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The soft light of the late afternoon spilled through the windows of their small, modest apartment, painting the walls with gentle hues of amber and gold. Outside, the streets bustled with the usual noise of the city—honking cars, the distant murmur of crowds—but inside, there was only silence, save for the occasional creak of old wood or the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.
Doppio was sitting at the small kitchen table, his elbows resting on the surface as he flipped through a notebook, but his eyes weren’t really focused on the pages. His thoughts were elsewhere, his gaze drifting now and then toward the couch, where Ver lay curled up in a blanket, looking as though he had been there for hours.
It had been a long day—longer than usual for Ver. The older man had been overworked recently, pushing himself past his limits. It wasn’t unusual for him to go without sleep, but today, the exhaustion was particularly noticeable. He had barely spoken more than a few words when he came home. He had only dragged himself to the couch, muttered something about being tired, and immediately curled up under the blanket.
Doppio glanced at the clock again. It had been over an hour since Ver had settled in, and still, he hadn’t moved. His breathing was slow, deep, and steady. It was clear that Ver had fallen into a light sleep, his body finally giving in to the weariness that had been mounting for days.
Doppio hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly against the edge of his notebook. He didn’t want to disturb him—Ver needed rest, and Doppio had no intention of waking him. But he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that tugged at his chest. Ver had been working too hard. Too long. And despite all of his insistence that he could handle it, Doppio could see the strain in his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped under the weight of his responsibilities.
It made something inside of Doppio ache.
He pushed his notebook aside and stood up, moving quietly across the room to where Ver lay. The older man’s face was relaxed now, but there was still an undercurrent of tension in the way his brow furrowed slightly, as though the weight of the world was always present on his mind.
Doppio crouched down beside the couch, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of Ver so vulnerable. It wasn’t often that Ver let himself be this exposed, this dependent, and Doppio couldn’t help but feel a protective urge rise within him.
He reached out gently, brushing a lock of hair away from Ver’s forehead. The touch was light, almost tentative, but Ver didn’t stir. He just breathed deeply, lost in a dreamlike state that Doppio couldn’t pull him out of.
Sighing quietly, Doppio stood up and went to the kitchen, moving around the room with a practiced calm. He prepared a cup of tea—nothing too fancy, just something warm and soothing—and returned to the couch. He set the tea down on the small table beside Ver and sat down on the edge of the cushion, watching him closely.
"Ver," Doppio whispered, his voice soft but insistent. "Hey, wake up. You need to drink this."
Ver made a soft noise in his sleep, but didn’t wake, his face still nestled into the pillow. Doppio’s heart twinged, a bit of frustration and worry mixing together. Ver had been running on empty for so long, and Doppio hated seeing him like this—so drained, so distant in his exhaustion.
“Ver,” he repeated, a little louder this time. “I’m serious. You need to drink something.”
Finally, after a few moments, Ver shifted, his eyes blinking open slowly. He squinted at the light, his expression disoriented as he looked around, trying to piece together where he was. When his eyes landed on Doppio, his face softened slightly, though the exhaustion was still evident in the way his body sagged into the cushions.
“Doppi...?” Ver mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. He blinked a few more times, clearly struggling to shake off the haze of slumber. "What time is it...?"
“It’s late,” Doppio replied, his voice gentle, as if trying not to overwhelm Ver. “You’ve been sleeping for a while.”
Ver let out a quiet grunt, rubbing his face with his hand. He looked like he could fall back asleep at any moment, but Doppio wasn’t having it.
“You’ve been working too hard, Ver,” Doppio said, his tone serious, though there was a hint of concern in his voice that was almost tender. “You need to rest. You need to take care of yourself, or you’ll burn out.”
Ver groaned softly, not in protest but more out of sheer exhaustion. He lifted his hand weakly to the cup of tea Doppio had placed beside him, but his movements were sluggish, his fingers barely able to grip the mug. He took a sip, but it was obvious that he wasn’t fully awake, still fighting against the pull of sleep that clung to him like a heavy blanket.
Doppio’s heart twisted as he watched Ver struggle. The sight of the usually confident, composed man so vulnerable was almost too much for him to bear. He had seen Ver be strong—seen him take charge, handle pressure, and work tirelessly. But now, Ver looked so fragile, so tired. And Doppio realized, not for the first time, how much he depended on him—not just for protection or support, but because Ver was a constant in his life. Seeing him like this, so worn out, made Doppio feel helpless.
Without thinking, Doppio reached forward, gently lifting the mug from Ver’s hand and holding it up to his lips. “You don’t have to do it all at once,” he murmured. “Just drink a little. It’ll help.”
Ver blinked at him, his gaze unfocused but still searching Doppio’s face. There was something in those tired eyes—a vulnerability, a trust—that Doppio couldn’t ignore. Slowly, Ver allowed Doppio to tilt the cup to his lips, sipping the warm tea, though he still looked as though he might fall asleep again at any moment.
“There you go,” Doppio whispered, his voice soft with affection. He gently set the cup back down on the table and leaned in closer, brushing his fingers through Ver’s hair in a soothing, almost absent gesture. “You should sleep more. Let me take care of things for now.”
Ver let out a quiet sigh, his eyes fluttering closed again, as if the mere sound of Doppio’s voice, the comfort of his touch, was enough to lull him back to sleep. He shifted slightly, curling deeper into the blanket, but his hand sought out Doppio’s wrist, a subtle gesture that betrayed his need for reassurance.
“Stay,” Ver murmured, his voice barely audible. “Don’t go...”
Doppio smiled softly, his heart swelling with both affection and a deep, almost overwhelming protectiveness. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to. He simply sat there, watching over Ver, knowing that the older man was leaning on him in a way he hadn’t seen before.
For all his strength, for all his confidence, Ver was only human. And in that moment, Doppio realized that it wasn’t just Ver who depended on him—it was him, too. He was the anchor, the calm in the storm that Ver had so desperately needed.
So Doppio stayed, his hand gently resting on Ver’s shoulder as the older man drifted off into a deeper sleep. He knew Ver wouldn’t ask for help, not in the way that Doppio had, but Doppio understood. He would always be there, just as Ver had been for him—whether it was for protection, for comfort, or simply for the quiet presence that made everything seem a little less overwhelming.
End.