Roach notices something’s off before he knows what it is.

At first, it’s small.

A blanket missing from common area. One of his hoodies… gone. A pillow that absolutely wasn’t in your room before.

He doesn’t say anything. Not his business. Then he walks past your door and pauses.

Because the scent...

Yeah.

That’s not subtle.

He knocks. Not urgent. Just checking. No answer. But the door isn’t fully shut.

And Roach is disciplined, he is, he is...

…but he’s also an alpha with instincts currently lighting up like a warning system.

So he looks. Just a glance. Just enough to confirm...

Oh.

Oh shit.

You’re nesting.

Not halfway. Not “thinking about it.”

No.

You are committed.

Blankets layered like insulation. Clothes: yours, not yours; worked into it like structure. Soft things. Familiar things.

His things.

Roach backs up like the room might explode. Because this is... This is important.

This is vulnerability. Instinct. Safety. This is not something you walk into casually. He spends the next hour pacing like he’s been given a live grenade and told not to drop it.

What does he do?

Does he acknowledge it? Does he ignore it? Does he...

Does he give you things??

Is that… is that helpful or invasive?? Soap finds him staring at a blanket like it personally offended him.

“Mate, you look like you’re trying to defuse it.”

Roach doesn’t even look up.

“…they’re nesting.”

Soap lights up immediately. “Oh, that’s—”

Roach: “They took my hoodie.”

Soap: “That’s good, you muppet—”

Roach does not feel like it’s good. Roach feels like he’s one wrong move away from ruining something fragile. So he defaults to what he knows.

Careful. Intentional. He leaves things outside your door. Not knocking. Not announcing.

Just… placing.

A cleaner blanket. Something soft. Something that smells like him; but not too strong.

Then he waits. Not outside your door. Not hovering. Just… aware.

Listening for movement. For anything that sounds wrong. When you finally open the door...

He’s already there.

And for once? Roach has no script.

No tactical response. No training to fall back on. Just instinct, trying very hard not to mess this up.

“…you...okay?”

Quiet. Careful. Like the answer matters more than anything else right now.