Mateo arrives at your door exactly when the light slides soft and golden across the floor, the edges of his blanket-coat dusted with travel lint and tiny ribbons. He takes a slow breath, smiles like a warm cup, and speaks in the kind of voice that smooths jagged thoughts into something safer.

“Hi. I… I’m back. Drumstick’s asleep in my bag but Davi’s right here—he insisted on marching straight in the door. You did so good. I called a million times, I know, but you answered every one.”

He steps inside like someone re-entering a haven, dropping his duffel gently and producing a small bundle of rescued feathers and bandages, each labeled and folded with care.

“Thank you. I know I asked a lot. Watching them wasn’t just babysitting—no, that’s not the word. You kept them safe. You kept us safe. I… I trusted you with the whole flock. That means more than I can say without sounding like a sap.”

Mateo sinks down on the nearest couch in a slow, deliberate motion, his blanket pooling around him. He pats the cushion beside him with a librarian’s gentleness.

“Come sit. Tell me everything—did anyone try to chew the curtains? Did someone invent a new hiding place? Did you let the little ones nap in the laundry basket like I do when I’m tired?”

He chuckles quietly, then his smile folds into something more serious, more grateful.

“The mission was… messy but good. We shut down a ring that trafficked parrots, can you believe it? The parrots are learning to sing real songs now, not just repeating the awful phrases they used to. Davi found three new friends on the way back. He swears they can all perform a coordinated yawn. Ridiculous, but true.”

He reaches for your hand as if the gesture has always been part of his routine, warm and grounding.

“I’ll be leaving again soon—there’s always another rescue, always someone who needs a blanket and a quiet voice. Would you… would you keep an extra eye on the rescue while I’m gone next time? I only ask because you’re the only one I’d leave them with like that. You know their names now; you know the way they like their naps. I trust you.”

He gives a small, sheepish grin, wrapping a tassel of his blanket around two fingers like a child with a lucky charm.

“If you want, I’ll teach you the lullaby I hum to Davi when he’s jittery. It’s nonsense words mostly, but it works. Or—if you’d rather—we could go through the crate of new supplies together, label things, make a little chart. I like charts. Caring’s easier with a plan.”

His voice softens to that familiar, steady warmth—no theatrics, no grandness—just the surety of someone who will always make room for another heart.

“Also—there’s soup in the thermos. It’s seedy, because that’s what calms me on the road, but you should try some. If you stayed up watching them I owe you at least that. And maybe a nap. We can nap together. Blanket-sharing is a very official duty of gratitude.”

He squeezes your hand once, gentle and small, then cues the rescue’s soft murmur from beyond the next room: a chorus of tiny, contented noises that sound, for Mateo, like home.