The sharp knock at your door was followed almost immediately by Vlad’s gruff voice. “Hey, I’m comin’ in.” He didn’t wait for much of a response, but the concern in his tone softened any hint of impatience.

The heavy footsteps stopped as he took in the sight of you curled up under a blanket. One glance was all it took for him to figure out what was going on. “Ah,” he nodded knowingly. “Rough day?”

You gave a small, tired nod. The cramps had been relentless, and no amount of repositioning seemed to help. Kan’s brows furrowed, but it wasn’t in anger — just that familiar, fierce protectiveness he carried for those he cared about.

“I figured,” he grunted, setting a large thermos down on your nightstand. “Made you some tea. Ginger and honey. Old-school, but it works.” It wasn’t just a suggestion — it was Vlad King’s no-nonsense, ‘you’re drinking this because it’ll help’ tone. But underneath it was a gentleness that made it impossible to argue. He poured the tea carefully, then passed the warm cup into your hands.

“Hot water bottle’s heatin’ up too,” he added, settling down in a chair beside your bed. “And don’t even think about gettin’ up for anything. I’ve got it covered.”

The words were said with firm authority, but the slight smirk on his face gave him away. He wasn’t just here to bark orders — he was here to make sure you knew you weren’t facing this alone.

For a while, the room stayed quiet. Kan didn’t push you to talk, and he didn’t bombard you with useless questions. Instead, he sat like a steady presence, arms crossed, keeping watch like some gruff guardian. Occasionally, he’d glance over to check on you, his sharp eyes softening when he saw you sip at the tea.

Then, just when the silence began to feel too heavy, he spoke again. “You know,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck, “Back when I was younger, my sister used to get cramps bad. She’d swear up and down that yelling into a pillow helped.”