When I hear the front door open at 5:37 p.m., I'm halfway through microwaving leftover pasta and nursing the emotional hangover from The Hoodie Incident.
I expect it to be my mom. Maybe Alex.
It's neither.
Instead, Lucas walks in like he didn't just vanish off the face of the planet for a month.
Same sandy hair, same dimples that got him away with murder in middle school, same smug older-brother expression like he knows things I don't.
"Hey," he says casually, tossing his duffel bag by the stairs.
I blink.
Then I squint.
Then I narrow my eyes like I'm examining an imposter.
"You're alive," I say. "How wild."
Lucas laughs and pulls me into one of those half-bro hugs where you bump shoulders and pretend it counts. "Miss me?"
"No," I lie.
He grins like he knows I'm lying.
"How's Mom?"
"Stressed. Tired. She thinks you're subsisting off energy drinks and vibes."
Lucas shrugs. "She's not wrong."
"And how's uni?"
"Also vibes. And way too much group work." He walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge like he hasn't been gone. "Is that Alex's protein shake? He's still on that chalk-flavored nonsense?"
I watch him like he's a ghost. "He's still here. In your room. Taking up oxygen and existing loudly."
Lucas hums. "Thought he'd be gone by now."
"You and me both."
We sit at the kitchen island, and for a second, it almost feels normal again. Like when Lucas still lived here and everything was familiar—slightly chaotic, but in a good way. Before he left and Alex stayed. Before everything flipped.
Lucas elbows me lightly. "You've grown."
"Don't start."
"Nah, I'm serious. You don't look like a baby anymore."
"Thanks?"
"And you got that mean little eye roll now. Real teenager energy."
I give him the aforementioned eye roll.
He smirks.
Later that evening, Alex walks through the front door mid-conversation like he owns the place, hoodie off, curls damp from a run.
He stops when he sees Lucas.
They freeze.
I swear the room shifts.
"Yo," Alex says first, throwing his gym bag by the shoe rack. "You're back."
Lucas stands. "Surprise visit."
They dap up, like time hasn't passed, like nothing's changed.
Except… something has.
I see it in the split-second glance Alex shoots me. The way Lucas clocks it. How the air suddenly gets thicker than my mom's Sunday stew.
I retreat into the background, invisible in my own kitchen.
Classic.
Lucas gives me a long look. "You two seem... close."
"Please," I mutter, but my ears burn.
Alex raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything. Which somehow makes it worse.
Lucas doesn't push. Just nods, grabs a water bottle, and heads upstairs like he's already piecing things together and doesn't know whether to bring it up or let it simmer.
Alex looks at me after he's gone.
"What?" I snap.
"You tense."
"You're always here."
He grins like that's not an issue. "You'd miss me if I wasn't."
"I'll take that risk."
But then he steps closer, close enough that I catch a whiff of his shampoo.
"You gave my hoodie back," he says, like it matters.
"I washed it."
"You didn't have to."
"I didn't want it smelling like me."
"Shame," he mutters.
I blink.
Before I can say anything, he walks off—cool, confident, annoyingly calm.
Lucas's door creaks open upstairs.
My world is officially upside down.