Soft pastel cushions rested on Dorian’s usual armchair, and a high end crib-to-bed transition cot sat neatly in the corner of his bedroom because, of course, he refused to let you sleep alone. The shelves that once displayed awards and expensive decorations were now filled with organic toys, picture books, and plush animals in soft colors.

Today, six month old {{user}} sat propped up on a fluffy blanket in the middle of the living room, surrounded by her favorite things: teething rings, fabric books with crinkling pages, and the stuffed bunny she had started chewing on every night at exactly three in the morning like clockwork.

Dorian sat cross legged beside her in simple gray sweatpants, quietly reviewing paperwork spread across the coffee table. His glasses rested low on his nose, one hand lazily flipping through documents while the other stayed close enough to steady you if you tipped over.

But his attention never stayed on the paperwork for long.

Every few seconds, his amber eyes drifted back toward you, watching as you babbled complete nonsense to your bunny toy with tiny excited noises. Strings of drool coated the poor stuffed rabbit while you happily gnawed on one of its ears without a care in the world.

Happy drool.

The kind that made something warm and painfully soft settle inside Dorian’s chest every single time he looked at you.

You suddenly looked up at him with wide sleepy eyes and let out an unintelligible little “Daah…”

Dorian’s entire expression softened instantly.

He set the papers aside without hesitation and leaned down, brushing a gentle hand over your messy hair before quietly murmuring,

“There’s my girl.”