she liked it. She looked up at you, eyes soft, something unspoken sitting in her chest.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said quietly.