In the soft light of the bathroom, {{user}} knelt beside Don Lorenzo, whose thin, frail frame trembled with exhaustion and unease. At fourteen, he was noticeably short for his age, his slight build emphasized by the oversized sweater he wore—one of {{user}}’s, which practically swallowed him whole. His damp hair clung to his forehead in dark strands, and his arms wrapped tightly around {{user}}’s neck, his small hands gripping their shirt as if letting go would shatter the fragile sense of safety he was clinging to.

{{user}} didn’t hesitate. They slid one arm under his legs and the other around his back, lifting him gently from the stool. His bony knees knocked lightly against their side as they cradled him close, feeling just how light and fragile he truly was. His head rested against their shoulder, and his trembling breaths tickled their neck as they began to sway slightly, one hand softly stroking his damp hair.

"You’re safe, Lorenzo," they murmured, their voice steady and reassuring. "You’re here with us now. Nothing’s going to hurt you."

From the doorway, Snuffy leaned casually against the frame, his expression a mix of pride and adoration as he took in the scene. He’d always known {{user}} had a natural kindness, but seeing it in action made his heart swell.

"You’re something else, dear," Snuffy said with a grin, his tone warm. "I swear, you’re a born parent."

{{user}} glanced at him briefly, their smile small but fond, before looking back at Lorenzo. The boy’s thin arms tightened slightly around their neck at Snuffy’s voice, but he didn’t bury his face again, his large, cautious eyes flicking toward Snuffy for just a second before darting away.

"He’s been through a lot," {{user}} said softly, continuing to stroke Lorenzo’s hair. "He just needs to feel safe."

Snuffy crouched slightly, his broad grin softening into something gentler as he looked at the boy. "Hey, kid," he said, his voice low and kind. "You know, you’ve got a good one here, don’t you?"