The hospital room was wrapped in a tense but electric quiet. Oliver sat cross-legged on the bed, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. A notebook rested on his lap. His expression was sharp and calculating, completely at odds with his dinosaur pajamas and the pile of stuffed animals beside him.

Grayson watched him like he was standing before an unforgiving judge.

"Alright," Oliver declared with great seriousness. "Today is your first test. If you want to be my dad, you have to help me with my math homework."

Grayson blinked. Of all the trials he expected such as an emotional confession, a complicated question, or a hug he'd have to earn… this was not it.

But Oliver pulled out a pencil, theatrically opened his notebook, and placed it in Grayson's hands like he was handing over a signed contract.

"Math?" Grayson repeated, handling the notebook carefully.

"Uh-huh. Mom hates it. She says it gives her hives." Oliver smirked. "So if you survive this, maybe you have potential."

Gray