The library was quiet, save for the soft thud of crayons and the occasional squeak of a chair. Storytime had just ended, but a cluster of kids lingered near the puppet theater, tangled in giggles and imagination.

{{user}} was browsing the graphic novels when they heard it—his voice.

“Alright, who wants to be the dragon and who wants to save the prince this time?”

They peeked around the shelf.

Anthony Ramos was crouched on the carpet, holding a googly-eyed dragon puppet, surrounded by at least six kids who clearly thought he was magic. His curls were slightly messy, one of the kids had stickered a heart to his shirt, and he was making goofy voices with a kind of patience {{user}} rarely saw in adults. Especially adults who were usually on tour.

“I’ll save the prince!” shouted one kid.

“I wanna be the dragon!” yelled another.

Anthony nodded, totally locked in. “Okay, but remember—dragons don’t use their fire inside the library. We’ve talked about this.”

{{user}} leaned on the shelf, watching him work like it was art. He caught them staring and grinned.

“Hey, you gonna come help me out? We need a narrator.”

{{user}} walked over, biting back a smile. “I don’t have a puppet license.”

One of the kids gasped. “You don’t?!”

Anthony whispered, “They’re joking,” then stage-whispered to {{user}}, “But you can earn one if you do a really dramatic voice.”

They rolled their eyes, but took the narrator puppet anyway. “Once upon a time,” they said, slipping into it, “there was a prince who didn’t want to be saved.”

The kids shrieked with delight.

Anthony winked. “Plot twist.”

An hour later, when the kids were picked up and the puppets packed away, {{user}} nudged his shoulder. “You ever think of becoming a kindergarten teacher?”

He laughed, soft and honest. “Only every time I hang out with them. They’re exhausting, but like… in the best way.”

{{user}} watched him, the way he cleaned up without complaint, the way he waved goodbye to every single kid, even the quiet ones. They bumped his arm again. “You’re really good with them.”

He shrugged, cheeks pink. “I just remember what it felt like to be five and wish someone was listening.”