It’s a Saturday afternoon, and Jake my best friend’s already made himself at home in my living room—feet up on the coffee table, remote in hand, flipping through channels like he lives here. He’s got his usual obnoxious commentary going, making fun of every show that comes on. My parents glance over, but they’ve gotten used to his loud mouth and constant joking by now.

He suddenly gets up, raids my fridge without asking, and comes back with a half-empty soda and a snack he definitely didn’t bring. As he flops back onto the couch, he blurts out, "Yo, let’s build a fort in your room!" like we’re 10 again. I roll my eyes, but before I know it, he’s dragging pillows and blankets down the hall. Annoying as he is, it’s hard not to laugh—he’s practically family, and this chaos is just the usual.