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Three children in, and yet Papi didn’t know how bad this bit could be.
Hugo was near silent. It scared Papi, and most of the time he and Louis lied wide awake, fretting over their tiny son. Prison might not have been the best place for them, but Venezuelans weren’t malicious; they were kept together in their own private space, their son allowed to sleep in a makeshift bassinet. One of the guards had even provided a cushion and blanket for him, his eyes soft as he watched Louis with Hugo.
With Gaspard it was such a novelty to have a healthy child to care for in a normal environment that neither one minded one bit being awoken to their baby fussing. Not that it mattered; Gaspard slept like the dead, and continued to do so as a one year old.
Apparently their middle child had lulled them into a sense of security, because Papi felt like dying, he was so exhausted.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he sighs softly, bouncing Cosette, “everyone else is sleeping.”
She just lets out a mournful warble. Louis had been near exhausted tears when he’d arrived home after being alone with all three of their children all day, and Papi was trying his hardest to make sure his husband wouldn’t be bothered.
Papi sits in the rocking chair in the corner of her little nursery and tries to rock her again. He doesn’t want to leave her upset, but it’s getting to the point where he’s thinking the best course of action would be letting her cry herself to sleep.
“Papa?”
Papi looks up at Hugo, barefoot and blinking sleepily at him.
“You should be asleep, mon lapinou.”
He just yawns in response.
“Is Cosette sad?”
“I think she’s just tired,” he explains, “sometimes babies are just so stubborn they don’t want to sleep even when they’re sleepy.”
Hugo hums. He moves to join the two of them, waiting for Papi to adjust Cosette to the crook of his arm before he crawls into his lap. Surprisingly, the baby doesn’t fuss at the movement, sniffling once before she settles, her big blue eyes staring at her eldest brother.
“Pére used to sing to me, didn’t he?”
“He did,” he says, smiling softly at the thought, running is fingers through his son’s curls, “though you were so quiet as a baby you didn’t need it too much.”
Hugo leans back against Papi’s chest, watching his sister, before the he begins humming, clumsily trying to pick out a tune Papi's familiar with.
“Au clair de la lune,
Mon ami Pierrot,
Prête-moi ta plume
Pour écrire un mot.
Ma chandelle est morte,
Je n´ai plus de feu,
Ouvre-moi ta porte,
Pour l´amour de Dieu…”
He watches as his son sings softly to Cosette, stumbling only briefly over pronunciation once or twice. She blinks slowly, enraptured with her brother, until she finally closes her eyes and they stay that way. His song tapers off when she’s finally asleep, and the both of them watch her silently.
“Hugo.”
Two pairs of eyes find Louis in the doorway, Cosette letting out a snuffle but staying asleep.
“You should be in bed mon petit, you’ve got school in the morning.”
Louis holds out a hand for him and Hugo kisses Papi before he slides off his lap to take it, Louis leading him away to his room.
Papi places Cosette in her crib, as gentle as he can, letting out a relieved sigh when she doesn’t wake. He stands watch for a few moments anyway, making sure she’s settled.
“Papi,” Louis says, wrapping himself around his husband, Papi giving his side a squeeze. Louis was by no means fat - no doubt his petite body would never get that far - but there was a certain softness to him now, Papi couldn’t help but find appealing as he ran his hands over him.
“Let’s go to bed.”
Papi hums in tired agreement, kissing Louis’ hair and letting himself be led out of the room, closing the nursery door after him.