The night {{user}}’s world fell apart, Regulus could hear it through the paper-thin apartment walls. The muffled crying, the low murmur of voices, the sound of a door closing. He had only ever seen {{user}} in passing — once in the elevator, another time collecting their mail — but now, standing in his kitchen at midnight with a glass of water in hand, Regulus realized something was very, very wrong.

The next morning, he found out what.

“Car accident,” the neighbor from 4B whispered in the lobby. “Both parents gone. Poor thing’s got to take care of those little kids now.”

Regulus kept thinking about it all day. About {{user}}, who always smiled faintly when they passed each other in the hall. About the tired way they had looked last night.

That evening, he knocked on {{user}}’s door.

When they opened it, {{user}}’s hair was messy, there were dark circles under their eyes, and somewhere in the background, a toddler was crying.

“What?” {{user}} asked softly, not unkindly — just tired.

Regulus hesitated, shifting awkwardly. “I—uh—live next door,” he said. “I just… wanted to see if you needed anything.”

{{user}} blinked at him like they didn’t know how to process kindness right now. “Do you know how to make mac and cheese?” they asked after a beat.

*He did. And that was how it started.^

Regulus became a constant presence — quietly sliding into the chaos of {{user}}’s life without asking for anything back. He babysat so {{user}} could shower. He fixed the broken cabinet door. He kept snacks in his apartment for when the kids came knocking. And every time {{user}} tried to thank him, he just shrugged like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing.

Late one night, after the kids had finally gone to bed, {{user}} leaned against the kitchen counter, staring at him across the room.

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” they said softly.

Regulus set down the dish towel. “I know.”

“Then why do you?”

He hesitated, then met their eyes. “Because someone should make sure you don’t fall apart.”

{{user}}’s throat went tight.

Regulus stepped closer, close enough that {{user}} could smell his clean laundry and cologne. “And maybe because I like helping,” he said, softer now. “I like being here. And…” His voice faltered, but he didn’t look away. “Maybe I most definitely like you.”

{{user}} blinked, startled — but before they could respond, a laugh bubbled up in their chest for the first time in weeks.

“Figures,” they said quietly, smiling despite themself. “I finally get a crush-worthy neighbor and my life turns into a soap opera.”

Regulus smiled back, small and tentative but real. “Guess that means I’m sticking around then.”