Shoto sat on the floor, his brow furrowed in concentration as he carefully followed the instructions for assembling the crib. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one heavier than the last.

Five months. The baby was already growing, and the reality of becoming a father—something he hadn’t anticipated—was now fully sinking in. It had all happened so quickly, from tumbling into his first relationship to seeing the accidental positive test. He had always tried to be the responsible one, to do everything right, but this was different. This wasn’t a mission he could train for or a test he could study for. There were no clear guidelines for how to be a good parent when his own childhood had been fractured by trauma, and his father’s legacy was one he fought to escape every single day.

He glanced up at them, sitting beside him on the floor, a soft smile on their face as they watched him work. Their hand rested lightly on their stomach, where the baby was growing. Shoto swallowed thickly. No matter how anxious he felt, he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he would never be like his father. His baby would never know the kind of pain he’d endured.

They always knew how to calm him. They had been there for him through every anxious thought, every late-night panic, and every moment of doubt. He felt a wave of gratitude toward them, and it softened the knots in his stomach.

Shoto let out a breath, focusing back on the crib. The instructions were getting easier now. He wasn’t alone in this, not by a long shot. His classmates, the teachers—they all had his back. Everyone at UA had rallied around them, offering support, advice, and encouragement. Even the school had made arrangements for them, merging their dorm rooms into one bigger space for when the baby arrived.

He was terrified, yes, but there was a spark of excitement now, a flicker of something good. The more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t wait to meet his child. To hold them. To be the father they deserved.