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George Russell hadn’t planned on becoming a single father at thirty. But life rarely asked for your permission when it rewrote your script. A quiet, amicable divorce had left him with full custody of two boys who were his entire world: Kimi, four years old and far too clever for his own good, and little Miles, two, with big eyes and an even bigger heart.
Most days, George juggled business meetings, school pick-ups, bedtime stories, and forgotten lunchboxes. His suits were often rumpled from wrestling Miles into his car seat. His tie loosened not for style, but because Kimi had yanked on it during a tickle fight. His inbox overflowed with emails he couldn’t quite care about when Kimi asked for just “one more story, Daddy.”
And then there was Yuki Tsunoda.
Yuki was Kimi’s Pre-K teacher — a ray of sunshine wrapped in chaotic energy. Warm, bubbly, and always just a bit frazzled, Yuki greeted each child with the same wide, genuine grin, no matter how wild the morning had been. His cardigans hung askew, pockets stuffed with stickers and tissues. His lesson plans often lived on sticky notes or napkins. Paint smudges and chalk dust adorned his sleeves like medals of honor.
He was always kneeling at a child’s level, coaxing out giggles, brushing back tears, or trying to keep up with the whirlwind energy of his little flock. And George couldn’t help noticing how Kimi’s eyes lit up around him.
---
It started with a fib so small George wouldn’t have believed it could change everything.
One afternoon, during free play, Kimi watched his friends boast about their families.
“My daddy’s a pilot!” one boy said.
“Well, my daddy’s a scientist!” chimed a girl.
Kimi puffed out his chest. His gaze flicked to Yuki, who was crouched beside him, helping untangle a jumble of blocks. Without hesitation, Kimi declared, “Mr. Tsunoda is my daddy too.”
Yuki nearly dropped the blocks.
“Really?” another child gasped, wide-eyed.
Kimi nodded solemnly. “It’s a secret, though.”
Yuki opened his mouth to correct him — but stopped. How could he shatter that hopeful look? “K-Kimi…” he began gently, but the boy had already dashed off, the story cemented.
By the next day, teachers and kids alike whispered about how lucky Kimi was, having two daddies.
Yuki, blushing furiously and flapping his hands in protest, tried to explain — but Kimi’s proud grin always stopped him short.
---
It all came to a head when George arrived early one Friday.
He found Yuki on the classroom rug, sitting crisscross with Kimi, helping build a block tower that leaned precariously. Yuki was laughing — bright, genuine, a sound that hit George square in the chest.
But then another teacher leaned over to George, beaming. “It’s so sweet, the way you and Mr. Tsunoda co-parent. Kimi’s so lucky.”
George blinked. “I — I’m sorry?”
Yuki’s head snapped up, cheeks flaming. “Oh no.”
Kimi ran over, beaming. “Daddy! Mr. Tsunoda’s my daddy too!”
George stared — then barked out a laugh that startled even himself. “Is he now?”
Yuki scrambled up. “I can explain! I didn’t — I mean, he just said it one day and I didn’t have the heart to —”
George raised his hands, still smiling. “Yuki, it’s okay. Kimi’s clearly crazy about you. And honestly?” His voice dropped. “I can’t blame him.”
Yuki froze, mouth parted, and for the first time, George noticed the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, how his laugh could soften even the hardest day.
---
What began as awkward became comfortable. George found himself lingering at pick-up, lingering in conversation. A shared coffee turned into a shared park outing. Yuki’s warm, chaotic presence folded easily into the boys’ world — helping Kimi with puzzles, reading Miles bedtime stories, laughing as Miles smeared mashed banana on his cheek.
George watched it happen, helpless and hopeful.
---
When the boys spent a weekend with their mother, George’s friends — Alex and Lando — dragged him out.
“Let’s remind you what fun looks like,” Lando teased, pushing him into a club pulsing with music.
And that’s when George saw him.
Yuki.
Not the cardigan-wearing, paint-smudged Yuki from school. This Yuki was all dark jeans hugging his hips, a fitted black tee that dipped low at the collar, hair mussed from dancing. He was radiant on the dance floor, caught up in the beat, laughing with Pierre and Liam.
George forgot how to breathe.
Their eyes met. Yuki’s mouth curved into a slow, surprised grin. He crossed the floor, cheeks flushed.
“Mr. Russell,” Yuki teased.
“Yuki,” George said, voice low. “You look… incredible.”
Yuki bit his lip, bashful but pleased. “You clean up pretty well too.”
“Dance with me?”
Yuki’s eyes sparkled. “I thought you’d never ask.”
The dance was all tension — hands brushing, hips swaying just close enough to tease. When Yuki tipped his head back, George’s fingers found his waist, steadying, savoring.
Outside, as they parted at Yuki’s car, their hands brushed.
“Soon,” Yuki promised, eyes dark with something unspoken.
===
That soon came on a quiet night. The boys were asleep upstairs, and Yuki stayed for tea and laughter.
George reached out, brushing his knuckles down Yuki’s cheek.
“May I?”
Yuki’s answer was a breathless kiss, soft at first, then deeper, full of everything they hadn’t dared say.
When they pulled apart, George grinned. “I should’ve done that ages ago.”
Yuki laughed, warm and chaotic as ever. “I was starting to wonder if you ever would.”
===
Morning brought pancakes, sticky fingers, and Kimi’s wide-eyed declaration:
“Is Mr. Tsunoda our real daddy now?”
Yuki knelt, brushing Kimi’s hair back. “Do you want that, Kimi?”
Kimi nodded fiercely.
Yuki glanced at George, who smiled, heart full.
“Then it’s settled,” George said, pulling them both close. “You’re ours, if you want to be.”
And Yuki did. He always had.
====
Their family settled into its own rhythm — chaotic and full of love. There were school runs hand in hand, Saturday morning cartoons tangled on the couch, bedtime stories with both boys snuggled between them.
And in the quiet after the boys slept, George would pull Yuki close, brushing a kiss to his temple.
“Thank you for finding us,” he’d whisper.
Yuki would smile, curling close. “Thank you for letting me stay