The house was unusually still, the kind of quiet that never seemed to last long in the Curtis household. Darry sat in the recliner, broad shoulders curved slightly inward, {{user}} resting small and warm against his chest. The baby’s cheek was pressed to the fabric of his T-shirt, their tiny breaths rising and falling in steady rhythm. One little hand clutched at the collar, as if to make sure he wouldn’t slip away.

Darry didn’t move much, just the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He let one hand rest across the baby’s back, steady and protective, fingers splayed to cover nearly the whole span. It wasn’t often he could sit still like this, and he felt every ounce of the weight—light as {{user}} was—settle into him, grounding him more than it burdened.

On the couch, Soda sprawled sideways, propping his head up on his arm to watch the news. He grinned at the sight. “Would you look at that. Big bad Darry Curtis, all mush.”

Pony, tucked into the corner with a book, didn’t look up but smirked faintly. “I think it suits him.”

Two-Bit, flipping idly through a comic on the floor, snorted. “Suits him? Kid looks like a dad in a furniture ad.”

Steve, leaning against the wall with his usual scowl softened slightly, tossed a bottle cap across the room.“I’d probably drop the poor thing.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Darry said quietly, his voice carrying that familiar weight of warning. But when {{user}} stirred a little at the rumble of his chest, he softened, patting their back in a slow, soothing rhythm until the baby sighed and settled again.

Johnny, sitting cross-legged on the floor nearby, reached out a tentative hand, brushing it gently over {{user}}’s tiny fingers. “Hey there,” he murmured softly, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re in good hands.” He smiled faintly at Darry, nodding in quiet approval, and settled back, content just to watch the TV.

Soda watched the way Darry’s whole expression shifted with that small movement—how his jaw unclenched, how his hand moved without thought, how every ounce of his focus was on the baby sleeping against him. It was rare to see Darry let his guard down, even rarer to see him still, but there was no mistaking the peace in the room.

Pony finally glanced up from his book, his voice quiet. “Y’know, {{user}}’s never calmer than when she’s with you.”

“Yeah,” Soda added, grinning, but not so loud this time. “Guess you’re good for somethin’ after all.”

Two-Bit nudged Pony with his foot. “Better watch out, though. You’re making Darry look soft. Might get used to it.”

Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Soft, huh? Guess that’s okay. Just don’t let anyone else see him like this.”

Dally, who had been leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, let out a low whistle, smirking. “Darry Curtis, baby whisperer. Who’da thought?” He shook his head but stayed, watching quietly—an unspoken acknowledgment of the rare, tender moment.

Johnny gave Dally a small, amused glance. “Don’t let him scare the kid,” he said softly, almost laughing under his breath.

Darry glanced up at all of them, a small, wry grin tugging at his mouth. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Just… don’t scare the kid.”

The room shifted, settling into a comfortable hum of chatter. Soda leaned forward, bouncing slightly on the couch. “Hey, remember that time we tried to sneak into that drive-in and Darry almost got us caught?”

Two-Bit snorted. “Yeah, he nearly gave himself away every time he pretended to be calm.”

Pony chuckled. “Dally pushed us over the fence like it was nothing.”

Dally smirked. “I told you, boys gotta learn sometime. Better out here than in the slammer.”