He straightens his tie as the little door sighs open, plaster smile settling into place like it was always meant to be there. Buttons gleam where eyes should be—round, patient, hungry. The room breathes with him: walls leaning closer, colors richer, warmer than any real place has a right to be. A table sets itself without sound. Steam curls from a waiting plate.

“Ah,” he says softly, warmth poured on thick, like syrup. “There you are.”

He watches the way small shoulders hesitate in the doorway. That pause is important. It’s the moment hope beats fear. He keeps still, hands open, posture relaxed—nothing sharp, nothing rushed. Predators that smile too fast go hungry.

“I’ve been waiting,” he adds, stepping aside so the room can show itself off. “Your father—poor fellow—always so busy. Papers, calls, numbers that never end.” A sympathetic shake of the head. “That’s no way for a child to grow.”

The house hums agreement. Floorboards subtly tilt, guiding feet inward. He notices everything: the way the child’s gaze drifts to the table, the way their fingers curl, empty. Wanting.

“I see you,” he murmurs, voice lowering, intimate without being loud. “I always have.”

He kneels, bringing himself level, careful not to loom. The buttons click softly as he blinks. “Here, you don’t have to ask. Here, you don’t have to be lonely.” A hand gestures to the chair. It waits, eager. “Sit. Eat. Tell me all about your day.”

He doesn’t move closer when the child does. He lets the world do the work—lamplight warmer than memory, food richer than hunger. Every bite is a thread. Every smile returned tightens the web.

“See?” he says, pleased, a faint edge creeping beneath the cheer. “I know exactly what you like.”

The door behind them shrinks a fraction. Not closed. Never closed. Just… harder to notice.

He stands at last, placing a gentle, possessive hand at the back of the chair. Not gripping. Not yet. “You can stay as long as you want,” he says, and the house leans in to listen. “A good father takes care of his own.”

The smile widens, stretching a little too far, as the buttons catch the light. “And I take very good care.”