Starting in high school, he pulled back. He wasnāt as close with the angels anymore, keeping a careful distance, fewer long talks, shorter visits, excuses to duck out early. They noticed, of course, their brows furrowing as they swapped theories.
"Itās just puberty." One would say, shrugging.
"Heās growing up, needs space." Another would add, though her eyes lingered with quiet hurt.
They didnāt suspect the truth: that he was stepping away because he loved them too much, not too little.
Mika figured he could live like that, keep his secret, maybe even turn into some brooding hermit to āatoneā for the sin of wanting his parental figures in a way he shouldnāt.
Heād resign himself to a life of quiet repression, letting time sand down the edges of his longing until it was just a dull ache he could ignore.
That was the plan, anyway.
But everything changed today, after the accident.
When that truck slammed into him and sent him crashing into the tree, when he lay there staring at a death he couldnāt actually meet, it hit him like a freight train: the regrets.
In that frozen sliver of time, as his mind grappled with the what, ifs of dying, Mika realized heād regret nothing more than never telling his caretakers, those beautiful women he adored, how he truly felt.
The love heād bottled up for them swelled in his chest, and suddenly all the barriers heād built in his head felt like flimsy paper walls.
The age gap, the motherly roles theyād played, the family dynamic heād feared breaking, none of it mattered anymore.
He saw it clear as day: societal norms were just noise, meaningless rules heād let choke him.
What mattered was his happiness, his heart, not the obstacles heād obsessed over. Screw the hurdles he wanted to confess, to lay it all bare, consequences be damned.
But that wasnāt all.
Another realization crashed in, just as seismic: he loved his childhood friends, the daughters, just as fiercely as he loved their mothers.
Heād never given it much weight before, always nudging them away or holding them at armās length, too caught up in his own tangled feelings to see it.
Yet in that near-death moment, it clicked, they werenāt just fixtures in his life, they were his life.
He loved them as much as they loved him, their relentless devotion mirrored in his own heart. He couldnāt imagine existing without them, those five girls whoād been with him since the cradle, their laughter and loyalty as vital to him as air.
But even with all this crashing through him, Mika wavered.
The weight of it, loving ten women, mothers and daughters alike, was dizzying.
Part of him wanted to shove it back down, to ignore the epiphany and trudge on with his hermit plan, pretending he could outrun his own soul. He could keep the distance, let the feelings fade, live quietly with his secrets.
That is, until a darker thought slithered in: what if he had died? What if heād left this world right then?
The five angels and their daughters, they wouldnāt stay frozen in grief forever.
Theyād move on. Find new partners. Someone else would make them laugh, take them on dates, hold their hands.
...Someone else would slip into the spaces heād left empty.
The second that image flared in his mind, them smiling at other men, their eyes lighting up for strangers, fury roared through him, white, hot and feral.
He wanted to torch the world, burn every last soul in it, at the mere thought of them belonging to anyone else.
No way in hell was he letting that happen!
They were his all of them, right there, ripe for the taking, like fruit dangling from a tree, waiting for him to reach out. Heād been blind, but now he saw it: his heart was greedy, possessive, a beast far more ravenous than even the daughtersā wildest obsessions.
He didnāt just want one of them, he wanted them all.
The mothers with their mature allure, the daughters with their fierce devotion, heād claim every single one, consequences be damned, because the idea of losing them to anyone else was a wound heād never survive.
But he wasnāt naive.
The path to their hearts, especially the mothers would be a labyrinth of obstacles.
The battle angels saw him as their son, their ward, not a suitor. Their love for him was nurturing, not romantic, and breaching that boundary would take cunning, patience, and a masterclass in subtlety.
Heād need tricks, indirect gestures, quiet moments that shifted their perception, careful words that planted seeds without shattering the family theyād built. Deception, maybe, but not malicious, just enough to nudge their hearts toward seeing him as a man, not a boy theyād raised.
The daughters, though?...They were a different beast.
If he confessed to them now, theyād leap into his arms before he finished the sentence, their SSS-tier blessings practically sparking with glee. Charlotteās cheeky grin and relentless teasing were proof enough of that.
But he couldnāt act yet.
Declaring his love for the daughters first would be like lighting a fuse, jealousy would erupt, and the mothers might pull back entirely, their trust in him fraying.
No, he had to secure the battle angels first, weave his way into their hearts, then slowly draw the daughters in, ensuring everyone accepted this impossible, sprawling love he envisioned.
It was a delicate issue, a step-by-step process that demanded precision, not brazen declarations and it surely would be near impossible to do so
But Mika didnāt care about the difficulty.
The truckās impact had shattered his hesitation, leaving only clarity: heād be a new man, unapologetic, pursuing mothers and daughters alike with a greed that felt both wild and right.
He could already imagine it, them all together, tangled in his life, under his roof, under his sheets. A smirk tugged at his lips as he lost himself in the vision, bold and unyielding, a future where heād won them all.
But then reality snapped him back.
Charlotte...Heād forgotten her, lost in his daydream while she sat there, probably still fretting over his silence, her worry from moments ago lingering like a shadow.
Guilt pricked him, he needed to reassure her, to explain something to ease her concern. He tilted his head down, ready to meet her wide, anxious eyes with a quick, "Iām fine, donāt worry."
But instead, his lips twitched, eyes narrowing to slits as right now Charlotte wasnāt looking up at him with worry. She wasnāt even looking at his face.
Instead her fingers were halfway down his shirt, unbuttoning it with a focus that bordered on predatory. The fabric parted, exposing his chest to the warm park air, and her sly grin told him everything: sheād been busy while he was lost in thought, seizing the moment to make her move.
"Charlotte..." He said, his voice low and edged with suspicion, each syllable a warning. "Why exactly are you removing my top?"
Her hands froze, caught mid-button, and she glanced up with a guilty flicker in her blue eyes, now shimmering with a hint of that unnatural pink. Her lips curved into a sheepish smile, like a kid nabbed stealing cookies.
"Oh, Mika, donāt be so dramatic!" She chirped, her tone all innocence, though the mischief in her gaze betrayed her. "Itās such a hot day, you know? I just thought youād be more comfortable without all this stuffy fabric clinging to you." She tugged lightly at his open shirt, as if inspecting her handiwork. "See? Doesnāt it feel cooler now? No need to thank me!"
Mikaās deadpan stare didnāt waver. "Cooler, huh?" He muttered, unconvinced and before she could spin another excuse, he grabbed her wrists, firm but not harsh, and with a quick twist, he tossed her off his lap, sending her tumbling into the grass.
"Eek!" Charlotteās shriek echoed through the empty park as she tumbled into the grass, her pink hair splaying out like a vibrant fan.
She rolled dramatically, clutching her chest as if Mika had hurled her across a battlefield instead of a few feet.
"Mika, you! How could you possibly throw a frail, pitiful girl like me?!" She wailed, her voice dripping with mock anguish. She then propped herself up on one elbow, her eyes wide and shimmering with exaggerated hurt, looking every bit the wronged damsel in a melodrama. "Iām just a delicate flower, Mika, and you you beast!"
But Mika didnāt fall for it as he scoffed, crossing his arms as he loomed over her, his dark eyes narrowing with exasperation and amusement.
"Pitiful girl? What pitiful girl?" He shot back, his tone dry as the cracked earth underfoot. "All I see is a perverted menace who was stripping me down like Iām some kind of mannequin. You were taking advantage of me, Charlotte, and donāt even try to deny it." He pointed an accusing finger, his voice rising just enough to carry his indignation. "If I hadnāt snapped out of it, you probably wouldāve done something utterly shameless, right here, in public, not even caring whoās watching!"
Charlotte didnāt flinch. Instead, she rolled onto her back, stretching languidly in the grass, her cheeky grin widening as she peeked up at him through half-lidded eyes.
"Oh, Mika, youāre so dramatic." She teased, her voice lilting like she was savoring every word. "I wasnāt gonna go that far. I mean, come on, give me some credit." She propped herself up on her hands, her gaze locking onto his with a playful intensity. "I, you know, was just...gonna run my tongue along your chest a little. You know, give it a tiny lick. You looked so tasty in that moment, all sweaty and heroic." She licked her lips for effect, her eyes glinting with a succubus-like hunger. "When I unbuttoned your shirt, I saw those beads of sweat rolling down your skin, and, well...how could I resist?"
Mikaās hand met his forehead with an audible smack, his head shaking at her sheer audacity. "How in the world is licking my chest any better then what I said?" He muttered, but his lips quirked, betraying a reluctant amusement, as he reached down, giving her head a light pat, half-affectionate, half-exasperated like he was scolding a naughty kitten. "Lewd. Absolutely lewd, you are."
Charlotte leaned into his touch, her grin only growing as she tilted her head, her pink hair brushing his fingers.
"But, Mika..." She suddenly purred, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "If youāre worried about me doing something lewd like you said...I wouldnāt mind, you know."
Her gaze turned intense, as she sat up, closing the distance between them.
"I could make everyone in this entire area look away. Poof, no witnesses." She snapped her fingers, her eyes flickering with that eerie pink glow, a reminder of her blessing." "No one would approach us. We could do whatever we want, right here, right now. Hot and feisty, just you and me." She leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. "Want me to do it? Shall we get all...steamy?"