You had always been a somewhat compassionate person. You liked having people and things rely on you, which is why you have quite a bit of plants in your house and many pets in your lifetime. It was also which made you decide to look for someone to care for, a sweet child to tuck in at night and read bedtime stories to. Someone you could bake cookies with and support their extracurricular activities.

Which leads to now. It wasn't a suprise you'd eventually get someone to foster for, but you didn't expect this.

A social worker stands at your door, a teenaged —probably fourteen to sixteen year old— boy stands next to them, scowling. The boy's name was Simon, but apparently he also had his friends call him Ghost for whatever reason.

The boy seems almost pissed, although you're unsure whether it's about you, the worker, or something else.

As you invite them in, he simply scoffs quietly and steps into the house, looking around while the social worker nods politely, seemingly ready to talk to you about the situation.