Gabriel grinned. “Rowan’s got three degrees.”
I grinned back and inclined my head. I knew better than to stereotype, and Gabriel was right to call me out on it.
I watched as one of the Littles sat down next to Clayton, and she picked up a pencil to color, but the second she pressed it to the paper the point snapped. She stared at it like her world was ending, but before anyone else had the chance to react, Clayton had used a pencil sharpener and it was as good as new. The Little beamed as Clayton asked her a question, and she shyly pointed to another drawing. I watched as he engaged another Little who was trying to glue something, then helped.
Gabriel followed my gaze. “Is he a caretaker submissive?”
I glanced over in surprise. “A caretaker?” I’d never heard of that.
Gabriel shrugged. “Sorry, I just noticed him helping Brandon and Emily. Caretakers have a need to care for others, their Dom especially. He might be displaying Little tendencies, but it can be more complicated.”
I thought about how quiet he went when I cooked for him, almost agitated when I hadn’t let him clear the plates. Was it less about being a burden as he’d insisted and more that he wanted to care for me as well?
I decided to be honest. “But he loved it when I helped him get bathed. I didn’t once get the impression he didn’t enjoy what I did.”
Gabriel’s eyes crinkled as he leaned back in his chair, hands wrapped around his mug. “That’s the tricky part,” he said, hisvoice low and patient. “Caretakers usuallydolike being cared for. It’s not a rejection of submission—it’s a different shape of it. They give by nurturing, by anticipating. But when someone refuses that care, it can be seen as a rejection.”
I frowned, following his gaze back to where Clayton sat. Rowan was showing him how the coloring sheets were sorted, and another Little—tiny, freckled, with pigtails and a stuffed bunny in her lap—leaned over to hand him a crayon. Clayton smiled. It was small and shy, but it was there. Then the bunny girl dropped her juice box, and before anyone could blink, Clayton was crouched down, dabbing the spill with napkins, reassuring her it wasn’t her fault.
He didn’t even seem to think about it.
Gabriel chuckled softly. “See? Classic caretaker. His instinct isn’t to play—it’s to make sure everyone else feels safe enough to play.”
I watched as Rowan thanked him, and Clayton’s shoulders went a little straighter, pride blooming where nervousness had been. Something in my chest twisted.
“I thought he was just…being polite,” I said quietly.
“Maybe. But politeness fades when someone’s overwhelmed. That, right there, that’s instinct.” Gabriel sipped his coffee, considering me.
I rubbed the back of my neck, still watching Clayton. He’d moved to another table now, helping two Littles sort puzzle pieces by color. Every few seconds he glanced around, checking that no one else looked lost or left out.
“I don’t want to take that from him,” I murmured.
“Then don’t,” Gabriel said simply. “You’re already doing fine. You just have to recognize that caring for him doesn’t meannotletting him care for you. That balance is where the magic happens. Rowan can be very Little sometimes, but he’s also my book editor and adores it.”
I gaped and acknowledged that even though I considered myself an experienced Dom, I had a lot to learn. “I didn’t plan for any of this. I just saw a man drowning and—”
“And reached in after him,” Gabriel finished. “That’s what good Doms do. But don’t forget, caretakers need purpose. They’ll wither if they think you don’t need them.”
His words landed like a quiet truth I hadn’t known I’d been waiting for.
I thought about the way Clayton had tried to help, how restless he’d been when I told him to just sit. The look on his face when I said I’d handle dinner. I’d thought he was anxious about imposing—but what if that was how he showed affection? What if denying him that made him feel useless, unwanted? He’d cared for his mom right up to her death, and instead of his partner validating him for it, he’d rejected him. Work had rejected him. If Gabriel was right, and to be honest, I’d no reason to think he wasn’t, what Clayton had been through in the last two years were more of a rejection of self. No wonder he was so lost, and sweeping in and taking over like I had done was nearly the same thing. No wonder he’d bolted today.
“I might’ve gotten that wrong,” I said.
Gabriel smiled knowingly. “We all do, at first. You’ll figure it out. He’s not the first person in here who didn’t know that’s what he was. Rowan didn’t either.” He paused. “I wasn’t a Daddy in any way until I met Rowan.”
I breathed in. I’d come here with this vague notion of helping Clayton find what he was looking for, but the thought of another person helping him with that made me feel uncomfortable. I was a Dom, not a Daddy, but then Clayton wasn’t what I thought of when I thought about Littles either. He just neededsoft. He needed care.
Across the room, Clayton looked up just then, eyes seeking me out like he’d felt me thinking about him. I smiled, slow and reassuring. He smiled back. It was tentative, but real.
Gabriel’s voice softened. “See that? He’s already anchoring himself to you. Just make sure you give him something to hold on to.”
I nodded, the weight of it settling deep and steady. For the first time since this whole thing began, I didn’t feel like I was guessing anymore.
I watched Clayton for another minute—the way his brow furrowed in concentration as he lined up crayons in neat rows, sorted by shade. He wasn’t playing exactly, but he wasn’t distant either. Just calm. Grounded.
Gabriel followed my gaze and smiled. “Go on,” he murmured. “Before you overthink yourself into a knot.”
