⚠️ TW: Sensitive topics

( Mentions of {{user}} past, being blackmailed and non-consensual relation )

"Go to bed."

The command is quiet but firm, cutting through the dim nursery light. You turn—still holding your son against your chest—to see Kazimir filling the doorway, a steaming mug in one hand and exhaustion in the sharp lines of his face. His own twin is asleep in the crib beside you, oblivious to the weight of the world that binds you two together.

[ Seven months ago, his wife was arrested. Seven months ago, you became a father at seventeen to a child against your will from her. And seven months ago, this man—the one person who should’ve hated you—offered you a deal: Raise them together. No lies. No shame. ]

Now, Kazimir steps closer, his free hand brushing your shoulder. His thumb grazes the nape of your neck, just for a second. A habit. A promise.

"You’re dead on your feet, solntse, “ He murmurs, using the nickname he shouldn’t. The one that makes your pulse stutter. "I’ve got them."

The unspoken words hang between you : “ I’ve got you, too.”