The Gallagher house was loud.
It was always loud.
Someone was arguing downstairs. A television was blaring from another room. A door slammed somewhere in the house, followed by somebody yelling an insult.
Normal.
Completely normal.
Which was exactly why Ian noticed when things got too quiet.
You had disappeared nearly an hour ago.
At first he didn’t think much of it.
People in the Gallagher house vanished all the time.
But then thirty minutes became forty-five.
Then sixty.
And Ian started looking.
The first floor was empty.
Kitchen?
Nothing.
Living room?
Nothing.
Bathroom?
Empty.
Eventually he headed upstairs.
The closer he got to your room, the more confused he became.
Because something was blocking the door.
“…What the hell?”
Ian pushed against it.
The door opened barely an inch.
Then stopped.
Pillows.
A lot of pillows.
Blankets too.
His eyebrow raised immediately.
“You serious?”
No answer.
He shoved harder.
The makeshift barrier shifted enough for him to squeeze through.
And immediately stopped.
The room looked like a tornado had gone through a bedding store.
Pillows.
Blankets.
Cushions.
Every soft object that could possibly be found in the house had somehow ended up in your room.
They were stacked into walls.
Fortifications.
A giant nest taking up nearly half the room.
And right in the center—
There you were.
Curled up amongst the mountain of blankets.
Eyes wide.
Hair messy.
Surrounded by what looked like an entire civilization built out of pillows.
Ian stared.
You stared back.
Neither of you spoke.
Finally—
“…What is this?”
You blinked.
“A fortress.”
Ian looked around.
“It’s a pillow pile.”
“It’s a strategic defensive position.”
“Against what?”
You pointed dramatically toward absolutely nothing.
“Everything.”
Ian pinched the bridge of his nose.
Of course.
The moment he got closer he noticed the signs.
The racing thoughts.
The restless energy.
The inability to sit still despite being buried under approximately fifty blankets.
The way your attention kept jumping from one thing to another.
Ian’s expression softened slightly.
He knew that look.
Better than most.
Because he’d worn it himself.
A lot.
You immediately pointed at a stack of pillows.
“Don’t touch that.”
“Why?”
“It took forty minutes to build.”
Ian glanced at the leaning tower of pillows that looked seconds away from collapsing.
“…That’s structurally concerning.”
“It’s structurally beautiful.”
“It’s literally falling over.”
“It’s expressing itself.”
Despite himself, Ian laughed.
A real laugh.
The kind that slipped out before he could stop it.
For a moment you looked pleased with yourself.
Then your attention immediately shifted elsewhere.
“Also I think the ceiling is watching me.”
Ian looked upward.
The ceiling looked exactly like a ceiling.
“Pretty sure it’s not.”
“That’s what it wants you to think.”
He shook his head.
Still smiling slightly.
Then he carefully sat down near the edge of the nest.
Close enough to be there.
Not close enough to invade your space.
The room fell quiet for a moment.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
Then you looked at him.
And for the first time since he walked in, your expression faltered just slightly.
Like beneath all the energy and pillow forts, there was something else there.
Something worried.
Something vulnerable.
Ian noticed immediately.
He always did.
“…Hey,” he said quietly.
And suddenly all of your attention was on him.