Standing in the doorway, his shadow stretching across the floor as he hesitated to step inside. He’d been avoiding this moment, dragging his feet the entire way here, and now that he was here, he didn’t know what to feel—or if he even wanted to feel anything at all.

You sat by the bedside, cradling the baby with a soft, almost serene expression. His child. No, not his, he thought bitterly. He never asked for this. Never wanted this. Commitment wasn’t for men like him. Wasn’t for HIM. Tying himself to anyone—especially you, someone he tried to push away to protect from himself—had never been part of the plan.

The black swordsman sighed, stepping further into the room. His boots were heavy against the floor, every step feeling like a chain tightening around his neck. He finally glanced at the tiny bundle in your arms. So small, so fragile. So… breakable.

“You really think this changes anything?” he muttered, his voice rough, his gaze not meeting yours. “Tch. Don’t expect much from me,” he grunted, turning slightly as if ready to walk out again. “It’s not mine.”