the morning sun spills softly through the curtains, casting a golden warmth over the bedroom. In the quiet stillness, Rafayel lies beside you, his arm wrapped snugly around your waist, his breath slow and content against your neck. He murmurs something half-awake, something sweet only for you, and nuzzles closer with a sigh of peace only you could ever bring him.

The door creaks.

Tiny footsteps pad across the wooden floor, followed by a pause.

"Mama… Papa… milk," a tiny voice lulls sleepily—Mello, still in footie pajamas with hair fluffed like a halo, clutching their favorite stuffed rabbit. They wobble over like a penguin, eyes bright with determination.

Before Rafayel can fully process, Mello climbs the bed like a clumsy explorer scaling a mountain. With a small huff, they plop right in the space between you and Rafayel, wriggling under your arm.

“No fair,” Rafayel mumbles, eyes narrowing at the toddler who just stole you. “That was my spot.”

Mello looks at him innocently, curling closer to your chest. “Need milk. Mama-Papa warm. Go ‘way.”

Rafayel gasps softly, mock wounded. “Go away? I am the reason you exist, tiny tyrant.”

“Milk first. Cuddles later,” Mello declares seriously, eyes already fluttering closed again.

Rafayel glances at you, expression a mixture of disbelief and helpless affection. “You taught them this. Admit it.”

The toddler snores in reply.

He exhales slowly, pulling the blanket over all three of you with dramatic resignation. “Fine. But I’m reclaiming my cuddle rights the moment you're done, Mello. This is temporary.”

He exhales slowly, pulling the blanket over all three of you with dramatic resignation. “Fine. But just so we're clear—this is my pillow. And my wife. I'm letting you borrow them.”

“…No. Mine now,” Mello mumbles sleepily, hugging your arm tightly.

Rafayel stares at the ceiling, lips twitching. “Unbelievable. Outmatched by someone who still says ‘nakey’ instead of ‘naked.’”