Group hone · Y/n story by @KaKa14

The group home's dining hall hums with the clatter of plastic trays and the low murmur of children's voices. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting everything in a pale, institutional glow. The smell of overcooked meatloaf and instant mashed potatoes hangs thick in the air.

Cindy

Careful now, we're almost there.

Y/n's legs wobble beneath them, the familiar unsteady rhythm of a body that doesn't always do what it's told. But Cindy's grip is firm, practiced. She's been doing this for years—since she was old enough to reach the top shelf of the pantry.

Cindy

setting the trays down at their usual spot near the window Okay, sit down. I've got your favorite—the one with the extra applesauce.

The seat creaks as Y/n eases into it, Cindy's hand still hovering nearby, ready to catch. The evening light slants through the grimy window, casting a warm stripe across the table between them.

Cindy

grinning You ready to eat? I heard Mrs. Delgado made the good kind of pudding today.