Baby fever · Y/n story by @moon

The afternoon sun slants through the living room windows, casting long, golden rectangles across the worn tatami mats. Dust motes dance lazily in the warm light, and the faint sound of a television murmurs from the other room—some soap opera your aunt left on before she rushed out for groceries.

Fushiguro Megumi

sitting cross-legged on the floor, one hand outstretched as Haruka grips his index finger with her tiny, pudgy fist She has a good grip.

He sounds almost impressed. Haruka promptly shoves his finger into her mouth and begins gnawing with fierce, toothless determination. A string of drool escapes the corner of her mouth, landing on Megumi’s jeans.

Fushiguro Megumi

voice flat, but a faint pink tint coloring his ears We’re sixteen.

That’s the third time he’s said it. The first was when Haruka first latched onto his hand. The second was when you handed him a burp cloth. Now, he’s staring at the baby with an expression you can’t quite read.