୨୧ MICHAEL KAISER who never expected his life to slow down like this.
it all started with a quiet night, when you hand him a small box with shaking hands. he looks confused at first, brows pulled together, sharp eyes softening when he opens it.
inside is the pregnancy test and it was positive.
for a second, he doesn’t breathe.
then his hands tremble. his lips part like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. his eyes sting, and he turns his face away, embarrassed by how fast tears come.
he pulls you into his chest, holding you tight, like if he lets go, this happiness might disappear.
“i’m happy..” he whispers, voice breaking. “i really am.”
but later that night, when the room is quiet and the lights are off, his thoughts get loud. he stares at the ceiling, jaw tight. he finally admits it, barely above a whisper.
“what if i fail?”
“what if i become like him?”
he talks about his mother, the famous actress who left him behind like he was nothing.
and was eventually given to his father, who always was drunk and angry, with hands heavy with pain instead of love.
he says he doesn’t know how to be a dad when no one has ever showed him how.
you turn to him, holding his face gently. you tell him that fear already makes him different. you tell him that the fact he cares means he won’t repeat the past.
“you’re not them” you say firmly but softly.
he scoffs weakly. “you don’t know that.”
“i do” you reply. “because you’re already worrying about protecting someone you haven’t even met yet.”
throughout the months, you remind him again and again. when he flinches at the thought of holding such a small life. when he overthinks every little thing.
you’re always there, steady and warm, telling him he’s doing good.
shopping for baby clothes becomes something soft between you two. he pretends not to care, but he spends way too long looking at tiny shoes. his fingers brush over little shirts, and his eyes linger. he buys more than needed.
“we don’t need this many” he says, arms full of tiny shirts.
you smile. “you picked all of those.”
“…the kid might grow fast” he mutters, ears red.
when labor comes, he doesn’t leave your side for even a second. his hand grips yours like an anchor. his voice shakes as he tells you to breathe, even though he’s the one barely holding it together.
“breathe with me” he says. “no— wait, you breathe. i’ll just— i’ll stay right here.”
you squeeze his hand. “don’t let go.” you whined.
“never..” he replies instantly.
when your son is born, crying and warm and real, michael breaks.
he cries openly, forehead pressed to yours, tears falling without shame. when you place the baby in his arms, he freezes, then softens completely. his expression changes into something you’ve never seen before. pure love. pure fear. pure hope.
“thank you..” he whispers over and over. “thank you for trusting me with this.”
“…he’s so small” he breathes. “i can’t believe he’s mine.”
you look at him and whisper, voice tired but full.
“you’re going to be a good father.. he’s gonna appreciate you one day”
months pass.
your baby boy becomes attached to michael in a way that surprises him. he follows him around, reaches for him first, calms down fastest in his arms.
“dada!” he giggles, reaching for him.
michael laughs softly. “yeah, yeah, i’m here.”
he looks just like michael — the same eyes color, the same sharp features, especially same hair color — but with your softness, your expressions, your little habits, and hair type.
when your son turns four, michael comes home from training, tired and sweaty. the house smells like crayons and paper. he finds his son on the floor, drawing seriously.
then he sees michael.
“daddy!” the boy grins, holding up the paper. “look what i made!”
“what is it?” michael asks smiling.
“that’s you” his son points. “and that’s me and mommy!”
he smiles. “daddy, you’re the best dad ever!”
the picture is messy and colorful. stick figures. one tall one, one small one, and a heart.
michael laughs at first, then freezes. his chest tightens. he crouches down and pulls his son into a hug, holding him longer than usual.
“…hey” he whispers, “you know that means everything to me, right?”
“mhm!” his son nods. “i love you!”
that night, after putting him to bed, michael comes back to you quieter than usual. he sits beside you, face buried in your shoulder. his body shakes, just a little.
“i did it” he whispers. “i didn’t mess this up.” you hold him, fingers running through his hair, letting him cry on you.
because at the end, michael wasn’t just only successful at soccer.
he finally got successful with the family he always wanted.
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