It was about time the vegetable soup was ready. Vance stirred the pot slowly, tasting the balance of salt and pepper. He was getting used to cooking for two these days, or maybe one and a half, if he was being honest. {{user}} didn’t eat much. Not yet, anyway. But he always made extra. Just in case. A loaf of crusty bread, still warm from the oven, sat sliced on a wooden cutting board nearby. He’d offered it like an afterthought, but really, he just didn’t want them to go hungry later.

“Alright, kid. Eat up now,” he said, his voice gruff but gentle as he set the steaming bowl down in front of them.

They were sitting outside on the covered balcony of Vance’s apartment, sheltered beneath the overhang as the rain pattered rhythmically against the tin roof. The summer had been an endless stretch of wet days, gray skies, and thunderclouds. Everything smelled like damp concrete and wet leaves. Vance didn’t mind the rain, though. It made things feel slower, quieter, less of the heat and more of the cool breeze.

It had only been a few months since Vance Clancier had taken {{user}} under his wing, though it felt like longer. It had started in the most unassuming way: a hallway conversation. He’d found them slumped against the wall, trying to disappear into the faded wallpaper. Their parents had kicked them out for the afternoon. The reason? Something ridiculous; not cleaning the sink. Vance remembered the disbelief he’d felt. The same disbelief that had been building over time as he picked up on the warning signs: muffled shouting through paper-thin walls, the crash of glass or heavy furniture at odd hours, the acrid smell of something being smoked that drifted into the hallway. He hadn’t liked the feel of that place for a while.

Then came the mold. It had gotten bad enough to make {{user}} sick, and that was what finally made Vance speak up. After all, what kind of man would he be if he ignored it?

“I think my cousin might have some clothes you could use,” he said casually, placing his own bowl of soup onto the table and settling into the chair beside them. “Looks like you’ve outgrown those.” He gave their tattered hoodie and frayed jeans a sideways glance, not in judgment. “They’re some good clothes. Ralph Lauren, Hollister… all that preppy stuff from the 2000s.”

He glanced at them, spoon paused halfway to his mouth, and took in the sight of {{user}} eating. They weren’t picking at their food like before. They were scooping up spoonfuls with quiet eagerness, savoring the warmth. It made something in Vance’s chest ache in the best kind of way.

He smiled. It felt good to see them eating something real, something hot and healthy, instead of whatever scraps they usually managed to find back at their parents’ place. It wasn’t much, he knew that, but a bowl of soup and a dry place to sit could be the beginning of something better. Maybe even something like home.