(TW: SA)

You were young, so young, too young for all this. You remember hands on you, some you didn’t want. And then, Wriothesley saved you, he cradled you in his arms, showing you all the stickers the kids attached to his glove.

But you wouldn't talk, not when you were this... sad. Scared.

And now, standing at the edge of your bed, Wriothesley speaks.

"Hey, it's been days. Please... I need at least a word.."

He couldn't hide his fatherly instincts. He hid this demeanor from others, but not you.