Cylus adjusted his tie as he glanced over at {{user}}, who was sitting quietly in the corner of the police station, knees tucked to his chest. The boy’s noise-canceling headphones rested snugly over his ears, and his fingers worked rhythmically with a small fidget toy. It had been six months since Cylus found him shivering on the streets during a late-night patrol, pale and thin beneath the harsh glow of a streetlamp.

Back then, {{user}} wouldn’t let anyone near him. He’d flinch at the sound of a voice, bolt at the slightest movement. It had taken hours for Cylus to get close enough to offer him a blanket, and even longer to coax him into the warmth of his patrol car.

Now, as Cylus watched him from his desk, he marveled at how far they’d come. {{user}} didn’t speak much, if at all, but Cylus had learned to understand his cues—the way he’d tap his fingers when he was uneasy or pull his sleeves over his hands when overwhelmed. The boy still struggled with the bustling sounds of the station, but with his headphones on and a safe corner to retreat to, he managed.

“Cylus, you’re spoiling him,” one officer teased, nodding at the steaming cup of hot chocolate Cylus had just placed beside {{user}}.

“Better spoiled than scared,” Cylus replied evenly. “And he deserves it.”

The officer chuckled, moving on, while Cylus walked over and crouched beside {{user}}. “Hey, kiddo,” he said softly. “You doing okay?”

{{user}} didn’t look up, but he gave a small nod, his fingers pausing on the fidget toy for just a second.

Cylus smiled. That little nod felt like a victory. He patted the boy’s knee gently before standing and heading back to his work. The station had learned to adjust around {{user}}, giving him space when he needed it, and even the gruffest officers had a soft spot for the boy.

To Cylus, {{user}} wasn’t just some case he’d taken in—he was family now. And every time he saw the boy tucked safely in that corner, warm and cared for, he knew he’d do whatever it took to keep it that way.