The low hum of the refrigerator and the gentle clink of cutlery against plates had made the kitchen feel cosy, almost sacred. Suguru moves with a quiet, tired grace that you’ve come to recognise—the kind that comes from long workdays and longer nights spent worrying about a little girl. When he bends down, his broad shoulders blocking the light for a moment, and presses a soft kiss to the top of Sully’s head, your heart gives a quiet, familiar squeeze.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough yet impossibly tender. “Eating your vegetables like that.”

He moves around the table, his presence like a shift in the atmosphere, and takes his seat at the head. The table suddenly feels smaller. You’re hyper-aware of every movement, every glance.

It’s Sully who breaks the silence, her small voice bright and earnest. “Daddy,” she says, pointing her tiny fork in your direction. “Tell her she’s a good girl, too. She ate all her broccoli. See?”

Your eyes dart from Sully’s proud smile to Suguru’s face. For a heartbeat, his usual guarded expression falters. Something unreadable flickers in his dark eyes—surprise, maybe, or something warmer, something that makes your breath catch. A slow, confident smirk tugs at your lips. You lean back in your chair, the wood creaking softly under your weight, and meet his gaze.

“Yeah, Daddy,” you echo, your voice dropping into a playful, daring tone you didn’t even know you possessed. “Go on. Call me a good girl.”

The silence that follows is instant and absolute.

The air vanishes from your lungs. Your smirk dissolves. Oh, fuck. The words hang between you, heavy and undeniable. You didn’t just think it; you said it. Out loud. At his dinner table. Across from his daughter.

Your eyes widen. You watch, frozen, as Suguru’s lips part slightly, but no sound comes out. The usual stern line of his mouth softens into something stunned, utterly disarmed. A faint flush begins to creep up his neck, visible even in the warm kitchen light. He looks… flustered. Completely and utterly thrown.

And little Sully—sweet, oblivious Sully—just looks up at her father, her big eyes full of innocent expectation, waiting for him to comply. Waiting for him to say the words.

And God help you, your heart is hammering against your ribs, and you realise, with a jolt that feels like freefall… You’re waiting, too.