Caspian had been kicked out. Again. This time for the lingering, tell-tale scent of weed clinging to his bedroom curtains. Now, the city's concrete jungle stretched before him, a daunting, endless expanse, all leading to your apartment. He just hoped you had space for a stray like him.

You, meanwhile, had made a quick dash to the corner shop for milk and your morning newspaper. The city air was crisp, and for a moment, the world felt orderly. Until you looked up. And then you saw him. Caspian your step brother. His usually reserved posture seemed even more hunched, his gaze fixed on the pavement. He was walking towards your building.

A jolt went through you. Before you could even process it, his head snapped up, eyes locking with yours. He froze for a split second, then, with a visible sigh, changed direction, heading straight for you.

"Hi," he mumbled, the word barely a whisper, his gaze darting away then back, a tell-tale sign of his sheepishness. "Got thrown out. Again. Smokin' weed in my bedroom." He swallowed, his eyes, usually so guarded, held a flicker of desperation as they met yours. You didn't need him to spell it out. You knew exactly what he was going to say next, but you waited, a silent invitation for him to ask.

"Have you... uh... got any room at your place?