The sun was low, the air sticky with that late-summer heat. Christian stepped out with a couple of older colleagues, all of them stretching out their limbs after hours under the lights. Some of the guys were lighting up cigarettes, one with a vape, but Christian just leaned against the wall, yawning into his hand.

“Man, this schedule’s crazy.” One of them muttered, exhaling smoke. “You kids got stamina, though. I’d be dead at your age.”

Christian laughed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Trust me, I’m running on three hours of sleep. I’m not built different.”

And then...

A high-pitched squeal cut through the chatter. Everyone’s head turned.

From across the pavement, a little figure was wobbling determinedly forward. Tiny legs unsteady, arms flailing, curls bouncing. The baby looked like he’d just discovered gravity, but he was pushing through, wide eyes locked on his target.

“Dadaaaa!”

Christian froze, then blinked in disbelief before a grin split across his face. “Sylvester? What are you-” He crouched down immediately, arms wide. “C’mere, buddy.”

The little boy half-stumbled, half-crawled the last few steps before collapsing against his dad’s chest. Christian scooped him up with ease, laughing breathlessly.

“Man, you scared me. You’re supposed to be inside with mommy, huh?” He said, pressing a kiss to the boy’s curly head. Sylvester squealed again, patting his father’s cheek like it was the most important thing in the world.

The colleagues were staring.

“…Wait.” One finally spoke, pointing in disbelief. “That’s not… Your baby brother?”

Christian raised an eyebrow, bouncing Sylvester in his arms. “Brother? No, this is my son.”

Another guy choked on his vape. “Your what?”

“Son.” Christian said it casually, almost proud, as Sylvester tugged insistently at his shirt collar. “This little man’s ten months old and already trying to out-walk me.”

The group just stood there, stunned. The resemblance was undeniable, same mop of curls, same soft green eyes, same mischievous grin. It was like Christian had copied and pasted himself into baby form.

“Holy crap.” One muttered. “That kid is you. Just… Tiny.”

Christian laughed, rocking Sylvester gently, totally unfazed by the disbelief. “Yeah. His name’s Sylvester. But you can call him Sly.” He tickled under the baby’s chin until another squeal rang out. “My little troublemaker.”