intrepidity

Nineteen years ago - 

The world had felt softer then.

The nursery smelled of baby powder and warm cotton. Sunlight spilled through the curtains in hazy golden stripes, dust motes dancing in the air like something out of a dream. The house was quiet—unusually so—save for the occasional squeak of the rocking chair and the soft murmurs of their father.

He sat in that chair now, gentle and tired, with the newest Valenti in his arms.

"Marcus," he whispered, cradling the newborn with the ease of a man who had done this before. "You're going to be trouble, aren't you sweetheart?" But he said it like a secret, like a promise, eyes full of nothing but adoration.

Outside the room, four little heads peeked around the corner.

Aiden stood tall—well, as tall as a ten-year-old could—trying to look calm and collected, but his fingers were twisting the hem of his sleeve. Elias clung to the back of his shirt, practically bouncing in place.

"Can we go in yet?" Elias whispered. "I wanna see him..."

"I made him something!" Alec, just six, chirped, holding up a wrinkled piece of paper with a colorful crayon drawing. It featured all the brothers—Aiden, Elias, Alec, Roman—and one tiny, smiley baby in the middle, circled in glitter glue.

Behind them, little Roman, barely one year old, sat on the floor sucking on his fingers and blinking sleepy eyes, too young to understand but still caught up in the excitement of his brothers' energy.

Their father must've heard them whispering, because he suddenly called out, "What are you four doing? Plotting out there?" He chuckled warmly. "Come on, kiddos. Come meet your baby brother."

They rushed in like a wave.

Elias got there first, scrambling onto the arm of the rocking chair and nearly knocking his father off balance. "Is that him?" he asked breathlessly, staring at the tiny, wriggling baby in his papa's arms.

"This is Marcus," their father said with a soft smile. "He came out red and loud—just like all of you rascals did."

Aiden stepped closer, quieter than the rest. "Can I... hold him, Papa?" he asked carefully.

"Not yet, my little general," his father teased, reaching out to ruffle Aiden's hair. "But soon. For now, sit with me." He opened his arm and Aiden immediately climbed onto one knee, snuggling into the crook of his father's side. He tried to keep his serious face on, like always, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward the moment he felt the warmth of his papa's embrace.

Alec climbed up next, shoving the crayon drawing into their father's chest. "I made this for Marcus. He's the little king!"

Their father took it with a dramatic gasp. "A masterpiece, my love. He will treasure it forever." Then he leaned down to kiss the top of Alec's head. "Thank you, sweetheart."

Elias, who had somehow ended up practically in his father's lap, was reaching for Marcus's tiny hand. "He's so small," he whispered, awe in every syllable.

"That's why you all have to be gentle with him, bambino," their father said. "Gentle, and strong, and kind. You're his big brothers now."

"I'm gonna teach him how to run fast," Elias declared proudly. "And climb trees."

"I'll keep him safe, Papa, just like you." Aiden said softly, more to himself than anyone else.

Their father kissed his temple. "I know you will."