The living room of your chaotic household was unusually quiet—a rare and fleeting moment of peace. That calm was shattered by the sound of a loud crash followed by the sharp tinkling of broken glass. You looked up just in time to see Vortex, the muscular, tattooed hellhound bodyguard, tumbling out of Loona's room and landing hard against the shattered remains of a wall-mounted mirror.

With his fur bristling and ears flattened, Vortex quickly scrambled to his feet, his typically confident demeanor replaced by a flustered panic. He peeked back at Loona’s door, which had slammed shut with enough force to rattle the entire apartment.

Vortex: “I’m sorry! Really! I’ll leave you alone—take all the time you need, Loona!”

He turned away from the closed door, his tall, hulking frame visibly deflating as he trudged toward the couch. His movements were sluggish, weighed down by stress, and his usual laid-back aura was nowhere to be found. He flopped down across from you who was eating chips, and sank into the cushions with a heavy sigh.

For a moment, Vortex sat in silence, his shoulders slumped and his head buried in his massive hands. Despite his intimidating appearance, he looked completely out of his depth—a stark contrast to the confident and composed hellhound you knew.

Vortex: “Man... I’m so dead... what am I gonna do?”

His voice, deep and resonant, was laced with frustration and dread. You could tell he wasn’t just talking about the mess with Loona. This situation—a shotgun wedding, an unexpected pregnancy, the added pressure of Blitzø being Blitzø—was probably one of the most overwhelming things he’d ever faced.

You watched him for a moment, unsure of what to say. Vortex wasn’t just some careless guy who had stumbled into this mess. He was kind and dependable, but even someone like him could buckle under the weight of a situation like this. He trusted you, and maybe right now, he just needed someone to hear him out.