17 ( strict mask )

Mae stood up suddenly, tapping her forehead. “Oh dear, I forgot to take out the blankets. They’re on the top of the closet.”

“I’ll help you,” Johan said immediately, rising before anyone else could. His voice was calm, resolute, almost too quick.

Mae’s face lit up. “Thank you, son.” She reached up, touched his arm fondly, and led him down the hallway.

As soon as their footsteps faded, silence fell.

Dad sat rigid in his chair, arms crossed, that same stern mask on his face. But I knew him too well. His jaw was too tight, his eyes softer than he wanted to admit.

I tilted my head, waiting for him to speak. “Pa—”

Before I could say more, he pushed himself up, his movements stiff, and crossed the room toward me. My heart skipped. He sat heavily beside me on the couch and, without hesitation, cupped my face between both his broad palms.

“My baby pa missed you so much,” he murmured, his voice low, rough, and trembling with emotion.

The strict mask slipped away instantly. In its place was the father who used to chase monsters out from under my bed, the one who stayed up late building toy forts, the one who never once let me cry alone.

“Dad…” My own voice wobbled, the sting of tears pushing up against my eyes. I leaned into his palms instinctively.

“You… you don’t know what it’s been like,” he went on, his words tumbling now, voice rough with feeling. “Every night, I sit in that chair—” he jerked his chin toward his old recliner “—and Mae talks about you. What you might be eating, how busy you must be, how tired you must be. And I just sit there, useless, because I can’t do a damn thing for you.”

I swallowed hard, guilt and love tangling in my chest. “Dad…”

His grip on my face tightened slightly, almost desperate. “Do you know how many times I reach for my phone to call you? But I stop myself. I don’t want to bother you. I don’t want to sound like a needy old man.” His breath shuddered. “But I miss you. I miss my boy.”

That was it. My tears spilled over. I grabbed his wrists gently, holding on tight. “You’re never bothering me. Never. I… I’m sorry, Dad. I should’ve called more. I thought—” My throat closed, and I had to force the words out.

“I thought if I didn’t, maybe you wouldn’t worry about me as much. But I see now… that just made you worry even more.”

His face crumpled, his forehead leaning against mine, voice breaking into a whisper. “You’ll always be my baby. Doesn’t matter how many years pass, doesn’t matter who’s holding your hand. You’ll always be mine.”

A choked laugh escaped me through my tears. I hugged him suddenly, pressing myself against his chest, clutching at his shirt. “Always yours, Dad. Always.”

His arms wrapped around me instantly, strong and trembling, caging me in the way they had when I was small. He kissed the top of my head.

“I worry,” he muttered against my hair. “I worry you’re not eating enough. I worry you’re not sleeping enough. I worry someone will hurt you and I won’t be there.” His breath hitched.

“And now… you’ve got someone else. Someone who’ll be the first to see you every morning, the last to see you every night. Someone else is holding your heart.”

I pulled back, just enough to see his face. His eyes glistened, his mouth tight. “Dad…”

“I’m afraid,” he admitted finally, the strict father gone, leaving only a man, raw and vulnerable. “Afraid he’ll take you so far away I’ll lose you. Afraid one day you’ll… forget how much your old man loves you.”

The ache in my chest nearly split me in half. I reached up, wiping the tears that slipped down his face even as mine wouldn’t stop falling. My smile wobbled, but it was warm, full of the charm I always used to soften him.

“I could never forget,” I whispered.

“Dad, no matter where I go, no matter who I’m with… this place, this family, you—it’s home. You’re the first man who ever held me. The first man who ever protected me. The first man who ever loved me.” My throat burned. “No one, not even Johan, could take that away.”

His lips parted, stunned. His thumb brushed over my cheek again, tender. “North…” His voice broke. “You always know how to kill me with words.”

I laughed wetly and leaned in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “That’s because I’m your son. Learned from the best.”

He barked out a laugh through his tears, pulling me against his chest once more. “You cheeky little rascal.” His hand patted my back, firm and protective.

“You promise me something. Promise me you’ll never stop coming back here. Promise me I’ll always get to hold you like this, even when you’re grown and old and grey.”

“I promise,” I said without hesitation, my arms tightening around him. “Always.”

We stayed like that for a long time, the world outside fading until it was just me and him—the boy who never stopped being his baby, and the father who never stopped loving him too much.

Finally, he pulled away, clearing his throat and wiping his eyes quickly, trying to cover up the evidence. He gave my cheek one last squeeze before leaning back, forcing on that stern expression again. “Hmph. Don’t you dare tell your mother I cried.”

I sniffled, grinning through the last of my tears. “Mae already knows, you cried when I first started living in dorm too.”

And that was when Johan and Mae returned with the blankets. Johan froze for just a heartbeat when he saw us—Dad sitting too close, my eyes still red, Dad’s hand still lingering on my shoulder. His gaze softened, deepened. He understood instantly without needing to ask.

Dad noticed, too. His grip on my shoulder tightened a fraction before he straightened up, resuming his “strict father” posture. But when his eyes locked with Johan’s, there was no mistaking the unspoken warning layered beneath the surface: This is my baby. My whole world. Take care of him—or else.