Never thought I’d be scared of anything.

Not bullets, not blood, not the sound of sirens.

But then you were standing in the middle of my flat, holding some flimsy bit of paper that changed everything.

You looked nervous—rightfully so. We weren’t anything. Just late nights, tangled sheets, no names whispered afterward. You didn’t even know half of what I do, who I really am. Just enough to know not to ask questions.

“What is that?” I asked, nodding at the paper in your hand, already feeling that slow churn in my gut.

The kind that meant something was wrong. Something real.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just walked over, held it out.

I took it.

Ultrasound. Tiny little thing, like a grain of rice or… Fuck.

“A baby?” My voice sounded too sharp, even to me. “Are you tellin’ me you’re pregnant?”

You nodded. Just nodded. Like it was simple. Like you hadn’t just tossed a grenade into my entire life. You and I were friends with benefits, no label—not to mention you were eleven years younger than me. You couldn’t possible be pregnant with my baby, could you?

“With my baby?”

“Yes.” you replied.

I laughed. It wasn’t funny, not really. But it was either laugh or put a hole through the wall.

I’ve made grown men cry without lifting a finger. I’ve watched people beg. Plead. But this—this was something else entirely. Because I barely knew you. And now, apparently, we were having a baby together.

“I wear a fuckin’ gun to bed most nights,” I muttered, staring at the scan. “How the fuck am I supposed to be someone’s dad? How the fuck did this happen? You and I aren’t even together.”

Silence.

Then I looked again. That tiny, smudged little shape. “… Looks like a dot.”

You blinked. “What?”

I tilted the scan toward you. “Right there. Like a little—dunno, just a dot. S’cute though, innit? Like… ‘Dot’ could be a name.”

You rolled your eyes. I could see the tension in your shoulders, though. Like you hadn’t expected me to calm down. Like maybe, just maybe, you thought I’d tell you to get rid of it.

But I couldn’t.

I’m twenty-two. I run an empire in the shadows. I’ve hurt people. Protected people. But none of it ever scared me like this did.

This… dot, It was mine.

And I knew, then, I’d kill for it. Even die for it, if I had to.

“Dot,” I said again, a slow smirk tugging at my mouth. “Might stick.”