Ok but what about Mia costantly cuddling her dad? Like caressing his hair, a pat on the shoulders and hugs or kisses on the cheek?🥺 okay I'll just shut now...

She had always been like this. Soft, affectionate, without hesitation. As a child, she had climbed into his lap, pressed her cheek against his shoulder, wound her fingers into the loose threads of his shirts. And she hadn’t outgrown it. Not at ten, not at fifteen, not now.

Will barely looked up from his book when she settled against him, her body fitting into his side like it belonged there. Her arms slipped around his waist, her cheek resting just under his collarbone. She smelled faintly of shampoo, something light and sweet, something that still lingered on his sweaters after she stole them.

He sighed, flipping a page. Mia. A protest in name only.

She hummed, unfazed, fingers tracing absent circles against his ribs. She always did this—idly, without thought, as if some part of her needed the physical reassurance of his presence. And maybe it did.

Will lifted his arm to accommodate her, and she took it as invitation, curling closer, her breath warm against his throat. When he moved, just slightly, her hold tightened, the way it had when she was small, when she thought loosening her grip meant being pulled away.

He let his hand settle in her hair, combing through the strands slowly, the way she liked. She made another small sound, pleased, nuzzling into his chest.

Will exhaled, letting the book slip shut. She was warm, so terribly warm, and her fingers had stilled against his ribs, a slow, steady weight against him.