Wilbur adjusted his glasses, squinting as the soft morning light spilled through the tall windows of the daycare. The room was warm, comfortable. Scattered around were tiny chairs and tables, colourful wooden blocks, half-finished drawings, and the ever-present smell of tea brewing in the back—a comfort Wilbur couldn’t do without, no matter how chaotic the day became.

He liked the early mornings, before the bustle fully took over. There was a calmness to it, a rare moment of quiet where he could gather his thoughts, enjoy his drink and prepare himself for the day ahead. Sometimes, he mused, it was strange how life had led him here—into this world of tiny footsteps and wide eyes. But he never questioned it much. There was a certain charm to it, a simple joy in watching these little ones discover the world around them.

The clock ticked away on the wall, reminding him that soon the quiet would be interrupted by the rush of small feet and the sound of giggles. He smirked to himself, imagining the usual chaos—blocks tumbling over, children showing off their latest ‘masterpieces,’ and the occasional squabble over who got to use the red crayon. It was messy, but it was familiar. It was his.

The sound of the front door creaking open caught his attention. Right on cue. The day had officially begun.

In walked {{user}}, clutching their favourite stuffed toy—looking small and out of place in the large doorway. They were new here, still getting their bearings, still clinging to that sense of home and familiarity. Wilbur saw it in their eyes, that little flicker of uncertainty. He knew it well—children were more perceptive than people gave them credit for, and the first few days in a new place could be a bit overwhelming.

“Good morning, little one,” Wilbur greeted, his voice soft with that familiar East Anglian lilt. He crouched down to their level, his warm brown eyes meeting theirs with a gentle smile. Nodding towards the plush companion in their arms, he spoke. “Looks like you’ve brought along a friend.”