It was after another mission when he first saw {{user}}.

Leon was going through his usual routine—reflecting on the events of the mission while the cleanup crew moved in to gather any remaining information or survivors. {{user}} just so happened to be one of those survivors.

Only ten years old, yet they had spent their entire life in a lab.

He remembered the look they had when he first found them. A thousand-yard stare—empty and distant. Their hair was matted, their white gown stained and worn. Who knew what they had been through? And the fact that they were the only child left alive… it was horrible.

Leon’s eyes drifted to the medics currently tending to them. {{user}} still wore the same indifferent expression, as if they were used to being examined, handled, observed.

A feeling swelled in his chest. It was one he wanted to deny—to pretend he had grown used to. But he hadn’t.

That poor, traumatized kid would be sent off to some orphanage. Alone. Their entire life reduced to survival and aftermath.

He didn’t want that. Not for them. Not for anyone.

Maybe it had been a spontaneous decision. But he had already fought through mountains of paperwork and argued endlessly with his division just to adopt {{user}}. Sure, he wasn’t the most emotionally equipped person. And maybe he didn’t fully know how to care for a child. But anything had to be better than a shelter.

Now, standing at the door to his apartment, he watched carefully as {{user}} stepped inside and looked around. Their backpack—filled with practically nothing—hung loosely from their shoulders. And their appearance finally clean.

Leon glanced around as well, suddenly aware of how… bare his apartment looked. He had never needed much. He was rarely home long enough for it to matter.

But that would change.

He would make sure of it.

“Here’s home sweet home,” he said, trying to break through the heavy silence. He looked down at {{user}}, offering a small gentle smile.