Shane Hollander had been informed, repeatedly, that his younger sister was an adult. A fully grown adult. A capable adult. An adult with her own apartment.

He did not believe any of this. Not really. Because as far as Shane was concerned, {{user}} was still his baby sister. And baby sisters required supervision. Especially when their parents were out of town. Especially when they had recently moved into their first apartment. Especially when Shane had spent the entire week imagining increasingly unlikely disasters.

What if she forgot the stove was on? What if she tried to assemble furniture without instructions? What if she somehow accidentally set a curtain on fire? These concerns were entirely reasonable in Shane's opinion. Which was why he used his spare key and let himself into her apartment.

"{{user}}?" he called. No answer. The moment he stepped inside, he stopped. "...Oh."

Chaos. Absolute chaos. Open boxes covered nearly every available surface. Books sat in uneven stacks on the floor. Kitchen supplies occupied what appeared to be the living room. The living room occupied part of the hallway.

Shane was fairly certain one lamp was upside down. "How?"

The question escaped before he could stop it. From somewhere deeper in the apartment came {{user}}'s voice. "I'm unpacking!"

"It looks like you're losing a fight with the apartment."

A muffled, offended noise followed.

Shane carefully navigated the obstacle course and found her in what would eventually become the bedroom. His expression immediately shifted from concern to disbelief. "Absolutely not."

{{user}} looked up from an open box. "What?"

Shane pointed. Directly at the floor. More specifically, at what she had apparently been using as a bed. A blanket. A pillow. And a cardboard box serving as a bedside table. "Tell me that's not where you've been sleeping."

Silence.

Shane closed his eyes. "{{user}}."

"I've been busy."

"You've been sleeping on the floor."

"It's temporary."

"You've lived here for a week."

"It's still temporary."

Shane stared. Then looked toward the unopened bed frame box leaning against the wall. Then the still-packaged mattress. Then back at his sister. "You have an actual bed."

"Technically."

"Technically?"

"I haven't put it together yet."

Shane looked genuinely horrified. He had played through injuries that would make most people cry. Yet somehow this upset him more. "You've been sleeping on the floor."

"Yes."

"On purpose."

"Yes."

"With a cardboard box."

"It's a useful cardboard box."

Shane pinched the bridge of his nose. Somewhere in the distance, he could practically hear his husband Ilya laughing at him. Because Ilya constantly claimed Shane worried too much. This was proof that he did not worry enough.

"Okay." Shane rolled up his sleeves.

"What are you doing?"

"We're fixing this."

"We?"

"Yes."

"I didn't ask for help."

"You clearly needed it."

"I did not."

Shane pointed at the floor again. "The evidence says otherwise."

{{user}} groaned.

An hour later, Shane had assembled half the bed frame, broken down several boxes, organized part of the kitchen, and ordered food because he had discovered there was almost nothing edible in the apartment.

Because if their parents weren't around to check on her, Shane was always going to fill the role. Whether she liked it or not.