Work Text:
It was 7:00 a.m. on a snowy December Saturday, the kind where the cold pressed itself against the windows and turned the world outside quiet, muffled sounds of the street below. Inside the house, the air was warm and smelled faintly of last night’s laundry detergent and coffee grounds.
The alarm clock shattered the calm.
It blared angrily from the nightstand, tinny and relentless. Mike groaned and fumbled for it, knocking it over before finally slapping the button. Silence rushed back in, broken only by the low hum of the heater.
Will was half draped over him, bare chest warm against Mike’s shoulder, sweatpants twisted around his legs. Mike was wearing Will’s hoodie—one of the soft, worn ones that still smelled like paint and cedar—and had apparently claimed it sometime during the night. They were tangled together under the blankets, limbs heavy with sleep.
“Too early,” Mike muttered into the pillow.
Will smiled, already awake, and brushed his fingers through Mike’s curls. “Mikey,” he whispered. “C’mon. It’s cheer day.”
Mike made a sound somewhere between a groan and a whine. “I don’t know anything about cheer.”
“You know our daughter,” Will said. “That’s enough.”
Will slipped out of bed, immediately hissing at the cold air before pulling on a t-shirt. The floorboards were icy under his feet as he padded into the hall.
Lainey’s door was cracked open, spilling soft purple light from her star-shaped nightlight. Her room smelled like strawberry shampoo and fabric softener. Everything was purple—walls, blankets, stuffed animals piled so high they threatened to spill off the shelves.
Will sat on the edge of the bed and gently shook her shoulder.
“Hey, bug.”
She blinked, squinting up at him, hair sticking out in every direction. “What…?” she mumbled.
“You’ve got your showcase today.”
That did it.
Her eyes flew open. “Today?!”
“Mmmhmm.”
She sat up so fast the blankets slid off her lap. “I gotta get ready!”
“Easy,” Will laughed. “We’ve got time.”
She was already scrambling out of bed.
Down the hall, the nursery was quieter, softer. Oliver slept peacefully, cheeks flushed pink, the faint sound of his breathing barely audible. Will lifted him carefully, feeling the warm weight of him against his chest.
Oliver fussed once, then settled as Will shushed him and rubbed slow circles into his back through the thick blanket Joyce had made him for his first birthday.
By the time they reached the kitchen, the smell of coffee filled the air.
Mike stood at the counter in socked feet, cutting fruit with methodical care. Lainey was sitting at the table eating cereal. Will slid Oliver into his highchair. The radio murmured softly from the corner—some classic rock station barely audible over the heater. A mug already sat waiting on the counter, steam curling upward.
Will took it gratefully, fingers warming around the ceramic.
“You’re spoiling me,” Will murmured.
Mike shrugged. “Big day.”
By 8:00, the apartment buzzed with energy.
Lainey stood in the bathroom while Mike worked, the counter crowded with brushes, elastics, bobby pins, and a massive glittery bow. Her uniform was laid out on the bed—navy and silver, crisp and structured, the fabric slightly stiff and cool to the touch.
She emerged dressed head to toe: uniform snug and bright, white cheer shoes already scuffed from practice, sparkly socks pulled up just right.
Mike perched her on a stool and began her hair, fingers sure and practiced. He brushed carefully, the bristles whispering through her hair, pulling it into a high ponytail so tight it lifted her eyebrows.
“Dad,” she complained, laughing. “That’s too tight!”
“It has to survive tumbling,” Mike said, wrapping the elastic one last time. “Trust me.”
He secured the bow, its sequins catching the bathroom light, then stepped back.
Will leaned in with a small makeup bag. “Ready?”
Lainey nodded solemnly.
Will applied just a touch—light foundation, soft blush, a swipe of glittery eyeshadow that made her eyes sparkle. Lip gloss that smelled like cherries.
She grinned at herself in the mirror.
“I look like the big girls,” she whispered.
Mike swallowed hard.
The gym was loud and cold and smelled like hairspray and rubber mats.
Music thumped from speakers, echoing off the high ceilings. Parents’ voices blended together, the sharp scent of coffee and winter coats filling the air. Lainey bounced on her toes, bow bobbing with every movement.
When the Comets took the mat, Lainey spotted Mike and Will immediately.
She smiled—wide, confident, shining.
The music started.
Her movements weren’t perfect. She was half a beat behind sometimes, arms a little stiff, but she never stopped smiling. Her ponytail swished with every jump, glitter catching the lights. When she hit her final pose, chest heaving, eyes bright, Mike felt his throat close.
Back home that night, the apartment was quiet again.
Lainey’s uniform was hanging carefully in her closet. Her bow sat on the dresser like a trophy. She’d fallen asleep mid-sentence, talking herself to sleep.
Mike and Will collapsed onto the couch, muscles aching, hearts full.
“She was incredible,” Mike whispered.
Will nodded, eyes heavy. “She really was.”
Outside, snow continued to fall, soft and steady.
Inside, everything was warm.