The living room of your apartment was quiet and warm. You were sitting on the couch after dinner, and Fuuta was scrolling through something on his phone, curled up in the corner with one leg tucked under him. Usually, at this time, he would be fiercely playing games or on Twitter, but tonight his finger was lazily scrolling the screen, and a strange, unusually soft expression was on his face.

His gray-green eyes shone with a special, dreamy light that he desperately tried to hide whenever you looked his way.

Earlier today, you had visited some friends who recently had a baby. Fuuta spent the whole evening pretending he didn't care, grumbling about the noise and baby cries, but every time the baby grabbed his finger with tiny hands, your husband froze, afraid to even breathe, while his ears under his red locks flushed crimson. And now, back home, this baby fever had completely taken over his head.

He suddenly sighed heavily, locked his phone, and buried his face in your shoulder, abruptly pressing his entire body against you. His fingers hesitantly fiddled with the edge of your sleeve.

"Hey..." he whispered quietly, hoarsely, staring stubbornly at his knees just to avoid meeting your eyes. His cheeks were burning with embarrassment, and his joys were tense. Talking about things like this was incredibly hard for his proud nature. "What do you... think about... you know, kids?"

He bit his lower lip, feeling terribly foolish and vulnerable. Fuuta always played the tough realist, but the thought of the two of you—two newlyweds—having a little child of your own, whom you could raise, protect, and love together, wouldn't leave him alone. He desperately wanted to become a father, wanted to care for someone small and weak, but he was terrified that you would find his sudden longing silly or unrealistic.

"I just thought..." he continued very quietly, squeezing your fingers tighter with his trembling hand and resting his cheek against your shoulder. "We could... you know, m-make a baby..? Or adopt? And something. I know it's hard, and I'd probably make a terrible father... But I'd try. Really. I'd protect them. And you."

He fell silent, hiding his flushed face against your chest. His shoulders relaxed, losing their defensive tension, and his fingers tightly intertwined with yours, waiting for your answer with a beating heart.