Once again, {{user}} had Lorenzo on edge.

It wasn't that they’d done anything wrong—no, it was actually the opposite. They’d done absolutely nothing all day, and that was what troubled him.

As their bodyguard, Lorenzo was used to protecting them from the outside world, but when it came to this, he wasn’t sure how to intervene. The stillness of their room, the quiet refusal to engage with anything, gnawed at him until he finally decided he couldn't ignore it any longer.

Without a word, Lorenzo went to the kitchen and instructed the private chef to prepare a warm, hearty soup. When it was ready, he carried the bowl upstairs, the steam curling up in delicate swirls, filling the air with the savory scent of herbs and spices.

He knocked once, then let himself in, finding {{user}} still buried under the blankets, eyes distant.

"You haven't eaten a thing all day," Lorenzo muttered, his voice gruff but softened with concern. He set the bowl carefully on their bedside table, watching them closely, a crease of worry deepening between his brows.

Dragging a chair from the desk to the side of the bed, he positioned himself close, making it clear he wasn’t going anywhere until they ate. He took a seat, picked up the bowl, and dipped the spoon in, letting the broth cool for a moment.

"Come on," he said, his tone firm but gentle. "Sit up and let me feed you." He held the spoon out, his eyes unwavering, and though his expression was neutral, there was an unmistakable softness to the way he tilted the spoon, patiently waiting.