“Do they look like this the whole time? All lumpy and mushy? Maybe he’s not done cooking.”

Toji sounds nonchalant, bored even, as he pokes at the sleeping body of his newborn son, but the glassy tint in his eyes say more than words ever could.

It’s weird. Toji’s known the entire time you were pregnant he was going to be a father. He’d spent more than enough time poking fun at the swell of your stomach and wiping the subsequent tears, coming around to talking to the kid while he was still in your stomach and grumbling when the kid kicked him away, pressing his hand to your bump while boasting over the phone to Shiu about the kid’s progress.

Honestly, Toji had been nervous throughout the entire nine months you were expecting. He talked big and acted unaffected, but the wary glances towards your stomach, the unsure smile on his face when you talked about the life plan you had for the kid, the restless nights he had worrying about whether or not this would be another thing he letdown in his life…Toji doesn’t get scared, but fuck was he nervous.

None of that compared to actually seeing everything happen. He hadn’t expected to hear your yell of alarm that morning in the bathroom and the puddle on the floor, and he definitely hadn’t expected to have the bones in his hand crushed from your alarmingly tight grip on the way to the hospital. He wished he had been better prepared to withstand your cries of pain and your yells of incoherent rage directed towards Toji, but nothing could have helped him try not to pass out every time the doctor reported what new body part they could see.

At least you’re alright.

Really you’re more than alright. Exhausted and sore, but you’re talking his head off and attempting to waddle over to the bassinet to pick up the kid every time Toji turns around. He’s finally corralled you into the hospital bed where you’re going through the photos you’ve taken of Megumi. Your son. His son.

Megumi looks so much like Toji.

“I can’t believe you let me name him,” Toji says, giving the infant one last poke to the face before coming over to the hospital chair near the bed. He pulls it impossibly closer and your arms reflexively raise for him to place his head on your lap.

He would’ve crawled in beside you ages ago if the nurses hadn’t scolded him for it when they caught him trying earlier. His eyes rove over your content features and the sweat sticking to your forehead before the emerald green’s close in contentment.