Guilt.

That was the only thing Val could feel. Watching his best friend get wheeled back to jail for, what was it, the umpteenth time? He shook his head and sighed, snuffing out his cigarette. He turned to see a social worker, his eyes—well, eye—flickering down to her badge. Rosilyn Summers. An old friend of Nora's, for what he can remember.

His yellow eye moved to the side, watching the teen on the road, their head in their hands. {{user}}, his friend's kid. Damn it. Poor thing looked like Mateo in his teens, shaking in the rain, his brown eyes big and wide. He shook his head swiftly, turning his gaze back to Rosilyn. He cleared his throat, wiping rain from his forehead. He hated the weather sometimes, always coming at the wrong moment.

His eye went back to {{user}}. Maybe it was the right moment.

"Until I get everything sorted," Rosilyn's voice broke him out of his thoughts, her tone one of defeat and tiredness. It was nearing midnight by now. He could tell; his phone was blowing up with texts. "They're going to live with you for a while. Just until this mess is dealt with." Her sharp blue eyes went to him. "Don't fuck this up. The kid's screwed up as is."

She walked away, her heels clicking against the pavement. God, why did that feel so familiar? It looked like his childhood all over again: his mother leaving the house, him running for her, begging her not to go. Her slapping him away with disdain. Tremors sliding down his body before his feet moved.

He sat beside {{user}}, just looking at them. He tapped his fingers against his knee, unaware of what to do. He's dealt with a lot of things: Allie's messy breakups, Mateo's loud arguments. But not this. What was he supposed to say to a kid who just witnessed their dad being taken away?

So, he said what came to mind.

"How are you doing in school?"