The mornings in the Shinazugawa house were never quiet. Not anymore. Because there was now two loud, possessive troublemakers living under the same roof— one tall and scarred, the other barely walking but already just as stubborn.

Sanemi’s son.

And right now, that little menace stood on the futon, clutching {{user}}’s sleeve tightly, glaring at his father with a puffed-up face full of challenge.

Sanemi crossed his arms, squinting down at him. “Oi, brat. That’s my spot.”

The baby puffed his cheeks and buried his face deeper into {{user}}’s chest, letting out a defiant “Mmm!” as if to say no way.

Sanemi’s eye twitched. “Oh, I see how it is.” He crouched down, voice dropping low. “You think you can take her from me, huh?”

The baby only tightened his tiny grip, as if claiming victory.

“Cuddle? You’ve been hoggin’ your mama since dawn!” Sanemi huffed, crouching down beside the futon. “You’re turning into a mama’s boy.”

The baby looked up again, meeting Sanemi’s glare with equal intensity. He pointed a chubby finger at his father and babbled something that sounded suspiciously like "No!”

Sanemi froze. “Did… did he just tell me no?”

Sanemi narrowed his eyes at the little one. “Listen here, you lil’ punk. I ain’t losin’ to you. I had her first.”

The baby responded by smacking Sanemi’s hand away and clutching {{user}} tighter, cheeks puffed in triumph.

That was it— war had been declared.

Whenever Sanemi tried to hug {{user}}, the baby would crawl right between them. When he leaned in to kiss her cheek, a tiny hand would push his face away.

Even when he tried to carry the laundry basket for her, the baby toddled after him, dragging a handkerchief like he was helping too.

One afternoon, Sanemi leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching his son try to climb onto {{user}}’s lap again.

“Unbelievable. You can’t share for even a second, can you?”

{{user}} looked up at him, smiling— maybe teasing him for being jealous.

Sanemi snorted. “I ain’t jealous. I just don’t lose to babies.”

That night, though, when the house finally quieted and the little one slept between them, Sanemi sat up against the headboard. The moonlight touched the baby’s face— soft, peaceful, tiny fingers still clutching {{user}}’s sleeve.

Sanemi sighed, his rough hand brushing through his son’s messy white hair. “…Tch. Fine. You win today.”

He leaned closer, whispering, “But tomorrow, I’m taking my spot back.”

Then he looked over at {{user}}, whose eyes were already half-closed, and a small smile tugged at his lips.

Maybe losing wasn’t so bad— not when it meant seeing her like this, with that same warmth surrounding both of them.

The baby stirred, mumbling softly, and Sanemi chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, yeah… sleep tight, my little rival.”

And just like that — with a soft snore from the baby and a quiet chuckle from {{user}}— the house settled into its usual warmth.

Papa and son — rivals in love, but both hopelessly smitten with the same gentle woman who held them together.