The Ice in my Heart (K/DA x Male Reader)

54 | A Daughter's Promise

Kai'sa POV

For a long time, it was only me and my father. My mother had died from an illness when I was young. I had a few distinct memories from when she was alive, but all my life, it seemed like it was just my father struggling as a single parent to raise me.

I knew he worked hard and that it was difficult to make ends meet. That's why I never complained when sometimes he didn't come home or sometimes when we had to skip dinner or even when kids at school made fun of me for never having the latest toys or games.

I think it bothered my dad more than it bothered me. He would sometimes return home and hold me close in a tight embrace, whispering about how he was sorry over and over again that he couldn't give me the life I wanted.

But I never wanted nor needed a glamorous life. All I cared about were my important people, which as a child, pretty much solely consisted of my father.

Seeing the exhaustion carved into his face whenever I saw him and his eyes mired in guilt, I sought any possible way I could lighten his burden. That's probably around when I first started taking up dancing.

I remembered distantly that one of my father's favorite things about my mother was that she was an incredible dancer. He would joke that when they grew old together, she would still be able to move just as well as she did when she was young. Well, only one of them was lucky enough to.

I thought that, perhaps, I could alleviate some of his fatigue in the same way she did. Whenever I got out from school, I would stand outside the windows of the dance club at my elementary school, trying to clumsily imitate their movements. Of course, it costed money to join—money I didn't want to waste for my own selfish desires.

Though, I never seemed to be able to iron out those tiny flaws, perceptible to only a trained eye. The dancers beyond those windows seemed to have a grace I could never copy. Yet, I tried and tried and tried. I grew bruises in my feet from the continuous strain, of which I always hid from my father. He had enough to worry about.

But one day, when his birthday came, I was emboldened by a sudden bout of courage. As he fell back onto an armchair in exhaustion, I scampered over with small, enthusiastic steps.

"Daddy, daddy!" I yelled.

"What is it, sweetie?" he smiled at me.

"Look at me!"

After hurrying in front of him and ensuring he could see me, I immediately initiated the routine I had so painstakingly practiced. I moved my feet, though not as smoothly as those taught dancers. I glided my arms, though not as rhythmically as those experienced students. I bounced and pranced, though not as graceful as I hoped. I continued on with those clumsy movements, trying my best to call forth remembrance of the next part or to cover up the various mistakes I made. And when I finished, I looked towards my father with a nervous face.

He maintained his gentle smile as he watched, yet when my dance came to a close, I saw very faintly a glimmer in his eye—one that pooled just beneath his chestnut orbs and trickled down to his chin. He touched his cheek, and as if surprised himself, he stared at the moisture on his fingertips before quickly wiping the rest off with his sleeve.

He gave a deep chuckle while lifting me off the ground and onto his knee. His arms wrapped around my small frame, pulling me deep into his chest.

"Your mother used to dance just like that, you know," he murmured.

"I remember! Did you like it?" child me asked with hope.

"I did," he affirmed with an almost trembling voice, "I liked it a lot."