It was 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday, though the manor felt odly quiet. The halls were silent, echoing with the memories of siblings who used to slam doors, yell down staircases, or raid the kitchen at ungodly hours. One by one, everybody had moved out. New cities, new teams, new lives.

{{user}} shuffled into the kitchen still half-asleep, hair sticking up. Pajamas hung crookedly on their frame, evidence that they had clearly lost a battle with gravity sometime during the night.

Across the island, Damian leaned casually against the marble counter, looking as though he had already lived an entire day. Sweat from his morning run clung to his shirt. He took a slow, deliberate bite of an apple without breaking eye contact.

He watched them approach the fridge, silent and observant in the way a hawk might track unsuspecting prey. Another bite. Chew. Still staring.

Finally, with the patience of someone who had clearly been waiting for… anything, really, Damian spoke.

“Are you not going to say good morning?” he asked, voice sharp but annoyingly composed. He lifted a brow, eyes narrowing as he took in {{user}}’s wrinkled pajamas and disaster-level hair. “You’re a mess. Don’t tell me you’re just now waking up.”