By the time the breakfast gang returned from Blue Willow Diner with brown paper bags in hand, the morning sun had risen high enough to paint the windows of Sarah’s house with gold. The air was still tinged with remnants of the wild night before - faint glitter near the front door, a half-defted balloon caught in the corner of the ceiling, someone’s costume wig draped over a dining chair like a forgotten trophy.

  But the house, thanks to a heroic early-morning cleanup mission, no longer looked like a battlefield.

  While the rest of the gang had crashed in sleeping bags and on couches in the wee hours of the morning, Bharath, Marisol, and Sarah had padded around in oversized tees and borrowed socks, tidying up in warm silence. They’d collected pstic cups, wiped down countertops sticky with spilled drinks, and folded throw bnkets around dozing bodies. It had been oddly intimate - three lovers moving in sync, sharing quiet gnces and brushing shoulders, cleaning up the joyful mess their home had become.

  Now, they returned with veg breakfast wraps for Nandita and Bharath, egg and bacon sandwiches for the rest, hash browns, a dozen muffins, and a tray of strong diner coffee.

  LaTasha was the first to spot them from the couch, where she’d tucked herself into a hoodie and Tyrel’s borrowed bnket.

  “Oooh, look who’s back from the nd of pancakes and pillow talk,” she called out, grinning.

  “Don’t start,” Nandita warned, ughing as she carried the paper bags to the kitchen. “We brought food. Show gratitude, not sass.”

  “I’m fully capable of both,” LaTasha replied, stretching with a groan. “But I will accept offerings.”

  The rest of the crew began to rouse, groggy but cheerful. Tyrel wandered in behind LaTasha, yawning, immediately stealing a muffin. Jorge and Cami emerged from the guest room looking thoroughly rumpled and smug, while Nandita, still in Ravi’s Georgia Tech hoodie, tucked herself neatly onto the rug beside him with a quiet smile.

  As ptes were handed out and coffee poured into mismatched mugs, the atmosphere settled into something that felt like home. Not just housemates or party friends - but a tribe. A chosen family.

  Marisol sat curled into Bharath’s side, munching on a buttered slice of toast as she offered bites to both him and Sarah in turn.

  Tyrel flopped onto the couch beside LaTasha and handed her half his sandwich. “This good enough for breakfast royalty?”

  She took a bite, pretending to judge. “Acceptable. Barely.”

  Nandita and Ravi were deep in conversation about movie nights and upcoming debate club events, their knees brushing with each ugh. Cami was braiding Jorge’s hair - or trying to - while he read out loud from a quiz in Cosmopolitan with increasing theatrical fir.

  Bharath gnced around the room, heart full. This wasn’t a one-time party crowd. This was his people.

  After breakfast, the slow ritual of cleaning began - less chaotic now, more familiar. Ptes clinked gently in the sink. Mugs soaked in warm water. Someone vacuumed glitter out of the couch cushions with a vacuum that wheezed with exhaustion. Ravi and Tyrel were roped into helping Sarah water the pnts, which had somehow survived the Halloween chaos but were looking visibly traumatized.

  Marisol drifted toward Bharath at the sink, nudging him with her hip as he rinsed the coffee pot.

  “I need to go home today,” she said quietly.

  Bharath turned to her, drying his hands on a dish towel. “Is everything okay?”

  Marisol nodded, but the smile she gave him was strained. “Yeah. It’s just… been a while. My mom’s been asking questions. She tracks every missed call like it’s evidence of a secret drug habit or a pregnancy.”

  He chuckled softly, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “Want me to come with you?”

  Her hand found the hem of his shirt, tugging lightly. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Just you and me. First.”

  Neither of them noticed Sarah step into the room until she spoke, a dish towel in her hand, voice carefully neutral. “I can stay,” she offered. “Let you two have space.”

  Marisol gnced at her — then instinctively turned back to Bharath. Her hand brushed his arm, seeking reassurance, grounding herself in him. She didn’t mean it cruelly. But the message was clear.

  “It’s not about space, Sarah,” she said, her voice gentle but her body still angled toward him. “It’s just… my mom will know. The way we look at each other? It’s not subtle. She’d see it in a second.”

  Sarah stopped mid-step.

  Her eyes tracked the way Marisol’s fingers curled around the hem of Bharath’s shirt. The way his thumb brushed comfortingly over her knuckles. Like Sarah had become a witness to something Marisol ciming only between the two of them, but not a part of it.

  Her smile didn’t falter, but something behind it shattered.

  “So…” she said slowly, “I’m the invisible girlfriend.”

  “No,” Bharath said, stepping forward immediately. “You’re not invisible-”

  “It’s okay,” Sarah said, holding up a hand with a small, brittle smile. “I get it. You’re trying to introduce her to you two. Me being there would just… confuse everything.”

  “Sarah-” Marisol started, reaching for her.

  But Sarah had already taken a step back, her hand shaking slightly as she dropped the towel on the counter.

  “It’s fine. Really. I’ll just-stay back. Clean up. Water the basil. It’s nothing.”

  And then she turned, disappearing down the hallway into her room.

  The door clicked shut.

  The silence she left behind was far louder.

  Marisol looked like someone had just spped her. “Shit,” she whispered, already starting to move after her.

  But Bharath touched her wrist gently. “Let me.”