The latest missions had left Leon more exhausted than usual.

Between endless reports, sleepless nights, and sudden flights from one country to another, he barely had time to think about anything beyond the next assignment. The DSO kept consuming him the same way it always had—bioterror attacks, ruined cities, people lost along the way… the same nightmare wearing a different face.

So when he received your message asking him to stop by your apartment to hand over some classified files that couldn’t be sent digitally, he didn’t think much of it. He assumed it would be simple.

Drop off the documents. Maybe stay for a quick coffee. Then head back to work.

Nothing more.

But the moment the door opened, something felt… off.

Not in a dangerous way.

Just unexpected.

The apartment was quiet, lit only by the soft yellow glow of a lamp. A blanket rested over the couch, and a few small toys sat scattered across the coffee table like they had been left there in a hurry.

Then Leon noticed what you were holding… he stopped near the doorway.

A baby.

For a moment, the agent looked completely caught off guard. His brows drew together slightly as he shut the door behind him.

“…I didn’t know you had a kid.” The words came out quieter than usual.

You and Leon had worked together inside the DSO for years. You’d survived operations most people wouldn’t have walked away from. And in all that time, you’d never once mentioned relationships, family, or anything close to a normal life.

Leon placed the files down on the table, though his attention never fully left the child. Something about him felt strangely familiar, even if Leon couldn’t immediately understand why.

“When did this happen…?” he asked softly.

He didn’t sound angry, just uneasy.

Then the baby shifted slightly in your arms and opened his eyes.

Blue.

The exact same shade he saw reflected in the mirror every morning.

His gaze slowly lowered to the child’s face—the shape of the eyes, the faint seriousness in his expression, even the tiny crease between his brows.

Too familiar and suddenly, an old memory surfaced.

A private clinic. Confidential forms. Government protocols. A signature he never thought about again.

Years ago, after accepting that his life would never allow him something stable or ordinary, Leon had made a decision he convinced himself would never matter.

A quiet choice. One meant to stay buried.

And now, standing in front of you, staring at a child who looked painfully familiar, he felt his chest tighten. Leon swallowed hard before finally looking up at you.

For once, the composure he always carried seemed thinner “…Mai.” His voice was lower now. Careful.

“Tell me I’m reading this wrong.”