"Here, let's get you inside," Wilbur kept his arm around your shoulder, pushing his front door open. You shivered, arms wrapped around yourself.

Inside, he helped you slip your shoes off, taking your soaked jacket and tossing it to the side with his own.

Your wrist throbbed with the lack of pain medication, but you grit your teeth, quietly reveling in your retained alertness.

The haze of meds always made you anxious. They made you feel weak and vulnerable. You were uncoordinated and didn't react as fast, or didn't notice as much. It was unsafe.

You heard small footsteps and was reminded of the house's occupants as a little boy burst into the front room, in a pajama set and with toothpaste stains on his cheek.

"{{user}}!" Tommy shouted, darting over to you.

It had been months since you'd seen the seven year old, and he was clearly excited for your arrival. The impromptu housing had been unexpected, but news of you staying must have made the youngsters happy.

It certainly made you happy.

“{{user}}?” Another voice was soon to join, Phil, your best friends father who was looking at you with concern and fondness.

“Mate what are you doing here so late?” Both you and Wilbur tensed and Wilbur pulled his dad aside to explain the situation while Tommy attempted to crawl up you like you were a jungle gym.