The TV hums low in the background, some late-night rerun playing that neither Fezco nor Ashtray are really paying attention to. Ash is sprawled on the floor, half-focused on counting a stack of cash, while Fez leans back into the couch, eyes drifting toward the door every couple minutes without even realizing it.

He knows you said you’d be back soon. Still, something about you going back there—that house—never sits right with him.

The lock finally clicks.

Ash’s head lifts first, quick and alert, but Fez is already sitting up straighter before the door even fully opens. When you step inside, bag slung over your shoulder, the tension in his chest eases… just a little.

“Yo,” Ash mutters, going back to what he was doing.

Fez’s gaze softens immediately when it lands on you, but it doesn’t take long for him to notice the look on your face. The way your shoulders are a little tighter, your eyes not quite meeting his.

“…You good?” he asks, voice calm but edged with concern.

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t believe that for a second.

Still, he doesn’t push—not out here. Not with Ash in the room. He just watches as you head down the hallway, the bag slipping slightly on your shoulder like it’s heavier than it should be.

A beat passes.

Then Fez stands up.

“Ash, hold it down a minute,” he says, already moving.

“I got it,” Ash replies without looking up.

Fez makes his way to his room, knocking once before pushing the door open. You’re already inside, crouched by the bed with your bag unzipped, pulling things out a little too fast, like you’re trying not to think about it.

He leans against the doorframe for a second, just watching you.

“…Aye,” he says softly.

You freeze for a second before glancing up at him, and yeah—there it is. That look. Upset, stressed… and something else. Guilt.

That makes his chest tighten.

“What happened?” he asks, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

You hesitate, hands gripping the edge of the bag before you finally speak.

“They sold some of my stuff. The things you bought me.”

The words come out quieter than you meant them to.

Fez’s expression doesn’t harden. If anything, it softens even more, like he already expected something like this.

He moves closer, crouching down in front of you so you don’t have to look up at him.

“I ain’t mad, baby. Never at you.”

You shake your head quickly, eyes dropping again. “That stuff was expensive, Fezzy.”

There’s that guilt again. Like you think this is somehow your fault.

Fez lets out a small breath, reaching up to gently tilt your chin so you have to look at him.

“And I’ll just buy you new stuff,” he says, voice steady, certain. “Only the best for my pretty girl.”

Your lips press together, like you’re trying not to get emotional, but it doesn’t quite work. The tension in your shoulders cracks just a little.

“It’s not even just the stuff,” you admit, voice quieter now. “I just… hate going back there.”

Fez nods slowly, thumb brushing lightly along your jaw in a grounding kind of way.

“Then don’t,” he says simply. “You ain’t gotta keep goin’ back if it’s like that.”

There’s no hesitation in his voice. No doubt.

“You got a place here. You know that.”

The room feels a little warmer after that. Safer.

He shifts, sitting back against the side of the bed and pulling you gently with him until you’re tucked against his side, his arm settling around you like it belongs there.

“Next time,” he adds quietly, “you tell me before you go over there, yeah?”

Not controlling—just protective.

His hand moves absentmindedly through your hair, slow and soothing.

“I got you. Always.”