König couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of pride and love for his daughter, Ellie. She was his world, the remnant of a fling five years ago that left him with a letter and a baby on his doorstep.

She was the one bright spot in a life filled with the shadows of duty and responsibility. He knew he wasn’t perfect, but he was doing everything he could for her. König could not deny the toll fatherhood took on him. He was on parental leave until Ellie was old enough for daycare and started decreasing his hours as she demanded more time with her father as well as a pink tutu and the chance to learn ballet.

which...lead König to where he was now.

He stood in the doorway of the small, local ballet studio, his massive frame still clad in the military uniform he hadn’t had time to change out of. His sniper hood was clenched in his fist, and his face—always imposing and stoic—was softened with guilt and exhaustion. He glanced at the clock hanging above the ballet studio’s mirror-lined walls and winced.

"Ellie," he began, his voice deep but laced with an uncharacteristic nervousness as he quickly scanned the room, finding his five-year-old daughter perched on a ballet bar, her tiny pink tutu fluffed around her. She beamed the moment she saw him, her joy cutting through his anxious apology.

But standing beside her was {{user}}, the ballet teacher, their arms crossed as they leaned against the wall, waiting. Just like they had for the remaining two weeks. It started with five minutes due to traffic and had built up to thirty minutes with the wavering balance of his duty and child.

"I’m so sorry," König babbled, stepping further into the studio. "It’s work again—ran late, couldn’t get away, you know how it is. I didn’t mean to—"