**Chapter 1** I glance over at Henry, sprawled comfortably against the headboard of his brother’s bed, deeply engrossed in his sudoku puzzle. A faint furrow of concentration mars his forehead. It’s always been a quirk of his—this fascination with puzzles. Back in our childhood days, he obsessed over word searches, but fast forward to Varley, and it was all about sudoku. He bites down on his pencil with determination, his eyes squinting as if willing the solution into existence. Curious, I lean closer and point cheerfully at one of the empty squares. “Seven,” I suggest, only to be met with an annoyed brush of his hand. “I don’t want your help.” “You’re so rude,” I retort, pouting slightly. “It is rude,” he replies with a smirk, emphasizing the word. “Your blatant indifference to the artistry of sudoku—” “Artistry? Really?” I roll my eyes and flip the page of the latest Italian Vogue, trying to feign disinterest. “—is incredibly rude,” he continues, undeterred. “Especially since you’re annoyingly gifted at it.” “Gifted? Hardly.” I glance up, my amusement masking my irritation. He mutters something about being a savant, slipping in a criticism about my math skills. I choose to ignore him, flashing him a photo of a dress that I can’t quite bring myself to admire. “Can you believe they made this out of twill? So strange!” Henry grimaces playfully. “So weird.” “It’s summertime—” I start, trailing off as I expect more of a reaction. Instead, he gives a nonchalant glance back at his puzzle, unperturbed. Just then, the front door slams, and Henry and I exchange a glance of alarm. “Parksy?” BJ’s voice calls out, echoing through the house. There’s something about the way he says it—a nickname that transports me back to our school days. “In here!” I respond, leaping off the bed and hastily adjusting the duvet, waving my hands at Henry. “Quick! Get out—!” Scrambling, Henry manages to fix his corner of the bed just as his sudoku book flies from his hands, hitting BJ squarely in the face as he enters our bedroom. I dissolve into laughter, leaning against our gorgeously tailored cream boucle Savoir bed. “Hi!” I beam at him, unable to resist the joy flickering in my chest. BJ’s brows knit together in a subtle frown. “Hey.” Christian peeks in beside him, looking curiously at the scene before bursting into laughter. He sidles up to BJ and gives us a playful smirk. “You two just lounging in bed?” BJ queries, eyes darting between us. “No,” I respond quickly, shaking my head furiously. Henry mirrors my denial, a grin plastered on his face. “Not at all.” “Absolutely not! We heard your request to stop doing that and we sincerely complied!” I announce, insisting despite the subtle chuckle escaping me as I glance at Henry. “Not to mention,” Henry interjects, a burst of smartery behind his words, “if it were true, it would mean he missed his lunch. And that would be insane!” BJ runs a hand through his hair, his annoyance evident. “Why don’t you two sit in the living room? It looks sick.” “Which it does,” Henry agrees, his gaze wandering, eyeing the beautifully styled space BJ designed himself. Christian leans against the doorframe, rolling his eyes with a smirk. “AD did a walkthrough for it.” “That’s a point,” BJ nods vigorously, pride swelling in his chest like an artist revealing his masterpiece. I can’t help but chuckle. His pride in the living room is almost absurd—he could rival a father with a newborn. I soften, floating toward him, wrapping my arm around his waist. “I really love it. You’ve done an amazing job.” He raises an eyebrow, an oh-so-familiar playful tension flashing in his eyes. “But…?” “Not a thing! It’s absolutely stunning.” I catch a glimmer of mischief, and I don’t want to crush his artistic spirit, because deep down, he did create something truly special there. Henry shakes his head, trying to find the words. “It is a bit angular out there, though.” BJ rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath while I offer a conciliatory nod. “It’s a Hans J. Wegner!” BJ protests indignantly, disbelief coloring his tone. “It’s a £37,000 bench.” “Price doesn’t equal comfort,” Christian shrugs nonchalantly. “But you can certainly assign a price to discomfort, right Beej?” Henry quips, sending a mischievous wink toward BJ, who darts an unimpressed look in my direction. “I’d appreciate it if you kept your comments about my ‘slipping off’ to yourselves,” I declare, feigning indignation while batting my lashes in jest, trying to soften my words. A bright grin breaks over BJ’s face, slipping effortlessly into a memory of our better moments. “What can I say? We found our way around it.” I scoff, “No, we didn’t! We ended up on the floor!” The room erupts in laughter as BJ’s expression shifts in realization, the fond memory washing over both of us. “Oh yeah,” he chuckles, lost in the recollection. Meanwhile, Christian saunters further into the room, a playful jab having slid effortlessly from his lips. “Nice... floor sex— did you think you had that in you, Parks?” BJ shoots him a wink as Henry stretches lazily on the bed, his usual laid-back demeanor back in place. But BJ, unable to contain his playful streak, hurls Henry’s sudoku book back at him, lightening the moment that had skated too close to tenderness. “Stop lounging in our bed!” he scolds lightly, with mock authority. “I’m afraid we can’t,” Henry retorts with a mock sorrow, rolling over as if to make himself more comfortable. BJ’s eyebrows rise, a glimmer of incredulity crossing his face. “What are you on about?” “Too comfy,” comes the dismissive reply, sending BJ into an exasperated huff. I survey the scene, a small smile creeping onto my face. There’s a strange comfort in our banter—brittle spirits held together by such playful exchanges. It’s a reminder that even in our sorrows, there exists joy, laughter, and love. One thing is for certain in the chaos of our lives: we will face it together.