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The kitchen was filled with the quiet hiss of simmering sauce and the gentle clinking of utensils, a calm domestic melody that settled into the corners of the home like steam on glass. Enji stood by the stove, sleeves rolled up, his back straight but relaxed, every movement measured and steady.
Behind him, at the small kitchen table, Keigo sat curled up in a hoodie far too big for him—one of Enji’s old ones, faded at the sleeves and still faintly smelling like pine soap and heat. The hood sagged over Keigo’s head, half hiding his face, but every now and then, a socked foot would swing out from under the chair, give a lazy kick, then tuck back in again.
He wasn’t babbling tonight. No soft stream of words or eager bouncing or even idle humming. Just the occasional sniffle and the shuffle of fabric when he adjusted in his seat. Small, quiet, a little foggy. Little in that way that made his fingers a bit clumsy and his eyes a bit too big for his face.
Enji noticed, like he always did.
“Tired, little bird?” he asked gently, not turning around yet.
Keigo blinked up, his lashes fluttering slowly, and rubbed his fist against one eye.
“Mhm…” he nodded. “Can we cuddle after din-din…?” His voice came out soft and slightly slurred, almost shy.
Enji gave the sauce one last stir, lowered the heat, and finally turned around. His gaze was warm, not that Keigo could see it clearly with his cheek pressed against his knee.
“Of course.” He began plating the food, moving with quiet efficiency. “Couch or chair?”
Keigo’s answer was barely a whisper. “Chair…”
Enji didn’t need clarification. The rocking chair. The one in the corner of the living room, near the window. Keigo always chose it on the sleepiest nights—the ones where he barely kept his eyes open after dinner, head drooping like a sunflower past its bloom.
“Chair it is.”
He placed the plate in front of Keigo and sat beside him with his own, but not before cutting the younger’s food into neat little bites. He didn’t ask. He never had to.
Keigo noticed, of course. He always noticed.
He fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie, pretending not to watch Enji’s hands—big and practiced, carefully slicing his noodles and making sure there was just the right amount of sauce. Not too messy. Not too dry. Just right.
The first bite he took made him hum quietly.
Dinner was quiet, but not heavy. It was the kind of quiet that wrapped around them like a blanket. Occasionally, Keigo would kick his foot again, or Enji would reach over with a napkin and dab at the corner of Keigo’s mouth without a word.
At one point, a stray dab of sauce ended up on Keigo’s cheek, and Enji leaned over, thumb swiping it away in one clean motion.
“Messy bird,” he murmured.
Keigo’s cheeks flared pink. He ducked his head, hiding his smile in his hoodie.
“I wasn’t tryin’ ta be messy…” he mumbled, a bit defensive, but his voice held no real weight. It was soft and fond, like he was secretly pleased Enji had noticed at all.
“I know,” Enji said simply.
When dinner was done, Enji stood and carried both plates to the sink. Keigo stayed seated, slouched down now, his arms wrapped around his own middle like he was already dozing upright.
“Alright, little bird.” Enji’s voice was low as he dried his hands and returned. “Let’s get you comfy, yeah?”
Keigo didn’t argue. He lifted his arms automatically, a quiet little gesture that said more than any words could.
Enji leaned down and scooped him up in one smooth motion, cradling him easily, like he weighed nothing at all. Keigo’s arms looped loosely around his neck, head falling to rest against Enji’s chest with a tired sigh.
“Warm…” he whispered, already nestling in.
Enji didn’t say anything right away. He just adjusted his hold, pressing a hand gently to Keigo’s back and holding him close as he carried him toward the living room.
The hoodie swallowed Keigo whole, bunching around his thighs as Enji walked. His socks dangled in the air, toes wiggling once before going still.
Keigo didn’t lift his head. He didn’t need to. Enji’s heartbeat was loud and steady beneath his ear.
Steady. Like breathing. Like home.
The rocking chair was waiting, bathed in the soft glow of the lamp beside it. Enji settled down slowly, letting the motion of sitting blend naturally into a gentle rock.
Keigo exhaled.
His body melted into Enji’s like a puzzle piece. The same as always—but tonight, somehow, it felt different. Softer. Safer. Like maybe something unspoken had shifted between them.
But neither of them said anything.
Not yet.
---
The chair creaked softly beneath them, the quiet rhythm of its movement like the tide—slow, steady, unhurried. Enji’s arms were firm and certain around Keigo, one large hand braced along his spine, the other cradling beneath his knees. They fit together like this without effort. Without question.
Keigo barely moved. He was bundled in his soft hoodie, now half-swallowed in a throw blanket too, his messy hair tickling Enji’s neck. The faint scent of shampoo lingered in the air—cherry blossom, sweet and familiar. His fingers, tiny and twitchy tonight, were fisted in Enji’s shirt, tugging and bunching the fabric like he didn’t know what else to do with his hands.
He hadn’t babbled once. That’s how Enji knew he was really little.
Usually, even on quiet days, Keigo would chirp out thoughts like bubbles—nonsense and joy, funny stories and whiny needs. But tonight, all that noise had melted away. He was still little. Just... softer. Quiet and pliant, all trust and slow blinks.
Enji rocked him gently.
No words were needed. Not right now.
The living room was dim, lit only by a small lamp on the side table. The TV was off. There was no noise beyond the occasional distant hum of a car outside, or the soft snuffling sound Keigo made when he exhaled through his nose.
“You’re warm,” Keigo mumbled at last, voice muffled in Enji’s chest.
Enji tilted his head slightly, enough to glance down at the mop of hair pressed into his shirt. “So are you.”
Keigo’s fingers stopped tugging for a moment. He yawned, a small, breathy sound that made his whole body curl inward slightly. “Feels... nice here.”
Enji’s chest ached gently. Like something beautiful and heavy had landed there.
“Mhm,” he answered, rubbing slow, steady circles into Keigo’s back. “Safe too. You’re always safe with me.”
Another pause. Keigo whimpered, just a little, and wriggled closer like he wanted to disappear into Enji’s skin. His hands resumed their fidgeting.
Enji kissed the top of his head.
“Shh,” he whispered, resting his cheek against Keigo’s hair. “Got you. My good little chick.”
He didn’t expect a response. And he didn’t need one. Keigo’s breathing slowed even more, his fingers loosening their grip, then tightening again like a reflex.
Enji kept rocking, the creak of the chair a lullaby all on its own. He didn’t realize he was humming until Keigo shifted, just slightly, to lean into the sound.
They stayed that way for a long time—quiet, cradled, wrapped in the kind of softness that didn’t need to be explained.
---
The rocking chair creaks gently beneath them.
Keigo’s curled up small in Enji’s lap, completely swaddled in a blanket. One wing has escaped the folds, twitching now and then, the way it always does when he’s on the edge of sleep. Enji keeps one hand draped carefully across it, thumb brushing the soft edge of a feather every so often. Not to soothe Keigo, necessarily. Just because he wants to. Because he can.
It’s quiet in the room. The television glows faintly from the corner, muted. A stack of dishes sits unbothered in the sink, the world beyond their little bubble fading into soft irrelevance.
Keigo sighs into Enji’s chest, a small sound that barely lifts the silence. His fingers are still tucked into Enji’s shirt, now looser, more relaxed. His other hand is busy, curled in close, two fingers resting against his lips.
He’s been like that for minutes now. Drowsy. Fuzzy. Too far gone to ask for his pacifier, too little to remember it’s just within reach.
Enji doesn’t push. He’s learned, by now, to let Keigo come to him. To give him the space to fall apart or fall asleep without asking for permission.
So he keeps rocking. Back and forth, back and forth. One hand smoothing circles over Keigo’s back. The other resting on his wing, still and steady. His chest rises and falls in time with the rhythm.
And then—
So faint it’s almost missed.
“Dada…”
Enji freezes.
His breath catches in his throat. The rocking chair stills. The hand on Keigo’s back stops mid-motion.
He almost thinks he imagined it.
Keigo doesn’t move. His face is still tucked into Enji’s chest, eyes barely open, mouth soft against his fingers. But then—
“Dada…” he murmurs again. Clearer this time. A little breathier, but without hesitation. Like he’s done it before. Like it’s normal. Like it’s safe.
Enji’s heart skips.
He doesn’t speak for a long moment. Doesn’t move. Just stares down at Keigo’s golden hair and the top of his flushed cheek, trying to remember how to breathe.
“Keigo,” he finally says, low and stunned. “You—did you say…?”
But Keigo doesn’t respond with words. He just gives a sleepy little hum and shifts closer, legs curling tighter around Enji’s waist, face pressing even deeper into his chest like he’s trying to disappear there.
“Mmhmm…” Keigo breathes. “Dada’s here…”
Enji closes his eyes.
The feeling that rushes through him is not what he expected. There’s no fear. No awkwardness. No uncertainty. Just warmth. Fierce and protective and quiet. Like being wrapped in sunlight.
He presses his lips to the crown of Keigo’s head, not caring how tight his throat feels.
“Yeah,” he says, voice thick but sure. “Dada’s right here, baby bird. Always.”
And this time, Keigo doesn’t say anything back. He just lets out a sigh and melts completely into his arms.
---
The morning light spilled softly across the room, golden and slow, creeping across the wooden floors like it didn’t want to wake them. The heater hummed low in the background. Somewhere outside, a bird chirped.
Inside the quiet living room, Keigo stirred in Enji’s lap, his hair mussed from sleep and one sock slipping halfway off his foot. The blanket had loosened a little during the night, but Enji still had an arm tucked firmly around him, warm and steady.
Keigo blinked groggily, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his hand. His voice came out scratchy and small. “G’mornin’…”
Enji looked down at him with a slow, fond smile. “Good morning, chickadee.”
Keigo flinched at the nickname—not because he didn’t like it, but because hearing it now, while fully big and blinking in daylight, made his stomach flutter in that weird, twisty way.
He stretched, yawned, and looked around blearily. “I… I fell asleep on you, huh?”
“You did.” Enji’s voice was deep, quiet, and still laced with the tenderness he’d worn last night. He gave Keigo’s side a small rub, the kind that said he wasn’t going anywhere.
Keigo swallowed, suddenly aware of how secure he still felt, even now. “I didn’t mean to. I was— I mean, I was just kinda tired, I guess, and then—”
“You don’t have to explain.” Enji shifted slightly in the rocking chair, letting it sway just enough to soothe. “You needed rest. You were soft and sleepy. My baby bird needed his nest.”
Keigo turned red. “I’m not a baby bird,” he mumbled, pulling the blanket up like it could hide his burning face. “I’m big now. I'm— I’m all grown up.”
“Oh?” Enji’s brow lifted slightly, and his voice dropped into that playful cadence—the one Keigo dreaded and craved. “Well, my mistake, then. I must’ve imagined the little chickie curled up in my lap last night, clinging to me like he never wanted to let go.”
“I—!” Keigo flailed slightly and buried his face in Enji’s chest. “Th-that doesn’t count! It was dark! I was tired!”
“Mmhm,” Enji hummed, rubbing his back. “And what did my sleepy chick say, hmm? Right before he drifted off?”
Keigo stiffened instantly.
He peeked up, eyes wide. “I said somethin’, didn’t I?”
“You said a lot of things.” Enji leaned his head back just a little to look down at him, keeping his expression gentle. “Anything in particular you remember?”
Keigo shook his head quickly and hid his face again. “Nuh-uh.”
“No?” Enji tilted his head. “Not even the part where you looked up at me all drowsy and sweet and called me—?”
“Don’t!!” Keigo squeaked, smacking both hands over his face like that would protect him from the memory. “Oh God, I didn’t— I wasn’t thinkin’, I was just—!!”
“Just a tired little chickie who needed his dada to rock him to sleep?” Enji offered mildly.
Keigo made a sound like a boiling kettle and kicked his foot in weak protest. “Stop callin’ yourself that!”
“Why?” Enji kissed his hair. “You did, sweetheart. You called me that all on your own.”
Keigo’s face was on fire. “I was tiny! That doesn’t count!”
“But you said it,” Enji said softly. “And I liked it.”
Keigo curled tighter into himself, arms tucked close like he could shrink smaller. “…You did?”
“Very much.” Enji pressed another kiss to his forehead. “But only if you meant it. I won’t hold you to anything just because you were small and sleepy.”
Keigo went quiet for a long moment. The blanket shifted as he pulled it tighter around his shoulders, eyes flicking toward Enji’s chest again like it was the only safe place to look.
Finally, he muttered, “I… don’t remember exactly. But I kinda remember how it felt.”
“And how did it feel?”
Keigo bit his lip. “...Safe.”
Enji’s chest softened.
He guided Keigo up just enough to look him in the eye, his hand cupping Keigo’s cheek.
“I am safe,” Enji said. “I’m yours. You don’t have to be little to ask for that.”
Keigo’s eyes welled, just a little, before he blinked them away. He leaned in again, resting his head under Enji’s chin like it was the only place he belonged.
“…Still not callin’ you that while I’m big,” he muttered.
“That’s alright.” Enji began to rock the chair again, one hand rubbing his back. “You don’t have to. I already know.”
Keigo let out a small, muffled groan. “You’re so smug.”
“I am,” Enji agreed. “Especially when I’ve got a warm, pouty bird in my lap who clearly doesn’t want to move.”
Keigo didn’t answer that—just shifted closer and stayed exactly where he was.
---
The nursery glows with a soft golden light, dim enough to soothe but warm enough to feel safe. The curtains are drawn. A lullaby plays low from a speaker tucked high on a shelf—some gentle piano tune Enji found weeks ago that Keigo seems to like. It's their quiet time.
Enji kneels beside the bed, helping Keigo step into his footie pajamas. They're a soft sky blue, decorated with tiny baby chicks. Keigo had picked them out himself during a quiet trip to the store, but he still blushes every time Enji pulls the zipper up to his chin.
“There we go,” Enji murmurs, adjusting the zipper tab so it doesn't tickle Keigo's neck. “My cozy little bird.”
Keigo doesn’t respond right away. His wings droop slightly, and he fidgets with the edge of the sleeve. Not in a distressed way—just thoughtful.
“You’re extra quiet tonight,” Enji says gently, brushing his fingers through Keigo’s bangs, then trailing them softly along the crest of a wing. “Feathers feel good?”
Keigo nods. “Yeah… you always do it nice.”
Enji smiles, shifting to sit behind him on the floor and gently fluffing the ends of his wings with the baby brush. He’s careful. Always careful. “Feels like you’ve got something on your mind.”
Keigo makes a soft noise. “Wanna say somethin’... but 'm shy.”
Enji doesn’t rush him. He never does.
“That’s okay, chick,” he says, voice low and patient. “You don’t gotta say nothin’ unless you wanna. But if you do, I’m listenin’. I’m right here.”
Keigo fiddles with his own fingers. His eyes are wide, soft, and nervous. He’s definitely little tonight, his posture curling in a bit, his paci resting forgotten on the blanket beside him.
Enji sets the brush down and moves around to crouch in front of him, hands resting on his knees. “You’re safe, baby bird. You know that, right?”
Keigo nods, swallowing.
Then, after a tiny breath—
“...Dada?”
Enji’s chest tightens. Not in surprise this time. Not even in disbelief.
Just… love. Thick and deep and warm.
He smiles. “Yeah, baby?”
Keigo beams—a shy, wobbly thing. “Jus’ checkin’… that it still works.”
Enji’s heart damn near caves in.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, reaching out and pulling Keigo into his arms, lifting him easily despite the wings and the sleepy limbs. “It works every time.”
Keigo hides his face in Enji’s shoulder. “Feels funny sayin’ it when ‘m all the way little…”
“Funny-good or funny-bad?”
“Funny like… warm. Kinda like when ya drink somethin’ too cozy and it makes your tummy flutter.”
Enji chuckles softly, swaying with him. “That’s a good funny, then.”
“Mhm.”
Enji presses a kiss to Keigo’s hair. “You can say it whenever you want, my little chick. You can whisper it, shout it, sing it—I don’t care how it comes out. I’ll always answer.”
Keigo nods, a little dazed at how good it feels to be wrapped up like this.
“Dada…” he tries again, quieter, more certain.
“Mmm?”
“Love you.”
Enji squeezes him tighter. “Love you, too, baby bird. So, so much.”
And with that, Keigo lets out a long sigh, his entire body relaxing in Enji’s arms like he was made to fit there. His wings go limp. His grip on Enji’s shirt loosens. He’s safe. He’s held. He’s home.
The lullaby keeps playing. And Enji just keeps rocking.
---
The word sticks.
Not loudly, not publicly, not even every day—but it's there, like the soft beat of wings brushing against Enji’s side.
It starts small.
“Bye, Dada,” Keigo whispers one morning as Enji slips on his hero gear by the door. He’s got bed hair and a sippy cup, still in footie pajamas with his wings half-folded, drowsy and warm from the morning sun. He’s clinging to the edge of the blanket like it’s armor.
Enji pauses.
Turns.
“You want a hug before I go?” he asks softly, his voice gentled for early morning ears.
Keigo nods and shuffles over, wrapping his arms tight around Enji’s middle. “Be safe, ‘kay?”
Enji presses a kiss to his curls. “I will. You gonna take a nap for Dada while I’m gone?”
Keigo nods into his shirt. “Maybe.”
And Enji walks out the door with fire in his heart and softness under his ribs.
---
It shows up again on harder days.
Enji finds him curled on the nursery floor, wings ruffled, paci between his teeth, and tears already drying on his cheeks. There’s a picture book tossed aside—one of those soft crinkly ones Keigo likes when he’s very little—and his stuffie is tucked under his arm like a shield.
Enji crouches beside him. “Hey… baby bird. What’s wrong?”
Keigo doesn’t speak right away. He reaches up instead, palms opening like petals.
“Dada…” he says, his voice thick with need. “Wanna be holded.”
“Oh, sweet boy…” Enji gathers him up without question. Keigo wraps around him like ivy, arms tight around Enji’s neck, wings trembling just a little.
Enji walks them over to the rocking chair, settling in like they’ve done a hundred times before.
“There we go. Gotcha. Dada’s got you,” he murmurs, rubbing slow circles on Keigo’s back. “You’re safe now, little one. Whatever it was, it’s gone.”
Keigo nuzzles against his collar, sighing hard. “Fought with my big brain…”
“Yeah?” Enji kisses the crown of his head. “Your brain bein’ too loud again?”
“Mhm. Said dumb stuff. Mean stuff.”
“Well, Dada says your brain’s just tired. Needs rest. And snuggles.”
“An’ juice.”
Enji chuckles. “And juice.”
---
Then there are the soft moments. Domestic, gentle, bright.
“Dadaaaa,” Keigo sings from the kitchen table, kicking his socked feet while coloring.
Enji turns from the stove. “Yeah, baby?”
“Can I have pancakes?”
“What kind?”
Keigo pauses dramatically, eyes wide like he’s making a major decision. “The happy ones.”
Enji pretends to gasp. “With chocolate chip smiley faces?”
Keigo beams. “Yuh-huh!”
Enji mock-sighs. “You drive a hard bargain, kiddo. But okay.”
He watches Keigo color while the batter cooks. He watches the way Keigo hums around his paci and lets his wings stretch lazily, content. He watches him look up and grin and call him “Dada” like it’s just a word—but Enji knows better.
It’s not just a word.
---
It becomes a name that only one person ever gets to hear.
At work, in the world, Keigo is still Hawks. Smart-mouthed, quick-footed, all confidence and swagger. No one suspects. No one sees the way he curls into Enji’s lap at night or how his whole face lights up at that one name.
No one knows, and that’s the point.
The Commission tries. They always try.
“You’re getting too close,” one of them warns Enji during a debrief. “People are starting to speculate about favoritism.”
Enji gives them a long, flat look. “He’s my kid. You don’t get a say in that.”
“You mean your protégé—”
“I said what I meant.” His voice sharpens. “Don’t ask again.”
He doesn’t explain himself. Doesn’t need to. He walks out of the meeting with his head high and fire behind his eyes.
That night, Keigo finds him on the couch and flops into his arms without warning, wings loose and happy.
“Missed you today, Dada,” he murmurs.
Enji’s arms come around him instantly. “Missed you too, sweetheart.”
Keigo lifts his head slightly. “You okay? You’re thinkin’ hard.”
Enji nods slowly. “Just… proud of you. That’s all.”
Keigo flushes, hiding his face against Enji’s chest.
“I was good today,” he mumbles. “Did my work. Drank my juice. Didn’t punch the mean reporter.”
“That’s very good, baby.” Enji presses a kiss to his hair. “You deserve all the pancakes in the world.”
Keigo giggles and mumbles, “Dadaaa… you’re so mushy…”
“You like it.”
“…Maybe.”
Enji smiles, holding him tighter. Mine, he thinks. All mine. And I’ll protect this forever.