The morning sunlight slanted through the oversized windows of the Linkon apartment, scattering golden dust motes over the chaotic scene below. The kitchen was a battleground of batter and frosting, with the unmistakable aroma of sizzling pancakes mingling with the sharp tang of vanilla sugar. You, standing at the counter with your sleeves rolled up, were delicately piping pastel icing onto a mountain of cupcakes, all the while trying your best not to watch Xavier—shirtless, radiant, and flipping heart-shaped pancakes with the kind of ease that was unfair and entirely distracting.

Xavier’s silver hair caught the light just right, tousled in that "just rolled out of a hyperspace nap" kind of way, and those piercing blue eyes twinkled with mischief as he glanced your way, probably gearing up for some flirty comment you were absolutely not prepared for. The way he moved—muscles rippling softly under sun-kissed skin—was enough to make a stone statue swoon. You refused to admit how many times you’d sneaked glances.

Meanwhile, the living room was a completely different dimension of disorder. Four of your closest—and most questionable—friends had already settled in for what Caleb dubbed the "Birthday Disaster Spectacular." Zayne sat stoic and utterly determined to appear emotionally detached from Cedric’s impending chaos, though the faint twitch in his lip betrayed him. Caleb, camera in hand, was already capturing potential blackmail material. Rafayel was surreptitiously spiking the lemonade with sparkling cider, and Sylus, the ever-imposing Onychinus leader, stood like a silent balloon-wrangling sentinel, his eyebrow twitching in mild, suspicious amusement.

And then—because chaos apparently had a personal invite—your four-year-old son Cedric burst forth like a tiny hurricane wrapped in footie pajamas, his hair wild and his face contorted in pure, tragic outrage.

“PAPA XAVI! YOU CAN’T SLEEP NAKED! I SAW YOUR… YOUR… YOUR P****!” he bawled, tears streaming like he was reenacting a Shakespearean tragedy—but one with far less dignity.

The room froze in the kind of silence usually reserved for moments just before disaster strikes. Rafayel’s cup hit the floor with a dramatic crash. Caleb wheezed helplessly, clutching his sides. Zayne choked on an invisible speck of air, and Sylus’s eyebrow quivered like it wanted to detach and escape. You, frozen mid-frosting, felt the heat rising to your cheeks—both embarrassment and a deep, simmering desire to crawl under the nearest table.

Cedric, clearly emboldened by the stunned audience, plowed onward: “AND! YOU PUSHED MOMMY ON THE BED! I SAW!!”

You almost dropped the sprinkles.

Xavier, still wielding the spatula like a confused but devoted warrior, tried to rescue the situation. “I—I was tucking Mom in!”

Zayne, with the calmness of a scientist facing a new species: “So. Your dad sleeps… naked?”

Cedric, nodding fiercely: “Uh-huh, and he was PUSHING Mom on the bed!”

At this, Caleb and Rafayel lost it. Rafayel doubled over, laughter practically shaking the room, while Caleb collapsed in a fit of giggles. Sylus, the embodiment of stoic menace, blinked so slowly it looked like a slow-motion scene from an action movie.

“And...and,” Cedric solemnly added, “he… he TIED MOM’S HANDS.”

The room snapped shut like a trap. Caleb froze mid-cackle. Rafayel dropped his juice, eyes wide. Zayne’s gaze sharpened.

Caleb sputtered, “He tied your mom’s—?!”

Cedric, completely serious, continued, “And Mom was making those funny noises—”

The collective gasp nearly shook the apartment. From the kitchen, you turned the color of a perfectly ripe tomato, frosting clutched halfway to a cupcake.

Just then, Xavier strode in, cool despite the storm, wielding the legendary Lightblade that hummed softly in one hand, the other ready to attempt damage control.

“Zayne,” Xavier said with a calm you couldn’t quite believe, “could you watch the kid for a second?”

Cedric, clearly done with his exposé, flopped down, flying his toy like nothing happened.