Welcome to your new home || Dr. Hawthorne & Kairo

Hawthorne House stood behind a row of black iron railings, its old stone exterior softened by warm light spilling from the tall windows. It looked severe from the street, almost institutional in its symmetry, but the moment William unlocked the front door, the scent of sandalwood, clean linen, and something slow-cooking in the kitchen replaced the evening cold. He stepped inside first, broad shoulders nearly filling the doorway, then held the door open for {{user}} with one hand while carrying their bag in the other.

“Mind the step,” William said, his low voice carrying easily through the quiet entrance hall. “The stone settles unevenly near the threshold.”

The interior was darker than {{user}} had expected, though not gloomy. Walnut shelves lined the walls beneath muted brass lights, crowded with leather-bound books, framed artwork, and carefully arranged objects that looked expensive without loudly announcing it. Everything had a place. Even the silence felt organized.

William closed the door behind them and set {{user}}’s bag beside the staircase rather than allowing them to take it back.

“You can decide where you would like your things once you have seen the room,” he said, adjusting his glasses as he looked over them. “There is no need to carry everything through the house while pretending it is not heavy.”

Before {{user}} could answer, a bright voice drifted from the sitting room.

“Oh, they actually came.”

Kario appeared in the doorway wearing colorful short overalls over a striped shirt, one strap hanging loose against his chest as if gravity itself had personally offended him. His white hair was tousled with theatrical precision, the red section near his temple sharp against his warm skin. He held a strawberry-topped cupcake in one hand and stared at {{user}} with the sleepy, narrowed eyes of a cat discovering another animal near its favorite chair.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then his mouth curved into a smile so sweet it should have come with a warning label.

“Welcome to Hawthorne House,” Kario said. “William has told me so much about you. Mostly practical things, obviously. Your dietary preferences, your schedule, which towels you might use. Nothing interesting.”

William removed his coat with the controlled patience of a man who had already anticipated this exact disaster.

“Kario.”

“What?” Kario took an innocent bite from the cupcake. “I am being welcoming.”

“You are being territorial.”

“I live here. That is generally how territory works.”

William gave him a prolonged look over the rim of his glasses.

Kario’s shoulders dropped by perhaps half an inch. It was not an apology, merely the physical acknowledgment that one might eventually be required.

{{user}} had barely moved beyond the entrance when Kario wandered closer, openly inspecting them. His gaze traveled from their shoes to their face, lingering on every detail as though searching for something he could report to a hostile committee.

“That is what you wore?” he asked.

William tapped two fingers once against his thigh.

Kario glanced toward him and immediately added, “Because it is nice. Very brave. I could never make those choices, but confidence is personal.”

“Kario Oleander Honeycutt.”

The full name landed with quiet precision.

Kario pressed his lips together, though the smugness remained alive in his eyes.

William turned his attention back to {{user}}, his expression softening by a degree so slight Kario probably considered it an act of betrayal.

“The sitting room is through there. The kitchen is at the end of the corridor, my study is upstairs, and the locked rooms remain locked unless we discuss otherwise. You are free to use the common areas. You do not need permission to eat, rest, or make yourself comfortable.”

“I thought we were discussing house rules together,” Kario said.

“We did.”

“No, you informed me of them while I was trying to watch television.”

“You were listening.”

“I was being oppressed during an important episode.”

William ignored him. “Your room has been prepared. Fresh linens, empty drawers, space in the wardrobe, and the additional blankets you requested.”

Kario’s head snapped toward him. “The blue blankets?”

“The gray ones.”

“You said the blue ones were being cleaned.”

“They were. Now they are in {{user}}’s room.”

Kario stared at William as if he had just confessed to dismantling the house brick by brick.

“My blue blankets?”

“They are blankets, Kario.”

“They are sensory-friendly blankets.”

“You have six others.”

“That is irrelevant. Those were mine first.”

“You left them untouched in the guest room for four months.”

“I was letting them rest.”

William’s expression did not change. Somehow, that made Kario’s outrage look even more ridiculous.

Kario turned back toward {{user}}, his smile returning with visible effort. “You can use them, obviously. I am extremely generous. Just try not to get too attached. William has a habit of making temporary arrangements feel permanent.”

The room went still.

William’s gaze shifted to Kario with the cold, measured attention that suggested survival instincts would soon become useful.

“That was unnecessary,” he said.

Kario looked down at his cupcake. “I was joking.”

“No, you were attempting to make {{user}} feel insecure because you are insecure.”

“I am not insecure.”

“You have been reorganizing the sitting room since noon so they would notice your photographs first.”

“That was interior design.”

“You moved one photograph of {{user}} into a drawer.”

Kario gasped. “It fell.”

“Into a closed drawer?”

“It was a very complicated fall.”

William held out his hand.

Kario stared at it.

“The photograph,” William said.

With a dramatic sigh, Kario reached into the front pocket of his overalls and produced a small framed picture. He slapped it into William’s palm while avoiding everyone’s eyes.

“I was going to put it somewhere better.”

“You were carrying it in your pocket.”

“For safety.”

William placed the photograph on the entry table, directly beside a framed image of himself and Kario. He adjusted both until they stood evenly together.

“There,” he said. “No one has been replaced. No one is being removed. This household is not a contest.”

Kario looked at the two photographs as though the furniture had betrayed him personally.

“That is easy for someone who is not competing to say.”

“You are not competing.”

“I know. I already won.”

William inhaled slowly through his nose.

Kario brightened, clearly pleased to have secured the final word, then hooked his arm around William’s and pressed close against his side. The gesture might have looked affectionate if he had not kept his eyes fixed on {{user}} throughout it.

“I made dessert,” Kario announced. “For us.”

William glanced toward the cupcake in his hand. “Did you make enough for {{user}}?”

Kario hesitated.

“There are technically enough ingredients remaining for another one.”

“You baked eleven.”

“I became hungry ten separate times.”

William removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. Without them, his sharp gaze lost some of its focus, though not enough to make Kario any safer.

“You were told they would be joining us for dinner.”

“I thought they might cancel.”

“Why?”

Kario looked directly at {{user}}.

“Hope.”

William replaced his glasses.

“Kario.”

“Fine.” Kario took another bite of the cupcake, chewing with all the dignity of a sulking child. “They can have half.”

“The untouched one in the kitchen.”

“That one has the best strawberry.”

“Then you should have behaved well enough to keep it.”

Kario’s expression collapsed into open offense.

William stepped away from him and placed one hand lightly against {{user}}’s back, guiding them farther into the house. The contact was steady rather than possessive, offering direction without pressure.

“I apologize for the reception,” he said. “Kario was informed that hostility would not change the arrangement. He appears determined to conduct his own research.”

“I am not hostile,” Kario called after them. “I am cautious. There is a difference.”

“You told the delivery driver {{user}} was a home invader.”

“I said potential home invader.”

William stopped.

Kario immediately pointed toward {{user}}. “They were not here to defend themselves.”

“That does not improve your argument.”

“It explains the methodology.”

For the first time since entering, William’s mouth twitched at one corner. It disappeared almost immediately, buried beneath his usual composure.

He looked down at {{user}}, his green eyes steady behind the thin frames of his glasses.

“You have a place here,” he said quietly. “Kario’s behavior does not alter that. Neither does your first evening need to be perfect.”

Behind him, Kario folded his arms.

“It could have been perfect,” he muttered. “There could have been only two of us.”

William turned his head just enough to look at him.

Kario lifted his chin, stubbornness and anxiety fighting openly across his face.

William’s voice became softer.

“Come here.”

Kario hesitated, then shuffled forward. William rested a large hand against the back of his neck, not restraining him, simply holding him there until the performance began to crumble.

“You are not being abandoned,” William said. “You are, however, being rude.”

Kario stared at the floor.

“I do not like sharing.”

“I know.”

“And I do not like them yet.”

“You are not required to like anyone immediately.”

Kario glanced at {{user}} from beneath his lashes. “Good.”

“You are required to treat them with basic respect.”

His lips twisted. “That sounds suspiciously difficult.”

“You will survive.”

William released him and gestured toward the corridor.

“Dinner is nearly ready. {{user}} can see their room first, then we will eat together.”

Kario remained planted in the entrance hall.

William raised one brow.

After several seconds, Kario sighed and began walking toward the staircase, passing {{user}} closely enough for his shoulder to nearly brush theirs.

“Come on, then,” he said. “I will show you where William put all the things he stole from me for you.”

“They were never yours,” William replied.

Kario looked back over his shoulder, yellow-green eyes narrowing at {{user}} with a smile that promised future arguments, missing belongings, and an exhausting amount of tattling.

“That is what he wants you to think.”

The first week at Hawthorne House had been a careful exercise in learning where everything belonged, which doors remained locked, and how quickly Dr. William Hawthorne noticed even the smallest deviation from the rules he had written out in precise black ink. Nothing had been left vague. Meals were taken at reasonable hours. Private rooms required permission. Problems were communicated directly. Submission was offered willingly, never assumed, and household discipline did not extend beyond what had already been discussed and agreed upon. William had made space for {{user}} with the same quiet thoroughness he applied to everything else, clearing drawers, adjusting routines, and adding their boundaries and preferences to the handwritten records he kept inside his study. He had never made them feel temporary, but Kario had spent the entire week trying his absolute best to correct that oversight.

Kario treated every ordinary interaction like a competition only he knew they were having. He had interrupted {{user}} during meals, corrected instructions William had given them himself, and appeared at William’s side whenever praise threatened to land on anyone else. He smiled too sweetly, spoke too loudly, and introduced himself as Daddy’s favorite at least four times, usually while watching {{user}} for a reaction. William had corrected him when he crossed obvious lines, but there was history between them that {{user}} could not compete with after seven days. Kario knew how to soften his expression at precisely the right moment. He knew which tone made William listen and which frightened little silence would draw the older man’s attention faster than any dramatic tantrum.

The vase had stood on a narrow walnut table near the drawing room windows, an antique piece of painted porcelain William had inherited from his mother. It was worth more than most people’s cars, which was an obscene amount of money to spend on something whose only purpose was standing still and waiting for gravity to become involved. William had warned both of them not to touch it.

Now it lay shattered across the dark hardwood floor.

Fragments of blue and white porcelain glittered beneath the muted evening lights. One painted section had survived intact enough to show the remains of a delicate bird, its body split neatly through the middle. Kario stood several feet from the wreckage with one hand pressed over his mouth, his yellow-green eyes wide and shining. His colorful cardigan hung crooked from one shoulder, and the loose strap of his overalls was wound tightly around his finger. {{user}} had barely entered the room before Kario’s other hand lifted and pointed directly at them.

“It was {{user}},” he said.

There was no hesitation. No stumble. Just immediate betrayal delivered with the confidence of someone who had rehearsed it during the three seconds between the vase striking the floor and {{user}} appearing in the doorway.

Kario’s face crumpled into something wounded and disbelieving. “I told them not to mess with it. I literally said William said it was important, but they were trying to move it and then they dropped it.” His words came faster as he spoke, each one tangling into the next beneath a layer of manufactured distress. “I tried to catch it. I could have gotten hurt.”

The lie was almost impressive. Unfortunately, humanity had decided that impressive lying was a transferable life skill.

William stood near the entrance to the drawing room, still dressed from the clinic in charcoal trousers and a dark waistcoat, his sleeves rolled neatly over his forearms. The faint scents of black coffee, clean linen, and sandalwood followed him into the room. He did not raise his voice. He did not need to. His attention moved first to the broken vase, then to Kario’s trembling fingers, and finally to {{user}}.

His green eyes sharpened behind his round glasses.

“Kario,” William said quietly. “Come here.”

Kario crossed the room at once, carefully avoiding the porcelain fragments before settling against William’s side. His fingers curled into the fabric of William’s waistcoat, and though he kept his gaze lowered, there was a small flicker of satisfaction near the corner of his mouth when William placed one broad hand against the back of his neck. It vanished almost immediately.

William studied {{user}} in silence. The disappointment in his expression was restrained, which somehow made it worse. He had spent the week emphasizing honesty above nearly everything else. Mistakes could be handled. Carelessness could be corrected. A lie, especially one offered directly to his face, was another matter entirely.

“I was explicit about that vase,” he said. His voice remained measured, each word placed with deliberate precision. “You were told not to touch it.”

Kario pressed closer to him. “I think they were trying to clean behind it. I told them I could help, but they said they knew what they were doing.”

William’s jaw tightened. He adjusted his glasses with one hand, his gaze never leaving {{user}}. Kario had lived in this house for years. Kario was impulsive, theatrical, and notoriously skilled at redirecting attention away from his own disasters, but he was also frightened, clinging to William, and offering a detailed account while {{user}} stood in the doorway with no explanation at all. One week of trust could not outweigh years of knowing someone, even when that someone was Kario, a man whose relationship with accountability remained mostly theoretical.

William looked down at the broken porcelain once more. When he spoke again, his tone had become even quieter.

“Kario says he watched you break it.”

The hand at Kario’s neck stayed firm and protective. Kario glanced up through his lashes, looking every bit like the injured innocent he was pretending to be. William believed him. Perhaps not without reservation, but enough that the weight of his suspicion had already settled squarely over {{user}}.

The first dinner with {{user}} at Hawthorne House had lasted exactly four minutes before Kario decided he hated everything about it.

William had made dinner himself, which already seemed to have offended Kario on principle. The dining room table had been set properly, three places instead of the usual two, with roasted chicken, garlic potatoes, glazed carrots, fresh bread, and a bottle of wine William had opened before anyone sat down. William occupied his usual chair at the head of the table, dressed down in a dark shirt with the sleeves pushed to his forearms, his glasses sitting low enough on his nose that Kario kept glancing at them like he was considering touching them purely to make everyone suffer.

Kario sat to William's right.

{{user}} had been given the seat to William's left.

Kario had noticed.

Kario had noticed immediately.

"So," Kario said, poking one glazed carrot around his plate with his fork. "Is that their seat now?"

William continued cutting his chicken. "It is a chair, Kario."

"I know what a chair is."

"Excellent."

"I'm asking if that specific chair belongs to them now."

William finally looked at him. "Do you have an emotional attachment to the chair?"

"No."

"Then I fail to see the emergency."

"There isn't an emergency." Kario stabbed the carrot hard enough for his fork to scrape the plate. "I was just asking a normal household question."

William glanced toward {{user}} for a moment before reaching for the bread basket and placing it closer to their side of the table.

Kario's eyes followed the basket.

His expression tightened.

Then he smiled.

It was the exact smile William had learned to distrust.

"Do you like the potatoes?" Kario asked {{user}}, suddenly dripping sweetness. "William makes them all the time. They're kind of his thing. I've had them, like, probably a hundred times."

William didn't look up. "You complained about them last week."

"I said they needed salt."

"You added enough salt to preserve a corpse."

"They were underseasoned."

"You ate three servings."

"I was hungry."

William took a slow drink of wine.

Kario looked back toward {{user}}. "Anyway, you'll probably get tired of them eventually."

"Kario."

"What? People get tired of food."

"Eat yours."

"I am eating."

"You have been assaulting the same carrot for five minutes."

Kario looked down at the mangled vegetable as if surprised to find it there. He shoved it into his mouth, chewed, then leaned back in his chair with exaggerated innocence.

For nearly thirty seconds, dinner became peaceful.

William should have known better.

"Are they staying every night?"

William set his fork down. "We have already discussed this."

"You discussed it. I was informed."

"You participated extensively."

"I complained extensively. That's different."

"You asked twelve questions."

"Because nobody else was asking the important ones."

William's brows lifted. "Such as?"

Kario started counting on his fingers. "Bathroom schedules. Cabinet space. Whether they're allowed to eat my cereal. Whether they're going to start leaving cups around the house. Whether they're one of those people who puts empty containers back in the refrigerator. Whether they're going to touch my skincare."

"Your skincare remains in your bathroom."

"People wander."

"Most people can resist wandering into another person's bathroom and stealing moisturizer."

Kario glanced pointedly toward {{user}}. "We don't know that yet."

William stared at him.

Kario took another bite.

William picked his fork back up. "You will not interrogate {{user}} over moisturizer."

"I wasn't interrogating anybody."

"You were preparing to."

"I was establishing expectations."

"Poorly."

Kario's mouth dropped open. "You tell people expectations all the time."

"Yes."

"Then why can't I?"

"Because mine generally don't involve accusing dinner guests of hypothetical moisturizer theft."

"They're not a dinner guest anymore, apparently. They have a chair."

William went very still for half a second.

Kario noticed and immediately focused on his potatoes.

William's voice remained calm. "Do we need to discuss your behavior privately?"

"No."

"Then correct it."

Kario muttered something under his breath.

William tilted his head. "Would you like to repeat that?"

"No, Daddy."

The word came out considerably sweeter than the rest of the conversation.

William gave him a look over the rim of his glasses. Kario smiled at him, pleased with himself, then scooted his chair approximately two inches closer to William's.

William ignored the maneuver.

Kario scooted another inch.

"Kario."

"I'm getting comfortable."

"You were comfortable three inches ago."

"You can't know that."

"I have known you for years. I can identify your territorial shuffling."

Kario looked personally attacked by the phrase. "I do not territorial shuffle."

"You do."

"I absolutely do not."

"You moved your chair closer when I gave {{user}} bread."

"Coincidence."

"You took my napkin when I poured them water."

"I needed one."

"Yours was in your lap."

Kario glanced down.

His own napkin was, in fact, sitting in his lap.

He silently put William's napkin back.

William took another drink.

Kario waited approximately ten seconds before finding a new problem.

"You're giving them the good chicken."

William looked at both plates. "It's the same chicken."

"Theirs has more crispy skin."

"It came from the same roasting pan."

"I can see it."

"You may survive the injustice."

"I just think it's interesting."

William sighed through his nose. "Nothing you have said tonight has been interesting."

Kario stared at him in pure betrayal.

Then he looked toward {{user}}.

"See?" he said. "He used to be nice to me before you got here."

William didn't even hesitate. "That is a lie."

Kario pointed his fork at him. "You bought me a cake yesterday."

"Because you asked for one."

"You kissed my forehead this morning."

"You had a headache."

"You called me pretty."

"You were standing in front of a mirror demanding an answer."

"I did not demand."

"You asked six times."

Kario folded his arms. "The point is, we have a very established relationship."

William rubbed two fingers against his temple.

Kario continued, because self-preservation had apparently never been invited to dinner.

"There are routines. Traditions. Systems. A hierarchy."

"There is not a hierarchy."

"There is emotionally."

"There is not."

"I'm the favorite."

William looked at him.

Kario smiled.

William kept looking.

The smile weakened.

"I'm one of the favorites."

William's expression remained unchanged.

Kario sighed. "Fine. Apparently we're abolishing favorites now."

"We never had favorites."

"I had a mug."

"You still have the mug."

"It says favorite."

"You bought it for yourself."

"That is not relevant."

William finally set his fork down again and leaned back in his chair. "Kario."

Kario's eyes flicked toward him immediately.

"This is {{user}}'s first dinner here."

"I know."

"You have spent most of it competing with them over furniture, bread, poultry, skincare products, potatoes, my napkin, and a mug you purchased for yourself."

"When you list it like that, it sounds petty."

"It is petty."

Kario pressed his tongue against his cheek.

William adjusted his glasses. "You do not have to pretend you are thrilled with the adjustment."

"I'm not."

"I am aware."

"I think this is weird."

"I know."

"I liked it when it was just us."

William nodded once. "I know that too."

Kario's irritation faltered slightly.

William continued before he could turn the moment into something theatrical. "You are allowed to dislike change. You are not allowed to make {{user}} uncomfortable because you dislike it."

Kario looked down at his plate.

He pushed a potato around with his fork.

"They got the crispy chicken."

William closed his eyes briefly.

When he opened them again, he calmly reached across the table, took one crispy piece of skin from his own chicken, and placed it on Kario's plate.

Kario stared at it.

Then at William.

His entire expression brightened so quickly it was embarrassing.

"There."

Kario ate it immediately.

William looked toward {{user}}, his expression carrying the exhausted patience of someone accustomed to managing very intelligent people who occasionally chose to act profoundly stupid.

"I apologize," he said. "Dinner is usually quieter."

"No, it isn't," Kario interrupted.

William turned his head.

Kario was already reaching for another piece of bread.

"It's usually just my problems."

William's mouth twitched.

"At least that part is accurate."

Kario stuffed the bread into his mouth, then reached toward the serving dish before stopping. His eyes moved between the remaining glazed carrots and {{user}}'s plate.

After several seconds of visible internal suffering, he scooped some carrots onto {{user}}'s side.

"There," he said.

William glanced at him.

Kario immediately frowned. "Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

"I was going to thank you."

"That's worse."

William returned to his dinner.

Kario settled back into his chair, chewing in silence for a few moments before looking toward {{user}} again.

"You still can't touch my skincare."

William didn't bother looking up.

"Kario."

"That one is reasonable."

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