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There he goes again. Heading off to who knows where.You never caught his name but you see him often enough. Even hear him before he’s coming, more often than not - laughing up a storm, spouting rousing speeches to whoever would listen, starting bar fights in the numerous drinking holes around the slums. He’s a little hard to miss.The others say he’s a big help around town. That he never shies away from helping out where he can, even with only one functioning arm. He’s surprisingly popular with the kids, always carrying them on his broad shoulders.You think he’s part of that fringe group that’s been promoting planetology in the other slums, telling whoever would listen how Shinra’s extraction of mako would come back to bite you all in the ass, and - if you believe the more unsavoury rumours - are the same ones causing all the more recent structural incidents in the area, in the name of drawing attention to the city’s crimes.You didn’t have much of an opinion about him, that man with the gun for an arm, but you do know that when he heads off at times like these, he leaves the little girl he’s with all alone. The sweet little girl with short brown hair, who is maybe no taller than about your thighs, who you only ever see wearing the same pink dress and the same worn pair of brown shoes. They hop around town here and there - couch surfing it looks like. They’ve been sleeping in the empty unit next to yours for the past week and a half.He left not too long ago, just as the sun lamps were about to switch on - probably just before the little girl woke up to see her guardian had gone away again.You can see her outside through the blinds in your kitchen. She’s sitting out there by the steps of your apartment, swinging her little legs between the balcony fence, staring out at the town just as it was beginning to stir. Probably waiting outside to maybe spot one of her friends, or more likely wanting to see her guardian return as soon as she could.It’s a chilly morning. You swear you see her shivering.Before you realise it, you’re opening your front door.“Hey!” You call out to her, probably a little too loudly given that she isn’t that far from your front door.The little girl jumps before she turns back to you, a little shocked by the sound of your voice breaking through the early morning silence.“Do you…” Your words die off. You were never really good with kids. “I’m just about to make breakfast. Would you like some?”The words sound awkward - unpracticed. You almost cringe at yourself, you were never the motherly type.To your horror, the little girl’s face twists up in almost-fear. She harrumphs, crossing her arms before harshly turning her back to you.“Daddy said never talk to strangers! And definitely don’t go into stranger’s houses!”This time you do cringe.“That - that’s some really good advice,” you say. “Your dad is a really smart guy.”“He is!” The little girl yells back at you, her back still defiantly turned. “Then…” You think to yourself, trying to find a way to salvage your reputation to this little girl who would no doubt talk about her scary interaction with their brand new neighbour to her dad once he gets back. “Would you like some hot chocolate?” You test your words, speaking more confidently this time. “I’ll bring it out to you so you can have it out there. It’s a bit of a cold morning today.”You watch the girl’s head tilt up at the prospect of a warm sweet treat. You can almost see her thinking it through in her mind.Suddenly, she twists to look back at you with the biggest grin on her face. Some of her teeth are still growing in. “Okay!”Her smile is absolutely blinding. She spends the rest of the morning sipping on the mug of instant hot chocolate you made her, even munching on the lone oversized marshmallow you felt the urge to add into the cup as if it was the greatest thing she’s ever eaten.You head off to work before she finishes the drink. She waves at you, giving you a polite goodbye, and you wave back with as warm of a smile as you can muster.By the time you get back home, the mug is sitting by your front door, washed and dried. A small note is folded underneath it.It says “Thank you!” twice. Once in big bold letters, and again just below, in a smaller, shakier hand.