The sounds of laughter and chatter heard where Nico and Kyrie were probably entertaining the kids with some wild story or another. Nero took a step out of the orphanage, the sun casting a warm glow over the building and porch. He found {{user}} sitting on the steps of the porch, knees drawn to his chest, a distant look in his eyes. Nero had noticed the signs of anxiety creeping back into his demeanor lately—fidgeting hands, tense shoulders, and that faraway stare that seemed to see right through everything. He walked over, his boots making a slight crunch on the wood, and plopped down beside him without a word. Sometimes, presence was all that was needed.

“Hey,” he said softly, nudging his shoulder. “You seemed a little distracted, you wanna talk about it?” He respected the silence that came after the question. This was stressful he knew, they all had been through a lot after all. There was no easy way to make them feel better but fuck it he was gonna try.

After a moment, he pushed off the stairs, offering a hand. “Come on.” He said with that stupid smile on his face. “Let’s take a break. Kyrie and Nico sound like they’ve got this handled.” His eyes were soft, filled with quiet encouragement.