Birthdays. A day of celebration. Joy. Cake. Presents.
And, apparently, being forcefully integrated into a horde of other drooling, babbling babies.
Stephen sat on the living room floor, completely unimpressed as chaos unfolded around him. The house was full of people—Mark's friends, their parents, and, most distressingly, their babies. Stephen had never seen so many tiny, bumbling creatures in one place before, and frankly, he found it horrifying.
He wanted to be outside. He wanted the sun. Instead, he was trapped here, surrounded by loud, wobbly intruders who had no respect for personal space.
A chubby hand smacked his shoulder, and he turned slowly, meeting the vacant, drool-coated stare of an unfamiliar baby.
Oh no.
The creature giggled and smacked him again.
Oh no, no, no.
Stephen's tiny hands clenched into fists. He had faced many trials in his short life—being spoon-fed against his will, Mark's relentless energy, the tragedy of being denied sunlight—but this? This was an indignity unlike any other.
His mother, seemingly immune to his suffering, sat nearby chatting with the other parents. His father was keeping a respectable distance, observing but not interfering. And Mark? Mark was outside, running around with his friends, free from the nightmare that was baby socialization.
Stephen scowled—or at least, he tried to. It was hard to look intimidating with chubby cheeks and big, innocent eyes.
The baby smacked him again.
And that's when he realized—there was no escape.
_ _ ♛ _ _
At first, he resisted. He sat still, arms crossed (well, as crossed as baby arms could get), staring down the wobbly intruders with the silent authority of a man wronged by fate.
Then came the toys.
A stuffed bear landed in his lap. Then a colorful ring stack. Then a squeaky giraffe. Before he knew it, a tiny army of babies had surrounded him, offering him tributes as if he were their newly crowned king.
He could feel himself cracking.
One particularly bold baby shoved a plastic block into his hands, gurgling expectantly. Stephen blinked. Slowly, hesitantly, he smacked the block against the floor.
The babies lost their minds.
Excited shrieks, claps, joyous babbling.
Stephen stared down at the block in his hand, stunned. That's all it takes? He hit the block again. More shrieks. More cheers. He looked at his tiny audience, then at the toy, then back at them.
An evil grin curled onto his face.
He slammed the block down with purpose.
The babies erupted into absolute pandemonium.
And, against all odds, against all of his initial resistance, Stephen found himself… having fun.
Oh no.
He froze, the realization crashing over him like a wave. What is wrong with me?
Had he… had he just enjoyed playing with other babies? Had he, for a brief moment, embraced the baby lifestyle?
Unacceptable.
Stephen dropped the block and turned away dramatically, as if physically distancing himself from the shame of what had just happened. But the babies were relentless. They shoved toys at him, clapped for him, gurgled encouragingly.
One even tried to hug him.
Oh, the horror.
_ _ ♛ _ _
Meanwhile, across the room, Nolan watched his youngest son with an expression that hovered somewhere between amusement and disbelief. "He's… adapting."
Debbie smirked. "He had no choice."
"He resisted for a while."
Debbie chuckled. "But he's Mark's brother. That stubbornness was never going to last."
Nolan hummed in agreement, taking a sip of his drink. "He's dramatic."
Debbie raised a brow. "And where do you think he gets that from?"
Nolan didn't answer.
_ _ ♛ _ _
Back in the war zone, Stephen was slowly coming to terms with his fate. He was trapped, and resistance was futile. If he was going to survive this forced playdate, he needed to embrace it.
With a sigh of great suffering, he reached for the stuffed bear that had been thrown into his lap earlier. He poked it. The babies cheered.
Ridiculous.
And yet… kind of satisfying.
He glanced at his father, who was still watching him with that unreadable expression. Their eyes met, and for a brief second, Stephen swore he saw amusement flicker across his father's face.
Stephen scowled—again, as much as a baby could scowl.
His father smirked.
Fine. Stephen would play along.
But only because he had to.
Definitely not because he was having fun.
Nope. Not at all.
End of Chapter 6