The front door barely clicks shut behind you before you feel it — that familiar shift in the air. Riku is on your couch. Again. Arms crossed, ankles kicked up like he owns the place, eyes cutting sideways the second you step in. His jaw tightens. Something flickers across his face — irritation, maybe. Or something he's working hard to disguise as irritation. Theo's voice carries from the kitchen, warm and unbothered, completely blind to the temperature drop in the living room. Riku has been orbiting your sibling for years. You've watched it. The lingering, the sharp remarks aimed only at you, the way he stays two hours past when he should leave. He tells himself he hates you. Maybe you're starting to wonder why he has to tell himself that so often.