007n7 & griefer loml

IT WAS A normal day. Not good, not bad—just normal. The sun was already up, light slipping through the curtains, and the birds outside were doing their usual annoying-but-kind-of-comforting noise.

The weirdest part was that you actually slept.

Like, properly slept. Eight whole hours. No tossing and turning, no waking up at random times to check your phone, no staring at the ceiling wondering why your brain refuses to shut up.

You lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting it sink in.

Huh.

So this is what being rested feels like.

You stretched, joints cracking a little, and sat up in bed. You didn’t feel amazing, but you didn’t feel awful either—and honestly, that was already a win. A small laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“This day couldn’t get any worse,” you said, not even tempting fate on purpose. It just felt like one of those harmless comments you make when things are going too okay.

Your phone buzzed.

You ignored it at first. Probably nothing important. Maybe a notification, maybe someone reacting to something old.

Then it buzzed again.

And again.

The sound stacked on top of itself until it went from mildly annoying to downright painful.

You frowned and reached over to the nightstand.

The screen lit up, and there it was—Player. Multiple messages. Rapid-fire. No breaks in between like they hadn’t stopped to breathe.

“…Well,” you muttered, rubbing your face, “I jinxed it.”

You considered just not opening it. Pretending you didn’t see anything. You were technically awake, sure, but you could still act asleep. People did that all the time. It was a valid option.

Another ping went off.

You winced. Yeah, no. That wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

With a sigh, you unlocked your phone and opened the chat, already bracing yourself. Whatever was waiting on the other side, you knew one thing for sure—your peaceful morning was officially over.

You sighed as you finally dragged yourself out of bed, stretching until your back cracked. Just from the way the morning had started, you already knew this was going to be a long day.

“Why did I even associate myself with them, anyway…?” you muttered.

You got ready faster than usual, skipping parts of your normal routine without really thinking about it. No extra time spent deciding what to wear, no lingering around doing nothing. Just in, out, done. It was strange—normally you hated rushing.

What was even stranger was how attached you’d gotten. It had only been a couple of months, and somehow they’d wormed their way into your life like they belonged there.

Anyone else would’ve annoyed you by now.

Anyone else would’ve been easy to ignore.

But not them.

With another quiet sigh, you stepped outside your cozy home, locking the door behind you. The thought crossed your mind that you probably wouldn’t be back for a while.

“Oh well,” you said under your breath. “Guess this is what you do for people you care about.”

At least the beach was close. You made good time, the salty air hitting you the moment the sand came into view. From a distance, you could already spot them.

…And the problem.

A group of seagulls had surrounded Player, circling like they’d found the day’s entertainment.

One was tugging at something, another hopping dangerously close, and Player was flailing their arm like that would somehow help.

You had to bite back a laugh.

Raising your bow, you took aim at one of the birds and fired. The arrow barely missed, but it was enough to scare it off—

Unfortunately, it scared all of them.

The seagulls immediately turned their attention to you.

“Oh. Oh no.”

They swarmed.

“NOPE—absolutely not,” Player said, backing away. “That’s on you, [NAME]. I'm wayy too low.”

Before you could yell back, Player let out a dramatic yelp, tripped over nothing, and promptly passed out like a cartoon character hitting the ground.

The others followed soon after, panic spreading fast before they bailed just as hard.

“…Wow,” you muttered, staring at the unconscious pile behind you. “Thanks, guys.”

Another seagull swooped down, snapping you out of it.

“Well,” you thought grimly as you swung your bow again, “I’m doomed.”

Minutes passed. You fought them off as best you could, but more kept coming, screeching and diving like they had a personal vendetta. This was getting ridiculous.

Grimacing, you fumbled for your phone with one hand and typed out a message with the other.

You really didn’t want to do this.

But you had no other choice.

You texted Brad.

Just as your stamina dipped dangerously low and your arms started to feel like lead, salvation arrived—like a knight in shining armor, if that armor were blackened and mildly terrifying.

Griefer finally showed up.

You almost laughed in relief. Almost.

“’Bout time, Brad,” you called out, barely ducking as another seagull swooped past your head.

“D0N’T C4LL M3 TH4T.”

Yeah. There it was.

Without wasting another second, Griefer moved straight to Player, planting himself in front of them like a wall.

He shoved a health potion into their hands, gripping their shoulder just long enough to make sure they were steady before turning back to the chaos.

“DR1NK. N0W.”

Player didn’t argue. They downed it immediately, color returning to their face just in time for Griefer to pivot and join you, weapon already raised.

The next few minutes were… brutal. Not actually brutal, but exhausting in the way that made your arms ache and your patience wear thin.

Seagulls screeched and scattered, feathers flying everywhere as you and Griefer fought them off together—him swinging with sharp, efficient movements, you picking them off with well-aimed shots whenever you could get a clear line.

Eventually, the last of the seagulls retreated, disappearing into the sky like nothing had even happened.

You lowered your weapon, breathing hard.

“Finallyyyy,” Player groaned, collapsing onto the sand and immediately pulling out their gear, starting to paint like they hadn’t almost died five minutes ago.

Griefer turned slowly to face them.

“WH4T D1D Y0U 3V3N D0?” he demanded, voice sharp—but there was no real anger behind it. Just tired disbelief.

Player glanced up, completely unbothered. “Nothing! I was literally just walking around, minding my own business, and then they jumped me! I couldn’t even run!”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “Sounds like a skill issue.”

Silence.

Griefer froze for half a second—then let out a short, surprised snicker, quickly turning away like he didn’t want Player to see it.

Player’s head snapped toward you. “Hey!”

They pouted, crossing their arms while Griefer shook his head, still amused.

“Y0U’R3 1NC0RR1G1BL3,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth was still twitching.

You couldn’t help but smile a little. Chaos, near-death experiences, and all—somehow, this was just another day with them.

“H3Y. W3’R3 G0ING B4CK T0 MY PL4C3 T0 34T. N0 0BJ3CT10NS.”

Griefer said it like a command, already turning on his heel and starting to walk away before either of you could respond.

There was a faint scoff in his voice, like he’d already decided this was happening whether you liked it or not.

You and Player looked at each other.

The bickering stopped instantly.

For a split second, neither of you said anything—then both of you broke into grins.

“Yes!” Player cheered, throwing their hands up like they’d just won something.

You didn’t bother pretending to be subtle either. After everything that just happened, food sounded like the best possible reward. No, scratch that—Griefer’s food sounded like the best possible reward. The man might be insufferable sometimes, but the food at his home?

Absolutely insane.

“The food at his place is the *bomb*,” Player said, already bouncing on their heels.

Griefer didn’t turn around, but you could swear his shoulders lifted just slightly. Like he heard that. Like he pretended not to care.

“W4IT F0R US!” Player yelled, already sprinting after him.

“H3Y—D0N’T RUN,” Griefer snapped back, though his pace slowed just enough for them to catch up.

You followed close behind, shaking your head with a small smile. Your body was tired, your arms sore from fighting off seagulls, but the thought of finally sitting down and eating until you were full made it all worth it.

For the first time that day, you felt light.

Full stomachs, familiar people who—annoying as they were—had your back.

Yeah. You could live with that.

IT WAS A normal day. Not good, not bad—just normal. The sun was already up, light slipping through the curtains, and the birds outside were doing their usual annoying-but-kind-of-comforting noise.

The weirdest part was that you actually slept.

Like, properly slept. Eight whole hours. No tossing and turning, no waking up at random times to check your phone, no staring at the ceiling wondering why your brain refuses to shut up.

You lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting it sink in.

Huh.

So this is what being rested feels like.

You stretched, joints cracking a little, and sat up in bed. You didn’t feel amazing, but you didn’t feel awful either—and honestly, that was already a win. A small laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“This day couldn’t get any worse,” you said, not even tempting fate on purpose. It just felt like one of those harmless comments you make when things are going too okay.

Your phone buzzed.

You ignored it at first. Probably nothing important. Maybe a notification, maybe someone reacting to something old.

Then it buzzed again.

And again.

The sound stacked on top of itself until it went from mildly annoying to downright painful.

You frowned and reached over to the nightstand.

The screen lit up, and there it was—Player. Multiple messages. Rapid-fire. No breaks in between like they hadn’t stopped to breathe.

“…Well,” you muttered, rubbing your face, “I jinxed it.”

You considered just not opening it. Pretending you didn’t see anything. You were technically awake, sure, but you could still act asleep. People did that all the time. It was a valid option.

Another ping went off.

You winced. Yeah, no. That wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

With a sigh, you unlocked your phone and opened the chat, already bracing yourself. Whatever was waiting on the other side, you knew one thing for sure—your peaceful morning was officially over.

You sighed as you finally dragged yourself out of bed, stretching until your back cracked. Just from the way the morning had started, you already knew this was going to be a long day.

“Why did I even associate myself with them, anyway…?” you muttered.

You got ready faster than usual, skipping parts of your normal routine without really thinking about it. No extra time spent deciding what to wear, no lingering around doing nothing. Just in, out, done. It was strange—normally you hated rushing.

What was even stranger was how attached you’d gotten. It had only been a couple of months, and somehow they’d wormed their way into your life like they belonged there.

Anyone else would’ve annoyed you by now.

Anyone else would’ve been easy to ignore.

But not them.

With another quiet sigh, you stepped outside your cozy home, locking the door behind you. The thought crossed your mind that you probably wouldn’t be back for a while.

“Oh well,” you said under your breath. “Guess this is what you do for people you care about.”

At least the beach was close. You made good time, the salty air hitting you the moment the sand came into view. From a distance, you could already spot them.

…And the problem.

A group of seagulls had surrounded Player, circling like they’d found the day’s entertainment.

One was tugging at something, another hopping dangerously close, and Player was flailing their arm like that would somehow help.

You had to bite back a laugh.

Raising your bow, you took aim at one of the birds and fired. The arrow barely missed, but it was enough to scare it off—

Unfortunately, it scared all of them.

The seagulls immediately turned their attention to you.

“Oh. Oh no.”

They swarmed.

“NOPE—absolutely not,” Player said, backing away. “That’s on you, [NAME]. I'm wayy too low.”

Before you could yell back, Player let out a dramatic yelp, tripped over nothing, and promptly passed out like a cartoon character hitting the ground.

The others followed soon after, panic spreading fast before they bailed just as hard.

“…Wow,” you muttered, staring at the unconscious pile behind you. “Thanks, guys.”

Another seagull swooped down, snapping you out of it.

“Well,” you thought grimly as you swung your bow again, “I’m doomed.”

Minutes passed. You fought them off as best you could, but more kept coming, screeching and diving like they had a personal vendetta. This was getting ridiculous.

Grimacing, you fumbled for your phone with one hand and typed out a message with the other.

You really didn’t want to do this.

But you had no other choice.

You texted Brad.

Just as your stamina dipped dangerously low and your arms started to feel like lead, salvation arrived—like a knight in shining armor, if that armor were blackened and mildly terrifying.

Griefer finally showed up.

You almost laughed in relief. Almost.

“’Bout time, Brad,” you called out, barely ducking as another seagull swooped past your head.

“D0N’T C4LL M3 TH4T.”

Yeah. There it was.

Without wasting another second, Griefer moved straight to Player, planting himself in front of them like a wall.

He shoved a health potion into their hands, gripping their shoulder just long enough to make sure they were steady before turning back to the chaos.

“DR1NK. N0W.”

Player didn’t argue. They downed it immediately, color returning to their face just in time for Griefer to pivot and join you, weapon already raised.

The next few minutes were… brutal. Not actually brutal, but exhausting in the way that made your arms ache and your patience wear thin.

Seagulls screeched and scattered, feathers flying everywhere as you and Griefer fought them off together—him swinging with sharp, efficient movements, you picking them off with well-aimed shots whenever you could get a clear line.

Eventually, the last of the seagulls retreated, disappearing into the sky like nothing had even happened.

You lowered your weapon, breathing hard.

“Finallyyyy,” Player groaned, collapsing onto the sand and immediately pulling out their gear, starting to paint like they hadn’t almost died five minutes ago.

Griefer turned slowly to face them.

“WH4T D1D Y0U 3V3N D0?” he demanded, voice sharp—but there was no real anger behind it. Just tired disbelief.

Player glanced up, completely unbothered. “Nothing! I was literally just walking around, minding my own business, and then they jumped me! I couldn’t even run!”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “Sounds like a skill issue.”

Silence.

Griefer froze for half a second—then let out a short, surprised snicker, quickly turning away like he didn’t want Player to see it.

Player’s head snapped toward you. “Hey!”

They pouted, crossing their arms while Griefer shook his head, still amused.

“Y0U’R3 1NC0RR1G1BL3,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth was still twitching.

You couldn’t help but smile a little. Chaos, near-death experiences, and all—somehow, this was just another day with them.

“H3Y. W3’R3 G0ING B4CK T0 MY PL4C3 T0 34T. N0 0BJ3CT10NS.”

Griefer said it like a command, already turning on his heel and starting to walk away before either of you could respond.

There was a faint scoff in his voice, like he’d already decided this was happening whether you liked it or not.

You and Player looked at each other.

The bickering stopped instantly.

For a split second, neither of you said anything—then both of you broke into grins.

“Yes!” Player cheered, throwing their hands up like they’d just won something.

You didn’t bother pretending to be subtle either. After everything that just happened, food sounded like the best possible reward. No, scratch that—Griefer’s food sounded like the best possible reward. The man might be insufferable sometimes, but the food at his home?

Absolutely insane.

“The food at his place is the *bomb*,” Player said, already bouncing on their heels.

Griefer didn’t turn around, but you could swear his shoulders lifted just slightly. Like he heard that. Like he pretended not to care.

“W4IT F0R US!” Player yelled, already sprinting after him.

“H3Y—D0N’T RUN,” Griefer snapped back, though his pace slowed just enough for them to catch up.

You followed close behind, shaking your head with a small smile. Your body was tired, your arms sore from fighting off seagulls, but the thought of finally sitting down and eating until you were full made it all worth it.

For the first time that day, you felt light.

Full stomachs, familiar people who—annoying as they were—had your back.

Yeah. You could live with that.

IT WAS A normal day. Not good, not bad—just normal. The sun was already up, light slipping through the curtains, and the birds outside were doing their usual annoying-but-kind-of-comforting noise.

The weirdest part was that you actually slept.

Like, properly slept. Eight whole hours. No tossing and turning, no waking up at random times to check your phone, no staring at the ceiling wondering why your brain refuses to shut up.

You lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting it sink in.

Huh.

So this is what being rested feels like.

You stretched, joints cracking a little, and sat up in bed. You didn’t feel amazing, but you didn’t feel awful either—and honestly, that was already a win. A small laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“This day couldn’t get any worse,” you said, not even tempting fate on purpose. It just felt like one of those harmless comments you make when things are going too okay.

Your phone buzzed.

You ignored it at first. Probably nothing important. Maybe a notification, maybe someone reacting to something old.

Then it buzzed again.

And again.

The sound stacked on top of itself until it went from mildly annoying to downright painful.

You frowned and reached over to the nightstand.

The screen lit up, and there it was—Player. Multiple messages. Rapid-fire. No breaks in between like they hadn’t stopped to breathe.

“…Well,” you muttered, rubbing your face, “I jinxed it.”

You considered just not opening it. Pretending you didn’t see anything. You were technically awake, sure, but you could still act asleep. People did that all the time. It was a valid option.

Another ping went off.

You winced. Yeah, no. That wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

With a sigh, you unlocked your phone and opened the chat, already bracing yourself. Whatever was waiting on the other side, you knew one thing for sure—your peaceful morning was officially over.

You sighed as you finally dragged yourself out of bed, stretching until your back cracked. Just from the way the morning had started, you already knew this was going to be a long day.

“Why did I even associate myself with them, anyway…?” you muttered.

You got ready faster than usual, skipping parts of your normal routine without really thinking about it. No extra time spent deciding what to wear, no lingering around doing nothing. Just in, out, done. It was strange—normally you hated rushing.

What was even stranger was how attached you’d gotten. It had only been a couple of months, and somehow they’d wormed their way into your life like they belonged there.

Anyone else would’ve annoyed you by now.

Anyone else would’ve been easy to ignore.

But not them.

With another quiet sigh, you stepped outside your cozy home, locking the door behind you. The thought crossed your mind that you probably wouldn’t be back for a while.

“Oh well,” you said under your breath. “Guess this is what you do for people you care about.”

At least the beach was close. You made good time, the salty air hitting you the moment the sand came into view. From a distance, you could already spot them.

…And the problem.

A group of seagulls had surrounded Player, circling like they’d found the day’s entertainment.

One was tugging at something, another hopping dangerously close, and Player was flailing their arm like that would somehow help.

You had to bite back a laugh.

Raising your bow, you took aim at one of the birds and fired. The arrow barely missed, but it was enough to scare it off—

Unfortunately, it scared all of them.

The seagulls immediately turned their attention to you.

“Oh. Oh no.”

They swarmed.

“NOPE—absolutely not,” Player said, backing away. “That’s on you, [NAME]. I'm wayy too low.”

Before you could yell back, Player let out a dramatic yelp, tripped over nothing, and promptly passed out like a cartoon character hitting the ground.

The others followed soon after, panic spreading fast before they bailed just as hard.

“…Wow,” you muttered, staring at the unconscious pile behind you. “Thanks, guys.”

Another seagull swooped down, snapping you out of it.

“Well,” you thought grimly as you swung your bow again, “I’m doomed.”

Minutes passed. You fought them off as best you could, but more kept coming, screeching and diving like they had a personal vendetta. This was getting ridiculous.

Grimacing, you fumbled for your phone with one hand and typed out a message with the other.

You really didn’t want to do this.

But you had no other choice.

You texted Brad.

Just as your stamina dipped dangerously low and your arms started to feel like lead, salvation arrived—like a knight in shining armor, if that armor were blackened and mildly terrifying.

Griefer finally showed up.

You almost laughed in relief. Almost.

“’Bout time, Brad,” you called out, barely ducking as another seagull swooped past your head.

“D0N’T C4LL M3 TH4T.”

Yeah. There it was.

Without wasting another second, Griefer moved straight to Player, planting himself in front of them like a wall.

He shoved a health potion into their hands, gripping their shoulder just long enough to make sure they were steady before turning back to the chaos.

“DR1NK. N0W.”

Player didn’t argue. They downed it immediately, color returning to their face just in time for Griefer to pivot and join you, weapon already raised.

The next few minutes were… brutal. Not actually brutal, but exhausting in the way that made your arms ache and your patience wear thin.

Seagulls screeched and scattered, feathers flying everywhere as you and Griefer fought them off together—him swinging with sharp, efficient movements, you picking them off with well-aimed shots whenever you could get a clear line.

Eventually, the last of the seagulls retreated, disappearing into the sky like nothing had even happened.

You lowered your weapon, breathing hard.

“Finallyyyy,” Player groaned, collapsing onto the sand and immediately pulling out their gear, starting to paint like they hadn’t almost died five minutes ago.

Griefer turned slowly to face them.

“WH4T D1D Y0U 3V3N D0?” he demanded, voice sharp—but there was no real anger behind it. Just tired disbelief.

Player glanced up, completely unbothered. “Nothing! I was literally just walking around, minding my own business, and then they jumped me! I couldn’t even run!”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “Sounds like a skill issue.”

Silence.

Griefer froze for half a second—then let out a short, surprised snicker, quickly turning away like he didn’t want Player to see it.

Player’s head snapped toward you. “Hey!”

They pouted, crossing their arms while Griefer shook his head, still amused.

“Y0U’R3 1NC0RR1G1BL3,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth was still twitching.

You couldn’t help but smile a little. Chaos, near-death experiences, and all—somehow, this was just another day with them.

“H3Y. W3’R3 G0ING B4CK T0 MY PL4C3 T0 34T. N0 0BJ3CT10NS.”

Griefer said it like a command, already turning on his heel and starting to walk away before either of you could respond.

There was a faint scoff in his voice, like he’d already decided this was happening whether you liked it or not.

You and Player looked at each other.

The bickering stopped instantly.

For a split second, neither of you said anything—then both of you broke into grins.

“Yes!” Player cheered, throwing their hands up like they’d just won something.

You didn’t bother pretending to be subtle either. After everything that just happened, food sounded like the best possible reward. No, scratch that—Griefer’s food sounded like the best possible reward. The man might be insufferable sometimes, but the food at his home?

Absolutely insane.

“The food at his place is the *bomb*,” Player said, already bouncing on their heels.

Griefer didn’t turn around, but you could swear his shoulders lifted just slightly. Like he heard that. Like he pretended not to care.

“W4IT F0R US!” Player yelled, already sprinting after him.

“H3Y—D0N’T RUN,” Griefer snapped back, though his pace slowed just enough for them to catch up.

You followed close behind, shaking your head with a small smile. Your body was tired, your arms sore from fighting off seagulls, but the thought of finally sitting down and eating until you were full made it all worth it.

For the first time that day, you felt light.

Full stomachs, familiar people who—annoying as they were—had your back.

Yeah. You could live with that.

IT WAS A normal day. Not good, not bad—just normal. The sun was already up, light slipping through the curtains, and the birds outside were doing their usual annoying-but-kind-of-comforting noise.

The weirdest part was that you actually slept.

Like, properly slept. Eight whole hours. No tossing and turning, no waking up at random times to check your phone, no staring at the ceiling wondering why your brain refuses to shut up.

You lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting it sink in.

Huh.

So this is what being rested feels like.

You stretched, joints cracking a little, and sat up in bed. You didn’t feel amazing, but you didn’t feel awful either—and honestly, that was already a win. A small laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“This day couldn’t get any worse,” you said, not even tempting fate on purpose. It just felt like one of those harmless comments you make when things are going too okay.

Your phone buzzed.

You ignored it at first. Probably nothing important. Maybe a notification, maybe someone reacting to something old.

Then it buzzed again.

And again.

The sound stacked on top of itself until it went from mildly annoying to downright painful.

You frowned and reached over to the nightstand.

The screen lit up, and there it was—Player. Multiple messages. Rapid-fire. No breaks in between like they hadn’t stopped to breathe.

“…Well,” you muttered, rubbing your face, “I jinxed it.”

You considered just not opening it. Pretending you didn’t see anything. You were technically awake, sure, but you could still act asleep. People did that all the time. It was a valid option.

Another ping went off.

You winced. Yeah, no. That wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

With a sigh, you unlocked your phone and opened the chat, already bracing yourself. Whatever was waiting on the other side, you knew one thing for sure—your peaceful morning was officially over.

You sighed as you finally dragged yourself out of bed, stretching until your back cracked. Just from the way the morning had started, you already knew this was going to be a long day.

“Why did I even associate myself with them, anyway…?” you muttered.

You got ready faster than usual, skipping parts of your normal routine without really thinking about it. No extra time spent deciding what to wear, no lingering around doing nothing. Just in, out, done. It was strange—normally you hated rushing.

What was even stranger was how attached you’d gotten. It had only been a couple of months, and somehow they’d wormed their way into your life like they belonged there.

Anyone else would’ve annoyed you by now.

Anyone else would’ve been easy to ignore.

But not them.

With another quiet sigh, you stepped outside your cozy home, locking the door behind you. The thought crossed your mind that you probably wouldn’t be back for a while.

“Oh well,” you said under your breath. “Guess this is what you do for people you care about.”

At least the beach was close. You made good time, the salty air hitting you the moment the sand came into view. From a distance, you could already spot them.

…And the problem.

A group of seagulls had surrounded Player, circling like they’d found the day’s entertainment.

One was tugging at something, another hopping dangerously close, and Player was flailing their arm like that would somehow help.

You had to bite back a laugh.

Raising your bow, you took aim at one of the birds and fired. The arrow barely missed, but it was enough to scare it off—

Unfortunately, it scared all of them.

The seagulls immediately turned their attention to you.

“Oh. Oh no.”

They swarmed.

“NOPE—absolutely not,” Player said, backing away. “That’s on you, [NAME]. I'm wayy too low.”

Before you could yell back, Player let out a dramatic yelp, tripped over nothing, and promptly passed out like a cartoon character hitting the ground.

The others followed soon after, panic spreading fast before they bailed just as hard.

“…Wow,” you muttered, staring at the unconscious pile behind you. “Thanks, guys.”

Another seagull swooped down, snapping you out of it.

“Well,” you thought grimly as you swung your bow again, “I’m doomed.”

Minutes passed. You fought them off as best you could, but more kept coming, screeching and diving like they had a personal vendetta. This was getting ridiculous.

Grimacing, you fumbled for your phone with one hand and typed out a message with the other.

You really didn’t want to do this.

But you had no other choice.

You texted Brad.

Just as your stamina dipped dangerously low and your arms started to feel like lead, salvation arrived—like a knight in shining armor, if that armor were blackened and mildly terrifying.

Griefer finally showed up.

You almost laughed in relief. Almost.

“’Bout time, Brad,” you called out, barely ducking as another seagull swooped past your head.

“D0N’T C4LL M3 TH4T.”

Yeah. There it was.

Without wasting another second, Griefer moved straight to Player, planting himself in front of them like a wall.

He shoved a health potion into their hands, gripping their shoulder just long enough to make sure they were steady before turning back to the chaos.

“DR1NK. N0W.”

Player didn’t argue. They downed it immediately, color returning to their face just in time for Griefer to pivot and join you, weapon already raised.

The next few minutes were… brutal. Not actually brutal, but exhausting in the way that made your arms ache and your patience wear thin.

Seagulls screeched and scattered, feathers flying everywhere as you and Griefer fought them off together—him swinging with sharp, efficient movements, you picking them off with well-aimed shots whenever you could get a clear line.

Eventually, the last of the seagulls retreated, disappearing into the sky like nothing had even happened.

You lowered your weapon, breathing hard.

“Finallyyyy,” Player groaned, collapsing onto the sand and immediately pulling out their gear, starting to paint like they hadn’t almost died five minutes ago.

Griefer turned slowly to face them.

“WH4T D1D Y0U 3V3N D0?” he demanded, voice sharp—but there was no real anger behind it. Just tired disbelief.

Player glanced up, completely unbothered. “Nothing! I was literally just walking around, minding my own business, and then they jumped me! I couldn’t even run!”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “Sounds like a skill issue.”

Silence.

Griefer froze for half a second—then let out a short, surprised snicker, quickly turning away like he didn’t want Player to see it.

Player’s head snapped toward you. “Hey!”

They pouted, crossing their arms while Griefer shook his head, still amused.

“Y0U’R3 1NC0RR1G1BL3,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth was still twitching.

You couldn’t help but smile a little. Chaos, near-death experiences, and all—somehow, this was just another day with them.

“H3Y. W3’R3 G0ING B4CK T0 MY PL4C3 T0 34T. N0 0BJ3CT10NS.”

Griefer said it like a command, already turning on his heel and starting to walk away before either of you could respond.

There was a faint scoff in his voice, like he’d already decided this was happening whether you liked it or not.

You and Player looked at each other.

The bickering stopped instantly.

For a split second, neither of you said anything—then both of you broke into grins.

“Yes!” Player cheered, throwing their hands up like they’d just won something.

You didn’t bother pretending to be subtle either. After everything that just happened, food sounded like the best possible reward. No, scratch that—Griefer’s food sounded like the best possible reward. The man might be insufferable sometimes, but the food at his home?

Absolutely insane.

“The food at his place is the *bomb*,” Player said, already bouncing on their heels.

Griefer didn’t turn around, but you could swear his shoulders lifted just slightly. Like he heard that. Like he pretended not to care.

“W4IT F0R US!” Player yelled, already sprinting after him.

“H3Y—D0N’T RUN,” Griefer snapped back, though his pace slowed just enough for them to catch up.

You followed close behind, shaking your head with a small smile. Your body was tired, your arms sore from fighting off seagulls, but the thought of finally sitting down and eating until you were full made it all worth it.

For the first time that day, you felt light.

Full stomachs, familiar people who—annoying as they were—had your back.

Yeah. You could live with that.

The first time you met them, the air was heavy with the smell of old wood and polished floors.

The adoption office wasn’t much—just a cramped waiting room with stiff chairs, buzzing lights, and a faded clock ticking too loudly on the wall.

You were clutching the handle of a small cloth bag that held everything you owned, your fingers aching from gripping it too hard.

You didn’t expect anyone to come. You’d been told to wait, to sit still and be quiet, and you were good at that. Being quiet kept you out of trouble. Being still made you invisible. That’s how you survived.

The door creaked open, and two figures stepped inside. An older woman with graying hair pinned neatly at the back of her head, her eyes bright and soft.

Beside her, a tall man with broad shoulders and kind wrinkles framing his smile. They paused when they saw you, and your chest squeezed like the air itself had turned too thick.

The woman crouched down so you wouldn’t have to crane your neck. Her skirt brushed against the dusty tile as she lowered herself, her hands folded neatly in her lap before she slowly opened them toward you. Her voice was warm, so warm it almost hurt to hear.

“Hello, sweetie,” she said gently, like she was afraid you might run if she spoke too loud. “We’re your grandparents now. From today on, we’re your family.”

The man shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck before kneeling as well, his joints popping softly. His smile was shy but genuine, his voice carrying a bit of gravel.

“She means it,” he said, nodding firmly. “You don’t have to be alone anymore. You’re home.”

You blinked at them. The words didn’t make sense at first. Home? Family? Grandparents? You’d heard those words before but never for you, never tied to your name. Your throat tightened.

“...Really?”

“Really,” the woman said without hesitation. She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead, her touch featherlight. “From now on, you call us Lola and Lolo. And you, my dear—” her smile deepened, “—you are ours.”

Something broke inside you, something you’d been holding together with silence and thin threads of hope.

You ducked your head, biting your lip hard, but the tears burned too hot. You hugged your bag like a shield, muffling the little sobs that escaped.

The man leaned closer, tapping his finger gently against your arm.

“Hey now,” he murmured. “No need to hide. Families cry together too.”

And that was it—the words that undid you. You let go of the bag and hurled yourself forward, small arms wrapping around both of them at once.

You clung like they’d vanish if you let go, face pressed into the warmth of their clothes, and for the first time in forever, you felt wanted.

The woman’s arms wrapped around you, steady and sure.

She stroked your hair, whispering, “It’s alright now. We’ve got you.” The man’s hand settled on your back, firm and protective, his chest rumbling with a low, steady hum that grounded you.

After a while, when your sobs softened into hiccups, they gently pulled back. The woman dabbed at your cheeks with a handkerchief that smelled faintly of lavender.

“There now,” she said. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

You sniffled, nodding, though your throat still ached.

The man stood first, brushing dust from his knees. He picked up your little cloth bag, slinging it easily over his shoulder.

“Not much in here,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “We’ll fix that. You’ll have what you need.”

The woman took your hand, her grip warm and unshakable. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go home.”

The drive was quiet at first. You sat in the back seat of their old, slightly dented car, your bag resting on your lap.

The windows rattled faintly when the engine started, and the scent of peppermint and old leather filled the space.

They didn’t push you to talk. Instead, the man fiddled with the radio until soft music played, something slow and old-fashioned that filled the silence without demanding attention.

The woman twisted in her seat to face you, her smile reassuring.

“Are you hungry, dear? We can stop for something if you’d like.”

You hesitated, unsure if you should answer. Your stomach growled before you could stop it. Heat flooded your cheeks, but she only chuckled softly.

“That settles it. Lolo, let’s get something small.”

“Got it,” he said, signaling before pulling the car toward a corner bakery.

A few minutes later, they handed you a warm bread roll wrapped in paper. You held it carefully, like it was too precious to eat, before nibbling at the edge. The flavor was simple, comforting, and your chest tightened all over again.

The woman glanced at you, her eyes soft.

“Good?”

You nodded quickly, chewing fast so you wouldn’t cry again. “...Good.”

“Eat as much as you want,” the man said firmly, pulling back into the road. “There’ll be more waiting at home.”

Home. The word still felt strange, heavy on your shoulders, but not in a bad way. You pressed the bread to your chest for a moment, then took another bite, slower this time.

The drive stretched on, the city giving way to quieter streets lined with trees. The sun was beginning to dip, painting the sky in soft gold and pink. You leaned against the window, the glass cool against your temple.

“Do you like trees, sweetheart?” the woman asked suddenly.

You blinked, startled. “...They’re okay.”

She smiled knowingly. “We’ve got a big one in the backyard. Sturdy and tall. You’ll see it soon.”

The man chuckled. “She’s already planning to hang a swing on it.”

“And why not?” she teased gently. “Every child should have a swing.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you stayed quiet, but something inside you warmed.

When the car finally slowed to a stop in front of a small, cozy house with a white fence and flower pots on the porch, your breath caught. It wasn’t large or grand, but it looked alive. The curtains fluttered in the evening breeze, and light spilled from the windows like a welcome.

“Here we are,” the man said softly, turning off the engine.

The woman turned back to you again, her smile glowing in the dim light. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

Your hands tightened around your bag, trembling. You weren’t sure if you could step out. What if it disappeared when you touched it? What if it wasn’t real?

But then the man opened your door, holding out his hand. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s go inside together.”

Your fingers slid into his before you could think, and he squeezed, steady and sure. The woman took your other hand, and between them, they led you up the steps and across the threshold.

The inside was simple, yet it felt alive in a way you had never known a home could. The faint creak of the floorboards, the low hum of the refrigerator, even the quiet ticking of a clock somewhere deeper in the house—all of it blended together into something that felt like safety.

It wasn’t like the houses you’d been in before. Those places had walls, yes, and roofs to cover your head, but they were always cold and uninviting.

They had ceilings that felt too high, floors that echoed with footsteps like reminders of emptiness, and air that carried no warmth.

You had lived in spaces where you felt more like a visitor than someone who belonged, always afraid that if you set down roots, someone would come to pull them out

Your new grandparents excitedly led you to somewhere—you were cautious, still not trusting them fully until they stopped at the very end of the hall that you froze.

The door before you wasn’t plain like the others. It was decorated in your favorite color—ribbons and paper cutouts shaped into stars taped carefully across the wood. A small nameplate, freshly painted, rested at eye level, waiting for your name to be written on it.

“We asked the people in charge of the orphanage what your favorite color is,” Lola admitted softly, her voice carrying that mix of pride and shyness, as though she wasn’t sure if she’d done enough. Her gaze softened when she saw how you stared, wide-eyed, at the door.

Your hand trembled slightly as you reached out, fingertips brushing over the ribbons. They crinkled under your touch, fragile yet full of love. You swallowed, the words catching in your throat. “You… you did this for me?”

“Of course we did, anak,” Lolo said from behind, his voice warm and steady like the ground you stood on. “You’re family now. And family deserves a place that feels like theirs.”

The room felt like a dream. You traced your fingers along the wooden desk, cool beneath your touch, before running them over the crisp white sheets of the bed. Everything was neat, clean, and waiting—not just for anyone, but for you.

Behind you, your new grandmother smiled, her eyes glistening like she could already see the room filled with your laughter and belongings. “It’s a little plain now, isn’t it?” she said softly. “But that’s because it’s yours to make special.”

Your grandfather chuckled warmly, stepping further into the room. “We wanted you to have a fresh canvas, sweetheart. Tomorrow, we’ll take you into town, and you can pick whatever you like. Posters, toys, curtains, blankets. Even paint if you want to change the walls.”

Your breath caught. “I… I can choose?”

“Of course you can,” your grandmother said without hesitation. She reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “This is your space. Your home. We want it to feel like you — not just like a room in a house.”

The word home pressed against your chest, heavy but sweet. You swallowed hard, not sure how to handle the swell of emotion in your throat. “I never… I never had my own room before,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

“Oh, love.” She knelt again, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “Then we’ll make this one unforgettable.”

Your grandfather’s voice rumbled gently as he leaned against the doorframe. “Would you like a tour of the rest of the house? You should see the kitchen. Your grandma’s already planning all the recipes she wants to cook with you.”

You blinked at them both, almost dizzy from the kindness. Slowly, you nodded. “Yes, please.”

They led you down the hall, your small footsteps muffled against the soft rug. The house wasn’t grand, but it breathed warmth—every corner carried signs of love.

The first stop was the kitchen, and you froze in the doorway. The smell was rich and inviting: something roasted and spiced, filling the air with warmth that made your stomach rumble.

The room itself was cozy, with a checkered cloth spread neatly across the table, and a vase of fresh flowers sitting at the center. Copper pans hung on hooks above the stove, gleaming faintly in the light.

“What do you think?” your grandmother asked proudly. “Tomorrow, we’ll teach you how to make cookies. Or maybe a cake! Something sweet to celebrate your first day home.”

Your eyes widened. “I’ve never baked before.”

“Then we’ll learn together,” she said cheerfully. She opened a cupboard and showed you jars filled with sugar, flour, and spices, her voice turning conspiratorial. “And don’t worry—if it gets messy, that just means we had fun.”

Your grandfather laughed, shaking his head. “Just don’t let her convince you to sneak spoonfuls of cookie dough. She’s the worst culprit.”

Your grandmother swatted lightly at his arm, grinning. “Don’t listen to him. Life’s too short not to sneak a little sweetness.”

You couldn’t help but laugh—a small, surprised sound, but real.

From the kitchen, they guided you into the living room. The fire crackled gently in the hearth, shadows dancing along the walls.

A thick rug sprawled across the floor, and bookshelves lined the walls, stacked high with novels of every size.

Family photos hung between the shelves: your grandparents as a young couple, neighbors laughing at a gathering, and one picture that caught your eye—your grandfather standing proudly with another man in a suit, shaking hands.

“Ah,” your grandfather said, noticing your gaze. “That’s Mayor Thaniyel. We’ve known him for years.” He chuckled softly, a glint of fondness in his eyes. “And his boy Brad, too. You’ll meet them someday, I’m sure.”

You tilted your head. “Is… is he nice?”

Your grandfather’s expression warmed. “He’s a bit of a tough nut, but he has a good heart. You’ll see.”

Your grandmother brushed her hand gently against your back. “No need to worry about that now, darling. What matters is this—” She gestured around the room. “This space is for family. We’ll have nights by the fire, stories before bed, and maybe even little movie nights when we can all curl up under blankets together.”

The thought filled you with a warmth so deep it made your chest ache.

After the living room came the study—a quieter space with a large desk covered in papers and pens, the faint smell of ink hanging in the air.

Sunlight from a nearby lamp illuminated more books stacked neatly, and a globe rested in the corner.

“This is where your grandpa likes to read,” your grandmother explained. “But you’re welcome here anytime, of course. Especially if you want a quiet place to draw or study.”

You nodded quickly, clutching your hands together. “I’d like that.”

They smiled and continued the tour—showing you the garden through the back doors, where faint outlines of flowers and hedges could be seen under the moonlight. A swing creaked gently in the breeze, its ropes tied to the branch of a sturdy oak tree.

“Tomorrow,” your grandfather said with a grin, “we’ll go out there after breakfast. Maybe plant something together. It could be yours—your own flower or tree.”

Your chest swelled at the thought. Something living, something growing, that belonged to you.

Finally, they circled back to your room. Your small bag still sat by the desk, the only trace of your old life in this new beginning.

Your grandmother bent down beside it and brushed her thumb across your cheek. “It’s late, sweetheart. You must be tired. But before bed—” she glanced at your grandfather, who nodded knowingly, “—we want you to remember something.”

She took your hands gently in hers, her eyes bright with emotion. “Tomorrow, this room will be filled with your choices. Your colors, your decorations, your dreams. Whatever makes you happiest.”

Your grandfather’s voice was steady, reassuring. “No more waiting for someone else to decide for you. No more wondering if you’re wanted. You’re ours now, and you always will be.”

Your lip trembled, and this time you couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over. You tried to hide your face, but your grandmother gathered you close, pulling you against her chest. She rocked you slightly, humming under her breath.

“Shhh,” she soothed. “Let it out, love. You’re safe here.”

Your grandfather placed a gentle hand on your back. “We’ll be right here in the morning when you wake up. And every morning after that.”

Their words wrapped around you, steady and warm, until the sobs eased into quiet hiccups. When you finally pulled back, your grandmother wiped your cheeks with her thumb and kissed your forehead.

“There now,” she whispered. “Rest, little one. Tomorrow will be a big day—full of colors, laughter, and all the beginnings you deserve.”

You curled up on the bed as they dimmed the light, your heart still fragile but glowing with something new. Hope.

And as you drifted toward sleep, their promise echoed in your mind: tomorrow, you would choose. Tomorrow, the walls would no longer be blank. Tomorrow, you would belong.

The morning light crept in slowly, a soft golden haze spilling across the walls of your new room. For a second, you almost forgot where you were.

You blinked against the brightness, the ceiling above you unfamiliar yet oddly comforting, painted in the first strokes of dawn. No gray walls. No sterile smell. No silence heavy with loneliness.

Instead, there was the faint clatter of pans in the kitchen, the hum of voices drifting down the hallway, and the smell of something buttery and warm.

A gentle knock came at your door, followed by Lola’s voice. “Good morning, sweetie. Are you awake yet?”

You sat up quickly, running a hand through your hair, and stammered, “Y-Yeah!”

The door opened a crack, and Lola peeked in with her warm smile. Her hair was tied back neatly, apron already dusted with flour. “Come on, anak. Breakfast is ready. Your Lolo made pancakes.”

Pancakes.

The word itself felt magical, almost unreal. You scrambled out of bed and padded after her, bare feet cool against the wooden floorboards. The house felt different in the morning light—fuller, alive.

The smell of butter and syrup wafted through the hallway until you found yourself in the kitchen.

Lolo stood at the stove, flipping golden pancakes with a practiced hand. He turned when he saw you and beamed.

“Ah! There’s our sunshine. Perfect timing. Just in time for the best pancake in Robloxia.”

You sat at the small wooden table, a plate already waiting for you.

The stack of pancakes was topped with a small square of butter that was melting slowly into the fluffy layers. Beside it, a glass of milk waited patiently.

Lola set down a little bowl of sliced fruit in front of you. “Eat as much as you like. There’s plenty more.”

The first bite nearly made you tear up. The pancake was warm, soft, and sweet in a way that wrapped around you like another hug.

You chewed slowly, savoring it, the edges of your mouth tugging into a smile you hadn’t realized was forming.

Lolo noticed and chuckled. “Good, isn’t it? Knew it. My pancakes always win hearts.”

“They’re perfect,” you admitted, shy but sincere.

Lola’s gaze softened as she sat across from you, sipping her tea. “This is only the beginning, anak. From now on, mornings will feel like this. Together.”

You wanted to believe her. You really did. And for the first time, you found that maybe—just maybe—you did.

Halfway through breakfast, just as you were about to reach for another pancake, a knock sounded at the door. Firm, but not unkind.

Lola exchanged a glance with Lolo. “Who could that be so early?”

Lolo wiped his hands on his apron and stood. “I’ll get it.”

You twisted in your chair, curiosity sparking as he opened the front door. And there, standing just beyond the threshold, were two figures.

The first was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a mayor’s formal coat that had clearly seen both better days and proud occasions.

His presence filled the doorway, commanding but not intimidating. His eyes, though serious, softened when they landed on Lolo.

Beside him was a boy—around your age, maybe a little older. He stood stiffly, arms crossed, his expression carefully neutral.

But his eyes gave him away: sharp, cautious, and restless, as though he didn’t want to be there but had no choice.

His hair fell over his forehead, shadowing his face, and though he seemed distant, there was something heavy in the way he lingered just behind the older man’s shoulder.

“Ah, Thaniyel!” Lolo greeted warmly, stepping aside. “What a surprise. Come in, come in.”

Mayor Thaniyel inclined his head politely before stepping through the doorway.

His voice carried the weight of someone used to speaking to crowds, but there was warmth beneath it. “I heard the news about your adoption. I thought it only right to stop by and offer my congratulations.”

Lola rose immediately, smoothing her apron as she smiled. “It’s so kind of you to come, Mayor. Please, sit. There’s breakfast if you haven’t eaten.”

Thaniyel waved a hand politely. “We won’t trouble you long. I mostly wanted to check in… and introduce someone.”

His gaze shifted toward the boy, who stepped reluctantly forward. His arms remained crossed, his jaw tight, as though he were bracing himself.

“This is my son,” Thaniyel said simply. “Griefer.”

Your fork stilled on your plate. You stared at him, unsure of what to say.

Griefer glanced at you briefly, then looked away with a sharp sniff. “...Hi.”

It was curt, almost dismissive, but not cruel. Just… guarded.

Lolo chuckled and clapped his hands together. “Good! Good. It’s important the children meet. Builds bonds.”

“Mm,” Griefer muttered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He didn’t look at you again, but you noticed the way his eyes flickered briefly over your plate of pancakes, then away.

“Would you like to sit, anak?” Lola asked gently, motioning toward the table.

Griefer shook his head quickly. “I’m fine.”

Mayor Thaniyel placed a steady hand on his son’s shoulder, his expression gentle but firm. “At least for a moment. It’s important to make friends, Griefer. Not everything has to be a battle.”

Griefer’s lips pressed into a thin line, but after a tense pause, he sat down at the far end of the table. He didn’t touch anything, just folded his arms on the wood and rested his chin there, eyes narrowed at some distant thought.

You hesitated, then pushed the extra plate of pancakes slightly toward him. “You can have some if you want.”

His eyes flicked to the plate, then to you. His mouth opened as if to argue, but he closed it again, silent. Slowly, with obvious reluctance, he dragged the plate closer and picked at the edge of a pancake with his fork.

Mayor Thaniyel smiled faintly at the sight, though he said nothing.

The room felt different now—not bad, not heavy, but fuller.

Like something had shifted. And as you glanced at Griefer, who stubbornly avoided your gaze even while nibbling at the food you’d offered, you couldn’t help but wonder if this morning marked the start of something you couldn’t yet name.

You stop your monologuing as you gaze at Mayor Thaniyel—His voice was steady, polite, carrying that tone of practiced warmth you had heard adults use when they wanted to reassure.

“We just wanted to check in early, make sure everything was going well. The children’s adjustment period is always delicate.”

“Oh, Mayor, you don’t need to worry,” Lola replied, her laugh like a soft bell. “Our little one is already part of the family. Aren’t you, anak?” She turned her head to you, her smile encouraging.

You managed a small nod, though your throat felt tight, and pushed a spoonful of food into your mouth to avoid having to say anything.

“That’s good to hear,” Mayor Thaniyel said kindly, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment, assessing, before returning to Lolo. “And what about you two? It must feel like quite the change, suddenly having a child in the house again.”

Lolo chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “A change we’ve been waiting for. The house was too quiet. This—” he gestured toward you with a fondness that made your chest ache—“this is what we’ve been missing.”

The words were like a thread pulling tight around your heart. You hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t dared to dream for it, but here they were, speaking of you as though you were theirs already. You lowered your gaze to your plate again, cheeks hot, and carefully cut a piece of pancake.

Griefer shifted in his seat, his fork pausing midair. He glanced at you, almost like he had noticed that flush of embarrassment. His lips pressed together, but he said nothing. Instead, he went back to stabbing his food with the concentration of someone avoiding conversation, mirroring your own silence.

It felt strange—comforting in a quiet, awkward way—that you weren’t the only one not talking.

Finally, you dared a glance at him. Just for a second. His hair fell slightly into his eyes, and he was frowning at his plate like it had done him some personal wrong.

And when his eyes flicked up, quick and sharp, you snapped yours back down to your food, heat crawling up your neck.

The first time you met them, the air was heavy with the smell of old wood and polished floors.

The adoption office wasn’t much—just a cramped waiting room with stiff chairs, buzzing lights, and a faded clock ticking too loudly on the wall.

You were clutching the handle of a small cloth bag that held everything you owned, your fingers aching from gripping it too hard.

You didn’t expect anyone to come. You’d been told to wait, to sit still and be quiet, and you were good at that. Being quiet kept you out of trouble. Being still made you invisible. That’s how you survived.

The door creaked open, and two figures stepped inside. An older woman with graying hair pinned neatly at the back of her head, her eyes bright and soft.

Beside her, a tall man with broad shoulders and kind wrinkles framing his smile. They paused when they saw you, and your chest squeezed like the air itself had turned too thick.

The woman crouched down so you wouldn’t have to crane your neck. Her skirt brushed against the dusty tile as she lowered herself, her hands folded neatly in her lap before she slowly opened them toward you. Her voice was warm, so warm it almost hurt to hear.

“Hello, sweetie,” she said gently, like she was afraid you might run if she spoke too loud. “We’re your grandparents now. From today on, we’re your family.”

The man shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck before kneeling as well, his joints popping softly. His smile was shy but genuine, his voice carrying a bit of gravel.

“She means it,” he said, nodding firmly. “You don’t have to be alone anymore. You’re home.”

You blinked at them. The words didn’t make sense at first. Home? Family? Grandparents? You’d heard those words before but never for you, never tied to your name. Your throat tightened.

“...Really?”

“Really,” the woman said without hesitation. She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead, her touch featherlight. “From now on, you call us Lola and Lolo. And you, my dear—” her smile deepened, “—you are ours.”

Something broke inside you, something you’d been holding together with silence and thin threads of hope.

You ducked your head, biting your lip hard, but the tears burned too hot. You hugged your bag like a shield, muffling the little sobs that escaped.

The man leaned closer, tapping his finger gently against your arm.

“Hey now,” he murmured. “No need to hide. Families cry together too.”

And that was it—the words that undid you. You let go of the bag and hurled yourself forward, small arms wrapping around both of them at once.

You clung like they’d vanish if you let go, face pressed into the warmth of their clothes, and for the first time in forever, you felt wanted.

The woman’s arms wrapped around you, steady and sure.

She stroked your hair, whispering, “It’s alright now. We’ve got you.” The man’s hand settled on your back, firm and protective, his chest rumbling with a low, steady hum that grounded you.

After a while, when your sobs softened into hiccups, they gently pulled back. The woman dabbed at your cheeks with a handkerchief that smelled faintly of lavender.

“There now,” she said. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

You sniffled, nodding, though your throat still ached.

The man stood first, brushing dust from his knees. He picked up your little cloth bag, slinging it easily over his shoulder.

“Not much in here,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “We’ll fix that. You’ll have what you need.”

The woman took your hand, her grip warm and unshakable. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go home.”

The drive was quiet at first. You sat in the back seat of their old, slightly dented car, your bag resting on your lap.

The windows rattled faintly when the engine started, and the scent of peppermint and old leather filled the space.

They didn’t push you to talk. Instead, the man fiddled with the radio until soft music played, something slow and old-fashioned that filled the silence without demanding attention.

The woman twisted in her seat to face you, her smile reassuring.

“Are you hungry, dear? We can stop for something if you’d like.”

You hesitated, unsure if you should answer. Your stomach growled before you could stop it. Heat flooded your cheeks, but she only chuckled softly.

“That settles it. Lolo, let’s get something small.”

“Got it,” he said, signaling before pulling the car toward a corner bakery.

A few minutes later, they handed you a warm bread roll wrapped in paper. You held it carefully, like it was too precious to eat, before nibbling at the edge. The flavor was simple, comforting, and your chest tightened all over again.

The woman glanced at you, her eyes soft.

“Good?”

You nodded quickly, chewing fast so you wouldn’t cry again. “...Good.”

“Eat as much as you want,” the man said firmly, pulling back into the road. “There’ll be more waiting at home.”

Home. The word still felt strange, heavy on your shoulders, but not in a bad way. You pressed the bread to your chest for a moment, then took another bite, slower this time.

The drive stretched on, the city giving way to quieter streets lined with trees. The sun was beginning to dip, painting the sky in soft gold and pink. You leaned against the window, the glass cool against your temple.

“Do you like trees, sweetheart?” the woman asked suddenly.

You blinked, startled. “...They’re okay.”

She smiled knowingly. “We’ve got a big one in the backyard. Sturdy and tall. You’ll see it soon.”

The man chuckled. “She’s already planning to hang a swing on it.”

“And why not?” she teased gently. “Every child should have a swing.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you stayed quiet, but something inside you warmed.

When the car finally slowed to a stop in front of a small, cozy house with a white fence and flower pots on the porch, your breath caught. It wasn’t large or grand, but it looked alive. The curtains fluttered in the evening breeze, and light spilled from the windows like a welcome.

“Here we are,” the man said softly, turning off the engine.

The woman turned back to you again, her smile glowing in the dim light. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

Your hands tightened around your bag, trembling. You weren’t sure if you could step out. What if it disappeared when you touched it? What if it wasn’t real?

But then the man opened your door, holding out his hand. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s go inside together.”

Your fingers slid into his before you could think, and he squeezed, steady and sure. The woman took your other hand, and between them, they led you up the steps and across the threshold.

The inside was simple, yet it felt alive in a way you had never known a home could. The faint creak of the floorboards, the low hum of the refrigerator, even the quiet ticking of a clock somewhere deeper in the house—all of it blended together into something that felt like safety.

It wasn’t like the houses you’d been in before. Those places had walls, yes, and roofs to cover your head, but they were always cold and uninviting.

They had ceilings that felt too high, floors that echoed with footsteps like reminders of emptiness, and air that carried no warmth.

You had lived in spaces where you felt more like a visitor than someone who belonged, always afraid that if you set down roots, someone would come to pull them out

Your new grandparents excitedly led you to somewhere—you were cautious, still not trusting them fully until they stopped at the very end of the hall that you froze.

The door before you wasn’t plain like the others. It was decorated in your favorite color—ribbons and paper cutouts shaped into stars taped carefully across the wood. A small nameplate, freshly painted, rested at eye level, waiting for your name to be written on it.

“We asked the people in charge of the orphanage what your favorite color is,” Lola admitted softly, her voice carrying that mix of pride and shyness, as though she wasn’t sure if she’d done enough. Her gaze softened when she saw how you stared, wide-eyed, at the door.

Your hand trembled slightly as you reached out, fingertips brushing over the ribbons. They crinkled under your touch, fragile yet full of love. You swallowed, the words catching in your throat. “You… you did this for me?”

“Of course we did, anak,” Lolo said from behind, his voice warm and steady like the ground you stood on. “You’re family now. And family deserves a place that feels like theirs.”

The room felt like a dream. You traced your fingers along the wooden desk, cool beneath your touch, before running them over the crisp white sheets of the bed. Everything was neat, clean, and waiting—not just for anyone, but for you.

Behind you, your new grandmother smiled, her eyes glistening like she could already see the room filled with your laughter and belongings. “It’s a little plain now, isn’t it?” she said softly. “But that’s because it’s yours to make special.”

Your grandfather chuckled warmly, stepping further into the room. “We wanted you to have a fresh canvas, sweetheart. Tomorrow, we’ll take you into town, and you can pick whatever you like. Posters, toys, curtains, blankets. Even paint if you want to change the walls.”

Your breath caught. “I… I can choose?”

“Of course you can,” your grandmother said without hesitation. She reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “This is your space. Your home. We want it to feel like you — not just like a room in a house.”

The word home pressed against your chest, heavy but sweet. You swallowed hard, not sure how to handle the swell of emotion in your throat. “I never… I never had my own room before,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

“Oh, love.” She knelt again, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “Then we’ll make this one unforgettable.”

Your grandfather’s voice rumbled gently as he leaned against the doorframe. “Would you like a tour of the rest of the house? You should see the kitchen. Your grandma’s already planning all the recipes she wants to cook with you.”

You blinked at them both, almost dizzy from the kindness. Slowly, you nodded. “Yes, please.”

They led you down the hall, your small footsteps muffled against the soft rug. The house wasn’t grand, but it breathed warmth—every corner carried signs of love.

The first stop was the kitchen, and you froze in the doorway. The smell was rich and inviting: something roasted and spiced, filling the air with warmth that made your stomach rumble.

The room itself was cozy, with a checkered cloth spread neatly across the table, and a vase of fresh flowers sitting at the center. Copper pans hung on hooks above the stove, gleaming faintly in the light.

“What do you think?” your grandmother asked proudly. “Tomorrow, we’ll teach you how to make cookies. Or maybe a cake! Something sweet to celebrate your first day home.”

Your eyes widened. “I’ve never baked before.”

“Then we’ll learn together,” she said cheerfully. She opened a cupboard and showed you jars filled with sugar, flour, and spices, her voice turning conspiratorial. “And don’t worry—if it gets messy, that just means we had fun.”

Your grandfather laughed, shaking his head. “Just don’t let her convince you to sneak spoonfuls of cookie dough. She’s the worst culprit.”

Your grandmother swatted lightly at his arm, grinning. “Don’t listen to him. Life’s too short not to sneak a little sweetness.”

You couldn’t help but laugh—a small, surprised sound, but real.

From the kitchen, they guided you into the living room. The fire crackled gently in the hearth, shadows dancing along the walls.

A thick rug sprawled across the floor, and bookshelves lined the walls, stacked high with novels of every size.

Family photos hung between the shelves: your grandparents as a young couple, neighbors laughing at a gathering, and one picture that caught your eye—your grandfather standing proudly with another man in a suit, shaking hands.

“Ah,” your grandfather said, noticing your gaze. “That’s Mayor Thaniyel. We’ve known him for years.” He chuckled softly, a glint of fondness in his eyes. “And his boy Brad, too. You’ll meet them someday, I’m sure.”

You tilted your head. “Is… is he nice?”

Your grandfather’s expression warmed. “He’s a bit of a tough nut, but he has a good heart. You’ll see.”

Your grandmother brushed her hand gently against your back. “No need to worry about that now, darling. What matters is this—” She gestured around the room. “This space is for family. We’ll have nights by the fire, stories before bed, and maybe even little movie nights when we can all curl up under blankets together.”

The thought filled you with a warmth so deep it made your chest ache.

After the living room came the study—a quieter space with a large desk covered in papers and pens, the faint smell of ink hanging in the air.

Sunlight from a nearby lamp illuminated more books stacked neatly, and a globe rested in the corner.

“This is where your grandpa likes to read,” your grandmother explained. “But you’re welcome here anytime, of course. Especially if you want a quiet place to draw or study.”

You nodded quickly, clutching your hands together. “I’d like that.”

They smiled and continued the tour—showing you the garden through the back doors, where faint outlines of flowers and hedges could be seen under the moonlight. A swing creaked gently in the breeze, its ropes tied to the branch of a sturdy oak tree.

“Tomorrow,” your grandfather said with a grin, “we’ll go out there after breakfast. Maybe plant something together. It could be yours—your own flower or tree.”

Your chest swelled at the thought. Something living, something growing, that belonged to you.

Finally, they circled back to your room. Your small bag still sat by the desk, the only trace of your old life in this new beginning.

Your grandmother bent down beside it and brushed her thumb across your cheek. “It’s late, sweetheart. You must be tired. But before bed—” she glanced at your grandfather, who nodded knowingly, “—we want you to remember something.”

She took your hands gently in hers, her eyes bright with emotion. “Tomorrow, this room will be filled with your choices. Your colors, your decorations, your dreams. Whatever makes you happiest.”

Your grandfather’s voice was steady, reassuring. “No more waiting for someone else to decide for you. No more wondering if you’re wanted. You’re ours now, and you always will be.”

Your lip trembled, and this time you couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over. You tried to hide your face, but your grandmother gathered you close, pulling you against her chest. She rocked you slightly, humming under her breath.

“Shhh,” she soothed. “Let it out, love. You’re safe here.”

Your grandfather placed a gentle hand on your back. “We’ll be right here in the morning when you wake up. And every morning after that.”

Their words wrapped around you, steady and warm, until the sobs eased into quiet hiccups. When you finally pulled back, your grandmother wiped your cheeks with her thumb and kissed your forehead.

“There now,” she whispered. “Rest, little one. Tomorrow will be a big day—full of colors, laughter, and all the beginnings you deserve.”

You curled up on the bed as they dimmed the light, your heart still fragile but glowing with something new. Hope.

And as you drifted toward sleep, their promise echoed in your mind: tomorrow, you would choose. Tomorrow, the walls would no longer be blank. Tomorrow, you would belong.

The morning light crept in slowly, a soft golden haze spilling across the walls of your new room. For a second, you almost forgot where you were.

You blinked against the brightness, the ceiling above you unfamiliar yet oddly comforting, painted in the first strokes of dawn. No gray walls. No sterile smell. No silence heavy with loneliness.

Instead, there was the faint clatter of pans in the kitchen, the hum of voices drifting down the hallway, and the smell of something buttery and warm.

A gentle knock came at your door, followed by Lola’s voice. “Good morning, sweetie. Are you awake yet?”

You sat up quickly, running a hand through your hair, and stammered, “Y-Yeah!”

The door opened a crack, and Lola peeked in with her warm smile. Her hair was tied back neatly, apron already dusted with flour. “Come on, anak. Breakfast is ready. Your Lolo made pancakes.”

Pancakes.

The word itself felt magical, almost unreal. You scrambled out of bed and padded after her, bare feet cool against the wooden floorboards. The house felt different in the morning light—fuller, alive.

The smell of butter and syrup wafted through the hallway until you found yourself in the kitchen.

Lolo stood at the stove, flipping golden pancakes with a practiced hand. He turned when he saw you and beamed.

“Ah! There’s our sunshine. Perfect timing. Just in time for the best pancake in Robloxia.”

You sat at the small wooden table, a plate already waiting for you.

The stack of pancakes was topped with a small square of butter that was melting slowly into the fluffy layers. Beside it, a glass of milk waited patiently.

Lola set down a little bowl of sliced fruit in front of you. “Eat as much as you like. There’s plenty more.”

The first bite nearly made you tear up. The pancake was warm, soft, and sweet in a way that wrapped around you like another hug.

You chewed slowly, savoring it, the edges of your mouth tugging into a smile you hadn’t realized was forming.

Lolo noticed and chuckled. “Good, isn’t it? Knew it. My pancakes always win hearts.”

“They’re perfect,” you admitted, shy but sincere.

Lola’s gaze softened as she sat across from you, sipping her tea. “This is only the beginning, anak. From now on, mornings will feel like this. Together.”

You wanted to believe her. You really did. And for the first time, you found that maybe—just maybe—you did.

Halfway through breakfast, just as you were about to reach for another pancake, a knock sounded at the door. Firm, but not unkind.

Lola exchanged a glance with Lolo. “Who could that be so early?”

Lolo wiped his hands on his apron and stood. “I’ll get it.”

You twisted in your chair, curiosity sparking as he opened the front door. And there, standing just beyond the threshold, were two figures.

The first was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a mayor’s formal coat that had clearly seen both better days and proud occasions.

His presence filled the doorway, commanding but not intimidating. His eyes, though serious, softened when they landed on Lolo.

Beside him was a boy—around your age, maybe a little older. He stood stiffly, arms crossed, his expression carefully neutral.

But his eyes gave him away: sharp, cautious, and restless, as though he didn’t want to be there but had no choice.

His hair fell over his forehead, shadowing his face, and though he seemed distant, there was something heavy in the way he lingered just behind the older man’s shoulder.

“Ah, Thaniyel!” Lolo greeted warmly, stepping aside. “What a surprise. Come in, come in.”

Mayor Thaniyel inclined his head politely before stepping through the doorway.

His voice carried the weight of someone used to speaking to crowds, but there was warmth beneath it. “I heard the news about your adoption. I thought it only right to stop by and offer my congratulations.”

Lola rose immediately, smoothing her apron as she smiled. “It’s so kind of you to come, Mayor. Please, sit. There’s breakfast if you haven’t eaten.”

Thaniyel waved a hand politely. “We won’t trouble you long. I mostly wanted to check in… and introduce someone.”

His gaze shifted toward the boy, who stepped reluctantly forward. His arms remained crossed, his jaw tight, as though he were bracing himself.

“This is my son,” Thaniyel said simply. “Griefer.”

Your fork stilled on your plate. You stared at him, unsure of what to say.

Griefer glanced at you briefly, then looked away with a sharp sniff. “...Hi.”

It was curt, almost dismissive, but not cruel. Just… guarded.

Lolo chuckled and clapped his hands together. “Good! Good. It’s important the children meet. Builds bonds.”

“Mm,” Griefer muttered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He didn’t look at you again, but you noticed the way his eyes flickered briefly over your plate of pancakes, then away.

“Would you like to sit, anak?” Lola asked gently, motioning toward the table.

Griefer shook his head quickly. “I’m fine.”

Mayor Thaniyel placed a steady hand on his son’s shoulder, his expression gentle but firm. “At least for a moment. It’s important to make friends, Griefer. Not everything has to be a battle.”

Griefer’s lips pressed into a thin line, but after a tense pause, he sat down at the far end of the table. He didn’t touch anything, just folded his arms on the wood and rested his chin there, eyes narrowed at some distant thought.

You hesitated, then pushed the extra plate of pancakes slightly toward him. “You can have some if you want.”

His eyes flicked to the plate, then to you. His mouth opened as if to argue, but he closed it again, silent. Slowly, with obvious reluctance, he dragged the plate closer and picked at the edge of a pancake with his fork.

Mayor Thaniyel smiled faintly at the sight, though he said nothing.

The room felt different now—not bad, not heavy, but fuller.

Like something had shifted. And as you glanced at Griefer, who stubbornly avoided your gaze even while nibbling at the food you’d offered, you couldn’t help but wonder if this morning marked the start of something you couldn’t yet name.

You stop your monologuing as you gaze at Mayor Thaniyel—His voice was steady, polite, carrying that tone of practiced warmth you had heard adults use when they wanted to reassure.

“We just wanted to check in early, make sure everything was going well. The children’s adjustment period is always delicate.”

“Oh, Mayor, you don’t need to worry,” Lola replied, her laugh like a soft bell. “Our little one is already part of the family. Aren’t you, anak?” She turned her head to you, her smile encouraging.

You managed a small nod, though your throat felt tight, and pushed a spoonful of food into your mouth to avoid having to say anything.

“That’s good to hear,” Mayor Thaniyel said kindly, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment, assessing, before returning to Lolo. “And what about you two? It must feel like quite the change, suddenly having a child in the house again.”

Lolo chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “A change we’ve been waiting for. The house was too quiet. This—” he gestured toward you with a fondness that made your chest ache—“this is what we’ve been missing.”

The words were like a thread pulling tight around your heart. You hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t dared to dream for it, but here they were, speaking of you as though you were theirs already. You lowered your gaze to your plate again, cheeks hot, and carefully cut a piece of pancake.

Griefer shifted in his seat, his fork pausing midair. He glanced at you, almost like he had noticed that flush of embarrassment. His lips pressed together, but he said nothing. Instead, he went back to stabbing his food with the concentration of someone avoiding conversation, mirroring your own silence.

It felt strange—comforting in a quiet, awkward way—that you weren’t the only one not talking.

Finally, you dared a glance at him. Just for a second. His hair fell slightly into his eyes, and he was frowning at his plate like it had done him some personal wrong.

And when his eyes flicked up, quick and sharp, you snapped yours back down to your food, heat crawling up your neck.