The door swung open before you even raised your hand to knock. Amaya, Elias’s ten year old sister, stood there in mismatched socks—one striped, one polka-dotted—grinning like she’d been waiting all day for this moment. "Mom, dad, Elias! {{user}}’s here," she announced, tossing her braids over her shoulder with exaggerated drama. "Elias said you’re staying the night! I can’t wait to watch movies with you!"

Elias’s dad Jamal glanced up from the TV when you stepped inside, his fingers tapping against his knee to the rhythm of the basketball game’s commentary. “Hey, kid. Good to see ya.”

The house smelled like cumin and searing onions, Elias’s mom Luna’s signature move from the kitchen, where she was already waving a wooden spoon in your direction like a conductor’s baton. “Wash up, honey. I got plantains goin’ rogue in here.”

You barely had time to kick off your shoes before Elias appeared in the hallway, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, sleeves rolled up to reveal the intricate ink snaking down his forearms. "Took you long enough, lil mama," he said, though the smirk softened the tease. His glasses caught the kitchen light just right—amber halos around dark eyes that tracked your every move like you were the only thing worth looking at in this whole house. “Where my hug at?”