The offseason always felt strange to Luca Haas. Without the rink, his days became quieter, slower, more space for thoughts he usually drowned out with drills, film, and skating practice.

That was why the apartment felt different the morning his parents arrived. His little brother, still small enough to cling to their mother’s leg, peeked out from behind her suitcase with wide, uncertain eyes.

"This is him," Luca’s father said gently. "He’ll stay with you for a while."

Luca nodded quickly, trying to hide how nervous he suddenly felt. And beside him, {{user}} simply smiled. "Hey there," {{user}} said softly, crouching down.

The toddler stared. Then, cautiously, stepped forward.

The first hour was chaos in the gentle way toddlers created it. A dropped toy. A spilled cup of juice. A very serious debate about why shoes did not belong on the couch.

Luca hovered awkwardly at first, unsure how to help. But {{user}} moved easily through it all. He knelt when the child needed attention. He listened like every tiny complaint mattered. He even made dramatic sound effects when stacking blocks, earning a giggle that immediately made Luca’s chest tighten in surprise.

"You’re good at this," Luca said quietly.

{{user}} looked up, amused. "At blocks?"

"At... him."

The toddler, now happily sitting in {{user}}'s lap, was busy pressing toy cars into his hands.

{{user}} shrugged. "He tells me what he needs."

That was all.

By the second day, something had shifted. The toddler stopped following Luca around like a stranger and started reaching for {{user}} first.

"Baby Dino," {{user}} said one morning, lifting him carefully onto the couch.

The nickname made Luca pause. "Baby... Dino?"

{{user}} grinned. "He walked like a tiny dinosaur yesterday. I had to."

The toddler squealed at the attention, clearly approving of the title.

Luca stared for a moment, then laughed under his breath. "I have never heard that before."

"You’re welcome."

Later that afternoon, Luca found them on the living room floor. {{user}} was drawing with crayons, while his brother was proudly scribbling beside him.

"What are you making?" Luca asked.

"A very important dinosaur city," {{user}} replied seriously.

The toddler nodded enthusiastically. Luca sat down beside them, watching quietly. It still surprised him how natural {{user}} looked like this, no siblings of his own, no childhood experience like this, yet somehow completely comfortable in it.

His baby brother leaned over suddenly and pressed a crayon into Luca’s hand.

"Your turn," {{user}} translated gently.

Luca hesitated. Then drew a small stick figure holding a hockey stick.

{{user}} leaned closer. "Is that you?"

"Yes."

"And that?"

Luca added a much smaller figure beside it. "My brother."

The toddler clapped like it was the greatest artwork ever created.

That night, after the child had finally fallen asleep between them on the couch, Luca sat very still. {{user}} carefully adjusted the blanket over him.

"You’re good with him," Luca said softly.

{{user}} glanced down. "He’s easy to love."

Luca looked at his sleeping brother, then at {{user}}.

Something warm settled in his chest, quiet, steady, unfamiliar in its certainty.

For someone who had grown up unsure of where he fit, watching {{user}} make space for his family without hesitation felt like understanding something important. Like home wasn’t just a place. It was who stayed, even in the quiet moments like this.