Dorm 12C smelled like baby wipes, leftover curry, and the faint sting of deodorant spray trying to cover up rugby gear. The windows were cracked just enough to let in the cool Ballylaggin breeze, and the baby swing in the corner made its mechanical hum as {{user}} kicked her feet inside it, gurgling to herself like she was holding a secret.

Johnny leaned over the kitchenette, hair damp from a rushed shower, buttering toast with one hand while holding a bottle in the other. His gaze flicked back every few seconds toward the baby. She was quiet. That was suspicious.

“She’s plotting,” he muttered, glancing at Gibsie sprawled across the beanbag with a bag of crisps balanced on his chest.

“She’s a baby,” Gibsie replied without looking. “She’s plotting how to steal your heart and make you her servant. Which, by the way, is already complete.”

Johnny laughed under his breath and turned just in time to see {{user}} pull herself upright using the leg of the coffee table. She was wobbly, legs shaking slightly, hands clutching the wood like it might vanish.

“Oi, Gibs,” Johnny said, stilling. “She’s up.”

Gibsie lifted his head. “On purpose?”

“I think so.”

They both stared. The room went silent except for the buzz of the fridge and the faint creak of {{user}} shifting her tiny weight forward. She looked between them—Johnny on one side, Gibsie on the other—like she was sizing up her options.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Johnny said softly, kneeling and holding out his hands. “C’mon, just one.”

Her fingers let go.

One step. Then another. Her balance tilted, arms flailed for a second, but her eyes never left Johnny’s face.

“Gibsie—”

“I’m seeing it!” Gibsie shouted. “Oh my God, she’s walking! She’s actually—”

A third step landed her straight into Johnny’s chest. He caught her with a gasp, his heart thudding as her tiny fingers clutched his t-shirt and she gave a victorious little grunt.

He blinked hard. “You walked,” he whispered. “You actually walked.”

“She’s a genius,” Gibsie said, jumping up. “Wait—hold on, we need video. We need witnesses. We need the Prime Minister on the phone. This is a national event.”

But {{user}} had already settled into Johnny’s lap, thumb in her mouth, thoroughly pleased with herself and uninterested in repeating the feat.

Johnny kissed the top of her head, trying and failing to swallow the lump in his throat. He didn’t even notice he was crying until she blinked up at him, confused.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, chuckling hoarsely. “You’re allowed to have your moment. I’m allowed to have mine.”

The door clicked open.

Shannon stepped inside with two shopping bags and flushed cheeks. “I’m back—sorry, there was a queue the size of Croke Park—why are you both crying?”

Johnny turned, {{user}} in his arms, eyes shining. “Babe… she walked.”