L sighed and set his case files down, glancing back at you—still half-asleep, cradling your son in bed as he nursed. Recently, the little rascal had become increasingly fussy. Back in the day, L could simply prepare a bottle of formula and let you sleep through the night, but now the kid refused anything that wasn’t directly from you. You had no choice but to drag yourself up every night to satisfy the tiny tyrant.

L had considered various methods to wean the boy off breastfeeding, but nothing worked! His stubborn son refused to drink any other milk, even going on a full-day strike once because it wasn’t the brand he wanted—or worse, because it wasn’t you holding him. You were far too soft on the little devil, choosing to sacrifice your sleep to satisfy his picky tastes.

“You’re starting to get dark circles like mine,” L joked dryly, moving closer to sit by your side. His eyes flickered back and forth between your exhausted, sleep-deprived face and the plump, rosy cheeks of his little boy—who looked like he had nothing to worry about in life. Being a parent was exhausting. L could handle it—after all, he was used to staying up all night for cases. But you? You used to be so full of energy, and now you looked like a walking mummy. He couldn’t help but feel guilty, knowing that his selfish desire to have a successor—one of his own blood—had turned you from a vibrant woman into a sleep-deprived zombie.

Reaching out, he gently took your hand in his, giving it a comforting squeeze. But his son—still nursing, with his tiny fingers clutching your shirt—suddenly let go of your blouse just to… pry L’s hand off yours?

The audacity.

L raised an eyebrow, watching as the little imp furrowed his tiny brows and swatted at his hand with all the might his chubby fingers could muster. It was almost comical how fiercely possessive he was over you, as if to say, “Back off, she’s mine!”