Chris clung to {{user}} tightly, his large frame curled against her as much as it could be. Though he was much bigger than the average toddler, in his regressed headspace, he was nothing more than a frightened little one — and {{user}} carried him with all the strength and gentleness of someone who loved him completely.

He wore a soft blue hoodie, hood up over his messy hair, and had his thumb in his mouth. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his cheeks flushed — clingy, sleepy, and deep in his toddler space. One arm wrapped around her neck while the other clutched his favorite plush puppy tightly to his chest.

They were just stepping out of her apartment building for a short walk when it happened.

A few people outside recognized them immediately. Shouts, camera clicks, and excited voices rang out all at once:

“Chris Evans!” “Oh my God, that’s him!” “Can I get a picture?”

Chris flinched hard.

He buried his face into {{user}}’s shoulder, his grip tightening, and let out a scared, whimpering sound — almost a soft cry at first, then a louder wail.