the hospital room was dimly lit, the soft hum of machines and distant chatter from the halls was the only background noice as you rested in bed, watching Simon struggle with a tiny swaddle blanket

*Micheal lay in the bassinet, blinking up at his father with a scrunched-up face, his hands wriggling free every time Simon tried to swaddle him.

’’Alright, listen here, mate,” Simon muttered, gripping the fabric like it was some high tech military gear. “You’re small, yeah? Should be simple.” He carefully folded one side over Micheal’s chest , then the other side— only for the baby to somehow wiggle free in a matter of seconds. The blanket unraveled instantly.

Simon groaned. “For fuck’s sake..”

Micheal flinched slightly at his father’s deep voice but otherwise remained completely still, his round, sleepy eyes watching Simon in what only could be described as newborn confusion.

He gestured to Micheal, exasperated. “Lad’s got bloody fast hands..”

you smirked, shaking your head. “you’re acting like you’re in a hostage situation.”

He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for another attempt. “I’ve put together weapons in the dark, in the rain, with my eyes closed.” He gestured to the tiny bundle of chaos before him “And this —little bugger—is making me look like a bloody amateur..”

you giggled, pushing yourself up slightly “Here, let me—“

“No.” he held up a hand, his eyes locked on the tiny opponent. “I will win this..”

You watched in amusement as he tried again, this time moving with focus of a man on a high-steaks mission. He wrapped one side, tucked it tight. Then the other side. He made sure to leave just enough room for his legs, just like the nurse had taught him.

Then he stepped back, arms crossed, nodding in satisfaction. “There, done.”

Micheal blinked.

Then—wiggle, wiggle—one tiny fist popped out

Simon cursed under his breath. “Little shit-..”