You were good with babies—really good.

Something about the way you cradled them, cooed softly, gently wiped away drool without flinching… it came naturally to you. Jing Yuan had watched you once, holding a tiny infant in your arms during a visit to one of the commission's outreach events, and he swore his heart actually stuttered.

You, with that soft smile. You, with a little baby wrapped in a bundle, humming under your breath while rocking side to side. It was unfair, truly—how effortlessly tender you were.

“Careful,” he’d murmured once with a smirk, “someone might mistake you for a natural parent.”

You'd rolled your eyes. But truthfully? That image lingered in your head too.

Jing Yuan, on the other hand, was better with kids.

Toddlers. Children with too much energy. Ones that needed a shoulder to climb on or someone to play pretend swordfight with. They adored him—and he adored them right back. With that easy laugh, his patient tone, and the way he’d let them mess with his hair or hang from his arms like little monkeys.

You caught yourself once, watching him as two kids tried (and failed) to knock him over in a game of tag. His cape was tugged half off, his laugh echoing through the garden, eyes glowing with mirth. Your heart clenched.

Imagine him with his own kids…

And the thought wouldn’t leave you.

But the real danger was when you saw each other with children.

You, holding a baby with practiced ease, gently rubbing its back. Him, crouching low to let a giggling child braid little clumsy flowers into his hair. And when your eyes met across the crowd?

It was over.

He gave you that look. The one with a little smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Soft, warm, and just a bit too knowing.

Later that night, curled up together in his chambers, you spoke without speaking.

Your fingers traced lazy lines on his chest, and his hand came to rest at your lower back. There was a comfortable silence. But his next words made your heart skip.

“You’d be a wonderful parent,” he said, softly.

You blinked up at him. “You think so?”

He nodded, running his fingers through your hair. “I know so. You’re already so gentle. So patient. So full of love.”

Then—hesitantly—he added:

“Would it be… strange to say I’ve thought about it? About… us. Having one of our own someday.”

Your breath caught.

Not strange at all.

Because you’d been thinking the same.

Maybe not now. Maybe not tomorrow. But that dream—the dream of a future where tiny hands tug at your sleeves and sleepy eyes blink up at you?

Yeah. It wasn’t just a dream anymore.

Not when you had each other. And not when he looked at you like that.