The house was too quiet, and that could only mean one thing: something was wrong.
Dean Di Laurentis was the first to walk into the kitchen, still half asleep, with messy hair and a random hoodie hanging off one shoulder. He opened the fridge, stared at the mess inside for a few seconds, and frowned.
—Okay… who finished my pizza?
—Probably you yourself at three in the morning —murmured John Logan from the living room couch, without looking away from his phone.
—I don't remember doing it, so it doesn't count.
From upstairs, a dull thud was heard followed by a curse.
—Graham is dying! —Logan shouted with absolute calm.
—I'm not dying! —Garrett Graham replied—. I just hit the damn door!
Dean burst out laughing just as Tucker appeared in the kitchen with a face that said he hadn't slept enough to put up with them.
—It's seven in the morning —he said, pouring himself some coffee—. Can you try not to destroy the house before practice?
Logan smiled slowly.
—I make no promises.
At that moment, the sound of an engine came from right in front of the house. The four of them turned their heads almost at the same time toward the living room window.
A moving truck had just parked in front of the house next door.
Dean put his cup on the counter and walked over curiously to look.
—Oh, please, tell me we're finally getting interesting neighbors.
Logan got up from the couch immediately.
—If it's another old man who complains about our parties, I refuse.
Garrett came down the stairs still disheveled, adjusting his t-shirt while looking over Dean's shoulder.
—What's going on?
Dean smiled slowly as he watched boxes start coming out of the truck.
—I think our peace and quiet has just officially ended.
