Byakuya is a quiet baby, his gaze steady and unblinking, as if he already understands more than the world expects from someone so young.
Even at this age, there's a strange stillness to him, an almost unnerving calm that doesn't fit with the usual chaos of infancy. His hair is soft and dark, not yet fully grown, but there's a flicker of something in his dark eyes that reminds Fugaku of the quiet intensity he once saw in his own reflection when he was younger.
Fugaku watches Byakuya carefully, noting the small ways his son seems to be different. Unlike most babies, Byakuya doesn't cry much. When he does, it's brief and sharp, as if he's simply trying to get his point across, rather than throwing a tantrum. There's a quiet understanding in his gaze, as though he knows the world around him already.
Mikoto says he's just a calm baby, that he's nothing out of the ordinary. But Fugaku isn't convinced. His son seems to look beyond the present, as though he can already sense things in the air. Fugaku will sometimes catch Byakuya staring at something just past his shoulder, his little hands reaching out as if to touch it, but when he turns, there's nothing there.
"Am I imagining things, Mikoto?" Fugaku asks, his voice low, almost as if speaking the thought out loud will make it true.
Mikoto, nursing a tired but affectionate smile, shrugs from across the room. "He's just calm. Maybe a little too calm for his own good, but I think that's a good thing."
Fugaku watches as Byakuya's small hand moves in the air again, his eyes following the invisible path. There's a quiet intensity there, a certain level of awareness that doesn't sit easily with the ordinary newborn gaze. Fugaku's brow furrows.
"Byakuya," he murmurs, kneeling beside the child, and gently wiggling his fingers in front of the baby's face. "You've got a quiet strength in you. You know that?"
The baby's hand instinctively curls around his finger, almost like a confirmation, as if proving the point Fugaku just made. Fugaku smiles faintly, brushing back his son's soft hair, the touch gentle, thoughtful. Byakuya looks at him with eyes that seem older than his age, steady, not a trace of uncertainty in them. His gaze is unwavering.
Fugaku's smile softens. There's something grounding in this moment, a silent connection. He feels an inexplicable pull towards his son. Byakuya isn't just a baby, not just his second-born—there's something more beneath the surface. A presence. A feeling.
"Looks like you're going to be quiet like me," Fugaku murmurs with a chuckle. "But that's alright. You won't have to speak much if you carry yourself well."
A small noise escapes Byakuya, a faint coo that sounds almost like a soft acknowledgment, before his little hand relaxes and reaches for Fugaku's sleeve instead. It's as if the baby is not just looking for comfort but trying to offer it in return, in his own small way. There's an odd sense of calmness between them.
Fugaku watches for a few moments before he speaks again. "You'll be your own man. You don't have to be anyone else. Just... you."
From the doorway, Itachi watches them both. His expression is unreadable, distant, but there's a quiet understanding behind his gaze. As much as Itachi wants to distance himself from being the center of attention, he knows, in some way, that his younger brother will always be tied to him. Itachi doesn't feel the same connection to Byakuya that Fugaku does, not yet, but the way his brother gazes at him—the way his younger brother watches him—tells Itachi that he is already leaving an imprint on him, whether he realizes it or not. There is something in the way Byakuya looks at him, something more than simple curiosity.
"Is this how it feels, then?" Itachi muses quietly to himself, as though questioning his own role in the family.
Fugaku notices Itachi in the doorway but doesn't speak right away. He simply looks back at Byakuya, as if waiting for something—a sign, a shift in the child's expression, some subtle cue that will tell him what kind of man his son will grow to be.
"You know," Fugaku says to the child, his voice soft and gentle, "You don't have to try so hard to look grown-up. You'll be your own person, little one. There's no need to rush."
Byakuya blinks slowly, and Fugaku notices his eyes shifting from Fugaku's face to something just past his shoulder, distant, as if the baby is processing the words, trying to understand them. Even in silence, Byakuya listens. The connection between them is more than just physical—it's something deeper, something that Fugaku can't yet name.
The room is filled with silence for a moment, and then Itachi steps into the room quietly. His eyes flick to Fugaku, and then land on Byakuya. He doesn't say anything, but he watches the younger Uchiha with an odd curiosity. He's been away training for so long that he isn't sure what it's like to be a brother to someone so young, but the way Byakuya looks at him—like he's already trying to figure out his place in the family—makes something shift in Itachi's heart.
Fugaku notices Itachi's gaze. "You're not going to scare him, you know," Fugaku says, his voice light. "He's just a baby."
Itachi tilts his head, the faintest hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "I'm not worried. But you seem to be."
Fugaku chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's hard not to worry."
Byakuya, sensing the subtle shift in the room, suddenly reaches out his little hand, stretching it towards Itachi. Itachi stands still for a moment, his gaze softening just the tiniest bit as he watches Byakuya's small fingers stretch out to him. Without saying a word, Itachi allows his younger brother's tiny fingers to curl around his own, holding the child's hand for a brief moment.
The moment is fleeting, but in that instant, Fugaku sees something rare. Itachi, usually so reserved, seems to soften around Byakuya, as if the small connection is something that he's allowed to claim, just for a moment. There's a bond there that Fugaku recognizes, and though it is subtle, it's unmistakable.
Itachi's gaze softens, just for a second, as Byakuya clasps his finger, and he looks up at Fugaku, the unspoken understanding between them clear. "You're not the only one who can handle him."
Fugaku chuckles and shakes his head, a soft, genuine smile on his lips. "I'm not so sure. But I'm glad you're both here."
The door creaks open, and Mikoto enters the room just as Fugaku is about to stand. Her smile is soft as she looks at the scene before her: Byakuya, still holding Itachi's finger, gazing up at his older brother with a quiet intensity. It's like the baby understands the weight of his brother's presence, even if he doesn't fully grasp what it means yet.
Mikoto leans against the doorframe, watching with a smile that's half-amused, half-affectionate. "He's already forming his alliances, huh?"
Fugaku snorts softly, still amused. "Maybe. But I think he's more interested in watching us."
Mikoto crosses her arms, her eyes softening as she watches her two sons. "I'm sure he is. He'll learn in his own time, just like Itachi did."
Fugaku looks at her, his gaze lingering on the sight of his sons and wife. He feels a rare moment of peace, a quiet confidence that maybe, just maybe, things will be alright. Byakuya, still so young, still so innocent, is already leaving his mark on their family in ways Fugaku doesn't yet fully understand. But there's a feeling, deep inside him, that this is just the beginning.
The air shifts as Fugaku rises to his feet, casting a glance between Mikoto and Itachi. He looks at Byakuya, his small form still in Itachi's grasp, yet the air between them is suddenly thick, as if the weight of something greater than their family ties is settling on them all. Byakuya's eyes meet Fugaku's, steady and unwavering, as though he has already seen the path before him.
"We all have our roles to play," Fugaku says, his voice low but firm. "But you, Byakuya... you're different. You'll be a force to be reckoned with."
Mikoto's eyes soften as she watches her husband. But there's a knowing smile on her face, as if she, too, senses the same truth that Fugaku has realized. Byakuya may be small, just a child, but in that quiet gaze, there's a weight. There's a future unfolding before them—one shaped by the choices, the alliances, and the unspoken bonds that will come to define him.
For a moment, everything is still. And in the silence, Fugaku knows, deep down, that this child will leave his mark on the world. Byakuya's lips curl into the faintest of smiles, a quiet promise of what is to come.