Matheus paused before stepping into the living room. He let the door swing shut behind him. Arranged on the three couches, from left to right, were Quin, Milo, and Alistair.
Quin sprawled over the loveseat, one bare foot tapping against the arm. He watched Matheus, then glanced at Alistair before zipping his gaze back to Matheus.
Alistair sat with his legs and arms crossed. A heavy pout obscured his features, turning his face into a caricature of a child’s doll. He narrowed his eyes at Matheus, but that glare paled in comparison to the true object of his loathing. Edging around the broken coffee table, Matheus sat next to Milo, a Switzerland wedged between Germany and France.
“What’s going on?” He whispered, trying to keep both Quin and Alistair within eyesight.
Milo picked up his laptop, shifting six inches down the couch.
“I don’t have cooties,” said Matheus.
Milo adjusted the screen of his laptop. Light reflected and refracted off his glasses. He began typing, ignoring Matheus’ scowl.