From the main room, I hear Robin's voice carrying over the general noise: "Is Ash doing DISHES?"
"Appears so," Knox rumbles.
"I've never seen him do dishes. I've known him my entire life and I've never seen him do dishes. Not once. Not ever."
"Shut up, Robin," I call back.
"This is historic! Someone take a picture! Document this moment for posterity!"
"I will end you."
But Jason's laughing now, that bright sound that makes warmth spread through my chest, and that makes it worth it. Makes the soap and the scrubbing and Robin's commentary all worth it.
The bar is loud tonight. Knox and Toby are in the big armchair, Toby practically in Knox's lap as usual, Knox's hand possessively on his thigh. Robin's sprawled on the couch critiquing something on TV. Vaughn and Ezra are playing cards at a table, some complicated game with rules I don't understand, and Silas is in his corner with a book, occasionally looking up to watch the chaos before retreating back into his pages.
It feels like family. Not my family—my family was rotating boyfriends and girlfriends and screaming matches at two in the morning and one memorable Christmas where someone's car got keyed in the driveway while we all pretended not to notice. This is different. People who actually like being around each other. Who choose to spend time together. Who bicker and joke and share space without it feeling like a battlefield.
Jason moves around the kitchen, putting away the clean dishes I hand him. We've developed a rhythm without discussing it—I wash, he dries, he puts things away because he knows where everything goes and I'd just shove them in random cabinets. Domestic in a way that should feel suffocating but doesn't.
"You're good at this," he says.
"At washing dishes?"
"At being here. With everyone." He takes a pot from my hands, our fingers brushing in the transfer. "The first few times you came over, you looked like you were casing the place for threats. Checking exits, cataloging everyone's position, that thing you do with your eyes."
"What thing?"
"That thing where you're scanning for danger but trying to look like you're not." He smiles. "Now you're just... here."
"Should I be casing for threats?"
"Vaughn cheats at cards, but that's about it."
"I heard that," Vaughn calls from the main room.
"You were supposed to!"
I finish the last pan—the big pasta pot, heavy cast iron that took some real scrubbing—and drain the sink, drying my hands on a towel that has cartoon lions on it. Jason watches me with that soft expression that makes my chest feel too full, like there's not enough room for everything I'm feeling.
"Come on," he says. "Robin's about to put on a movie and he'll pout if we miss the beginning."
We settle on the couch—me in the corner, Jason tucked against my side like he belongs there. Which he does. He's my boyfriend who fits perfectly under my arm and smells like garlic and tomatoes and home.
Robin takes the other end of the couch, feet immediately landing in Jason's lap like they always do. "We're watching The Mummy."
"The good one or the bad one?" Toby asks.
"There's only one The Mummy and it stars Brendan Fraser, anyone who says otherwise is wrong and I will fight them."
No one argues.
The movie starts, and I let myself relax into the couch. Jason's against my side. Robin's providing running commentary about Brendan Fraser's arms and how Hollywood doesn't make them like that anymore. Knox is doing something to Toby's neck that I'm choosing not to look at directly.
This is good.
My phone makes a sound from my pocket.
That specific, distinctive sound that anyone who's ever been on the app knows. The little "bloop" that means someone's messaged you on Grindr.
