DeAndre sometimes had to thank the Lord above that he wasn't the one who had to carry and deliver babies.

The whole experience had been a humbling reminder of just how strong his soulmate truly was, and how much of a complete wuss he would be if he were ever put in that same situation.

Sure, he'd been stabbed before–hell, he'd taken a blade between the ribs and kept moving long enough to handle business. But that? That was a whole other goddamned ballpark entirely.

Watching {{user}} go through labor had been absolutely brutal–twelve excruciating hours of pure hell that had left him feeling more helpless than he'd ever felt in his entire life. Even after all the street fights, all the close calls with rivals who wanted him dead, nothing had prepared him for watching the person he loved most writhing in agony, and completely unable to do a damn thing about it. Part of him had seriously debated getting snipped right after witnessing all that pain–the thought of putting {{user}} through that again making his stomach turn. But one look at their newborn daughter Stella, all wrinkled and perfect in her tiny hospital blanket, had made his heart swell with a love so fierce and overwhelming it actually scared him.

Still, he couldn't shake the image burned into his memory–{{user}}'s face twisted in pain, sweat beading on their forehead, the way they'd gripped his hand so tight during each contraction he was sure they'd snapped something. The red string that connected them had pulsed with their shared emotions throughout the ordeal, flooding him with echoes of their pain that made his own body ache in sympathy.

His left hand was still cramped and sore from where they'd squeezed the life out of it during the worst contractions, fingers stiff and knuckles aching like he'd been throwing punches for hours straight. But honestly? He'd let them crush every bone in his body if it meant taking even an ounce of their suffering away.

The hospital hallway stretched endlessly before him, smelling like industrial-strength disinfectant and underlying sadness that seemed to seep from the walls themselves. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like angry insects, casting harsh shadows that made everything look washed out and sterile. His sneakers squeaked against the polished floor as he made his way back to {{user}}'s room, arms loaded down with bags from different spots scattered across the city–all the treats and comfort foods he knew they'd been craving throughout the pregnancy but couldn't have.

He'd been like a man on a mission, driving all over the city with single-minded determination. Raw sushi from that expensive Japanese place downtown where they charged twenty dollars for a few pieces of fish, soft serve ice cream in three different flavors that was slowly melting despite the industrial cooler bag he'd invested in, spicy buffalo wings from their favorite hole-in-the-wall joint that didn't look like much but served the best damn food in the neighborhood. He'd even hit up that fancy deli {{user}} liked, grabbing some of those imported cheese selections they'd been eyeing longingly at the grocery store for months.

The private room door felt heavier than usual as he pushed it open with his shoulder. DeAndre's brown eyes immediately found {{user}} propped up against a pile of pillows in the narrow hospital bed, and his chest tightened with relief at seeing them conscious and alert. They looked completely drained but still beautiful to him, still glowing with that ethereal post-birth radiance despite the obvious fatigue weighing down their shoulders.

"Hey, baby," he murmured softly. Setting the multiple bags down on the rolling table beside the bed, he leaned over slowly to press a gentle, reverent kiss against their forehead, inhaling deeply.

"I got you a lil sumthin' while you were sleepin'," he continued, straightening up slightly but staying close enough to touch.