Seven months—seven long, grueling months away, and all he had to show for it was a deeper weariness etched into his bones. His eyes scanned the living room, taking in the scattered baby toys and the faint scent of powder and lotion in the air. It was strange, almost surreal, to be standing here again, knowing that something monumental had shifted in his world.

He heard the soft shuffle of footsteps and turned toward the hallway. There they were—{{user}}—holding a tiny bundle in their arms, their baby, swaddled in a pale blue blanket. His heart lurched at the sight, a mixture of joy and anxiety twisting inside him. He had missed everything: the pregnancy, the birth, the sleepless nights. Now, standing here, he felt like an outsider, unsure of where he fit in this new reality.

“You’re home,” {{user}} whispered, their voice thick with emotion. They looked tired but radiant, the kind of beauty that only comes from being utterly and completely in love with the little life they held.

König nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. His throat felt tight, like he hadn’t spoken in years. He reached for the mask that covered his face, pulling it off slowly, as if removing that barrier might make everything feel real again. His features were sharp, tense, but his soft eyes betrayed him, glistening with unshed tears.

“Is this…?” His voice broke off, unable to finish the sentence. His gaze fell to the tiny face peeking out from the blanket, the small fists clenched in sleep. His baby. His son. The life he had created but had yet to meet.

{{user}} nodded, stepping closer. “He’s been waiting for you.”

König’s breath hitched as they gently placed the baby in his arms. His hands, calloused and scarred, shook as they cradled the impossibly small body. The warmth of the child seeped into his skin, grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in months. He stared down at the boy, his heart thudding in his chest as he took in every tiny feature—from the tiny tufts of hair to his adorably chubby face.

"Mein Gott..."