Toji’s been staring at the baby—at Megumi, for what feels like hours now.

Occasionally, his eyes drift over to you lounging on the sofa behind him, but his attention always reverts back to the already five month old boy swinging slowly in his bright yellow rocker. One thing Toji had noticed was that besides being a near carbon copy of him, hair, eyes, and facial expressions included, the baby’s just as observant and stubborn as he is. Megumi’s eyes droop occasionally only to pop back open to stare at something new that’s grabbed his attention. At the moment, it’s Toji.

Green eyes meet green eyes. Furrowed eyebrows meets furrowed eyebrows. It’s like looking into a mirror, except Toji hadn’t been anywhere near as spoiled as Megumi is.

Swallowing down the fear of accidentally hurting him somehow, Toji reaches out to carefully take the baby into his arms—just like you taught him. He’s still getting used to picking him up himself instead of glancing at you until you get the hint and hand the baby over. Still, he holds Megumi, albeit awkwardly, readjusting the position a few times before he settles on cradling him against his chest. The boy makes a disgruntled noise at being jostled around so much before reaching up and nudging Toji’s face with his gloved hand.

“They look bigger on TV,” Toji remarks quietly. They’re the first words he’s said in almost an hour. He had been quiet before, but this was a whole new thing. Before, he was scared he’d say something to upset you or drive you to leave him. Now, he’s scared that it’s going to be something to startle the baby—to scare Megumi.