Anthologies {MIKHAIAH AU}

please please please pt 4 {domestic drabbles}

A/N: A collection of domestic drabbles from the 'Please, please, please" universe.

The apartment was quiet—too quiet.

Mikha stood in the middle of the living room, bleary-eyed and holding an empty bottle of milk in one hand and Lia's pacifier in the other. Her bright red hair was a mess, tied in what could only be described as a "functional disaster" bun, and the dark circles under her eyes spoke volumes about the past month.

She glanced toward the bedroom door, where Aiah was supposed to be napping, though Mikha wasn't entirely sure she had made it to the bed. The last time she checked, Aiah was half-asleep on the couch, Lia cradled in her arms, swaying softly to a non-existent rhythm while mumbling, "Shh, baby, shh."

And Mikha? Well, Mikha had learned two things in the past month:
    1.    Babies don't care if you're tired.
    2.    Sleep is a myth.

The sudden wail from the nursery snapped her out of her daze, and Mikha sighed, tossing the pacifier onto the table and running a hand down her face. She set the bottle aside and headed toward the sound, her footsteps slow and reluctant.

When she pushed open the nursery door, she found Lia thrashing her tiny fists in the air, her face red and scrunched with displeasure.

"Okay, okay," Mikha muttered, scooping her up carefully. "I hear you, I hear you. You're the boss. Don't rub it in."

Lia's cries didn't immediately subside, and Mikha rocked her gently, bouncing on her heels the way Aiah had taught her. "Come on, Lia," Mikha pleaded softly. "Give your moms a break, huh? One nap. Just one."
/
By the time Mikha emerged from the nursery, Lia nestled against her shoulder, Aiah had made it to the kitchen. Well, barely. She was standing by the counter, staring blankly at a bag of bread like she couldn't remember what it was for.

"Hey," Mikha said, her voice quiet to avoid waking Lia.

Aiah turned slowly, her long dark hair hanging loose over her shoulders. Her face lit up when she saw Lia, though the exhaustion in her eyes was unmistakable. "She finally calmed down?"

"For now," Mikha replied, carefully transferring Lia into her bassinet by the couch. She turned back to Aiah, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter. "What are you doing?"

Aiah blinked down at the bread, frowning. "I was... making a sandwich, I think. But now I'm not sure."

Mikha snorted softly, reaching over to brush a strand of hair from Aiah's face. "You need to sleep."

"I did sleep," Aiah protested weakly.

"No," Mikha said, raising an eyebrow. "You blinked for five minutes while humming a lullaby. That doesn't count."

Aiah smiled faintly, leaning into Mikha's touch. "You're tired too."

"Yeah, but I don't have to breastfeed every two hours," Mikha replied, her voice softening. She pressed a kiss to Aiah's forehead, lingering for a moment. "Go back to bed, love. I've got her."

Aiah hesitated, her brow furrowing. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Mikha said firmly, giving her a gentle nudge toward the bedroom. "Go. I'll even make your sandwich."

Aiah finally relented, pressing a quick kiss to Mikha's cheek before heading toward the bedroom. "You're the best," she murmured, her voice fading as she disappeared down the hall.
/
It didn't take long for Lia to wake up again.

Mikha was halfway through the sandwich she'd made for herself when the familiar cry rang out from the bassinet. She froze mid-bite, glancing toward the living room like a deer caught in headlights.