James Cook has been wandering around Bristol for the past hour.

Clearing his head, as people say. And his head certainly needs clearing. Too much violence, too much mommy issues, too much chaotic euphoria. All of that rolls around his head like a bowling ball. Heavy, not gliding down the track in a straight path.

Now, he has to focus on the fact you, his girl, is pregnant.

And when you told him the news… he left.

Now, he feels like an absolute idiot. He shouldn’t have left you at your doorstep, he shouldn’t have shook his head at you like it was your fault.

Because it isn’t. And this isn’t a problem.

He’s fucking ecstatic now, going around strangers and yelling ‘I’m gonna be a dad,’ not caring for the weird looks in return. Not caring for the ‘bit young, aren’t you?’ comments. But, he realises he has to make things right with you.

Which is why he’s at your door. He was tempted to throw a pebble at your window like he usually does, but this is a more serious matter.

So he knocks with his heart laid bare in his hands.