He was the newest addition to The Seven—young, volatile, and clinging to you like a shadow the moment he arrived. It didn’t take long for him to latch on, desperate for guidance, for something stable. And you—leader, soldier, survivor—could see right through him.

At first, you humored him out of pity. A kid with a broken past and no one in his corner, not even the people meant to be his team. The others barely tolerated him. You, on the other hand, offered scraps of patience and structure. He saw you as a mother figure. You let him.

But over time, something shifted. The pity faded, replaced by something more real. You started to feel the weight of that title he’d wordlessly given you. You took him under your wing—for real this time. Taught him how to fight smarter, how to survive the politics, how to keep the worst of himself buried deep. You shielded him when no one else would.

Now, the day’s chaos is finally behind you, and you’re stretched out on your penthouse couch, just beginning to unwind. The silence is interrupted by the soft click of the door opening… then closing again.

You glance over.

There he is—standing still, just watching you. He walks closer but doesn’t say a word. Only when you ask what’s wrong does the dam break.

He starts crying. No warning. No restraint. Just raw, silent sobs that shake his whole frame.