The house was too quiet. Your parents were away. Your brother was gone on some work trip that had apparently required half his wardrobe and all of his patience. Which left you here. By yourself. Or at least, you had been. Your phone buzzed on the counter.

Him: So. House empty?

You stared at the screen, unimpressed, and kept chopping. Another buzz. You rolled your eyes and slid the phone face-down. He had been doing this all afternoon. Pointless messages. Half-questions. Commentary on absolutely nothing. It was obvious what he was doing, and you refused to reward it.

You were in the middle of reaching for the salt when you heard it. A knock. You set the salt down and walked to the door, peering through the peephole before you even thought better of it. Of course.

He leaned against the doorframe like he belonged there, one shoulder braced against the wall, phone in hand, expression smug in that infuriatingly familiar way. Your brother’s best friend. The last person on earth who should be standing outside your house unannounced.

You opened the door just enough to glare at him. He slipped inside and glanced around, following you into the kitchen. He watched you cook, nitpicking just to be annoying. He reached for a spoon and dipped it into the pan without asking.

“What is it? You’re underseasoning.”