The Yakuza's flower

Little Hands

Hanayama's POV

I woke up early — around five.
Ume was still asleep beside me, her breathing soft and steady. I didn't want to wake her.

And I couldn't go back to sleep either.

So I got up and went to get some water.

On the way to the kitchen, I passed Prince's room. The maids were cleaning up his room and tending to him.

I stopped by the door, just watching.

They patted his back gently, talking to him in soft voices.

When Prince saw me, he reached out, little hands waving in the air.

The maids turned, startled.
"Oh! Hanayama. Sorry, were we being too loud?" one asked.

"No," I answered

She looked at me for a moment, then smiled nervously.
"He's such a good baby. Hardly ever fussy. Loves to talk already."

"Mm-ba... ba-ba," he said, reaching again, and they all laughed quietly.

I stepped into the room.

"Would you like to hold him, Hanayama?"

I nodded.

He was so small he practically fit in my hand.
The maids tensed immediately when they saw how I wanted to carry him — my own way.

"H-Hanayama, maybe I should—just in case you—"

"I won't drop him," I said. "I'll watch him until Ume wakes."

They hesitated, but I walked out with Prince in my arm.

He babbled up at me, eyes wide and curious.

He looked like her.

Same bright eyes. Same curly hair.

Just looking at him made me start thinking.
About the kid Ume told me she lost — our kid.

Quietly, I said, "I bet they would've looked like you."

I took him to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, then to the living room.

Sat on the floor with him.

He crawled, tried to stand, wobbled. I kept my hand close — ready to catch him if he fell, but I didn't help.

He had to find his balance.

He kept crawling back and forth across the rug, mumbling to himself. Every now and then, he'd look back at me, like he wanted to make sure I was still there.

I leaned back, just watching him.

Then he planted his little hands on the floor, pushed himself up onto his knees... and kept going.

He wobbled, legs shaking. I moved my hand out, ready.

But he didn't fall.

He stood there — small fists balled at his sides, jaw set like he was angry at gravity itself.

For a second, I forgot to breathe.

He took one unsteady step forward before dropping onto his knees with a soft thud.

Didn't even cry. Just looked at me and laughed.

"...Hn," I let out under my breath, something heavy and proud twisting in my chest.

I reached over and brushed his hair back.
"Good job, kid," I said, voice low.

He babbled something back, like he understood.