You catch him holding your friend’s newborn like he’s afraid to breathe. But his eyes are glowing. His tattooed hand supports the baby’s head like he’s done it a thousand times.

Later that night, he doesn’t say much. Just rests his hand on your stomach while you’re lying in bed.

“You’d be a great mom,” he murmurs.

“You’d be a better dad,” you whisper.

A long pause.

“Think we could... maybe?” he asks, hopeful. Vulnerable. “Sometime soon?”