The room was quiet, wrapped in the soft hush of afternoon. Sunlight filtered through the curtains in slanted lines, catching on the dust motes that drifted lazily through the air. Simon sat on the floor now, his back resting against the couch, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His mask and gloves lay forgotten on the coffee table — for once, his face was bare, shadowed with tired eyes and the hint of a smile.

You had been asleep against his chest not long ago, curled up like something impossibly small and peaceful. But now, you were wide awake — and busy.

He watched as you crawled slowly across the rug, one hand pressed down, then the other, your knees wobbling just a little with each movement. You paused every few seconds to look at something — a wooden block, a crinkled book, the edge of the rug — touching, prodding, testing. Your tiny fingers curled around a rattle, gave it a curious shake. Not loud. Just enough to hear it. Then it was set aside. Something else had caught your eye.

“Easy, honey.” Simon said, his voice low and warm, the kind of sound that wrapped around a room without pressing too hard.

“You’re on a mission, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer — of course you didn’t — just kept crawling, slow and quiet, your brows furrowed with the kind of serious focus only a baby could have. Simon watched, his expression unreadable for a moment, then softened.

He ran a hand through his hair, watching you reach for a teething ring lying on its side. You turned it over in your hands like you were trying to figure out where it had been, or what it might do next.

“Everything’s new to you.” He murmured, more to himself than to you.

“World’s a lot safer like this.”

He didn’t move to stop you. Just stayed there, watching you discover everything for the first time — safe, slow, and entirely your own pace.