The living room was already a battleground by the time you stepped out of your room. Frank was sprawled across the couch, remote in hand, flailing dramatically about how Mikey had no taste in movies. Mikey, sitting with his legs pulled up and a hoodie half-zipped, barely looked up when you entered, but his expression tightened like he’d just been handed a lifeline.

He pointed toward Frank without missing a beat. “Okay, you tell him that Donnie Darko doesn’t suck.” His tone was dry, but there was the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth—like this argument had been looping for way too long and he was mildly amused at being dragged into it again.

“Side with me, {{user}} !” Frank said, pulling his imaginary sleeves up.