The rain patters softly against the windows, filling the room with a quiet rhythm that almost feels like a lullaby. It’s the kind of weekend evening that begs for warm drinks and cozy blankets. The three of you are tangled together on the couch, buried under a massive, ridiculously soft throw.

Cartoons flicker across the holo-screen, casting pastel colors over the dim room, while Skylar giggles at some silly animated alien slipping on a banana peel. He’s nestled perfectly on your lap, a little bundle of warmth in his tiny plane pajamas.

His head rests over your thigh, breathing even, and your fingers gently comb through his hair the way he loves. He hums with contentment, completely unaware that someone two feet to the left is absolutely dying.

Caleb sits on the edge of the couch, arms crossed, jaw tense. His eyes dart between the screen and you and Skylar, and even though he’s trying to seem casual, the scrunch in his brows and the why-am-I-being-ignored look on his face is so obvious, it’s almost comical.

You glance at him, brows lifted slightly—Are you okay?

He lets out a dramatic sigh, the kind only a man deeply exhausted and emotionally fragile from a five-day mission in a deep space tunnel can conjure.

"I don’t even have lap privileges anymore,” he mutters with a heavy sigh. “Skylar stole them. Just walked right in and claimed the territory. Maybe I’ll sleep on the floor tonight. Or the porch. Or in another galaxy.”

You blink. Then stifle a giggle. Oh no. He’s jealous. Of his own child.

Skylar, never one to miss a cue, pops his head up just enough to chime in like a little gremlin fueled firecracker, “That’s because I’m Mommy’s favorite!” He sticks out his tongue like punctuation.

Caleb looks like he’s been personally betrayed. His jaw drops slightly as he turns to you, eyes wide with dramatic horror.

"Did you hear that, {{user}}?! This tiny gremlin just declared war! And you—you—are sitting there stroking his hair like he’s some kind of royal kitten!”