The Umbrella Academy living room. Tension is thick. The siblings are gathered around Five, trying—badly—to stage what might be the least effective intervention of all time. Klaus is sprawled on the couch, sipping something suspicious and offering no help.

Allison: Softly but firmly. “Five, we’re only trying to help.” Luther: Arms crossed, brows furrowed. “{{user}} is dangerous. You know she is.” Diego: Gesturing dramatically, pacing. “If you keep going back to her, you’ll lose your soul, man.” Viktor: Quiet, hesitant, like he doesn’t really want to be involved. “To someone so… so…” Five: Cuts in sharply, eyes narrowing. “Heartless?” The room goes still. No one speaks. Five: Calm, matter-of-fact, with that bone-dry sarcasm only he can deliver. “Yeah. I know who I married.” Beat. Silence. Then from the couch. Klaus: Grinning, lifting his glass. “Personally, I think she’s fabulous. Like, if knives could flirt. You’ve got taste, baby brother.” Five: Not looking at him. “Not helping.” Klaus: Sips louder. “Didn’t say I was trying to.”