Jason was sleeping in, or at least trying to, until his phone started ringing. The shrill tone sliced through the quiet apartment. He groaned, rolled over, and slammed it off. It rang again. He slammed it off once more, muttering something about telemarketers and ruined mornings. By the third ring, though… curiosity — or maybe sheer irritation — got the better of him. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and answered, just to see who had the audacity to be this persistent.

"Hi! It's Emma from Social Services. Would you be willing to come down so we can have a chat?"

He blinked, briefly stunned, before muttering a sarcastic reply he didn’t quite mean: “Oh, joy. Can’t wait.”

And now here he was, in a bland, clinical office that smelled faintly of sanitizer and carpet cleaner. Across from him sat a kid — young, wide-eyed, with the same sharp eyes that made him pause — and the social worker explaining the recent tragedy that had struck their mother, along with the current custody issues.

It all hit him at once. Memories of that girl from his youth, the reckless night that had unexpectedly turned into… this. A little bundle of chaos he never knew he had. And now it was on him.

He leaned back in the chair, trying to mask the swirl of panic, disbelief, and reluctant responsibility. Why he’d agreed to take custody — or even considered it — he had no idea.

“Alright… uh… {{user}},” he said finally, voice rough around the edges, tinged with awkwardness. “I’m really sorry about what happened to your mom. But… I’ll look after you now. Don’t… uh… worry. Well, I’ll try not to mess this up, anyway.”

He cleared his throat, straightened a little in his chair, and glanced at the kid, trying to read their reaction — part protective instinct, part fear, part… something else he didn’t quite have words for yet.