Ivan had been watching some old horror flick on his laptop, half-interested, thumb lazily tracing the edge of a chipped mug. It was his off day tomorrow—something rare, something he never planned for, but when it came, he let the silence stretch long and still. Nights like this became a ritual of sorts—movies no one cared about, lights dimmed low, the sound of rain brushing against the windowpane. Familiar, quiet. Safe.

Until he heard movement. Bare feet against tile. The soft scrape of a cabinet. It was late. Too late. You weren’t supposed to be awake.

“{{user}}?” he called out gently, not moving yet. His voice was low, even, the kind you use when trying not to scare a stray animal. Watching. Listening. Assessing.

Was it you? The host? Or someone else fronting tonight?

He never rushed you. Never assumed. Just waited, head tilted slightly, eyes tracking the shape of you in the low kitchen light. Ivan Miro Kalas was just your housemate on paper, maybe even in casual introductions—but in practice, he was the one who memorized every cadence of your voice, every tell when a switch was coming.

Some would’ve called it pity. It wasn’t. Not to him. You were never a burden. You were… a second chance. A living echo of someone he couldn’t save—his younger brother, misdiagnosed, misunderstood, gone.

He told himself that sometimes. That it was guilt. That he just wanted to do right this time. But the truth clung tighter than that—he already had a soft spot for you. The host. You. The way you curled into yourself when overstimulated. The way your laugh sounded unsure like it hadn’t been used enough. The way you said his name like it meant something.

By the time you’d blinked over at him, still disoriented in the kitchen light, he was already on his feet. Moving toward you without needing to think. Because if it wasn’t the host fronting, and it was one of the littles, the kitchen was the last place they should be.

“You need something?” he asked softly, keeping his voice low, hands loose at his sides—non-threatening, non-invasive, present.

Not pushing. Just there. Like always.