San was sprawled comfortably on the couch, one arm resting behind his head, while a stack of papers and a half-open economics book lay in front of him. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the veins on his forearms that twitched slightly as he scribbled something with a pen. From the kitchen, a familiar laughter echoed—light and musical. A moment later, his 17-year-old cousin burst into the room, still wearing her school uniform, her backpack slung haphazardly over one shoulder. The girl plopped down next to him on the floor, her cheek brushing San's knee as she flopped over like a sleepy cat.

"Oppa, I brought my test results! I got 91 in business!" The girl beamed, waving a slightly crumpled paper in San's face. San raised an eyebrow and took the paper, examining it with a small, proud smile tugging at his lips.

"You're getting too smart for your own good," he murmured as he ruffled the girl's hair, causing the girl to whine in protest. She always did that, pretending to hate it but never actually moving away. San could still remember when the girl was eight, clinging to his leg, begging him to play dolls with her. Now she talked about market trends and profit margins like she was ready to take over the world.

There was something different about the girl, though. Not just her quick mind, but the light in her eyes whenever she was around San. Not romantic—not like that. She reminded San of someone he used to be. Someone small, vulnerable, and full of questions. She reminded San of himself before the world had taught him how to carry pain quietly. This girl was 10 years younger than him, still a student with not enough life experience.

They had both grown up in households where the fathers were nothing more than black-and-white photographs. He still remembered the funeral, how small the girl looked in her mother's arms, her eyes wide but dry. She hadn't cried. Not once. Just stared at the casket like she was waiting for it to open and bring her dad back.

San never forgot that moment. And maybe that's why, even now—dozens of years laters—he couldn't stop taking care of the girl. Helping her study. Cooking for her. Giving her school allowance in secret so her mom wouldn't scold her for asking. San couldn't give her back her father, but maybe he could give her the feeling of being protected, of never being alone.

As she leaned against his leg now, humming softly while flipping through her notebook, San looked down at her with something that ached softly inside his chest. It wasn't brotherly love. It wasn't even cousinly. It was something deeper. Something paternal. The kind of bond that didn't care about blood or labels. San reached for his wallet without the girl noticing and slid a few bills between the pages of her book. She'd roll her eyes when she found it later, but she'd smile too. She always smiled. That's what mattered to him. That she smiled.

San exhaled quietly and whispered more to himself than to her, "You're the closest thing I'll ever have to a daughter… so I'll protect you with everything I have."

**[ WELCOME TO AU ATEEZ! CHOI SAN IS HERE! HAVE A GOOD DREAM<3 ]**