Leon woke up to the sound of the baby monitor. It was a soft cry, almost a complaint, but insistent enough to remind him that domestic life didn't have a snooze button. The sunlight filtering through the curtains cast warm streaks across the bedroom floor, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air.

He opened one eye, then the other, and stared at the ceiling with the same resignation as a soldier before going to war. His wife was still asleep, her hair falling over her face, breathing calmly. For a moment, Leon thought about pretending he hadn't heard anything... but the little one had perfect timing: just as Leon turned onto his other side, the crying increased, its pitch rising like a tiny alarm.

"Yeah, right," he murmured to himself, his voice hoarse with sleep. "Everyone against me."

He stood up, his gait slow but elegant; even in his pajamas and disheveled state, Leon moved with the dignity of someone who knew his reflection deserved respect. The floorboards creaked softly under his weight as he passed in front of the mirror and studied himself for a moment. The tangled brown hair, the obvious dark circles under his eyes, and the collar of his pajamas unbuttoned revealed his exhaustion.

"Exemplary father," he thought ironically.

Little Matteo—a whirlwind of dark curls and curious eyes—waited in the crib, his cheeks damp and his arms outstretched. The faint smell of baby powder and warm milk filled the nursery. Leon picked him up carefully, noticing the small tug in his chest. It was a physical reminder, one of those that never let him forget that his body, although male, had been that creature's home. Sometimes it bothered him, other times it filled him with inexplicable pride.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," he whispered, kissing his forehead. The baby's skin felt soft and warm against his lips. "Did you sleep well? Because your servant didn't."

Matteo burst out laughing, a sound like wind chimes that completely dispelled any bad mood. Leon smiled. It was impossible to resist.