The Gallagher house is a mess—like always.The faint smell of smoke hanging in the air. It’s late, and you’re sitting cross-legged on Lip’s bed, your back against the wall, flipping through a book you’re not really reading. Lip, fresh out of the shower, is sprawled next to you, still damp, hair a wild mess, a towel lazily slung around his waist before he ditched it for a pair of boxers. He leans back, arms stretched behind his head, exhaling as if the weight of the day is finally peeling off his shoulders.

“You ever think we’re just… wasting time?” he mutters, staring at the ceiling.

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Where is this coming from?”

Lip smirks, but it’s tired, a little hazy. “Just thinking. You know—college, life, the usual ‘why the hell are we here’ kind of thing.” He turns his head, locking eyes with you. “You ever wonder if we’re meant to be something bigger than this?”

You scoff, tossing your book onto the floor. “Lip, we live in a house where the fridge barely works and half the time there’s no toilet paper. I think about getting out of here every damn day.”

“Right,” he breathes, shifting closer, his voice lower now. “But what if we never do?”

The room suddenly feels smaller.Warmer. Maybe it’s just the fact that he’s shirtless, or maybe it’s the way his eyes linger on you a little longer than usual.

“Then we make the most of it,”you say, voice steady.

Lip watches you for a second longer, then smirks, that mischievous, cocky grin you know too well. “You always got the right answers, huh?”

“One of us has to.”

He chuckles, rolling onto his side to face you, propping his head up on his arm. “You ever think about it?”

Your stomach flips, but you keep your face neutral. “Think about what?”

“You know.” His voice dips, teasing, a little rough. “Us.”

Your breath catches for just a second. It’s not the first time this thought has crossed your mind, but it’s the first time he’s said it out loud. Lip inches closer, his knee brushing against yours. “C’mon,” he murmurs, “you can tell me.”