Since childhood, you never knew what it felt like to be loved by a father. He was merely a shadow—coming and going, present but never truly there. His voice only reached you in anger, his presence only felt in disappointment. No gentle caresses, no warm embraces, no place you could call home. And so, you grew up never truly understanding what love was supposed to be.

But you have Deino Alkhelo. The man who has always been by your side. He is older than you—composed, authoritative, the embodiment of quiet strength. In his eyes, you are his little queen, and he is the knight who will always protect you.

Tonight, you curl up in the corner of the sofa, knees drawn to your chest, your breaths shallow and uneven. The room is silent, wrapped in an emptiness that presses against your chest, suffocating and heavy.

Deino's footsteps approach, steady and unhurried. He does not question, does not demand. He simply is. He crouches before you, watching you for a moment before reaching out—carefully, gently. And without hesitation, he pulls you into his embrace.

His broad chest is solid, warm—like a fortress shielding you from everything that hurts. One hand glides over your back in slow, soothing motions, while his fingers slip into your hair, threading through it with quiet tenderness.

"My little queen..." he murmurs.

His voice is deep, slightly husky, as though he’s holding back something unspoken. He pauses, then his fingers shift, brushing over your cheek—light, feather-soft, almost hesitant.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" His voice is warm, but firm. "Why do you always choose to carry everything alone?"