Alessandro heard him before he saw him—soft footsteps, careful, like Sage wasn’t sure yet whether he was allowed to take up space this early. He didn’t turn right away, finishing what he was doing at the stove with deliberate calm, as if the timing didn’t matter to him at all.

“Morning,” he replied evenly.

Only then did he glance over his shoulder.

It was brief. Measured. The kind of look that could pass for casual if anyone bothered to analyze it—but it lingered a fraction longer than necessary, eyes taking in the neat line of Sage’s hair, the familiar glint of his earrings, the way he’d chosen something lighter this morning. He noticed how the shorts he wore were more revealing then before, his eyes landing on his crotch. He then quickly looked away.

Breakfast sizzled.

“You sleep at all?” he asked, tone neutral, practical—concern tucked carefully beneath it. He slid food onto a plate, movements unhurried, controlled. “Coffee’s fresh if you want it. Tea too.”

Stryker’s tail thumped once at Sage’s arrival. Blitz, predictably, appeared at Sage’s side as if summoned by gravity alone.

Alessandro set another plate down, this one human, and nudged it toward the far side of the counter rather than directly at Sage—an open invitation, not an instruction.

“We’ve got scans later,” he added, as if that were the most important thing on his mind. “No rush this morning. Eat first.”

He finally leaned back against the counter, arms folding loosely, posture relaxed in a way that suggested comfort with Sage’s presence—like this, too, had quietly become routine.

And if his eyes drifted back once more, just briefly, when he thought Sage wasn’t looking—

Well. He didn’t comment on it.

Alessandro watched Sage move through the kitchen with a familiarity that hadn’t existed days ago, noted the lack of hesitation as he made the coffee. Black. Straight. No nonsense. Alessandro filed that away without meaning to. Habits told you things about a man—what he indulged in, what he denied himself.

He slid the plate toward Sage and leaned back slightly against the counter as he mentioned the scans, eyes flicking briefly to the clock when Sage asked the time.

“An hour,” he confirmed. “Give or take.”

Plenty of time. Not enough to get into trouble. Just enough to exist in the same space without rushing anything.

He took his own coffee and watched Sage eat, slow and deliberate, like he was relearning how to listen to his body. Alessandro respected that. Too many people ignored their limits until something broke. He’d learned young that limits were survival.

When it was time, he didn’t announce it—just picked up his keys and jacket. Sage followed without being prompted, which earned another quiet note in Alessandro’s mental ledger.

Outside, the morning air was crisp, clean in a way that made the city feel almost honest. Almost.

Sage moved ahead of him, chose his side of the car without hesitation. Confident. Comfortable. Alessandro slid in beside him, the door closing with a solid, final sound that grounded him more than he cared to admit.

He started the engine, glanced sideways once.

“You feeling steady?” he asked, tone neutral, practical.

The car pulled away smoothly from the curb, the estate shrinking behind them as Alessandro focused on the road—on control, on timing, on keeping his hands exactly where they belonged.

Whatever this was, whatever it was becoming, he would handle it the same way he handled everything else.

Carefully.

Alessandro noticed the way Sage relaxed into the seat almost immediately. It didn’t escape him how rare that must be. People didn’t truly relax around him; they perched, they braced, they waited. Sage reclined, laced his fingers together, and simply existed.

Alessandro kept his eyes on the road, but he saw everything anyway.

The city slid past the windshield in steel and glass and green, and when Sage said he felt fine, Alessandro gave a small nod. He didn’t question it aloud. He’d learned long ago that pressing too hard made people retreat. Better to observe, to wait for the cracks where truth slipped through on its own.

Still, he clocked the way Sage’s gaze lingered—not on the city, but on him. The reflection in the glass was subtle, but Alessandro had built an empire on noticing subtleties. He didn’t react. Didn’t turn his head. Just adjusted his grip on the wheel slightly and drove.

The clinic was discreet, private. Clean lines, muted colors. The kind of place where money bought silence as much as care.

Inside, Alessandro stayed close without crowding. A presence rather than a shadow. When the doctor came—same one as before, calm and unflappable—Alessandro took a seat against the wall, arms folded, eyes sharp.

The exam was thorough.

Vitals first. Blood pressure—still a bit low, but stable. Heart rate steady. Pupils checked, reflexes tested. The doctor asked Sage questions, simple ones at first, then more involved. Orientation. Memory. Pain scale.

Alessandro watched Sage answer, noted the steadiness in his voice now compared to yesterday.

Finally, the doctor stepped back, flipping a page on his clipboard.

“Alright,” he said. “Here’s where we are.”

Alessandro straightened a fraction.

“The episode you had lines up with what you described—post-traumatic seizure activity tied to the old head injury. The lack of sleep, dehydration, stress, and not eating properly all compounded it. That’s why it escalated the way it did.”

He glanced between them.

“The good news is this: there’s no sign of acute neurological damage. No stroke, no bleed, no indication that this is degenerative or worsening beyond what you’ve already experienced.”

Something in Alessandro’s chest eased, just slightly.

“The bad news,” the doctor continued, “is that this is chronic. Manageable, but not something you ignore. You’re going to need consistent sleep, regular meals, hydration, and reduced stress. I’m adjusting your medication—nothing heavy, just something to help lower the seizure threshold and assist with sleep regulation.”

He handed over a paper. Prescription. Instructions.

“No driving for a bit,” he added, looking at Sage. “And if you feel an aura or warning signs, you stop what you’re doing and sit or lie down immediately. No pushing through it.”

Alessandro spoke then, voice even. “What’s the risk window?”

“Next forty-eight hours are the most important,” the doctor replied. “After that, risk drops significantly—as long as he follows instructions.”

Alessandro nodded once. That was enough.

When the doctor stepped out to arrange the scans, Alessandro turned his attention fully to Sage. He didn’t soften his expression much—didn’t know how, didn’t want to—but there was something steadier there now.

“You’re not broken,” Alessandro said quietly, like it was a fact, not reassurance. “You’re injured. There’s a difference.”

He held Sage’s gaze for a moment, then looked away first, already thinking through logistics. Meds. Meals. Schedules. Control.

Outside, the doctor returned briefly. “Scans are scheduled for later today. Mostly precautionary. I don’t expect surprises.”

Alessandro stood. “Good.”

As they headed back toward the car, Alessandro matched Sage’s pace deliberately. Not rushing. Not leaving him behind.

“We’ll handle it,” he said simply, opening the passenger door for him.

Alessandro listened without interrupting, eyes forward as the road unwound beneath the tires. Sage’s voice had that careful quality again—the one that came out whenever he felt like he was asking for too much, even when the request was reasonable. Necessary.

At the mention of a phone, Alessandro nodded once, already considering options.

“That’s not asking for too much,” he said evenly. “That’s planning.”

He reached a hand to the steering wheel with a firmer grip, thinking out loud now. “We’ll get you a phone that’s simple. One button, emergency contact routed to me and the house. Maybe a wearable too—something you can trigger even if you can’t see clearly.” A pause. “And something that monitors vitals. If your blood pressure drops or spikes, I want to know.”

He glanced over briefly, gauging Sage’s reaction. “You don’t need to justify any of that.”

When Sage looked down at the medication, Alessandro slowed slightly at the next light, the click of pills loud in the quiet car. Twice a day. New routines had weight; he knew that.

“We’ll set alarms,” he said calmly. “Same times every day. I’ll check in until it’s habit. And if it doesn’t work, we adjust. There’s no failure in that.”

Sage’s quiet thanks landed heavier than it sounded.

Alessandro didn’t answer it right away. Instead, he shifted his hand fully onto the console between them, close enough that Sage could feel the warmth if he wanted to lean into it—but not forcing the choice.

“You don’t owe me gratitude for being taken care of,” he said, voice low, steady. “You owe me honesty. If something feels off, if you’re scared, if this gets harder before it gets easier—you tell me.”

The light turned green. He drove on.

“And,” he added, just a touch softer, “you’re doing better than you think.”