Chapter Text
Clementine climbed onto the couch carefully, her tiny hands gripping the edge of the cushion as she hoisted herself up beside Ivan’s sleeping form. He didn’t stir—just breathed slow and deep, his brow a little furrowed, one hand resting on his belly under the blanket.
She scooted close, holding her stuffed bunny tight to her chest, watching his face like she was waiting for his eyes to open.
Eliot noticed the silence and peeked around the doorway, drying his hands on a dish towel.
“Clem?” he said softly.
She didn’t look at him right away. “Why is Papa sleeping again? He was tired yesterday too.”
Eliot came over, crouching beside the couch. He reached out and brushed a bit of hair from her forehead.
“Papa’s body’s doing something that makes him a little extra tired,” he said gently. “It happens every now and then, and it makes his belly hurt. So he needs more rest until it passes.”
Clementine blinked at Ivan’s face, then turned her wide blue eyes to Eliot. “Is he sick?”
“Not the kind of sick you can catch. It’s something his body just does sometimes, and it’s totally normal for him. It doesn’t mean he’s not okay—it just means he needs us to be gentle today.”
Clementine frowned, thinking hard. “Like when I had a tummy ache?”
Eliot smiled. “Kind of, yeah. But it comes every month, and it’s just part of how Papa’s body works.”
She looked back at Ivan. “Does it make him sad too?”
Eliot’s voice went softer. “Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes it makes his heart feel a little heavy. That’s why it’s really nice when he has us here. You’re good at making him feel better.”
Clementine nodded solemnly, then gently reached over and tucked her bunny under Ivan’s arm. “He can borrow Bunny until he’s better.”
Eliot’s heart squeezed. “That’s very kind, baby.”
“Can I stay here with him?”
“Of course.” Eliot lifted her carefully, settling her so she was curled up at the edge of the couch, just close enough that her shoulder touched Ivan’s arm. She kept very still, watching Ivan sleep.
Eliot sat on the floor beside them for a moment, brushing his fingers gently through Ivan’s hair.
“We love him every day,” Eliot whispered. “But today we love him extra soft, okay?”
Clementine nodded, her voice hushed. “Extra soft.”
The first thing Ivan felt was the warmth—soft weight against his side, something small and still and steady. Then the scent of strawberries and the faintest trace of lavender.
He blinked his eyes open slowly. The light in the room had shifted, warmer now, late morning. His body still ached, but the sharpness had dulled to a manageable throb.
Clementine was nestled beside him, tucked neatly against the edge of the couch, her head resting lightly on his arm. Her bunny was tucked under his hand, where she must’ve placed it earlier. She was awake but quiet, staring at the wall with the sort of intense concentration only a three-year-old could manage.
“Hey, little bug,” Ivan murmured, his voice scratchy with sleep.
Clementine looked up quickly, her face lighting up. “Hi, Papa!”
He smiled, slow and soft. “Did you come keep me company?”
She nodded. “I brought you Bunny. ’Cause you’re hurting. Daddy said your tummy hurts every month.”
Ivan let out a breath that was half laugh, half sigh. “Yeah, he’s right.”
“Is it still hurting?”
“A little, but not as bad now.” He brushed a few curls from her forehead. “You being here helps.”
She looked very serious. “You can keep Bunny until you feel all the way better.”
Ivan’s throat tightened. He pulled her gently into a hug, ignoring the dull ache in his stomach. “Thank you, baby. That’s very special. I’ll take good care of Bunny.”
“She’s brave,” Clementine whispered against his chest. “She’s not scared of anything.”
“Just like you,” Ivan said.
Clementine looked up at him, wide-eyed. “I’m brave?”
Ivan smiled. “The bravest.”
Eliot reappeared in the doorway, holding a cup of tea and smiling at the sight of the two of them curled up on the couch.
“You’re awake,” he said softly.
“I am,” Ivan replied, his voice warm. “And I’ve been given the highest honor in the house—temporary custody of Bunny.”
Clementine giggled and nodded proudly. Eliot handed Ivan the tea and leaned down to kiss his forehead.
“You want to try some toast?” he asked.
Ivan nodded. “Yeah. Just… give me a second to hold this one a little longer.”
Eliot smiled. “Take your time. Breakfast will wait.”
Ivan looked down at Clementine, who was now gently tracing the seam of his blanket with one small finger. His heart ached—not from pain this time, but from love so big it barely fit in his chest.
Some days hurt. But some days, even in the hurting, he remembered just how deeply he was loved.
Eliots pov
Eliot leaned in the doorway, one hand still wrapped around Ivan’s tea mug, the other resting lightly against the frame. He didn’t speak right away—he didn’t want to break the quiet.
On the couch, Ivan lay curled beneath a blanket, his face softer now, the tension eased from his jaw. Clementine was tucked beside him like a missing piece, her bunny now cradled under Ivan’s hand instead of her own. They weren’t asleep, just resting, wrapped in that hush that only seems to exist on slow, healing mornings.
Eliot’s heart swelled with a quiet ache.
Ivan had been in pain all night. Not just the cramps, but the kind of weariness that sank into his bones and pulled at his self-worth. Eliot knew that weight, even if he couldn’t feel it the same way. He’d seen the way Ivan curled inward when dysphoria came creeping in, how he tried to hide when his body didn’t feel like home.
And yet—there he was, wrapped around their daughter like she was the one keeping him anchored. Or maybe it was the other way around.
Clementine looked up suddenly, sensing him, and grinned. “Daddy! Papa’s awake now!”
Ivan gave him a sleepy smile, eyes still a little heavy. “And fully in the care of your best nurse.”
Eliot chuckled and stepped forward, passing Ivan the warm mug. “You two are a sight.”
“A brave bunny, a brave girl, and a very tired man,” Ivan said, voice low.
“A very loved man,” Eliot corrected, kneeling beside the couch.
He reached up and brushed his fingers gently along Ivan’s cheek. Ivan closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into the touch.
“You’re doing okay,” Eliot whispered. “More than okay.”
Clementine sat up suddenly. “Daddy?”
“Mm?”
“Can we make pancakes later? For Papa? But the smiley face ones with blueberries?”
Eliot glanced at Ivan, who gave the faintest amused nod.
“Yeah,” Eliot said. “We can do that.”
Clementine clapped her hands and snuggled back down beside Ivan. Eliot watched her for a moment, then looked back at Ivan.
There were a lot of hard moments in life. But there were also mornings like this—mornings when pain softened, when love spoke through small hands and stuffed bunnies and tea, when everything he ever wanted fit right there in the crook of his arms.
Eliot leaned in and pressed a kiss to Ivan’s forehead, whispering just for him:
“You’re safe. You’re home. You’re mine.”