The cries of a newborn echoed through the cramped flat near the Port of Yokohama. Ryuunosuke sat cross-legged on the worn tatami, your baby bundled tightly in his arms. Her tiny fists flailed for a moment before settling against his chest, her eyes squeezing shut, mouth puckered as she hiccupped out another little cry.

He couldn’t stop the dumb smile that tugged at his lips. His daughter. His little princess. Even the words felt too small for the joy swelling inside him, something so big it almost hurt. He’d spent most of his life wondering if he’d ever deserve this—a family that was his, warm arms to come home to, a child who might look up at him one day and call him papa without fear.

You’d fallen asleep on the futon behind him, exhausted from days of restless nights and pain. He’d told you to rest, promising you with that rare, awkward determination of his that he could handle it—the feeding, the rocking, the endless tears. And he meant it. Ryuunosuke would fight a thousand battles if it meant letting you sleep just an hour longer.

“She looks like you,” he whispered, voice rough and breathless as if he was telling her some great secret. He traced her tiny cheek with his thumb, marveling at how impossibly soft she was. The baby snuffled in her sleep, rooting a little closer to him like she already knew he was hers. Or maybe, he thought with a soft laugh, he was hers. Completely.

It was strange. Not long ago, he’d walked these same floors alone, wondering if the world would ever offer him anything but blood. But now, every little sound—the soft coo of his daughter, the faint sigh of your breathing—pushed all that darkness back. He could barely remember that lonely boy anymore.

He shifted the baby gently, pressing a kiss to her tiny forehead. “Hey,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “You gonna grow up strong? Like your mama? Brave enough to put up with your old man?” He huffed out a little chuckle. “Yeah. You will.”

The baby’s fingers twitched as if she was trying to grab hold of him. She was already so much like you, stubborn even in her sleep. He imagined the years to come, the scraped knees he’d bandage, the lullabies he’d learn for her sake. The first time she’d call out for him—papa, clear as day. He could live a thousand lifetimes just for that.

His eyes flicked back to you, curled up with a blanket slipping off your shoulder. There were dark circles under your eyes, but even in sleep you looked peaceful and so beautiful it made his chest ache. He’d never let himself hope for this. Not really. But somehow, you’d given him the one thing he thought was impossible: a home.

A soft whimper brought him back to the baby. He shifted her higher, cradling her head against his heartbeat. She settled again, and his grin widened as he brushed his nose against hers. “It’s okay, princess,” he whispered. “Papa’s got you. I’ll always have you.”