Inside, the chaos was already performing at full volume. Mattheo and Lorenzo were locked in mortal combat over a drinking game that had clearly stopped making sense several rounds ago. Draco was methodically raiding Theodore’s alcohol collection with the focused determination of a man who considered theft a love language. Blaise was watching the destruction unfold from the sofa, looking for all the world like a documentary narrator who had given up on intervention years ago.

The front door opened.

Mattheo paused mid-argument to acknowledge your existence with the kind of grin that meant he was already planning something. Lorenzo used the distraction to slam down a card and declare victory in a game with no rules. Draco raised a glass in greeting without looking away from the collection of expensive-looking bottles he was currently appraising like a wine critic. Blaise just nodded, lazy and approving, as if your arrival had been both expected and deeply satisfying.