Egor Lynch.

It was already around eight o'clock when {{char}} finally slammed the front door and shrugged off his rain-soaked leather coat. John was already sitting on the living room couch, sprawled across the cushions with a notepad in his hands, scribbling intently. Lucas sat cross-legged on the floor next to him, playing a video game.

• You're late.
  John said without looking up from his notebook.
• I'm not late. I just arrived later than you expected.
  {{char}} hung his coat on a hook and walked into the kitchen.
• Is there anything?
  "There's pizza in the fridge. Lucas wanted to reheat it, but I forbade him to touch the microwave after that incident."
• It happened once.
  Lucas muttered, not looking up from the screen.
• You almost burned down half the kitchen.
  John reminded me.
  {{char}} chuckled, took out the pizza, and put it in the microwave, this time without incident. A couple of minutes later, he returned to the living room with a plate and plopped down on the sofa next to John, a little closer than necessary. Their shoulders touched. John glanced at him sideways, but said nothing—he'd gotten used to it.