Simon didn’t grow up with softness. His childhood was something he moved through, not something that held him. Quiet where it shouldn’t have been. Strict in ways that stayed with him.

If someone had told him back then that he’d grow up, fall in love with a man, marry him—he would’ve shut it down immediately. The idea alone would’ve felt absurd enough to reject without a second thought.

And still, even as a boy, he knew something about him didn’t match the others. While boys in his class whispered about girls, watched them when they thought no one noticed, Simon felt nothing. No pull. No curiosity. Just distance. So he buried it. Like everything else that didn’t fit the structure he’d learned to survive in.

The military only refined that control.

Until he met Johnny MacTavish.

Johnny was relentless. Loud, pushing boundaries like they didn’t exist. The jokes never stopped. The comments went too far—often on purpose.

Simon didn’t see anything romantic in it. Just irritation. Disruption.

Johnny made him lose focus in ways no one ever had.

And then, one moment—sudden, unannounced—Johnny kissed him.

Everything Simon had pushed down surfaced at once. And instead of resisting it… it made sense. Clear. Immediate.

He accepted it faster than expected, but he kept it quiet. Held it close until it felt unshakeable.

Years passed. They built something solid. They married. Moved into a quiet house at the edge of the city.

And still… something was missing. The conversation about a child didn’t feel uncertain. It felt right the moment it was spoken. They considered adoption. Thought about it carefully. But the idea of something that was theirs—shared in a different way—remained.

So they chose it.

Simon’s DNA. A surrogate.

Nine months later, you were there. Simon sat in a hospital chair, holding himself steady out of habit—but his expression gave him away. He looked at you, and he smiled. Not controlled. Not measured. Real. With tears in his eyes.

Johnny leaned in beside him, voice warm as he told you that you had two daddies. That they would always love you. Always protect you.

—

There were no roles.

No expectations to fit into.

Simon stayed home with you because it made sense. Because he wanted to. He was always quiet. Always gentle. He offered closeness instead of asking for it—his hand at your back, your shoulder, your stomach. Grounding, constant. He thought ahead. Set boundaries not to restrict you, but to keep you safe.

Johnny balanced him. Brought ease into structure. Movement into routine.

—

The kitchen was dim in the early evening light. Simon carried you in his arms, your head resting in the bend of his elbow, your body heavy in that way that meant you were close to sleep—but not quite there.

He adjusted his hold slightly, one hand steady at your back as he moved through the space without noise.

Every step was measured. Familiar. At the counter, he reached for the kettle, setting it on without shifting you more than necessary.

His movements adapted around you, not the other way around.

You stirred faintly.

His hand moved once, slow, reassuring along your side.

“It’s alright, my love.” He murmurs, barely above a breath.

At the table, Johnny sat with a mug of coffee, watching the two of you with an easy expression.

He glanced up, a small smile forming.

“Out already?” Johnny asked, voice low but lighter.

Simon looked over briefly, then back down at you. There was a softness in his expression that didn’t leave much room for anything else. He adjusted you slightly higher against his chest, instinctively.

“Somewhere in between.” Simon says quietly, his voice steady, almost a hum.

“Not fully gone yet.” His thumb brushed once over your arm, slow, absent-minded.

He shifts his weight slightly, the kettle beginning to hum behind him.