Jay and y/n being the hot parents when out and about with baby
IM GONNA YELL!!!!!! I LOVE THIS SO MUCH OK???? THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING AND LOVING JAY.
The day is clear and cool, as they usually are in Morocco. He wasn’t sure how you ended up here, but he was happy. Sanjay Ranjit Menha was happy. He has a family of his own, and he lives and dies by his girls.
Jay had forgotten what happiness felt like, to the point where he wasn’t sure if he had been happy before he met you. It’s hard to think about the past, and you tell him every time he gets a crease between his eyebrows that “self-reflection is for the birds.”
You're right, of course. You usually are.
He slowly lets his surroundings in, the squeeze of your hand on his arm, the scuff of his boots on the alarmingly clean pavement, and the lovely warm weight on his front.
You give him your straw and he takes a sip of your cold coffee from the cafe the three of you would frequent. The owner knew both of your real names. Oliver had even been allowed to hold Keke once.
The two of you hadn’t paid for a coffee there in about five months.
It’s a strange thing, to let yourself be known, but he’d done it. Jay had done the impossible and settled down in a city with someone he loves.
More than that, people knew him here.
Just then the bundle on Jay’s chest kicks her feet. Jay takes a grip on a tiny sock-covered foot as his daughter proceeds to wiggle whenever she gets jealous of the conversation.
His daughter’s socks are a pale ballet pink. It’s his favorite color. Jay flashes for a moment on how his hands looked picking them out at the store. He didn’t think for a second that he could pick out socks, and get to squish the feet in them.
He loves her feet. They’re small and perfect. During the course of your pregnancy, he was certain something would be wrong.
Well not wrong, but the universe didn’t love him enough to give him a healthy daughter.
Except it did.
Her name’s Kaziah, you call her Keke for short. When he’d asked if you could name her for his mother, you hadn’t hesitated. You never do.
Now the baby is strapped to his chest, as she always is. When he’d shunned the stroller his father sent, you hadn’t blinked. You didn’t make him feel ridiculous for being nervous about Keke being “too far away”. You’d just said that if it made him feel better to carry Keke everywhere, it didn’t matter what you thought.
There wasn’t any air of judgement in your tone, there never was.
A year and a half ago the two of you were at odds, forced to work together for survival, and now you're squeezing his arm as the two of you walk down the street.
So much for “going your separate ways” he thinks.
“Hey handsome,” he breathes as you press the words into his cheek, “where are you?”
“I’m right here.” He replies, softly, taking you in as your baby sees the park and starts squirming.
