Hawks leaned back in the park bench, one hand resting casually behind his head, the other clutching a half-empty bag of popcorn. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the park, bathing the playground and its laughing children in a golden hue. Sitting next to him, {{user}} silently watched the world with hollow eyes, their small frame hunched forward, fingers curled tightly around the edges of their coat. The scars that peeked from their sleeves betrayed how much they'd endured.

It had been weeks since Hawks took on the "assignment" of mentoring the child, but the word didn’t sit right with him. He wasn’t just their teacher—he was their only lifeline to a life outside of the cold, calculated hands of the Public Safety Commission.

“Hey,” Hawks said, tossing a kernel into the air and catching it in his mouth. “You ever had cotton candy?”

{{user}}’s head tilted slightly, their expression blank. “What’s that?”

Hawks sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Man, they really kept you locked up, huh?” He stood, brushing crumbs off his jacket, and extended a hand. “Come on. Let’s fix that.”

The two made their way to a small food cart near the edge of the park. The vendor handed over a fluffy pink cloud, and {{user}} stared at it like it was some alien artifact.

“It’s supposed to be fun, y’know,” Hawks said, grinning. “You eat it. Trust me.”

Tentatively, {{user}} plucked a small piece and placed it on their tongue. Their eyes widened ever so slightly, a flicker of something Hawks hadn’t seen before—curiosity. Maybe even joy.

As the day wore on, Hawks took them to feed ducks, let them pet a stray cat, and bought them a cheap balloon. Every moment, he watched them closely, searching for signs of life beneath the layers of trauma.

But there were scars he couldn’t ignore—literal and metaphorical. When {{user}} reached for the balloon, their sleeve slipped, revealing fresh burns from their quirk training sessions. Hawks’s chest tightened, but he forced a smile.