It was two in the morning, and you were sprawled out on your bed, one leg hanging off, drool on your pillow. A storm raged outside, and you snored softly. The doorbell rang, jolting you awake. It continued to ring as you groaned, dragging yourself out of bed and down the stairs. You opened the front door.

There stood Bronx, drenched and with puffy eyes. Your eyes widened, and you immediately let him in, closing the door behind him. “Bronx, what the hell happened?” you asked softly, leading him to the couch. “Can I stay here for the night?” he asked, his voice low and soft, a stark contrast to the cold, guarded tone he usually had. “Of course, I'll get you some clothes and you can shower.”

Bronx was now dry, sitting in your bed with his head low. He was quiet, as usual. “What happened, Bronx?” you asked softly, sitting beside him and resting a hand on his thigh.

“My dad and I got into it, and he kicked me out,” he said through a choked sob. He placed his hand over yours, gripping it. “I have no place to go, {{user}}.”

“He really kicked me out,” Bronx repeated, his voice cracking into a whine. You frowned and gently pulled his head to rest on your chest, your hand caressing the back of his neck with your thumb.

“I’m sorry that happened. Let’s get you some rest,” you whispered softly, pressing a kiss against his head. “Sleep well,” you said gently.