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Joss woke up to the weight of a small, warm foot pressed against his thigh.
It wasn’t his.
It wasn’t Gawin’s either—Gawin was curled up on his side, facing the balcony doors, breathing slow and steady in that soft morning way that always made his lashes flutter just a little. The foot belonged to the tiny lump tucked against Gawin’s belly, cozy under a blanket patterned with yellow ducklings.
Joss blinked, still groggy.
Right.
The baby.
Their baby.
The one who had arrived three weeks earlier and already ruled the household with soft whimpers and an iron grip.
He shifted slowly, mindful of Gawin’s belly—still tender, healing. Even in sleep, Gawin instinctively curved protectively around the baby, an unconscious half-embrace that made Joss’s chest tighten with a kind of fondness that felt too big to name.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, warm and gold. It painted the room in a glow that made everything feel gentler than it truly was. There were bottles on the nightstand. A burp cloth draped over the headboard. A pacifier hiding somewhere in the blankets like a small landmine waiting to be stepped on later.
Domestic chaos, technically—but soft chaos. The good kind. The kind that came with tiny breaths and smaller socks.
Joss reached over and brushed his knuckles lightly along Gawin’s cheek.
Warm. Soft. Safe.
Gawin stirred, eyes opening just a little. “Mm… you’re awake.”
“So are you,” Joss whispered.
“Barely.” He blinked slowly, adjusting to the light. “What time is it?”
“Too early,” Joss said. “Or too late. I don’t know anymore.”
A lazy smile curved across Gawin’s lips. “Newborn time.”
A faint wail rose from the little bundle between them—just a small, pitiful complaint.
Gawin tucked the baby closer. “Shh, shh, it’s appa. What is it, hm? Hungry? Cold? Just dramatic?”
“Dramatic,” Joss answered. “Definitely gets that from you.”
Gawin shot him a sleepy glare. “As if. This kid kicks like you.”
The baby let out another small sound, and Joss carefully slid forward. “Here,” he murmured, lifting the little one from Gawin’s arms so he wouldn’t strain himself. “I’ve got them.”
He held the baby against his chest, rocking gently. Warm. So tiny. But unbelievably strong for someone who hadn’t existed not too long ago.
Gawin watched with eyes that softened in that way only Joss ever got to see.
“You’re good at that,” he whispered.
Joss shrugged. “They like being carried.”
“They like you.”
There was no teasing there—just quiet truth.
The baby nuzzled against Joss’s shirt, trying to chew on it.
“Okay,” Joss sighed. “Definitely hungry.”
He shifted to get up, but Gawin reached out and caught his wrist.
“Stay,” he murmured. “Just for a second.”
Joss paused.
Gawin looked up at him, eyes warm and still sleepy. “Morning kisses first.”
Joss leaned in—soft, slow, careful. Not wanting to jostle the baby. Not wanting to disturb the fragile peace of the moment. Their lips brushed once, twice, just enough to remind each other:
We’re here.
We’re doing this together.
We’re okay.
Gawin exhaled. “Okay. Now you can go.”
Joss chuckled and kissed his forehead for good measure before carrying the baby toward the kitchen.
The house was quiet. Early. Warm.
He heated the milk, swaying gently without realizing it, because that’s what he did now—he rocked even when the baby wasn’t crying. Fatherhood had rewired him.
When he returned, Gawin had managed to sit up against the pillows, hair a mess, eyes half-closed but determined to stay awake.
“You didn’t have to get up,” Joss said.
“I want to,” Gawin insisted. “I like watching you feed them…”
Joss sat beside him, letting the baby latch onto the bottle with a tiny, greedy sigh.
Gawin’s head dropped onto Joss’s shoulder.
“You okay?” Joss murmured.
“Mmhm. Just tired.”
A beat.
“But happy.”
Joss rested his cheek on Gawin’s hair. “Me too.”
They stayed like that—pressed close, sharing warmth, listening to the small sounds of their child drinking contentedly.
Soft. Domestic. Peaceful.
“This is nice,” Gawin whispered eventually.
“This?” Joss said. “Or me?”
Gawin nudged him. “Both.”
Joss smiled, squeezing his hand gently. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
“Neither am I,” Gawin said, voice already drifting back toward sleep.
And in the quiet morning light, with their baby between them and the soft rhythm of new life filling the room, Joss believed him completely.
—
Gawin should’ve known something was up the moment their daughter stepped into the kitchen clutching a crumpled pink announcement sheet like it was the most important document in the world.
“Appa,” she said solemnly, climbing onto Joss’s lap without waiting for permission. “We have ‘cital.”
“Recital,” Gawin corrected gently as he poured juice into a tiny cup.
“Cital,” she repeated, unbothered.
Joss blinked down at the paper, then at her. “When?”
“Two sleeps,” she said. “Teacher say one parent go on stage with me.” Her big round eyes—his eyes—lifted hopefully. “You go?”
And like clockwork, Gawin turned around and gave him the same exact look.
Twin sets of puppy eyes.
One brown and sparkly.
One distinctly adult and very practiced.
Joss felt the trap close.
“No,” he said automatically, because the last time he tried to refuse a request like this, he discovered his family had a combined power level far beyond his defenses. “Appa doesn’t do on-stage. Appa does backstage. Or audience. Or—”
His daughter pressed her tiny forehead to his chest.
“Appa is bestest holder-hands,” she whispered.
Gawin raised a brow behind her, mouthing: You’re done.
Joss’s resolve snapped like a dry twig.
“...Okay,” he exhaled.
His daughter gasped—the full-body, hands-to-mouth dramatic gasp he swore she learned from Gawin. “Yay!! My Appa come stage!!”
Gawin smiled over her head, smug and soft. “Thank you, Phi. She wanted you.”
“She’s going to crush me one day,” Joss muttered.
Gawin patted his shoulder. “She already does.”
—
The studio smelled faintly of rosin powder and lavender-scented sanitizer. Soft piano music floated in the air while tiny ballerinas gathered in a wobbling line, tulle skirts bouncing with every excited hop.
Parents hovered along the edges—moms in leggings, a couple of omegas chatting quietly, one older beta father recording everything on his tablet.
And then there was Joss.
Six feet of calm, gentle alpha in a gray knit sweater, carrying his daughter’s sparkly water bottle and her bag full of hair ribbons. He stuck out like a tree in a field of flowers—and still managed to somehow make the room feel safer by just standing there.
His daughter wrapped both her arms around his leg. “Appaaaa. You stand next to me. Don’t move.”
“I won’t move,” he promised, bending down to her level. “You show me your steps, okay?”
She nodded seriously. “Teacher say I spin. And jump. And hold hands with parent for heart-shape pose.”
Joss blinked. “Heart shape?”
Gawin snickered from the bench, already recording. “Yes, Phi. You’re doing that.”
The teacher clapped her hands. “Okay! Parents and dancers, let’s practice positions!”
Joss knelt beside his daughter, bringing himself to her height. The other parents glanced at him—curiosity, a little awe, and some admiration for how effortlessly he softened around the kids.
He whispered, “Ready?”
“Ready!” She bounced.
When the music started, she completely forgot the steps.
But she remembered Appa.
So she grabbed his hands—both of them—and lifted her arms, demanding he lift them too.
He followed. Of course he followed.
She spun, wobbled, giggled—then demanded he spin with her.
Joss spun. Slowly. Carefully. Like someone terrified of knocking over a toddler with a single wrong move.
Her joy was immediate and explosive.
“APPA DID IT!!”
The whole class paused. Every little girl stared.
Joss froze mid-turn.
Then—like ducklings—they all rushed their own parents:
“Spin too!! Spin with me!! My daddy too!! My mama too!!”
The teacher looked half delighted, half exhausted.
Gawin tried—and failed—not to laugh.
Joss straightened, ears pink. “I think I started something.”
“You absolutely did,” Gawin said.
But their daughter threw herself against his chest, arms tight around his neck.
“Appa best. Bestest best.”
Joss swallowed, something warm blooming painfully in his heart. He hugged her close, the soft tulle scratching his chin.
“I’m proud of you, baby,” he murmured. “Appa will stay on stage with you the whole time.”
She beamed.
And for the rest of practice, she didn’t let go of his hand even once.
—
Recital morning began with a tiny fist pounding on Joss’s chest.
“Appa. Up. Today is BIG DAY.”
Joss cracked an eye open. “Baby, it’s six—six in the morning—”
“No naps today,” she declared, already crawling up onto him like a determined koala. “We must get READY.”
Gawin poked his head out of the bathroom, toothbrush in his mouth, hair messy.
“Phi, just surrender,” he mumbled. “She’s been awake since five. I tried.”
Their daughter stood proudly on Joss’s stomach, hands on her hips, her white tutu already on—backwards.
“It’s the wrong way,” Joss croaked.
“It’s pretty,” she countered, so that ended the discussion.
—
An hour later, Gawin was touching up his own makeup when he heard a quiet plea from the living room:
“...Phi. Help.”
He stepped out and promptly covered his mouth to hide a laugh.
Joss sat stiffly on the floor, their daughter perched on a stool in front of him.
And her hair—
Her hair looked like it had survived a tornado inside a blender inside a hurricane.
Joss held a tiny brush in defeat.
“She won’t stop moving,” he muttered. “And the elastic attacked me.”
Gawin knelt behind her. “Baby, sit still. Appa’s trying his best.”
She pouted. “Appa hurt my hair?”
“No,” Joss said, horrified. “I mean—I tried not to—did I?”
“You pulled,” she said dramatically. “Just one. Just little.”
“My god,” Joss whispered. “I’m a monster.”
Gawin kissed his cheek. “You’re fine. Move, giant. Let me rescue both of you.”
Five minutes later, her hair was perfect—sleek bun, tiny sparkly clips, a soft dusting of glitter.
Joss stared. “How did you do that?”
“She sits still for me,” Gawin said sweetly.
“She was bribed,” Joss accused.
Gawin paused. “I may have promised ice cream after.”
Their daughter held up two fingers. “Two ice creams.”
Gawin sighed. “She negotiates now.”
—
The stage curtains were huge, the lights bright, the backstage buzzing with parents. Moms adjusting shoes, omegas giving last-minute reminders, one beta father pacing with a camera bigger than his face.
And then—
There was Joss.
The only alpha in the room.
He wasn’t intimidating.
He wasn’t out of place.
He looked like a soft mountain carrying a tiny ballerina’s bag covered in stickers.
All the little girls noticed him immediately.
Or, more specifically—
they noticed that he knelt whenever one of them spoke to him.
“Uncle Joss, look at my sparkles!”
He knelt. “Very sparkly.”
“Uncle Joss, my ribbon fell!”
He knelt. “Let me fix it.”
“Uncle Joss, do you like my twirl?”
He knelt. “That’s the best twirl I’ve ever seen.”
Gawin watched from the parents’ seating area, recording every second, smiling like his heart might burst.
Meanwhile, their daughter refused to let go of Joss’s hand.
“Appa stays with me,” she declared to the teacher.
“Yes, sweetheart,” the teacher smiled. “That’s the plan.”
Joss swallowed. “I’m nervous.”
“You? Nervous?” Gawin teased.
But their daughter squeezed his fingers tightly.
“Don’t be,” she said seriously. “I show you how.”
Joss melted instantly.
Gawin bit back a laugh because: Yes, this is the man who once intimidated a boardroom full of executives.
Now brought to his knees by a four-year-old in a tutu.
—
Piano music played softly as the curtain rose.
Joss stood on his mark, holding his daughter’s hand. She gave him a firm nod—her “professional ballerina” face.
The audience collectively cooed.
And then she did her steps.
She forgot them again.
But she remembered the important one:
Appa is here.
So she raised her hands—
Joss raised his hands.
She stepped in a circle—
Joss followed like a very large, careful planet orbiting a very sparkly sun.
Then came the heart-shape pose.
She grabbed his wrists and yanked his hands toward her chest.
“HEART!!” she whispered loudly.
Joss bent down, shaping the heart carefully around her tiny body.
The audience melted.
Phones clicked like mad.
Several parents whispered,
“Oh my god. That’s adorable.”
“He’s so gentle.”
“Is that her father?? He’s huge—look at him being careful—”
Their daughter finished her routine by throwing both arms around his neck.
“Appa did it,” she said proudly.
Joss smiled so softly it nearly broke Gawin in half.
“We did it,” he corrected, kissing her forehead.
—
After the recital ended, the kids rushed outside where families waited with balloons and snacks.
Joss came out carrying her, her tutu bouncing on his arm.
Gawin stepped forward with a bouquet of tiny pink roses.
“For our star,” he said.
She gasped and hugged him. “Papa!! You saw? You saw me??”
“I saw everything,” Gawin whispered into her hair. “You were beautiful.”
She turned, holding up a rose to Joss. “Appa gets flower too.”
“For me?” Joss asked gently.
“Yes. Because Appa spin with me.”
Gawin choked a laugh. “You spun?”
“She made me,” Joss said defensively.
“It was pretty!” she insisted. “We match.”
Joss took the flower, heart full. “Thank you, baby.”
She grinned—then tugged both of their hands.
“I want ice cream now.”
Gawin sighed. “Fine.”
“Two!” she reminded.
Gawin groaned.
Joss chuckled.
And the three of them walked off into the late afternoon sun—
their daughter in her glittering tutu, one hand in each of theirs, bouncing happily between her parents.
Perfectly family.
Perfectly soft.
Perfectly them.
—
The house was slow and warm that night, as if the glow from the recital still clung to the walls. Glitter trailed from the door to the hallway—tiny sparkles that had escaped their daughter’s tutu and scattered like evidence of a small fairy having passed through.
Joss stepped into her bedroom with the same instinctive carefulness he’d shown on stage. Their daughter was limp in his arms, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, a smudge of pink frosting still faint on her mouth from the post-recital ice cream.
She wasn’t asleep yet—just in that sweet, heavy stage of exhaustion where every breath grew softer and her small body sagged into his.
Gawin followed behind, turning on the warm lamp beside her bed. Soft yellow light washed over the room—stuffed toys lined along shelves, a tiny ballet shoe nightlight glowing faintly, blankets covered in tiny stars.
“Here, Phi,” Gawin whispered, pulling back the blankets. “Lay her down.”
Joss nodded and lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed first. He held her upright for a moment, brushing her bangs away from her forehead.
“Baby,” he murmured gently. “You want to wash your face first?”
A tiny shake of her head. Eyes half-closed.
“Appa carry…”
“You’re already being carried,” Joss said, lips tugging into a quiet smile.
She blinked slowly, her fingers curling into his shirt—she always did that when she was tired or overwhelmed. As if confirming he was real, he was safe, he was hers.
Gawin stepped closer and kissed her head before gently coaxing her arms away from Joss’s neck.
“Baby girl, we need to tuck you in. If you cling to Appa, he can’t tuck you properly.”
She allowed Gawin to guide her—but only because she trusted him just as fiercely. She relaxed back onto the pillow, one hand still reaching toward Joss, as though she needed to know he was within reach.
“I’m right here,” Joss said softly.
He brushed his thumb over her cheek, smoothing the last bit of glitter.
Gawin stood beside him, watching him with a warmth in his eyes that he didn’t bother to hide.
Their daughter whispered, voice barely audible, “Appa… stay.”
“Of course,” Joss whispered back.
And he kept his promise—lying down beside her briefly so she could snuggle her tiny body into his chest. She sighed contentedly, her hand curling around his thumb.
It took only minutes—her breaths deepened, her small mouth parted slightly, her lashes fluttered once… then stillness.
Sound asleep.
Joss carefully slid his hand from under hers, tucking her little stuffed bunny into its place. He cupped her cheek and pressed a kiss there—slow, lingering.
Then he stood, exhaling quietly.
Gawin watched them both.
The prince and his princess.
Joss turned to him, voice low. “She did so well today.”
Gawin stepped into his space, smoothing Joss’s sweater gently. “She did,” he agreed. “But you—Phi… you were something else.”
Joss blinked. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” Gawin’s voice softened into something warm and intimate, meant only for him. “Watching you up there with her… seeing how gentle you were, how patient…” He shook his head, a quiet laugh slipping out. “I fell in love with you all over again.”
Joss’s cheeks warmed instantly. “G…”
“I’m serious,” Gawin insisted, reaching up and brushing his fingertips along Joss’s jaw. “Every time you knelt, every time you bent down to her height, every time she tugged your hand and you followed like she was the sun and you were the planet…” He sighed softly. “You were perfect.”
Joss swallowed. “It was easy. She needed me.”
“And you answered,” Gawin whispered. “You always do.”
They stepped out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Joss took one last glance back at the small figure beneath the blankets, her tiny fist still clutching her bunny.
Once they reached the hallway, Gawin slid his hand into Joss’s, fingers interlacing.
“You know,” Gawin murmured, leaning slightly into him, “I was so proud today I almost cried.”
Joss stilled. “You almost—? G.”
“What?” Gawin said lightly. “My alpha was the gentlest one in a room full of parents. And our daughter couldn’t stop smiling. It hit me.”
Joss rubbed his thumb over Gawin’s knuckles. “She made me spin.”
“I saw,” Gawin teased. “You were adorable.”
“I am not adorable,” Joss protested.
Gawin stepped closer until his body brushed Joss’s. “You absolutely are. And watching you two today…” He hesitated—just a second—before continuing, voice dropping. “It made me think.”
“Think what?” Joss asked.
Gawin kissed his cheek first—soft, lingering—before whispering against his skin:
“I might want another baby.”
Joss froze.
Not in shock. Not in panic.
But in that quiet, breathless way a man freezes when the world suddenly opens under his feet.
“Another…?” he repeated slowly.
Gawin pulled back enough to look at him properly, eyes warm, trusting, sure. “Not now. Not tomorrow. But someday.” His fingers tightened slightly around Joss’s. “Watching you with her… it made me want that again. Us. Another little one. Our family growing.”
Joss’s breath shook once—just once—and then he cupped Gawin’s face with both hands.
“You really want that?” he asked softly.
Gawin nodded. “If you do.”
Joss’s answer was immediate. “With you? Always.”
Gawin’s smile was soft, almost shy. “Good. I just… I wanted you to know.”
Joss leaned down and kissed him. Slow. Deep. The kind that said everything they weren’t speaking aloud—their home, their love, their future waiting in the soft quiet of the hallway outside their daughter’s room.
When they parted, Gawin pressed his forehead to Joss’s.
“Come to bed with me, Phi,” he whispered.
Joss squeezed his hand, eyes warm. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Let’s go.”
Behind them, their daughter slept peacefully—tutu discarded, roses on her bedside table, bunny tucked under her arm.
And down the hall, her two fathers walked together, hands intertwined, carrying the soft glow of a future they were already dreaming into existence.