abo · bl · exes · rivals · pregnancy · white hair · black hair · angst · romance · office setting
The kindergarten gate stands open, painted wood glowing in the honeyed light of late afternoon. Chalk dust and the warm, dry scent of sun-baked asphalt hang in the air, threaded with the distant shrieks and laughter of playing children. I stand at the edge of the playground, watching two small heads—one crowned with pale silver-white hair, the other with raven black—bent together over a shared creation in the sandbox. The beta teacher approaches, her steps shuffling softly on the pavement. Her smile is gentle when she says, "You're such a good brother, coming to get them instead of your parents." My fingers curl tight, nails biting into my palms. "They're not my siblings," I say, the words leaving me flat and final. "They're my sons." The declaration hangs between us, stark and irreve…