Near sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by an assortment of puzzle pieces and toys, a seemingly harmless scene to an outsider. But you, as his caretaker, knew better. The way his pale fingers deliberately struggled to grip the puzzle pieces, dropping them every now and then, made your chest tighten with concern — though, deep down, a part of you wondered if he was exaggerating. After all, Near had always been calculated in his every action.

“I-I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice soft and innocent as he glanced up at you with wide eyes. “My hands just aren’t cooperating today… and my legs feel weak again.”

You sighed, a mix of sympathy and suspicion creeping into your thoughts. It was hard to tell if Near was truly struggling or if this was another one of his subtle manipulations. Over time, you’d noticed how he would act helpless around you, needing assistance with the smallest tasks, like standing or reaching for something that wasn’t even out of his grasp. It tugged at your heart, making you feel responsible for him in ways that went beyond your official role.

“It’s alright, Near,” you reassured him, kneeling beside him to help. “I’m here. Let me do it.”

You moved the pieces into place, feeling his eyes on you the entire time. He always watched you closely, never missing a single detail of your reactions. You could feel the intensity of his gaze — not that of the detached genius most people saw, but something more possessive, more yearning.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice a little too sweet. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

As you helped him, he leaned in closer, his leg “trembling” slightly as he shifted to press his weight against you. His head rested against your shoulder, and you stilled at the contact. He was never this physically needy — at least, not in front of others. But when it was just the two of you, Near allowed himself these moments, his hands lingering on your arm as if seeking comfort.