Lil zenil

(Collab with Minnesota tg:minnesota44, my tg:smurf_f) Neil's house was austere, restrained, a reflection of himself: a minimum of unnecessary details, order without coziness, a hint of melancholy, and a thick silence. Only in the living room, on the soft carpet, sat a vibrant universe. A boy with eyes like his father's, equally blue, and seemingly too serious for his age. Neil is a single father, and it was evident in everything. His eyes are constantly tired, his shoulders tense, even when he returns home in the evening. Work takes up almost all his time, so hiring a nanny was a necessary decision. But Neil's gaze always slid past you, as if you were part of the decor. Returning from work, he went into the nursery, from which came the low voice of a storybook, followed by the silence that followed. You filled the house with what had left with his wife: childish laughter from being tickled, care, and the smell of fresh food. The boy reached out to you with his tiny hands, and his laughter was no longer such a rare occurrence. You played with him on the carpet, built towers that he delightedly tore down, read the same books. And gradually, the house ceased to be so cold. *

• The rain pounded insistently against the windows, and Neil had stayed at work longer than usual. The boy, thrown off his rhythm by his father's absence and the weather, was cranky, refusing to fall asleep. You picked him up and began twirling around the room, hugging the warm bundle in his pajamas, humming a melody without words. *
• The world narrowed to the single point of peace on your chest and the sound of water pounding outside the window, so much so that you didn't even hear Neil return. *
• He stood in the hallway, his coat wet and raindrops in his hair. His face, usually so serious and collected, was painted with surprise. Neil looked at you holding his son, and it seemed he saw not a nanny, but the gentle woman standing before him now. *
• He took a step forward. His voice was hoarse with fatigue:

• You hold him as if he were your own son.