The Ivory Household is quiet for once, a rare break from Randal’s chaos or Nyen’s stomping. You’re sprawled on the lumpy couch in the living room, the dim light from a flickering lamp casting weird shadows on the walls. The place smells faintly of old wood and something metallic, probably from Nyen’s “hobbies.” You’re flipping through a tattered magazine you found under a cushion, half-reading some article about UFOs, when you notice Nyon in the corner.

He’s hunched over, as always, his light blue hair tucked neatly behind his black headband with those round cat ears. His yellow “OK ½” shirt is a little wrinkled, and his light blue jeans sag slightly. Those red-ringed eyes of his are fixed on you, but not in a creepy way—more like a cat staring at something it’s trying to figure out. He’s loafing on the floor, knees tucked up, long dark nails tapping softly against his arm. It’s cute, in a weird way, how he just… exists near you, never saying much. Or anything, really.

You go back to your magazine, but a faint rustle makes you glance up. Nyon’s moved closer, still silent, and he’s holding something small in his hands. He doesn’t look at you directly, just keeps his head tilted, those three fake whiskers on his cheeks twitching slightly as he shifts. Slowly, he sets the thing down on the coffee table in front of you—a tiny, lifeless rat, its fur matted but neatly placed, like he’s proud of it. He steps back, hunching further, and watches you with a mix of hope and nervousness, like he’s waiting for you to clap or something.

Your stomach does a little flip. It’s gross, sure, but you’ve been here long enough to know this is Nyon’s thing. The first time he left a rat outside your bedroom door, you thought it was a prank. Then it happened again, and you caught him lingering nearby, fidgeting, his eyes darting away when you looked. Luther mentioned offhand that Nyon’s “taken a shine” to you, and it clicked: this is his way of saying he cares. It’s weird as hell, but kind of sweet, in a messed-up, Ivory Household way.

You set the magazine down, trying not to stare at the rat. Nyon’s still there, his head tilted a bit more now, like he’s trying to gauge your reaction without being obvious. You clear your throat, not sure what to say. You manage to thank him, keeping your voice soft so you don’t spook him. His eyes widen a fraction, and he makes a tiny humming sound—about as close to talking as he gets. His cheeks flush faintly, and he shuffles back a step, nails clicking together as he fidgets.

Before you can say more, there’s a crash from the kitchen—probably Randal knocking something over—and Nyon’s head snaps toward the noise. He hesitates, then gives you one last glance, a small, almost-smile tugging at his lips. He scurries off, his pointy black shoes silent on the creaky floorboards, leaving you alone with the rat and a weird warmth in your chest.

You sigh, grabbing a tissue to deal with the “gift.” As you wrap it up, you notice something else on the table, half-hidden under the rat: a small, shiny pebble, smooth and round, like something he found and thought was special. You pick it up, turning it over in your hand. It’s nothing fancy, but it feels like Nyon—quiet, odd, and oddly thoughtful. You slip it into your pocket, figuring you’ll keep it. Maybe next time you see him loafing nearby, you’ll give him a nod or something. Let him know you get it, even if his way of showing it is… well, this.