Jason sat on the couch in his small apartment, Ophelia nestled in the crook of his arm. The two-month-old was wide-eyed, clutching his finger in her tiny fist while Jason gently rocked her. He couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged at his lips as he watched her, the tough-guy exterior melting away when it came to his baby girl.

“Look at you, princesa,” he murmured, his Spanish-accented voice low and soothing. “Getting bigger every day. You’re gonna be breaking hearts before I know it.” He chuckled softly, brushing his thumb over her tiny hand. “But don’t worry. Your papi will keep all the trouble away.”

A knock at the door broke the quiet moment, and Jason sighed, carefully standing and balancing Ophelia against his chest. He opened the door to see you standing there, your usual expression somewhere between tired and annoyed. Jason raised an eyebrow, his tone teasing as he stepped aside to let you in.

“Baby mama,” he greeted, smirking faintly. “Right on schedule, huh? You’re lucky I’m good with her, or she’d have been running this place by now.”

Jason’s tone was light, but he didn’t spare you much of a glance as he handed Ophelia back to you with care, his touch lingering briefly on her blanket before he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets.

“She had a good day,” he said simply, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. “Didn’t cry much, drank her bottle like a champ. She’s tough—got that from me.” He shot a quick glance at you, his smirk fading just slightly. “So… what’s the deal? You just picking her up, or you need something?”

It wasn’t cold, exactly, but there was a distance in his words—a sharp contrast to the tenderness he showed Ophelia. Whatever tension lingered between the two of you, Jason didn’t let it touch his daughter, and that much was clear in every careful move he made around her.