My Adorable Little Rascal

7:00 a.m. — the hallway outside the infirmary.

"Mr. Herix, can I go home now?" Skylar asks, her voice polite, calm — maybe too calm for someone about to return to a war zone.

Mr. Stan Herix nods, the corners of his eyes crinkling with warmth: "You're cleared. The wound's healing well. Just remember what I told you yesterday, alright? No heavy lifting, stay out of fights, and definitely no more rooftop adventures."

Skylar bows slightly: "Yes, sir. Thank you."

She steps out of the infirmary with a strange tightness in her chest. Her palm instinctively presses against her ribs — a dull ache lingers there. The hallway is quiet, sterile, and oddly comforting compared to what she knows waits at home.

Outside, a sleek black car hums softly in the morning stillness. Nathan stands by the driver's door, hands in his pockets, watching them approach with a faint smile.

Leaning against the car beside him, Julian looks like he stepped out of a fashion ad: arms folded, sleeves pushed up, expression unreadable. Next to him, Sunny balances a bubble tea in one hand and a phone in the other, typing something furiously.

Julian tosses the car keys into the air and catches them effortlessly: "I got us all excused today."

Skylar arches an eyebrow: "Us?"

"You, me, and Sunny," he says nonchalantly: "We're going to your place, Sky Baby."

She freezes mid-step: "Sky... what now?"

Sunny's straw halts mid-sip. Her eyes dart from Skylar to Julian: "Did you just call her... Sky Baby?"

Skylar's voice trembles with disbelief as she points an accusatory finger at Julian: "Did you seriously just say 'Sky Baby'?"

Julian's lips curl into the most blinding smile this side of the solar system: "Yup."

"Why?" Skylar demands, arms crossing.

He steps forward, gaze unusually soft: "Because, to me... you need to be taken care of. Like a child."

There's a pause — an awkward but oddly warm silence. Then he adds, a little hesitant: "Unless... you don't approve?"

Skylar flicks her hand dismissively, though the blush on her cheeks betrays her: "Whatever. It's just a name."

Julian smirks: "So you admit it has a ring to it."

"I admit nothing."

"Road trip!" Sunny chirps, throwing her fist into the air.

Internally, Skylar isn't as nonchalant as she seems. Her thoughts whirl:

If they're with me... maybe Mom and Dad will act civil for once. Maybe... just maybe today won't end in screaming.

Fifteen minutes later, they arrive at her front gate.

The house looms like a tired beast — worn paint, cracked windows, a fence that leans like it's given up. Even the morning sun seems reluctant to shine on it.

As soon as they step out of the car —

Crash!

Something shatters inside.

Skylar bolts: "Dad?! Mom?! Are you okay?!"

Julian's eyes narrow. He senses it — the tension, the weight in the air.

Sunny takes a step forward, but Julian grabs her wrist: "Wait here."

His voice is firm, not cruel. Controlled. The kind of calm that hides lightning.

Sunny pauses, reading his expression. She backs off slowly: "Okay..."

Inside, chaos reigns.

The living room is a disaster: a plate broken near the doorway, the couch cushions tossed, something burnt lingering in the air.

And in the center of it all: a woman with wild hair, eyes burning with anger and something deeper — bitterness, maybe even grief.

"Why the hell are you home?! Shouldn't you be at school? Or did you skip? Of course you did. Just like your no-good—"

"Please! Not today!" Skylar yells, catching her mother's wrist midair.

Her voice cracks. Her hand trembles violently.

Her mother sneers: "Oh, what now? You think you're grown-up enough to stop me? Clinging to some guy's leg now, huh? Think that'll save you? Keep dreaming!"

With a violent shove, she throws Skylar to the floor.

"Ah!"

Julian moves like lightning, catching Skylar just before she hits the tiles.

His voice is a blade: "What the hell are you doing? She's your daughter."

Her mother spins toward him, eyes wild: "And who the hell are you?! Get out of my house!"

She lunges — but doesn't get far.

Sunny slips in, positioning herself between them with feline grace. Her bubble tea now abandoned, her eyes sharp.

"Ma'am," Sunny says sweetly, the sarcasm laced like poison, "most people use their mouths to talk. Not their fists. Or is yours only good for shouting abuse?"

The woman blinks, stunned.

Julian turns back to Skylar, who's clutching his sleeve tightly.

"Are you okay?" he asks, crouching beside her.

Skylar winces: "A bit sore... here." She points to her upper arm. A bruise already blooms beneath the skin — delicate, but undeniable.

Julian gently lifts the sleeve to inspect it, his fingers ghosting over her skin.

Then he smiles — not gently, but with a spark of mischief.

"Time to cash in on that promise."

Skylar's eyes widen: "You're serious? Now?"

He leans in, tapping her nose: "What's wrong? Regretting it already?"

Her hand flies to her mouth in reflex. Her eyes glisten, large and glassy like startled marbles.

She shakes her head slowly: "No. I'm ready."

There's no fear in her voice. Just quiet, unwavering resolve.

Julian nods: "Then let's get you out of here."

He helps her up, wrapping an arm around her protectively. Behind them, Sunny glares daggers at Skylar's mother, who stands frozen, breathless.

For the first time in a long while, Skylar walks out of her house — not alone, not trembling — but upright, flanked by two people who refused to let her fall.

She doesn't know what comes next. But as Julian guides her down the steps and Sunny walks closely behind, she knows one thing:

Today, she chose herself.

And someone chose her back.