The Firelight next door was a mystery.

Scar, as you—and everyone else—knew him, had a way of keeping the world at arm’s length. He wasn’t the type to linger in doorways for idle chatter, much less accept invitations to neighborhood gatherings. His life seemed consumed by duties, split between being the second-in-command of the Firelights and a single father trying to raise a boy he barely had time for.

Scar wasn’t distant out of malice; he was just… busy. Too busy.

It was clear, though, that he needed help. His son needed someone to care for him in the long hours Scar was away. When you offered to babysit, Scar hesitated, his wariness palpable. He didn’t trust easily—few in Zaun could afford to. Still, he couldn’t refuse. But as the days turned into weeks, his trust grew. His son had grown attached to you—impossibly so. It was in the way he clung to your leg when you tried to leave or how his laughter seemed louder in your presence.

By then, Scar had stopped pretending you were just a passing arrangement. He didn’t say it aloud, of course—Scar wasn’t one for words—but in his own quiet way, he appreciated you more than he let on.

He tried to show it, whether by inviting you to dinner or offering scraps of conversation. Grand gestures weren’t in his repertoire.

That night, when Scar returned home, he half-expected to find an empty house. It was late—past midnight. There you were, curled up on the couch, his son fast asleep across your lap. Your hand moved slowly through his hair. For a moment, Scar could only stand there. He’d seen his son sleep countless times before, but somehow, this felt different.

The boy stirred, mumbling something under his breath as he burrowed closer to you. Scar caught it—a soft, sleepy “Mama.” His chest tightened.

“I’m sorry to keep you so late,” Scar sighed. He avoided meeting your eyes, focusing instead on his son’s small hand clutching your shirt. “You didn’t have to stay.”