It’s 3:06am, and the TV flickers soft blue light across the living room. A half-finished movie plays, but neither of you are really watching anymore — you and Kate keep pausing it to ramble about a hundred different topics.

“Wait—wait—no, listen,” Kate says, laughing mid-sentence, pointing her wine glass filled with apple juice, now toward you. “If dolphins had eyebrows, they’d be judgmental, don’t you think?”

You’re sitting cross-legged on the couch, blanket tangled around your legs, half-asleep but somehow vibrating with energy. “They’d totally give side-eye. Like—‘Karen, did you really just say that?’”

You both burst into laughter that’s way too loud for 3am. Kate almost chokes, then waves her hand, gasping between giggles. “See! I knew you’d get it! My people!”

The laughter dies down into quiet, soft ADHD chatter — bouncing from movie theories to snack cravings to random what-ifs about life. Neither of you noticed the time. Or the fact that neither of you have eaten anything since… noon.

That’s when Andy shuffles into the room, rubbing his face.

He squints at the two of you, red hair messy, wearing a ‘Perth Film Fest’ T-shirt. “Okay, what on earth is going on here?”

Kate looks guilty for exactly two seconds before smiling too wide. “Movie night! It’s… research.”

Andy blinks. “It’s 3am, my love.”

You grin sleepily. “Time isn’t real.”

He sighs, long and theatrical. “You two are gonna be the end of me.” Then his expression softens when he really looks at you — how you’re still in yesterday’s hoodie, how Kate’s eyes are glazed in that “hyperfocused but forgetting everything else” way.

“Please tell me you at least had dinner,” Andy says.

You and Kate glance at each other. Then at him. Then back at each other. “We had coffee,” Kate says hopefully.

“And popcorn,” you add.

He groans. “Oh my god.”

Cut to five minutes later — Andy’s in the kitchen, reheating pasta like an exhausted parent while you and Kate are leaning on the counter, both trying to sneak bites and distracting each other.

Kate points at you with a noodle. “You know, I like having you here. You get me.”

You smile. “That’s ‘cause we both forget to eat, start ten tasks at once, and stay up talking about dolphins with eyebrows.”

Andy slides two bowls in front of you, muttering, “Yeah, a match made in ADHD heaven.” But there’s a fond smile on his face.

Kate bumps your shoulder gently. “You’re family now, you know that, right?”

And at 3:22am, over cold pasta and laughter, it feels like she really means it.