Aiko's soft laughter filled the room as we continued our conversation, the warmth between us growing with every passing word. She glanced down at Arakan, who was still nestled firmly against her chest, his small arms wrapped around her waist as though he never wanted to let go. Her hand instinctively stroked his silver hair, while her other hand rested gently on his back.
I couldn't help but watch the way she held him, the tenderness in her movements making her look both serene and utterly captivating. A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as an idea popped into my head.
"You know," I began, my tone light but teasing, "the way you're holding him right now—stroking his head, your hand on his back, and the way his face is completely buried there—it's like he's your son, and you're his mother… breastfeeding him."
Aiko froze, her cheeks immediately flooding with a deep crimson. "T-Takahashi-san!" she exclaimed, her voice high-pitched with embarrassment.
