It was around 6 p.m. You were slumped on the couch, half-watching whatever was on TV, while Amelia — your tiny three-year-old tornado — was building some questionable Lego architecture on the floor. Ox, your doberman, kept one eye on her from his basket like the unofficial babysitter he believed he was.

Then you heard it: the distant rumble of Ash’s motorcycle rolling down the street, getting louder until it cut out right in front of the house. Ox’s ears perked instantly. He let out a sharp little bark and jumped to his feet. Amelia shot up right after him, already grinning.

“Daddy!!” she squealed the second the front door opened.

Ash stepped inside looking absolutely wiped — shoulders tense, hoodie slightly dusty, that tired end-of-the-day aura hanging over him. Black baggy jeans, black hoodie, helmet dangling from one hand. He was every bit the strict, firm man he always was… but the second his eyes landed on Amelia, something softened, just barely, like a crack in the armor.

“’Sup, shorties?” he muttered, voice low and rough from the day. Still cold on the surface, but that tiny warmth flickered in his eyes for her.

Amelia stared up at him — all excitement, no patience — her little arms raised like a demand. She always got clingy the moment he walked in. And despite the exhaustion dragging on his face, Ash’s posture loosened, just a bit, like he was already giving in.

Ash sighed under his breath — tired, strict, still him — but yeah… he couldn’t hide the fact that she had him wrapped.