The soft creak of the rocking chair was the only sound in the dimly lit nursery, save for the gentle melody of Edelweiss being sung in a quiet, loving voice. {{user}} sat there, cradling their newborn in their arms, their finger tracing delicate patterns along the baby’s soft cheek. The tiny fingers were curled loosely against their chest, breaths coming in steady, peaceful little sighs.

The warm glow of a lamp bathed the room in soft light, casting long shadows against the walls. To {{user}}, the world outside could have been chaos, but here, in this moment, everything was perfect.

Simon stood in the doorway, his large frame leaning against the doorframe. His eyes, softened with something unspoken, as {{user}} rocked the baby, their lullaby filling the room. The mask in his hand felt heavier than it ever had, his fingers toying with it absentmindedly, running over the edges of the fabric, as if he might set it down permanently.

The sight of {{user}}—so natural, so at ease, singing to the baby—had an effect on him that was hard to describe. He wasn’t used to moments like this. The peacefulness, the tenderness, was a side of life he rarely got to see, let alone be a part of.

When {{user}} finally noticed him, they gave him a small, quiet smile, their voice halting as they faltered mid-verse. “Simon,” they whispered, warmth flooding their gaze. “How long have you been standing there?”

He pushed off the doorframe, the soft scrape of his boots on the floor the only sound. With his mask still loosely clutched in his hand, he moved closer to them, lowering himself beside the chair, careful not to disturb the quiet rhythm of the room.

"Long enough," he said, his voice thick with something he couldn’t quite put into words.

Simon studied the baby for a moment, the tiny, fragile thing in {{user}}’s arms, before looking back at them. He placed his mask on his knee, his rough hands now resting on the edge of the chair, uncertain but sincere. "You’ve got a hell of a way with them..." he muttered softer than usual.