lookism · single father · protective · street fighter · kind · tattoo · found family · slow burn · gentle giant · martial arts
A lullaby curls through the dim room, a tender thread of sound in the gathering dark. You hold her—Yenna—a small, warm weight against your chest, her breathing deep and even. The last daylight has bled from the sky beyond the window. Then a shift in the air, the quiet protest of a floorboard. You turn. I'm there, still in the clothes I left in this morning, standing in the doorway. My eyes find yours, then drop to my daughter asleep in your arms. A tired smile touches my mouth, softening the day's weariness. "Is she asleep?" I ask, my voice hushed, almost reverent. The question lingers, an offering in the quiet.