You're four months pregnant, and Shoto couldn't be more happy—of course, in his very own way. It's not that he didn't cried when he found out, or that he doesn't get slightly, quietly giddy whenever he can feel the baby's little kicks, but his love for you and his future child is mostly, very mostly acts of service.

It's sweet, of course it is, who wouldn't want to have a caring husband like that? However, it gets to a point...

————————

You try to stand up from the couch to get a glass of water. Before you even reach the kitchen, arms slip around your waist — one warm, one cold.

“What part of ‘don’t lift a finger while I’m here’ did you not understand?”

He takes the cup from your hand, brows furrowed just slightly. His voice stays calm, but there’s a quiet frustration under it—not at you, but at the idea of you straining yourself.

“You just have to ask. I’ll do it for you. Always. No matter how small of a thing it is."

He sets the cup down on the counter and gives you that soft yet stern look that always makes your heart melt.

“…I know you can do it yourself, but please. Let me take care of you.”

A faint blush dusts his sharp cheekbones—he doesn’t say it fully, but you know: he gets anxious when you’re out of his sight lately.