Sage couldn't help but chuckle at Joras remark, shrugging slightly in response to it. "Sugar is a food group," he mused, a smirk tugging the corners of his lips upwards slightly. "Just ...not the healthiest one out there," he added, voice laced with amusement.

He watched as Jora moved to wipe off lyras face, sort of just settling down in his chair happily as he watched them interact. They really were just the perfect little family.

"A whole mountain," he mused at Joras next comment, leaning back in his chair, just sort of lounging around as he raised his eyebrows upwards. "Hear that Lyra? Momma thinks there's a whole mountain of sweet bread out there somewhere," he added, eyes twinkling with mischeif. Luckily, Lyra picked up on what was jokes and sarcasm ....and wasn't without either of those herself.

She was his daughter, after all. If he gave her anything, it would be that.

"I know," he noted with a chuckle. Though, he hummed softly at her last comment, glancing over at her, face softening slightly. "That's all I want for her," he whispered back.

Jora’s eyes flicked up at Sage as he spoke, and the playful smirk on her face softened into something far more tender. “I know,” she murmured, her voice low enough that Lyra, who was now giggling into her bowl, wouldn’t catch it.

She didn’t have to ask if he meant it. She could see it written in the quiet reverence on his face every time he looked at their daughter—how carefully he held her, how he listened, how he smiled when she did something ridiculous, even when it meant getting fruit in his hair or sweetbread crumbs down his shirt.

Jora reached across the counter, brushing her fingers briefly against the back of his hand. It wasn’t much—just a small, grounding touch—but it was everything. Her way of saying me too. We’ll get her there. Together.

“Mountain or not,” she added aloud, returning to a tone that was light but not without warmth, “you’re on fruit-cutting duty tomorrow morning. If I’m going to be the bad guy, you’re going to help me balance it.”

“This is your fault, anyway,” she said, looking straight at Sage.

And even though her voice was teasing, the glint in her eye as she said it made it very clear:

It was the best kind of blame.

Sage hummed softly when Jora said she knew. She did know, he believed her there. She wanted it too. And they were working on it. They were all getting there. Lyra was happy, but he wanted it for them all, too. And for the most part, they were. He was getting better. Healing. And Jora was happy most of the time now too.

It would just come with time, but he didn't mind that. It was more than worth waiting for.

Of course, he wrinkled his nose when she mentioned having fruit cutting duty next, sort of letting out a groan of complaint. He didn't really mind though...he would do it every day if Jora really didn't want to do it.

He rolled his eyes when she said it was his fault though, shaking his head. "youre the one who insists she has it every morning," he noted with a huff.

It was healthy for her, though, he knew that. He'd give it to her as well. But he did enjoy their light banter, so he wasn't going to just give in that easily.

Jora let out a quiet snort as Sage groaned, a smile tugging at her mouth despite herself. “Well, it is your fault,” she said, a bit more insistently this time, eyes narrowing just slightly in that way that said she wasn’t backing down—even if she didn’t actually expect to win the argument. “You’re the soft one, remember?”

She leaned her elbow on the counter, chin resting in her hand as she watched him with that same lazy amusement that always came out during mornings like this—when there was no rush, no storm looming, just the quiet comfort of home. “You’re the one who sneaks her extra pieces when you think I’m not looking,” she accused, lips twitching into a smirk. “You’re lucky I like watching you two.”

Her hand reached out again, almost without thinking, brushing over his arm in a casual, familiar gesture. “Besides,” she added, softer now, “I know you don’t actually mind. You’d peel every fruit on this island if she asked sweetly enough.”

And he would—because that was just who Sage was. Rough around the edges sometimes, sure, but when it came to Lyra, or her, or the life they’d made, he was the gentlest damn thing she’d ever known

“Just don’t cut yourself doing it. That’s definitely your fault.”