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i. First Attempt
Klein Rossi had killed men with less hesitation than it took to walk through the door of that flower shop.
The bell above the frame chimed, soft and mocking, as if the little shop knew he didn’t belong there. The air smelled of roses and lilies, too clean for someone whose hands had only known gunpowder and blood. He stood frozen for a heartbeat too long, heavy boots on polished wood, wondering if he should leave.
And then he saw him.
A small boy stood near the counter, clutching a wooden toy car with chubby fingers. His hair was dark and unruly, curling slightly at the ends—wild in a way that reminded Klein of himself at that age. His face, though softer, carried the same sharp brow, stubborn nose, and set jaw. But his eyes…
They weren’t his.
They were Aeliv’s.
Wide, and bright eyes that held the same quiet warmth Klein remembered from another lifetime.
The boy blinked up at him, curious at first. Then his small body tensed, and he shuffled back, pressing himself against Aeliv’s side like a shadow seeking safety.
Klein’s throat went dry. He’d imagined this moment during all those lonely nights in exile—Aeliv’s scent, Aeliv’s voice—but never had he pictured this: a child. His child. Three years gone, and he hadn’t known.
He’d left to protect his omega, fleeing before the Rossi traitors could finish what they’d started. He thought disappearing would keep Aeliv safe, far from the blood and bullets that followed him. He hadn’t realized he’d left more than his mate behind.
And now he stood here, alive when he shouldn’t be, staring into the wary gaze of a son who didn’t even know his name.
Aeliv’s voice broke the silence, soft as ever but edged with steel. “This is Evan.”
His omega’s hand rested gently on the boy’s back, coaxing him forward. The tone was even, controlled, but Klein heard it—the tremor beneath, the unspoken warning. He couldn’t blame him.
Klein had been gone three years. He’d left without a word, without a goodbye. He’d forfeited the right to walk back into their lives.
Evan peeked out from behind Aeliv’s legs, tiny fingers clutching at his papa’s shirt, gaze darting nervously to Klein’s scarred face and then away again. He saw the jagged scar running along Klein’s jaw and flinched.
It hit harder than any bullet.
Klein swallowed down the lump in his throat. His voice, rough and gravelly from disuse, came out lower than intended. “Hello, Evan.”
He tried to soften it. Tried to sound harmless. His lips tugged into something like a smile—it was awkward and crooked. The kind of smile he’d once saved only for Aeliv.
But Evan only stared, wide-eyed, before ducking behind his papa’s legs, small shoulders trembling.
Klein’s chest ached.
Aeliv crouched slightly to meet Evan’s eye. “Evan, what did papa say about being rude to strangers?”
Klein flinched at the words. Papa. Stranger.
It wasn’t directed at him—it never had been. Evan called Aeliv that. Of course he did. Aeliv had been there from the moment he took his first breath, the one who fed him, soothed his fevers, kissed his scraped knees. The title belonged to Aeliv. Klein hadn’t been here to earn anything at all.
Evan mumbled, barely audible, “That it’s not nice to be rude…”
His voice was small and uncertain, like he wasn’t sure what counted as rude. Like he wasn’t sure what this man counted as.
Klein’s fingers twitched. He wanted to reach out, but he didn’t. He stayed where he was, a looming figure at the door, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets like they might betray him otherwise.
“It’s okay,” Klein said quietly. “He doesn’t have to talk to me.”
Aeliv’s gaze snapped to him. There were a thousand things in that look—anger, hurt, a glimmer of something softer that Klein didn’t dare name. But he didn’t miss the exhaustion, either.
“You disappeared,” Aeliv said simply. No accusations, no raised voice. Just a fact dropped between them like a blade.
Klein opened his mouth, closed it again. His tongue felt thick. He’d rehearsed apologies for years, and none of them fit.
“I know.” His voice cracked. “I thought it would keep you safe.”
Aeliv’s hand smoothed down Evan’s hair. “And you thought leaving without a word would hurt less?”
Klein had no answer. His silence said enough.
Evan peeked up at him again, nose scrunching as if trying to figure out why his papa sounded so sad, and why this stranger looked like him.
Klein forced himself to kneel, bringing himself closer to Evan’s level. His knees cracked, a reminder that he wasn’t the same man who’d left. He rested his forearms on his thighs, keeping his hands visible but still.
“Hey,” he tried again, gentler this time. “It’s nice to meet you, Evan.”
Evan pressed his face into Aeliv’s leg, refusing to answer.
Something heavy settled in Klein’s chest, but he didn’t push. He didn’t expect trust; he’d come back knowing it wouldn’t be easy.
Aeliv stroked Evan’s back. “Sweetheart, can you at least wave? Just a little wave for the nice man?”
Evan peeked, hesitated. Then, with all the reluctant courage of a three-year-old, he lifted one tiny hand and flapped it once, quick.
It gutted Klein more than any gunshot.
He smiled, small and real this time. “Thank you, kiddo. That means a lot.”
Evan didn’t respond, but he didn’t hide again either. His little fist unclenched from Aeliv’s shirt.
For Klein, it was enough.
For now.
As Aeliv turned back to the counter, Klein straightened slowly, the weight of his absence heavy on his shoulders. He wasn’t sure if Aeliv would ever forgive him, if Evan would ever call him dad for real.
But as the boy peeked at him again with Aeliv’s amber-gold eyes, Klein made himself a silent promise: He wasn’t leaving this time. Never again.
ii. Second Attempt
Klein hadn’t slept.
Not really. He’d spent the night sprawled on his back in the penthouse that felt more like a mausoleum than a home, staring at the ceiling and thinking about bright eyes peeking from behind Aeliv’s legs. About the tiny hand that waved at him once, hesitant and unsure.
He’d seen fear before. He’d caused it more times than he could count. But seeing it in his son’s face—his own flesh and blood—was something else entirely.
Evan didn’t know him. Of course he didn’t. Klein hadn’t been there to earn that right.
But he wanted to. God, he wanted to.
Lying awake, Klein remembered an old story one of his former subordinates used to tell. A big, gruff enforcer, covered in tattoos, who became a puddle when it came to his daughter. He’d brag about how she sulked for days when he forgot her birthday and how he fixed it by buying her a glittery makeup toy set.
“She forgave me right away,” the man had laughed, puffing on a cigar. “Kids are easy like that. Buy ’em something shiny, and they’re yours.”
Klein had rolled his eyes back then. But now?
Maybe there was something to it.
Maybe kids really did like presents. Maybe Evan would, too.
By the time the sun began bleeding through his windows, Klein had made up his mind. He dragged himself out of bed, barely showered, and went straight to the nearest toy store, an unfamiliar kind of determination pulling him forward.
The shop clerk blinked up at him when he stalked in—six-foot-three, scarred face, leather coat, looking like he’d taken a wrong turn on his way to a crime scene.
“I need toys,” Klein said gruffly. “For a boy. Three years old. Expensive. Rare. Whatever kids like.”
The clerk, wisely, didn’t ask questions.
Klein left with an armful: a plush wolf, a glossy red toy car, a dinosaur that roared when you pressed its belly, a box of building blocks, even a picture book with raised textures on the pages. He didn’t know what Evan liked, so he got one of everything.
By the time he got back to his penthouse, his kitchen table looked like Santa’s workshop exploded on it. He stared at the pile, strangely nervous.
He wasn’t good at this but he could try.
The next morning, Klein found himself standing in the flower shop again, arms full of bags.
Aeliv didn’t kick him out. Klein hadn’t expected to be welcomed with open arms—not after disappearing for three years—but he was grateful he wasn’t shown the door. Aeliv’s face was unreadable, his voice neutral as he let Klein step inside.
Klein didn’t miss the wariness in those amber eyes. He didn’t blame him.
He knew Aeliv wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. He also knew he couldn’t win back his omega’s trust with gifts and apologies alone. But if Aeliv was letting him visit, even reluctantly, it meant one thing: Evan needed to know who his other father was.
Klein intended to make the most of that chance.
“Look,” Klein said, crouching down. His voice was almost awkwardly soft, unused to gentleness. “I brought gifts.”
Evan was sitting cross-legged on the floor near the counter, a piece of plain paper in front of him. His little fists clutched wax crayons, jagged lines scratched across the page. He froze when Klein lowered the bags and began pulling items out one by one.
A stuffed wolf. A shiny red car. A dinosaur that roared. Blocks that clacked when he set them down. Even a picture book with a wolf pack on the cover.
Evan blinked at the pile. Then at Klein.
Klein smiled, stiff and unsure, trying not to look as desperate as he felt. “All for you, kiddo.”
Evan hesitated. He glanced back at Aeliv, who gave him a small encouraging nod. With the kind of politeness that came from being raised right, Evan shuffled forward and picked up the plush wolf.
“Thank you,” he mumbled shyly, eyes still fixed on the floor. Then he hurried back to Aeliv and shoved the wolf—and every other toy Klein had given him—under the table, as if hiding them would make them less overwhelming.
Klein’s heart stuttered.
He thought maybe Evan was just shy. Maybe he needed time to warm up. So Klein crouched lower and picked up the toy car.
“Why don’t we play with this together?” he offered, pushing it gently along the floor with a little vroom sound.
Evan peeked out from behind Aeliv’s legs again, shook his head quickly, and clung to his papa’s waist like his life depended on it.
Klein exhaled slowly. That… wasn’t the reaction he’d hoped for.
Aeliv, to his credit, didn’t scold Klein or mock him for trying. He just sighed softly, brushing Evan’s hair back from his face.
“You bought too many,” Aeliv said quietly.
Klein glanced up, confused. “I thought boys like these.”
“Some do,” Aeliv replied, eyes softening as he looked at Evan, who was peeking out again at the toy car but still too overwhelmed to approach. “But Evan’s not used to… all this. You show up one day with a pile of toys from someone he doesn’t know, and it feels… a lot.”
Klein’s brows furrowed. “I just wanted him to have something from me.”
“And that’s good,” Aeliv said gently, crouching down so he was level with Klein. He reached out, resting one hand on Evan’s back to reassure the boy before leaning closer to Klein. His voice dropped to a whisper meant only for him. “But you can’t buy affection. You have to earn it.”
Klein froze. The words sank in deeper than he wanted to admit.
Aeliv straightened, smoothing Evan’s hair again, murmuring softly to calm him.
Klein sat there, watching his mate—his omega, the man he left behind—comfort their son. And he realized with a pang that Aeliv was right. Evan didn’t need expensive toys or grand gestures. He needed someone patient enough to stay and will not leave without a word anymore.
“Okay,” Klein said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. “I’ll earn it.”
Evan didn’t respond. But Klein thought he caught the boy sneaking a curious glance at the stuffed wolf hidden under the table.
It wasn’t much but it was a start.
iii. Third Attempt
The shop was busier than Klein had ever seen it.
He sat quietly in the corner by the window, hands folded between his knees, watching. He had learned, after the last two visits, that his presence was tolerated at best. Aeliv had made it clear—politely, but firmly—that Klein wasn’t to meddle while the shop was open.
“It’s almost Christmas,” Aeliv had explained earlier, not unkindly. “My coworkers are visiting their families, so it’s just me here. I don’t need the extra stress of you hovering.”
So Klein didn’t hover. He stayed put, watching as customers flowed in and out, the scent of pine and roses mixing with cinnamon-sugar from the bakery down the street. Bells jingled every time the door swung open.
Aeliv moved like water, darting between displays, arms full of poinsettias and baby’s breath, voice soft but firm as he assisted one customer after another. He looked beautiful like this—cheeks flushed from the cold, hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck.
And Evan—Evan was trying to help.
The little boy trotted after his papa with all the solemnity of a soldier, his tiny hands carefully cradling empty pots and discarded ribbons when Aeliv asked. He wasn’t clumsy, but his legs were short, and the shop floor was crowded with customers and plants alike.
Klein’s chest ached watching them. This domestic scene was everything he had missed out on, and everything he wanted to be part of.
He wanted to help, too.
When Aeliv passed by his corner again, arms full of mistletoe, Klein rose halfway from his seat. “Do you want me to—”
“No,” Aeliv said immediately, not even glancing his way.
Klein shut his mouth. He caught it, though—the faint sharpness beneath the omega’s scent, the edge of stress bleeding through the floral sweetness.
And that was enough. He sat back down. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t make this harder for Aeliv, not when his presence already stirred up old memories neither of them had sorted through.
So he stayed still. He watched.
And then it happened.
From the corner of his eye, Klein saw Evan struggling with a flowerpot. It wasn’t heavy—just awkward, ceramic too big for his tiny arms. He made it halfway across the shop before his foot caught on a stray ribbon and—
Crash.
The sound split through the air.
A hundred shards scattered across the floor like fallen stars.
For a heartbeat, Klein wasn’t in a flower shop. He was back there—years ago—in a darkened room, glass shattering as enemies crashed through the window, gunfire, blood, chaos—
His body reacted before his mind caught up.
He shot to his feet.
Evan, wide-eyed, crouched immediately, reaching for a shard with his tiny hand. Aeliv was across the shop, occupied with a customer, too far to intervene right away.
“Put that down, Evan!”
Klein’s voice cracked like a whip. It was instinct—a command tone he’d spent years honing, the kind that made grown men freeze.
Evan froze. Then he flinched.
The little boy’s face crumpled, his lower lip trembling. The shop fell silent, every customer turning to stare.
“Evan—” Aeliv’s voice was sharp with panic as he dropped the poinsettias and ran to his son.
Klein’s stomach plummeted. No, no, that’s not what I meant—
“I—I didn’t mean—” Klein tried to step closer, but Evan wailed, shrinking back. Tears spilled down his cheeks as Aeliv scooped him up, cradling him close, whispering soothing words against his hair.
The sound of his son crying—because of him—knocked the air from Klein’s lungs.
He stood there, useless, watching Aeliv rock Evan, stroking his back with gentle circles.
“Aeliv, I wasn’t—” Klein’s voice broke. “I just didn’t want him to get hurt. The glass—”
Aeliv didn’t look at him. His focus was on Evan, as it should be.
“Klein.” Aeliv’s voice was soft but firm, a razor wrapped in silk. “Please. Cool your head.”
“But I didn’t mean—”
“Please.”
Just one word. But it landed heavier than any bullet.
Klein shut his mouth.
He stood there like a fool as Aeliv carried Evan into the backroom, murmuring softly, pressing kisses to his hair. Customers began whispering, some awkwardly shuffling toward the door, but Klein barely noticed.
He’d made his son cry.
The one thing he swore he’d never do.
Klein left an hour later.
He didn’t even remember walking out. One moment he was sitting in the corner, useless and raw, and the next he was outside, leaning against the cold brick wall, the winter wind biting at his face.
He didn’t go back inside, even when the crying stopped.
He didn’t go home either.
Instead, he stood across the street, hands stuffed in his pockets, cigarette burning low between his fingers.
From here, he could see everything.
He watched Aeliv close up the shop, locking the door. Evan sat on the counter, a lollipop in his mouth, tear tracks still faint on his cheeks. He wasn’t crying anymore, and Aeliv looked calmer, but Klein stayed where he was.
The memory of that terrified look in Evan’s eyes burned too bright.
He’d seen that look before. On himself.
On nights when his father’s shouting echoed through the halls, when Klein had learned that love could come with a fist or a threat.
He’d promised himself—vowed—he’d never be that kind of man.
And yet…
Klein took a long drag from his cigarette, his hands trembled.
He dropped the cigarette butt, ground it beneath his boot.
Across the street, Aeliv ruffled Evan’s hair, smiling faintly at something the boy said. Evan swung his legs idly, sugar pacifying his tiny world.
Klein stayed in the shadows. He didn’t deserve to walk across that street.
Not yet.
Not until he figured out how to be a father without becoming his own.
iv. Fourth Attempt
The storm rolled in by late evening, painting the sky in bruised shades of purple and gray. The flower shop windows rattled with each gust of wind. Thunder cracked overhead like an angry whip, the kind that made the floorboards vibrate faintly underfoot.
Evan hated storms.
He should have been napping an hour ago, curled up in his little corner with his blanket and stuffed wolf. Instead, he sat on the small couch in the back, stubbornly awake. His big hazel eyes shimmered with exhaustion and fear, peeking out from under the tiny blanket he had pulled over his head.
Aeliv had been trying for nearly twenty minutes to soothe him, humming softly, rocking him gently. But each time the thunder boomed, Evan would flinch violently and start crying again.
And because it was nearly Christmas, the shop was still busy. The doorbell chimed relentlessly, customers coming in with flushed cheeks and umbrellas dripping water onto the mat. The scent of wet earth mixed with pine, roses, and hot cocoa someone brought in.
Aeliv looked torn in half.
Klein was there by chance. He hadn’t even meant to come in tonight. He’d been walking past, rain dripping off his coat, when he’d spotted Evan’s tearful face through the back window and Aeliv trying to juggle a fussy toddler and two impatient customers.
When Aeliv caught his gaze, there was hesitation—always that hesitation—but then desperation won.
“Can you try to put Evan to sleep?” Aeliv asked, breathless, balancing a pot of poinsettias in one hand. “I’m sorry for asking this but—”
“Of course,” Klein said immediately, no hesitation. He would help Aeliv with anything. He would do anything for his mate, even if Aeliv still looked at him with doubt.
Aeliv’s eyes softened just a fraction, then darted to Evan, still trembling under his blanket. “Just… try, okay?”
And then he was gone, hurrying to greet another wave of customers, the sound of his voice drifting from the front room.
Klein turned back to the small sofa.
The sight made his chest ache. Evan’s little body shook with each rumble of thunder, his tiny hands clutching the stuffed wolf Klein had given him the other day. Even now, Evan hugged it like a lifeline, though he still flinched whenever Klein stepped too close.
Klein knew he’d earned that fear. The memory of Evan crying in the shop after Klein had raised his voice haunted him.
But tonight—tonight he wanted to do better.
Another boom rattled the windows. Evan squeaked and burrowed deeper into his blanket, muffled sniffles escaping.
Klein crouched down a few feet away, careful not to startle him. His voice came out softer than he thought possible. “Should I tell you a story?”
There was a pause. Then a tiny face peeked out from the blanket, tear-streaked and wary.
Klein noticed the stuffed wolf clutched tightly in Evan’s arms and felt a flicker of hope.
“How about a story,” Klein said gently, “of wolves who protect their pack?”
Evan blinked at him, thinking, the way toddlers do. After a moment, he gave the smallest nod, hugging the stuffed wolf closer.
Klein’s heart squeezed.
He slowly lowered himself onto the floor beside the sofa, making himself smaller, less intimidating. His voice when he began was low, steady, a rumble of gravel softened by warmth.
“Once upon a time,” he said, “there was a great wolf who lived in a deep, dark forest. He was big and strong, with fur as black as the night sky, and a voice so loud it made the trees tremble.”
Evan’s eyes widened just a little. His sniffles quieted.
“But the great wolf wasn’t scary. He used his big voice to protect his pack. He would howl at the moon to warn other wolves of danger. And when storms came, when the wind howled louder than even he could, he stayed awake all night, guarding the smallest wolf in the den.”
Another roll of thunder shook the windows. Evan jumped, but this time he didn’t cry. Klein reached out, slow and careful, and laid his large hand gently against the blanket covering Evan’s back. The boy didn’t pull away.
“The little wolf was scared of thunder,” Klein continued softly. “But the great wolf told him, ‘Don’t worry. Thunder is just the sky growling. And I’ll growl louder if it ever tries to hurt you.’”
A tiny hiccup of laughter escaped Evan. He clutched the stuffed wolf tighter.
Klein smiled faintly. His hand rubbed slow, soothing circles against Evan’s back.
“So when the next storm came,” Klein said, “the little wolf snuggled close to the big wolf. And he wasn’t scared anymore. Because he knew, no matter how loud the sky growled, the big wolf loved him more. And love makes you brave.”
His voice slowed, softened, as he watched Evan’s eyelids droop. The storm still rumbled outside, but Evan’s breaths grew heavier, slower.
Klein stayed there, sitting on the floor, telling the story until Evan’s eyes fluttered shut.
A tiny hand slipped free of the blanket, fumbling blindly, and wrapped around Klein’s finger.
Klein froze. His heart nearly stopped.
It was the first time Evan had touched him willingly.
His big hand dwarfed Evan’s tiny fingers, but he stayed perfectly still, letting the boy cling to him. He could have sat there forever like that.
Aeliv’s voice came softly from behind him. “Did he fall asleep?”
Klein turned his head and put a finger to his lips. “Shhh,” he whispered, his voice breaking just slightly. “He is.”
Aeliv’s eyes softened as he took in the sight—his little boy fast asleep, still clutching the stuffed wolf and Klein’s finger, the storm still raging outside but no longer scary.
For once, Klein didn’t feel useless.
For once, he felt like a father.
v. Fifth Attempt
“Aeliv called in sick today,” said the coworker at the shop, glancing up from the bouquet she was wrapping.
Klein’s hands stilled on the countertop. “Sick?”
She nodded. “Fever. He said he couldn’t make it in.”
That shouldn’t have made Klein’s chest tighten the way it did. He wasn’t supposed to care this much; he was supposed to be just… circling, on the periphery of their lives, trying not to ruin anything further. But he had memorized Aeliv’s schedule without even meaning to. This was the time of day he usually saw him—hair tucked behind his ears, Evan strapped to his back sometimes, handing out flowers and smiles.
And now he was home. Sick. Alone with a three-year-old.
“Do you know where he lives?” Klein asked, trying to sound casual, though his voice came out rougher than he intended.
The coworker rattled off an address. Klein barely thanked her before leaving, the drizzle outside soaking into his collar.
Aeliv’s apartment building was unremarkable, tucked on a quiet street with peeling paint and flower boxes that had long wilted with the season. Nothing like Klein’s penthouse, all glass and cold, overlooking the city. This place was ordinary, lived-in, affordable for a single father raising a toddler.
Klein stood at the door longer than necessary, listening. He could hear faint shuffling inside, the drag of tired feet on old hardwood. He rang the bell.
There was a pause, then the sound of a lock fumbling.
The door creaked open.
Aeliv stood there wrapped in a blanket, hair messy and damp from fever sweat, a cooling patch stuck crookedly to his forehead. His nose was pink, tissues clutched in one hand. His eyes blinked up blearily.
“Klein?” His voice was hoarse, fragile.
Something primal twisted in Klein’s gut.
He swallowed, shifting awkwardly. “Your coworker said you called in sick.”
Aeliv sniffled, coughed. “What—”
Klein’s gaze drifted over his shoulder and froze.
In the living room, Evan sat on the carpet surrounded by blocks, stacking them crookedly. The little boy looked perfectly content, oblivious to his mother’s condition. But a three-year-old couldn’t take care of himself.
“What are you doing here?” Aeliv rasped again, swaying a little.
“Checking on you,” Klein said more firmly. The alpha in him—buried under years of restraint—was screaming now. Protect. Help. Provide.
“You should go,” Aeliv murmured weakly, but the way he leaned against the doorframe told Klein all he needed.
“No.” Klein took a step forward, careful not to startle. “Let me help you.”
“What?”
“I’ll take care of Evan for now. We don’t want our son getting sick too, right?”
The word our slipped out naturally this time, and Aeliv flinched at it but he didn’t say no.
Instead, he sighed, too tired to argue. “…Fine. Just—keep him out of my room. I don’t want him catching this.”
Klein nodded once, stepping inside.
The apartment was small but warm, filled with soft clutter that spoke of a child’s presence—tiny socks on the couch, crayon drawings pinned to the fridge. Klein had never been in this space before, and yet something about it made his chest ache.
He helped Aeliv back to bed first. “Sit,” he ordered gently, guiding him to the bedroom. Aeliv didn’t even fight him; the fever had sapped all resistance.
Klein found a cool cloth in the bathroom, wiped the sweat from his mate’s face with careful, almost reverent touches. He fetched medicine and coaxed him into taking it, murmuring encouragement like he’d heard mothers do with their children.
Aeliv blinked at him through fever-hazed eyes. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” Klein said quietly. “But I want to.”
He left Aeliv tucked under clean blankets with a glass of water by the bedside before closing the door.
Then he turned to Evan.
The little boy was still on the floor, stacking blocks and mumbling to himself. When he looked up and saw Klein, his eyes widened slightly—the same mixture of wariness and curiosity he always had around him.
Klein crouched a little. “Hey, champ. Hungry?”
Evan blinked, then nodded solemnly.
Klein searched the kitchen, finding a stash of simple toddler-friendly foods—fruit, crackers, leftover soup. He managed to warm some soup without burning it and even cut apple slices the way Aeliv did, arranging them on a small plate.
Evan ate quietly at the low table, legs swinging, watching Klein with cautious eyes.
When he was done, he toddled over to the couch holding the remote with both hands. He stood there silently, waiting.
Klein tilted his head. “Cartoon?”
“Cartoon,” Evan echoed softly, clutching the remote like an offering.
Klein turned on the TV, flipping through until he landed on a show he hadn’t seen in years—a silly animated series he used to watch when he was a boy. Nostalgia hit him unexpectedly, a strange warmth blooming in his chest.
He settled onto the couch. Evan hesitated, then clambered up beside him, still keeping a safe inch of distance.
Klein didn’t push. He let Evan come to him on his own terms.
The cartoon’s ridiculous characters bumbled across the screen, their voices high-pitched and silly. Klein hadn’t realized how much he still remembered—every inflection, every exaggerated line.
Without thinking, he mimicked one of the characters under his breath, gravelly voice attempting a comical squeak.
A beat of silence.
Then a small sound—like a bubble popping—escaped Evan.
Klein turned his head slowly. Evan was staring at him with wide, sparkling eyes.
“…What?” Klein asked, confused.
The boy blinked, then broke into a sudden laugh. A real laugh—unguarded, bright, delighted. He clapped his tiny hands and pointed at Klein. “Do it again!”
Klein froze.
He did it again.
Evan shrieked with laughter, curling into himself with glee.
Klein’s throat tightened. He did another voice, fumbling through the cast of silly characters with his deep, gravelly tone. Evan laughed so hard he nearly toppled off the couch, tears of mirth in his eyes.
And for the first time since Klein had returned to their lives, his son laughed around him.
Something cracked open in Klein’s chest, sharp and sweet. He hadn’t known how desperately he needed that sound until it filled the room.
Later, Evan curled against his side without being asked, head resting against Klein’s arm as the cartoon droned on. Klein stayed perfectly still, afraid to break the spell.
In the bedroom, Aeliv slept fitfully, fever easing under Klein’s care.
Out here, on this ordinary couch in an ordinary apartment, Klein felt something he hadn’t in years.
Hope.
+1 , He didn’t have to try
When Aeliv and Evan first moved in, the walls of Klein’s apartment felt too big for their presence. The place had always been pristine—silent marble floors, glass walls overlooking the city, cold modern furniture with sharp edges. It wasn’t meant for a toddler’s laughter or the quiet hum of a single parent trying to make ends meet.
It wasn’t meant for them. At least, that’s what Aeliv thought.
He’d resisted. He didn’t want to depend on Klein again, not after being left once. He didn’t want Evan’s stability jeopardized by an alpha who didn’t know if he could stay. But when the flower shop stopped making enough, when the rent on their old apartment rose past what he could pay, the only option was here.
Klein didn’t push. He offered, Aeliv refused, they argued. Then eventually—reluctantly—Aeliv agreed.
The first few weeks had been awkward. Aeliv’s things looked small and out of place in Klein’s penthouse: a tiny mug with a chipped rim, a worn stuffed rabbit Evan carried everywhere, a few second-hand blankets that clashed with the designer leather couch.
But over time, the space changed. Evan’s drawings went up on the fridge. Aeliv’s scent filled the kitchen in the mornings, gentle and warm. Toys littered the living room sometimes, though Evan always tried to clean them up. The apartment softened around the edges, warmed up with life.
And so did Klein.
He didn’t call them a family. He didn’t try to take back what he’d lost too quickly. He learned patience.
With Aeliv, he treaded carefully. There were still nights Aeliv flinched at the sound of the front door, like Klein might disappear again. But more and more, that flinch faded into quiet acceptance. They shared more conversations, more smiles. Not healed—but healing.
With Evan, Klein learned even slower. At first, the boy barely looked at him, always sticking close to Aeliv. Then curiosity replaced fear; then cautious play; then comfort. Months passed, and Evan no longer stiffened when Klein ruffled his hair. He climbed onto the couch beside him without being asked. He laughed freely now.
And for Klein, each of those small milestones felt monumental.
He wasn’t Evan’s dad. Well not officially acknowledged by Evan. And that was okay. He’d hurt them once; he had to earn his place again, if he ever did.
But this morning was different.
It started like any other day. The soft blue of dawn filtered through the curtains, city sounds muted by glass. Aeliv stood in the kitchen, mug in hand, hair mussed, wearing one of Klein’s oversized shirts as a makeshift pajama top. The sight made something ache sweetly in Klein’s chest.
Evan shuffled in from his bedroom, still wrapped in his blanket like a cape, half-asleep. He rubbed his eyes, making a beeline for the couch.
Klein was sitting there reading the news on his tablet. He glanced up, expecting the usual groggy “Papa” directed at Aeliv.
Instead, a small mumble slipped past Evan’s lips:
“Morning… daddy.”
Klein blinked.
He froze so completely that even the tablet slid a little from his hands. Surely he’d misheard. Evan always called Aeliv papa. He never called Klein anything—sometimes “Klein,” once or twice “hey,” but never… never that.
He turned his head sharply toward Aeliv.
Aeliv was watching from the kitchen island, lips curled into the smallest of smiles as he sipped his coffee. His expression held no surprise, just quiet amusement.
“Evan?” Klein asked carefully, voice lower than usual.
The boy yawned, blinking sleepily, still cocooned in his blanket. “Good morning, papa,” he mumbled first toward Aeliv. Then, with the same lazy sweetness: “Good morning, daddy.”
Klein’s heart stuttered.
“…Did he just call me—” He leaned closer to Aeliv, whispering like he was afraid to spook the moment. “Did he just call me Daddy?”
Aeliv chuckled softly, warm steam curling around his lips. “Yeah,” he said simply. “He did.”
Klein’s breath hitched.
The rest of the morning felt surreal.
Evan climbed onto the couch beside him like always, blanket trailing. Klein set the tablet aside without thinking. The boy leaned against his side, more awake now, pointing to the window.
“It’s sunny.”
“Yeah,” Klein said softly, still dazed. “It is.”
They sat like that a while. Aeliv joined them with his coffee, sliding into the armchair, watching with that same small, secret smile.
Klein couldn’t stop glancing at Evan, couldn’t stop hearing that word echoing in his head. Daddy. He hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t expected it. That was what made it so powerful. It came from Evan, freely given.
Later, after breakfast (Klein flipped pancakes; Evan got syrup everywhere; Aeliv laughed more than he scolded), they decided to go to the park. Evan wanted to feed ducks.
The park was crowded with families. For the first time, Klein didn’t feel like an outsider watching from the edges. Evan held his hand willingly as they crossed the grass. When a stranger asked Evan who Klein was, the boy answered without hesitation:
“That’s my daddy.”
Klein almost dropped the bread crumbs.
That whole day felt like a gentle blur.
They fed ducks. Klein lifted Evan to reach branches, chasing his delighted squeals. Aeliv sat on a bench watching them, expression soft in the late morning sun.
They got ice cream. Evan smeared half of his on Klein’s shirt; Klein didn’t care.
On the way home, Evan fell asleep in Klein’s arms. His tiny head tucked into Klein’s shoulder, his breath even and warm.
And as Klein carried him up the apartment steps, he caught Aeliv looking at him.
Not with wariness. Not with guarded distance. But with something softer.
Something forgiving.
That night, after Evan was tucked into bed with his stuffed rabbit, Klein found himself standing on the balcony. The city glowed beneath him, alive and endless. Aeliv joined him, wearing a cardigan now against the evening chill.
“You looked like you were going to cry this morning,” Aeliv teased lightly, leaning on the railing.
“I almost did,” Klein admitted without shame. His voice was rougher now. “I didn’t… I never thought I’d hear him call me that. I didn’t think I deserved it.”
Aeliv was quiet for a moment. Then: “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
Klein swallowed hard, looking back into the apartment where Evan’s tiny shoes sat by the door. “I want to be better. For both of you. I know I can’t erase what I did, but… I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret letting me back in.”
Aeliv’s hand brushed his. “You already are,” he said simply.
And Klein, for once, let himself believe it.
The next morning Evan called him “daddy” again. And again the morning after. It wasn’t a one-time slip. It had stuck.
And Klein?
He’d never been happier to carry that name. Because this was the day everything shifted—not with fireworks or grand gestures, but with one soft, sleepy word.
And from then on, Klein wasn’t just an alpha trying to make amends.
He was Dad.