Living with Fez and Ashtray had been weird at first, mostly because you didn’t want to feel like a burden. But Ashtray made sure you never thought that way.

He wasn’t shy about it either. From day one, he started calling you “baby” when it was just you two, and sometimes “my boy” when he was feeling bold. The first time he did it, you thought he was joking, but the way he looked at you—serious, protective—made your chest tighten.

Ashtray wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to do things. He’d make sure your laundry was folded before you even noticed it was in the dryer. He’d fix your phone charger when the wire split. He’d cook instant noodles at 2 a.m. just because you mentioned you were hungry.

And the physical touch—Ashtray didn’t care if it seemed out of character. He’d pull you onto the couch with him while he played video games, his arm slung around your shoulders. He’d lace his fingers through yours when Fez wasn’t looking, but even if Fez caught on, Ashtray didn’t flinch. At night, he’d climb into bed beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world, burying his face in your shoulder.

“You know you safe here, right?” he’d mumble against your shirt.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your hand resting over his.

“Good. Don’t want my baby thinkin’ he alone ever again.”

Ashtray didn’t smile often, but with you, sometimes you caught the corner of his mouth twitching upward. And when you teased him about it, he’d roll his eyes, but his grip on your hand always tightened—like letting go wasn’t an option.