There are some things you can't prepare for.
Over the course of the last nine months he's spent countless hours thumbing through books, watching documentaries, and bothering Porlyusica so much, he's actually worried he might have developed a permanent bruise on his lower back from her broom.
He thinks— No.
He thought, he was prepared.
The almost numbing realisation that he's not — that he's never been — comes crashing down on him like a tonne of bricks. Because, really, there's no amount of preparation that can prepare you for this.
The room is crowded and loud, filled with doctors and nurses, and machines that make annoying beep, beep noises, but he can't hear any of them — can barely seeany of them.
He only has eyes for her. She's lying in the hospital bed, brows furrowed, hands balled up in the blankets, lips parted as quiet little pants and moans slip from them as she tries to follow the doctor's instructions.
The doctor murmurs words of encouragement and she nods, pants coming out harder now.
"It won't be long," the doctor murmurs.
And then—
He hears a sharp intake of breath — a breath he's never heard before, but has already committed to memory — followed by a high pitched wail.
Gajeel feels something inside him begin to crack. He stumbles forwards, breath stuttering in his throat as he stops, just inches away from the bed. He can see tiny — perfect — hands, and tiny — perfect — feet, wriggling frantically as a tiny —perfect — chest heaves up and down, tasting air for the first time. His gaze roams over the tiny tuft of light blue hair clinging to—
"A girl," he hears someone say.
He brings his gaze back up, roaming over the tiny tuft of light blue hair clinging toher head.
He takes a step forward and feels his breath catch in his throat as he meets her gaze for the very first time.
She's perfect, he thinks, as he stares into her bright brown eyes, already feeling his world begin to shift around her — his daughter.
Daughter. The word feels so foreign and he wonders how long it's going to take him to get used to saying it. But he doesn't have time to dwell on it, doesn't have time to actually test the word on his tongue, because soon enough the doctor is murmuring another warning.
And then—
There's another breath — another breath he's never heard before, but one he knows he'll never be able to forget — this one shallower, but followed by an equally piercing wail.
He doesn't bother to stop the tears, doesn't bother to wipe them away as he falls forward, breath coming out in choked pants as he drops to his knees by the bed.
"A boy," someone says.
A boy. His son.
He blinks back tears, taking in the tiny — and equally perfect — limbs that stretch and writhe in his mother's arms. A half laugh, half sob falls from his lips as he realises that this one too has a patch of light blue hair clinging to his tiny — perfect — head.
"Hey," Levy murmurs, voice weaker than usual, as she turns to face him. Despite everything, she manages a small smile. "Say hello to your children."
Your children.
His children.
He nods, crouching forwards to lean against the bed. They've stopped crying now, big brown eyes frantically scanning the room as they try and take everything in.
She's beautiful.
He's beautiful.
His family are beautiful.
"Go on," she coaxes, lips still stretched into a loving smile, "say hello."
He takes a deep breath as he leans forwards. They're tiny and look so fragile, he's afraid he'll be too rough, that his hands will be too large and he'll somehow manage to hurt them.
"Hi," he says softly, eyes widening as they both still their movements and turn to look at him. Slowly, so not to scare them, he reaches out a hand and feel his breath hitch in his throat when she — his daughter — immediately wraps her tiny, so tiny, hand around one of his fingers and squeezes tightly. Beside her, his son impatiently wriggles in his mother's arm and Gajeel obediently sticks out his other hand, a half laugh, half sob, slipping from his lips as his son immediately reaches out and wraps his hand around a finger.
"I-"
"I know," Levy hums, bending down ever so slightly to press a kiss against his forehead. "I know."
They sit in silence for a while, drinking in the moment and committing it to memory, and Gajeel wonders how he could ever be so naive as to think anything would prepare him for this.
For the first few weeks after the birth, neither of them get much sleep. But that's to be expected.
It's all sleepless nights and washing loads put on at two in the morning because there's spit-up on the last clean bedsheet and, as tempting as it is to just shuffle along the bed and curve their bodies around the mess, it's really beginning to stink.
They lose count of the amount of burnt wrists at three in the morning from testing the milk on skin to check if it's safe for the wailing infants in their arms — it never is.
They learn to bring extra towels into the bathroom, after one too many times entering perfectly dry and coming out looking as if they've dunked themselves in the tub, while the squirming children in their arms look miraculously dry.
The twins bounce off of each other constantly, almost like they're working in shifts. When one is quiet the other is wailing, when one sleeps, the other fidgets, when one is hungry, the other refuses to even sip from their bottle.
On the rare occasions they do fall asleep at the same time, Levy likes to watch them with tired, yet endlessly fond and loving, eyes. Sometimes, she can't believe they're real. She's spent the last nine months eagerly awaiting their arrival; reading to them, talking to them, even singing to them, letting them know just how lovedthey already are by so many people that, now they're here, it feels like a dream.
A blissful dream she never wants to wake up from.
She sighs quietly, running a gentle hand along Yaje's arm, lips twitching upwards into a smile as he leans into her touch.
It's moments like these, moments where she's free to sit and marvel at the life she and Gajeel have created, that she craves the most. Shutora moans in her sleep and Levy freezes, afraid that her moment of indulgence is over, but she merely shifts onto her side, curling slightly into her brother, and continues to snooze.
She sighs and leans against the railings of their crib, eyes crinkling as she takes them in.
Her children. So tiny and delicate, a perfect mix of both her and Gajeel.
They're damn near identical, with tufts of slowly growing light blue hair sprouting from their heads, expressive brown eyes, and chubby — adorably chubby — cheeks, and even chubbier legs that wiggle around constantly even while they sleep.
She hears the bedroom door creak open and she quickly whirls around, pressing a finger to her lips as Gajeel enters the room.
He wordlessly mouths an apology as he creeps further into their bedroom. He looks tired, she realises as he approaches, really tired. Quickly, she counts back in her head, trying to recall the last night they managed to get a decent sleep between them and realises that she probably doesn't look much better.
"They're both asleep?" He whispers, crouching beside the crib, lips tugging up into a small little grin despite his tiredness as he watches their children sleep. "When was the last time this happened?"
"It hasn't," she laughs quietly, eyes still trained on their children.
Their children, it still feels strange to even think the word.
Yaje has turned on his side now as well, leaning into his sister so it looks like they're hugging. "You should take advantage of it," she murmurs, "get some sleep."
Gajeel quirks an eyebrow as he turns to face her. "We should take advantage of it."
"I'm—" she pauses, feeling her cheeks begin to redden slightly, "I'm fine."
He opens his mouth, maybe to argue and demand she get into bed, but quickly closes it. Instead, he hums and turns his attention back to the crib. They've moved yet again in their sleep, and now Shutora has a leg pressed up against Yaje's stomach, while Yaje is about one twitch away from smacking her in the face.
Levy bites back a laugh as she reaches into the crib and gently, so as not to wake them, pries them apart. "I can't believe they're real sometimes," she murmurs, thumb running small little circles against Shutora's hand. She wonders if she'll ever get used to this.
She grew up in Fairy Tail and has always been surrounded by loved ones, but this — having a family of her own — feels different. It fills her with a happiness she's never experienced before, but one she wants to feel for the rest of her days.
"You gonna sleep?" Gajeel asks, bumping her gently with his shoulder.
She hesitates for a moment and shakes her head. "I don't want to miss anything." She wants to be there for all the milestones in their lives, watching them crawl and walk and utter their first word. Admittedly, sleeping isn't exactly a milestone, but she's still new to this, still captivated by everything their children do.
"Me either," Gajeel admits quietly, inching closer towards her. "But, I think they'll forgive you for missing one nap. C'mon."
She barely has time to stifle a shriek of surprise as Gajeel leans over and easily picks her up bridal style, standing upright as he moves.
"Gajeel. The kids mi—"
"The kids are sleeping," Gajeel mumbles, barely breaking his stride as he crosses the small distance between the crib and their bed and deposits Levy on top of it. "And who knows for how long. We should take advantage of that."
She opens her mouth to argue, but being on the bed and surrounded by warm blankets suddenly makes her realise just how tired she actually is. "Fine," she sighs, reaching over to tug the blankets backwards so they can slip underneath. "Fine."
He laughs quietly, tugging her closer towards him to fit against his body, eyelids already fluttering shut. Before she knows it, he's asleep. She can hear his breathing begin to even out and feels the way his body relaxes against the mattress.
She smiles, well aware that in this room her family lay sleeping, happy and safe and, most importantly, together.
Her family.
She yawns a little, smiles widening even as she allows herself to succumb to the sleep she's been desperately fighting for the last few days.