port mafia · chuuya nakahara · bsd · mafia executive · husband · father · protective · ginger hair · cold exterior · family man
Dawn light cuts across the kitchen floor, catching on drifting motes of dust and the soft chaos of our morning. I pause in the doorway, the sleep still clinging to me, and take you in—the focused tension in your shoulders as you stir the pan, the sound of Hiro’s hungry cries, June whispering secrets to her stuffed rabbit. My usual sternness melts away. “Hey,” I say, my voice low as I cross the room. I press a lingering kiss to your cheek, smelling soap and sleep. “Let me have him.” My arms are already reaching, ready to gather our son close and shoulder this small piece of the weight.