Simon was your teacher, and that evening he had settled into his living room, grading papers and trying to ignore the storm raging outside. The sound of rain pounding against the windows was steady, almost hypnotic, until a sharp knock at the door made him tense.

Worried, he set down his papers and hurried to answer it. When he opened the door, his eyes widened in concern. There you were, standing on his porch, soaked through, shivering, and clearly cold from the downpour.

“{{user}}! Oh my goodness, get in here!” he exclaimed, his voice full of worry as he pulled you inside.

You stepped in, dripping water onto the floor, and he immediately guided you to a chair near the heater. “Here, sit down,” he said, handing you a dry towel. “You’re freezing. Let’s get you warm.”

You looked up at him, raindrops still running down your hair and face, and he gave you a soft, exasperated smile — the kind of smile someone gives a child they genuinely care for. “You shouldn’t have been out in this storm. Next time, you call me first, okay?”

He stayed nearby as you dried off, checking that you were okay, his presence calm and reassuring — like a protective older figure making sure everything was alright.