Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The morning sun spilled through the tall windows of Little Sprouts Kindergarten, painting the floor in patches of gold. Laughter and tiny footsteps filled the air — the kind of chaos Rafayel had come to love.

He crouched beside a little boy struggling with his shoelaces, his soft brown hair bouncing as he smiled warmly.

“Got a bit tangled up, huh? Let’s fix this together,” Rafayel said, fingers deftly tying the laces into a neat bow. “There we go, just like magic!”

The boy giggled shyly, eyes big and dark — but there was a quiet depth in them, older than most children his age.

“Thank you, Mr Qi,” he mumbled, clutching his backpack straps.

Rafayel smiled. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Noah,” the boy said simply.

Before Rafayel could say more, the sound of polished shoes against the floor drew his attention. The kind that didn’t belong in a room filled with crayons and finger paint.

He looked up — and met a pair of cold, storm-ruby eyes.

Standing at the door was a tall man in a charcoal suit, posture sharp, presence commanding enough to make the assistant teachers fumble nervously. His aura was… different — calm, distant, yet almost suffocating in quiet intensity.

“This is your teacher, Noah?” the man asked, his tone low and clipped.

Noah nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”

Rafayel blinked, caught off-guard. Daddy? Oh.

The businessman’s gaze flickered briefly to Rafayel — assessing, impassive — before he extended a hand.

“Sylus Qin,” he introduced curtly. “Noah’s father.”

Rafayel stood, brushing off the chalk dust on his jeans before taking the man’s hand with a bright grin.
“Rafayel Qi. It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Qin. Noah’s a delight — very polite too.”

Sylus nodded once, curtly. “Good. I trust the school maintains a clean and structured environment?”

Rafayel chuckled softly, a melodic sound that seemed to warm the air between them. “Of course. We keep both crayons and emotions in line here.”

For a fleeting second, Sylus’s eyes softened — just slightly. He wasn’t used to people teasing him so easily.

But Rafayel’s cheerfulness didn’t feel forced. It was natural, effortless — and strangely… comforting.

When Noah tugged his father’s sleeve, Sylus’s attention returned to his son immediately, the protective edge in his stance unmistakable.

“Alright, Noah. Be good.”

“I will, Daddy.”

As Sylus turned to leave, Rafayel found himself watching the man’s retreating figure — tall, immaculate, perfectly put-together. The kind of person who seemed to belong to a colder world, far removed from the soft colors of his own.

And yet… something in his chest stirred.

When Sylus paused by the door and said, without looking back —

“Thank you, Mr. Qi.”

— Rafayel smiled softly, unaware that this brief encounter would quietly change both their lives.

The scent of finger paint and apple juice lingered in the air as the day drew to a close. Most children had already been picked up, their laughter fading down the hallways.

Only one small figure remained — sitting on the floor near the toy shelf, clutching a half-finished paper craft shaped like a sun.

Rafayel crouched down beside him, his voice warm but soft.
“Noah, sweetheart. Your dad’s running a bit late again?”

The boy nodded, eyes fixed on his paper sun. “He’s always busy.”

Rafayel’s heart pinched at the quiet in Noah’s tone — not angry, just… resigned. The kind of maturity no six-year-old should have.

He reached out, gently smoothing the boy’s messy hair.

“You know… sometimes grown-ups get tangled in work because they want to make things better for the people they love.”

Noah looked up. “Like for me?”

Rafayel smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Exactly like that.”

A small smile flickered across Noah’s face. “Then I’ll wait. Daddy always comes back.”

Before Rafayel could reply, the familiar sound of heavy footsteps echoed in the hall — brisk, purposeful.

Sylus appeared at the doorway, looking just a little more disheveled than usual — his tie loosened, fatigue softening his sharp features.

He stopped when he saw Rafayel kneeling beside Noah, the two of them laughing quietly over something small and precious — the way Rafayel had added a smiley face to the paper sun.

For a fleeting moment, Sylus’s chest tightened with something he couldn’t name.

“Daddy!” Noah ran to him, waving his paper craft proudly. “Look! Mr Qi helped me make this!”

Sylus took the paper sun carefully, his large hand dwarfing it. “It’s… very bright,” he said, his voice gentler than usual. Then his gaze flicked toward Rafayel. “You stayed late.”

Rafayel tilted his head, cheerful as ever. “Comes with the job. Besides, I like keeping Noah company. He’s got a good imagination.”

Sylus hummed softly — noncommittal, but his eyes lingered a second too long. There was something about Rafayel’s presence — the way he smiled with his whole being — that tugged against the walls he’d built over the years.

Rafayel noticed the faint crease between Sylus’s brows. “You look exhausted, Mr. Qin,” he said lightly. “You should sit for a bit. I’ll make you some tea — nothing fancy, just the kind we give to stressed-out parents.”

Sylus blinked, clearly not used to being offered care.
“That won’t be necessary.”

But Rafayel was already walking toward the small teacher’s pantry, humming softly. The sound was bright and domestic — utterly disarming.

Noah tugged his father’s sleeve again. “Mr Qi's tea tastes nice. Sweet and warm!”

When Rafayel returned, handing him a paper cup, Sylus hesitated before accepting it. Their fingers brushed — a fleeting touch, almost electric.

Rafayel didn’t seem to notice. But Sylus did.

The warmth of the tea lingered in his hand long after he left the school that evening — and somehow, so did the image of a bright-eyed teacher with paint stains on his fingers and sunlight in his smile.

Chapter Text

Autumn had deepened.
The trees outside the kindergarten glowed amber and rust, and every morning, Rafayel arrived with a smile and a scarf far too colorful for the gray season.

He loved greeting each child at the gate — but somehow, he always noticed one car before all the others.
The sleek black sedan that arrived precisely at 8:00 a.m.

The moment Noah stepped out, Rafayel’s day felt brighter.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Rafayel chirped, crouching down to fix the little boy’s scarf. “Did you eat breakfast?”

Noah nodded eagerly. “Daddy made pancakes!”

Rafayel blinked, surprised. “Oh? Daddy can cook?”

Sylus, standing nearby, looked mildly offended. “I’m capable of simple meals.”

Rafayel laughed softly — that lilting, honey-smooth sound that made people smile even when they didn’t want to.
“I’ll believe it when I taste it.”

Sylus’s brows arched slightly. “You’re doubting me?”

“Not at all,” Rafayel said, teasingly. “I just think pancakes taste better when made with love.”

Something about the way he said love made Sylus pause — a word that didn’t belong in his vocabulary anymore.

But Rafayel had already turned his attention to Noah, guiding the boy inside with cheerful chatter about drawing stars and animals.

For the rest of the day, Sylus couldn’t shake off the sound of Rafayel’s laughter echoing in his mind — warm, alive, and too close.

That evening, when Sylus came to pick Noah up again, the classroom was almost empty. Rafayel was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside his student, helping him finish a crayon drawing of a family — a tall man, a small boy, and a bright sun above them.

There was no mother drawn. Just the two of them — and the sun smiling beside them.

Sylus hesitated at the doorway.

Rafayel looked up, his voice soft. “He’s proud of his art. Wants to show you before we pack up.”

Noah turned, holding up his paper proudly. “Daddy, look! This is us! And that’s Mr Qi— he’s the sun!”

Rafayel flushed slightly. “Noah—”

But Sylus only looked at the drawing for a long, quiet moment. Then something unreadable flickered behind his eyes — gentleness, maybe. Or longing.

He crouched beside his son. “You did well,” he murmured. “It’s… warm.”

Noah grinned. “Because Mr Qi's always warm!”

Rafayel bit his lip, embarrassed and moved all at once. “You’re going to make me blush, little star.”

When Sylus finally looked at him — really looked — Rafayel’s bright eyes met his with disarming sincerity.

No hesitation. No judgment. Just warmth.

And for the first time in a long time, Sylus realized his chest didn’t feel as heavy.

Maybe it was the sunlight slanting through the windows.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was him.

The rain had been falling since morning — steady, cold, and gray.

By afternoon, most of the children had gone home, umbrellas bobbing along the wet pavement like little mushrooms.

But Rafayel noticed Noah sitting sluggishly by the window, cheek pressed to the glass, eyes half-lidded. His usual bright energy was gone.

He knelt beside him instantly, pressing a gentle palm to the boy’s forehead.
“Oh, sweetheart… you’re burning up.”

Noah sniffled, his voice small. “I’m okay, Mr Qi.”

“No, you’re not.” Rafayel’s tone softened even further — patient, but firm. “Let’s get you to the nurse’s room, alright?”

He scooped Noah into his arms — the boy light and limp, his little fingers curling weakly into Rafayel’s shirt. Rafayel’s scent — soft soap and faint vanilla — filled the air, soothing even as Noah’s fevered breathing hitched against his shoulder.

By the time Sylus arrived — late and drenched from the rain — Rafayel was sitting beside Noah’s cot, dabbing his forehead with a cool towel.

Sylus froze at the doorway.

Rafayel looked up, smiling gently despite his worry.
“He’s okay, just a fever. I called the office, but I didn’t want to send him home without you.”

For a moment, Sylus could only look — the sight almost painfully tender.
The young teacher, hair slightly damp from the humidity, eyes full of care; Noah curled against him, small fingers gripping his sleeve as if he trusted no one else.

“Mr. Qin,” Rafayel continued softly, “he was asking for you.”

Sylus crossed the room in two long strides and crouched beside the cot. He brushed Noah’s hair from his forehead, his hand trembling just a little.

“Daddy’s here,” he murmured, his deep voice gentler than Rafayel had ever heard.

Noah stirred, half-asleep, mumbling, “Mr Qi said you’ll come. You always come.”

Sylus’s eyes softened — but when he glanced at Rafayel, something else lingered there too. Gratitude. Worry. Maybe even a flicker of guilt.

Rafayel smiled, reassuring. “He just needs rest and fluids. The nurse already checked — it’s a mild fever.”

Sylus nodded. “Thank you. I should’ve—”

“Hey,” Rafayel interrupted gently. “You’re doing your best. He knows that.”

The words struck deeper than they should have. For years, Sylus had lived under the weight of expectation — never enough, never quite right. But Rafayel said it so simply, as if the truth didn’t need permission to exist.

Noah shifted again, and Rafayel instinctively reached out to soothe him — his hand brushing Sylus’s briefly in the process.

Warmth. A spark.

The quiet thud of two heartbeats aligning for just a second.

Neither spoke.

Then Rafayel pulled back, cheeks faintly pink. “You should take him home. I’ll pack his things.”

Sylus only nodded. But before he left, he turned at the doorway — his voice quieter than the rain outside.
“Mr Qi… thank you. For staying with him.”

Rafayel smiled — that same sunshine-soft smile that could melt the coldest day.
“Always.”

And for the first time since his wife’s passing, Sylus found himself thinking —
maybe warmth wasn’t something you lose forever.

Chapter Text

It had been three days since Noah’s fever.
Rafayel couldn’t stop thinking about him — the boy’s flushed cheeks, his small hand gripping his sleeve. He told himself it was just teacherly concern.
But when the school secretary mentioned Noah was still at home recovering, he found himself asking, almost without thinking—

“Could I drop by? Just to check on him?”

The Qin residence was as imposing as its owner — a tall, modern structure of steel and glass tucked behind trimmed hedges. Elegant, quiet, and a little too immaculate.

Rafayel hesitated at the gate, balancing a paper bag of soup and a small bouquet of sunflowers. He felt oddly out of place, like color against grayscale.

When Sylus opened the door, he looked… different.
No tie, no jacket — just a loose shirt with sleeves rolled up, a few buttons undone at the collar. The image startled Rafayel for a heartbeat.

“Mr. Qi,” Sylus said, brows lifting slightly. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” Rafayel interrupted softly, holding up the bag. “Chicken soup. Homemade. I hope Noah likes it.”

Sylus’s gaze flickered to the flowers, then back to him. “And those?”

“Oh—uh, for you. Well, for the house.” Rafayel smiled sheepishly. “It felt like this place could use a bit of sunshine.”

Sylus’s lips twitched, as if suppressing a smile. “...Come in.”

Inside, the house was silent. Too silent. Everything gleamed — no toys scattered, no scent of cooking, no warmth of life.

Rafayel followed him to the living room, where Noah lay curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and half-asleep.

The moment he saw Rafayel, his face lit up. “Mr Qi!”

Rafayel hurried over, kneeling beside him. “Hey, sunshine. How are you feeling?”

“Better. Daddy made me porridge but it was icky.”

Rafayel chuckled. “Then it’s good I brought backup soup.”

Noah beamed, and Sylus quietly went to fetch a spoon and bowl from the kitchen. Watching him move — graceful, efficient, but oddly careful — Rafayel couldn’t help but feel that this man had lived too long in silence.

When Sylus returned, Rafayel was gently feeding Noah spoonfuls of soup, telling him stories in between bites — about how sunshine heals colds and how soup made with care works better than medicine.

Sylus leaned against the doorway, arms folded, just… watching.

Something in the scene made his chest ache — the soft laughter, the easy warmth, the way Rafayel fit into the space so naturally, as though this house had been waiting for someone exactly like him to make it breathe again.

After Noah dozed off, Rafayel set the bowl aside quietly. “He’ll sleep better now,” he whispered.

Sylus nodded, his voice low. “He seems to trust you more than most people.”

Rafayel smiled faintly. “Children see hearts before they see faces. He knows you love him.”

Sylus’s eyes softened — a flicker of vulnerability. “Love doesn’t always feel enough.”

Rafayel looked at him for a long moment, the silence thick but not uncomfortable.
“Sometimes,” he said gently, “it’s not about enough. It’s about being there. And you always are.”

For a brief second, their gazes held — something raw and unspoken passing between them.

Then Rafayel stood, brushing imaginary dust from his jeans. “I should get going. Let him rest.”

As he walked toward the door, Sylus spoke again — quieter this time.
“Mr Qi.”

He turned.

“...Thank you. For bringing warmth here.”

Rafayel smiled softly — sunflowers still in his arms.
“That’s what sunlight does, Mr. Qin. It finds its way in.”

And when he left, the house no longer felt as cold.

The sky was painted in soft lavender that afternoon — the hour between work and rest, when shadows stretch long and the city hums quietly.

Classes had ended. The laughter and chatter of children faded one by one until the school grounds felt still.
Rafayel was tidying up the playroom — stacking picture books, wiping paint-stained tables, humming faintly to himself.

He didn’t notice Sylus at first.

The man stood by the door, still in his suit but without his usual edge. His tie was loose, his hair a little ruffled by the breeze — less the cold businessman and more a man caught in a quiet moment he hadn’t meant to linger in.

“Mr. Qin,” Rafayel greeted with his usual brightness once he noticed him. “You’re early today.”

Sylus’s gaze flicked briefly toward the window, where Noah was still playing quietly with blocks.

“Meeting ended ahead of schedule,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “I thought he’d like the surprise.”

Rafayel smiled. “He’ll love it. You should’ve seen his face yesterday — he drew you both again. Said his daddy’s the ‘strong mountain,’ and he’s the ‘little fox.’”

Sylus’s lips curved slightly — the closest thing to a smile Rafayel had ever seen on him.

“Mountain, hm? That’s… quite the metaphor.”

“Well, you do stand tall and serious,” Rafayel teased lightly. “But even mountains have sunlight on them sometimes.”

Sylus’s gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat too long — the air suddenly still. Rafayel didn’t seem to notice; he was busy rearranging picture books, his voice light as always.

“How’s Noah doing at home?”

“Better,” Sylus said. “He keeps asking when you’ll visit again.”

“That’s sweet,” Rafayel said softly. “Tell him the sunlight visits the fox and mountain often — just in different ways.”

There was something in his tone — gentle, playful, yet threaded with genuine affection.

Sylus didn’t quite know what to do with it. He’d spent years keeping his world small, structured, predictable. But this man — this bright, kind, omega — kept slipping past his defenses like sunlight through glass.

When Noah ran over and hugged Rafayel’s leg, babbling about showing his new drawing to “Mr Qi and Daddy together,” Sylus’s heart clenched unexpectedly.

The image was simple — the three of them beneath a sky full of stars. Rafayel had a little sun above his head again.

Noah tugged at Sylus’s sleeve. “Daddy, can Mr Qi come to dinner one day?”

Rafayel laughed, embarrassed. “Oh, Noah, that’s not—”

Sylus looked down at his son, then at Rafayel. His voice came quiet but sure. “…That’s not a bad idea.”

Rafayel blinked. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

Sylus’s gaze softened. “As a thank you. For taking care of him. And for the soup.”

The way he said it — calm, deliberate, yet almost shy — made Rafayel’s pulse skip.

“Dinner, then,” Rafayel said, smiling despite the fluster in his chest. “I’ll bring dessert.”

“Good,” Sylus replied, and for the first time, there was warmth — unmistakable, lingering — in his voice.

Chapter Text

The smell of jasmine tea filled the cozy kitchen.
Rain tapped gently on the windows, and a warm lamp glow softened every corner of the small apartment.

Rafayel sat at the table, chin resting on his palms, eyes unfocused. A faint smile lingered on his lips — one that his aunt, Aunt Talia, noticed instantly as she poured the tea.

“Alright, sunshine,” she said with a knowing look, setting the teapot down. “You’ve been sighing and smiling for the past ten minutes. Out with it.”

Rafayel laughed, flustered. “You make it sound like I’m hiding a scandal.”

“You might be,” she teased. “You only make that face when there’s a man involved.”

Rafayel groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Auntie—”

She chuckled. “So? Who is he?”

Rafayel hesitated, stirring his tea just to buy time. The clink of the spoon was too loud in the quiet room.
“He’s… Noah’s dad. One of my student’s parents.”

Aunt Talia’s brows lifted slightly. “The little boy you always talk about?”

He nodded, smiling softly. “Yeah. He’s sweet — shy, but brave. His dad’s… different, though. Stoic. Kind of serious, but… there’s something gentle under all that control. You know the type?”

“Ah,” Aunt Talia hummed, eyes gleaming. “The emotionally constipated ones.”

Rafayel nearly choked on his tea. “Auntie!”

She laughed. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m just saying — those men always need someone to teach them how to breathe again.”

Rafayel’s voice softened. “He’s a widower. His wife passed away after Noah was born.”

Her teasing expression faded into quiet empathy. “So he’s been living with grief for a long time.”

Rafayel nodded, gaze lowering to his cup. “You can see it in his eyes. He carries it so carefully, like it might break if he lets it go. But when he looks at his son… there’s so much love.”

Aunt Talia studied him for a moment, her tone gentle. “And when he looks at you?”

Rafayel’s cheeks flushed instantly. “Auntie— I don’t—”

But she only smiled knowingly, sipping her tea. “You don’t have to know yet. Just be yourself, sweetheart. If you go to dinner, don’t try to impress him. Just bring your warmth. The world’s already cold enough.”

Rafayel nodded, heart fluttering despite his best efforts to calm it.
“I was planning to bring dessert,” he murmured, fiddling with the spoon. “Apple tarts. Noah likes them.”

“Then bring extra,” Aunt Talia said with a wink. “For his father, too. Even stoic men need sweetness sometimes.”

Rafayel laughed softly — but when he glanced at the rain outside, he caught his reflection in the window: a smile full of nerves and quiet hope.

He didn’t want to expect anything.
But the thought of sharing a meal — of being welcomed into that silent house again — filled him with a warmth that scared him a little.

The night air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth.

Rafayel stood outside the Qin residence again — this time holding a small box of homemade apple tarts wrapped with a yellow ribbon. His pulse thrummed nervously beneath his scarf.

He’d told himself it was just dinner.
A simple thank-you between a parent and a teacher.

But his heart… wasn’t listening.

The door opened before he could knock twice.
Sylus stood there, casual but still sharp in a dark sweater and slacks — no tie this time, no barrier of formality. Just him.

“Good evening, Mr. Qi.”

Rafayel smiled faintly. “You can call me Rafayel, you know.”

Sylus’s gaze lingered a moment, then softened almost imperceptibly. “Then you should call me Sylus.”

That simple exchange — names without titles — shifted something small but significant between them.

Inside, the house felt different tonight. A soft aroma of herbs and roasted chicken filled the air. The lights were dimmer, warmer. A single candle flickered on the table.

Rafayel set down the dessert box and chuckled. “You cooked again? Should I be nervous?”

Sylus exhaled — a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh. “You can be the judge of that.”

Noah’s delighted giggles broke the tension as he bounded over, hugging Rafayel’s legs.
“Teacher Rafe! Daddy made dinner! I helped stir the soup!”

“Well then,” Rafayel said, smiling, “this is going to be the best meal ever.”

They ate together — not fancy, but warm.
Rafayel told silly stories about kindergarten antics, and Noah laughed so hard that soup nearly spilled. Sylus didn’t laugh outright, but the small curve of his lips stayed for most of the evening.

When Noah grew sleepy halfway through dessert, Rafayel helped him to bed, humming a lullaby under his breath — the kind of tender, absentminded melody that made Sylus pause in the doorway, listening.

When Rafayel returned to the dining room, Sylus was standing by the window, a glass of water in hand, gaze lost somewhere beyond the rain-streaked glass.

“You’re good with him,” Sylus said quietly.

Rafayel smiled, folding his hands in front of him. “Noah’s easy to love.”

Sylus turned slightly, his profile outlined by the warm light. “That’s not what I meant.”

Rafayel blinked, caught off-guard. “Oh?”

“You make him… happy,” Sylus said after a pause. “And it’s not something I see often. You have a way of making a room feel lighter.”

The words landed heavier than Sylus intended. There was no flirtation in them — only sincerity.

Rafayel’s voice was soft. “Maybe because I know what it’s like to live without light.”

Sylus’s gaze shifted to him fully then — something unreadable in his eyes. “Your parents?”

Rafayel nodded faintly. “Car crash. I was little. My aunt raised me.”

Sylus didn’t speak for a while. Then, quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Rafayel shook his head gently. “Don’t be. Loss doesn’t erase love — it just… changes its shape.”

For a moment, the air between them stilled.
Rain tapped gently against the glass; the candle flickered between them, a small heartbeat of warmth.

Sylus’s voice, when he finally spoke again, was lower. “You speak about love like it’s something alive.”

Rafayel smiled, his tone playful again — though his eyes were softer. “Maybe it is. It finds strange ways to survive.”

Their gazes held — a quiet, unspoken understanding threading between them.

Neither of them moved closer.
Neither needed to.

The silence said enough:
that something was shifting — slow, fragile, but undeniable.

When Rafayel finally stood to leave, Sylus walked him to the door.

“Thank you for dinner,” Rafayel said. “And for letting me share the warmth here tonight.”

Sylus hesitated — then said quietly, almost too low to catch,
“You’re the one who brought it in.”

Rafayel’s heart stuttered. But before he could reply, Sylus had already opened the door, his expression calm again.

“Goodnight, Rafayel.”

“Goodnight, Sylus.”

The door closed softly behind him, but as Rafayel walked away under the soft drizzle, he smiled — because for the first time, he knew:

the mountain was starting to thaw.

Chapter Text

Rafayel’s POV

The morning sun peeked shyly through the curtains, laying pale gold across Rafayel’s pillow.

He blinked awake slowly, still wrapped in the fuzzy warmth of half-dreams — laughter, candlelight, Noah’s sleepy smile… and Sylus’s voice saying, “You’re the one who brought it in.”

His heart did a strange flip.

He sat up, hair tousled, hands covering his flushed face. “Oh no. No, no, no,” he muttered to himself. “Don’t you dare start blushing over your student’s father.”

But it was useless. The memory was too vivid — the warmth in Sylus’s tone, the way he’d looked under the dim kitchen light, no longer the untouchable businessman but… a man who’d let himself feel something.

Rafayel sighed and swung his legs off the bed, shuffling to the kitchen where Aunt Talia was already making breakfast.

“You came home humming last night,” she said without turning. “That’s either the sign of a good meal or a dangerous man.”

Rafayel groaned. “Auntie, please.”

“So,” she said, voice teasing but kind, “how did dinner with the emotionally constipated businessman go?”

He nearly dropped his mug. “You remembered that?”

“I remember everything, dear. So?”

Rafayel tried to play it casual, stirring sugar into his tea. “It was nice. Simple. Noah’s adorable as ever. Sylus—”

He stopped, realizing he’d said the man’s first name. It rolled too naturally off his tongue.

Aunt Talia noticed instantly. “Ah. Sylus, is it?”

He gave up pretending, cheeks pink. “He’s… not what I expected. Still serious, but… he listens. And when he looks at you, it’s like he’s actually seeing.”

She smiled softly. “That’s rare, sunshine. Just remember — seeing and holding are two different things.”

Rafayel exhaled slowly, watching the steam rise from his cup. “I know. I just—” He paused, searching for the words. “When I’m around him, I don’t feel small. Or out of place. It’s quiet, but warm.”

Aunt Talia reached over, squeezing his hand gently. “Then let it be what it is. Don’t rush to name it. Sometimes the best stories begin when no one’s trying to write them.”

Rafayel smiled, a quiet ache blooming in his chest. “Yeah. Maybe.”

But as he looked out the window, sunlight spilling across the floor, he couldn’t stop thinking about that moment — Sylus’s soft voice, his steady gaze.

You’re the one who brought it in.

And for the first time in years, Rafayel caught himself wishing for something more than friendship.

Sylus’s POV

The morning light crept through the blinds of Sylus’s office.

Papers sat untouched on his desk. Coffee cooled by his hand.

He’d been staring at the same report for ten minutes — reading the same line over and over, not absorbing a word.

Every time he tried, his mind betrayed him — conjuring the image of a man with sunlight in his smile and paint stains on his fingers.

Rafayel.

The sound of that name still lingered somewhere between his ribs.

It wasn’t supposed to matter. It was dinner. Gratitude. Nothing more.

But the house had felt different when Rafayel left.

Quieter, somehow — emptier in a way Sylus didn’t want to admit.

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.

It had been years since someone had sat at his table and made it feel alive. Since laughter had filled the corners of that cold house. Since anyone had looked at him — not as the man who owned everything, but as the man who’d lost something.

And Rafayel had done all that without even trying.

A soft knock broke his thoughts. His secretary stepped in, holding a folder. “Sir? You’ve been staring at the same document for a while. Should I reschedule your afternoon meeting?”

Sylus straightened slightly, his usual composure snapping back like armor. “No. That won’t be necessary.”

But when she left, he exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers against his temple.

He didn’t have time for this. Feelings were inconvenient. Dangerous. Fragile.

And yet… when he glanced at the photo Noah had drawn — still pinned to his office wall — he noticed something he hadn’t before.

Three figures under a sky full of stars.

A tall man, a small boy, and the sun smiling between them.

For the first time in years, Sylus didn’t feel alone in that picture.

He leaned back again, a small, unguarded smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“Damn it, Rafayel,” he murmured under his breath. “What are you doing to me?”

The night was still when Sylus stepped into Noah’s room, the faint hum of the city muted behind rain-slicked windows.

Noah was sitting cross-legged on his bed, tablet in hand, giggling softly at something.

“Noah,” Sylus said, arms crossed loosely, “it’s past your bedtime.”

“Just one more minute, Daddy! I’m talking to Teacher Rafe!”

Sylus blinked. “Rafayel?”

Before he could say more, Noah turned the tablet toward him. Rafayel’s face filled the screen — bright, soft, smiling as always. His hair was messy from what looked like a day of painting, and there was a little smudge of blue on his cheek.

“Good evening, Mr. Qin,” Rafayel said cheerfully, voice warm even through the speaker. “Sorry for keeping Noah up — he wanted to show me the drawing he did today.”

Sylus’s eyes flicked to the paper in Noah’s lap — a clumsy crayon sketch of the three of them standing under a giant sun.

Noah grinned proudly. “Teacher Rafe said it looks like a family picture!”

Rafayel froze for a second, realizing what he’d just said.

Sylus noticed — the tiny hitch in his voice, the faint pink in his cheeks.

“I-I mean— you two just looked so happy together,” Rafayel stammered. “Noah’s drawings always glow when he draws people he loves.”

Sylus’s lips twitched slightly. “I see.”

There was a beat of silence. The kind that wasn’t awkward, but full.

The kind that hummed with something unsaid.

Rafayel cleared his throat softly. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell him goodnight. He told me he misses show-and-tell days.”

Noah yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Goodnight, Teacher Rafe…”

“Goodnight, little star,” Rafayel said gently. “Dream of all your favorite colors.”

When the call ended, Sylus set the tablet down — but didn’t leave right away.

He just stood there, watching his son’s sleepy breathing, the soft rise and fall of his chest.

The room felt… warm again.

But that warmth came with something he didn’t expect — a subtle ache that wouldn’t leave.

He walked quietly to his study afterward, poured himself a glass of water, and sat in the dark.

The echo of Rafayel’s voice lingered in his ears — soft, caring, unguarded.

He’d never known how comforting it could be, just to hear someone mean what they said.

He stared at the half-empty glass on his desk for a long time, his thoughts unusually loud.

Rafayel wasn’t like anyone else who’d ever stepped into his life.

He didn’t demand anything. Didn’t force him to speak. He simply existed — brightly, freely — as though he’d never been taught to fear being soft.

And somehow, that softness had found its way through every wall Sylus built.

He remembered the way Rafayel’s eyes had looked at dinner. The gentle understanding when he’d mentioned his late wife. There was no pity there. Only warmth.

He exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Get a hold of yourself,” he muttered. “You’re not a boy.”

But when he closed his eyes, he saw Rafayel’s smile again — and the faint blush when Noah had called them a family.

For the first time in years, Sylus realized how much he missed being seen like that.

Not as an executive. Not as a widower.

Just as a man trying to live again.

Meanwhile, across the city, Rafayel lay awake too — staring at the ceiling, his heart still fluttering from that brief call.

Noah’s sleepy voice echoed in his mind, but so did Sylus’s — quiet, deep, steady.

He smiled to himself, pulling the blanket close.

Neither of them said it out loud,
but they both knew it:
this wasn’t just kindness anymore.

It was the start of something they were both afraid to name.

Chapter Text

The weekend dawned with a soft drizzle, the kind that painted the city in silver and blurred the edges of everything.

Rafayel had promised Noah an art day — one of those messy, colorful afternoons full of paper scraps, laughter, and too much glitter.

When Sylus opened the door that morning, he found Rafayel standing there with a tote bag stuffed full of paints and brushes, his hair damp from the rain, his grin as radiant as sunlight through fog.

“Good morning!” Rafayel chirped. “Permission to turn your dining table into an art battlefield?”

Sylus raised an eyebrow. “As long as you clean the battlefield afterward.”

“Deal,” Rafayel said, stepping inside and shaking off droplets from his umbrella. The faint scent of citrus shampoo followed him in, soft and distracting.

Noah ran up to greet him, his little arms wrapping tight around Rafayel’s leg.
“Teacher Rafe! You brought the sparkly paint!”

“Of course I did,” Rafayel said, crouching to his level. “Only for my favorite artist.”

Sylus found himself watching the scene longer than he meant to — Rafayel laughing, his hair falling into his eyes, the way Noah’s joy seemed to orbit him naturally.

It wasn’t just that Rafayel was good with children.
It was that he made happiness look easy.
Something Sylus hadn’t remembered how to do in a long, long time.

Hours passed in a soft blur of watercolor and laughter.

Sylus tried to focus on his laptop at the corner of the room, but his attention kept drifting to the pair at the table.

Rafayel had rolled up his sleeves, revealing slender wrists splattered with paint. Noah was concentrating fiercely on his drawing while Rafayel offered quiet encouragements — his tone gentle, melodic, patient.

At one point, Rafayel caught Sylus glancing over and smiled teasingly.
“Would you like to join, Sylus?”

“I don’t paint.”

“That’s exactly why you should,” Rafayel replied, eyes gleaming. “Perfectionists make the best beginners.”

Sylus exhaled — not quite a sigh, not quite amusement — and walked over despite himself.
He sat beside Noah, who pushed a blank paper toward him eagerly.

“Draw, Daddy!”

Rafayel placed a brush in his hand, their fingers brushing briefly.
“Just try,” he said softly. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Something in that tone — warm, unjudging — made Sylus’s chest tighten.
He dipped the brush into blue paint and made a simple line. Then another.

“See?” Rafayel smiled. “That’s the start of a sky.”

“Is that what you see?” Sylus murmured.

Rafayel looked at him. “That’s what it could be.”

Their gazes met for a moment too long — quiet, charged, unspoken.
Noah’s voice broke the spell as he proudly announced, “Look! It’s us again!”

He held up his drawing — another three figures under a rainbow this time.
Rafayel laughed softly. “You really like drawing me, huh?”

“’Cause you make Daddy smile,” Noah said simply.

Sylus’s brush froze midair.

Rafayel’s expression softened, color blooming across his cheeks. “Do I?”

For once, Sylus didn’t deflect. He didn’t know how.
He only said, quietly, “You do.”

When Rafayel left that evening, the apartment felt too quiet.

Sylus found himself standing at the window, watching him walk down the street with his umbrella — small, soft, and bright against the rain.

He didn’t know when the thought first came,
but it lingered long after Rafayel’s figure disappeared:

He belongs here.

The morning sun was sharp, almost too bright after days of rain.

Rafayel stood by the playground gates, clipboard in hand, greeting parents as they arrived for the monthly open class.

The children were buzzing with excitement.
The parents — not so much.
Open days always came with too many opinions and too little kindness.

But Rafayel smiled anyway.
That was his gift — the ability to stay kind even when the world turned cold.

It was halfway through the morning when the tension began.

Mrs. Hargreaves — the mother of a particularly difficult student — approached him with her arms crossed, her expression sharp.

“Mr. Qi,” she began, her tone brittle, “I’ve been meaning to speak with you about my son’s progress. You seem to think playtime and finger-painting are teaching methods.”

Rafayel blinked, trying to stay calm. “Mrs. Hargreaves, creativity helps children express themselves. Your son—”

“My son needs structure, not messy play,” she snapped. “Maybe you’d understand if you had children of your own.”

The words hit like a slap.
Soft, but cruel.

Rafayel’s smile faltered — just a fraction — and he lowered his gaze. “I do my best to care for all of them as if they were mine.”

“Intentions don’t replace experience,” she said coldly. “Some people just aren’t suited for responsibility. You’re too—”

“Enough.”

The voice was deep, steady, and unmistakable.

Both of them turned.

Sylus stood a few feet away, his posture calm but his eyes glacial.

He hadn’t planned to be there — a last-minute change in his schedule had allowed him to drop by for Noah’s performance. But now, watching Rafayel’s expression tighten under that woman’s words, something inside him snapped before logic could stop it.

Mrs. Hargreaves straightened, caught off guard. “Mr. Qin— I didn’t mean—”

“You did,” Sylus said quietly, his tone controlled but dangerous. “And it was out of line.”

“I was just giving feedback—”

“Critique the method, not the man.” He stepped closer, eyes never leaving hers.

“Mr. Qi is one of the few teachers I’ve seen who treats every child with genuine care. Including my son. Perhaps that’s something worth learning before you question someone else’s worth.”

The silence that followed was heavy — the kind that turns heads across a room.
Mrs. Hargreaves stammered, color rising in her cheeks, then turned sharply and walked away.

Rafayel stood frozen for a moment, his heart pounding so hard it hurt.

“Sylus…” he breathed. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” Sylus said, his tone softening immediately. “But I wanted to.”

Rafayel blinked at him — those simple words, said so calmly, felt heavier than anything else that morning.

When the event ended, the two of them found a quiet moment behind the playground. The sound of children’s laughter faded, leaving only the rustle of leaves and the faint hum of city traffic.

Rafayel leaned against the fence, exhaling shakily. “You shouldn’t have done that, you know. She’ll just complain to the principal again.”

“Let her,” Sylus said, arms crossed but voice low. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Rafayel looked up at him — really looked — and smiled faintly. “You always sound so certain.”

Sylus’s gaze softened, his tone quieter now. “Only about this.”

A pause. A heartbeat.

“About what?”

“That you don’t deserve to be treated like you’re less than what you are.”

Rafayel’s chest tightened. “You shouldn’t say things like that, Sylus.”

“Why not?”

“Because… I’ll start to believe you.”

Sylus’s expression shifted — the faintest flicker of vulnerability breaking through the steel.

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” he murmured.

Rafayel’s breath caught. The world seemed to still around them, air heavy with something fragile and unspoken.

Then Noah’s voice echoed from across the field — “Teacher Rafe! Daddy!” — and the moment shattered, leaving warmth and ache tangled together.

Rafayel smiled and called back, “Coming, star!”

As Noah ran toward them, Sylus exhaled slowly, forcing his heartbeat to steady. But when he looked at Rafayel again — eyes bright, smile soft despite the hurt — he realized something he could no longer deny:

He wasn’t protecting a teacher.
He was protecting someone he couldn’t bear to lose.

Chapter Text

The evening light stretched long and golden through the small kitchen window of Aunt Talia’s house.

Rafayel sat at the table, stirring his tea absentmindedly, though the steam had already faded.

His aunt glanced up from her crossword, watching him with quiet amusement. “That’s the third cup you’ve let go cold, sunshine.”

He smiled faintly, not meeting her eyes. “Guess I’m distracted.”

“Hmm.” She set her pen down. “Work again?”

He hesitated. “Sort of.”

She leaned back, arms crossed. “The sort of that wears a tie and looks like trouble?”

Rafayel groaned softly, covering his face. “You don’t miss a thing, do you?”

“Not when you come home looking like you’ve had your heart stepped on and lifted at the same time,” she said. “Tell me what happened.”

He sighed, fingers tracing the rim of the mug. “There was… an incident today. One of the parents said some pretty harsh things. I’m used to it, but—”

“But?”

“But Sylus was there.” His voice lowered without meaning to, his heart beating faster just saying the name. “He… stepped in.”

Aunt Talia raised an eyebrow. “Stepped in how?”

“He defended me. In front of everyone. It wasn’t— it wasn’t just polite, Auntie. It was… personal.”

He finally looked up, eyes uncertain. “He looked angry. Really angry. Like it actually hurt him to hear her talk to me that way.”

Aunt Talia’s expression softened. “And that frightened you?”

“Yes,” Rafayel whispered. “Because I liked it.”

He let out a shaky laugh, pressing a hand to his chest. “It’s ridiculous. He’s— he’s older, he’s Noah’s father, he’s still grieving his wife, and I’m—”

“Someone who’s allowed to feel,” she said gently.

Rafayel swallowed, eyes glassy. “It’s not supposed to happen like this. I didn’t mean to— I just wanted to help Noah smile. And now…”

“Now?”

“Now he feels like a part of my day I can’t stop thinking about.”

The words hung in the air, fragile and trembling.

Aunt Talia reached out, brushing a hand through his hair like she used to when he was small. “Sweetheart, hearts don’t care about rules. They only care about warmth.”

Rafayel gave a small, helpless laugh. “I don’t even know if he feels the same.”

“Maybe not yet,” she said softly. “But I’ve seen men like him before. They live behind walls until someone knocks gently enough for them to remember what light feels like.”

He blinked, tears pricking his lashes. “You think I could be that light?”

Her voice was kind, knowing. “I think you already are.”

Rafayel looked down at his hands — paint-stained, trembling, too full of feeling — and whispered,

“Then I’ll keep shining. Even if he never sees it.”

Sylus sat alone in his office long after sunset.

The city glittered below, its noise distant, like another world.

He’d told himself he was staying late for work — the merger papers, the quarterly reports — but none of it held his attention.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Rafayel’s face from that morning.

The way his smile had faltered when that parent insulted him.

The quiet courage when he tried to stay calm.

The hurt he’d hidden behind soft words.

And then Sylus remembered his own voice — sharp, protective, unrestrained.

He’d spoken before thinking.

He never did that.

Not since his wife.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly, staring at the city lights through glass.

It should’ve been simple. Rafayel was Noah’s teacher.

A good man, kind, gentle, bright.

Someone to appreciate from a respectful distance.

But every time Rafayel smiled — every time he laughed, or hummed, or looked at Noah with that fierce tenderness — something inside Sylus ached.

He didn’t understand it at first.

He thought it was gratitude. Admiration.

But now, he wasn’t so sure.

Because when he’d seen Rafayel flinch under that woman’s words, something primal in him had risen — a need to shield, to defend, to make sure no one ever looked at Rafayel that way again.

That wasn’t admiration.

That was possession.

Sylus’s hand tightened around his glass.

The thought terrified him.

He wasn’t supposed to want again — not after everything he’d lost.

But Rafayel wasn’t demanding or reckless.

He was patient.

He moved through Sylus’s guarded world like sunlight through glass — gentle, steady, unstoppable.

And now, Sylus found himself standing at the edge of something dangerous.

He’d built his life around control, and Rafayel was quietly undoing it piece by piece — not with seduction, but with kindness.

He ran a hand through his hair, breathing out slowly. “You’re crossing a line,” he muttered to himself.

But when he finally left the office, walking home through the cool night air, he caught himself looking up at the faint light in Rafayel’s apartment window across the street.

Just a single warm glow in the dark.

And for the first time in years, Sylus thought — maybe crossing that line didn’t feel wrong at all.

Chapter Text

The rain had stopped hours ago, but the streets still glistened under the faint amber glow of streetlights.

Rafayel was in the middle of folding laundry when a knock came at his door — soft, careful, almost uncertain.

He frowned, glancing at the clock. 9:47 p.m.

When he opened the door, surprise flickered across his face.

Sylus stood there — dressed down in a dark coat, hair slightly damp, the faintest trace of exhaustion softening his usual composure.

“Sylus?” Rafayel said, half-concerned, half-teasing. “This is the part where I ask if you’ve come for a midnight parent-teacher conference.”

Sylus’s lips curved faintly. “Something like that.”

He hesitated, as if reconsidering, then said, “I was nearby. Thought I’d… drop by. About Noah.”

Rafayel stepped aside, gesturing him in. “Come in. You’ll catch a chill standing out there.”

The apartment was small but warm — faintly lit, scented with chamomile and paint. A half-finished canvas leaned against the wall, colors blooming in abstract softness.

Sylus’s gaze lingered on it before settling on Rafayel, who poured tea with quiet ease.

“You said you wanted to talk about Noah?” Rafayel asked, handing him a mug.

Sylus accepted it, fingers brushing Rafayel’s briefly — a small, electric touch that neither acknowledged.

“Yes,” he said after a pause. “He’s been… happier lately. More confident.”

Rafayel smiled, leaning against the counter. “He’s learning to trust himself. That’s all him, not me.”

“No,” Sylus said softly. “It’s you.”

Rafayel looked up — startled by the certainty in his tone.

Sylus continued, voice low. “You make people believe they can be more than they are. My son, my staff, even me.”

“That’s… a lot of credit for someone who just teaches finger painting,” Rafayel said with a small laugh.

“It’s not,” Sylus replied simply. “You have a way of making things gentle again. I didn’t think I needed that until—”
He stopped, his voice trailing off.

Rafayel’s heart stuttered. “Until?”

Sylus looked down at the mug, watching steam curl upward. “Until you started smiling at my son like he mattered more than his father’s shadow.”

The silence that followed was soft, aching.

Rafayel swallowed. “Sylus… you don’t have to thank me.”

“I’m not,” he said, lifting his gaze to meet Rafayel’s. “I’m just trying to understand why it feels harder to leave every time I see you.”

Rafayel’s breath caught — the air between them thick, fragile.

The world outside seemed to fade — the hum of cars, the ticking clock, everything but this quiet space filled with something unnamed.

Finally, Rafayel whispered, “Maybe some people aren’t meant to stay strangers.”

Sylus’s expression shifted — pain, longing, something dangerously close to tenderness.

But he didn’t move closer. He only said softly, “Goodnight, Rafayel,” and left before either of them could say anything more.

When the door closed, Rafayel leaned against it, heart trembling.

It wasn’t a confession.

But it was the closest thing to one they’d ever had.

It happened three days later.

Rafayel didn’t show up at school.
He didn’t message. Didn’t answer calls.

By noon, Sylus had already rearranged his schedule — a fact his assistant didn’t dare question — and was standing outside Rafayel’s apartment door, knocking firmly.

No answer.

He frowned, then knocked again. “Rafayel?”

After a moment, a faint sound came from inside — the soft shuffle of feet, then the click of the door unlocking.

Rafayel stood there, pale and bleary-eyed, wrapped in a loose sweater. His voice was hoarse. “Sylus? You shouldn’t be here—”

“You’re sick,” Sylus said flatly. “You should be resting.”

“I’m fine,” Rafayel lied weakly, trying to smile.

The next second, he swayed — and Sylus caught him without thinking.

For a man so careful with boundaries, the feel of Rafayel’s weight against him shattered something. His scent, warm and faintly sweet, filled the space between them.

“You’re burning up,” Sylus muttered, steadying him. “Bed. Now.”

Rafayel tried to protest, but Sylus’s tone left no room for argument. He guided him gently to the couch, pulled a blanket around his shoulders, and went to fill a glass of water.

When he came back, Rafayel was half-asleep, hair messy, cheeks flushed.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Rafayel mumbled. “You have work.”

Sylus crouched beside him. “You’re not a burden, Rafayel.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them.
He didn’t even realize how much he meant them until he saw Rafayel’s lashes flutter open, confusion and warmth flickering in his fever-dazed eyes.

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” Rafayel murmured faintly.

Sylus’s throat tightened. “Then they were wrong.”

Rafayel’s lips curved into the smallest, tired smile. “You really are impossible.”

“And you,” Sylus said quietly, brushing a stray hair from his face without thinking, “are terrible at taking care of yourself.”

His hand lingered a moment too long — and Rafayel’s eyes softened.

The silence filled with the hum of something unspoken, tender and dangerous.

When Rafayel finally drifted to sleep, Sylus stayed beside him, watching his breathing even out. He told himself he was just making sure he was alright.

But the truth settled quietly between them —
this wasn’t obligation anymore.

It was care, real and raw, from a man who had forgotten how to give it.

And as the night deepened, Sylus realized he wasn’t afraid of the feeling anymore.
Only of how much it already meant.

Chapter Text

Rafayel woke to the faint scent of coffee and the quiet rustle of paper.

For a moment, he thought he was dreaming — the room too peaceful, too still.
Then he blinked, and there he was.

Sylus sat beside the couch, jacket folded neatly over the chair, sleeves rolled up. He was scrolling through his phone with one hand and holding a cup in the other — his usual calm, yet his eyes looked softer, gentler somehow.

“...Morning,” Rafayel murmured, voice rough from sleep.

Sylus looked up immediately. “You’re awake.”

His tone was low, controlled — but the relief that slipped through it didn’t go unnoticed.

Rafayel tried to sit up. “You stayed?”

Sylus nodded once. “You had a fever all night. I wasn’t going to leave you alone.”

A flutter of warmth spread in Rafayel’s chest. “You could’ve called someone. My aunt, at least.”

“I did,” Sylus said. “She told me to make sure you drink soup and don’t argue with anyone.”

Rafayel laughed weakly. “That sounds like her.”

He tried to push the blanket off, but Sylus stopped him gently, fingers brushing his wrist — steady, grounding.
“You’re still warm,” he said. “Stay put.”

Rafayel’s breath caught. There was nothing demanding in his voice — only quiet care.
And somehow that was more dangerous.

“I didn’t mean for you to—”

“You didn’t ask,” Sylus interrupted softly. “I wanted to.”

The words hung there — simple, but heavy.

Rafayel met his gaze. “You’re going to make it very hard not to fall for you when you say things like that.”

Sylus froze — a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Then, after a moment, he exhaled. “You should eat before your medicine.”

Rafayel smiled faintly. “Deflecting. Very alpha of you.”

Sylus ignored that, but the corner of his mouth twitched — a hint of amusement breaking through.

He handed Rafayel a bowl of porridge, carefully reheated. The sight of the powerful CEO sitting on his floor, sleeves rolled, coaxing him to eat — it was absurdly tender.

Rafayel took a small bite. “You’re a good caretaker, Sylus.”

Sylus’s eyes softened. “You make it easy.”

And for a moment, under the pale morning light, everything felt suspended —
just them, the warmth, the quiet hum of something neither could name yet.

When Sylus finally left hours later, Rafayel watched him go with a smile that ached at the edges.

It wasn’t just gratitude anymore.
It was hope.

The next day at the office, Sylus was quieter than usual.

He went through meetings, contracts, and calls with mechanical precision — yet his mind kept drifting back to the sight of Rafayel asleep on that couch, breathing softly, his hand tucked under his chin.

He caught himself smiling once — and immediately stopped.

That was when his assistant, Clara, walked in with a knowing look.
“Rough night?”

“Why?” Sylus asked, not looking up.

“You’re smiling at the financial reports. That’s never a good sign.”

He cleared his throat, straightening the papers. “Focus on the quarterly summary.”

Clara didn’t move. “Right. And you definitely didn’t spend the night taking care of a certain kindergarten teacher, huh?”

Sylus froze. “Excuse me?”

She smirked. “You think Noah doesn’t tell stories? He said you made soup for ‘Teacher Rafe’ and didn’t come home till morning.”

Sylus’s jaw tightened. “Noah talks too much.”

Clara only laughed. “And you care too much.”

He didn’t reply. He didn’t need to — the silence said everything.

That evening, Sylus returned home to find Noah playing with a new drawing on the floor.
It was another family picture — this time, three figures instead of two.

Sylus knelt beside him. “Who’s this?”

Noah grinned. “Teacher Rafe! He’s part of our family now.”

Something in Sylus’s chest twisted. He looked at the picture — the little figures hand in hand under a sky of glittering stars.

He said quietly, “You really like him, don’t you?”

Noah nodded. “’Cause you do too.”

Sylus looked away, throat tight.

Later that night, he stood by the window, watching the city lights flicker below.

He told himself it was just gratitude — respect, admiration, whatever word made it sound less dangerous.

But deep down, he knew.

This wasn’t something he could reason with anymore.
Rafayel had slipped past every guard he’d built —
and Sylus didn’t know if he wanted to stop him.

Chapter Text

Sylus wasn’t sure when it started — the instinct to notice the smallest things about Rafayel.

The way he hummed while locking the classroom door.
The habit of tilting his head when listening to a child.
The way his eyes softened at kindness, like he wasn’t used to it.

He told himself it was observation. A businessman’s habit.
But observation shouldn’t make his chest feel warm.

It began that Monday.
Rafayel was juggling an armful of supplies — boxes of paints and a stack of storybooks — when Sylus appeared at the kindergarten gate.

“Need help?”

Rafayel blinked, startled. “Sylus? What are you doing here?”

“Picking Noah up.”

“You’re forty minutes early,” Rafayel said, laughing.

Sylus shrugged. “Traffic was lighter.”

Before Rafayel could protest, Sylus took the boxes from his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand brushed against Rafayel’s — firm, brief, grounding.

Rafayel looked up, amused. “You know, most CEOs spend their lunch hour in meetings, not carrying paint for teachers.”

Sylus’s lips curved slightly. “Maybe most CEOs don’t know the right teachers.”

Rafayel flushed, turning away to hide his smile.

It didn’t stop there.

Some days, Sylus would appear with coffee — always the right order, always at the exact moment Rafayel needed it.
Other times, he’d wait after school to drive him home when it rained, claiming Noah insisted.

Rafayel never argued, but every time Sylus’s car door opened for him, every time their eyes met in the reflection of the rain-dappled window, something inside him softened more.

He noticed how Sylus’s hands lingered a second longer when handing him a drink, how his voice gentled when speaking his name.
How he listened — truly listened — even to the smallest, silliest details about Rafayel’s day.

And when Rafayel once fell asleep in the car, tired after a long school event, Sylus didn’t wake him.
He just sat there in the quiet, watching the city lights blur past the windshield, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

He didn’t know what to call it — this tenderness that grew each day.
But he knew it wasn’t temporary.

Because caring for Rafayel no longer felt like a choice.
It felt like home.

Rafayel had always believed love was something bright — something loud and full of laughter.

But with Sylus, it was different.
It was quiet. Steady. Like standing in sunlight you didn’t notice until you missed its warmth.

He began to see it everywhere — in the coffee cup waiting by the staffroom door, the umbrella handed to him before he even realized it was raining, the way Sylus always parked close enough to walk him safely across the street.

Small things. Thoughtful things.
The kind that said I see you without words.

One evening, while tidying the classroom, Rafayel found a small lunchbox on his desk. Inside was a simple meal — pasta, still warm — and a note written in precise handwriting.

You forget to eat when you’re tired. Don’t make me remind you in person. — S

 

Rafayel smiled, tracing the edge of the paper. His heart gave a small, traitorous flutter.

“Don’t fall for him,” he whispered to himself. “You’ll only make it harder.”

But it was already too late.

That night, Rafayel sat by his window, watching the city lights shimmer. He thought about Sylus’s rare smiles, the warmth in his voice when he spoke to Noah, the way his hands were steady but gentle when he’d caught him that day he almost tripped.

It wasn’t grand gestures or dramatic words.
It was everything in between.

He rested his head on his knees and smiled softly.

Maybe love didn’t always arrive with fireworks.
Sometimes, it came with coffee cups, soft glances, and a man who waited quietly at your door just to make sure you were safe.

And somewhere between all those quiet moments,
Rafayel realized —
he was already his.

Chapter Text

The week started like any other — laughter in the classroom, children’s chatter, the scent of paint and paper.

But beneath the calm, something was off.

It began as a whisper.

Then a sideways glance.

Then a full conversation that fell silent the moment Rafayel entered the staffroom.

He smiled anyway, pretending not to notice.

He’d dealt with worse — orphanhood taught him how to hold his head high even when people stared.

But this… hurt differently.

Later that afternoon, Clara came by with Noah to drop off a forgotten jacket. She was kind, but the tension in her smile said she’d heard too.

“People are talking,” she admitted quietly once Noah ran off to play. “They think you and Mr. Qin are… involved.”

Rafayel’s heart sank. “That’s not true.”

“I know. But they’ll say it anyway. You’re an omega, he’s an alpha — it’s all the excuse they need.”

Rafayel’s fingers tightened around the edge of his desk.

He’d always been careful — never too close, never unprofessional.

But it didn’t matter. The world always noticed what it wanted to see.

“I’ll talk to him,” Rafayel said finally, forcing a smile. “We’ll handle it quietly.”

Clara hesitated. “Mr Qi, people can be cruel. Don’t let them make you feel small.”

He nodded, but the ache lingered.

By the time Sylus arrived to pick up Noah, Rafayel could barely meet his eyes.

“Everything alright?” Sylus asked, sensing the change immediately.

“Of course,” Rafayel lied. “Just a long day.”

Sylus studied him — sharp, silent, too perceptive. But when Rafayel refused to elaborate, he let it go.

Until the next day.

Sylus overheard it himself — a pair of parents outside the classroom, whispering.

“It’s unprofessional, don’t you think? An omega spending so much time with a single alpha?”

“And with the child involved too. Poor boy.”

The words burned through his restraint like acid.

By the time he stepped forward, his expression was unreadable — cold, measured. But his voice was sharp as glass.

“Is there a problem with my son’s teacher?”

The parents froze. “Mr. Qin— we didn’t mean—”

“Then don’t,” he said curtly. “If you have concerns, bring them to me directly. Otherwise, keep my family and Mr. Rafayel out of your gossip.”

They stammered apologies and left quickly.

Sylus stood there for a long moment, jaw tight, breath controlled — but only barely.

He didn’t understand why the anger felt personal.

Why hearing Rafayel’s name spoken with judgment made something inside him snap.

He only knew one thing —
he would not let anyone make Rafayel feel small again.

That evening, he found Rafayel sitting alone in the empty classroom, tidying paint jars that didn’t need tidying.

“You heard,” Rafayel said quietly without looking up.

“I did,” Sylus replied.

“I can handle it, Sylus.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

Rafayel looked at him then — tired eyes, soft smile. “That’s the world, isn’t it? Alphas protect, omegas endure.”

Sylus’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Not this time.”

Something in the way he said it — fierce, quiet, absolute — made Rafayel’s throat tighten.
But before he could speak, Sylus added, “Go home, Rafayel. I’ll take care of this.”

Rafayel hesitated, wanting to argue — but the exhaustion won.
He nodded, murmuring, “You can’t fight everything for me.”

Sylus’s answer was simple.
“Watch me.”

For days, Sylus kept his composure — in public, in meetings, even around Noah.
But the silence from Rafayel hollowed him out.

Rafayel had started avoiding him. No morning coffee, no shared rides. Just polite distance — professional smiles where warmth used to be.

At first, Sylus told himself it was for the best.
Then one night, he found himself outside Rafayel’s building again — no plan, no reason, just there.

When Rafayel opened the door, surprise flickered in his eyes. “Sylus?”

“I needed to talk.”

“About?”

He stepped inside before he could lose his nerve. “Why are you avoiding me?”

Rafayel froze. “You know why.”

“Because of gossip?” Sylus said sharply. “You think I care what they say?”

“It’s not just about you,” Rafayel snapped, voice trembling. “I have a job. A reputation. People already see omegas as—” He stopped himself, biting back tears. “You don’t understand.”

Sylus’s expression cracked — anger melting into hurt.
“Then make me understand.”

Rafayel looked up at him, eyes wet. “Because I can’t afford to want you the way I do.”

Silence.
Raw. Fragile. Unavoidable.

Sylus’s breath caught, his control unraveling in slow, deliberate inches.
He took a step closer, voice low. “You think I haven’t tried to stop? I see you everywhere, Rafayel. Every smile, every quiet word you say to Noah, every damn time you look at me like I’m worth forgiving.”

Rafayel’s pulse raced. “Sylus—”

“I’m trying not to ruin this for you,” Sylus said, almost pleading now. “But I can’t stand watching you pretend none of it matters.”

Rafayel’s eyes shimmered. “It matters too much.”

Their words collided like the air before a storm — charged, trembling, full of something neither dared touch.

Then Sylus took a slow step back, breaking the moment with visible effort.
“If I stay, I’ll say something I can’t take back.”

Rafayel whispered, “Then go.”

Sylus hesitated, eyes full of everything he couldn’t say. Then he left — and the sound of the door closing felt like a promise breaking.

Chapter Text

Morning came without warmth.
Rafayel woke to the echo of a door closing in his head — that soft, final sound from last night.

He moved through the day automatically: wash, dress, pack.
The world felt smaller somehow, like all its color had drained with Sylus’s voice.

At school, he smiled as always. He laughed at the children’s jokes, tied Noah’s shoelaces, read stories with a steady tone. But every time he looked up, he expected to see Sylus at the door, waiting with that unreadable calm.

He never came.

That should have made it easier. It didn’t.

That evening, his aunt called.
“You sound tired, sweetheart.”

Rafayel hesitated. “Just work.”

“Or a certain Alpha businessman?” she teased gently.

He laughed weakly. “It’s complicated.”

“Love usually is. But don’t shrink yourself for other people’s noise, Rafe. If someone sees you, really sees you, that’s rare.”

After she hung up, Rafayel sat by the window with his tea.
Outside, the city lights blurred like watercolors.
He thought of Sylus’s hands, the quiet strength in them, the way his voice softened only for him and Noah.

He wanted to hate him for leaving.
He wanted to forget the warmth.
Instead, he whispered into the glass, “You matter too much.”

The words fogged and faded, but they were true.

Sylus hadn’t slept properly in days.
The office felt suffocating; every corner reminded him of restraint.

He’d thought walking away would protect Rafayel — that distance would make things right. Instead, all it did was make the silence unbearable.

Noah noticed first. “Daddy, why don’t we see Teacher Rafe anymore?”

Sylus’s throat tightened. “He’s busy.”

“But you look sad when he’s not here.”

Children never lied.

That night, Sylus drove aimlessly until he found himself near Rafayel’s apartment again. He sat there for a long time, hands gripping the steering wheel, heart pounding with the same quiet fury he used to feel before a big business deal — except this wasn’t about winning.

It was about not losing him.

He replayed the look on Rafayel’s face — the trembling honesty, the words I can’t afford to want you.

What kind of man made someone feel like loving him was a risk?

The thought broke him.

He stepped out of the car before he could change his mind. The city air was cool against his skin, the kind that smelled like rain and endings.

When Rafayel opened the door this time, he didn’t look surprised — only tired.

Sylus didn’t wait for permission.
“I told myself I’d stay away,” he began quietly. “But every hour without you feels wrong.”

Rafayel’s breath hitched.

“I know what they’re saying,” Sylus continued, voice steady. “Let them talk. Let them think what they want. But don’t you dare believe for a second that you’re less because of it.”

He took a step closer.
“I wanted to protect you from the noise, but I ended up becoming another thing that hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Rafayel’s eyes glistened. “Sylus…”

“I don’t know what happens next,” he said, softer now. “But I can’t keep pretending I don’t care.”

The words hung between them — fragile, real, unpolished.

For the first time, Sylus looked uncertain, almost afraid.
And Rafayel realized that behind all that control, this man had been breaking too.

Chapter Text

The night air was still between them — heavy with everything they hadn’t said, everything they’d been too afraid to want.

Rafayel stood there in the doorway, fingers curled around the frame.

For the first time, Sylus looked uncertain — the kind of uncertain that comes when a man who’s built his life on control finally admits he’s lost it.

Rafayel’s voice broke the silence first.
“You can’t just come here and say that, Sylus.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “But I had to.”

“Why now?”

He hesitated, then met his gaze.
“Because I realized the silence was worse than the gossip. Worse than the fear. I can handle being judged. I can’t handle not seeing you.”

Rafayel’s throat tightened. “You shouldn’t say things like that unless you mean them.”

“I’ve never meant anything more.”

Something in him cracked — the walls he’d built around himself, the fear of wanting too much. He stepped closer, slowly, as if afraid to scare him away.

Rafayel didn’t move.
He just looked at him — really looked — and saw the exhaustion under the suit, the sincerity in his eyes, the quiet ache of a man who’d spent years pretending he didn’t need warmth.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Sylus admitted, voice low. “I don’t know what love looks like anymore. But when I’m with you… it feels like I could learn.”

Rafayel’s breath hitched. The words were simple, but they hit deep — like sunlight through a storm cloud.

“You’re not supposed to say things that beautiful,” Rafayel whispered. “You’ll ruin me.”

Sylus almost smiled. “Maybe we’ll ruin each other.”

He reached out — not to pull, not to claim — but to touch. Just his fingers brushing Rafayel’s cheek, tentative and reverent.

Rafayel closed his eyes, leaning into it. “You’re sure about this?”

“I’ve never been surer of anything,” Sylus said. “But I’ll move as slow as you need.”

That did it — the soft, trembling permission that broke the last of Rafayel’s resistance. He stepped forward, resting his forehead against Sylus’s chest.

The steady rhythm of his heartbeat answered everything words couldn’t.

They stayed like that — no promises, no plans — just quiet truth between them.

Outside, the night stretched endless and tender.
Inside, two people who had spent years being careful finally let themselves be seen.

It wasn’t fireworks or fanfare.
It was something smaller — and maybe that’s what made it real.

Something that stays.

The first thing Rafayel noticed was the quiet.

Not the kind that came from emptiness — but the kind that hummed softly, steady, like the world had exhaled at last.

Sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting soft gold over the living room. He was still in his sweatshirt from last night, curled on the couch. Sylus sat at the other end — jacket folded neatly beside him, head resting against the backrest, eyes closed.

It hit Rafayel then: he stayed.

He hadn’t planned to. They hadn’t planned anything at all. Yet there he was, the cold businessman whose every movement used to feel deliberate, sleeping in his small, cluttered apartment with one arm draped over his lap like it belonged there.

Rafayel smiled softly.

He got up carefully, making tea — jasmine, because it always reminded him of quiet mornings with his aunt. The kettle whistled low, and that was enough to stir Sylus awake.

“Morning,” Rafayel said quietly.

Sylus blinked, the faintest trace of surprise softening into a smile. “You’re up early.”

“Teacher habits,” Rafayel teased. “Tea?”

Sylus nodded. He looked around the small kitchen — pastel mugs, children’s drawings pinned to the fridge, an old photo of Rafayel and his aunt laughing together. “This feels… different from what I’m used to.”

Rafayel handed him a mug. “Different good, or different terrifying?”

He thought for a moment. “Different peaceful.”

That made Rafayel laugh — that warm, breathy sound that made Sylus’s chest loosen.

For a few minutes, they sat quietly at the table. The city outside buzzed to life, but inside, it felt like they’d carved out a pocket of stillness.

Then Sylus spoke, his voice low.
“I keep thinking about what you said last night. About not knowing if I was sure.”

Rafayel’s fingers tightened around his cup.

Sylus looked up, meeting his eyes. “I am sure. But I also know I’ve been… distant. And if I’m going to be here, really here, I want to do it right.”

Rafayel blinked. “Sylus…”

“I don’t want to be another ghost in your life,” he said quietly. “You’ve lost enough people already.”

Something in Rafayel stilled. That kind of understanding — quiet, not forced — was new. He’d spent so long being the one who comforted others. It was strange and beautiful to be seen like that.

He reached out, covering Sylus’s hand with his own. “Then stay. Learn with me. We’ll mess up, but… we’ll figure it out.”

Sylus’s lips twitched into the smallest, honest smile. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” Rafayel admitted. “But easy’s boring.”

They laughed — softly, together this time.

Later that day, Rafayel’s aunt dropped by unannounced, as she always did.
She froze at the sight of Sylus sitting on the couch, Noah’s little dinosaur plush in his hand.

“Oh,” she said, one brow arched. “So this is him.”

Rafayel nearly choked. “Auntie—”

Sylus stood immediately, composed but awkward in the small space. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Her eyes softened. “Likewise. I’ve heard… very little, but enough.”

Then she smiled — that knowing kind of smile that said I’m watching you, but I’m glad he’s happy.

Rafayel’s cheeks burned. “Auntie, please—”

She patted his shoulder and turned to leave. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Carry on, lovebirds.”

Sylus coughed into his hand. Rafayel covered his face.

But when their eyes met again, they both laughed — freely, for once.

That night, as Rafayel walked Sylus to the door, neither said goodbye.

“Tomorrow?” Rafayel asked softly.

Sylus nodded. “Tomorrow.”

And this time, when the door closed, it didn’t sound like an ending.
It sounded like the beginning of something gentle — something steady — something that, finally, might stay.

Chapter Text

Saturday mornings at the kindergarten were always a little chaotic — tiny shoes squeaking, laughter bouncing off walls, paper flowers taped everywhere.
But today was special: Family Day.

Rafayel had organized it weeks ago — a small fair with games and snacks for the children and their parents. He hadn’t expected Sylus to show up.

So when he looked up from the registration table and saw a familiar tall figure walking in, one hand holding Noah’s and the other carrying a tray of neatly arranged fruit cups, Rafayel froze.

Noah spotted him first.
“Teacher Rafe!”

Rafayel’s heart softened instantly. “Hey, buddy!”

The boy ran into his arms, giggling. Rafayel scooped him up, spinning once before setting him down. When he looked up again, Sylus was watching — not with the reserved air he usually carried, but with a kind of quiet fondness that warmed the edges of his serious expression.

“You came,” Rafayel said, trying not to sound too pleased.

Sylus handed him the tray. “Noah insisted. And I thought… it’d be good to see you outside the apartment.”

Rafayel smiled. “I’ll take that as progress.”

“Careful,” Sylus murmured. “You’ll start thinking I enjoy this.”

Rafayel’s grin widened. “Don’t worry. I already do.”

As the morning went on, the three of them naturally fell into rhythm.
Sylus, surprisingly, was good with the kids — awkward at first, but patient. He knelt beside them to help with tiny puzzles, his expensive watch catching the sunlight as he offered quiet encouragement.

Rafayel watched him from across the room, a small ache blooming in his chest. It wasn’t about attraction anymore — not just that. It was the simple beauty of seeing him belong somewhere warm.

When it was time for the outdoor games, Noah tugged both their hands. “You have to play the balloon race together!”

“Together?” Sylus blinked. “That doesn’t sound fair.”

Rafayel laughed. “Rules are rules.”

They lined up, a balloon pressed between their backs. The whistle blew — and chaos followed.

Rafayel’s laughter came in bursts as they tried to shuffle forward without dropping it. Sylus’s usually serious face broke into something rare and radiant when they nearly stumbled and caught each other by instinct.

By the time they reached the finish line — breathless, victorious, and surrounded by cheering kids — Sylus was laughing for real.
It was the kind of sound Rafayel wanted to hear again and again.

Later, when the event ended and parents began to leave, Sylus helped clean up without being asked. He rolled up his sleeves, wiped tables, and carried boxes like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When the last child left, Rafayel leaned against the doorway, smiling softly. “You know,” he said, “I think the kids adore you.”

Sylus glanced over his shoulder. “I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use. They used me as a jungle gym.”

Rafayel laughed. “That means they trust you.”

He hesitated, then added, “Thank you for coming. You didn’t have to, but… it meant a lot.”

Sylus’s gaze softened. “I wanted to.”

They stood there, quiet for a moment.
Noah was asleep in the backseat of Sylus’s car, the city fading into twilight around them.

“I forgot what days like this felt like,” Sylus said suddenly.

“Messy?” Rafayel teased.

“Alive,” Sylus replied. “Warm.”

Rafayel’s breath caught — because he heard what Sylus didn’t say. That this warmth scared him, that he’d been cold for too long.

He reached out, brushing his thumb along Sylus’s sleeve. “You’ll get used to it.”

Sylus’s lips curved faintly. “If you’re there, maybe.”

The words were simple, but they lingered — like the echo of sunlight through the fading day.

That night, when Rafayel closed up the classroom, he found a small note tucked under a crayon box.
Noah’s handwriting was wobbly, letters uneven:

“Teacher Rafe, thank you for making Daddy smile again.”

Rafayel pressed the note to his chest, eyes stinging.

For the first time, it didn’t feel like he was just part of someone else’s story.
He was helping write it.

The night after Family Day was unusually calm.
Noah had fallen asleep early, exhausted from laughter and too much cotton candy.
The house felt softer somehow — the kind of quiet that came not from emptiness, but from belonging.

Rafayel sat on the couch, legs tucked under him, a steaming mug of cocoa in his hands. Sylus was beside him, jacket off, tie loose, eyes half-closed as he leaned back.

Neither spoke for a long time. They didn’t need to.

“You know,” Rafayel said finally, his voice quiet, “you surprised me today.”

Sylus opened one eye. “By not running away from a room full of toddlers?”

Rafayel chuckled. “That, and the fact that you actually smiled. Twice.”

“Three times,” Sylus corrected, and the corner of Rafayel’s mouth curved.

“You were counting?”

“Only because you were.”

Rafayel’s laugh came out soft and genuine, the kind that filled small spaces with warmth.

A beat of silence passed, then Sylus spoke again — quieter this time.
“Noah hasn’t laughed like that in a long time.”

Rafayel turned to him. “He’s a wonderful kid.”

“He is,” Sylus said, eyes distant. “Sometimes I forget how strong he’s had to be.”

Rafayel hesitated, then asked softly, “Do you still think about her? Noah’s mom?”

Sylus’s expression flickered — not pain, exactly, but something more fragile. “Every day. Not because I can’t move on, but because I’m afraid of what it means if I do.”

Rafayel listened, quiet and steady.

“She was… kind,” Sylus continued. “Not like me. She brought light into everything. After she passed, I promised myself I’d keep things controlled — predictable. It felt safer that way.”

“And then I came along,” Rafayel murmured.

Sylus’s gaze lifted, meeting his. “And then you came along.”

There was no accusation in his tone, only quiet wonder — like he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

“You reminded me what it feels like to laugh without guilt,” Sylus said. “To want something again.”

Rafayel’s chest tightened. “You make it sound like I did something big.”

“You did,” Sylus said simply. “You walked into my life and didn’t flinch.”

Rafayel blinked, the words hitting deeper than he expected.

“Most people see the business, the control, the way I keep everything precise,” Sylus went on. “But you… you saw me when I didn’t know if I wanted to be seen.”

Rafayel swallowed hard. “That’s all I ever wanted—to be seen too.”

Something shifted between them then — not a spark, not a rush, but a steady warmth that filled the silence like a heartbeat.

Sylus reached out, his fingers brushing Rafayel’s hand. “Can I?” he asked softly.

Rafayel nodded.

Their hands fit together easily, naturally, like the space had always been waiting.

Rafayel looked down, smiling faintly. “You’re gentler than people think.”

“Only with people who matter,” Sylus murmured.

The air felt different now — slower, deeper.

“I’m scared,” Rafayel admitted quietly.

“So am I,” Sylus replied. “But maybe that’s a good sign.”

They sat like that for a while — hands joined, hearts cautious but open. The rain began to fall softly outside, tapping against the windows like a lullaby.

When Rafayel finally leaned against Sylus’s shoulder, he didn’t pull away.

For the first time, neither of them felt the need to guard themselves.

And in the quiet hours between midnight and dawn, something fragile and beautiful settled — not passion, not confession — but peace.

Chapter Text

Morning sunlight spilled across the living room, catching in the curls of steam rising from the coffee cups on the table.

Rafayel was still in his oversized T-shirt, hair a little messy, glasses perched crookedly on his nose as he flipped pancakes.

Sylus sat at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, reading emails with one hand and pouring juice with the other.

It was… ordinary.
And somehow, that was what made it feel extraordinary.

“Do you always wake up this early?” Sylus asked without looking up from his phone.

“Habit,” Rafayel said. “Kids don’t wait for breakfast. Neither does my Aunt.”

Sylus hummed, half-listening, half-watching. The way Rafayel moved — bright, unhurried — filled the room with something he hadn’t realized he’d missed: life.

Rafayel flipped another pancake, then handed a plate over. “Try it. I put extra vanilla this time.”

Sylus took a bite and blinked. “You’re trying to ruin other breakfasts for me, aren’t you?”

Rafayel grinned. “It’s part of my charm.”

“You’re too confident for a kindergarten teacher.”

“And you’re too serious for a man eating pancakes shaped like cats.”

Sylus looked down. Indeed — one had little ears. “You did this on purpose.”

“Of course,” Rafayel said, beaming. “You need more cute in your diet.”

Sylus laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

The soft, teasing banter filled the space easily. It wasn’t romantic — not yet — but it was comfortable.
Rafayel wasn’t walking on eggshells around him anymore, and Sylus wasn’t afraid to breathe.

Noah came padding out in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes.
“Daddy? Teacher Rafe?”

Rafayel turned. “Morning, sunshine. Pancakes are ready!”

Noah grinned sleepily. “Cat pancakes?”

“The only kind worth having,” Rafayel said, sliding one onto his plate.

Sylus watched the two of them — the gentle ease, the laughter, the way Noah looked at Rafayel like he hung the moon. Something settled deep in his chest then, a quiet realization:
This—this warmth, this laughter—felt like home.

Later that morning, after dishes and cartoons, Rafayel found himself sitting on the balcony with Sylus. The city stretched below, washed in gold.

“You look more relaxed than usual,” Rafayel said softly.

Sylus’s gaze was on Noah inside, laughing at a cartoon. “He’s happy. That’s rare these days.”

Rafayel nodded, resting his chin on his knee. “He loves you, you know.”

“I love him too,” Sylus said simply. “He’s… all I have.”

Rafayel looked at him for a long moment. “You have more than you think.”

Sylus turned to him then, eyes steady but softer than before. “Do I?”

Rafayel smiled faintly. “You will, if you let yourself.”

The air between them shifted — gentle, knowing. Neither spoke again for a while. They just sat together, the sound of Noah’s laughter echoing faintly from inside, and for once, that was enough.

Something in Sylus’s heart loosened. Maybe for the first time in years.

The rest of the day passed quietly: Rafayel helping Noah with his craft project, Sylus fixing a loose shelf, the kind of domestic rhythm that made the apartment smell like coffee and contentment.

When Rafayel finally left that evening, Sylus found himself lingering by the door long after it closed — the faint scent of jasmine tea still in the air.

He realized then:
he didn’t just like having Rafayel around.
He needed him.

It was late again — the kind of late where the world outside softened into a hush.

Rafayel had dropped by to return Noah’s forgotten jacket, but somehow ended up staying. One cup of tea turned into two, one story into laughter, and laughter into the kind of silence that carried meaning.

Noah had long gone to bed. The apartment lights were dimmed, the only glow coming from the streetlights through the balcony window.

Sylus sat beside Rafayel on the couch, tie loosened, sleeves rolled. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze — steady, quiet, searching.

“You really didn’t have to bring it tonight,” Sylus said. His voice was low, warm. “The jacket could’ve waited until morning.”

Rafayel smiled softly. “You know me. I can’t rest if I think someone’s cold.”

“Always worrying about others,” Sylus murmured. “Does anyone worry about you?”

Rafayel’s smile faltered. “Sometimes. My aunt, the kids… You, maybe.”

Sylus turned to him, brows lifting slightly. “Maybe?”

“Well,” Rafayel teased, “you don’t exactly say it.”

“I don’t need to,” Sylus said quietly.

Rafayel blinked. The words hung between them, heavier than they should’ve been.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Rafayel could hear his own heartbeat — could feel the pull of something unspoken, the warmth of Sylus’s presence so close it was almost dizzying.

“Rafayel,” Sylus said finally, his tone softer now, almost uncertain. “When I first met you, I didn’t understand why you unsettled me.”

Rafayel’s breath caught. “Unsettled?”

“You were light,” Sylus continued. “I didn’t know how to handle it. I was used to order. Control. But you…”
He hesitated, searching for the right words.
“You made everything feel.”

Rafayel swallowed. “Is that a bad thing?”

Sylus shook his head slowly. “No. It’s terrifying.”

That made Rafayel smile faintly. “Terrifying isn’t always bad.”

“No,” Sylus admitted, his gaze flickering down to Rafayel’s lips, then back to his eyes. “Sometimes it means you’re alive.”

The air grew heavy — not uncomfortable, but charged.

Rafayel’s fingers twitched on his lap. He could feel the warmth of Sylus’s hand beside his, so close their pinkies almost brushed.

“You keep looking at me like that,” Rafayel whispered, “and I won’t know what to do.”

Sylus’s voice dropped, rough with emotion. “Then let me show you.”

He leaned forward — slow, cautious, as though giving Rafayel every chance to pull away.
Rafayel didn’t.

When their lips met, it wasn’t a spark — it was a release.

Gentle. Deep. Honest.
The kind of kiss that says I’ve been waiting to exhale.

Rafayel’s hand found the back of Sylus’s neck, fingers trembling. Sylus’s other hand settled lightly on Rafayel’s waist, careful, reverent — as if holding something precious.

When they finally parted, Rafayel’s eyes were glassy with emotion.

“Was that terrifying too?” he whispered.

Sylus smiled — a real, quiet smile that softened his entire face. “No,” he murmured. “That was peace.”

Rafayel laughed softly, brushing his thumb along Sylus’s jaw. “Good. Because I don’t want to run anymore.”

“Then stay,” Sylus said simply.

And in that moment — surrounded by the hum of the sleeping city, the faint warmth of tea gone cold, and the echo of their joined heartbeats — staying felt like the easiest promise in the world.

Chapter Text

Rafayel woke first.

It took him a moment to remember where he was — the couch, the faint morning light spilling through the curtains, the steady weight of an arm draped over his waist.

Sylus.

The memory of the night before came back in soft, vivid pieces — the whispered words, the hesitant touch, the warmth that had stayed long after the kiss ended.

He smiled to himself. The world outside could wait.

The clock said 7:04 a.m. — early, but not too early.

He turned slightly, careful not to wake Sylus. The older man’s expression was peaceful in a way Rafayel had never seen before; the usual tension had melted away, replaced by something quiet and human.

Rafayel brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, then froze halfway through the motion. Too much? he wondered.

Sylus stirred. “You’re staring,” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep.

Rafayel flushed. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were,” Sylus said, opening one eye. There was no reprimand in his tone — just amusement.

Rafayel huffed. “Well, excuse me for appreciating the view.”

Sylus’s lips curved faintly. “You’re impossible in the morning.”

“Good morning to you too.”

They shared a small laugh, the kind that made the air feel lighter.

A knock on the bedroom door broke the quiet.

“Daddy? Teacher Rafe?” Noah’s voice piped through. “Can I have pancakes?”

Rafayel’s eyes widened; Sylus stifled a laugh.

“Pancakes, huh?” Rafayel whispered. “He’s your son.”

“And yet you’re the one who makes the best ones,” Sylus countered.

“Traitor,” Rafayel whispered, smiling despite himself.

He slipped from the couch, straightening his shirt. Sylus followed a moment later, and together they moved into the small kitchen — an unspoken rhythm already forming between them.

Rafayel whisked batter. Sylus made coffee. Noah sat on a stool, swinging his legs, chattering about his dream involving dinosaurs and flying pancakes.

“Flying pancakes?” Rafayel teased. “I’ll have to see if I can make that happen.”

“You can do anything, Teacher Rafe!” Noah declared, beaming.

Sylus met Rafayel’s gaze over the coffee pot — a quiet, knowing smile passing between them.

This — the soft chaos, the smell of coffee and syrup, the sound of Noah’s laughter — felt like home.
Not perfect, not planned, but real.

After breakfast, Noah ran off to his room to play, leaving the two of them alone again.

Sylus leaned against the counter, coffee mug in hand. “You’re good with him.”

Rafayel smiled softly. “He’s easy to love.”

“So are you.”

Rafayel’s heart skipped. “You shouldn’t say things like that so casually.”

Sylus tilted his head. “Who said I was being casual?”

For a moment, everything stilled. Then Rafayel laughed — quiet, nervous, but full of light.

“Careful,” he said. “You’ll make me think you’re serious.”

Sylus set down his mug and stepped closer, his tone gentle. “I am.”

Rafayel’s breath caught. The space between them was small now, familiar. But instead of kissing him again, Sylus just rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s take it slow,” he murmured. “I don’t want to rush what already feels right.”

Rafayel looked up at him — eyes warm, steady. “I’d like that.”

And in that quiet kitchen, with sunlight spilling in and the smell of pancakes lingering in the air, it didn’t feel like a beginning or an ending.

It felt like something finally right.

That night, after Rafayel went home, Sylus found Noah’s new drawing on the fridge.

It was a crayon picture of three stick figures: one tall, one small, one smiling brightly between them.
Above it, Noah had written in crooked letters:

“My family.”

Sylus stood there for a long time, looking at it — a faint smile tugging at his lips, a warmth spreading deep in his chest.

He didn’t correct it.

Because maybe, for the first time, it was true.

The next weekend came with lazy sunshine and the smell of coffee.

Rafayel had promised to take Noah to the park, and Sylus, predictably, insisted on tagging along “for safety reasons.”
Rafayel didn’t miss the faint pink on the alpha’s ears when he said that.

Noah darted ahead on the playground, his laughter carrying through the crisp morning air.
Rafayel sat on the park bench, scarf tucked around his neck, sipping from a paper cup.

Beside him, Sylus looked… relaxed. Almost content.
He wasn’t checking his phone, wasn’t thinking about meetings — just watching Noah and occasionally glancing at Rafayel with that quiet fondness he probably didn’t even realize was showing.

Rafayel noticed every glance. Every one of them.

“Do you always come here?” Sylus asked after a while.

“Sometimes. The kids at my kindergarten love this park,” Rafayel said, smiling. “It’s got good swings and bad pigeons. Perfect ratio.”

Sylus huffed a small laugh — rare and quiet, but it made Rafayel’s chest feel warm.

Then Rafayel added softly, “You know, I didn’t think you’d say yes today.”

Sylus raised an eyebrow. “And miss seeing you covered in glitter by the end of the day? Never.”

Rafayel laughed — bright and easy, head tipping back as the sound filled the space between them.
Sylus stared a little too long.

When Rafayel looked back at him, the air felt different.

They sat there for a while — watching Noah, listening to the distant chatter of families, the hum of life all around.

Then Rafayel said quietly, “I like this… being with you both. It feels… natural.”

Sylus’s hand twitched on his knee. “It does,” he admitted, almost under his breath. “Too natural, sometimes.”

Rafayel tilted his head. “Too natural?”

Sylus hesitated, then turned slightly toward him, his voice dropping lower.
“I used to think peace was something you earn. You work, you sacrifice, and maybe you get to feel it one day. But you—”
He exhaled softly. “You make it look easy.”

Rafayel’s heart ached at the sincerity in his tone. “That’s because I’m not trying to make you feel at peace, Sylus. I just… want you to rest when you’re with me.”

Sylus looked at him then — really looked.

And it was like something unspoken cracked open between them again.

Noah’s laughter rang out from the slides, but they were both too lost in the quiet orbit of each other to move.

Sylus reached out slowly, fingers brushing Rafayel’s cheek — the faintest touch, like he was afraid the younger man might disappear if he wasn’t gentle enough.

Rafayel leaned into it.

“Rafayel,” Sylus whispered, the name coming out rough, reverent.

Rafayel smiled softly. “I’m here.”

And then, just like before, Sylus kissed him.

This one wasn’t hesitant — it was warm, familiar, sure.
The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission but still gave it.
The kind that said I’m falling, and I’m not afraid this time.

Rafayel’s hand came up to Sylus’s chest, feeling the steady heartbeat beneath.

Sylus deepened the kiss only slightly — still slow, still careful — before pulling back with a faint, unsteady exhale.

“You kiss like someone who means it,” Rafayel teased softly, his eyes glimmering.

Sylus’s lips curved. “I don’t do anything halfway.”

“Mm, I’ll hold you to that.”

“Please do.”

They shared a smile — small, private, the kind that would linger long after the day ended.

Then Noah’s voice interrupted: “Teacher Rafe! Daddy! Look, I made friends!”

They both looked up — Noah waving from the sandbox with two other kids, his face covered in sand and joy.

Rafayel chuckled. “Guess we’ll have to save the rest of that conversation for later.”

Sylus’s gaze softened. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” Rafayel said, eyes warm. “Neither am I.”

The rest of the day passed in gentle rhythm — laughter, sunshine, shared glances that said everything words didn’t.
And when Sylus dropped Rafayel off later that evening, he didn’t ask to come in. He didn’t need to.

Rafayel already knew.

The connection between them didn’t need to be spoken.
It was there — quiet, steady, waiting.

Just like love, in its truest form.

Chapter Text

It started small.
A glance.
A whisper at drop-off time.

The first time Rafayel noticed it, he brushed it off — parents gossip about teachers all the time.

But lately, the stares had lingered a little too long.

Especially when Sylus came to pick Noah up.

That Friday afternoon, Rafayel stood by the kindergarten gate, helping the last few children reunite with their parents.

His bright smile never faltered, but the whispers pricked at the back of his neck like cold rain.

“That’s him — the one who’s always with Mr. Qin…”
“The teacher? Isn’t he— you know—”
“An omega, right? And Mr. Qin’s an alpha businessman. What do you think is going on there?”

 

He forced himself to keep smiling.
It wasn’t new — not the first time people had talked about him behind his back.

But this time, it stung in ways he didn’t expect.

Because now it wasn’t just him they were talking about — it was Sylus.

And Noah.

When Sylus arrived, tall and composed as ever, the whispers stopped.
People always fell silent when he entered a space — his presence demanded it. But Rafayel felt the weight of the hush in a different way this time.

“Hey,” Sylus greeted, his voice softening as his eyes found Rafayel’s. “You look tired.”

Rafayel smiled quickly. “Just a long day. The kids were extra energetic.”

Sylus studied him for a moment — that steady, assessing gaze that seemed to read far too much. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, nothing serious.” Rafayel shook his head, eyes flicking toward the group of mothers still watching from the parking lot. “Let’s just get Noah home, hmm?”

Sylus didn’t press, but the faint tension in his jaw said he noticed.

The car ride was quiet. Noah hummed softly in the backseat, half-asleep against his plush toy.

When they reached Sylus’s apartment, Rafayel lingered at the door instead of coming in.

“I should go,” he said, keeping his voice light. “You two need rest.”

Sylus frowned. “You usually stay for dinner.”

“I know. But…” Rafayel forced a smile. “I think I should give it a break tonight. People are starting to… notice things.”

“Notice what?” Sylus asked, tone sharp enough to cut through the quiet.

“Us,” Rafayel said simply.

Sylus’s brows furrowed, and for a moment he looked like he was trying to decide whether to be angry or confused.

Then his voice came, low and deliberate.

“Do their opinions matter to you that much?”

Rafayel flinched, eyes dropping. “No, it’s not that. It’s just—”

He took a slow breath, trying to find the right words.

“They talk, Sylus. About me. About what it means for someone like me to be around someone like you.”

“Someone like you?”

Rafayel’s throat tightened. “An omega. Your son’s teacher. It looks—” he hesitated “—improper.”

Sylus stepped closer, the edge in his tone softening. “Rafayel. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I know.” He laughed weakly. “But sometimes that doesn’t matter, does it?”

Sylus exhaled, the kind of sound that held more frustration than breath. He wanted to fix it — to make the whispers vanish — but some things couldn’t be silenced with power.

Rafayel reached out, brushing his fingers along Sylus’s sleeve. “It’s not your fault. I just need a little time. Until people stop talking.”

Sylus’s hand caught his before he could pull away.

His grip was gentle, but firm. “You really think I care what they say?”

“I think you care about Noah,” Rafayel whispered. “And you should.”

That made Sylus pause. His eyes softened, guilt flickering behind them.

The silence stretched between them — heavy, but intimate.

Rafayel looked up, his smile tired but sincere. “It’s okay, Sylus. I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise.”

He started to step back, but Sylus pulled him in — not roughly, but with a quiet urgency that caught Rafayel’s breath.

And before Rafayel could speak, Sylus kissed him.

It wasn’t the gentle kind this time. It was aching — a wordless protest against distance, against the world that tried to make something pure look wrong.

Rafayel melted into it, one hand clutching Sylus’s coat, the other trembling against his chest.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing unevenly.

“I don’t want to pretend this doesn’t mean something,” Sylus said quietly.

Rafayel swallowed, eyes glistening. “Then don’t.”

He smiled — soft, sad, full of love.

“But let’s keep it safe for now. For you. For Noah.”

Sylus nodded slowly, his thumb brushing Rafayel’s cheek. “You always think of everyone else first.”

Rafayel’s voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s how I love.”

That night, after Rafayel left, Sylus stood by the window — the city lights reflecting off the glass.

He thought about the whispers, the judgment, the unfairness of it all.

But mostly, he thought about Rafayel’s trembling hands, and the way he still smiled through it.

And for the first time in years, Sylus felt something raw and powerful stir inside him — a quiet vow.

He would protect that smile.
No matter what it cost.

Sylus had built his life around composure.

A calm voice, a sharp suit, a reputation untouchable by rumor or weakness.

But lately, that composure had begun to crack — all because of one man who smiled like sunlight and worried like the world could fall apart if he didn’t hold it together.

Rafayel.

It started at a charity brunch.

The event was held at one of the city’s luxury hotels — crystal chandeliers, champagne, polite laughter that sounded hollow.

Sylus attended because his company was a sponsor, and appearances mattered.

But even before he reached his table, he caught the sound of his name whispered behind fans and manicured hands.

“He’s been seen often with that teacher—”
“An omega, right? I heard he teaches at his son’s school.”
“It’s hardly professional.”
“Well, everyone knows widowers get lonely.”

 

Sylus’s jaw tightened.

He didn’t look back — not yet. But every word burned.

When he sat down, his assistant, leaned in discreetly.

“You’ve been trending quietly on social media this morning, sir. Some parents have been speculating—”

“I’m aware,” Sylus said evenly, cutting her off. “And it will stop.”

His tone was calm, but his hand gripped the edge of the table so hard the glass trembled.

That evening, after the event, he went straight to the kindergarten.

It was closing time. Most teachers had gone home, but Rafayel was still there — crouched beside a table, helping a child tie his shoe.

When the boy ran off, Rafayel looked up and smiled, tired but genuine. “Sylus. You didn’t have to come—”

“I heard,” Sylus interrupted softly.

The smile wavered. “Oh.”

“People are talking.”

“I know,” Rafayel said quietly, hands fidgeting with a stray crayon. “I didn’t want you to hear it that way.”

Sylus stepped closer. “They’re wrong.”

Rafayel laughed lightly. “Of course they are. But that doesn’t stop them.”

“It will,” Sylus said, voice low, steady — the tone that usually made boardrooms fall silent.

Rafayel blinked. “You can’t control what people say, Sylus.”

“I can control what they see.”

The next day, Sylus arrived at the kindergarten in person — early, before most parents.

He didn’t send his driver. Didn’t hide behind tinted glass.

He parked the car, walked Noah in himself, and stayed long enough to greet the staff — polite, measured, but unmistakably proud.

He spoke to Rafayel like nothing had changed, his tone warm, his gaze open.

When a few parents lingered nearby, whispering, Sylus turned his head slightly — meeting their eyes with quiet, lethal calm.

The whispers stopped.

Rafayel, at the classroom door, caught his gaze and mouthed silently, You didn’t have to.

Sylus gave a faint smile. Yes, I did.

That evening, he called a meeting at his company.

He could’ve ignored the gossip, but instead, he addressed it plainly — to his team, to his board, to anyone who dared to question his priorities.

“If anyone believes my personal life affects my professionalism,” Sylus said, his voice like tempered steel, “you may submit your resignation now.”

The room went dead silent.
Not one person moved.

“Good,” he said. “Then let’s move on.”

But when the day ended, and the lights of the city stretched endlessly outside his office, Sylus sat alone — exhausted, head in his hands.

It wasn’t about pride.

It wasn’t about control.

It was about him — about the way Rafayel’s name had been dragged through whispers he didn’t deserve, about the quiet pain in his voice when he’d said “I just need time.”

Sylus had always believed strength meant keeping people at a distance.

Now he was learning that sometimes, strength meant standing beside them, even when the world stared.

That night, he texted Rafayel:

Sylus: “If people are going to talk, let them see the truth.”
Rafayel: “And what’s the truth?”
Sylus: “That I care for you. That’s all they need to know.”

There was a pause — then the little “typing…” bubble appeared.

Rafayel: “Then maybe… it’s time I stop hiding too.”

Sylus’s lips curved faintly.

The world could keep its whispers.
He had something stronger now — quiet, defiant, and made of light.

Chapter Text

It was raining again.

The kind of slow, steady rain that soaked through the city and turned every light into a blur.

Rafayel stood by his apartment window, watching it fall — mug of tea untouched, phone still in his hand.

Sylus’s last message glowed softly on the screen:

“That I care for you. That’s all they need to know.”

He’d read it a dozen times already, each word sinking a little deeper into his chest.

A knock startled him.
It was late — too late for visitors.

But when he opened the door, Sylus was there.

Rain clung to his coat, his hair damp, eyes sharp and searching as if he’d walked straight through the storm just to get here.

“Sylus,” Rafayel breathed, half-shocked, half-worried. “You’ll get sick—”

“I had to see you.”

Rafayel froze at the sound of his voice.

It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t controlled. It was real.

He stepped aside silently, letting Sylus in.

The soft patter of rain filled the silence between them.

Rafayel gestured toward the towel on the counter, but Sylus didn’t move to take it.

Instead, he just looked at him — like he was memorizing every line, every expression.

“You didn’t have to come,” Rafayel said finally, his voice low.

“I couldn’t stay away,” Sylus replied simply. “Not after today.”

Rafayel’s chest tightened. “You defended me, didn’t you?”

“I told the truth.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

Sylus’s gaze softened, but his voice stayed firm. “It is, to me.”

Rafayel exhaled shakily. “You shouldn’t have to protect me. I don’t want to make things harder for you or Noah.”

Sylus took a slow step forward, closing the distance between them.
“You’re not making anything harder. You’re the only thing that makes it bearable.”

The words hit him like a heartbeat.

Rafayel’s eyes shimmered. “Sylus…”

“You told me to rest when I’m with you,” Sylus continued. “But you’re the only place I can. You make me remember what peace feels like.”

Rafayel’s throat closed around the lump rising there.

He wanted to say something — anything — but all that came out was a broken whisper.

“I’m scared,” he admitted. “Of how much this means. Of what people will do if they see it.”

Sylus stepped closer again — close enough that Rafayel could feel his warmth even through the chill.

“Then let them see,” Sylus murmured. “Because I’m done pretending I don’t care.”

And before Rafayel could reply, Sylus’s hand came up, cupping his cheek.

The kiss that followed wasn’t desperate this time — it was deep, steady, full of emotion that words couldn’t carry.

Rafayel melted into it, his fingers curling in Sylus’s coat as if anchoring himself.

The world outside blurred, all rain and thunder and light — but inside, there was only warmth.

When they broke apart, Rafayel stayed close, his forehead resting against Sylus’s.

“I hate that you walked here in the rain,” he whispered.

“I’d do it again,” Sylus said softly. “Every time.”

Rafayel laughed through a shaky breath. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only for you.”

They ended up on the couch, still half tangled, the quiet hum of the rain wrapping around them like a lullaby.

Sylus brushed his thumb along Rafayel’s hand. “You don’t have to face them alone anymore.”

Rafayel smiled faintly, his voice almost a whisper. “I was never alone. You just made me realize it.”

Sylus pressed a kiss to his temple — soft, reverent. “Rest.”

Rafayel’s eyes fluttered shut, his body finally relaxing for the first time in weeks.

And as he drifted to sleep in Sylus’s arms, the rain outside softened to a gentle rhythm — steady, sure, like two hearts finally beating in time.

Monday came too soon.

The rain had passed, leaving the city smelling of damp pavement and new beginnings.

Rafayel stood in front of the kindergarten gates, his fingers tightening around his bag strap.

He had slept for only a few hours, but somehow, he felt lighter.

Maybe it was because of the way Sylus had held him before he left, the way he’d whispered, You don’t have to hide anymore.

When Rafayel stepped into the staffroom, the air shifted.

Two teachers stopped mid-conversation. A few others pretended to busy themselves with papers.

He smiled anyway.

“Good morning,” he said softly, voice warm but steady.

No one answered right away. Then, Mrs. Lin — the senior teacher — gave a small nod. “Morning, Mr Qi.”

That tiny gesture broke the tension just enough for him to breathe.

He set his things down, poured a cup of tea, and sat by the window.

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t let whispers steal his peace again. Not after everything.

Halfway through the morning, a mother approached the classroom.

Mrs. Keller — Noah’s classmate’s mom — one of the voices Rafayel had overheard before.

“Mr. Qi,” she began, arms crossed. “Can I have a word?”

“Of course.” Rafayel smiled politely. “What can I help you with?”

She hesitated, eyes flicking toward the children. “It’s… about Mr. Qin. People are talking, and I thought you should know. For your own sake.”

Rafayel met her gaze calmly. “I’m aware of what they’re saying.”

Mrs. Keller seemed taken aback by how steady he sounded. “Then you know how it looks.”

“I do,” he said gently. “But appearances aren’t always truth. I care about Noah, and I respect his father. That’s all anyone needs to know.”

The way he said it — soft but unwavering — left no room for argument.

Mrs. Keller blinked, cheeks coloring slightly. “I… suppose that’s fair.”

“It is,” Rafayel said, still kind, still calm. “And I hope someday, people will care more about kindness than gossip.”

She nodded, muttered a quiet “I’m sorry,” and left.

When Rafayel turned back, a few of his colleagues were watching.

He gave a small, reassuring smile, then knelt beside one of his students who was struggling to cut out paper stars.

“Don’t worry,” he told the child softly. “Even if it’s not perfect, it’s still beautiful.”

And maybe he was saying it to himself, too.

That afternoon, as the parents arrived for pickup, Rafayel saw a familiar black car pull up.

Sylus stepped out — no driver, no pretense. Just him, in his rolled-sleeve shirt, holding an umbrella over Noah.

The whispers started again — faint, uncertain.

But Rafayel didn’t look away this time.

He smiled.

A calm, open smile that said: Yes, this is real. And I’m not ashamed.

Sylus’s eyes found him across the courtyard, and something in his expression softened. He didn’t need to speak.

He didn’t need to do anything at all.

Because Rafayel’s quiet strength spoke louder than words ever could.

That evening, as he walked home, Rafayel looked up at the pale gold of the sky and thought, This is what courage feels like.

Not shouting. Not fighting.
Just standing still — and not bowing your head.

Chapter Text

The office was unusually quiet that evening.
Sylus sat behind his desk, the last traces of sunlight slipping through the blinds, turning the edges of his paperwork gold.

His phone buzzed.
A message from Mrs. Lin — Noah’s teacher.

“Mr. Qin, I thought you should know. Mr. Qi handled a difficult situation today with remarkable grace. You should be proud.”

Sylus frowned slightly, setting his pen down.
He read it again. Handled a situation?

He didn’t like the sound of that.

When he arrived at the kindergarten, the halls were mostly empty. The scent of finger paint and crayons lingered in the air — the kind of gentle chaos that always reminded him of Rafayel.

He found him in the classroom, kneeling beside a small bookshelf, arranging picture books with quiet focus.

“Rafayel.”

Rafayel looked up, startled, then smiled when he saw him. “Sylus. You didn’t text — is everything alright?”

“I got a message,” Sylus said, stepping closer. “From Mrs. Lin. She said you ‘handled something.’ What happened?”

Rafayel’s eyes flicked away for a moment. “Just a few… comments from parents. It’s fine now.”

Sylus’s jaw tightened. “What kind of comments?”

“The usual,” Rafayel said gently, closing a book and standing. “About me. About you.”

He said it with that same soft steadiness Sylus had come to recognize — the kind that was stronger than anger could ever be.

“I don’t want anyone making you uncomfortable,” Sylus said, voice low. “I’ll speak to the administration—”

“No.” Rafayel reached out, lightly touching his sleeve. “You don’t need to fight for me, Sylus. Not this time.”

Sylus looked down at that hand — warm, small, trembling only slightly.
“You shouldn’t have to face it alone.”

“I didn’t,” Rafayel said, smiling faintly. “I faced it with everything you’ve taught me without realizing it.”

Sylus blinked. “What I’ve taught you?”

Rafayel nodded. “To stand up quietly. To keep my dignity no matter what they say. You do it every day — I just borrowed some of your strength.”

That simple confession disarmed him completely.

For years, Sylus had believed strength came from control — from silence, from distance. But looking at Rafayel now, he saw another kind: the kind that smiled through hurt and still chose kindness.

“Mrs. Keller apologized,” Rafayel added softly. “It’s over.”

Sylus exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. “You amaze me.”

Rafayel laughed lightly. “You say that like I just climbed a mountain.”

“You did,” Sylus said. “You just did it barefoot.”

That made Rafayel pause — his heart thudding. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” he murmured.

“Why?”

“Because you sound like you mean them.”

“I do.”

The words hung between them, quiet and raw.

Sylus reached up, brushing his thumb gently along Rafayel’s jaw — a touch both hesitant and reverent.

“You handled yourself with more grace than I could ever hope to,” he said softly. “You didn’t need me to protect you. But I still want to.”

Rafayel’s breath trembled. “And I still want you to.”

He leaned closer, eyes fluttering shut as Sylus bent down, their foreheads almost touching — the air between them humming like the calm before rain.

“Rafayel…”

“Hmm?”

“Stay for dinner,” Sylus whispered. “No reason. Just— stay.”

Rafayel smiled, cheeks warm. “You don’t even have to ask.”

Then Sylus kissed him — slow, deliberate, and heartbreakingly tender.

It wasn’t desperate this time.
It was certain.

The kind of kiss that said I see you. I’m proud of you. And I’m falling, whether I meant to or not.

That night, long after Rafayel had drifted to sleep on the couch, Sylus stood by the window, watching the city lights.

He thought of the gossip, the stares, the endless noise of other people’s opinions — and realized, for the first time in years, he didn’t care.

Because the only truth that mattered was lying peacefully in his living room, wearing one of his sweaters, and dreaming with a smile.

The scent of coffee and toasted bread drifted through the apartment long before Rafayel opened his eyes.

He blinked into soft morning light — the kind that filtered through half-closed curtains and turned the air golden.

The blanket had slipped off his shoulder, but the warmth beside him remained.

Sylus sat at the edge of the couch, sleeves rolled up, a mug in one hand, the faintest smile on his lips.

“Morning,” Rafayel mumbled sleepily, voice still thick with dreams.

“Morning,” Sylus said, softer than he meant to. “You didn’t even stir when Noah came to wake you.”

Rafayel’s eyes widened. “Noah—? He saw me like this?”

“He just said, ‘Teacher Rafe’s sleepy,’ and went to play with his dinosaurs.” Sylus’s lips curved faintly. “I think we’re safe.”

Rafayel groaned and buried his face in a pillow. “You should’ve woken me.”

“I tried,” Sylus said. “You mumbled something about stars and fell back asleep.”

He chuckled quietly, watching the blush creep up Rafayel’s cheeks.

By the time Rafayel joined them at the table, Noah was already halfway through his pancakes, happily humming to himself.

“Good morning, Teacher Rafe!” Noah beamed, syrup on his chin.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Rafayel ruffled his hair. “Did you dream of flying pancakes again?”

“Nope! Today it was pancakes that talk!”

“Oh, that’s even better,” Rafayel laughed, sitting beside him.

Sylus poured him coffee, black with a touch of honey — exactly the way Rafayel liked it. He didn’t even have to ask.

Rafayel smiled over the rim of his cup. “You remember.”

“I pay attention,” Sylus said simply.

Breakfast passed in easy laughter and soft chatter — Noah’s chatter filling every pause, Sylus’s occasional low chuckle grounding it all.

When Noah left the table to find his backpack, Rafayel turned to Sylus, lowering his voice.

“You know… this feels strange,” he said. “Good strange. Like—”

“Like it’s supposed to be this way?” Sylus finished.

Rafayel nodded, smiling. “Exactly.”

Sylus looked at him for a long moment — really looked — and for once, there was no mask, no hesitation.

He reached across the table, fingers brushing Rafayel’s hand.
“Then let’s stop questioning it.”

Rafayel’s breath caught.

The world outside could think what it wanted. Right here, in this sunlit kitchen, everything was quiet. Everything was theirs.

Sylus leaned closer, their foreheads touching lightly. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

Rafayel laughed softly. “You say that every time you smile at me like this.”

“Maybe that’s why I keep saying it.”

And before Rafayel could tease back, Sylus kissed him — slow, tender, unhurried.

A morning kiss, simple and real.

The kind that didn’t ask for promises but made one anyway.

When they finally broke apart, Noah’s voice echoed from the hall:
“Daddy! Teacher Rafe! I’m ready!”

They laughed — the sound warm, unguarded, domestic.

As Rafayel helped Noah with his shoes, Sylus stood by the door, watching them.
He didn’t say it aloud, but it was written in his eyes — that quiet, startled wonder of a man realizing he was home.

Chapter Text

The day began softly.
The sky was clear, the air warm, and Rafayel’s laughter still echoed faintly in Sylus’s mind long after he’d dropped him and Noah off.

For once, everything had felt simple.

But simplicity had never lasted long in Sylus’s world.

By mid afternoon, his phone was buzzing nonstop.
His assistant entered his office, tablet in hand, face unusually tense.

“Sir,” she began carefully, “you might want to see this.”

She turned the screen toward him.

An online article, already circulating on a few business blogs.

“Exclusive: Qin Group’s CEO spotted at local kindergarten — mystery man identified?”
Below it, a grainy photo — Sylus standing by the school gate, holding an umbrella over Rafayel and Noah.

The caption read:

‘Is this the rumored omega close to the reclusive CEO?’

 

Sylus’s jaw tightened. The article wasn’t overtly cruel — not yet — but it didn’t need to be. The implication was enough.

“Who leaked this?” he asked quietly.

“We’re tracing it,” she said. “But it’s spreading fast. Some of the board members are… concerned about public image.”

Of course they were.
They always were.

He dismissed her with a nod, staring at the screen long after she left.

The photo wasn’t scandalous — they were just standing there. But to people like the board, or investors, or the vultures online, it was fodder.

And worse — it put Rafayel in the spotlight.
He didn’t deserve that.

When he arrived at the kindergarten that evening, Rafayel was sitting alone on the bench outside, a faint frown on his face.

“You saw it too,” Sylus said quietly.

Rafayel nodded. “The kids’ parents talk fast.”

“I’m sorry.”

Rafayel blinked. “For what?”

“For not protecting you from this,” Sylus said, running a hand through his hair. “I should have—”

“Hey.” Rafayel reached out, touching his wrist gently. “This isn’t your fault.”

“But it is. My world… it turns everything into a headline. You shouldn’t have to be dragged into it.”

Rafayel smiled faintly — sad, but calm. “Sylus, you didn’t drag me. I walked in because I wanted to.”

That silenced him.

For a moment, they just stood there, the sounds of the city soft in the background — children’s laughter fading into evening air.

Rafayel’s voice broke the quiet. “You don’t have to fix it, you know. Just… don’t hide from me because of it.”

Sylus looked at him — really looked — and saw no anger, no fear. Only quiet strength again, the same kind that had drawn him in from the start.

He took a slow breath. “If they make this difficult for you, I’ll deal with them.”

“I know,” Rafayel said softly. “But maybe this time, we deal with it together.”

Sylus almost smiled. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

Rafayel tilted his head, teasing lightly. “I learned from the best.”

Before leaving, Sylus leaned down — just enough for their fingers to brush.
It was a small touch, secret and grounding, a promise amid the noise.

Neither of them said it, but they both knew:
The world was watching now.

And for the first time, Sylus wasn’t sure if he cared.

Because maybe some things were worth being seen.

Meetings ran longer than usual.

Every face around the boardroom table looked sharper, colder — polished concern masking judgment.

Sylus listened to the last of their words without interrupting.
He’d known this conversation was coming.

“The photo has been circulating for 48 hours,” said Mr. Reeves, the head of PR. “We’ve managed to suppress most of the gossip, but the story’s spreading through investor channels.”

“You should consider a statement,” another added. “Even a casual denial could protect the company’s image.”

Image.
It was always about image.

Sylus leaned back, fingers steepled, expression unreadable. “A denial would imply guilt. There’s nothing to deny.”

A beat of silence followed.

One of the older directors cleared his throat. “Sir, with all due respect, the public doesn’t understand… your situation. That boy—”

Sylus’s eyes lifted — sharp and cold enough to cut the air. “Careful with your words.”

The man faltered. “I only meant—”

“I know what you meant.”

His tone stayed calm, but the warning underneath it was unmistakable. “His name is Rafayel Qi. He’s a teacher. He’s kind. And if my son adores him, that should be enough for anyone in this room.”

The silence that followed was heavy — the kind that came when power reasserted itself.

Sylus 's assistant standing quietly by the door, looked down to hide a small, proud smile.

After the meeting, she followed him to his office.

“You know this will stir more questions,” she said gently.

“I’m aware.”

“You could have said it differently. Softer.”

Sylus gave a faint, humorless laugh. “Softness isn’t what they understand.”

“Maybe not them,” she said, watching him closely, “but it’s what he brings out in you.”

That stopped him cold.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then: “He shouldn’t have to pay for that.”

“Then don’t let him face it alone,” she said. “People will talk anyway — so give them a reason to talk with respect.”

She left before he could reply.

By evening, Sylus found himself driving — not home, not to the office, but to the quiet little park behind the kindergarten.

Rafayel was there, sitting on a bench, watching Noah feed the ducks.

The golden light caught in his hair, soft and warm.
When Rafayel noticed him, his whole face lit up.

“You look tired,” Rafayel said as Sylus approached.

“Rough day,” Sylus admitted.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” he said, sitting beside him. Then, after a pause: “They wanted me to deny us.”

Rafayel’s breath caught. “And did you?”

Sylus turned to him, eyes steady. “No.”

The single word hung there — quiet, defiant, freeing.

Rafayel blinked, a small, stunned smile spreading across his face. “Sylus…”

“I’m done hiding,” he said simply. “You don’t deserve to be a secret.”

Rafayel’s hand found his — tentative at first, then certain.
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know.” Sylus’s thumb brushed his knuckles. “That’s why it matters.”

Noah came running up then, laughing, his little hand clutching a half-empty bread bag.

“Teacher Rafe! Daddy! The ducks followed me!”

Rafayel laughed, standing to help him. Sylus watched — that soft domestic sight that felt more real than anything else in his world of suits and headlines.

For once, he didn’t think about what others would say.

He just thought about them.

And for the first time in years, the weight of his name — his title, his reputation — didn’t feel like a cage.

It felt like something he could finally choose how to carry.

Chapter Text

The news reached Rafayel the next morning.

It started with a message from Sylus 's assistant, short and simple:

“He stood up for you.”

 

Rafayel had been folding tiny paper cranes with the kids when he read it.
For a moment, his hands froze mid-fold, the words blurring on the screen.

He knew what it meant.

By the end of the day, he found the article — a follow-up story, this time with an entirely different tone.

“Qin Group CEO Speaks Out: ‘There’s Nothing to Deny.’”

The piece quoted him directly, describing how Sylus had calmly corrected the board’s remarks and referred to Rafayel by name — not as a rumor, not as a scandal, but as a person.

Reading it, Rafayel’s throat tightened.
He’d expected Sylus to protect his company first, as anyone in his position would.
But instead, he had protected him.

Not by hiding him — but by seeing him.

When Sylus arrived that evening, Rafayel met him at the door before he could even speak.
“You really said that?”

Sylus blinked. “Said what?”

“That my name was nothing to hide.”

He gave a small nod, as if it were obvious. “Because it isn’t.”

Rafayel’s chest ached in the best way possible.
“Do you realize what that means for you?”

“Yes.” Sylus smiled faintly. “Do you realize what it means for me?”

Rafayel laughed through a tear. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Sylus murmured, stepping closer, “you keep showing up anyway.”

They stood in the hallway — shoes still on, hearts beating too fast.

Rafayel reached up, resting a hand against Sylus’s chest.

“I was scared, you know,” he whispered. “That this would crush you. That you’d regret me.”

Sylus caught his hand, pressing it gently to his heart.
“I’ve built my life around control, Rafayel. Around walls. And then you came along and smiled your way through all of them. I don’t regret that.”

The way he said it — low, certain — made something inside Rafayel melt and steady all at once.

He leaned in, and Sylus met him halfway.

Their kiss was soft, slow, and full of everything words couldn’t hold — the kind that felt less like a beginning and more like an answer.

Later, as they sat together on the couch — Rafayel half-curled into his side, the city glowing outside — Sylus brushed his thumb over the back of his hand.

“I’ll be attending a gala tomorrow,” he said. “It’s a business event, but… I’d like you to come.”

Rafayel looked up, startled. “With you?”

“With me.” Sylus’s eyes softened. “No hiding. No pretending.”

Rafayel hesitated, biting his lip. “Are you sure? They’ll talk.”

“They already are,” Sylus said simply. “Let’s give them something worth talking about.”

And just like that — with a quiet smile and a hand still holding his — Rafayel realized something that felt almost too big for words.

Sylus wasn’t just letting him in.
He was choosing him, in front of the whole world.

And somehow, that was more romantic than any confession could ever be.

The city glittered that night.
A sea of lights, champagne laughter, and polished smiles — the kind of world Sylus had mastered years ago.

But tonight felt different.
Because for the first time, he wasn’t walking into it alone.

Rafayel stepped out of the car beside him, looking hesitant under the soft flash of cameras.

The tailored suit he wore wasn’t loud — just elegantly simple, the deep blue fabric catching faint reflections of silver light.

He looked breathtaking.

Sylus offered his arm. “Ready?”

Rafayel took a slow breath, then nodded — slipping his hand around Sylus’s elbow, steady but warm. “As I’ll ever be.”

The moment they entered the hall, conversation faltered.
It wasn’t dramatic — just subtle ripples of curiosity, glances, murmurs.

Sylus didn’t flinch.
He simply guided Rafayel forward with quiet assurance, stopping only to greet a few familiar faces.

“Mr. Qin,” one of the executives said, voice too smooth. “And this must be…?”

“Rafayel Qi,” Sylus replied evenly. “My guest — and my partner.”

The word dropped like a stone into still water.
The man blinked, taken aback, fumbling for composure. “Ah. Of course.”

Sylus smiled — polite, composed, unyielding. “Of course.”

Rafayel stood quietly beside him, heart pounding, but his hand never left Sylus’s arm.

As the evening went on, the initial whispers faded into cautious admiration.

People always followed confidence, and Sylus had enough for both of them.

When they finally reached the open balcony, Rafayel exhaled, laughing softly. “I feel like I just survived a battlefield.”

Sylus chuckled, loosening his tie. “You did beautifully.”

“I didn’t even say much.”

“You didn’t need to.” Sylus looked down at him, eyes warm. “You just had to be here.”

The city stretched below them, lights shimmering like fallen stars.

For a while, neither spoke — just the faint hum of music behind them and the wind teasing at Rafayel’s hair.

Then Rafayel said quietly, “You didn’t have to do all this, Sylus.”

“Yes,” he said simply, “I did.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Sylus said, stepping closer, “I spent years caring about what people thought of me. But tonight, I wanted them to see who I care about.”

Rafayel froze — heart racing, eyes wide.

Sylus smiled faintly, brushing a hand along his cheek. “And if they still talk, let them. You make the noise worth it.”

Before Rafayel could answer, Sylus leaned in and kissed him — slow, deliberate, right there on the balcony, where the whole glittering world could see if it wanted to.

It wasn’t for show.
It wasn’t defiance.
It was truth.

A simple, quiet declaration: this is the man I choose.

When they finally pulled apart, Rafayel laughed softly against his chest. “You just kissed me in front of half the city.”

Sylus smiled, resting his chin on his head. “Then let them see what love looks like.”

And beneath the night sky, surrounded by stars and whispers, they stood together — unhidden, unashamed, and utterly real.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The first sunlight slipped through the curtains, painting the room gold.

Rafayel stirred first.

He blinked sleepily, the soft rustle of sheets the only sound. For a few seconds, he just lay there — tracing the slow rise and fall of Sylus’s chest beside him, the faint lines of weariness that somehow made him more human.

He smiled.

Then, gently, he brushed a strand of hair away from Sylus’s face.

“You’re staring,” Sylus murmured without opening his eyes.

Rafayel froze, caught. “You were supposed to be asleep.”

A low chuckle. “Hard to sleep when someone’s watching me breathe.”

He opened his eyes, gaze soft and still heavy with sleep.
“Good morning,” Rafayel said quietly.

Sylus’s lips curved. “It is now.”

They made breakfast together — or at least tried to.

Rafayel handled the pancakes, humming a tune while flipping them with practiced ease.

Sylus, determined to help, insisted on cutting fruit.

By the end of it, the counter looked like a minor disaster zone — flour dusted everywhere, strawberries in suspiciously uneven pieces.

Rafayel leaned against the counter, laughing. “You’re a CEO who can manage five companies but can’t slice a banana?”

Sylus gave him a mock glare. “It’s an art form.”

“Oh? Because it looks like you fought it.”

Sylus shook his head, but there was a rare ease in his smile — one Rafayel had learned to cherish.

When Noah wandered in, hair sticking up, rubbing his eyes, the smell of pancakes made him perk up instantly.

“Mr. Rafayel! Are we having pancakes again?”

“Of course,” Rafayel said, placing one on his plate. “Your dad’s ‘helped’ too.”

Noah looked at the uneven fruit and grinned. “I can tell!”

Sylus sighed. “Traitor.”

Laughter filled the kitchen — easy, unguarded.

Later, they spent the afternoon in the living room.

Noah was sprawled on the floor with his toys; Rafayel and Sylus sat on the couch, sharing quiet conversation and occasional glances that said more than words could.

Sylus had an arm draped along the back of the couch, and Rafayel leaned slightly into it — not out of habit, but comfort.

“Do you ever miss it?” Rafayel asked softly.

“Miss what?”

“The noise. The attention. The image of being untouchable.”

Sylus considered that, eyes following Noah’s small figure on the floor. “No. I think I was tired of pretending I didn’t want this.”

Rafayel tilted his head. “This?”

“This,” Sylus said simply — his hand brushing against Rafayel’s, their fingers intertwining without thought. “Peace. A home that feels alive.”

Rafayel smiled, resting his head against Sylus’s shoulder. “You make it sound like I gave you all that.”

“You did,” Sylus murmured. “Without even trying.”

As evening came, Rafayel tucked Noah into bed, reading softly from one of his favorite picture books.

When he came back to the living room, Sylus was waiting — a glass of wine in hand, the city lights glowing faintly behind him.

“You’re quiet,” Rafayel said, walking over.

“Just thinking,” Sylus replied, setting the glass down. “I used to believe love was something you planned — something you built step by step. But you…” He smiled faintly. “You just happened.”

Rafayel chuckled softly. “That’s not very efficient of me.”

“No,” Sylus said, eyes warm. “It’s perfect.”

He leaned in, pressing a light kiss to Rafayel’s forehead — not urgent, not showy. Just real.

And when Rafayel whispered good night a few minutes later, his voice carried the same quiet promise:
We’re exactly where we belong.

The week began like any other.

Meetings. Reports. Calls.

Sylus moved through them with his usual precision — until one evening, he didn’t.

It started with a headache, then a chill that wouldn’t leave.

By the time he made it home, the color had drained from his face, and his voice was rough around the edges.

Rafayel noticed the moment he walked in.

“You’re pale,” he said, frowning slightly.

“I’m fine,” Sylus murmured, loosening his tie. “Just a long day.”

But when he reached for his glass of water, his hand trembled.

Rafayel was beside him in seconds. “Sylus.”

He didn’t argue after that — not when Rafayel took his briefcase away, not when he guided him to the couch, not even when a thermometer appeared out of nowhere.

“Thirty-eight point six,” Rafayel read softly. “That’s not ‘fine.’”

Sylus sighed, exhausted. “You sound like my doctor.”

“I’m worse,” Rafayel said with a tiny smile. “I actually care.”

That night, Rafayel moved quietly through the apartment — fetching water, medicine, and a cool cloth.

Noah was already asleep, blissfully unaware that his father, usually so unshakable, was lying half-dazed under a blanket.

Sylus watched Rafayel through half-lidded eyes. “You don’t have to fuss.”

Rafayel dipped the cloth again and placed it gently on his forehead. “You fuss when I get a paper cut.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” Rafayel asked softly.

Sylus tried to reply but found himself smiling instead — weakly, tiredly. “You’re impossible.”

“Good,” Rafayel murmured, brushing stray hair from his temple. “That means you’ll rest.”

The fever broke slowly.

Between sips of soup and drowsy murmurs, Sylus drifted in and out of sleep — but each time he woke, Rafayel was still there.

Sometimes reading quietly beside the couch, sometimes dozing with his head resting on his arm, always near.

At one point, close to midnight, Sylus stirred and whispered, “You should sleep.”

Rafayel looked up from his book, smiling gently. “And risk you sneaking back to your laptop? Not a chance.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“You are,” Rafayel said fondly. “But I like that about you.”

Sylus huffed a laugh, then coughed — and Rafayel was immediately there with a hand on his shoulder, steadying him, worry flickering across his face.

When the cough subsided, Sylus caught his wrist gently.
“Rafayel,” he said quietly. “You really don’t know when to stop giving.”

Rafayel’s voice softened. “And you don’t know how to let yourself be taken care of.”

Their eyes met — tired, tender, and full of something that felt like love in its purest form.

By morning, Sylus’s fever had gone down.

He woke to sunlight spilling across the room — and Rafayel asleep in a chair beside him, chin resting on his palm, hair a soft mess.

Sylus smiled faintly. He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly across Rafayel’s hand.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Rafayel stirred, blinking awake. “For what?”

“For making even this feel peaceful.”

He squeezed Rafayel’s hand — just once, firm and grateful.

Rafayel smiled sleepily. “That’s because you’re finally letting someone love you, Sylus.”

Sylus’s expression softened completely. “Then I’ll keep letting you.”

And in that quiet morning light, the walls around his heart finally stayed down.

Chapter Text

It started with a sneeze.

Rafayel brushed it off, of course.

He always did. “Just the weather,” he’d said with a laugh that was too bright to be convincing.

But by afternoon, his voice was hoarse, his smile a little too forced. And by evening, he was curled up on the couch, pale and sniffling, a blanket around his shoulders like a cape.

Sylus stood a few feet away, watching him with the same look he usually reserved for financial crises.

“You’re sick.”

“I’m fine,” Rafayel croaked, waving a tissue in vague defiance.

Sylus folded his arms. “That’s exactly what I said last week, and you scolded me for it.”

“That’s different. You were burning up.”

“And you’re freezing.”

Rafayel blinked. “Am I?”

Sylus walked over, placed a hand on his forehead, and frowned. “You’re burning up now.”

“Oh.” Rafayel sniffled, blinking up at him. “Well, that’s inconvenient.”

Sylus sighed — but gently this time — and crouched down beside the couch.

“Stay put,” he said. “I’ll get the thermometer.”

Rafayel groaned softly. “Sylus…”

“I’m not negotiating,” Sylus replied, tone low but fond.

Within minutes, he had the fever confirmed, medicine ready, and a cup of warm honey tea on the table. He moved with the same precision he used in business — only softer, slower, more careful.

Rafayel smiled weakly. “You’re… very prepared.”

“You taught me,” Sylus said, pouring the tea. “And I pay attention.”

Rafayel’s lips quirked. “That’s new.”

Sylus gave him a look, but his mouth twitched at the corner. “Drink.”

As Rafayel sipped the tea, Sylus sat down beside him, pressing the back of his hand to Rafayel’s cheek again.

“You should’ve told me you weren’t feeling well.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“You don’t get to decide that anymore.”

Rafayel blinked at him — surprised by the quiet intensity in his voice.

Sylus exhaled slowly, brushing a thumb along his jaw. “You take care of everyone, Rafayel. Someone has to make sure you’re not burning yourself out.”

Rafayel’s throat tightened — partly from the fever, mostly from the tenderness in Sylus’s tone.

“You worry too much,” he murmured.

Sylus smiled faintly. “Not enough, apparently.”

That night, Sylus stayed close.
He dimmed the lights, tucked the blanket higher around Rafayel’s shoulders, and read emails only when the other man was asleep — though his gaze kept drifting back to the couch every few minutes.

At one point, Rafayel stirred and whispered groggily, “You’re still awake?”

“I don’t sleep well when you’re not okay.”

Rafayel’s eyes softened, the faintest smile touching his lips. “You sound like me.”

“Maybe you’re contagious,” Sylus murmured.

That earned a quiet laugh — and then Rafayel’s hand slipped into his, weak but warm.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For staying.”

Sylus squeezed his fingers lightly. “Always.”

By morning, the fever had eased.

Rafayel woke to find Sylus dozing at his side, still in the same clothes, his head resting against the arm of the couch.

For a moment, Rafayel just looked at him — the man who had once hidden behind walls now sleeping beside him like he belonged there.

He reached out, brushing a gentle hand through Sylus’s hair.

“Your turn to rest,” he murmured with a smile.

Sylus stirred slightly, eyes half-open. “You’re awake.”

“I am.”

“How do you feel?”

“Better,” Rafayel said softly. “Because of you.”

Sylus smiled — sleepy, honest. “Good. Then I’ll keep taking care of you.”

And when Rafayel leaned in, resting his forehead against his, the room fell silent except for the sound of two steady heartbeats — the quiet rhythm of love that had learned to go both ways.

The apartment smelled like vanilla and toast.

Morning sunlight poured through the curtains, painting the walls in soft gold.

Rafayel stood at the stove, humming under his breath as he flipped pancakes.

The faint sound of running water came from the bathroom — Sylus, finally taking a long shower after two days of almost no rest.

It felt… normal.
Comfortable.

He smiled to himself. Normal was good.

Noah came padding out of his room in dinosaur pajamas, hair sticking up in all directions.

“Morning, Teacher Raf!” he chirped.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Rafayel said warmly. “Hungry?”

“Always.”

Rafayel chuckled, sliding a pancake onto his plate. “That’s my boy.”

Noah grinned proudly. “I’m Daddy’s boy too!”

“Of course you are,” Rafayel said with a smile — though his cheeks warmed slightly at the “Daddy’s boy” part.

“Where’s Daddy?”

“In the shower. He’s tired.”

Noah frowned thoughtfully, poking at his pancake. “He was sitting next to you all night. I saw.”

Rafayel blinked. “You did?”

“I went for water. He was sleeping next to the couch, holding your hand.”

Rafayel’s heart softened. “Was he now?”

“Uh-huh.” Noah nodded seriously. “You two are weird.”

Rafayel laughed — a bright, genuine sound. “Why weird?”

“Because you both take care of each other like old people,” Noah said earnestly.

“Old people?”

“Yeah! Like Grandpa and Grandma on TV!”

Rafayel bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Well, I guess that means we love each other very much.”

Noah tilted his head. “Is that what love looks like?”

Rafayel crouched down to his level, smiling softly. “Yes, sweetheart. Love is when you take care of someone, even when they’re being difficult.”

“Like Daddy?”

“Exactly like Daddy.”

Just then, Sylus appeared in the doorway — towel slung around his neck, hair damp, wearing a plain white T-shirt and the faintest smile.

“What about Daddy?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Teacher Raf said you’re difficult,” Noah announced proudly.

Rafayel froze, caught red-handed. “I—”

Sylus’s lips twitched. “Did he now?”

Noah nodded. “But that’s love!”

Sylus chuckled, leaning down to ruffle his son’s hair. “Then I’ll take it.”

Rafayel hid his smile behind the spatula, but Sylus caught it anyway.

Breakfast was laughter and syrup.

Sylus helped Noah with his orange juice while Rafayel pretended not to notice how badly he was overpouring it.

When the meal was done, Noah ran off to build a pillow fort, declaring that “grown-ups aren’t allowed unless they bring snacks.”

Left alone in the quiet kitchen, Rafayel started washing dishes — only for Sylus to appear behind him, slipping an arm around his waist.

“You should rest,” Sylus murmured, voice low and warm.

“I’m fine,” Rafayel said, but he leaned back into him anyway. “You should too.”

“I’m resting now.”

Rafayel smiled softly, turning his head slightly. “You’re clingy when you’re relaxed.”

“I learned it from you.”

Rafayel laughed quietly, leaning against his shoulder. “Then I suppose that’s fair.”

They stood there like that — the sound of running water, the sunlight on their skin, the faint laughter of Noah from the living room — all folding into something simple and real.

A family.

When Noah peeked back in a few minutes later, he made a face.
“Are you two hugging again?”

Sylus smirked. “Maybe.”

“Ewwww!” Noah giggled, covering his eyes dramatically. “You’re so in love.”

Rafayel flushed; Sylus just smiled. “Yes,” he said calmly, eyes warm on Rafayel’s. “We are.”

And this time, Rafayel didn’t look away.
He smiled too — because it was true.

Chapter Text

The evening felt unusually still.
Dinner was simple — creamy soup, rice, and roasted vegetables — yet the soft clinking of spoons sounded louder than usual.

Rafayel sat across from Noah, noticing the boy’s untouched plate. Normally, he’d chatter about his day at kindergarten, his classmates, or his latest drawing.
Tonight, he was quiet.

Too quiet.

Sylus noticed too. His fork paused mid-air. “Noah,” he said gently. “You didn’t eat much.”

The boy blinked, eyes distant. “I’m not that hungry.”

Rafayel tilted his head. “Did something happen at school today, sweetheart?”

Noah hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “...Kinda.”

Sylus’s voice softened. “Do you want to tell us about it?”

There was a pause. Then, in a small voice:
“Some of my friends got picked up by both their parents.”

Rafayel’s heart ached already.

Noah’s little voice trembled slightly as he continued, “They called them ‘Mama’ and ‘Papa’. Some even have two daddies. They all hugged together before going home. I—”
He stopped, eyes dropping to his plate. “I only have you, Daddy.”

The room went still.

Sylus exhaled quietly, his hand tightening slightly around his fork before setting it down. “You do have me, yes.”

“I know,” Noah said quickly, looking up. “You’re the best daddy ever.”

Rafayel’s chest warmed — and broke — at once.

Noah’s voice grew even smaller. “But sometimes… when other kids talk about their mama, I don’t know what to say. They asked me once if I have one, and I said she’s in heaven. But it still feels…” He bit his lip, blinking fast. “It feels empty.”

Rafayel pushed back his chair and came around to kneel beside him, gently brushing Noah’s bangs aside. “It’s okay to feel that way, love. Everyone’s family looks a little different. What matters is that you’re loved — so much.”

“I know…” Noah whispered, his small hands curling into Rafayel’s sleeve. “But… can I ask something?”

Rafayel smiled softly. “Of course.”

Noah took a breath, glancing nervously between him and Sylus. “Can I… call you Papa instead of Teacher Raf?”

Rafayel froze.
His breath caught — warmth flooding his chest so quickly it almost hurt.

He looked to Sylus, uncertain — but the older man’s expression was unreadable for a moment.

Then, slowly, Sylus smiled — soft, a little sad, but deeply, genuinely tender.

Rafayel turned back to Noah, voice trembling. “You really want to call me that?”

Noah nodded earnestly. “You’re always here. You make breakfast, you take me to school, you read me stories… You feel like a papa already.”

Rafayel’s vision blurred for a moment.

He reached out and gathered the boy into his arms, pressing a gentle kiss to his hair. “Then I’d be honored, sweetheart.”

Noah hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Papa.”

It was the first time he said it.
The word lingered in the air, fragile and glowing — like something sacred.

Sylus watched them silently, his chest tightening with emotion he hadn’t expected — warmth, grief, gratitude all tangled into one.

Rafayel looked up at him, eyes shining softly through tears.

Sylus’s lips curved faintly, voice low. “You’ve given him something I never could.”

Rafayel shook his head. “No, Sylus. You both gave each other something I only helped nurture.”

Sylus didn’t reply — he simply reached over, resting his hand over Rafayel’s where it lay on the table. Their fingers brushed, lingered.

For the first time, it truly felt like three pieces finally fitting together.

A family.

The apartment was quiet after Noah went to bed.

A faint night breeze drifted in through the half-open window, carrying the scent of rain and the city beyond.

Rafayel sat on the couch, hugging a cushion, still thinking about dinner.

Noah’s small, trembling voice replayed in his mind — Can I call you Papa?

Every time he remembered it, his chest tightened in the sweetest way.

He didn’t hear Sylus approach until the couch dipped beside him.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Sylus asked quietly.

Rafayel smiled faintly. “Not really. Too many thoughts.”

“About Noah?”

“Mhm.” Rafayel’s gaze softened. “I didn’t expect that question. He must’ve been holding it in for a while.”

Sylus nodded slowly. “He’s sensitive. He doesn’t always say what’s on his mind.”

“Like his father,” Rafayel teased gently.

Sylus huffed a quiet laugh — a rare sound. “Maybe.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment, comfortable and heavy with unspoken things.

The city lights glowed faintly outside, their reflections dancing across the glass.

Then Sylus said softly, “You know… when he called you Papa, I thought I’d feel… strange.”

Rafayel blinked, turning to him. “Strange?”

“I thought I’d feel like something was being replaced. Like I was letting someone take her place.”

Rafayel’s smile faltered, his expression careful. “Sylus…”

“But I didn’t.” Sylus’s voice grew quieter, almost a whisper. “Instead, I felt… relief.”

Rafayel looked at him — really looked — and saw the weight behind his eyes.

The years of exhaustion, guilt, and quiet loneliness that no one else ever reached.

Sylus turned slightly, meeting his gaze. “You didn’t just make Noah happy. You made me remember what a home feels like.”

The words struck deep.
Rafayel’s throat tightened. “Sylus…”

“I used to think home was a person I lost. Then it became something I thought I’d never find again.” He paused, voice barely above a whisper now. “But then you came in — all light and noise and laughter — and somehow… it’s not empty anymore.”

Rafayel’s heart ached. He swallowed hard, trying to steady his voice. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I’m not thanking you.”

Rafayel blinked, surprised. “You’re not?”

Sylus shook his head slowly. “I’m telling you — you’re part of this family. You’ve become it.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Rafayel laughed softly, eyes shining. “You’re really bad at confessions, you know that?”

Sylus gave a low, amused hum. “I never said it was a confession.”

“Oh, it is.” Rafayel’s voice softened as he leaned closer. “And it’s beautiful.”

Sylus’s hand brushed against his — hesitant at first, then surer, fingers sliding through his.

Rafayel smiled. “You’re warm tonight.”

“Because of you,” Sylus murmured.

The distance between them faded — until only the sound of their breaths filled the quiet.

And then, softly, Sylus kissed him.

It wasn’t urgent, nor desperate — it was gentle, steady, a quiet promise spoken without words.

Rafayel exhaled against his lips, whispering when they parted, “You’re home to me too.”

Sylus’s thumb brushed his cheek, eyes warm and a little glassy. “Then let’s keep it that way.”

The night moved on in silence, but everything had shifted — subtly, completely.

In the glow of the city, two hearts that had been circling each other for months finally met in the middle.

And for the first time, Sylus didn’t just see Rafayel as the light that entered his life —
He saw him as the person he wanted to walk beside for the rest of it.

Chapter Text

The first thing Rafayel felt when he woke up was warmth.

A heavy, comforting kind of warmth — the kind that made him want to stay still forever.

Sunlight was slipping through the curtains, brushing across the couch where they’d both fallen asleep sometime in the early morning.

Sylus’s arm was still around him, heavy but gentle.
His breathing — slow, steady — brushed against the back of Rafayel’s neck.

Rafayel smiled sleepily. He didn’t want to move.

The world outside could wait.
For now, it was just the quiet hum of morning and the slow rhythm of Sylus’s heartbeat.

A sudden pitter-patter of footsteps broke the silence.

Then, in a small, curious voice —
“...Daddy?”

Sylus blinked awake immediately.

Rafayel stirred, sitting up slightly just as Noah peeked around the corner of the couch, clutching his stuffed rabbit.

“Morning, sunshine,” Rafayel greeted softly, rubbing his eyes. “You’re up early.”

Noah blinked at them. “Were you two sleeping here all night?”

Rafayel smiled sheepishly. “Maybe.”

Sylus cleared his throat, trying to look composed despite his hair being tousled. “We were… talking. And then we fell asleep.”

Noah tilted his head, his big eyes sparkling with something curious — and maybe, just maybe, mischief.

“Talking?” he repeated, suspiciously. “Because you look like you were hugging.”

Rafayel coughed. “We might have been doing that too.”

Noah giggled, climbing onto the couch between them. “You hug a lot now.”

Sylus exchanged a look with Rafayel — half amused, half flustered.
“I suppose we do,” Sylus admitted.

“Is that because you love each other?” Noah asked innocently.

Rafayel froze, cheeks warming. “Uh—”

Sylus chuckled softly, brushing a hand through Noah’s messy hair. “Yes. It is.”

Noah seemed to think about that for a long moment, his brows furrowing adorably.

Then, in the most serious voice imaginable, he said:

“So… are you two going to get married?”

Both adults blinked.

Rafayel nearly choked on air. “W–What?”

“You know,” Noah said matter-of-factly, “like in the movies! When people love each other, they have a big party with cake and rings and pretty clothes.”

Sylus’s lips twitched — not with mockery, but with a softness that came from being completely undone by his son’s sincerity.

“And what makes you think we should have one?” he asked gently.

“Because you already act married,” Noah said simply. “You cook together, hug, and you both kiss my forehead goodnight. That’s what families do.”

Rafayel blinked rapidly, trying not to cry.

Sylus looked at him — and in that moment, Rafayel saw something shift again.

The same warmth that filled their first kiss, now gentler, deeper… like a quiet promise already written between them.

Sylus leaned forward, resting a hand on Noah’s small shoulder. “What if we told you… we’re thinking about it?”

Noah’s eyes widened. “Really?!”

Rafayel blinked at him, startled. “We are?”

Sylus’s gaze didn’t waver. “I am.”

Rafayel’s breath caught. Sylus continued, voice calm but heartfelt:
“I may not know when or how yet… but I do know I want you with us. Always.”

Noah squealed, throwing his arms around both of them. “Yay! That means I’ll get two daddies forever!”

Rafayel laughed through his tears, hugging him back. “You already do, sweetheart.”

Sylus smiled — the kind of smile that only appeared when he looked at his family.

Later that morning, as sunlight filled the kitchen and the scent of coffee and pancakes drifted through the air, Rafayel glanced at Sylus across the table.

Their eyes met — and in that quiet exchange, there was no need for vows, no rings, no ceremony.

Just understanding.
And the kind of love that didn’t need to be announced to feel eternal.

The photography studio smelled faintly of coffee and fresh flowers.

Light streamed in through the big glass windows, spilling across white walls and the polished wooden floor.

“Alright, ready?” the photographer called cheerfully.

Rafayel laughed nervously, tugging at the hem of his cream sweater. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this level of spotlight.”

“You face twenty kindergartners daily,” Sylus said dryly beside him. “I think you’ll survive a camera.”

“Kindergartners don’t hold a lens and say ‘smile like you’re in love!’” Rafayel countered, cheeks warming.

From where he stood on the little stool between them, Noah giggled. “But you are in love!”

Rafayel’s blush deepened. “Noah—”

Sylus chuckled, his hand resting lightly on Rafayel’s back. “He’s not wrong.”

The photographer clapped her hands.

“Perfect! That’s the energy I want. Alright, everyone — let’s start with a few natural shots. Just talk to each other. Pretend I’m not here.”

Rafayel turned toward Noah. “Okay, my turn — what pose do you think we should do?”

Noah puffed out his cheeks, thinking. “Hmm… let’s do one where Papa holds my hand, and Daddy puts his arm around both of us!”

Rafayel blinked, soft laughter bubbling up. “You’re directing now?”

“I’m the model,” Noah said proudly. “I get to choose!”

Sylus raised an eyebrow but followed Noah’s command with quiet amusement.

When he slipped his arm around Rafayel’s waist, their sides brushed — and something clicked softly in Rafayel’s chest.

Not the camera shutter.
Something deeper.

“Beautiful,” the photographer murmured, snapping a few shots. “The way you’re looking at each other… perfect.”

Rafayel blinked. “We’re not even—”

Sylus smirked, voice low. “She means you’re smiling like you mean it.”

Rafayel rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it.

After the formal poses — the three sitting on the floor, Noah perched between them; Sylus holding him while Rafayel laughed — the photographer suggested,
“Let’s take one of just the two of you, if that’s okay?”

Noah grinned. “Yes! Couple photo!”

Rafayel groaned softly. “You’re supposed to be on my side, Noah.”

“But I am! You look happy with Daddy.”

That shut him up — in the best way.

So they stood together before the camera again, the world falling a little quiet around them.

Rafayel’s smile softened when he met Sylus’s gaze — calm, steady, full of that quiet adoration he’d learned to recognize.

Sylus tilted his head slightly. “Smile properly.”

“I am smiling,” Rafayel whispered.

“Then smile for me.”

And he did.

The shutter clicked.

The photographer lowered her camera slowly, smiling. “That’s the one.”

When they were done, Noah tugged on Rafayel’s sleeve.
“Can we hang the picture at home?”

Rafayel knelt down. “Where do you want to put it?”

“In the living room! So everyone can see our family!”

Sylus’s expression softened, the faintest hint of emotion flickering behind his calm exterior. “I think that’s a good idea.”

Rafayel looked between them — the little boy with sunshine in his smile and the man with quiet constellations in his eyes — and thought, This is what forever feels like.

That evening, when the studio emailed them a preview of the photos, Rafayel sat on the couch scrolling through them with Noah curled up beside him.

One in particular stood out: Sylus’s arm around Rafayel’s shoulders, Rafayel mid-laugh, Noah grinning in the middle — all light, love, and warmth.

Noah pointed. “That’s us. That’s what happy looks like.”

Rafayel smiled through the lump in his throat. “Yeah, sweetheart. That’s us.”

Chapter Text

The rain began just before noon.

Soft, steady, and silver — the kind of rain that filled the world with quiet instead of gloom.

Sylus sat by the window, a cup of coffee untouched beside him. His phone screen glowed faintly, displaying the email confirmation he’d read at least five times now.

Order confirmed: Platinum band, custom engraving.

He exhaled slowly. Even the simple words made his chest feel tight — not with fear, but with the weight of meaning.

“Daddy?”

He looked up to see Noah standing at the doorway, holding a drawing.

“Hey, buddy.” Sylus’s voice softened automatically. “What’s that?”

Noah beamed, running over. “It’s our family!”

Sylus smiled as he took the paper — a colorful crayon world.

Three figures under a blue sky: Noah in the middle, holding hands with two taller ones.
One labeled Daddy. The other, Papa.

His throat tightened.

“You drew this all by yourself?”

“Uh-huh! For when you and Papa get married.”

Sylus blinked. “We’re… getting married?”

Noah looked up innocently. “Aren’t you? You already got the ring.”

Sylus froze. “How do you—”

“I saw it when I was helping you look for my math book,” Noah said cheerfully, oblivious. “Don’t worry! I didn’t tell Papa!”

Sylus sighed — then chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re too clever for your own good.”

Noah grinned. “I can help you propose if you want.”

Sylus raised an eyebrow. “You want to help me?”

“Of course! You always say teamwork makes things easier.”

Sylus couldn’t argue with that. “Alright, little man. What do you have in mind?”

That afternoon, while Rafayel was busy prepping an art project for his class, Sylus and Noah whispered conspiratorially in the study.

“What kind of place does Papa like?” Noah asked, scribbling notes on a sticky pad like a tiny professional planner.

Sylus thought for a moment. “He likes quiet places. And the stars.”

“And coffee,” Noah added. “He always smiles when he makes you coffee.”

Sylus smiled faintly. “He does.”

Noah gasped suddenly, bouncing on his feet. “What about the park? The one where we had that picnic last month? It has fairy lights and a fountain!”

Sylus’s mind immediately painted the image: nightfall, the sound of water, rain softly drizzling, and Rafayel’s laughter under the lights.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “That’s perfect.”

The rain didn’t stop by evening.
Instead, it turned into a gentle drizzle that kissed the pavement and made the city shimmer.

When Rafayel returned home, Sylus greeted him at the door — coat in hand, that rare but devastatingly soft smile on his face.

“Come with me,” he said.

Rafayel blinked. “Where?”

“You’ll see.”

They drove through the misty city, wipers brushing rhythmically against the windshield.

Rafayel leaned against the window, watching the blurred lights. “You’re not usually this mysterious.”

“Maybe I’m learning from someone,” Sylus said, glancing at him with a hint of amusement.

Rafayel laughed softly. “Touché.”

When they arrived, the park was almost empty — only the sound of raindrops and the faint hum of fairy lights that had been left on along the walkway.

Rafayel stepped out, eyes widening slightly. “Sylus… this is—”

He stopped when Sylus held out an umbrella for him, opening it above them both.

They walked together under its small circle of shelter, shoes brushing the damp grass.
At the fountain’s edge, Sylus stopped.

The city lights reflected in the water like melted gold.

“Do you remember what you told me once?” Sylus said quietly.

Rafayel looked up. “Which part?”

“That love doesn’t have to be loud to be real. That sometimes, it’s just staying. Showing up. Every day.”

Rafayel smiled faintly. “You remembered.”

“I did,” Sylus said — and then, reaching into his pocket, he added softly, “Because you’ve been doing that for both of us since the day we met.”

Rafayel froze as he saw the small velvet box in Sylus’s hand.

Rain pattered softly around them, tapping against the umbrella like a rhythm of heartbeats.

Sylus opened the box — a simple, elegant platinum band glimmered inside, catching the faint light.

“It’s not grand,” he said. “And I’m not perfect. But I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel as loved as you’ve made us feel.”

Rafayel’s breath caught — tears already forming in his eyes. “Sylus…”

He laughed shakily. “You’re supposed to ask, you know.”

Sylus’s lips curved. “Rafayel, will you marry me?”

Rafayel didn’t hesitate.

He threw his arms around him, umbrella nearly slipping from his grasp. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

Sylus exhaled a breath that trembled with relief and quiet joy, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

The rain kept falling, cool and clean, but under that umbrella, everything was warm.

When they finally pulled apart, Rafayel laughed softly through his tears.
“Did Noah know?”

Sylus smirked. “He might have helped.”

“I should’ve known,” Rafayel chuckled. “My little co-conspirator.”

Sylus brushed a thumb across his cheek. “Our little conspirator.”

Rafayel’s heart swelled at the word our.
He leaned in and kissed him — slow, deep, full of promise.

The next morning, Noah burst into their room, shouting, “Did he say yes?!”

Rafayel laughed, holding up his hand to show the ring.

Noah squealed, jumping onto the bed. “I knew it! We’re a real family now!”

Sylus chuckled, pulling both of them into a hug. “We always were.”

The morning of their wedding smelled like rain and jasmine.

Rafayel stood in front of the mirror, heart fluttering.

The white suit felt soft against his skin, the lapel pinned with a tiny sprig of baby’s breath that Noah had insisted on “because Papa likes flowers.”

He smiled at the memory.

From outside the room came Noah’s excited voice:
“Daddy! Don’t move! Your tie is crooked again!”

Sylus’s low chuckle followed. “You’ve said that three times already, bud.”

Rafayel peeked through the doorway.

Sylus stood near the window in a charcoal suit, sunlight catching the silver at his temples. Noah—mini tie askew—was standing on tiptoe, “fixing” the knot with both small hands.

Rafayel’s heart ached in the best way.

When Sylus noticed him, his eyes softened instantly. “You’re beautiful,” he said simply.

Rafayel laughed, cheeks warming. “You’re biased.”

“Completely.”

Noah turned and gasped. “Papa! You look like a prince!”

Rafayel knelt to his level, adjusting Noah’s tiny vest. “And you, my dear, look like our best man.”

Noah puffed his chest proudly. “I am!”

The ceremony was small—just close friends, a few of Rafayel’s colleagues, and Sylus’s business partners who had quietly become family.

They chose the same park where the proposal had happened; the rain had stopped, leaving the grass damp and shining.

Fairy lights swayed in the breeze. White chairs lined the path. Somewhere, soft piano music played.

When Rafayel walked down the short aisle, Noah held his hand, grinning up at him the whole way.

At the end waited Sylus—hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on him as if no one else existed.

Rafayel nearly forgot how to breathe.

The officiant smiled. “We gather here not to create a new family, but to recognize one that already exists.”

Noah’s eyes widened, looking between them proudly.

Sylus took Rafayel’s hands. His voice was steady, low, but carried through the hush.

“You came into my life when I had stopped expecting light. You reminded me that love doesn’t erase the past—it heals it. And every morning since, I’ve woken up grateful for you, for him, for us.”

Rafayel’s eyes shimmered. “You found me when I thought I was meant only to give love, not receive it. You taught me that home isn’t a place—it’s the people who hold your heart.”

When they exchanged rings, Noah clapped so loudly everyone laughed.
“Now kiss!” he shouted, utterly thrilled.

Sylus glanced at Rafayel, amused. “Permission granted?”

Rafayel smiled through tears. “Always.”

The kiss was soft, certain, full of everything unsaid—the years of slow healing, of laughter, of building a home together brick by gentle brick.

When they broke apart, Noah threw his arms around their legs. “We did it!”

Rafayel laughed, hugging him close. “We sure did, sweetheart.”

That night, long after guests had gone, the three of them sat in the living room surrounded by flowers and leftover cake.

Noah had fallen asleep between them, tiny hand resting across both their laps.

Rafayel leaned his head against Sylus’s shoulder. “We’re really married,” he whispered.

Sylus brushed a thumb over his ring. “We’ve been married in every way that mattered for a long time. Today just made it official.”

Rafayel smiled, eyes half-closed. “Then this… this is home.”

Sylus kissed his temple. “It always will be.”

Outside, rain began to fall again—gentle, steady, and warm.

Inside, their little family slept soundly beneath its rhythm, hearts finally at peace.

Chapter Text

Morning sunlight spilled gently through gauzy curtains, dust motes dancing in its golden haze.

The air smelled faintly of coffee and lilies—the remnants of yesterday’s celebration.

Rafayel stirred first.
The silk sheets were cool against his skin, the pillow soft and familiar.

He blinked, eyes adjusting, then smiled when he realized where he was—no longer in the guest room of Sylus’s house, no longer a visitor.

Home.

A warm arm draped across his waist, pulling him closer.

“Mm,” Sylus murmured, voice still gravelly from sleep. “You’re awake too early for someone who danced for three hours last night.”

Rafayel chuckled softly. “You’re awake too early for someone who claimed he doesn’t dance.”

“That was under duress.”

“Duress?” Rafayel turned, meeting Sylus’s half-lidded gaze. “You twirled me three times.”

“Exactly. Excessive physical exertion.”

Rafayel snorted, trying not to laugh too loudly. “You’re unbelievable.”

Sylus smiled faintly. “And you’re radiant.”

They lay there in silence for a few minutes—the kind of silence that felt safe, filled only with the soft rhythm of breathing and the muffled hum of the city outside.

Rafayel traced small circles on Sylus’s hand resting on his stomach. “Do you ever think about how strange it is? How we got here?”

Sylus’s thumb brushed over his ring. “Every day.”

Rafayel smiled. “You mean that?”

“I mean it in the best way possible.” He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to Rafayel’s hair. “I still don’t know how I got lucky enough to have both of you.”

“Luck?” Rafayel teased. “I thought you didn’t believe in that.”

“I make exceptions.”

A sudden knock on the door made them both pause.
Then a small voice came through—
“Daddy! Papa! Are you awake?”

Rafayel tried to hide his laughter. “Guess we’re discovered.”

Sylus groaned softly, reaching for his robe. “I thought I locked the—”

The door creaked open before he could finish, and Noah peeked in, holding a tray that wobbled dangerously.

“I made breakfast!” he declared proudly. “It’s your first married morning!”

Rafayel’s eyes softened instantly. “Oh, sweetheart, you didn’t have to—”

“But I wanted to! There’s toast, orange juice, and um… the eggs might be a little crunchy, but I tried!”

Sylus raised an eyebrow. “Crunchy?”

Noah looked sheepish. “I dropped some shell in. But it’s love flavor!”

Rafayel burst out laughing, sitting up and patting the bed. “Come here, chef.”

Noah clambered up between them, carefully placing the tray on the blanket.

The toast was burnt at the edges, the orange juice unevenly poured—but it was perfect.

Sylus picked up a slice, pretending to study it seriously. “You know,” he said, “this might be the best breakfast I’ve had in years.”

Noah’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” Sylus said, taking a bite without hesitation. “Crunch adds character.”

Rafayel giggled, leaning his head against Sylus’s shoulder. “You two are going to spoil me.”

“You’re married to us,” Sylus replied smoothly. “That’s our job.”

After breakfast, Rafayel helped Noah carry the tray back to the kitchen.

When he returned, Sylus was standing by the window, sunlight warming his hair, phone in hand.

“Work?” Rafayel asked gently.

“Just a message from the office,” Sylus said, putting it away immediately. “It can wait.”

Rafayel smiled softly. “Good.” He walked up to him, resting his chin on Sylus’s chest.

“You know, I used to think the day after the wedding would feel… strange. Like something would change.”

“Does it?”

Rafayel shook his head. “No. It feels like waking up exactly where I belong.”

Sylus’s expression softened, his hand lifting to cup Rafayel’s jaw. “Then I’ve done at least one thing right.”

Rafayel smiled, whispering, “More than one.”

Sylus leaned down, kissing him—slow and sure, the kind of kiss that spoke of quiet promises and everyday love.

When they parted, Noah’s voice called again from the kitchen, “Papa! Daddy! Can we go to the park later? For family photo part two?”

Rafayel laughed. “He’s already planning the sequel.”

Sylus smirked. “He gets that from you.”

“Then I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Later that morning, the three of them walked out into the bright autumn sunlight—Noah skipping ahead, Rafayel’s hand in Sylus’s.

The world felt the same, yet new somehow.
Not because of vows or rings, but because love had finally settled into home.

The airport was unusually calm that morning—soft morning light spilling over glass walls, travelers moving like waves through the terminals.

Rafayel adjusted his scarf, glancing at Sylus who stood beside him with luggage in hand.

Noah had been left in his aunt’s care for the week (with tearful goodbyes and a promise of daily video calls).

Rafayel still felt the faint ache of it. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

Sylus gave him a sidelong look. “He was already negotiating bedtime privileges with your aunt when we left. He’ll be fine.”

Rafayel laughed softly. “He is your son, after all.”

Sylus smirked. “Stubborn?”

“Strategic,” Rafayel corrected, eyes twinkling. “Just like you.”

Their honeymoon destination was one of Rafayel’s long-held dreams: a quiet seaside town in Greece, far from the noise of the city.

A place where the ocean met the horizon, and time seemed to slow.

When they arrived, the villa overlooked the turquoise water—white stone walls draped in bougainvillea, sunlight pouring through every window.

Rafayel stood at the balcony, wind in his hair, eyes wide with wonder.
“It’s beautiful,” he breathed.

Sylus came up behind him, arms sliding around his waist. “Not as much as you.”

Rafayel turned slightly, pretending to frown. “You’re getting better at flattery.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

The days melted into a golden rhythm.

Mornings began with slow breakfasts by the sea, Rafayel feeding Sylus bits of fruit between laughter.

Afternoons were spent exploring cobbled streets, wandering through markets where locals greeted them with warmth.

Once, Rafayel pulled Sylus into a small shop that sold handmade bracelets.

“Here,” he said, slipping a braided one around Sylus’s wrist. “For luck.”

Sylus raised an eyebrow. “You know I don’t believe in luck.”

“Then consider it a reminder,” Rafayel said softly. “Of me.”

Sylus’s expression softened. “As if I could forget.”

One evening, they found themselves on the beach as the sun dipped low—sky painted in orange and lavender.

Rafayel walked barefoot through the cool sand, shoes in one hand, the other brushing against Sylus’s.

“You know,” he murmured, “I used to think love was supposed to be… loud. Like fireworks. Something that burned bright and fast.”

“And now?” Sylus asked, voice gentle.

“Now it feels like this,” Rafayel said, glancing up at him. “Quiet. Steady. Like the tide that keeps coming back.”

Sylus stopped walking, turning fully to face him. The wind tugged at his hair, carrying the scent of salt and evening blossoms.

“Then I’ll make sure it always does,” he said.

Rafayel’s eyes shimmered. “Promise?”

Sylus leaned closer, voice low. “Promise.”

The kiss that followed was soft—slow and endless, the kind that left the world fading away until there was only the sound of the ocean and the steady beat of two hearts finding the same rhythm.

Later, they sat beneath the stars, a single lantern flickering beside them.

Rafayel leaned against Sylus’s chest, watching the constellations stretch across the night sky.

“Do you ever think,” Rafayel whispered, “that maybe love is a little like the stars? Distant, but constant?”

Sylus smiled faintly. “No. I think it’s like this.”

“Like what?”

He tilted Rafayel’s chin up and kissed him again, slow and sure. “Close. Right here.”

Rafayel’s laugh was soft and breathless. “You really are learning romance.”

“I have an excellent teacher.”

When they finally went inside, Rafayel curled into Sylus’s arms beneath the sheets, warm and drowsy from the sea air.

Outside, waves whispered against the shore—an eternal rhythm of homecoming.

Rafayel smiled into Sylus’s chest. “I don’t ever want this to end.”

Sylus brushed a hand through his hair. “It won’t. Honeymoon or not… every day with you feels like one.”

Chapter Text

The sea was still, the horizon painted in gold and rose.
It was their last morning in Greece.

Rafayel sat on the veranda, knees pulled to his chest, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands.

His hair was still tousled from sleep, his expression soft with that sleepy calm that only mornings could bring.

Behind him, Sylus stepped out, a towel draped over his shoulders, freshly showered. “You’re up early again,” he murmured.

Rafayel smiled. “Didn’t want to waste the last sunrise.”

Sylus leaned down, brushing a kiss to his temple before sitting beside him. “You and your poetic habits.”

Rafayel chuckled, resting his head against Sylus’s shoulder. “Someone has to balance your stoic energy.”

Sylus smirked. “You mean ruin it.”

Rafayel laughed softly. “Improve it.”

For a long while, they sat in silence, watching the waves.

The light touched everything in soft gold—the edges of the table, the curve of Rafayel’s cheek, the silver thread in Sylus’s hair.

Rafayel toyed with his ring. “It’s strange,” he said quietly.

“For years, I thought the idea of family was something I could only help others build. That I’d always be the one cheering from the outside.”

Sylus turned to him, listening.

“And now…” Rafayel smiled faintly. “Now I have a home, a husband, a son. Sometimes I still wake up thinking it’s a dream.”

Sylus’s hand found his. “Then I’ll make sure it’s one you never have to wake from.”

Rafayel looked up, warmth pooling in his chest. “Careful, Mr. Businessman. You’re starting to sound romantic again.”

Sylus kissed the back of his hand. “You’re a bad influence.”

After a quiet pause, Rafayel hesitated before saying softly, “Do you ever think about… adding to our family?”

Sylus blinked, then smiled gently. “You mean—?”

“I mean,” Rafayel said, cheeks flushing, “if maybe… someday, Noah could have a sibling.”

Sylus was quiet for a moment, watching the sunlight ripple across the waves. “I’ve thought about it,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t sure if you—”

“I’d love that,” Rafayel interrupted softly. “Not now, maybe, but… someday. The idea of watching a little one grow up with Noah… it feels right.”

Sylus’s gaze softened. “Would you want them to look like you?”

Rafayel laughed. “Maybe. Or maybe they’d have your eyes and my smile. Or Noah’s hair and your frown.”

“That’s a dangerous combination,” Sylus deadpanned.

Rafayel nudged him with a grin. “And perfect.”

Sylus’s expression warmed. “We’ll talk to Noah first,” he said after a moment.

“Make sure he feels secure. I never want him to think he’s being replaced.”

“He won’t,” Rafayel said softly. “He has too much love to ever feel left out. He’ll probably name the baby himself.”

Sylus chuckled. “And insist on teaching them everything.”

“Exactly,” Rafayel said, eyes soft with fondness. “He’ll be the best big brother.”

The waves rolled closer, brushing the sand in slow rhythm.

Rafayel leaned into Sylus, voice barely above a whisper. “I can picture it, you know. The four of us. Breakfasts together. Little footsteps in the hallway again.”

Sylus wrapped an arm around him. “I can too.”

Rafayel smiled, his chest aching with quiet joy. “You really want that?”

Sylus’s answer was simple, steady. “If it’s with you—then yes. Always.”

They stayed like that until the sun was high, the sea glittering bright enough to make their eyes water.

When Rafayel finally stood, he looked back one last time at the view—the ocean, the light, the memory of their laughter drifting across the balcony.

“Ready to go home?” Sylus asked.

Rafayel smiled. “Home isn’t there,” he said softly, reaching for Sylus’s hand. “It’s wherever we are.”

Sylus squeezed his fingers. “Then let’s go home, together.”

As they walked back inside to pack, the morning breeze carried the sound of waves against the shore—steady, gentle, like a promise that tomorrow would be even brighter.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the house just as the evening light turned gold.

Rafayel pressed a hand to his heart, smiling at the familiar sight — the garden Noah and he had planted now in full bloom, the wind chime tinkling softly by the door.

“Feels strange,” he murmured. “We were gone only a week, but it feels like forever.”

“Travel does that,” Sylus said, stepping out and pulling their luggage from the trunk. “But it’s good to be home.”

Before Rafayel could reply, the front door burst open.

“Daddy! Papa!”

Noah came running down the steps, his small arms flinging around both their legs at once.

Rafayel laughed, crouching to pull him into a hug. “Oh, sweetheart, we missed you so much!”

“You were gone forever!” Noah said dramatically, cheeks puffed. “Auntie said it was only seven days, but I counted! Seven whole sleeps!”

Sylus chuckled, kneeling beside Rafayel to ruffle Noah’s hair. “We missed your counting, too.”

Inside, the house smelled like cookies — Aunt Talia’s doing, no doubt. The living room had a few new drawings on the fridge: one of Noah, Rafayel, and Sylus at their wedding, stick figures holding hands beneath a big heart.

Rafayel smiled softly. “You drew this?”

“Mm-hmm,” Noah said proudly. “And Auntie said we can print one big version for your bedroom!”

Sylus raised an amused brow. “My office is running out of wall space already.”

Rafayel nudged him playfully. “You secretly love it.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

After unpacking, the three sat down to dinner — simple comfort food Rafayel had made before they left: stew, rice, and vegetables.

Noah ate between them, chattering excitedly about school, his friends, and how he helped Aunt Talia water the plants.

But halfway through dinner, he grew quiet.

Rafayel noticed first. “Hey,” he said gently, “what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Noah fiddled with his spoon. “Nothing.”

Sylus and Rafayel exchanged a look.

“Something’s on your mind,” Rafayel said softly. “You can tell us, okay?”

Noah hesitated, then finally whispered, “I just… was thinking.”

Sylus leaned slightly closer. “About what?”

“…if maybe…” Noah’s voice grew shy. “If maybe someday, I could have a little brother. Or sister.”

Rafayel froze mid-breath.

Sylus blinked slowly — clearly taken aback — then glanced at Rafayel, who was biting his lip to keep from smiling too wide.

Rafayel reached out, brushing a hand through Noah’s hair. “What made you think of that?”

Noah shrugged, cheeks pink. “Well… my friend Lucas said his baby sister just learned to walk, and he helps her eat and stuff. And I thought it would be nice to teach someone too. And—” he peeked up, shyly hopeful “—then our family would be even bigger!”

Rafayel’s heart melted instantly.
Sylus looked at him, eyes warm with that quiet understanding that had always been their unspoken language.

“Well,” Rafayel said softly, “what if we told you that Daddy and I were thinking about that too?”

Noah’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Really,” Sylus confirmed, smiling faintly. “We were talking about it on the plane home.”

Noah’s mouth dropped open in awe. “So—there’s gonna be a baby?!”

Rafayel laughed. “Not yet! It’s just a maybe for now. But if we ever do, you’ll be the best big brother in the world.”

Noah beamed so brightly it made Rafayel’s chest ache. “I’ll share my toys! Even my crayons! And I’ll teach them to draw and to say goodnight to the moon like we do!”

Sylus chuckled softly. “That’s quite a plan already.”

Rafayel leaned closer to whisper, “He definitely gets that from you.”

Sylus smirked. “He gets the heart from you.”

After dinner, they watched a movie together — Noah curled between them, fighting sleep but refusing to move from their sides.

By the time the credits rolled, his head had fallen against Rafayel’s chest, tiny snores escaping.

Sylus reached out, adjusting the blanket over him. “He really missed us.”

Rafayel smiled, brushing Noah’s hair gently. “And we missed him more.”

They sat there for a while, hands quietly intertwined, watching the soft rise and fall of Noah’s breathing.

Rafayel whispered, “Do you think we could really…?”

Sylus looked at him, eyes steady. “Yes. When we’re ready.”

Rafayel nodded, a small smile curling on his lips. “Then I think our family’s going to be even more perfect.”

Sylus kissed his temple. “It already is. But I wouldn’t mind it growing.”

Later that night, as Rafayel tucked Noah into bed, Noah mumbled drowsily, “Goodnight, Daddy… goodnight, Papa… goodnight, baby sibling… wherever you are.”

Rafayel’s eyes softened, tears pricking as he turned to Sylus.

Sylus only smiled quietly, pulling Rafayel close. “He’s already loving someone who doesn’t even exist yet.”

Rafayel whispered back, voice trembling with warmth. “That’s what love does.”

Chapter Text

A soft hum of morning filled the house. The sound of birds outside the window, the faint scent of toast and coffee drifting from the kitchen.

Rafayel stood by the window in his favorite robe, one hand resting unconsciously on the gentle curve of his belly.

The morning light caught in his hair, and for a moment, the reflection staring back at him looked both the same and entirely new.

He smiled to himself.
He was seven months along now.
The baby had started kicking more often — especially when Noah talked too loudly near his belly.

“Papa!”

A burst of small footsteps echoed down the hall.

Noah came running in, hair still messy from sleep, clutching a tiny book.

“Morning, sunshine,” Rafayel said warmly. “You’re up early.”

“I wanted to read to the baby!” Noah declared proudly, climbing onto the bed. “You said babies can hear, right?”

Rafayel chuckled. “They can. And they like hearing your voice.”

Noah settled beside him, opening the picture book. His small hand rested gently on Rafayel’s stomach.

“Good morning, baby,” he said solemnly. “I’m Noah. Your big brother. I’m gonna teach you everything — how to draw, and how to sneak cookies when Daddy’s not looking—”

Rafayel snorted. “Noah.”

“—and how to make Papa laugh,” Noah finished with a grin. “Because Papa laughs the prettiest.”

Rafayel blinked, touched. “You are too sweet, sweetheart.”

“I’m the best big brother,” Noah said confidently. “Aunt Talia said so.”

Just then, Sylus appeared in the doorway, wearing a soft smile and holding two mugs of tea.

“Are you two conspiring already this morning?”

Rafayel looked up at him with a grin. “We’re having storytime.”

Sylus set the mugs down and sat beside them, his hand instinctively finding its place over Rafayel’s.

The baby kicked gently, right against his palm.

He stilled, eyes softening. “There it is.”

Rafayel laughed quietly. “They always react to your touch.”

“Probably because you sound like home,” Noah said matter-of-factly.

Sylus blinked, surprised by the quiet wisdom in his son’s tone. “…Do I?”

“Yeah,” Noah said, snuggling between them. “You both do.”

Rafayel’s eyes grew warm, his heart full. “He’s right.”

Later that day, the three of them went to the park — the same one where they’d taken their wedding photos two years ago.

Noah ran ahead chasing dandelions, his laughter ringing in the air, while Sylus walked slowly beside Rafayel, his arm loosely around his waist.

“You’re sure you’re not walking too much?” Sylus asked softly.

“I’m fine,” Rafayel assured him with a smile. “If I stay home any longer, I’ll start rearranging the nursery for the fifth time.”

Sylus’s lips curved. “You already alphabetized the baby books yesterday.”

Rafayel laughed, embarrassed. “I just want everything perfect before they come.”

Sylus stopped, turning Rafayel gently to face him. “It already is. You’ve made our world perfect.”

Rafayel smiled shyly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You always say the right thing.”

“Only when I mean it.”

They sat on a bench watching Noah build a tiny “castle” of leaves and twigs.
Rafayel rested his head on Sylus’s shoulder. “Do you ever think about how much has changed?”

Sylus’s gaze softened. “Every day.”

“You, me, Noah… and soon, another heartbeat in this family.” Rafayel’s voice trembled slightly. “Sometimes it feels like we built all this out of pure love.”

Sylus looked at him, brushing his thumb over the back of his hand. “That’s exactly what we did.”

When they returned home, Noah insisted on showing them the baby’s room again — walls painted in soft sky blue with white stars, a crib by the window, and drawings Noah had made taped proudly to the walls.

“This one’s my favorite,” Rafayel said, pointing to one of Noah’s pictures.

It showed all four of them holding hands — Daddy, Papa, Noah, and a baby with a big smile.

“That’s the family picture,” Noah said proudly. “Because soon we’ll be four!”

Sylus knelt beside him. “You know, Noah, you’ve grown up a lot.”

Noah puffed his chest. “That’s because I’m gonna help take care of everyone.”

Rafayel laughed softly. “I think we’ll have the best helper in the world.”

That night, as Rafayel drifted off beside Sylus, the baby stirred again — a small, soft movement beneath his hand.

Rafayel whispered, “They’re moving again.”

Sylus’s voice was low, full of wonder. “They’re strong.”

Rafayel smiled sleepily. “Like their father.”

Sylus kissed his forehead. “Like both their parents.”

Outside, the wind brushed through the garden, carrying the scent of blooming lilies — the same kind from their wedding.
Inside, peace settled over them, warm and steady, like a promise made long ago and finally fulfilled.

The storm came without warning.
Thunder rolled across the city, and rain lashed against the windows in silver sheets.

Sylus was halfway through an online meeting when he heard it — the sound of glass breaking, followed by Rafayel’s startled cry.

He was on his feet instantly.
“Rafayel?”

He found him in the kitchen, gripping the edge of the counter, a mug shattered at his feet — and a dark patch spreading beneath him on the tiles.

For a second, Sylus’s world stopped.

“...Sylus,” Rafayel whispered, voice trembling. “I—I think it’s time.”

The next few minutes blurred together.

Sylus scooped him up in his arms, his pulse thundering as he called for the driver, barely aware of the rain soaking his clothes as they rushed out.
Noah stood in the doorway, eyes wide with fear.

“Daddy! Papa—what’s happening?”

Sylus knelt briefly, forcing his voice to steady. “Papa’s going to the hospital, sweetheart. You’ll stay with Aunt Talia, okay? I’ll call you as soon as the baby’s here.”

Noah’s lip trembled. “Promise?”

Sylus cupped his cheek. “Promise.”

Then he was gone — the car slicing through the rain as the city blurred outside.

The hallway lights were too bright.
The antiseptic smell clawed at Sylus’s senses.
He held Rafayel’s hand as nurses wheeled him in, his knuckles white from how tightly he held on.

Rafayel’s breaths came sharp, shallow. “Sylus…”

“I’m here,” Sylus said hoarsely, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “I’m right here, love.”

The doctor’s tone was calm but firm. “He’s early, but the baby’s strong. We’ll take good care of them both.”

But the words barely reached Sylus.
All he could hear was the thunder outside, the soft, pained sounds Rafayel made with each contraction, the frantic rhythm of his own heartbeat.

Hours blurred together.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been pacing outside the delivery room, soaked in anxiety and prayer.

Aunt Talia had arrived with Noah, who sat in the waiting area clutching his small stuffed bunny — the one Rafayel gave him years ago.

“Daddy,” Noah said softly. “Is Papa okay?”

Sylus knelt, his voice breaking. “He will be. He has to be.”

Noah reached up, pressing his bunny into Sylus’s hand. “You can hold Mr. Fluff, too. He helps me when I’m scared.”

Sylus blinked hard, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Thank you, Noah. I think he’ll help me too.”

Then ,
a cry.

A thin, clear, perfect wail broke through the storm and the silence of the hallway.

Sylus froze.
The world stopped spinning.

Moments later, a nurse appeared, smiling through the chaos.
“Congratulations. It’s a boy.”

For the first time in hours, Sylus could breathe again.

When they finally let him in, Rafayel was pale and exhausted, hair damp against his temples — but his eyes lit up the moment Sylus entered.

In his arms was a tiny bundle wrapped in white.

Sylus’s voice cracked. “You did it.”

Rafayel smiled faintly, tears slipping down his cheeks. “We did.”

Sylus sat beside him, reaching trembling fingers toward the baby.
The little one yawned — so small, so impossibly alive — and closed his hand around Sylus’s finger.

Something in Sylus broke open.

All the years of loneliness, the grief of losing his first wife, the fear of never having another family — it all melted in that instant.

“Welcome home,” he whispered, voice shaking.

Rafayel smiled softly. “Noah will be so happy.”

Sylus leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You scared me half to death.”

Rafayel’s laughter was weak but warm. “Sorry, Alpha instincts activated?”

Sylus huffed a breath of laughter, brushing away his tears. “Activated, overridden, and completely destroyed.”

Later, Noah came in — tiny feet running down the corridor.
He stopped beside the bed, eyes wide as he saw the baby for the first time.

“Papa?” he whispered. “Is that… him?”

Rafayel smiled tiredly. “Come meet your brother.”

Noah climbed onto the chair, peering over.

The baby stirred, opening his eyes — a shade of ruby, just like Sylus’s.

Noah gasped softly. “He’s so small.”

Sylus rested a hand on his shoulder. “You were, too, once.”

“What’s his name?” Noah asked.

Rafayel and Sylus exchanged a look. Then Rafayel whispered, “Eden.”

Noah smiled, bright and teary. “Hi, Eden. I’m your big brother.”

The baby let out a tiny coo, and Rafayel’s heart melted.

Sylus wrapped his arms around both of them — Rafayel and Noah — holding them close.

For the first time, their family felt whole.

That night, after Noah had fallen asleep in the chair beside the hospital bed, Rafayel turned to Sylus and whispered,
“Were you scared?”

Sylus’s voice was quiet, raw. “Terrified. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

Rafayel smiled faintly. “But you’re here. And so are we.”

Sylus leaned down, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You’re everything I ever wanted, Rafe.”

And as the rain finally stopped outside, the city bathed in a soft, silver dawn, the world around them felt reborn — fragile, perfect, and full of love.

Chapter Text

The morning sun poured gently through the curtains, spilling golden light across the nursery floor.

A soft coo broke the silence — followed by a tiny laugh.

Rafayel stirred awake first, still half-dreaming, until he felt something tugging at his sleeve.

He blinked his eyes open to find Noah standing by the bed, holding baby Eden in his arms — carefully, proudly, like he was carrying the world itself.

“Papa,” Noah whispered. “Eden woke up.”

Rafayel’s heart melted instantly. “You’re up early, my love. Did you carry him all by yourself?”

“I was careful,” Noah said quickly. “Just like Daddy showed me!”

Rafayel smiled, sitting up to take the baby. “You’re the best big brother he could ever have.”

Eden gurgled in agreement, tiny fingers wrapping around Rafayel’s thumb.

His eyes were a soft ruby— Sylus’s eyes — but his smile was all Rafayel.

Sylus appeared in the doorway, still in his pajama shirt, hair slightly messy from sleep.

He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching them with a quiet smile that spoke of everything he didn’t say aloud.

“You three conspired to start the day without me?” he teased gently.

Rafayel laughed. “You were sleeping too peacefully. I didn’t want to disturb the king of the castle.”

Sylus walked over, pressing a kiss to Rafayel’s temple, then one to the top of Eden's tiny head.

“Then I suppose I’ll settle for breakfast duty.”

Noah beamed. “Pancakes?”

Sylus smirked. “Only if my sous-chef helps me.”

“I will!” Noah shouted, racing out toward the kitchen.

Rafayel giggled softly, shaking his head. “You spoil him.”

Sylus chuckled. “You’re one to talk.”

Later, the four of them gathered around the breakfast table — the smell of butter and syrup filling the air.

Eden sat in his baby seat between Rafayel and Sylus, flailing his little arms happily as Noah made exaggerated faces to make him laugh.

Sylus poured Rafayel a cup of tea, glancing at him over the rim of his mug. “You’re glowing this morning.”

Rafayel arched an eyebrow. “Flattery before breakfast? Dangerous habit, Mr. Qin.”

Sylus smiled, low and sincere. “It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

Rafayel laughed, cheeks flushing faintly. “You’re getting better at this romantic thing.”

“Only because you’ve trained me,” Sylus replied, brushing his hand over Rafayel’s.

After breakfast, they went for a walk in the garden — Eden in a stroller, Noah running ahead chasing butterflies.

The sunlight filtered through the trees, warm and dappled, the air filled with the hum of quiet life.

Rafayel looked over at Sylus, who was pushing the stroller with one hand and holding his in the other. “Do you ever think about how far we’ve come?” he asked softly.

Sylus nodded slowly. “Every single day.”

Rafayel smiled faintly. “Sometimes I still can’t believe this is real. That we have this life — you, me, Noah, Eden. A family.”

Sylus looked at him, eyes filled with quiet affection. “It’s real because you made it so.”

Rafayel tilted his head. “Me?”

“You brought light into this house,” Sylus said simply. “I was surviving before you. But you — you taught me how to live again.”

Rafayel’s throat tightened. “Sylus…”

Sylus brushed his thumb gently across his cheek. “You’ve given me more than I ever dreamed I could have.”

Rafayel’s eyes glistened. “And you gave me a home.”

They stopped walking for a moment, the world around them pausing — just the sound of Noah’s laughter and Eden’s soft babbling filling the air.

Then Rafayel smiled, tugging Sylus closer. “You’re everything I wished for when I didn’t even know how to wish.”

Sylus leaned in and kissed him — soft, steady, and sure.

That evening, after the children had fallen asleep, Rafayel stood by the nursery doorway, watching them.

Noah’s arm was protectively draped over Eden’s tiny form, both breathing in unison.

Sylus came up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“They even sleep the same way,” Rafayel whispered, smiling.

Sylus pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

“Like father, like sons.”

Rafayel laughed quietly, turning in his arms. “Thank you, Sylus.”

“For what?”

“For loving me,” Rafayel said simply. “For giving us this life.”

Sylus rested his forehead against his. “You made it possible.”

Rafayel smiled softly. “No… we did.”

The house was quiet now — the kind of quiet that felt alive, full of heartbeats, dreams, and gentle peace.

Outside, the moonlight poured through the windows, painting everything in silver.

Inside, Sylus and Rafayel held each other close, their hands intertwined, their family whole.

And as the night settled around them, Rafayel whispered one last thought before sleep claimed him —

“Four hearts. One home.”

Chapter Text

The morning sun drifted lazily through the curtains, filling the home with warmth and light.

Somewhere down the hall, soft laughter echoed — the kind that made the world feel steady, safe, and alive.

Rafayel stood in the kitchen, humming as he flipped pancakes on the stove, his hair pulled into a loose ponytail.

The air smelled of vanilla and coffee.

Small feet pattered behind him.

“Papa!”

He turned just in time for a giggling little girl to throw herself into his legs.

She was five, with Rafayel’s pinkish-blue eyes and Sylus’s silver hair — a perfect blend of both their worlds.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Rafayel said, crouching down to scoop her up. “Did you sleep well, Ivy?”

“I dreamed about butterflies!” she declared proudly.

“Did they talk to you again?”

“They said I’m the prettiest flower in the garden.”

Rafayel laughed, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “They’re not wrong.”

The clatter of footsteps announced Noah, now twelve, taller and gangly but still gentle-eyed. He ruffled Ivy’s hair affectionately.

“Morning, little bug.”

“Don’t call me that!” Ivy pouted, swatting his hand.

“You’re exactly a bug,” Noah teased.

“Always crawling into Papa’s bed in the middle of the night.”

“Because it’s warm!” she argued.

Rafayel chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, enough teasing. Go wake your daddy — breakfast’s almost ready.”

Noah grinned. “That’s my favorite mission.”

A few minutes later, Sylus appeared, his tie slightly crooked, holding his coffee mug.

“Morning, sunshine,” Rafayel greeted, sliding a plate toward him.

Sylus leaned down and kissed him before sitting. “You’re still spoiling me.”

“I’m consistent,” Rafayel teased.

Ivy climbed into Sylus’s lap, clutching her stuffed bunny. “Daddy, are you coming to my school play later?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Sylus promised.

“You say that every time,” she said, narrowing her little eyes.

“Because it’s always true,” Sylus replied, smiling faintly.

Rafayel caught the way he looked at her — that same wonder he’d had years ago when he first held Noah and later, baby Eden.

That look of a man who still couldn’t believe the universe had given him this much.

Eden, now six, came in sleepy-eyed, dragging his blanket. “Papa, Ivy woke me up again.”

“You needed to anyway,” Rafayel said gently. “Breakfast first, then school.”

Eden yawned and sat beside Noah, muttering, “Can I have chocolate chips in mine?”

Rafayel raised a brow. “You and your sweet tooth.”

Sylus chuckled. “He takes after you.”

Rafayel smiled over his shoulder. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

As they all sat down to eat, the sound of laughter filled the air — Noah telling a dramatic story about his science project, Ivy making butterfly noises, and Eden dipping his pancakes into syrup like it was an art form.

Sylus reached across the table, taking Rafayel’s hand.

He didn’t say anything at first — he didn’t need to.
The quiet in his eyes said it all.

We made it.

Rafayel squeezed his fingers gently. “You’re thinking too loudly again,” he teased.

Sylus chuckled softly. “I was just thinking how beautiful this is. All of it.”

Rafayel smiled, eyes glimmering with fondness. “It is, isn’t it?”

Later, after the children had gone off to school, the house grew quiet.

Rafayel stood by the window, watching the sunlight spill across the garden — the same garden where he’d once walked, dreaming of a life he didn’t think he’d ever have.

Sylus came up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist. “What are you thinking about?”

Rafayel leaned back into him. “The past. How everything led us here.”

Sylus rested his chin on his shoulder. “Do you ever miss the old days?”

Rafayel smiled faintly. “The ones where I didn’t have you? Not for a second.”

Sylus kissed his temple, whispering, “Neither do I.”

In the distance, the wind stirred the leaves — soft, golden, and alive.

Inside, their home echoed with love, laughter, and the quiet peace of hearts that had found where they belonged.

Rafayel turned to Sylus, eyes bright. “We’ve built something extraordinary, haven’t we?”

Sylus smiled. “No, Rafe. You built it. I just had the privilege of standing beside you while you did.”

Rafayel shook his head softly, voice tender. “Then we built it together.”

Sylus brushed his lips against his, slow and steady. “Together, always.”

And somewhere down the hall, the framed photos of their life — a wedding by the sea, newborn smiles, first steps, family holidays — caught the sunlight, glowing softly, like memories that would never fade.

Years later

The late afternoon sun bathed the old garden in honeyed light.

The lilies were in bloom again — white and soft, their scent carrying through the open windows.

Rafayel stood by the porch, watering the flowers, his hair streaked faintly with silver now.

His touch was still gentle, his smile still the same one that had softened Sylus’s heart so many years ago.

Behind him, laughter drifted from the kitchen — Ivy and Eden arguing over who got the last cookie, and Sylus pretending not to take sides.

It was home, just as it had always been.

A car pulled into the driveway.

The sound made Rafayel look up just as Noah stepped out — tall, confident, and smiling in that quiet, sure way that was so much like his father.

“Papa!”

Rafayel’s heart warmed instantly. “You’re home early, love!”

Noah grinned, dropping his bag before pulling him into a hug. “Had a half-day at work. Figured I’d surprise you.”

Rafayel laughed softly, holding him close. “You did. And you look tired.”

“Long week,” Noah admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I missed home.”

“You mean you missed the food,” Sylus’s voice came from the doorway — deeper, steadier, still carrying that soft authority that made everyone listen.

Noah chuckled. “Maybe both.”

Inside, the house was exactly as it had always been — warm and bright, walls filled with framed moments of their life together:

The wedding photo from Greece.
Rafayel holding newborn Eden.
Noah in his graduation gown, grinning between them.
Ivy’s first ballet recital, mid-spin, ribbons in her hair.

Noah stood for a long time, taking it all in.

The scent of lilies, the laughter in the other room, the faint hum of music from the record player.

He turned to Rafayel. “You know, I still tell people my parents are disgustingly in love.”

Rafayel smirked, crossing his arms. “Disgustingly?”

“Well,” Noah said with mock seriousness, “you two still hold hands in the grocery store.”

Sylus walked past, placing a hand on Rafayel’s waist. “Should we stop?”

Noah grinned. “Please don’t. It keeps my standards high.”

Rafayel laughed, the sound bright and alive.

That evening, they had dinner out in the garden — fairy lights glowing overhead, the table covered with Rafayel’s cooking.

Ivy, now a teenager, had her sketchbook open beside her plate, while Eden was strumming the guitar he’d just started learning.

Noah leaned back in his chair, watching them all — his family, his roots, the people who’d taught him everything about love, patience, and kindness.

He caught Sylus watching Rafayel from across the table — that same look he’d worn for decades, as if time had never touched the way he adored him.

It hit Noah then — how rare this was.
How precious.

Later that night, after the others had gone inside, Noah lingered on the porch with Sylus.

The cicadas hummed softly in the distance.

“You ever think about it?” Noah asked quietly. “How far we’ve all come?”

Sylus exhaled slowly, his gaze on the stars. “Every day.”

“You made it look so easy,” Noah said. “Being… this. Loving like this.”

Sylus smiled faintly. “It wasn’t always easy. But it was always worth it.”

Noah nodded slowly. “I want that someday.”

Sylus’s eyes softened. “You will. You’ve already learned the most important part.”

“What’s that?”

“That love isn’t about perfection,” Sylus said quietly. “It’s about staying — through fear, through loss, through everything. It’s choosing each other, again and again.”

Noah smiled faintly, looking through the window — where Rafayel was laughing with Ivy, brushing flour from her hair. “You really did choose right, didn’t you?”

Sylus’s voice gentled. “He chose me first.”

When Noah finally went inside, he found Rafayel sitting by the nursery — now turned into a quiet reading room.

There was still a cradle in the corner, though it hadn’t held a baby in years.
He was humming softly, lost in thought.

“Papa?”

Rafayel looked up and smiled. “Hey, love.”

“Do you ever miss when we were little?”

Rafayel chuckled. “Every day. But watching you all grow has been the greatest joy of my life.”

Noah hesitated, then said softly, “You and Dad… you showed me what love’s supposed to look like. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”

Rafayel’s eyes glimmered. “That’s all we ever hoped for.”

Later, when the house had quieted, Sylus found Rafayel out on the porch again — same as always, waiting for him.

The years had left their marks — a few lines, a few silver strands — but the love between them had only deepened, richer and steadier than before.

Sylus came up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist. “The stars look beautiful tonight.”

Rafayel leaned back into him, smiling softly. “They always do when you’re here.”

Sylus pressed a kiss to his temple. “Still a poet.”

“And you’re still pretending you’re not,” Rafayel teased quietly.

Sylus chuckled, then fell silent for a moment. “Do you ever think about how it all started?”

Rafayel nodded. “Every time I look at you.”

Sylus’s voice was low. “I’m still grateful. Every single day.”

Rafayel turned, his eyes warm with all the years between them. “Then we did it right.”

Sylus smiled softly. “We did.”

They stood there for a long time — two men who had found love against all odds, surrounded by the laughter of their children, the echoes of a life built from tenderness and choice.

And as the stars shimmered above their quiet home, Rafayel whispered the same words he’d said years ago — the promise that had never faded:

“Together, we were home… and always love.”

Sylus kissed him gently. “Always.”

The End