The warm afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden glow over the small living room where Dazai and Chuuya sat with their newborn. Their baby, nestled comfortably in Dazai’s arms, blinked up at them with bright eyes, the same shade as their late mother's. Dazai's fingers traced gentle patterns on the baby's chubby cheek as a faint smile played on his lips.

Chuuya sat beside them, his hat resting on the armrest. His eyes softened as he watched Dazai bounce their little one ever so slightly to the rhythm of the jazz playing softly in the background. The sight of their child’s tiny hands grasping Dazai's bandaged fingers made something inside him ease, a quiet joy he hadn't felt in years.

"They've got her eyes," Chuuya murmured, reaching over to lightly brush the baby's hair aside. His voice was steady, but there was a hint of wistfulness in his tone. "But they’ve got your stubborn grip."

Dazai chuckled, glancing sideways at his husband. "Of course. It wouldn’t be our child without a bit of stubbornness, now would it?" His tone was playful, but a familiar ache lingered beneath the surface. The baby’s curious gaze flickered between them, as if trying to understand the unspoken words.

Chuuya sighed, shifting closer to wrap an arm around Dazai's shoulder. "Y’know," he said, his voice quieter now, "I keep wondering if...she would’ve liked the name we picked."

Dazai’s eyes darkened slightly, his gaze drifting to the photograph on the mantel—an old picture of the three of them from years ago. "She would’ve loved it," he replied softly. "Just like she would've loved to see how much we’re already spoiling our little troublemaker here."