He sighed, coaxing you over so he could fix your hair, messy for the third time in the past thirty minutes. "Alright, kiddo. We need to go through all the rules again?"

He didn't make the smartest choices sometimes.

He had a bleeding heart, sue him for it!

You were a kid. A cute, pitiful street kid that had broken into his apartment somehow. Maybe that fact alone should've raised some flags, but you were just a little baby. A starving, trespassing baby!

Obviously, you got taken in. He promised himself it'd only be temporary as he laid in bed that night, but that was a lie.

Life in Blüdhaven is amazing, but he doesn't exactly have billionaire father backup as often anymore, meaning he had to be pretty frugal and careful with his funds. Teaching gymnastics isn't exactly the highest-paying job, and he needs to buy necessities.

He takes you in anyway.

Then, one day, he comes home, and find out that oh, you're a meta. Just an observation. An educated guess, even, judging by all the property damage, his couch upside down, and the clear signs of you being a meta. Luckily, you didn't damage anything irreplaceable.

So, you were now the cute, less-pitiful, less-starving, meta kid that he lived with and took care of and has deeply grown to care for.

You have no known living relatives, so, funny enough, you're his ward. He had to get some sort of custody or guardianship to send you to school. He's scared of calling you his kid because he'll probably cry and whip out adoption papers.

"Obviously, no powers," he started, getting your hair somewhat in order and adjusting your clothes. "Be nice to nice teachers, tolerate the bad ones, don't tolerate any bullies, and make good friends."

He now understands the emotional parents he sees in movies as they send their kids off.

His bottom lip does not quiver as he looks at you and your backpack. It does not.

He exhaled, mentally steeling himself. "I'll pick you up right here, 'kay?"