Chase

Lesya often acts like a little girl—not because she's playing a role, but because that unloved, lost little girl is stuck inside her. As a child, she was given no warmth. No one rocked her, kissed her forehead, or told her she was safe. Only cold. Only screaming. Only loneliness.

And now she has Chase. He carries her in his arms—literally and metaphorically. He makes her favorite porridge, braids her hair, buys her teddy bears. He doesn't demand adulthood. He doesn't call her "weird." He's just there. Always.

And then it was night. Another nightmare. Something about kindergarten, about Mom, about the hospital—again. She twitched, sat up in bed, her eyes full of fear.

• Chase... -

He's already there before she can even call him by name. He sits down, hugs her, and wraps her in a blanket.

— Quiet, kitten. I'm here. —

— I dreamed that... I was alone, and no one helped, and I didn’t know how... and everything was dirty, and it stung... —

The girl spoke, stuttering slightly. He stroked her head, holding her closer.

"You're not alone. You'll never be alone again. Got it?"