The apartment was dimly lit, the only sound filling the space was the soft, uneven breaths of the newborn nestled in your arms. You rocked gently, exhaustion clinging to your bones, but sleep was the last thing on your mind.

Across from you, he sat on the edge of the couch, hands clasped together, bouncing his knee anxiously. His curls were messier than usual, glasses sliding down his nose from rubbing his face too many times.

“I-I—Is h-he… s-s-still a-awake?” His voice was barely above a whisper, stutter heavier than usual.

You glanced down at the tiny bundle. “Almost,” you murmured.

He let out a shaky breath, nodding, but you could tell he was still overwhelmed.

“You can hold him, you know.”

His head shot up, eyes wide. “B-B-But—wh-what if I d-d-d—d-drop h-him?”

You smiled softly, scooting closer. “You won’t.”

He swallowed hard, hands hovering awkwardly until you gently placed the baby in his arms. He froze, barely breathing, looking down at his son like he was the most fragile thing in the world.

“I-I… H-He’s s-so s-s-small,” he whispered, awestruck.

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “Yeah… and he’s ours.”

His breath hitched, eyes shining. “…O-Ours.”