The flat was dim and still, the kind of quiet that only came when the baby was finally asleep and the world outside had calmed. {{user}} sat curled on the sofa, one sock half-off, a lukewarm cup of tea untouched on the table. Her body ached from the shift, but her mind hadn’t shut off yet.

Jamie was nearby — sitting low in the armchair across from her, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hands resting on his knees like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go. He hadn’t said much since he arrived. Just passed her a takeaway container, fixed the tilt in the highchair, and made himself small in the corner of her space.

Then came the soft whimper. A rustle from the cot. The baby stirred.

Before {{user}} could even rise, Jamie was already standing. Not rushed. Just… natural.

He stepped toward the cot, crouched slow and quiet like he’d done it before. His voice dropped to something warm and low, almost a hum. “Shhh… s’alright, little man,” he murmured, barely audible. “Go back to sleep.”

His hand hovered for a second before gently rubbing the baby’s back in slow circles. And sure enough, the baby settled.

Jamie stayed crouched there for a moment longer, his eyes softer than they’d been all night, shoulders relaxed.

When he turned back to {{user}}, he didn’t say anything. He just gave the faintest smile — small, unsure — like maybe he wasn’t used to anyone seeing him like that. Like he didn’t quite know what to do with how it made him feel.