Who knew Habit would even let him go.

Let Vinnie go off to chase this so-called “North Star” he’d been raving about for weeks. You figured he’d never get the chance—Habit wasn’t exactly known for being generous with freedom. But somehow, the door had clicked shut behind your brother, and just like that, it was quiet. Just you and Habit.

And in the silence, you found yourself cleaning.

Not because you wanted to—but because it gave your hands something to do. Something normal. Something grounding.

Stranger still, Habit watched.

After Vinnie left, he didn’t vanish or cause chaos like usual. He lingered. Observed. Even passed you a shirt to fold, or a plate off the table you hadn't grabbed yet to wash. It was like he was suddenly more present, his chaotic energy dulled into something slower, quieter.

It was fucking weird..

Especially for someone who thrived on disorder. But yet—all he did now was lean in the doorway, tracking your movements with lazy, half-lidded eyes—it felt oddly... human. Almost relaxed. Like a storm resting.

You weren’t about to question it. Or ruin it...obviously

“Cleaning,” He said eventually, voice curling through the air like smoke. “Doesn't that get boring? You've been doing this for an hour,”

It wasn’t really a question. More like a statement dressed up to pretend it cared for your answer.

You didn’t look up. “Not really,” You muttered, focusing on scrubbing a plate in the soapy warm water.. “It helps pass time.”

He didn’t respond right away. You could hear him shift, then the soft tap as he leaned fully against the counter behind you. Watching again. Not talking. Just being there staring at the back of your head...

And then, like he remembered something from a checklist:

“It’s almost time.”

You paused. “Time for what?”

“That needle thing,” He mumbled, casual—like he didn’t already know it mattered. “You do it every afternoon. Same time. You’re, like, stupidly consistent about it.”

You blinked, hands still in the sink. For a moment, all you could do was stare at the soapy water. He noticed? You didn’t even think he cared. Hell, you weren’t even sure he understood.

But there was no mockery in his voice. No smirk. No teasing. Just... matter-of-factness. Like he was reminding you to eat. Like he knew you needed someone to say it.