Work Text:
still your seat.
It started small.
Little things.
Alora waiting a bit longer before climbing into bed with them in the morning. Her crayon drawings of their family, which used to feature her front and center, suddenly skipping herself altogether. Her sparkly butterfly backpack hung on its hook for three days straight, untouched.
She wasn’t angry. Not really. She was just… quiet.
Which, for a five-year-old who once narrated an entire supermarket trip in song, was basically a blaring alarm.
Pedri picked up on it first. Always did.
It was after breakfast, on a Sunday morning. Ferran was in the kitchen with Mateo in one arm, flipping pancakes with the other like he was auditioning for a parenting variety show. Mateo was giggling every time Ferran made the spatula dance like a puppet. Flour dusted the air like fairy powder.
Alora sat at the table, arms folded over her cereal bowl. She didn’t look at the baby. Didn’t laugh at Ferran’s pancake voice. She just stared into her spoon.
Pedri watched from the hallway for a second before walking in, crouching beside her chair.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asked, brushing a curl from her forehead.
She shrugged.
“Still tired?”
Another shrug. She didn’t even look up.
“Hey,” he said softly. “That cereal’s turning into soup.”
“I don’t want it.”
Pedri rested a hand over hers, warm and light. “Everything okay, princesa?”
Alora’s lips pressed together. She shook her head - not no, not yes. Just… small.
From the kitchen, Ferran called out, “One chocolate pancake with star sprinkles coming up for my best girl-”
Alora stood suddenly, pushing her chair back. “I’m not hungry,” she mumbled.
Then she walked out of the room, dragging her favorite blanket behind her.
Ferran paused mid-flip. “Did I do something?”
Pedri gave him a look. “No. I think we’ve just hit the Mateo milestone.”
“The what?”
“She’s feeling left out.”
They found her later that afternoon curled up on the couch, her blanket pulled over her head like a little cave. The TV was on but muted. Her plushies were all stacked in a circle around her legs, as if she’d been holding court and lost interest halfway through.
Pedri sat beside her slowly, folding his legs so he didn’t bump the castle of soft toys.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just waited.
Eventually, a quiet voice mumbled from under the blanket. “Is Mateo sleeping?”
“Yep,” Pedri said. “He’s in the bassinet. Papa’s trying to set up the monitor without reading the instructions again.”
A tiny huff. “He never reads them.”
Pedri smiled.
The blanket shifted, and Alora’s head peeked out, curls messy, cheeks flushed from the heat of hiding. Her eyes were glassy.
“You sure you’re okay?” Pedri asked gently.
She sat up and pulled the blanket into her lap, twisting it between her fingers. “You’re always busy with Mateo now.”
Pedri’s heart dropped straight into his stomach.
She looked down at the blanket. “It’s fine, I know he’s a baby. He needs help.”
“But it still doesn’t feel nice, does it?” Pedri said softly.
She shook her head, lips trembling.
“I liked it when it was just us,” she whispered. “I liked when I was the baby.”
Pedri didn’t rush to answer. He reached out and took her hand, gently uncurling her fingers so he could rub his thumb over her palm, soft and grounding.
“You’re still our baby, Alora.”
She sniffled. “No I’m not. Mateo’s the baby now. He gets to sit on your lap all the time. And Papa’s always carrying him around. And people only talk about him when they visit.”
Pedri leaned in. “You know what? You were the very first person to sit in my lap. I used to hold you all the time. I read you books, and you used to fall asleep right here.” He patted his legs. “This seat? It’s still yours.”
Alora looked at him, uncertain. “But Mateo cries a lot. And then you have to go.”
“I do. Because he can’t talk yet. So crying is how he says he needs something.” He tilted his head. “But you? You can tell me. And right now, I’m listening.”
Alora blinked hard. Then she slid across the couch and climbed carefully into his lap.
Pedri wrapped his arms around her like muscle memory.
She fit differently now - longer legs, bony knees, hair a wild tangle of curls and glitter. But she still tucked herself into his chest like she belonged there.
“Do you love him more?” she whispered.
Pedri pressed his nose to her hair. “There’s no more or less. There’s just all. All of my love, for both of you.”
She sat quiet for a moment.
“I just miss when you didn’t have to share.”
“Me too sometimes,” Pedri admitted. “But I’d never trade what we have now. You’re Mateo’s big sister. That means something special.”
Alora sniffed again. “Can I tell him stories?”
“He would love that.”
“Even silly ones?”
“Especially those.”
That night, Ferran tucked her into bed extra slowly. He gave her two songs instead of one. Helped her set up a sticker chart by her pillow for all the days she was a Super Sister. She picked out Mateo’s sticker for him too - a glittery octopus.
As Ferran pulled the covers up under her chin, she reached out and tugged on his sleeve.
“Papa?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you love me even when I’m grumpy about the baby?”
Ferran kissed her forehead and whispered, “Even more, because I know how big your heart is.”
She beamed.
He turned off the light.
Then she sat up suddenly and shouted toward the hallway, “PERO SIGO SIENDO LA PRINCESA.”
“You always will be,” Pedri called back.
“BIEN.”
Then she flopped back into her pillows and was asleep five minutes later, one hand curled around her octopus sticker.
- sofía ✎ᝰ.