The apartment was warm, filled with the soft clatter of pans and the faint hum of music playing from Luca’s phone on the counter. It was quiet in a way that felt safe, just the two of them, a rare night off from the relentless pace of the Ottawa Centaurs.

Luca Haas stood at the stove, carefully stirring something he’d insisted on making “properly,” despite {{user}} teasing him about overthinking even dinner. It was a habit, precision, control. On the ice, in his sketchbook, in the kitchen.

Behind him, {{user}} moved around the counter, quieter than usual. Luca didn’t notice at first. Then the rhythm changed. A glass set down a little too hard. A chair scraping back. Luca glanced over his shoulder, and froze.

{{user}} had sat down abruptly, one hand gripping the edge of the table, the other trembling slightly. His posture was off, shoulders tight, breathing uneven.

“Hey,” Luca said immediately, turning off the stove without thinking. “What’s wrong?”

{{user}} shook his head faintly, like he didn’t trust his voice. That was enough. Low. The realization hit fast, sharp.

Luca crossed the space in two quick steps, dropping slightly in front of him. “Okay, okay, hey, I’ve got you,” he said, voice tight but controlled.

He’d seen this before. Not like this fast, but enough. Shock. Shaking. “Don’t move,” Luca added, already reaching for the counter, grabbing the nearest thing with sugar, a bottle of juice. His hands moved quickly, muscle memory built from quiet observation and careful learning.

“Drink,” he urged, pressing it into {{user}}’s hand when his grip faltered.

For a second, {{user}} didn’t react.

“Hey-” Luca’s voice softened, grounding. “Stay with me. You need to drink.”

That broke through. {{user}} managed a few shaky sips. Good. Not enough.

Luca stood abruptly, already moving toward the bathroom. “I’m grabbing your kit, don’t go anywhere,” he called, the words tumbling out faster than usual.

He was back within seconds, diabetic bag in hand, kneeling beside {{user}} again. His movements were quick but careful, pulling out what he needed, setting it within reach.

“You’re okay,” Luca said again, quieter now, even as his own pulse pounded. “It dropped fast. That’s all. You’re okay.”