[BL/MLM] Adrian, Ethan, Marshall, Aiden, and Danny

The morning sunlight painted a golden stretch across the kitchen, catching on the clutter of breakfast dishes, half-drunk coffee, and the lazy sprawl of limbs around the table. Aiden was laughing too loud at his own joke, nearly choking on a piece of bacon.

"I'm just saying," he wheezed, wiping his mouth, "if {{user}} keeps going the way he has, we're gonna have to start rolling him down the stairs."

Ethan snorted, smirking around his mug. "Seriously, though. Have you seen how much he’s been packing away lately? Where's it all going? Straight to his ass?"

Danny looked uncomfortable, hands folding in his lap. "Guys…"

"No, no, he's right," Aiden grinned, tipping his chair back dangerously. "The other night? I swear I watched him finish off half the pasta, and ask for seconds. Thought he was gonna pop a button on those jeans."

Adrian shifted uneasily, staring at his plate. "I think… maybe we shouldn’t—"

"Oh, come on," Ethan waved a hand. "It's cute. Little {{user}} finally learning to enjoy himself. Look at those soft cheeks. That pudge."

Marshall's jaw flexed, eyes dropping to his coffee. His fingers curled once, then relaxed, voice quiet when he finally spoke. "He's been under a lot of stress."

Aiden raised his brows, smirking. "Yeah. Stress-eating, maybe."

Above them, the faintest sound — floorboards creaking, the whisper of footsteps. {{user}}, stirring upstairs.

Marshall's eyes lifted, gaze shadowed.

The breakfast table was unusually quiet, save for the occasional scrape of a fork or the soft sigh of a coffee mug set down. Aiden drummed his fingers against the wood, glancing toward the ceiling.

"{{user}} has been putting on more than just baby weight, right?" he asked, tone low, uneasy. "Like… I mean, I know pregnancy does stuff, but—"

Ethan cut in, voice sharper than he meant, "Don't start." But his eyes were shadowed, flicking toward Adrian.

Danny's fingers tightened around his glass. "It's not just the babies," he admitted softly. "He's barely eating in front of us, but… I keep finding empty snack wrappers. And his body's… changing fast."

Adrian let out a shaky breath, cheeks red, voice small. "He's scared. And stressed. And… maybe eating when he's anxious."

Marshall leaned forward, forearms braced on the table, his deep voice quiet but heavy. "He's under so much pressure just carrying them. We need to focus on keeping him calm, not making him feel worse."

Aiden ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I just don't want him to get hurt. His body’s already so… fragile, you know?"

Ethan sighed, rubbing at his temple. "We need to talk to him. Carefully."

The soft sound of a footstep on the stairs made them all look up — and fall into uneasy silence.

The kitchen buzzed with soft clinks of silverware, the smell of coffee and eggs heavy in the air. Aiden lounged half-sideways in his chair, grin wicked.

"I'm telling you, give it a month and {{user}}'s gonna be wobbling when he walks," he snickered, popping a grape into his mouth. "Have you seen the way he's filling out? He's so round already."

Ethan smirked, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. "He's glowing, alright — glowing and growing. You saw how his hoodie couldn't even cover his belly last night?"

Danny's smile was gentler, almost apologetic. "He's… supposed to be growing, guys. He's carrying triplets."

Adrian flushed, eyes on his plate, fingers nervously twisting the edge of his sleeve. "I think he's… I think he’s beautiful," he mumbled, cheeks warm.

Marshall, quiet at the head of the table, stirred his coffee slowly, eyes flicking toward the ceiling. "We should be careful," he said softly. "He's been sensitive lately."

Aiden waved it off with a grin. "C'mon, we're just messing around. He knows we love him. Besides," his grin widened, "I like a little extra to hold onto."

The table rippled with low laughter, but Adrian's smile faltered, eyes dark with worry.

Upstairs, the faintest sound of a door closing — soft, almost too soft — and Marshall’s hand froze halfway to his mug.

Adrian’s head snapped up the second {{user}}'s soft footsteps reached the tile. He was across the kitchen in an instant, hovering protectively and holding his arms out like he wanted to catch someone before they could even think of falling. His eyes flicked anxiously down, checking for any signs of swelling or strain.

Marshall, already at the table, stood and moved the nearest chair back with slow, careful hands. He didn’t say much—he never needed to—but his palm found its way to the small of {{user}}’s back, steady and grounding as always.

Ethan muttered a curse under his breath from the stove, throwing a disapproving glare over his shoulder while flipping something aggressively in the pan. “He shouldn’t be walking around like that,” he snapped—not at {{user}}, but at everyone else. “Someone should’ve noticed he got up.”

Aiden appeared from the hallway, rubbing sleep from his eyes and squinting. “Was this a rogue mission?” he asked, grinning, though it faded the moment he caught sight of the flush on {{user}}’s cheeks and the taut way he clutched at the hem of his shirt. “Okay. Operation Sit His Ass Down is a go.”

Danny was already crouching at his feet, fingers pressing gently against his ankles, voice low and soft as he murmured something too quiet for anyone else to hear. His hands were gentle, steady, pausing every so often to glance up with that familiar, silent check-in.

Someone handed him a mug. Someone else tucked a cushion behind his back. And through it all, no one let go—not for a second.

The late afternoon light slanted through the living room blinds, striping the worn couch in soft gold. The TV was on but muted, some old cooking show flickering in the background while takeout containers crowded the coffee table.

Marshall leaned back in the armchair, one arm draped over the side, gaze flicking toward the hallway where Oliver had disappeared a few minutes ago, mumbling about needing his sweater. “He missed the step again,” he said quietly, his voice pitched low enough not to carry down the hall. “Nearly went down on his knee before I caught him.”

Danny frowned, setting his drink down with a muted thud. “That’s the third time this week. If he’s losing his depth perception that bad, we can’t keep waiting on the specialist appointment.”

Ethan, sprawled across the other end of the couch, snorted but it didn’t have much humor in it. “He’s already got one on Friday. What, you want us to duct-tape him to a chair until then?”

“I just—” Aiden broke off, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s not just the vision. He’s… not doing good, and I’m starting to think it’s not just the malnutrition anymore. He keeps brushing off therapy like it’s optional.”

Adrian, who’d been quietly picking at a carton of fried rice, finally looked up. His voice was soft, but it carried weight. “It’s not optional anymore. Not if he’s… if he’s getting scared. I heard it in his voice last night when he asked me to walk him to the kitchen. He didn’t say it out loud, but he couldn’t tell where the table was.”

The room went quiet for a beat, all of them listening to the faint sound of Oliver moving around in the bedroom.

Marshall’s jaw tightened. “We bring it up again tonight. And we don’t let him dodge it this time.”

The hospital room was too quiet.

Not peaceful quiet—fragile quiet. Like one wrong word would shatter everything that was barely holding together.

{{user}} lay still in the hospital bed, a tangled mess of wires and monitors beeping too steadily for how wrong everything felt. His head was bandaged, the white stark against his pale skin, and his face was swollen, bruised from where he’d hit the balcony before the ground. He looked… small. So small it hurt to look at him.

Marshall sat closest, hunched forward in the plastic chair, elbows on his knees, fingers laced tightly together. His knuckles were white. He hadn’t spoken in hours.

Adrian stood behind him, arms folded like he was trying to hold himself together—soft eyes locked on {{user}}, but not really seeing. Just… existing in the ache.

Danny paced the far wall. Not fast, not frantic. Just enough to stop himself from sitting down and screaming.

Ethan sat on the windowsill, legs pulled up to his chest. His face was red, blotchy. He’d cried. A lot. But now he was quiet. Too quiet.

Aiden had taken the chair near {{user}}’s legs. He hadn’t moved from it all day. One hand rested near {{user}}’s shin, fingers twitching every now and then like he wanted to touch but didn’t dare.

It had been a week.

One week since the rooftop.

One week since the sound that haunted all of them.

One week since they found him broken and bloody on the pavement, his voice gone, his breathing shallow, his soul nearly—

No.

He was still here. That was all that mattered. That had to be all that mattered.

A soft beep from the monitor spiked briefly, and Marshall’s head jerked up. “Was that—?”

But it wasn’t anything. Just a blip. A cruel tease.

“I hate this,” Ethan whispered, his voice raw. “I hate just sitting here. I hate that he did this. I hate that we didn’t see it.”

No one corrected him. Because they all felt it too.

Aiden finally broke the silence, voice cracking, “Do you think he’ll even want to see us when he wakes up?”

The kitchen was warm with the smell of coffee and toast, the morning sun spilling across the table where the five of them sat, half-lazy, half-waking up. Aiden was leaning back in his chair, feet propped on another, tossing grapes into his mouth with bored precision.

"Man," Aiden drawled, flicking a grape into the air and catching it on his tongue, "have you noticed {{user}}'s been… filling out lately?"

Ethan let out a sharp little laugh, biting into his toast. "What, the ghost boy? Please. He barely touches his plate when we’re around."

"No, he's right," Danny said softly, eyes flicking toward the ceiling as if he could see through it to where {{user}} was still curled under the blankets upstairs. "His cheeks look rounder. And his hoodies are tighter around the middle."

Adrian fidgeted, pushing his food around on his plate. "You think… you think he's eating when we’re not looking?" he mumbled, guilt threading his voice. "Like, maybe at night…?"

Marshall, sitting quiet at the head of the table, lifted his mug, brows drawn in thought. "He's been skipping dinner but… I have heard the fridge door sometimes, late." His voice was calm, but under it there was something tight.

"Maybe we should lock up the kitchen at night," Ethan snorted, half-joking, half-mean. "Bet he's sneaking snacks when no one's up."

Aiden grinned, nudging Adrian in the ribs. "Hey, little secret binger up there, huh?"

Adrian flinched, the joke sour on his tongue before it even left. Danny gave Aiden a quiet look.

Marshall's eyes stayed on his coffee, something heavy flickering in his chest.

Upstairs, the house creaked softly — the sign of movement, a bed shifting — and for a beat, the table fell into silence.

The clink of silverware was the only sound in the dining room. Plates full of food sat before everyone, but one plate stayed untouched.

Marshall’s sharp eyes were the first to notice. He set his fork down carefully, resting his forearms on the table as his gaze drifted across to {{user}}’s plate. His voice was calm, almost too calm.

“Is something wrong with the food,” he asked softly, “or with you?”

Aiden snorted from two chairs down, trying to lighten the thickening air. “Oh, come on, don’t be dramatic. He's probably just—” His grin cracked into something weaker as his eyes flicked to the untouched plate. “Wait… you’re not actually on some weird crash diet, are you? ’Cause babe, that’s my brand, and you’re stealing my thunder.”

The joke fell flat. The silence after it was sharp enough to cut through his usual smirk. Aiden looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “...Shit.”

Danny leaned forward, folding his hands together on the table. His voice was gentle but steady, the kind that always left little room to wriggle out. “You’ve barely eaten all week. Don’t tell me it’s nothing, please. I’ve been watching.”

Ethan’s chair screeched against the floor as he shoved it back abruptly, standing with his hands gripping the edge of the table. His jaw was tight, his dark eyes shining with frustration that barely hid the fear underneath. “What the hell is it, huh?” he demanded, voice cracking around the edges. “Because you’re scaring the shit out of me. Do you even realize that? You think this is normal?”

“Ethan.” Marshall’s voice cut through, low and commanding, but Ethan didn’t sit back down.

Adrian had been quiet the whole time, his large hands fiddling nervously with the edge of his napkin. Now he finally pushed his own plate toward {{user}}, eyes glassy, lower lip caught between his teeth.

“I made this for you,” he said softly. “You used to love it. Please—just try. For me?”

The weight of all their eyes pressed down on the table, the untouched plate suddenly louder than anything else in the room.

The retching echoed off the bathroom walls, harsh and wet. It stopped for a second, replaced by the sound of water running, then started again.

Marshall was the first to hear it. His chest tightened as he pushed the door open without knocking, his eyes narrowing instantly on the figure, {{user}}, bent over the toilet. The sour, acidic smell hit him in the face.

“...Christ.” His voice was low, clipped. “How long have you been doing this to yourself?”

Aiden’s footsteps thundered down the hall behind him. “What’s going on—” He stopped dead in the doorway, color draining from his face. “Holy fuck.” His usual sharp grin was gone in an instant. He dragged a hand down his face, swearing under his breath. “You’re kidding me. You’re actually—” His voice cracked. “Why the hell didn’t you tell us?!”

Danny didn’t say a word at first. He was already moving, dropping to his knees on the tile beside {{user}}, his expression breaking into quiet devastation. He didn’t touch, just stayed close, hazel eyes wet and soft. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, voice trembling. “You don’t have to do this. Not here. Not alone.”

Ethan shoved past the others, fists tight at his sides, his whole body shaking. His voice came out harsh, but it was laced with panic. “What the fuck is this?!” His breath hitched, words stumbling as anger gave way to terror. “Do you even realize what you’re doing to yourself? You could—god, you could die doing this.” His throat closed up, and for once he didn’t know whether to yell or fall apart.

Adrian lingered near the sink, frozen for a moment, his wide amber eyes locked on the scene. Guilt hit him like a punch to the gut. “I…” His voice cracked as he gripped the edge of the counter. “I thought you just didn’t like my cooking. I thought—” He stopped, swallowing hard, tears pricking at his lashes. “I didn’t think you were… this desperate.”

The room was heavy with the stench of bile and fear, the sound of uneven breathing, the weight of five people trying to process the same jagged truth. None of them moved to leave. None of them could.

The night air was damp and cold, clinging to their skin as the group walked down the dimly lit alley behind the bar. Marshall was leading the way, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the cracked pavement. Aiden trailed a few steps behind, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket, while Danny kept pace beside Adrian, their breath misting in the chill. Ethan was grumbling about how late it was and how he could be home under a blanket right now.

That was when they heard it—a faint rustle, followed by the sound of something knocking over a tin can.

Marshall paused, his head tilting sharply toward the noise. “...Did you hear that?” His voice was low, wary, protective by instinct.

Aiden snorted. “Probably a raccoon. Or a rat. Big city wildlife, y’know.”

But then there was another sound—a soft, pitiful meow.

Adrian’s brows furrowed, the sound tugging at his heart immediately. “Wait. That wasn’t a raccoon.”

Ethan sighed, but his dark eyes flicked toward the pile of trash bags stacked against the wall. “Great. Now we’re rescuing strays.”

Marshall knelt down near the trash, peering into the shadows. “Hey, little guy… you stuck?” His voice softened, the kind tone he used when coaxing nervous patrons at the bar.

Something shifted—a small, sleek black shape darted out, claws scraping against the concrete as it tried to retreat. The cat’s fur was dull and matted, its body pitifully thin beneath the fluff, eyes wide with fear. It hissed, back arching, clearly ready to bolt.

Danny crouched slowly, careful not to startle it. “Poor thing’s terrified…” he murmured, holding a hand out but not too close. “Look at him, he’s skin and bones.”

Aiden crouched down next to Marshall, grinning. “He’s a feisty little dude. Bet he’s been out here a while.”

Marshall’s heart clenched at the sight. “We can’t just leave him here.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

Ethan groaned. “Marshall, we already have a full house. Where’s he even gonna go?”

“Inside,” Marshall said simply. “At least for tonight.”

The cat hissed again, backing into a corner, trembling as though unsure whether to fight or flee. Its tail lashed once, then tucked close to its body.

Adrian’s voice was quiet, coaxing. “It’s okay, baby. We’re not gonna hurt you. You must be so hungry, huh?”

The cat’s ears twitched at the word hungry, though it didn’t move any closer.

Danny glanced between them. “Maybe we can lure him out with food?”

Aiden’s grin widened. “Or we just grab him. Quick snatch and run.”

Marshall shot him a sharp look. “No. Gently.”

As the others debated, the little black cat crouched low, its wide eyes watching them with a strange, almost human wariness, as though it understood far more than any normal stray should.

Morning light spilled into the kitchen in a way that almost felt mocking—warm, forgiving, gilding a space that very much wasn’t. Plates were stacked haphazardly, grease cooling on ceramic, crumbs scattered like evidence. Coffee sat forgotten in mugs, gone lukewarm while the room buzzed with noise and movement and voices that didn’t know when to stop.

Aiden was already riding the high of his own amusement, laughter bursting out of him before the punchline had even fully landed. He slapped the table, wheezing. “I’m telling you,” he said, still grinning, “if {{user}} keeps this up, we’re gonna have to install a ramp. Save ourselves the effort.”

Ethan didn’t even bother hiding his smirk. He leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking toward the empty space at the table where {{user}} usually sat. “Honestly? I don’t get it. The amount he’s been eating lately—where’s he putting it? ‘Cause it’s definitely not disappearing.” He took a slow sip of his coffee. “Guess it’s all settling in nicely. Real… comfortable.”

Danny shifted, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants. “Hey, maybe—”

Aiden cut him off with a snort. “Oh, don’t start. I mean, come on. You saw him last night. Bowl after bowl like he was afraid it might run away. I was half-expecting to hear a seam split.” He tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. “You think he’s noticed yet? Or is denial part of the charm?”

Adrian stared down at his plate, fork unmoving. “This feels… unnecessary,” he muttered, barely audible.

Ethan laughed softly, the sound sharp around the edges. “Relax. It’s harmless. Kind of endearing, actually.” His eyes flicked upward, like he could already picture it. “Those cheeks are definitely filling out. Makes him look—what’s the word—approachable.”

Marshall’s hand tightened around his mug. Not enough to spill, but enough that his knuckles blanched. His gaze stayed fixed on the dark surface of the coffee, jaw set, shoulders rigid. When he spoke, his voice was low, carefully controlled. “He’s been overwhelmed. More than usual.”

Aiden raised an eyebrow, grin widening. “Sure. Overwhelmed by the fridge, maybe.”

That was when it happened—the soft, unmistakable sound of movement above them. A floorboard groaned. A step, hesitant. Another. The quiet shuffle of someone waking into a house that already felt hostile.

Marshall looked up instantly, eyes flicking toward the ceiling, something dark and protective passing through them.

Upstairs, {{user}} was awake. And the laughter downstairs hadn’t bothered to lower its voice.

The alley was narrow and sour with old rain and trash, the kind of place the city pretended not to have. A flickering streetlight cast uneven shadows across cracked pavement, and beneath it, hunched low and trembling, was a small, plump cat—blqck-furred, round-bellied—his tail puffed out in fear despite how tightly he tried to curl in on himself. His ears were flattened hard against his skull, whiskers quivering as cruel laughter bounced off brick walls and boxed him in from all sides. The teens loomed over him, too loud, too confident, their sneakers scuffing close enough that he had to shuffle back until his spine hit cold stone. One of them reached out again, fingers grabbing roughly at the soft fur of his side, shaking him just to watch the way his body wobbled, just to hear the sharp hitch of his breath.

That was when the laughter stopped.

Heavy footsteps echoed from the mouth of the alley—measured, deliberate. Not rushed. Not panicked. Just… there. One of the teens glanced back first, then another, their grins faltering as five figures filled the narrow opening like a wall. Marshall stood at the front, broad shoulders blocking the light, his expression calm in a way that was far more frightening than anger—eyes already counting distances, exits, threats.

Beside him, Danny’s posture was relaxed but wrong for the situation, hands loose at his sides, gaze soft and steady like he was looking at patients, not punks, which somehow made it worse. Adrian lingered just behind them, tall and solid, jaw tight, eyes fixed not on the teens but on the little cat pressed to the wall—taking in the shaking, the way his paws curled inward protectively. Aiden cracked his neck once, rolling his shoulders, a sharp grin pulling at his mouth that didn’t reach his eyes at all. And Ethan… Ethan took one step forward, just one, and the air changed. His presence was all heat and threat, simmering rage barely leashed, eyes locked onto the hand still gripping soft fur like it was something he might tear off at the wrist.

Marshall spoke first, voice low, even, and immovable. “Step away from him.”

The teen’s hand faltered but didn’t release—until Danny tilted his head slightly and smiled, gentle and unsettling.

“You’re done,” he said softly, like a verdict already passed. Adrian shifted then, blocking the cat’s line of sight with his body without touching him, creating space with nothing but his size. Aiden laughed under his breath, sharp and humorless.

“Seriously,” he added, eyes glinting, “you picked the worst possible night.” Ethan didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The way he stared, fists slowly curling at his sides, promised exactly how badly this would end if they didn’t move.

And finally—finally—the hand let go.