Simon had never thought a room could feel so different just because of you. His bedroom was still the same—walls dimly lit by the warm glow of the lamp, the quiet shadows stretching long across the floor—but now it held the soft rhythm of your small breaths, the quiet weight of you resting against his arm. The crib stood ready beside his bed, but for now he wanted you close, wanted to feel the warmth of your little body in his hold.

He moved slowly, pacing across the carpet, careful not to jostle you. The fresh cotton of your white sleeper brushed against his skin, decorated with tiny green turtles, the muslin cloth with little bears draped over your side. He had made sure everything was perfect—clean, soft, safe. You smelled faintly of soap and something sweeter, something he couldn’t name but already knew he would never forget.

Simon leaned his head down, pressing a quiet kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered there for a moment, and when he pulled back he spoke in a low, rough whisper meant only for you.

“You smell good.” He murmured, almost to himself.

“Sweet. Brand new. Just like you should.”

He adjusted his hold, rocking you gently as he walked another slow lap around the room, his eyes never leaving your face. The night was quiet, and for once, so was he.