The room was quiet, the only sound was the soft breaths of the tiny baby in Nanami’s arms. Nagi Kento. Our son.

I watched him carefully, still trying to process everything. After a long, awkward night that had changed everything between us, we now had a child together. A boy with Nanami’s blonde hair, but my brown eyes. His little lips and nose mirrored mine—small and delicate, a contrast to the strong features he’d inherited from his father.

Nanami, usually so composed and unreadable, held Nagi as if he was made of glass. His large hands cradled the tiny bundle against his chest, his movements slow, almost hesitant. His brows furrowed slightly, and I couldn’t tell if he was nervous or simply deep in thought.

For a moment, I just watched, my heart swelling at the sight of him like this. This was a side of Nanami I had never seen before—gentle, quiet, vulnerable in a way he probably didn’t even realize.

“You’re holding him like he’s going to break,” I murmured, a small smile tugging at my lips.

Nanami’s eyes flickered to me, his expression still unreadable. “He’s so small,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual. “And fragile.”

I let out a soft laugh, unable to stop myself. The idea of Nanami Kento, my cold, stoic husband, looking so unsure over a tiny baby was something I never thought I’d see.

He glanced at me, unimpressed. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” I said, still smiling. “You just look… different.”

Nanami was silent for a moment, then he looked back down at Nagi, his thumb gently brushing against our son’s tiny hand.

“Maybe,” he admitted, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it.

I rested my head against the pillow, still exhausted but feeling an odd warmth spread through me. Maybe this marriage had started as something forced, something neither of us had truly chosen—but as I watched Nanami hold our son, I realized that some things weren’t forced at all.

Some things just… happened.

And maybe this was one of them.