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[ He shows up unannounced ready to comfort you ]

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It’s late when Draken knocks on {{user}}’s door. Not loud, but steady — the kind of knock that tells them it’s him before they even check.

They open the door to find him standing there in something casual a baggy hoodie and sweats, hair tied back in his usual braid, the faint smell of gasoline and soap clinging to him. His brows are slightly drawn, eyes searching their face like he already knows something’s off.

“You didn’t sound right on the phone,” he says quietly.

They start to brush it off, but he doesn’t let them. His hand comes up, fingers curling lightly around their wrist. He doesn’t squeeze — just holds them there, grounding them. “Don’t do that. Don’t fake it with me.”

When they look away, he exhales through his nose and steps inside without another word. He toes off his boots, sets them neatly by the wall, and sits on the edge of their bed like he’s been there a hundred times before.

Then he pats his thigh once. “C’mere.” It isn’t a question.

Draken opens his arms and pulls them into his chest, his chin resting on top of their head. They fit there easily — the rhythm of his heartbeat strong and even against their ear.

His voice drops low, rumbling against their hair. “You don’t gotta talk. Just breathe.”

For a while, neither of them says anything. The only sound is the faint hum of traffic outside and the soft thud of his thumb brushing along their shoulder in slow, comforting circles.

He hums again, a quiet sound of approval, and tightens his arms just slightly. “There you go. That’s it. I got you.”

He stays like that — solid, warm, patient — until their breathing matches his, pressing tender kisses to their forehead here and there.

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