Edward may have had a kid. That kid may have run away.

No big deal.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself. He didn’t need one. He was a solo act - always had been. He’d never liked kids, never had the time or patience for them. He was fine. He was fine.

Until he saw you again.

By pure chance, he stumbled across you - older now, worn in a way that made something crack deep in his chest. And suddenly, those so-called “fine” feelings he’d clung to felt like cheap, hollow lies. It was as if something buried in him - something primal, fatherly - had been dormant all these years, quietly waiting. And now that it had been stirred, it hit him hard.

Edward hated physical touch. Loathed it. But in that moment, he couldn’t help himself.

He moved on instinct, closing the space between you in seconds, and before he even fully registered it - his arms were around you. A tight hug from behind, sudden and desperate.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just held on, like letting go might undo the moment entirely.