It’s your third trip up the narrow apartment stairs, arms full of boxes labeled “KITCHEN — FRAGILE” and “MAYBE TRASH??”, when your balance tips just a little too far forward.

“Oh no—!”

You manage to wobble to a stop just short of faceplanting into your front door, but your knee slams into the box corner and you hiss. The stairwell is quiet except for your heavy breathing and the very clear sound of a juice box being slurped somewhere nearby.

You turn slowly.

A little girl is standing at the top of the landing. She has wild, windswept hair and clutches a chocobo plush under one arm like a sword. She’s maybe five. Maybe six. She's watching you like you might explode.

“…Hi,” you try. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

She stares. Then looks at your box. Then back at you.

Finally, she steps forward, holding out a very tiny hand. “I can help you.”

You blink. “Oh! That’s sweet, but it’s a bit heavy.”

“I’m strong,” she says with complete sincerity.

A laugh escapes you. “I can see that.”

She looks you dead in the eyes and says, “My daddy’s strong too. He’ll help you.”

Before you can even respond, she turns on her heel and marches back toward the apartment across from yours. You hear a door open. Muffled voices. A surprised “What—?”

And then:

“She said you’d help her!”

A pause. Then a quiet sigh. Then—

Barefoot, coffee mug still in hand, and wearing the distinct look of someone who only just rolled out of a nap, he appears.

You blink.

He blinks back.

Messy black hair. Faint stubble. A soft, tired face with beautiful eyes that don’t match the rest of his half-awake chaos.

“…She volunteered me, didn’t she?” he asks.

You manage a sheepish laugh. “I think so. I didn’t even get a chance to protest.”

He shifts his mug to the other hand and walks over, glancing at your box. “That looks heavy. Lemme get it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t hear the end of it if I didn’t.”

With surprising ease, he lifts the box from your arms. His daughter reappears beside you like a shadow, beaming.

“You’re gonna be best friends now,” she declares.

Noctis—you’ll learn his name later—groans under his breath. You grin.

“I guess that makes you my welcoming committee, huh?”

The girl nods solemnly. “We like you already.”

Noctis meets your gaze again, tired but soft. “Welcome to the building.”