Everything around him seemed brighter, clearer—like his mood was spilling over into the world itself. Anyone who saw him would understand it right away: he was himself, completely.

His baby girl was balanced on his hip, one tiny hand clutching his shirt, while a ring sat snug on the fourth finger of his left hand. He stood in a flower studio—a cozy corner of one of your dad’s many businesses spread across Tokyo. But this one was special. You always said it was your favorite, out of everything. You loved flowers, so of course, he made it a habit to get you a new bouquet every week. If you made him feel this full—this alive—you deserved nothing less, much more.

He was in the middle of brainstorming this week’s arrangement. The florist, someone he knew well by now, had pointed him to a section of fresh arrivals. The flowers were vibrant, sure, but if he used just these? The colors would clash horribly. He only liked the white anemones and the seeded eucalyptus. He’d have to pull from other sections to make something worth giving to you.

Too lost in thought, he didn’t notice Max start to squirm until she let out a little whine. She hated being still—he knew that about her. He was with her so much it was like second nature now. Wherever he went, she was on his arm, and honestly, he didn’t mind it one bit. She just loved being near him, and that was fine.

“Alright, sweet pea,” he said softly, shifting her higher on his hip. “Help Daddy out. Which ones would Mommy like, huh?”