Welcome to the World Baby Sonstarlet
Notes: I'm sleep deprived, this popped into my head, I wrote it, and now I'm sharing it with you
Consider yourself very lucky
There’s a moment when you hold your child for the first time, that everything comes to focus like it never has before.
The rest of the noise fades out, the beeping of the hospital machines. Your boyfriend’s grumbles that he would like the baby back now. The nurse asking if you’d like something to eat. The rest of the room fades away; it’s just you and your newborn.
Shiro can’t believe that this tiny little thing that he hold in his arms was the red screaming mess covered in blood and guts just an hour ago. Clearly there was a switch. This baby is peacefully napping, it’s head titled in the crook of his arm, not making a single sound.
Jean-Paul gripes from the bed. “Shiro, I said—”
“I heard you the first time.” Shiro tells him. “Give me a minute, I would like to hold my son now.”
“You’ve had him forever.”
“I’ve only had him in my arms for five minutes, you held him for at least forty.” Shiro snaps. “Technically you got to have him for nine months.”
“Along with him I had morning sickness, headaches, and every time I so much as sneezed he’d kick me in the bladder.” Jean-Paul complains. “I don’t see him trying to punch you.”
Shiro opts to ignore Jean-Paul’s complaints in favor of focusing on his son.
His son.
He has a son now.
He never imagined that a possibility, holding a little Shiro against his chest.
He also never imagined how tiny that baby would be. Of course, he knew his child would be small, but when he glanced at its teeny, little nose, it’s small feet, and it’s itty-bitty fingers, he realized just how fragile this little creature was.
It was impossible to imagine himself as resembling this creature in the slightest. Surely there was never a time when Shiro was that small. That innocent. That defenseless.
He holds the baby a little closer, he lets out a small wine as it’s body rubs against his father’s chest. Thankfully, it falls asleep right after.
“He really does look a lot like you.” The nurse comments as she hands Jean-Paul a cup of water.
“No, he doesn’t.” Jean-Paul sets his cup down.
“Yes, he does.” Shiro retorts.
“It’s too early to even tell.”
“He might be an hour old, but he has the same dark eyes as me,” Shiro lists. “Same ears, same nose…”
“Same giant forehead.” Jean-Paul cracks a smile and takes a sip of his drink.
“I’m going to assume that’s the drugs talking.”
“The drugs wore off an hour ago.”
“So,” The nurse attempts to break the tension as she writes something down on Jean-Paul’s chart. “What are you naming him?”
Jean-Paul and Shiro freeze at the exact same time, they both turn to stare at each other.
In the hustle of finding out Jean-Paul was pregnant, debating if they were going to keep the baby, and deciding that they were going to have the baby. The last few months of their lives had been hectic to say the least.
Arguing over where the baby was going to be born and then finding somewhere to live took at least two months. Once that was decided they rest of their time was spent with dozens of doctor’s appointments, getting baby clothes, setting up it’s room. In all that chaos the discussions of what to name their child never came up.
Shiro stares back down at his son, the little boy opens his eyes for the second time that day. It’s dark eyes meet Shiro’s, burning as intensely and fiercely as flames.
With that Shiro knows exactly what to name him.
“Sonfire.” He answers.
“Sonfire” let’s out a yawn, sweet and simple as his little arms curl out of his blanket to brush against Shiro’s arm.
Every hair on Shiro’s arm stands up, but he gives his child a soft smile as he tucks “Sonfire’s” arm back into the blanket.
“No, absolutely not!” Jean-Paul protests loudly, running a rather touching moment. “You are not naming my baby Sunfire.”
“No, Sonfire.” Shiro explains.
“Sonfire?” Jean-Paul’s eyebrow arches. “As in S-O-N-F-I-R-E.”
“Yes.”
“Give me my son!”
Jean-Paul yanks “Sonfire” out of Shiro’s arms. The sudden movement startles the baby and he let’s out a wail. Brand new tears gushing out of his eyes as Jean-Paul cradles him to his chest.
“It’s a good name.”
“It is a terrible name!” Jean-Paul snaps.
“No-longer-Sonfire” lets out a wail, screaming as Jean-Paul begins to rock him.
“Poor little, Jean-Louis.” Jean-Paul coos. “Already traumatized and you haven’t even been alive a full hour.”
He glares directly at Shiro as he says that last part, “Jean-Louis” begins to calm down as his papa rocks him.
“Jean-Louis?” Shiro asks. “No.”
“Why not?” Jean-Paul asks. “It’s leagues better than Sonfire.”
“The L sound doesn’t exist in Japanese.” Shiro tells him.
“Jean-Marc then.”
“No.”
“Would you like a minute before filling out the birth certificate?” The nurse glances up from her chart. “Or…”
“No, no, no.” Shiro says. “Give us a minute we’ll come up with a name.”
“We’ve already come up with a name, Jean-Marc.” Jean-Pual insists. “Give me the birth certificate and I’ll fill it out.”
“Northstar, that child is also mine, I have a right in deciding what his name is going to be!”
“Don’t call me that!”
Shiro groans and tilts his head back, pressing his fingers to his nose he suggests. “Ryūnosuke!”
“No.”
“Jean-Adrian.”
“Eiji.”
“Jean-Julien.”
“Katsuo.”
“Jean-Gabriel.”
“Fumio.”
“Jean-Nicolas!”
“Masahiro!”
“Jean-Gilberte!”
“Hiraku.”
“Jean-Baptiste-Antione.”
“Now you are just making up names to make me mad!”
This goes on for a good thirty minutes, Sonfire—Jean-Louis—Jean-Marc— Ryūnosuke—Jean-Adrian—Eiji—Jean-Julien—Katsuo—Jean-Gabriel—Fumio—Jean-Nicolas—Masahiro—Jean-Gilberte—Hiraku—Jean-Baptiste-Antione watching as his father’s bicker over his name.
“I’m still fond of Jean-Louis.” Jean-Paul says.
“And I already told you we’re not naming him Jean-Louis.” Shiro tells him. “So pick a different name: Ryūnosuke, Ichirou, or Shiro.”
“We are not naming the kid after you!”
“All of your names have been Jean something!”
The nurse had long since left, leaving the two new fathers alone to argue over something they should’ve decided on a month ago at minimum.
“Fine, how about Raymonde, there I’m giving up the J’s completely.”
“Raymonde” lets out a babble as if to agree, he curls into Jean-Paul’s arms happily.
Shiro shakes his head. “Ryūnosuke.”
“Ryūnosuke” begins to whine, tired and exhausted over a debate he can’t really understand.
“You’re making him cry.” Jean-Paul snaps.
He begins to rock the baby, whispering in it’s ear in hopes to quell it’s cries.
“You do not get to blame this on me; he’s two hours old he fusses over everything.” The new father looks sadly down at his son and runs a hand over his head.
‘I’m want this over with too.’ He thinks. ‘Just tell your papa to stop being so stubborn!’
The door opens as Raymonde begins to calm down. “Monsieur,” She says. “You have visitors Mademoiselle Beaubier and Mademoiselle Yashida want to meet their nephew.”
Pushing past the nurse is Jeanne-Marie with a small teddy bear, following her is Mariko who clutches a bouquet of flowers.
“Hello,” Jeanne-Marie wraps her arms around her brother. “Is this him?”
“Say hi your nephew.” Jean-Paul holds up the baby for Jeanne-Marie to see. “Mon amour this is your Tante Jeanne-Marie.”
“You're so cute." Jeanne-Marie smiles at him.
The baby coos happily as Jean-Paul hands him over to his sister.
He leans back and stares at the bouquet sitting on his table.
“These are very nice flowers, Mariko.” Jean-Paul says.
“I’m glad you like them, Jean-Paul.” She smiles.
“Where’s Amiko?” Shiro asks.
“Downstairs with her father.” Mariko says. “They’re getting something from the vending machine, but she looks forward to meeting her cousin.”
Jeanne-Marie walks over to Mariko. “Do you want a turn?”
“Yes, please.” Mariko carefully cradles the baby’s head. He closes his eyes gently as she gently rocks him.
“So?” Jeanne-Marie asks her brother. “What did you name him?”
“Yes, I spoke to Shiro on the phone so many times, but I don’t think he ever mentioned a name.” Mariko remarks. “What are you calling him?”
The women watch in horror as both men give completely different answers.
