‧୧ ‧₊˚ 🍶 ⋅‧₊ ᵎᵎ nanami’s baby’s first disappointment is his father’s chest not giving him any milk >:(
the apartment was quiet in that soft, sleepy way mornings sometimes were, when the world outside hadn’t quite woken up yet and the city was still stretching itself awake. sunlight spilled through the curtains in pale gold streaks, warming the rumpled sheets and the blond hair of the man lying half-awake in the bed, one arm thrown lazily above his head in a pose that might have looked effortlessly graceful if not for the tiny human using his chest as a mattress.
nanami had survived curses that would make grown men weep. he had survived overtime at a company that viewed work-life balance as a mythical concept on par with unicorns. he had survived corporate life with all its soul-crushing meetings and passive-aggressive emails signed with smiley faces. he had even survived the horrors of public transport at rush hour, pressed so tightly against strangers that he’d had philosophical revelations about the true meaning of personal space.
but nothing— absolutely nothing, not in his wildest, most anxiety-ridden imaginings— had prepared him for fatherhood.
or, more specifically, for the tiny warm bundle currently lying on his chest like he was a piece of furniture that happened to be warm and breathing.
your baby made the softest little snuffling noises, squished against nanami’s bare torso with all the grace of a tiny potato, chubby cheek pressed right above his heart. the kid had zero concept of personal boundaries, which nanami supposed was fair since he’d helped create him, but still. it was a lot to process at— he squinted at the clock— 6:47 in the morning, when he had barely gotten any sleep that night.
nanami stared down at the small creature with a quiet, almost stunned softness that had become a permanent fixture on his face since the day they’d brought him home from the hospital.
“good morning,” he murmured hoarsely, his voice still rough with sleep.
the baby blinked up at him with wide, unfocused eyes that seemed to be attempting to process the concept of a face. then, like a determined little creature with a singular mission programmed into his tiny developing brain, he began to root around. his mouth opened and closed like a very small, very cute fish having an existential crisis.
nanami frowned slightly, still operating at about thirty percent cognitive capacity.
“…what are you looking for?”
the baby’s tiny hands grabbed onto his chest like he was scaling a small, hairy mountain. his fingers— so small they barely wrapped around nanami’s pinky— dug in with surprising strength for someone who couldn’t hold his own head up consistently.
then his mouth found nanami’s nipple.
nanami froze, laying utterly still.
his brain, which had handled high-stress situations involving special grade curses with remarkable composure, short-circuited entirely.
a very serious sucking noise broke the silence.
nanami stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly like a man attempting to reboot his own consciousness.
from the doorway came a quiet, muffled snort that sounded suspiciously like someone trying very hard not to wake the whole building with laughter.
you had woken up minutes earlier, had padded quietly through the apartment to the bathroom, and had arrived just in time to witness the scene unfolding like a nature documentary about a very confused predator-prey relationship(with the predator being your three-month-old and the prey being nanami’s nipple).
your baby, determined as ever, was enthusiastically trying to extract milk from their father’s chest with the single-minded focus of a tiny gold miner who had absolutely picked the wrong mountain to excavate.
nanami looked over at you with the calm, resigned expression of a man accepting his fate on the deck of a sinking ship.
“help,” he said flatly, not moving a single muscle, as if any movement might encourage the baby.
you leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms, trying very hard not to laugh and failing spectacularly. your shoulders shook with the effort of containing it.
“well he doesn’t know that, does he? he’s three months old. his entire understanding of the universe is that warm things sometimes have milk and he should suck on them until something happens.”
the baby sucked harder, as if sheer determination could change the fundamental biology of the situation.
nanami closed his eyes briefly, the picture of long-suffering patience.
“kento,” you said sweetly, making your way over to the bed, “you’re so cute when you’re being defeated by a three-month-old.”
he sighed, the sigh suggesting he was contemplating the meaning of existence and his place in a universe that would allow such indignities to befall a man who had simply wanted a quiet retirement.
for a moment the baby paused, as if considering his father’s words.
nanami’s expression grew increasingly concerned. “is he… is he getting anything?”
“air, probably. and maybe some existential disappointment.”
finally, your baby stopped.
he leaned back slightly, his tiny face scrunching in deep, philosophical confusion. his brow— what little brow a baby had— furrowed in a way that was eerily reminiscent of his father’s most serious expressions.
nanami looked down at him with careful wariness as the baby blinked. looked at the nipple again. then back up at nanami’s face.
and suddenly his face crumpled.
the loudest, most offended wail burst from his tiny lungs, a sound of pure betrayal that could have woken the dead and probably did wake the neighbors on the floor below.
nanami panicked instantly, his hands hovering uselessly around the screaming infant like he was holding a tiny, furious bomb.
“why is he crying? what did i do?”
you walked over, laughing openly now, reaching to scoop the indignant baby into your arms.
“because you scammed him, kenny. he thought there was milk. he put in the work. he did the labor. and you gave him nothing.”
nanami looked deeply troubled, his brow furrowed in genuine distress.
“i feel like i’ve committed some kind of fraud.”
the baby continued crying dramatically, tiny fists waving in the air like he was protesting an unjust universe, his face the color of a very angry tomato.
you settled into the bed beside nanami and adjusted your shirt, bringing the baby to your chest with the practiced ease of someone who had done this approximately eight million times in the past three months.
instantly, silence fell upon the room. the baby latched happily, tiny contented noises replacing the world-ending wails, his whole body relaxing into you.
nanami watched the transformation with quiet awe, his expression shifting from panic to wonder in the span of seconds.
the tiny sucking noises resumed, this time satisfied and rhythmic, accompanied by little happy squirms.
nanami rested a gentle hand on the baby’s soft head, brushing the faintest fuzz of hair that was just starting to grow in, the same blond as his own.
his expression softened into something unbearably tender.
“traitor,” he murmured to the baby, but his voice held no accusation, only affection wrapped in mild annoyance.
you bumped your shoulder against his.
you gave him a suspicious look.
“…perhaps slightly. he’s very enthusiastic about milk.”
you smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder.
nanami leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the baby’s temple, breathing in that impossible new baby smell that still made his chest tight every single time.
“next time,” he said solemnly, as if making a sacred vow, “i will explain the situation beforehand.”
you laughed, the sound warm and bright in the quiet morning.
“let me know how that goes. i’m sure he’ll take extensive notes.”
the baby made a tiny happy noise, milk-drunk already, his eyes half-closed in bliss, one little hand reaching out blindly and grabbing hold of one of nanami’s fingers with the grip of a tiny vice.
his large hand curled carefully around their baby’s impossibly small one, marveling for the thousandth time at how something so tiny could hold so much of his heart.
in that quiet, warm morning light, with you warm beside him and your baby half-asleep against your chest, making those soft little sounds, his tiny fingers wrapped around nanami’s like he’d never let go, nanami felt something he had never quite known before.
not the absence of worry— he would always worry now, he’d accepted that— but a kind of settled contentment, a rightness, like all the pieces of a life he hadn’t known he was building had finally clicked into place.
“i suppose,” he said softly, “this is acceptable.”
you smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.
nanami looked at you, then at his son, his thumb brushed gently over his tiny knuckles, feather-light, reverent.
“perfect.” he corrected quietly, and meant it with every fiber of his being.
outside, the city continued its morning noise, the distant rumble of trains and the first stirrings of traffic. but inside that apartment, in that golden morning light, three people existed in their own small, perfect world.
the baby, now fully asleep, made one last little satisfied noise. nanami smiled. for the first time in a very long time, he didn’t think about curses or work or any of the things that had weighed on him for years.
and that, he realized, was more than enough.
[ an. this was literally dying in my drafts begging to be let out ]
kaledo-art
annaxmalina
izzy806
pixelskylines
germansingergirl
baratheonpilled
