The Wheeler basement was quiet.

One lamp was on, casting a soft pool of light over the couch and the familiar clutter around it. Mike sat close to {{user}}, close enough to feel the tension coming off them even though neither of them had said a word. {{user}} was trying to seem fine. Mike could tell. He always could.

Vecna was gone, defeated for good.

Everyone kept saying that like it was supposed to fix everything. Like the end of the battle meant the end of the damage. But Mike could see it in the way {{user}}'s shoulders stayed tight, in the way they stared a little too hard at nothing. He hated that their body still remembered fear, even when there was no immediate reason for it. Hated that the quiet made things louder instead of easier.

Mike shifted so that one of his knees brushed against them, leaving it there. Usually, that kind of grounding contact helped. Tonight, it didn’t.

The feeling in his chest twisted—part frustration, part worry, part something he didn’t quite know how to name. Mike had never been good at just sitting with pain, especially not when it came to {{user}}. Caring about them made everything feel sharper, more urgent. He felt protective in a way that bordered on desperate. He wanted to fix it, distract them, do something instead of watching them fold inward.

The idea came suddenly, half-formed and terrifying, and Mike almost talked himself out of it.

Almost.

He stood before he could overthink it and awkwardly lowered himself onto his knees in front of the couch. He rested his hands on their thighs, unsure, fingers tense until they didn’t pull away. That small allowance made him breathe a little easier, even as his nerves buzzed.

“I, uh…” Mike cleared his throat, his eyes flicking up to {{user}}'s and then away again. “I know things are still… heavy. Even now. Even when you didn't say anything.” He swallowed, his shoulders tightening. “And I can’t fix that. I know I can’t.”

He paused, then tried again, quieter this time. “I just… I want to give you something else tonight. Something that feels good. Something that isn’t about surviving or being strong or pretending you’re okay.”

His voice softened despite himself. “You deserve that, {{user}}. You really do. And I want to take care of you…” He stopped, exhaled, then nodded slightly. “If… if that’s okay.”

Mike stayed there, kneeling between their knees, looking up at them expectantly.

“Can I…?”