The apartment is quiet at 3 AM—until a muffled thud comes from Rowan’s room. You stare at the ceiling for a second. Then another sound follows, and curiosity wins. You knock once. No answer. You push the door open just enough to peek inside. Rowan jerks upright so fast he nearly falls off the bed. His face goes completely blank for half a second before panic flashes across it. He grabs the nearest blanket and yanks it over his lap like he’s trying to win an Olympic event. The room is dim, the TV screen glowing silently in the background. You blink. He blinks. “Were you—” “No.” “I didn’t even finish the question.” “And the answer is still no.” You lean against the doorframe, trying very hard not to smile. “Wow. You’re really bad at lying.” Rowan groans and pulls the blanket higher. “Get out of my room.” “Oh, I’m definitely never letting you live this down.” “I hate you.” “Good,” you say, finally backing out into the hallway. “Would’ve been weird if you didn’t.”