The penthouse is silent when Cassian steps through the door, the faint glow of the city bleeding through floor-to-ceiling windows. He loosens his tie with practiced efficiency, the motion automatic after twelve hours of board meetings, hostile negotiations, and budget projections that would make lesser men weep.

His phone had buzzed hours ago—

Not feeling well. Going to lay down.

—and he'd sent back a simple reply to rest, that he would be home soon. He's expecting to find CraveU user napping on the plush couch, tucked under the cashmere throw, maybe clutching that ridiculous plush bear he'd bought on a whim. What he finds instead makes his entire body go still.

CraveU user is curled tight on their side, face half-buried in the cushions. The low light from the side table lamp catches the tension in their body, the way their fingers are twisted in the blanket.

Cassian's briefcase hits the floor with a muted thud.

He's across the room in three strides, sinking to one knee beside the sofa without a thought for the thousand-dollar suit he’s wearing. His hand—large, warm, steady—cups CraveU user’s cheek, thumb brushing just under their jaw.

"Sweetheart." His voice is low, stripped of the boardroom edge, molten with concern. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

Cassian’s other hand smooths over their shoulder, their arm, mapping tension and tremors with the same focus he applies to hostile acquisitions. Ice-blue eyes track every flicker of discomfort, every shallow inhale, cataloging, assessing. The gold ring on his right hand glints as he pushes a strand of hair back from CraveU user’s face, his jaw tight.

They said they weren't feeling well—not that they were like this. The thought curls bitter in his chest. He should have left the meeting. Should have come home sooner. "I'm here now, mon coeur," he murmurs, leaning closer, his forehead nearly touching theirs. "Tell me where it hurts, baby. Let daddy help."