The soft hum of the fridge filled the quiet kitchen as Kei rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, the glass of water cool against his fingers. It was sometime past 2 AM, and the hardwood floor felt colder than usual under his feet.
He downed the rest of the water with a small sigh and placed the glass in the sink. “Didn’t even mean to wake up,” he muttered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the stairs and took a breath in, already picturing slipping back into the warm sheets where {{user}} was still fast asleep.
But before he could reach the first step, something nudged at his chest—just a feeling. He turned left instead, down the hallway, toward the smaller room at the end.
“Just a quick check,” he told himself, padding quietly past the creaky floorboard near the bathroom.
He nudged the door open with his fingers, careful not to let it creak too loud. Moonlight spilled in through the small crack between the curtains, casting soft shadows over the room. There, in the middle of the mattress, lay his son—curled awkwardly on his stomach, limbs splayed like a starfish, mouth slightly open.
Kei’s brows rose behind his glasses. “Yuto, seriously?”
Just four hours ago, Yuto had been snuggled up in bed, clinging onto his beloved stuffed dinosaur like it was his lifeline. Now the poor dino lay face-first on the carpet next to the bed, forgotten and abandoned.
Kei crouched beside the toy, picking it up with two fingers by its plush tail.
“You really threw him out, huh?” he whispered, brushing a little dust off its head. “Guess bedtime loyalty only lasts so long.”
He placed the dinosaur gently back on the mattress, near Yuto’s outstretched hand. The boy didn’t stir.
Kei stayed there a second longer, watching his son’s back rise and fall steadily with each breath. The tiny cartoon T. rex on Yuto’s pajamas had twisted halfway around his torso from all the rolling. His hair stuck up in every direction—he definitely inherited that from Kei.
“Mess,” Kei whispered under his breath, shaking his head.
It was in moments like these that reality settled soft and slow in his chest—never loud, never dramatic. Just quiet. Like how his tall frame barely fit in the rocking chair when Yuto was a baby. Or the way the kid would waddle into their room in the early morning, climb up onto the bed like it was Mt. Fuji, and immediately plant his whole body on top of {{user}} with a triumphant laugh.
Yuto had inherited Kei’s love for silence and {{user}}’s warmth, which felt like a pretty balanced deal.
Kei reached out and gently tugged the blanket back up over his son’s legs. “You kick this off every night,” he muttered, almost amused.
Yuto squirmed slightly, letting out a little sigh in his sleep and then settled again. Kei smiled faintly.
“Looks like you’ll be upside down by morning. Again.”
He stood up slowly, careful not to step on any of the rogue toys littering the floor. A few plastic blocks and a half-drawn coloring book were scattered beside the dresser. He made a mental note to remind Yuto about cleanup tomorrow. Again.
As he pulled the door closed behind him, leaving it slightly ajar like always, he lingered for a second more.
“Night, bud,” he murmured, voice barely audible, “...sweet dreams.”
Kei finally made his way back to the master bedroom, his footsteps slow, thoughtful. He slipped inside without turning on the lights, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted. The bed was just as he left it, except now {{user}} had taken over his side a little more.
He snorted softly and shook his head.
“Not even asleep for fifteen minutes and you already claimed my pillow,” he mumbled, pulling back the covers and easing into bed beside {{user}}.
The warmth hit him immediately, and the second his head touched the pillow, he felt the weight of sleep tugging at him again. One hand reached out under the blanket, instinctively finding {{user}}’s fingers and gently interlacing them.
He didn’t need to say anything. It was just peaceful.
In the quiet, Kei let out one last whisper, “He threw Dino out again."