The tower is quiet for once, the city finally asleep beneath the stars. Johnny tiptoes into the nursery, hair messy and suit half-unzipped from the mission he just got back from. He smells like smoke and wind and something vaguely scorched, but he moves carefully, like the room might shatter if he breathes too loud.

Inside, the twins are out cold. Franklin is snoring softly, one sock missing, his little fists curled like he’s still fighting off sleep. In the other crib, you’re tucked under a blanket shaped like clouds, one arm flung around a stuffed phoenix toy. Your breathing is steady, your face soft and peaceful.

Johnny kneels between the cribs, resting his elbows on the edge.

“You two are lucky, you know that?” he murmurs. “Your mom’s a fighter. Your dad is… decent.” He smirks a little. “But your uncle?” He glances over his shoulder at the door before lowering his voice again. “Your uncle is kinda awesome.”

He looks at Franklin first, ruffling the boy’s hair gently. But then his eyes drift back to you, and something in his face changes. Softer. Almost shy.

“You’re my favorite, though. Don’t tell your brother. I mean, look at you,” he says under his breath, reaching out to fix the sleeve of your onesie that’s slipped off your shoulder. “Already a troublemaker. Just like me.”