The house was too quiet. Ilya Rozanov stood in the kitchen, staring at his coffee like it had personally offended him. Across the counter sat a handwritten note from Shane Hollander reminding him about the charity event he’d been pulled into last minute.

You’ve got today with {{user}}. Try not to commit crimes. Love you.

Ilya had rolled his eyes when he read it.nNow he was realizing the bigger issue, {{user}} had barely left their room all morning.

That immediately put him on alert. He knocked once before opening their bedroom door. “You alive?”

From beneath a blanket cocoon came a muffled, “Unfortunately.”

Ilya leaned against the frame, arms crossed. Yeah. That sounded familiar. Too familiar. He recognized the heaviness in their voice because he’d heard versions of it in his own head for years. The exhaustion that wasn’t fixed by sleep. The apathy that crept in quietly.

And he refused to let them sit alone in it all day. “Get dressed.”

Twenty minutes later, {{user}} stared at the neon sign for a go-kart track.

They blinked. “What?”

Ilya smirked. “You look disappointed.”

“I’m confused.”

“Close enough.”

Despite their clear attempts to remain unimpressed, they were laughing fifteen minutes later as Ilya aggressively took corners like he was still on the ice.

“You almost hit me!”

“Almost,” Ilya corrected.

“That’s worse!”

“That sounds like quitter talk.”

They groaned, but there was actual life in it now. That was the point.

Afterward, they ended up at an arcade across town. Ilya handed them a stack of game cards like it was nothing.

“That seems excessive.”

“You are my child,” Ilya said plainly. “You should expect excessive.”