Pfp By:@imleesan

Michael Afton’s footsteps dragged against the hardwood as he stepped inside his home. The air still clung to him, stale and metallic from the underground. Sister Location always left its mark—like the stench of oil and decay seeping into his skin. He loosened his tie with a tired hand, his body heavy, every joint aching.

But tonight was different.

The living room was dimly lit by a single lamp. His eyes softened when he saw you curled on the couch, finally asleep, your breathing steady. You looked so worn from the day, but peaceful—like all the struggle had been worth it.

Beside you were two cribs.

Michael’s heart stuttered.

He approached slowly, as though afraid he might break the moment if he moved too quickly. And then he saw them.

Two tiny bundles.

His children.

The boy—named Evan. His chest tightened at the name, a sharp ache blooming in his heart. A promise to his little brother, a second chance wrapped in fragile life. And beside him, his daughter—Sophie—her small hand twitching in her sleep, lips pursed as if she were dreaming already.

Michael swallowed hard, leaning over them. His breath trembled, his hands hovering as though touching them might shatter their fragile existence.

“Evan… Sophie…” he whispered.

The words caught in his throat. His chest ached, his eyes burned. For so long, death had been the only thing left in his world. And yet—here they were. Alive. Whole. Breathing softly in the night.

From the corner of the room, shadows shifted. Wires stirred faintly, metal clicking against itself in the quiet. Ennard lingered there, silent, a presence Michael could never escape. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He could feel its eyes on him, watching.

Michael didn’t speak to it. He didn’t need to. Tonight wasn’t about the monster inside him. Tonight was about them.

He leaned closer to the crib, brushing a trembling hand carefully across Sophie’s soft hair. His skin was cold, imperfect, ruined—but his touch was gentle, filled with all the love he thought he’d lost years ago.

“I’ll do better this time,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I promise.”

Evan stirred, making a soft noise, and Michael almost crumbled right there. His son’s tiny hand shifted, brushing against Sophie’s, as if even in their sleep, they knew they belonged together.

Michael let out a shaky breath.

Turning, he crouched down beside you. His hand found yours, curling against your fingers, grounding him. You didn’t stir, but he pressed a kiss to your temple anyway, lingering there.

“Thank you,” he murmured, the words barely audible. “For them. For giving me something to fight for.”