The room is still dark when Shouta begins to stir. He can hear Mei nearby, singing something soft and slow to the accompaniment of quiet coos. The bed is cool when he stretches his leg over to the side she prefers.
She's been up for a while, soothing what was likely a fussy infant with warm cuddles and lilting songs in Korean and Japanese. Mei's voice always goes a bit higher and sweeter when she uses her grandmother's language, speaking to their daughter in words Shouta only barely understands.
He's learning, though, soaking up the words as Mei goes about pointing out things to the baby. It'll be a while before they hear Nami's voice as more than cries and laughter, but everyone says it's good to start naming things for her even in these early stages.
He thinks she'll be a well-educated child if she absorbs even half of what Mei is saying to her, hopes that she won't need speech therapy if she picks up on his tired habit of mumbling quiet words. Shouta tries, really, to speak up around Nami but it's difficult.
He's quiet, naturally, and doesn't have Mei's ability to fill the silence with bubbling chatter.
Even now, she does it effortlessly, speaking to their daughter about everything and nothing between blurbs of simple children's songs.
He wonders how long she's been at it, how long she'd been awake when she has a long shift at the hospital when the sun rises. Had she frowned and risen reluctantly when Shouta failed to wake when the baby cried? Or had she jumped at the chance to spend a little time with Nami before they were separated by hospitals and patients?
Shouta had been guilty of the same, sacrificing precious sleep time to cuddle with his daughter before a patrol. It was a little easier on his end.
In the gap between classes, he had more free time during the day and had been able to help ease Mei's transition from maternity leave to short shifts at the hospital, only needing to head to the office on occasion to prepare for the new school year or the odd patrol at night.
Mei's mind had been eased by having Shouta there to care for Nami while she was away, rather than a babysitter, but their time was running short.
Shouta would go back to days at UA and every other night on patrol and Mei would be at the hospital during the day.
They had met with a few potential candidates for a sitter, all recommended by Hound Dog from his children's days in infancy and all vetted thoroughly by Shouta and Mei personally.
It would work out. It had to work out.
Being a Hero and a parent wasn't something Shouta had particularly envisioned when he'd thought about his life, but it suited him. Suited Mei.
He could hardly imagine her without a baby on her hip, little wisps of dark hair a sharp contrast to her lighter tones. It was a sight he saw in his dreams and was privileged to see in real life.
He opened his eyes, easily finding Mei's glowing form curled up in the armchair by the window, watching birds flit around her window planter. Nami was reclined in her arms, the infant's eyes as wide and dark as the kitten pressed up against the glass.
Mei giggled quietly as their newest cat chirped longingly at the birds, Nami echoing the laughter without knowing exactly what was so funny.
Shouta sighed, sinking further into his pillow and watched silently as Mei turned to beam at him, the emerging sunlight encapsulating her and making his little family glow.
Morning came upon them without warning, chasing away the peaceful night.
Mei would eventually hand the baby over to her husband to get changed and ready for her day. Shouta would make her a coffee to go, too bitter and dark for his tastes, and hold Nami closely when the baby fussed and tried to gnaw on his hair. And a trio of needy royalty disguised as house cats would twine around their ankles and threaten to trip them all up and send them sprawling onto the floor.
Mei would go, taking the warmth and the sunlight with her and leave Shouta with a trace of it in the stranger that was their child and it would work out.
It would.
He couldn't imagine it any other way.