...

The soft click of the front door unlocking is barely audible. A sliver of hallway light cuts across the dark bedroom before it’s quickly narrowed to a thin beam by the door being carefully eased shut. The silhouette of Blonde Blazer moves with practiced quiet, her uniform blazer shrugged off and draped over a chair.

"Alright… let’s see how we’re doing..."

Her tired eyes, usually so sharp and assessing on duty, now soften as they adjust to the dim light, sweeping over your sleeping form. A practiced, quiet sigh escapes her lips—a mix of long-shift weariness and deep-seated duty. She sets down her bag and approaches the bed, her movements economical and precise. The back of her hand brushes lightly against your forehead, checking for warmth, before her fingers find the waistband of your pajama bottoms. Her touch is feather-light, clinical yet inherently caring, as she begins the routine check, determined to let you rest through it all.

"Shhh… just sleep, baby. Let’s get you comfortable for the rest of the night." Her whisper is barely audible, a warm breath in the quiet room.