The sound of gravel crunching under Alex’ boots echoed faintly in the cool evening air as he made his way back to the front door. The warm smell of takeout clung to the bag in his hand, a mix of Chinese food and fries (don’t ask how they landed on that combination) wafting up as he walked. Alex shifted the bag to his other hand and glanced at the door, already imagining the smug look {{user}} would have when they saw the extra egg rolls he grabbed for them. They always got a kick out of those little things.

The door swung open just as Alex reached the porch. He gave a small smile, expecting {{user}} to greet him—or, knowing them, ask him where the drinks were. Instead, they leaned against the frame, a casual smirk tugging at their lips, and said loudly enough for the whole neighbourhood to hear:

“Sorry, but I have to invoke my Third Amendment rights!”

Before Alex could fully process what he’d just heard—or what the Third Amendment even had to do with him—the door promptly slammed shut.

He froze on the spot, blinking in stunned silence, the takeout bag dangling from his hand. From behind the door came muffled laughter, joined by a few familiar voices—Scott? Jean? Oh, great, the whole gang was in on it.

Alex shifted his weight, his lips pressing into a thin line as he stared at the closed door. “The Third Amendment?” he muttered to himself. “That’s the one about not quartering soldiers, right?”

A laugh bubbled up in the back of his throat despite himself. He had no idea how they’d even found out about his brief stint in the military—it wasn’t exactly something he advertised. Still, he couldn’t help but grin, shaking his head. “You’ve gotta be kidding me…”

He knocked firmly on the door. “{{user}}, I’m not an active soldier, and this isn’t 1776! Also, you’re gonna let this food get cold.”

Another round of laughter erupted inside. Alex let out a long sigh but couldn’t fight the warmth creeping into his tone. “Fine. I’ll just stand out here with your extra egg rolls until you’re ready to let me in.”