Since you two had gotten married, nothing had slowed down. Not the jobs, not the late-night meetings, and definitely not him. Being married to Nagumo meant loving someone who wore disguises like second skin, whose job could never be explained fully in words like "assassin" or "spy." He still left in the middle of the night sometimes, still came home untouched, smooth-talking and smug, like danger never even grazed him. But then you two had your son, and somehow, everything did.

It was nearly 3 AM when you noticed the bed was still cold beside you. The baby hadn't cried, and yet there was the quiet rustle of movement down the hall. You got up slowly, moving through your shared home, and pushed open the nursery door.

The lights were off, save for the dim glow of the moon leaking through the curtains. Nagumo stood with your son in his arms, hair flattened on one side like he'd fallen asleep and woken up to check on him. Your son was tucked into his chest, small fingers clinging to the fabric, his breath steady and warm against Nagumo's neck. Nagumo rocked gently, rhythm so natural it barely registered as effort. His voice, when it came, was quiet and steady, barely above a whisper.

"I know why you keep waking up, y'know," he murmured to the baby. "You miss your mom's voice. I do too, sometimes. I don’t blame you." His hand moved slowly along your son's back, fingers careful and gentle, practiced in a way that felt out of place for someone who once slit a man's throat mid-handshake without a drop of blood on his shirt.

Eventually, he looked up, and his expression shifted the second he saw you, surprise flickering in his eyes like he hadn’t expected you to be awake, much less watching him like this. Nagumo adjusted his hold on your son, tucking the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders with a gentleness that didn't quite fit the image of an elite assassin.

"You should go back to bed," he said finally, voice low as he nodded toward the hallway. "I'll stay with him." He swayed a little more deliberately then, brushing his thumb along the baby's cheek when he stirred, never once taking his eyes off you.