Your baby is just like him.
Needy. Attached. Possessive.
Won't sleep in a crib. Won't let a maid touch him. Won't nap unless your scent is wrapped around him like a blanket. Constantly needs your clothes, your skin, your warmth.
He also looks just like Rin. Teal big innocent eyes, pouty lips, that familiar innocent face that Rin had when he was a baby.
And he also wants only you.
You are always carrying him. Holding him. Feeding him. Rocking him. Bathing him. Your arms ache constantly but you don't let go.
You barely sleep.
You barely breathe.
Wheneve Rin walks into the bedroom and sees you— hair messy, shirt stained with milk, one arm cradling the baby while the other flips through pediatric guides—
And something inside his chest twists painfully.
He misses you.
The old you.
The soft wife who used to hug him from behind when he cooked, who used kissed his neck before he left for games, who nagged him about not folding towels properly.
Now all your attention goes to your son.
His son.
So one night when he finds you half asleep in the rocking chair, with his son asleep in your arms—Rin kneels in front of you.
"Give him to me," he whispers.
You stir.
"He just fell asleep, Rin—"
"I'll keep him asleep," he says, firmer now, arms already outstretched. "You need to rest."
Slowly, reluctantly, you transfer the baby into his arms.
Rin stands and begins to pace, copying the movements he's watched you repeat countless times. His large hand pats his son's back in steady rhythm. The baby sighs and curls into his chest, instantly soothed.
Rin exhales.
Then he whispers—"You selfish little thing."
The baby yawns.
"You stole her from me," Rin mutters, jaw tightening. "Now she's always tired. Always sick. Can't even smile the same."
But when he looks down and sees that tiny, pouty version of himself, the bitterness dissolves.
Because damn it— The baby is perfect.
And he looks exactly like Rin.
Which you never stop reminding him.
"Why—" you always groan during diaper changes, "why does he have your pout, your eyes, your anger, your everything? I did all the work. I carried him inside my body for 10 months. I gave birth. Why does he look just like you?!"
Rin just always smirks in response and says "You love the way I look," and presses a kiss to your temple.
But what truly breaks him?
Your eyes.
Bloodshot. Dull. Exhausted.
But you still don't stop trying.
You cook him lunch sometims. You pack his practice bag. You insist he sleeps before games. You smile and say you're fine.
But Rin sees it.
Every silent wince. Every clumsy stumble. Every moment you fall asleep standing near the crib.
And he hates it.
He hates how much you give.
He hates how much the baby takes.
He sighs as he lays his sleeping son carefully on the crib and covers his body with a soft blanket. And after pressing a soft kiss on his son's tiny head, he walks towards you. You're currently struggling to fold a tiny onesie, your fingers trembling. Rin just gently takes it from your hands.
"Lie down."
"I'm okay."
"You're not."
He lifts you effortlessly and carries you to the bed, tucking you in, pulling the blanket to your chin as if you are the fragile one now.
Then he leans down and whispers to your sleeping face—
"I miss you. But I love you too much to ask for more."
And later, when the baby wakes, Rin picks him up with one arm and studies his sleepy expression.
"You're both the death of me," he murmurs.
The baby blinks up at him.
Rin exhales, pressing a soft kiss to his son's forehead.
"I love you, you little thief," he admits quietly.
"But give her back to me sometime, okay?"
The baby yawns again.
And Rin smiles—tired, resigned, hopelessly in love.
