The realtor's key turned in the deadbolt with a metallic click that seemed to echo through the empty house, and Riley felt his chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the walk from the car. The door swung inward, and afternoon light spilled across the threshold like something poured, catching dust motes that hung suspended in the air, spinning slowly in the warmth.

Jasmine stepped in first. Her boots hit the scuffed hardwood with a sound that carried—sharp, deliberate, claiming. She walked three steps into the living room and turned a slow circle, her head tilting back to take in the high ceiling, the crown molding, the way the bay window opened the whole space to the street outside. Her hands were on her hips, and even from behind, Riley could see the grin spreading across her face.

"Oh," she said, and the single word had more weight than most sentences. "Oh, this is—"

She didn't finish. She didn't need to.

Riley stayed at the threshold a beat longer than he meant to. The others pressed around him—Inde's hand found his, fingers sliding between his, callused and warm and certain. Jessica's shoulder came to rest against his arm, her chin-length bob brushing his sleeve as she leaned in to see past him. The weight of them, the familiar pressure of their bodies bracketing his, was the only thing that kept him from feeling like he was trespassing.

"You coming in, or are you gonna guard the door?" Jasmine called over her shoulder, and there was a laugh in her voice that made the others chuckle.

Riley stepped over the threshold. The floorboards creaked under his weight—a low, settling sound, like the house breathing in. He was in. They all were.

The living room opened wide in front of them, sunlit and patient. The hardwood was scuffed in the places where furniture had once stood, dark patches worn into the grain like ghosts of a life that had already moved on. The bay window at the far end let in a wash of gold that fell across the floor in long, warm rectangles, and the walls were bare—no paint chips, no nail holes, just pale beige that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it.

"It's bigger than the pictures," Natalie said from behind him, her voice soft with surprise. "The listing made the living room look—"

"Tiny," Ella supplied, and Riley turned to see her standing at the kitchen counter, her hand running along the edge of the granite like she was testing its weight. Her voice was quiet, the way it always was off the court, but there was something in the way she touched the surface—slow, deliberate, almost reverent. "The counter's real stone."

"Granite," the realtor said from the doorway, a middle-aged woman with a patient smile and a ring of keys on her hip. "Original to the house. The owners updated the kitchen about ten years ago—new appliances, but they kept the character."

Jasmine had stopped her circle in the middle of the living room, standing exactly where the light from the bay window pooled brightest. She turned, her eyes sweeping the space, and Riley watched her lips move silently—counting, measuring, mapping. He'd seen her do this before, at parties, at the cabin, at the ridge when they'd all stood looking at the clearing that could hold a volleyball net. Jasmine didn't just see a room. She saw what it could become.

"Couch goes against that wall," she said, pointing. "TV on the opposite side, angled so you can see it from the kitchen. Big rug in the middle, something soft. And the bay window—" She paused, tilting her head. "Reading nook. Built-in bench, cushions. That's where I'd put my plants."

"You don't have plants," Natalie said, and there was a smile in her voice.

"I'd get plants." Jasmine's grin widened. "I'd get so many plants."

Riley felt Inde's hand tighten around his, and he looked down at her. She was standing close, her dark eyes moving slowly across the room, taking it in with the same quiet intensity she gave everything. Her ponytail had slipped over one shoulder, and she reached up to tuck a strand of black hair behind her ear without looking away from the window.

"What do you think?" he asked, low enough that only she could hear.

Inde was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "The light's good."

It wasn't an answer, not really. But Riley understood what she meant. The light was good—good in the way that made a space feel like it could hold people, like it could hold them. He squeezed her hand back.

Jessica had drifted away from his arm, her heels clicking on the hardwood as she crossed to the far wall. She pressed her palm flat against the paint, her head tilted, her dark eyes scanning the ceiling. "The walls are solid," she said. "No cracks. And the ceiling's high enough that a tall person could—" She stopped, looked back at Riley, and grinned. "You could jump and not hit your head."

"That's the standard," Jasmine said. "Riley clearance. Non-negotiable."

Riley felt his face heat, and he ducked his head, the old habit pulling his shoulders forward. "I don't—"

"He's blushing," Natalie said, and there was warmth in her voice, not mockery. "Jaz, you're gonna break him before we even see the bedrooms."

"He's fine." Jasmine waved a hand dismissively. "Lover boy's tougher than he looks."

Riley's blush deepened, but he didn't correct her. He couldn't. The word still sat strange in his chest—lover boy, like a name that didn't quite fit but was being worn in anyway, like a new pair of shoes that needed breaking.

Ella had moved from the counter to the dining nook, a small alcove off the kitchen with a window that looked out onto a side yard. She stood there, her hand resting on the windowsill, her ice-blue eyes fixed on something outside that Riley couldn't see. Her ponytail was pulled tight, the pale blonde strands almost white in the afternoon light, and her shoulders had that slight inward curve they got when she wasn't on a court.

"There's a yard," she said quietly. "It's fenced."

Jasmine crossed to stand beside her, peering out the window. "Full fence? Or just partial?"

"Full. Wood. There's a gate on the side." Ella's voice dropped even lower. "Could fit a net."

The words hung in the air, and Riley felt something shift in the room—a current passing between the six of them, wordless and electric. The volleyball net. The flat clearing on the ridge. The promise they'd all carried down from the mountain, still unspoken but no less real.

Jasmine looked at Ella, and something passed between them—the same wordless understanding Riley had seen at the cabin, when Natalie had said wanting it too much was the point. Jasmine reached out and squeezed Ella's shoulder, quick and light, and Ella's lips curved into something almost like a smile.

"Okay," Jasmine said, her voice softer now. "Okay, that's—that's good."

Natalie had pulled out her phone, and the shutter sound clicked through the empty room as she snapped a photo of the dining nook. She lowered the phone, looking at the image, then at the actual space, then back at the phone. "The light's different in here," she said. "Warmer. I'd paint this wall something—"

"Green?" Inde offered, and Natalie turned to look at her.

"Yeah." Natalie's freckled face split into a grin. "Yeah, a soft green. Like sage."

"There's a garden out back," the realtor offered from the doorway, her voice patient. "Overgrown, but the bones are good. Roses along the fence, I think."

Riley felt the house settle around them—not just walls and floors, but a shape they could fill. He could see it, suddenly, with a clarity that made his chest ache: the couch against that wall, Jasmine's plants in the bay window, Ella's volleyball net in the fenced yard, Natalie's sage-green paint in the dining nook. He could see Inde's books on shelves that didn't exist yet, Jessica's cast iron pan on a stove they hadn't tested, his own quiet corner somewhere—a chair by a window, maybe, where the light fell just right.

He could see them.

"Alright," the realtor said, stepping further into the room. "There are three bedrooms upstairs, two full baths, and a half bath off the hallway. The master's at the end of the hall, with a walk-in closet and—"

"Three bedrooms?" Jessica interrupted, and there was something in her voice that made Riley look at her. She was standing by the bay window now, her arms crossed, her chin-length bob catching the light. "How are we splitting three bedrooms between six people?"

Jasmine laughed. "We're not all living here, Jess. We're—" She stopped, her brow furrowing. "Wait, are we all living here?"

"The house is for the group," Natalie said carefully. "But six people in three bedrooms is—"

"Cozy," Ella said, and there was a hint of a smile in her voice. "I've shared a room before. On road trips."

"Road trips are different," Jessica said. "Road trips end."

The room went quiet, and Riley felt the shift—the weight of the question settling over them like a blanket. Six people. Three bedrooms. The house was big, bigger than the apartment, but it wasn't a mansion. There were choices to be made, arrangements to be negotiated, boundaries to be drawn—and none of them had said the word house out loud since the ridge, not really, not in a way that made it real.

Inde's hand tightened around Riley's again, and he looked down at her. She was watching Jessica, her dark eyes unreadable, and there was something in the set of her jaw that Riley recognized—the quiet stillness she got when she was thinking something through, turning it over, deciding whether to speak.

"We don't have to decide today," Inde said finally, her voice soft but steady. "We're just looking."

Jessica's arms uncrossed, and she let out a breath. "I know. I just—" She shook her head, a strand of black hair falling across her cheek. "I like it. I really like it. I just don't want to want it too much and have it not work out. And plus, me and Inde will sleep with you know who." She nudged her head towards Riley, indicating him.

“She’s right, we’ll sleep with Riley.” Inde said smiling.

“Me and Ella will sleep together then.” Jasmine said. Ella’s face flushed.

“Wait what?!”

“Not like romantically, I’m not that weird, and plus, we only have one guy.”

Ella huffed, “I guess you’re right…”

The realtor pulled out paperwork, “Do we believe we’re ready to get started?”