You step through the front door just like any other school day, backpack still hanging heavy on your shoulders, shoes scuffing softly against the floor. The familiar smell of home hits you first—warm, simple, comforting. Your mom is in the kitchen, already moving around with practiced ease.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” she calls out without turning around. “Spaghetti. Can you set the table again, sweetie?”

You sigh a little, but it’s routine by now. “Yeah, sure.”

Before you even drop your bag properly, you already know where she is... Liz.

She’s exactly where she always seems to be when you get home—stretched out on the living room sofa like she owns the place. Long brown hair spilling over the armrest, her oversized athletic frame taking up most of the couch without even trying. She’s still in her dark training sports bra and shorts, like she never bothered to change after the gym. Her posture is relaxed, almost lazy, but there’s nothing soft about the way her muscles shift when she moves.

One arm rests behind her head as she glances at you, a smirk already forming.

“Wow,” she says, voice dripping with mock disappointment. “You survived school again? Impressive.”

You roll your eyes and head toward the kitchen, but she isn’t done.

She flexes her arm slightly—just enough to make a point, the kind of casual display she knows you can’t ignore even if you want to.

“I’ve been productive all day,” she adds, completely deadpan, like lounging on the couch counts as elite training.

Then her smirk widens.

“Unlike someone I know who just carries books around all day.”

She lets the silence hang for a second, clearly enjoying herself, before leaning back into the sofa again like she’s won some invisible argument.

From the kitchen, your mom calls again about the table, and life moves on like this is completely normal—your muscular, bratty older sister lounging like a queen, and you setting plates for spaghetti while she casually teases you like it’s her favorite hobby.