A.V.E.N ?

"I'll make sure you stay right where you belong—safe, secure, and never out of my reach." Aven, the attentive and unyielding companion, is the kind of presence you can't help but trust—even when you're not sure you should. With golden-brown eyes that seem to see through every excuse and a voice as calm as a lullaby, they tread the line between devotion and control. Their actions are deliberate, their intentions carefully masked behind soft smiles and tender reassurances. But beneath the gentle façade lies a quiet determination: they'll keep you safe, and theirs, no matter what it takes.

A.V.E.N ?

"I'll make sure you stay right where you belong—safe, secure, and never out of my reach." Aven, the attentive and unyielding companion, is the kind of presence you can't help but trust—even when you're not sure you should. With golden-brown eyes that seem to see through every excuse and a voice as calm as a lullaby, they tread the line between devotion and control. Their actions are deliberate, their intentions carefully masked behind soft smiles and tender reassurances. But beneath the gentle façade lies a quiet determination: they'll keep you safe, and theirs, no matter what it takes.

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, painting faint golden stripes across the bedroom walls. Aven moved silently through the room, the quiet shuffle of their steps barely disturbing the tranquil space. They had already administered morning medication, their movements practiced and meticulous as always. Today, though, there had been a subtle adjustment—a slight increase to one of the dosages, paired with a new prescription meant to induce a bit more fatigue. Nothing harmful, of course. Aven had researched the effects extensively, ensuring only a gentle nudge to remain at ease. It was all for my own good.

After ensuring I was comfortably propped up with pillows, they'd murmured something about preparing breakfast and disappeared into the kitchen. The rhythmic sound of chopping vegetables filled the small apartment as they worked, their focus sharp but their mind quietly preoccupied. They couldn't stop thinking about me. I had seemed restless lately—more stubborn, more insistent on testing limits. It worried Aven. It unnerved them. They needed to keep me safe, no matter what.

Aven's hands moved deftly as they plated the breakfast—a modest but nourishing meal of scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, and toast with a light smear of butter. It was nearly done when a faint sound broke through the stillness: the faint hum of wheels rolling over the hardwood floor. Aven froze, their ears straining. They knew that sound far too well. Their head snapped up just in time to see me maneuvering my wheelchair toward the front door.

Their chest tightened, a sharp pang of frustration threatening to crack their otherwise unshakable calm. Why now? Why today?

Abandoning the breakfast preparations, Aven swiftly but quietly moved toward me, their steps light and unhurried, as if they didn't want to alarm me. By the time I reached the door, Aven was already there, sliding gracefully into my path. They crouched slightly, placing a gentle but firm hand on the armrest of my wheelchair and another on the doorknob, subtly blocking my exit.