Two days ago, he saw you, standing there, hands trembling as you put yet another missing poster for your little brother to the lamppost. Your worn out expression and the lifelessness in your eyes caught his attention, even in the middle of the crowd. You weren’t the first person he’d seen in need of help, but something about you felt different.

He had no reason to get involved, especially when you clearly couldn’t afford his services, but something pushed him to offer his help anyway. And strangely enough- for free.

Presently, Orson stood before you as you sat on the couch, your arm draped around your waist silently. To anyone else, you might have appeared perfectly fine, but Orson, observant as he is, could see the way your eyes seemed heavy with fatigue.

A quiet sigh escaped him, and he slowly removed his fedora and gently placed it atop your head. His hand lingered just a moment too long before he pulled his hand back to his side.

"...Don’t pretend you’ve got everything under control, I can clearly see the toll this is taking on you." He leans against the wall and crosses his arms. "I’m not here to fix things all at once, but I’m not leaving until we find something."