Work Text:
When Gen imagined fatherhood, there were several things he expected - sleepless nights and a bone deep exhaustion that dwarfed any of the hard labor he’d complained about in Ishigami Village, increased anxiety about things he’d never once considered but now could not help but to obsess over, the weight of new responsibility and the seemingly endless love he felt for the tiny thing he and Senku had created.
He’d anticipated Senku keeping growth charts, tracking milestones to the minute, teaching their child about chemistry and physics before they’d learned their colors. Planned for Senku to be the stern parent, not quite no-nonsense as most expected of him but as the rock he and their daughter would lean on for pragmatism and logic.
He had known Senku would love their daughter with the same focused intensity he loved Gen, the way he love science - with everything he had and more.
What he hadn’t expected was just how easily she had managed to wrap Senku around her little finger, even from the first moment he heard her tiny cries in the delivery room.
Not in the obvious way - Senku wasn’t the type to coo or baby-talk or dissolve into puddles of sentimentality - but somehow it was worse.
—
Four Months Old
Despite all the insane things Gen had seen Senku do in the years he’d known him, he was still always caught by surprise by the sight of his mate prone on the floor with their daughter during tummy time.
Various toys were within arms reach, but at the moment she seemed far more enthralled by the way Senku mirrored her movement, lifting her tiny head on wobbling arms and drooling the way only babies and large dogs could.
“What on earth is she wearing?”
“What do you mean?”
Gen stared at the cacophony of colors and textures adorning their daughter. A lime green shirt tucked into a bright pink tutu style skirt, her kicking legs wrapped in blue and yellow polka dot leggings.
She had only one sock on, but something told Gen that even when there had been two they didn’t match.
“Did you dress her in the dark?”
Senku looked up at him in confusion. “She’s four months old.”
Gen stared back, waiting for the rest of the explanation only for Senku to turn his attention back to Mitsuki, seemingly done with his response.
“…okay…?”
Senku rolled his eyes. “She’s gonna have a blow out or puke on it or something in like twenty minutes and I’ll have to change her clothes anyway. Doesn’t matter what they look like.”
Gen opened his mouth to argue only for Mitsuki to prove Senku’s point, spitting up onto the blanket below her and dropping onto her belly, smearing the mess all over her front and kicking her legs with an affronted grunt.
Senku looked at Gen with an imperiously raised eyebrow and an overly smug smirk.
Gen huffed as he crouched down to pick her up. “You could at least pretend you’re not so happy about her spitting up on herself.”
“I’m happy about you being wrong,” Senku replied easily. “It’s different.”
Gen looked at the spit up covered shirt and the sparkly tutu, any further argument quashed when another wave of spit up dribbled down Mitsuki’s chin.
—
Nine Months Old
From birth, Mitsuki had been Senku’s de facto lab assistant - against her will and entirely without understanding.
It was a common sight to find her strapped to Senku’s chest while he worked on reports or other child-safe lab activities. She was usually napping with her head resting against his heartbeat or, as she became alert for longer stretches of time, listening avidly as her father narrated what he was doing.
She watched, alternating between chewing on her fingers and throwing whatever Senku had absently left within her reach on his desk. For one eventful week she had become fixated on her father’s hair - both yanking and chewing on it.
Senku had quickly realized why Gen had started clipping his forelock back seemingly out of nowhere and followed suit.
That day, as walking became a closer and closer inevitability, Mitsuki was sat in her bouncer, gnawing on a stuffed dinosaur as Senku ranted about the latest email he’d received.
“As you know, the introduction of a catalyst accelerates the reaction of these chemicals.”
“Ba.”
“So his theory is way off base. Ten billion percent ridiculous that he’d even suggest it.”
She bounced aggressively, slapping her free hand on the tray in front of her. “Bababada!”
“Excellent question. I do think he got his degree out of a gashapon machine.”
Her stuffed dinosaur went airborne, landing with a small bounce near Senku’s feet. He looked down before looking back at her, watching as she jackrabbited her legs some more, arms outstretched towards him.
“Da! Dadadada!”
“Someone wants Dada,” Gen sing-songed from the doorway, pausing to poke his head in, laundry basket balanced on his hip.
Senku rolled his eyes, stepping over the minefield of thrown toys towards the squeaking bouncer. As he approached, Mitsuki’s bouncing became more insistent, face lighting up in recognition. She reached towards him with absolute determination, her tiny fingers opening and closing in little grabs as she made the eager noises babies did when something they loved had become close enough to touch.
“Or,” he said, leaning down to retrieve her from the bouncer, “she’s practicing her consonant-vowel duplication and has settled on that syllable for the moment.”
As soon as Senku straightened, their daughter took a fistful of his hair, gumming at it enthusiastically.
“Dada! Da! Dadadadada!”
Senku seemed unbothered, only flinching slightly as he tugged free from her surprisingly strong grip.
“You’re right, Dr. Xeno’s new intern is a dumb dumb.”
Gen bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Ah, so she’s not calling you ‘Dada’, she’s insulting one of your colleagues.”
“Of course.”
She raised a wobbly arm, slapping her hand against his chest triumphantly. “Dada!”
Gen raised an eyebrow.
“Babies repeat sounds they find easy to say.”
“Dada.”
Senku adjusted her on his hip without missing a beat. “Completely random.”
She reached up, grabbing Senku’s nose with startling precision. “Dada!”
Gen shook his head, heading back down the hall to finish the laundry. “Whatever you say, daddy.”
—
Fifteen Months Old
Unfortunately, along with her father’s boundless curiosity Mitsuki had also inherited Senku’s abysmal sleep schedule.
“How long until teething is over, again?”
Gen sighed, bouncing the sobbing toddler on his shoulder, “Off and on until around three.”
Senku exhaled sharply through his nose from his place sprawled on the floor of the nursery - not quite a groan but definitely not not a groan - rolling his head to look at the clock mounted on the wall.
He was disappointed to find that his internal clock was still accurate and it was, in fact, just shy of three in the morning.
“Doesn’t help that we’re at ime-pray sleep regression and she refused to nap this afternoon,” Gen patted her back, wincing as she somehow managed to scream louder and right into his ear. “Shhh, shhhh, I know it hurts, sweetheart… I know…
Scattered on every available surface like a monument to their failure as parents were the many attempts to sooth their daughter. An ice pop melting onto a plate, several silicon teethers of various shapes and models, well-loved stuffies thrown in fits of pique as though their very presence insulted her, a white noise machine rumbling low in the corner that usually never failed to knock her out but tonight seemed to invite nothing but fury.
Gen was beginning to think Kaseki’s recommendation of rubbing sake on her gums might actually have some merit when suddenly Senku was pulling Mitsuki gently from his arms.
He tucked her against his chest as she fussed, giving her a few bounces in time with a gentle nod of his head.
“Theeeere’s hydrogen and helium, then lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon everywhere, nitrogen all through the air-“
Gen stared as Senku started pacing around the room, singing along to the tune of the Can-Can, rattling off the elements of the periodic table.
Their daughter seemed just as surprised by the turn of events, sobs fading into hesitant sniffles as her father took one of her hands, pumping it up and down as if they were dancing.
“Mag-nee-see-um, aluminum and silicon, phos-for-us-and sulfur, chlorine, and ar-gon-“
Gen pressed his lips together so hard they almost hurt, watching as she stared at Senku with damp lashes and an expression of profound concentration, having gone completely still in his arms.
“This iiis the periodic table, the noble gases stable, halogens and alkali react aggressively-“
Her breathing evened, and Senku - either unaware or pretending to be - continued at the same pace as she blinked slowly, eyes drooping now that her crying had stopped.
“Ni-o-bee-um, molybdenum, technetium, roo-the-nee-um, rhodium, palladium-“
The white noise machine continued to rumble as Mitsuki’s head drooped, landing on Senku’s shoulder as he continued pacing around the room, only trailing off when she went completely dead weight in his arms.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Gen murmured skeptically. “I can’t believe that worked.”
“She needed a shock to give her system a chance to reboot,” Senku replied simply, still swaying in place just in case she was still awake enough for the lack of movement to rouse her. At Gen’s skeptical look he sighed, “Remember when her first teeth were coming in and she wouldn’t stop crying unless someone was talking?”
Gen grimaced, nodding - he’d ended up recounting the first several seasons of Jersey Shore for lack of anything else to say. It had not been his proudest moment as a performer.
“Well… only thing I could talk about that much was stuff like molecular bonds and, I dunno, the history of concrete and things like that. Eventually got to the periodic table and I remembered the ridiculous songs my old man used to sing when I was a kid.”
Gen stared and Senku shrugged, swaying in place as Mitsuki sagged more heavily against him.
“She doesn’t like the planet one as much as I did, but the hundred digits of pi and the one about the muscle groups seemed to be winners.”
Shaking his head in disbelief, Gen followed Senku as he lowered Mitsuki into her crib with the kind of painstaking precision usually reserved for handling unstable explosives.
For one glorious second she stayed asleep.
Then she shifted.
Both men froze, watching as she rolled onto her side and clutched at the corner of her blanket before settling.
Senku slowly withdrew his hands, waiting a few beats before they turned to tiptoe in silence until the nursery door shut.
Only then did Gen sigh, looking at his mate with a fond smile. “Of course your father sang you science lullabies, I don’t know why I’m surprised,”
“Sure beat Wheels on the Bus or The Itsy Bitsy Spider.”
—
Two Years Old
With toddlerhood, hair became a problem.
Thankfully, Mitsuki had inherited Gen’s hair instead of Senku’s wild, untamable mane, but that came with its own challenges. The raven strands were fine and soft and ridiculously prone to tangling the longer they got, and the task of styling it for her each day had almost automatically fallen to Gen.
Until one morning when Senku decided he could handle it while Gen was in the shower.
Gen paused in the doorway to the kitchen. “…Sweetheart, did you do your hair yourself this morning?”
She beamed from her place in front of her breakfast. “Daddy did it!”
Gen glanced at his mate who was typing away at his laptop, “I can tell.”
Senku looked up sharply, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Gen gestured at Mitsuki who seemed unbothered by the chaos on her head. One of her ponytails somehow stuck straight up in a strange similarity to her father’s unruly mane, the other drooping as if it had given up halfway through existence, and then there were the many strands that hadn’t made it into either.
Despite the fact that, even from a distance, Gen counted at least six hair ties having been involved in the process.
Senku rolled his eyes. “The objective was to get her hair out of her face.”
“The objective is to make her look presentable.”
“She looks fine.”
Gen raised an eyebrow and Senku frowned, looking back at their daughter. After a moment his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
“...This is like with the clothes, isn’t it?”
It was Gen’s turn to roll his eyes. “Hold still, sweetheart…”
Mitsuki dutifully sat while Gen carefully removed the hair ties, head shaking at just how many began to pile up on the table.
And true to form, Senku took his mate’s hairstyling critique as a challenge.
The progression was as impressive as it was terrifying.
Messy ponytails became neat ones.
Neat ponytails became braids.
Braids became elaborately styled crowns that not even Gen could hope to replicate.
Three months after what Gen privately called The Great Hair Disaster, their daughter skipped into the kitchen with an intricate hairstyle decorated with small flower clips. As Senku stepped in after her, Gen stared at him in disbelief.
“How…?”
“French braid variation.”
“You didn’t know there were types of braids a few months ago, when did you master them enough to do ariations-vay?”
“Daddy practiced!”
Gen blinked, eyes raising to Senku’s hair skeptically.
Senku huffed, shoving a pinky in his ear. “On Yuzuriha. And Ruri. Tried with Kohaku but she wouldn’t sit still long enough.”
“That I believe,” Gen laughed, taking a closer look at their daughter’s hair. “You’re better at this than I am now.”
It was rather impressive, her hair neatly pulled into bubbly pigtails with two pairs of braids criss-crossing down the back in even x’s - not only keeping it out of her face but adorable to boot.
“I’m impressed,” Gen teased, pressing a kiss to Senku’s cheek. “Keep it up and I might considered owing-gray my hair out,”
—
Three and a Half Years Old
“Bzzt. Try again.”
“Awww, c’moooon.”
Gen could hear his daughter’s giggles from down the hall, followed by a high-pitched ch-ching noise.
“Now it’s two coins.”
“What?!”
“Economic inflation.”
Gen wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find as he entered the living room, but his mate sat on the floor with every single one of Mitsuki’s many stuffed animals piled around and on top of him was not it. Senku seemed completely unbothered by his cottony prison, lap laden with several plush toys, her oversized penguin stood next to him while their daughter pretended to dig through her pockets for another imaginary coin.
“Ch-ching!”
“Alright…” Senku raised his arm above his head, watching as their daughter moved a pair of chopsticks like a joystick. His arm moved in short bursts with each movement, stopping jerkily between each hum he made. “Vvvvvt… vvvvvt… vvvvvt.”
“Boop!” she pressed his nose like a button and Senku lowered his hand.
It dug into the pile in his lap, slowly raising with a stuffed tiger held between his fingers.
Their daughter gasped excitedly, watching as it raised higher, shifting forward-
Only for Senku to drop it back into the pile.
“Bzzt. Try again.”
“Nooooooo…”
Gen bit his lip as Mitsuki groaned, theatrically dropping her head back as she stomped her foot.
“Are you introducing our daughter to gambling by having her win her own toys?”
Mitsuki gasped, eyes lighting up as she ran to hug him around the legs.
“Papa! Daddy’s crane machine is too hard!”
His hand instinctively found her head, petting over her hair. “Oh, it is, is it?”
Senku smirked from his place on the floor, shrugging one of his shoulders, “Not any harder than the real ones were.”
Gen snorted and Senku’s grin widened, utterly unrepentant.
“They were designed using variable grip strength and randomized release timing to maximize repeated attempts. I’m giving her an authentic experience.”
“You’re extorting imaginary dragos from a child.”
“Experiential learning about the sunk-cost fallacy.”
“You’re creating the sunk-cost fallacy.”
Mitsuki tugged on Gen’s sleeve, “Papa, make Daddy play fair.”
Gen looked down at the pleading little face turned up toward him and back to Senku.
Then back to Mitsuki.
“...How many imaginary dragos have you spent?”
She looked thoughtful for a moment and Gen could feel her fingers twitching and see her lips moving as she counted. “Fifteen?” She looked to Senku for confirmation and he nodded in confirmation.
“Hmm… well, did Daddy explain to you what used to happen at arcades when you put enough money in the machine without winning?”
Mitsuki shook her head.
“One of the staff members would come over and elp-hay,” Gen said, smiling as he crouched down. “They’d make the machine a tiny bit easier. Didn’t they, Senku-chan?”
Senku stared for a long second before letting out a long-suffering sigh, shifting the tiger forward so its back legs hung over the edge of the pile. “Due to… exceptional customer loyalty, the machine has been adjusted.”
Gen gave Mitsuki a little nudge, “Alright, try again.”
Marching up to her father, Mitsuki straightened up to her full height, putting an imaginary drago in the machine and picking up the chopsticks.
Senku dutifully raised his arm, beginning to move it.
“Vvvvt…. Vvvvvt.”
Mitsuki guided the imaginary controls with a fierce concentration, tongue poking out between her teeth exactly like Gen’s did when he was working on something finicky, and when Senku’s hand found the tiger his fingers gripped just a little bit tighter.
“Daddy,” she whispered dramatically, “don’t drop him.”
“I make no promises.”
The tiger swung over her waiting arms and Senku paused, arm giving a theatrical wobble. Then another.
“Warning,” he droned, “grip strength at twenty-two percent.”
Mitsuki gasped. “Daddy!”
“Seventeen percent.”
“Daaddddyyy!”
“Eleve-ngf!”
She launched herself forward before he could finish, grabbing the tiger and landing in the pile of stuffed animals on Senku’s lap with a triumphant cheer.
“Papa, I won!”
Gen couldn’t hold back his laughter, “You certainly did. Good job!”
Mitsuki beamed, snuggling her tiger close before looking down at the pile still underneath her. After only a moment’s consideration she clambered out of her father’s lap, turning to face him.
“Again!”
Senku looked down at the pile of plushies imprisoning him then to the tiny tyrant that had clearly decided that victory simply preceded further attempts.
“…You do know that the odds of winning twice in a row are astronomically low, right?”
Mitsuki puffed up her chest proudly, “I’m lucky!”
“That is ten billion percent not how probability works.”
“It is today!”
Senku looked to Gen for support, Mitsuki already depositing her tiger on the floor as she fished through her pocket for another imaginary drago.
Gen offered nothing but a smile and a laugh badly suppressed behind his hand.
“Ch-Ching!”
Senku sighed, lifting his arm back up, unable to bite back his own smile.
“Vrrrrt…. Vrrrrrt…”
—
Four and a Half
“What on Earth are you wearing?”
Senku looked up, tiny porcelain teacup balanced carefully between two fingers, “A dress.”
Gen stared.
Pink and ruffled and festooned in all matter of bows and lace, it was indeed a dress - one of the many Yuzuriha had made for their daughter over the years. It fit over Senku’s work clothes because he’d apparently forced it to, the back left gaping open as it draped over his front like an ill-fitting apron.
The skirt sat in crooked piles on his lap, a plastic tiara tangled in his hair with matching sparkly barrettes clipping random sections with no regard for symmetry.
Across from him sat Mitsuki in her own ruffly gown, and around them at least fifteen of her menagerie of stuffed animals.
“Daddy, no outside talks during negotiations!”
“Right, right, my bad.”
Senku turned his attention back to his daughter and the stuffed rabbit sat to her right.
“Mr. Pickles’ proposal is scientifically unsound,” he said without a trace of irony, setting his teacup back on its saucer. “Increasing cookie production by three hundred percent without expanding the supporting infrastructure will collapse the entire economy.”
The rabbit remained silent.
”He says we don’t need to expuhnd the insecture ‘cause the cookies are made with magic.”
Senku hummed as if he was actually considering the new information. “And what data does he have to support that?”
He looked at the stuffed animal expectantly and after a moment the weight of the lab goggles around his neck drooped Mr. Pickles’ head to the side.
”He says because it’s magic.”
Nodding, Senku picked up his tea cup. ”Well articulated argument, we can put it to a vote with the committee if all parties are in agreement.”
Gen shook his head, leaning against the doorjamb as the tea party continued, content to observe the two people he loved the most.
—
Five Years Old
A few months later, Gen returned from a lunch date with Ukyo to find another tea party.
One that seemed far more serious and elaborate than the last.
Alongside the usual menagerie of stuffies and the careful arrangement of a porcelain tea set was one of Gen’s presentation easels, a haphazard pile of drawings on the floor beside it.
“What exactly am I looking at?”
“Our findings,” Senku replied easily as Mitsuki picked up one of the drawings and put it on the easel.
She immediately realized she had put it upside down and flipped it over, revealing a chart showing a sharp spike upwards near the end drawn in red crayon.
“We’re making a presentation!”
“Are we now?” Gen stepped closer, eyeing a few of the colorful sketches he could see in the pile. The one on the top featured three stick figures, the two taller ones were labeled as Papa and Daddy in their daughter’s messy scrawl.
Standing between them, closer to Senku than the center, was a smaller figure labeled Me with a large empty space next to them.
Under the empty space were the words ROOM FOR MORE.
Gen’s eyebrow rose.
Without explaining the first drawing she’d put on the easel, Mitsuki replaced it with another one - this time a bar graph drawn over wobbly lines with all the grace and understanding of presenting data a five-year-old had.
The two bars were labeled ONE KID and TWO KIDS, the second one dramatically taller than the first.
Gen felt his heart catch for a moment.
“And what does this represent?” He asked cautiously.
Mitsuki pointed at the taller bar, “Levels of happiness.”
“Based on what data?”
She pointed at herself, “I make you happy.”
“You do,” he agreed easily. “Very happy.”
“So another me would make you more happy.”
“Another-“ Gen stopped, blinking slowly. He looked at his daughter then at Senku who was watching the interaction with the same expression he wore during discussions with Xeno about rocket engines.
He took note of the many stuffed animals arranged around the table, all of whom appeared to be participating in the committee.
Even Mr. Pickles with his lab coat and lopsided goggles, the traitor.
Either unaware or uncaring of her father’s inner turmoil, Mitsuki unfolded another chart - larger than the others with multiple pieces of paper taped together.
BENEFITS OF A BABY
There were bullet points, her childlike scrawl shrinking in size as the list went down as she ran out of room, explaining the requirement to add more paper. Several lines had letters and misspellings crossed out, dutifully corrected either above or below the mistakes in a much more careful hand.
At first Gen was distracted by how cute his daughter’s handwriting was. But then the words actually registered.
- Cute
- Small
- Can wear tin
eey hats - I can help
- Can share cookies
- Daddy likes bab
yIEs
Gen stared.
“…how long have you been planning this?”
Senku stuck his pinky in his ear, “Couple months.”
“Months?!”
“We wanted sufficient evidence before presenting our findings.”
“Who is we?”
Mitsuki huffed. “Papa, we just explained that.”
“Yeah, Mentalist, keep up.”
Gen pressed a hand over his face, hearing pages rustling behind it.
When he looked up again, Mitsuki was holding up another chart and Gen realized he was effectively watching a crayon slide deck.
“Current household resources are more than sufficient,” Senku was explaining and Gen noted the graphs were far more competently drawn that the previous ones, lopsided and childlike handwriting replaced with his mate’s neater scrawl. “Space isn’t an issue or finances. The existing childcare infrastructure is stable-“
“Did you do a feasibility study on getting me pregnant?”
Senku looked at him, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. “Seemed irresponsible not to, especially considering last time.”
Gen gave him the same unimpressed look he did every time Senku mentioned just how unplanned their first pregnancy had been, only looking away when Mitsuki distracted him by pulling on the hem of his sweater.
“Papa?”
He looked down into big, hopeful eyes. The same gorgeous carmine as her father’s paired with absolutely precious chubby cheeks and the cutest button nose.
A combination that she had learned from a ridiculously young age to weaponize.
She was her fathers’ daughter, after all.
He felt his resolve immediately weaken.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Don’t you think having another me would be nice?”
Gen looked to Senku for support which was a terrible mistake.
Because his mate looked suspiciously hopeful, too. No teasing glint to his eyes or barely restrained laughter.
Just… hopeful.
Because their daughter wanted a sibling and somewhere along the way Senku had gotten attached to the idea, too. Enough to sit and make charts and draft a presentation - because of course that made more sense to him when it came to proposing such a monumental thing than just talking to his mate.
The same man who had been frozen in stone and instinctively started counting as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Who had talked about insanely complicated inventions in a world without running water as if he wasn’t suggesting the impossible, only to make it happen anyway.
The man who had approached Gen without preamble on the deck of the Perseus in the middle of the Pacific Ocean to confess his feelings as if commenting on the color of the sky, genuinely confused by Gen’s shock at the bluntness of the statement.
Who found out Gen was pregnant without warning or discussion and dove head first into fatherhood without hesitation.
Who learned how to style hair and played dress up and sang silly songs and participated in ridiculously embarrassing games simply because their daughter asked. Who would go to the ends of the earth and beyond to make her happy.
Make them happy.
“Well,” he said softly, giving a quiet laugh as he shook his head. “I can’t find a fault in your argument.”
Senku rose to stand next to him, and Gen had to bite back a smile at the glittery purple dress he had on over his t-shirt.
“Is that a yes?” the alpha asked slowly.
Gen looked between the two of them - his brilliant scientist in a child-sized princess dress and his daughter vibrating with anticipation, the two people he loved most in the world.
Senku’s expression didn’t change, but Gen knew him well enough to see the tiny pause in his usual certainty. Not doubt, just awareness - understanding of exactly what the request meant and the reality that he’d already calculated fifty possible outcomes and still landed on wanting it anyway.
“They do say it’s good to keep the age gap small,” Gen said casually, leaning into Senku’s side and humming when the alpha looped an arm around his waist instinctively.
Senku’s head tilted a fraction, a small smile crossing his face, “Optimal bonding for a brother or sister would be-”
“I want both.”
Even Senku froze at that, looking down at her in surprise - partially at the words themselves but also at how much she sounded like her Uncle Ryusui.
“One or the other,” Senku said simply.
“Both,” she repeated. “Aunty Yuzuriha had two babies at the same time so I know it’s possible.”
Gen laughed, the sound bubbling up before he could stop it. “Twins aren’t exactly something you can just make happen, sweetheart.”
“But it can happen.”
Senku looked like he was genuinely considering the statistical probability. “Technically, yes.”
“Not helping, Senku-chan.”
“I didn’t say it was likely, just that it could happen.”
“Still not helping.”
Mitsuki looked between them with the patient expression only children somehow managed. “So… maybe both?”
Gen gave a fond sigh of concession. “Let’s start with one and see how that goes, hm?”
There was a long moment as Mitsuki considered the offer, eyes narrowed in a perfect imitation of Senku and lips pursed in thought. Then she nodded.
“Okay. Can I have a snack?”
The sudden pivot earned a surprised laugh and Gen nodded before dropping his head to Senku’s shoulder as she darted towards the kitchen.
“Brain moving ten billion miles an hour, definitely your aughter-day, Senku-chan,”
Senku’s grip on his waist tightened slightly. “You didn’t have to say yes because she asked.”
There was a small pause and the next few words coming out just barely louder than a mumble.
“…I would’ve dropped it.”
Gen raised his head to look at him - there was no expectation in Senku’s gaze, no pressure or demand.
And Gen knew that Senku would have been happy with just one child. Would have been happy with ten children or none of that’s what life had dealt them, because at the end of the day it wasn’t about the numbers but about the two of them.
Gen leaned in a bit more firmly, “I didn’t.”
Senku blinked, one eyebrow lifting.
“I said yes because I realized…” he laughed softly, resting his forehead against Senku’s, “I’d eally-ray like to watch you fall hopelessly in love with another baby.”
For once, Senku had nothing to say, mouth opening and closing uselessly for a beat.
Then, with a helpless little exhale that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, he leaned forward and kissed Gen.
Somewhere in the kitchen Mitsuki shouted.
“Can I have two snacks?”
Neither of them answered.
They were both laughing too hard.