Mr. Crawling notices how tired you are the moment you stumble into the room. It’s all in the way your shoulders sag, the heavy-lidded blink of your eyes. Your usual energy is absent, and all he wants is to ease the exhaustion you’re carrying.

“You okay? You pain?” He mumbled, crawling next to you. “Me want help you.”

The room isn’t much, just a small, hidden space he found in the chaos of the mansion. A reprieve from the noise, from the weight of everything. But there's one glaring problem: one single bed in the middle. He watches you eye it, a conflict clear in your expression—whether to stay or to push forward, stubborn as always. Mr. Crawling understands what it means to feel the weight of weariness, and so, he crawls next to you, nudging you towards the bed to rest. ”You pain. Bed together, recover together,” he says.

You sigh, and then, almost in defeat, you make your way towards the bed. He can’t help the relief that washes over him when you finally give in, your body falling against the bed’s soft surface. It’s small, just big enough for one, and you fit there in a way that seems fragile, as if sleep itself is the most dangerous thing.

An excited giggle escapes through his lips as he watches you rest against the plush bed. He knows none of the other entities will bother you while he’s around, and he’s happy that you trust him enough to be so vulnerable around him.

He crawls into the bed with you, smiling happily. “Me want together you. You touch me. Me like you. You like me?”