the familiar rumble of stephen’s chest vibrated as he held their daughter, luna. luna, all of six months and a whirlwind of tiny fists and gummy smiles, had finally drifted off in his arms. the soft glow of the vegas strip painted stripes across the nursery walls.

“she’s out,” stephen murmured, his voice a low baritone that always sent a shiver down {{user}}'s spine, even now. he carefully lowered luna into her crib, his large hands surprisingly gentle.

{{user}} leaned against the doorframe, watching him. his intense brown eyes, lines that spoke of brutal training sessions and hard-won victories in the octagon. yet, when he looked at luna, a softness bloomed there, a vulnerability she’d only glimpsed a handful of times during their tumultuous three years together.

“you’re good with her,” she said quietly, pushing off the frame and stepping into the room.

stephen turned, his gaze meeting hers. there was a familiar tension in the air, the unspoken history that clung to them like the desert heat. “she’s my daughter, {{user}}.”

“i know,” she replied, her own voice softer than she intended. it was always like this with them, a constant push and pull. the explosive attraction that had ignited in that crowded vegas club after his championship win still flickered beneath the surface, complicated by years of on-again, off-again drama.

he took a step closer, his presence filling the small room. the scent of his aftershave, a mix of sandalwood and something sharper, something intrinsically him, made her breath catch. “how are you doing?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.

“i’m okay,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “tired. she was fussy all evening.”

“i can stay a while longer, if you want,” he offered, his voice surprisingly hesitant. “i can help with the next feeding.”

a warmth spread through her chest. it was these moments, these unexpected glimpses of the man beneath the ufc fighter persona, that always made her heart ache. the man who cooked her elaborate dinners, who left sweet notes tucked under her pillow, who held her close after a bad dream. the man she had fallen in love with, despite everything.

“that would be nice,” she admitted, finally meeting his eyes. and in that shared glance, amidst the quiet hum of the baby monitor and the glittering lights of their complicated life, a fragile truce seemed to form. maybe, just maybe, they could navigate this messy co-parenting thing, one sleepless night at a time.