246. DARK TOO PRETTY

246. DARK TOO PRETTY
Kirill sat slouched on the couch, pressing an ice pack to his temple like he was treating a bullet wound instead of a hangover of decisions.
“I can’t think. I genuinely can’t fucking think.”
“Then go home and think there,” Zaley said, calm as ever. “Decide there. Not here.”
“But what if I decide wrong?” Kirill groaned, stretching the ice pack across his face.
“You already did,” Zaley muttered.
“Uncle Kirill, are you going to have a baby?” Lilly asked him.
Kirill nearly choked. “WHAT—no, kid, no!”
“It’s bad manners to eavesdrop, Lilly,” Layla said sternly. “You have to cut that habit.”
“I didn’t, Mommy. I was there. The door was open. You all were talking. They went into my ears.” Lilly explained carefully, her hands making big swoops in the air as if to illustrate sound waves.
Luna, who had been silent until now, peeked over from Zaley’s lap. “Uncle Kiwi, where is the baby?”
“There. Is. No. Baby.” Kirill pressed the ice pack harder to his temple.
“Is it a boy baby or a girl baby?” Lilly persisted. "If it’s a girl, we should name her Spiderella.”
Kirill blinked. “Spider…what?”
“Spiderella!” Lilly spread her arms dramatically. “Like Spider-Man but a princess.”
Before Kirill could respond, Lilly scrambled up the armrest, dangling upside down just to get in his face.
“Uncle Kiwi, can I hold the baby first?”
He blinked. “What? There is no baby yet—”
“Will it be like Spider-Man?” she pressed.
“Or cows?” Luna added innocently, looking up from her sketchpad. “Like Captain Moo Moo?”
“Why would it—?!” Kirill dropped the ice pack, staring at the two girls like they were some kind of tiny mafia interrogators.
Layla smirked, arms folded. “Welcome to the kids, Kirill. They ask a thousand questions a day, and you’re expected to have answers for all of them.”
The girls leaned in closer, waiting for his response. Kirill finally dragged the ice pack back over his face and groaned.
“Nope. Decision made. I don’t want kids. Ever. Not even one.”
Zaley smirked, pulling Luna back into his lap. “Smartest thing you’ve said all day.”
Layla snorted. “Give him a week. He’ll be shopping for baby clothes.”
Kirill groaned into his ice pack. “Why do I even come here—”
“Because we love you,” Lilly said sweetly, then added, “Also, can we babysit?”
“Babysit what? There’s no baby!” He shot up from the couch, pacing now. “There’s not even a belly! Why are we talking about this like it’s already crawling around eating crayons?”
Lilly’s eyes widened. “Babies eat crayons?”
“Not if they’re supervised,” Zaley said smoothly, hiding his smirk.
Luna gasped. “I hide my crayons aww the time, dady!”
Kirill stopped dead, ice pack slipping from his head. He looked at Layla, desperate. “They’re multiplying. Every time I answer one question, they spawn three more. I’m going to die here.”
Layla leaned against the doorframe, grinning. “Now imagine twenty-four hours of that. Every day. For years.”
For the first time in his life, Kirill looked genuinely terrified. He grabbed his jacket like it was a life vest.
“Nope. Nope. I’m out. I’m not cut for this. Tell Neve congratulations, but if she wants me involved, she’ll have to drug me and drag me. I will not bring another one of you creatures into the world. Neve can raise Spiderella Moo Moo Junior on her own.”
Both girls gasped.
“BEST NAME EVER!” Lilly cheered.
“Moo Moo Junior!” Luna echoed, scribbling the name on her sketchpad like it was official.
"Can she write?" It was Kirill's first thought before he shook it away.
That's not important.
Kirill stood up, grabbing his jacket like he was fleeing a crime scene. “I’m leaving before this house infects me. Good luck, Zaley, you deserve this hell.”
“Careful,” Zaley called lazily after him. “One day you might actually want it.”
But just as he reached the door, Lilly piped up, “Uncle Kirill?”
He froze. “…What now?”
“You’re still drinking water every day, right? From the bottle I gave you? You promised.”
For a moment, his expression softened, barely.
“…Yeah, kid. I do.”
Lilly smiled in total satisfaction and went back to swinging upside down.
Kirill muttered under his breath, “Dammit,” and walked out, this time quieter.
Zaley’s smirk widened. “Tiny crack, right there.”
Layla chuckled, leaning against him. “He’ll break one day. Kids are fun, though.”
Zaley was about to argue when he noticed Luna furiously dragging a red crayon through her sketchpad, no, not just the pad, but straight onto her hair.
“Luna.” His tone was sharp, fatherly. “What are you doing?”
She looked up with the biggest, most innocent eyes. “Mamma, Wi-yi pretty."
She pressed her palm against her chest and shook her head, "Wuh-na no pretty.”
Layla froze.
“Oh, sweetheart…” Layla started, but Zaley cut in, his voice dropping lower. “What’s wrong with our hair colour?”
Luna blinked at him, actually thinking with a serious little furrow between her brows. Then, with all the authority of a two-year-old, she declared:
“Daddy, no pretty.”
The room went dead silent for half a second.
Then Lilly howled with laughter, toppling off the couch. Layla clamped her hand over her mouth, trying and failing not to giggle.
Zaley’s jaw flexed. “No. Pretty?” he repeated slowly, as if she’d just declared war.
Luna nodded solemnly, returning to colouring her hair red. “Wi-yi pretty. Wuh-na want.”
Layla leaned against his arm again, shaking with laughter now. “Oh, Zaley… you just got roasted by a toddler.”
He stared at his daughter like she’d betrayed him. “This is mutiny.”
“Face it,” Layla teased, ruffling his hair. “In this house, red wins.”
Zaley straightened, deadly serious. He scooped Luna right off the floor and settled her on his lap, tilting her chin up with all the gravity of a general preparing his soldier.
“Listen carefully, little one,” he began, his voice low, intense.
“This,” he tugged at his own dark hair, “is not not no pretty. This is strength. This is power. This is legendary.”
Luna blinked up at him. “No pretty,” she repeated flatly.
Lilly cackled so hard she nearly fell off the pull-up bar. “Daddy, you lost! Just admit it!”
Zaley narrowed his eyes. “Red fades with age.” He smirked at Layla, who gasped in mock-offense. “But dark stays. Dark never loses.”
Layla gasped louder, clutching her chest. “Excuse me?!”
“Facts,” he said smugly, though Luna patted his face with her crayon-stained hand.
“Dady… still no pretty.”
Luna pressed the red crayon to her hair again when Layla leaned forward, her voice soft but firm.
“Hey, Luna,” Layla said, brushing her cheek. “Do you know who else has dark hair like you?”
Luna tilted her head, curious.
“Daddy,” Layla whispered, tapping Zaley’s chest. “And Daddy is the most handsome man in the world. If you have his hair, that means you’re just as special.”
Luna blinked, staring between Zaley and her crayon. Slowly, she set it down. “Daddy pretty?”
“Very pretty,” Layla confirmed with a playful wink.
Zaley looked like he’d just won a battle no army could hand him. Luna crawled into his lap, patting his hair with tiny hands. “Okay. Dark pretty too.”
He glanced at Layla. “Finally, some respect.”