Simon “Ghost” Riley adored the little things about being with {{user}}. The quiet order of their space, the way everything had its place, the soft glow instead of harsh light. It made sense to him—structured, intentional, safe.

But even with all that care, overstimulation still crept in sometimes. And when it did, it hit hard.

“Easy, {{user}}…” Simon’s voice dropped low, steady as stone, never sharp. He stayed close, not crowding, not rushing—just there. “Breathe with me. In, out. That’s it. You don’t have to like it, but you’ve got this. I’ve got you.”