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He hadn’t been there for the first. Not truly, not in the realest sense of the word. And no matter how many people told him it wasn’t his fault, that there was nothing that could have been done due to his memory loss, it was something Ryouji would never forgive himself for.
That wasn’t the reason he was here now, of course. It had a part in why he’d been so involved in doting on Madara through his second pregnancy, a part in why it had taken so long for him to even accept that he deserved to be with him in such a fashion and create life with him once more. It had a part in why he was so nervous over the entirety of the birthing, and why he’d made it certain to everyone involved that it would be him overseeing it as well.
From the first second Ryouji held their second child in his arms, he wanted to sob. Wanted nothing more than to hold him close and cry until he couldn’t cry anymore, because he was beautiful - even as disgusting as all newborns were straight out of birthing, he was the most beautiful thing in the world to him in that moment, and he couldn’t help but place the softest of kisses all over his forehead.
Madara collapsed back onto the bed after he was done. Exhausted, spent, so very done with it all. It took everything Ryouji had not to snap at the hands that tried to take his son from him - he trusted his second in command, he really did, but at that moment he did not want to relinquish his child to her.
But. He did. Their son needed to be cleaned and then handed back to make sure he got his first dose of colostrum. So for now, ever so reluctantly, he handed his son over to the other medic and went over to Madara’s side. His husband barely cracked his eyes when he sat next to him, probably still thinking what he’d screamed at him earlier (”You did this to me”) - but Ryouji didn’t mind. Too busy riding off the wave of awe and euphoria, all he could do was brush the hair out of Madara’s face and grin at him, leaning down to kiss his forehead as well.
“Thank you.”