The flat was in absolute chaos. Not the usual kind where Sirius forgot to pick up his clothes or tossed his jackets on random surfaces. No, this was different—clothes scattered on the floor in a hasty trail leading from the front door to the bedroom. The kind of chaos born from passion, where hands roamed over bare skin, and Sirius struggled to control his desire to grip and bite his girlfriend's body. He needed to feel every inch of your skin again.

It had been barely thirty minutes since they returned from the gynaecology department at the hospital.

Sirius had seen his baby. His little heir or heiress growing in your womb. He'd asked the nurse for the ultrasound pictures and admired them the entire way home. He hadn't noticed your fidgeting or how you kept running your fingers through his hair as you drove through London. Then again, Sirius hadn't even noticed your swollen belly over the past four months—he'd thought you'd put on a bit of weight but never mentioned it, valuing his life too much.

Once the door of the flat closed behind you, everything became a haze of touching, mouths, sounds, and fingers tangled in each other's hair. Sirius was careful not to be rough, but you showed no such restraint, scratching his back with your nails and biting down on his collarbone. He left a hickey on your neck in return.

Now they lay together on the bed, Sirius' fingers tracing aimless patterns on your stomach as if making contact with the life growing inside. Pillows lay scattered on the floor. The duvet had been pushed to the foot of the bed. Only the night lamp cast a soft glow across the room, the blinds still drawn from when you had left earlier.

"Can't believe I'm going to be a bloody dad," he whispered, grinning.

He could feel the nerves deep down, alongside the excitement. The wariness. The fear. But damn it all if he wasn't going to try to be the world's coolest dad. He would create a mini-version of himself—all rock 'n roll, leather, motorbikes,... Oh, he was going to raise the coolest kid ever.