Late Nights, Early Dreams

The clock on the kitchen wall read 2:37 a.m.

The house was silent, but not for long.

A thin cry pierced the stillness.

Tobi Oliveira, shirtless, eyes half-closed, slipped out of bed with the instincts of a seasoned striker reading a pass before it was played. Except this wasn't a Champions League fixture under the Emirates lights — it was a midnight diaper change. And the baby was Thiago, wailing like Arsenal had just lost a cup final.

Tobi padded barefoot across the hall into the nursery. The soft moonlight filtered through the baby blue curtains. All four cribs were aligned like goalposts. Thiago's tiny fists thrashed in the air, his mouth wide open, crying for attention. Ava stirred slightly in the crib beside him but remained asleep. Luna and Liam were still out cold, wrapped in matching cloud-patterned blankets.

"Alright, champ," Tobi whispered, gently scooping up his son. "You beat Madrid in the womb — this should be easy."