He knew his recklessness would catch up to him someday, though he didn’t know in what form. Maybe he’d be kicked out of college. Maybe one of his old girlfriends he’d done wrong would get him back somehow—he could’ve handled all of those. Every other form of karma struck upon his soul, he could’ve handled. But this—this is entirely new territory. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to do now, not as he sits on your bed in your dorm, holding the two month old son the two of you share.

He holds his hand out to the little boy, staring at him with a blank expression as the baby babbles and plays with his fingers. The boy looks just like him. He can’t decide if he’s bitter about it. He knows this whole thing is his fault. He should’ve been smarter, should’ve used protection—he shouldn’t have come over that night, all those weeks after the two of you had broken up. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be holding his son. He’d probably be blackout drunk at a party somewhere, a different girl on his arm.

He isn’t built for fatherhood. He’s not a family man. He’d considered taking off and leaving a couple times—but what kind of man would he be if he just left you? No. He’s made his bed, and now he has to lie in it. That doesn’t mean he isn’t having some problems bonding with his son, though. “Babe,” He calls to you from the bedroom, looking up at you as you enter. You look exhausted, as new parents often do.

He feels guilty every time he sees you. You have dreams and ambitions, you wanted to finish college and have a career. A chance at life. He’s already decided that if it comes to it, he’ll be the one to drop out. Get a job. Support his family—the family he made. “Little man needs a bottle.” He mumbles, moving his finger away from the baby’s mouth as the boy attempts to bite him.