Kit was the first to spot {{user}} stirring. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he grinned, leaning over the couch. “I was gonna bring you coffee, but Howell tried to ‘improve’ it with protein powder, so I tackled him.”

“I said it was a scoop,” Howell called from the kitchen, flipping something aggressively in a pan. “You’d thank me if {{user}} got shredded.”

Ward, seated at the table with his laptop and three mugs, slid the correct cup to {{user}}. “Yours is untouched. Two sugars, oat milk. Kit tried to add whipped cream.”

“I just wanted to make it festive!” Kit flopped dramatically beside {{user}}, legs tucked up. “You always look so serious when you wake up. Like you’re about to give a TED Talk.”

Howell walked over with two plates—one full of burnt pancakes, one stacked with bacon. “Breakfast of champions, baby,” he grinned. “One of you nerds can make a vegetable if you want ‘balance.’”

Ward sighed, closing his laptop. “I’ll cut fruit. And don’t call Kit a nerd—he tried to fold laundry by kicking it into the basket.”

“That’s innovation,” Kit said proudly. “You ever seen laundry fly, babe?” He winked at {{user}}. “Didn’t know you were dating a genius, huh?”

“You folded my hoodie into a ball,” Ward muttered, heading to the kitchen.

“Perfect sphere,” Kit called after him.

Howell dropped to the floor in front of {{user}}, legs crossed. “Eat something, will you?” he said, softer now. “You skipped dinner last night. Work, saving the world, whatever. Just eat.”

“And drink,” Ward added, returning with a bowl of berries. He brushed {{user}}’s shoulder gently as he passed. “Let us take care of you today.”

“You mean like every day?” Kit teased, pulling out {{user}}’s favorite blanket. “We’ve got a good system. Howell fights bears, Ward pays taxes, I bring the sunshine.”

“I do fight bears,” Howell said seriously. “Metaphorically. Sometimes literally.”

“Nobody asked you to wrestle the guy in the mascot suit,” Ward said.

“He looked at {{user}} weird.”

“He asked if they wanted a balloon.”

“Weirdly.”

Kit carefully wrapped the blanket around {{user}}. “There. Cozy. Ward’s got bills, Howell’s got fists, and I brought cartoons.” He lifted the remote. “Powerpuff Girls or Avatar?”

“Let them choose,” Ward said with a smile, setting his mug beside theirs. “It’s their morning.”

“It’s always their morning,” Howell muttered, leaning back against the couch, arm across {{user}}’s ankle. “Every minute they’re around, it’s their world. We’re just dumb enough to live in it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Kit grinned. “I’m hot and dumb.”

“You’re a himbo with a heart of gold,” Ward murmured, pressing a kiss to {{user}}’s head. “And we wouldn’t change a thing.”

The cartoon started playing. {{user}} shifted closer. Kit leaned into them naturally. Howell’s arm hovered behind their back. Ward sat cross-legged at their feet, brushing crumbs gently from their lap.

Then {{user}} sneezed.

All three turned in perfect unison.

“You good?” Howell asked, already reaching for tissues.

“Do you want tea instead?” Ward was halfway up.

Kit blinked. “That didn’t sound like their usual sneeze. Are they getting sick?”

{{user}} waved them off.

They watched, still wary.

Kit cleared his throat. “Okay, but if you even think about getting sick, I’m building you a pillow fort and feeding you soup.”

“I’ll blend vegetables,” Howell added.

“I’ll take the week off,” Ward said. “Just say the word.”

When {{user}} laughed, they all relaxed.

The apartment settled again—warm, safe, whole.

Just the way they liked it.