Chapter Text
It's been a year since Shen and Zed – split up. It's been a year, and Zed still can't say divorced, because the word feels too heavy on his tongue. About five months ago, just driving through their old neighbourhood to get Kayn to school was nauseating. He thought about just transferring Kayn to a different school, but he already took away Kayn’s dad, he didn't want to take away his friends too. So he sucked it up, drove through familiar streets that didn't belong to him anymore, and now – now he's fine.
Now, he sees the roads that lead to Shen’s house (that used to be his, too) and he doesn't feel anything except a dull weight on his chest.
He and Kayn do just fine on their own. When Shen sat Kayn and Akali down and told the two of them they had to choose who to live with, Kayn kicked and screamed and cried, until Shen hushed him down with an arm wrapped around his shoulders, and a hand on his head. Zed wished he wasn't in the same room to see that.
In the end, Kayn chose Zed – for whatever reason, Zed doesn't know. Their kids didn't get along well, they were ten and had petty rivalries, but they gave each other a long hug before they had to leave. Akali pressed her face into Kayn’s shoulder, and it was only on the car ride home – to their new home – when Zed noticed the wet stain on Kayn’s shirt.
It was a rough couple of months. Zed buried himself in work for most of it. But they're fine now.
Zed signs Kayn up for sports the first chance he gets. Baseball practice goes until 5pm, and Zed changes his work hours so he can get off in time to pick him up, now that he can't rely on Shen anymore. Shen hadn't even entertained the idea of sports, always fretting over injuries – but Shen’s not here, and Zed has full custody, so Kayn plays baseball now.
It livens him up. Makes him look the happiest Zed’s ever seen him since the split, which means it's worth the extra money Zed spends on sports equipment and tickets for games. He has the numbers of all the other dads with athlete kids (if eleven year olds even count as athletes), and they're… acquaintances. He's shared a beer with at least four of them, but he's not on a first name basis with any. They've got wives in the PTA and Zed – used to. Shen’s still in there. Kayn still has a free lunch, which means Shen’s still vouching for him.
He's as grateful as he is angry. He's glad Shen still considers Kayn his son – the same way Zed still considers Akali his daughter. But it's a rough kind of feeling, because it means Shen is good, and he doesn't even give Zed the option to paint him as a villain. Their divorce – split wasn't anything out of malice or hate, and Shen said neither of them were at fault, but Zed’s chest still feels tight when he thinks about how he couldn't even answer Shen’s question – “do you love me?”
He couldn't answer a year ago, and he definitely can't answer now.
It just sucks that Zed is doing everything he can to keep himself from falling apart (he would be drowning in alcohol, if he didn't have a son to raise), while Shen seems to be taking things just fine.
It's a year in. Zed didn't think he'd make it this far.
“Dad.”
Here's the thing: Kayn doesn't call Zed dad. That used to be reserved for Shen. Zed, to their kids, is pa, because it's less confusing that way when they used to say go ask your dad.
So it's a shock when Kayn says it, one evening when Zed picks him up from practice. He throws his gear in the backseat and climbs into the front – where he's not really supposed to be – and then he asks, “hey, dad?”
Out of habit, Zed glances around the car for Shen to answer, but all he gets is Kayn’s big eyes staring at him from the passenger seat, leaning against the console. Zed gulps down the lump in his throat, and tries to forget about Shen, who hasn't been his husband in a year and who Kayn doesn't see anymore, aside from birthdays and holidays. “Yeah, bud?”
“Can we get a dog?”
This was brought up two years ago. Kayn and Akali sat on their knees, begging Shen to let them get a puppy – promised so many things, like doing dishes, cleaning the house, and taking out the trash – and Shen stood, hands crossed over his chest, unimpressed. When reasoning with their dad didn't work, they turned to Zed, who shrugged and told them if Shen didn't allow it, neither did he. He was never big on dogs. Shen said they'd be able to get one once they were older.
And here Kayn is: older. Using his big, teary eyes to convince Zed to get him a dog – and it's working. He doesn't know how Shen managed to hold out against two pairs of puppy eyes, when Zed can't even handle one.
“You think you can handle it, buddy?”
“Uh huh. I'll do the dishes, and clean the house, and even take out the trash. And I'll take care of it, all on my own.”
Zed snickers. “Yeah?”
“Yeah! I'm eleven now. I can totally handle a dog.”
To make a few things clear: Zed decides to let Kayn have a dog because he believes his son is mature and fully capable of taking care of another living being – and not because he's weak, and he'd give Kayn anything he wants. Even though that's true, too.
That night, Zed finds himself over his kitchen counter, takeout forgotten, looking through nearby shelters and researching as much as he can about dogs. When they were younger, Kayn and Akali wanted a cute little puppy, as all kids their age did. Something small, full of energy, and not potty trained – and, yeah, Zed can see why Shen didn't want to give their hyperactive nine year olds a puppy. Kayn is, obviously, not a nine year old anymore (though, he's hardly less hyperactive) and the idea of a puppy is no longer appealing (“puppies are for kids, dad!”).
Instead, he wants –
“That one!” Kayn points to Zed’s laptop screen, where he’s scrolling through a list of available dogs for adoption. ‘That one’ is a sleek, black shepherd dog with long hair that Zed can already imagine sticking to clothes and furniture. The text below the image reads: Rhaast, adult, Belgian Shepherd.
Zed grimaces. “I'm not…”
He makes the mistake of looking over to his son, who's looking back at him with those same eyes from earlier. His bottom lip juts out in a pout, and he looks like he would cry if Zed told him no. So Zed doesn't. He drops his forehead to his hands.
“So? So?”
“Brush your teeth and go to sleep, Kayn,” Zed sighs – and before Kayn can pout even more, “I'll make a few calls. We’ll head down to the shelter on Saturday, 'Kay?”
Kayn cheers as he runs off to the bathroom. Maybe it was the split that made Zed so easy, but as he tucks Kayn into bed – and listens to Kayn tell him how he doesn't need to be tucked in anymore – he knows he can't help it. Kayn doesn't even have to beg. Zed would give him the world.
They spend the remainder of the week preparing for when Rhaast would eventually come home. It was at that point when Zed learned how expensive owning a dog would be – Kayn obviously didn't care, and Zed wasn't about to ruin his fun. By Saturday, Zed had ordered several pounds of kibble, rearranged all the furniture in the living room, and dog-proofed his entire house.
When they get home, three instead of two, Kayn stops Zed at the door and hugs him as tight as he can, tiny arms clutching at Zed’s shirt. “Thanks, dad.”
Zed ruffles his head, warmth blooming in his chest. All that money and all that time means nothing if it means he can see Kayn this happy. “Just take care of him, alright?”
Kayn nods, rapidly, before he leads Rhaast to the backyard. Leaning against the doorway watching them, Zed can't help but wonder what it would look like if they were five instead of three, if Akali was here, too – if Shen was beside him, laughing like Zed is when Rhaast nuzzles into the back of Kayn’s knees and makes him fall over. But it's been a year, and Zed has stopped wearing his wedding ring, which means he'd like to stop thinking about this ex-husband now.
To Kayn’s credit, he takes care of Rhaast the best he can (even if he doesn't deliver on his promises to do all those chores). He sets up several alarms for Rhaast’s meals, nearly cries every morning when he has to leave, and spends most of his time in the yard playing. Zed has to make an extra trip back to the house to pick Rhaast up so Kayn gets to walk him home.
Zed pauses one night. Hand gripping the sink, water still dripping from his face. If he and Shen didn't split, Kayn would've never gotten a dog. If they didn't split, Kayn wouldn't be in baseball. If they didn't split, Zed would still be at work even after 5pm, and he’d go home long after his kids went to bed. He wouldn't be wrestling Rhaast to put on a leash, so Kayn can walk him while he tells Zed about his day.
He doesn't know how he feels about it. It took a whole divorce – a split to get Zed to be a good dad.
He dries his face, and goes to bed, and decides it's not worth thinking about.