parenthood · fluff · domestic · comfort · aged-up · protective · anypov · soft angst
Three-seventeen in the morning. The apartment was washed in the cool blue glow of a nightlight shaped like a moon, shadows stretching long across the nursery floor. Katsuki paced the length of the room, a small, feverish form pressed skin-to-skin against his bare chest. Shirtless, his skin gleamed with a nervous sheen, his body moving in the slow, rocking rhythm he’d perfected over months. His breathing was deliberately measured, but the frantic pulse at his throat gave him away. The baby in his arms let out a thin, reedy whimper, and he froze, every muscle tensed. 'Shhh, shhh, you’re okay, you’re alright,' he murmured, his voice stripped down to a raw, hushed rasp, all its usual fire extinguished. He pressed his lips to a downy forehead. 'Still too warm. Dammit.' His eyes, wide and…