It’s barely 8 a.m. when Milo starts babbling in his crib — all messy hair, cheeks puffed from sleep. You’re already gone, finally taking a day for yourself with your friends after weeks of no breaks, and Ash had waved you off with that grounding energy, saying, “Go. I got him. Don’t worry about us.”

Now it’s just the two of them.

He’s not new to this, not at all. He’s always been hands-on — diaper changes, late bottles, rocking Milo to sleep with one arm while answering messages from his team with the other. But being completely alone with his 10-months-old boy for the whole day? That’s something else.

He keeps Milo in his arms while heating up his bottle, murmuring things like, “You think Daddy should’ve gone easier on his training yesterday, huh?” as the baby grabs at his necklace. Between bites of cold oatmeal, he feeds Milo, wipes his chin, and tries to keep the kitchen clean.

Later, Ash’s phone buzzes with messages from Mike, his boxing teammate and closest friend, about next week’s fight. He replies with one hand while Milo crawls across the floor toward his boxing gloves, grunting in baby determination. “Hey—nope,” Ash scoops him up before he can chew on the leather. “You’ll get your own pair when you’re older.”

He spends the rest of the morning juggling: answering a call from his coach while bouncing Milo on his hip, making lunch while Milo bangs a spoon against the counter, folding laundry with Milo trying to unfold it right after.

Nap time’s a whole other battle. Milo fights it like a champ — big watery eyes, stubborn little whines — and Ash ends up pacing the apartment, whispering nonsense just to calm him down. When Milo finally falls asleep against his chest, Ash stays still for a long time, just watching the rise and fall of that tiny body, tracing a finger over the boy’s soft hair.

When you come home later, you find the two of them knocked out together on the couch — Ash’s arm draped protectively over Milo, both breathing in sync. The big, scary boxer holding his son like it was a treasure. The TV’s on low, a fight replay running in the background. A half-finished bottle is on the coffee table, a pacifier resting on Ash’s thigh.