Barke leaned against the hood of his car, arms crossed over his chest, sweat still clinging to the back of his neck from practice. His teammates stood around him, tossing jokes, cracking open water bottles, and laughing about the usual—nothing too serious. But his attention wasn’t really on them.

Not when he saw the front door creak open.

{{user}} stepped out onto the porch, hoodie sleeves draping over his hands, hair sticking up a little like he’d just gotten out of bed even though it was nearly sunset. He was barefoot on the concrete, clutching a soda that Barke was 99% sure he’d snuck from the fridge. The sight made his heart do that stupid warm flip again.

“Yo, there’s the prince,” one of Barke’s teammates teased, nodding toward {{user}} with a grin.

Barke smirked and rolled his eyes. “Shut up, man.”

But his gaze stayed on {{user}}, who was scanning the group until his eyes landed on him—and instantly, that tired little face lit up. His steps quickened as he came down the walk, the can of soda wobbling in his grip.

“You were taking forever,” {{user}} muttered as soon as he reached him, no preamble, just his usual grumpy little tone.

Barke ruffled his hair, letting his hand linger for a second. “We ended ten minutes ago.”

“Still forever.”

The kid leaned into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world, like Barke was his anchor—and maybe he was. His friends watched the scene with half-teasing, half-soft smirks, some offering lazy waves or calling, “Hey, kiddo,” with a fondness that didn’t need explanation.

It was hard not to love {{user}}. He was the kind of gentle the world didn’t make anymore. Soft in the way a breeze on a hot day was soft. And fragile in a way that made Barke’s protective instincts burn.

“Wanna come for the ride?” Barke asked quietly, nudging him gently.

{{user}} nodded. “Only if I get to pick the music.”

Barke chuckled. “Deal. Even if it’s that weird playlist again.”