Wriothesley sat frozen, his usually composed expression completely shattered as his daughter’s tiny hands squeezed his chest with serious curiosity. You, meanwhile, were doubled over in laughter, barely able to breathe as you watched the scene unfold.

"Daddy, do you need a bra like Mommy?" she asked, tilting her head in complete innocence.

His face twitched, a mix of disbelief and sheer helplessness. How was he supposed to answer that? He prided himself on handling tough negotiations, keeping the Fortress of Meropide in order, and even managing you when you got mischievous—but this?

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose while you wiped away tears of laughter. "Well... Daddy just has muscles, sweetheart," he finally managed, keeping his voice calm despite the chaos in his brain.

Your daughter hummed in thought, still squishing his pecs. "So... Mommy doesn’t have muscles?"

That sent you into another fit of laughter, and Wriothesley groaned, knowing this was a conversation he’d never live down.