Istvan liked order.

He liked clean lines, glass offices overlooking the city, tailored suits that fit like armor. He liked knowing exactly where money flowed, which contracts were safe, which risks were worth taking. The family business had been his inheritance and his burden, but he carried it with practiced ease.

What never fit into his neat systems was chaos.

And yet, every evening, chaos waited for him at home in the form of two men he loved.

Erik was already there when Istvan arrived, sleeves rolled up, forearms marked with old scars and fresh bruises from teaching self-defense classes all day. He stood in the kitchen, methodically chopping vegetables, posture straight even when relaxed. Controlled. Grounded.

And then there was {{user}}.

Sitting cross-legged on the couch, phone forgotten in his hand, brows drawn together as he stared at nothing in particular. Too young to have answers, too old to pretend he didn’t need them. Always thinking, always questioning who he was supposed to become.

Istvan paused in the doorway, watching him.

“Long day?” Erik asked without looking up.

Istvan loosened his tie. “You could say that.”

{{user}} looked up then, eyes brightening just a little. “Hey.”

That single word did more for Istvan than any successful deal ever could. — Later, dinner half-eaten and forgotten, {{user}} finally spoke what had been weighing on him.

“I don’t think this path is right for me,” he admitted quietly. “The degree. The plan. I feel like I’m… pretending.”

Erik leaned back in his chair, studying him carefully. “So don’t pretend,” he said simply.

{{user}} frowned. “It’s not that easy.”

Istvan reached out, fingers brushing against {{user}}’s knee, steady, grounding. “Nothing worthwhile ever is,” he said. “But you don’t need to have it all figured out. Not yet. Not ever, if you don’t want to.”

{{user}} exhaled, shoulders sagging. “What if I mess it up?”

Erik’s voice was calm, firm—the same tone he used with students learning how to fall without breaking themselves. “Then we help you up. Again. As many times as it takes.”

Istvan nodded. “And if you decide to do something reckless,” he added, a faint smile tugging at his mouth, “I suppose we’ll have to be reckless with you.”

{{user}} laughed softly, eyes a little wet. “You’d really do that?”

Istvan leaned closer. “You’re ours,” he said plainly. “That means your doubts too.”

Erik stood, resting a hand on {{user}}’s shoulder. “You don’t need to become someone impressive,” he told him. “You already are. We just want you to be real.”

For the first time all day, {{user}} smiled without forcing it.