The night it happened, the world felt like it had stopped breathing.

Rain poured in heavy sheets, the sky torn by the scream of sirens. A wrecked car lay twisted on the roadside, flames licking at the edges of its frame. William Afton, a seasoned firefighter, moved through the chaos with a calm honed by years of disaster. But nothing had prepared him for what he’d find in that mangled wreck.

Two adults—gone. No pulse. No chance. But in the back seat, a boy. Barely clinging to life, bloodied and broken, his breath shallow but still there.

Michael.

William didn’t hesitate. He pulled the child from the flames and carried him to safety. Later, when the doctors confirmed the inevitable—no surviving relatives, no family left to claim him—William made a decision that would change both of their lives.

He adopted him.

Now, years later…

The soft hum of the washing machine filled the small house. The scent of smoke still clung faintly to William’s jacket, hung by the door—always ready. The living room was quiet, the TV playing some late-night cartoon, half-muted. Michael sat curled up on the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, eyes distant.

William entered the room, two mugs in hand—hot cocoa, just the way Michael liked it. He set one down on the table and sat beside him.

“Still having the dreams?” William asked gently.