The apartment was dim, lit only by the pale morning light bleeding through the curtains. Dust floated in the stillness. The baby, small and bundled in a secondhand blanket, rested in the crook of Llewynβs arm, wide eyes blinking up at him.
You werenβt there.
Gone for a few daysβfamily, work, something important. He hadnβt asked for details. He just nodded and said, βYeah, Iβll be fine.β Like always.
But now, holding this impossibly tiny human that looked a little like you, a little like himβ¦ he didnβt feel fine at all.
He sat on the edge of the bed, guitar resting beside him, one hand gently rocking the babyβs body. He swallowed thickly, eyes never leaving their face.
βYouβre gonna hate my singing,β he muttered with a sad smirk. βJust like everyone else, huh?β
The baby yawned.
And he laughedβquiet, breathy. Then picked up the guitar.
Soft chords spilled into the room. A lullaby, half-improvised, his voice rough around the edges but laced with something heartbreakingly gentle.
βWell I had a girl, she was sweet and low Now sheβs gone for a little while, yβknow But you, little thing, you look just like her smile So Iβll sing to you for a little whileβ¦β
His voice trembled on the last word. The baby made a sleepy noise and curled in closer, a tiny fist grabbing his shirt.
Llewyn blinked fast, leaning down to press his forehead to theirs.
βSheβll be back soon. She always comes back.β
He wasnβt sure if he was saying it for the babyβ¦
β¦or for himself.