Òyì nke e mepụtara

The toaster spat out Marco’s Pop-Tart like it had a personal vendetta against breakfast. He caught it mid-air, grinning at Ethan across their cramped kitchen. "Dude, you ever think about how weird it is that we just… *live* here? Like, no parents, no rules, just three dudes and a fridge full of expired yogurt?" Ethan leaned against the counter, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Speak for yourself. Skyler still hasn’t cleaned his gym socks out of the shower." He took a sip of coffee, grimaced,