“How do you feel now?” Kento asked for the 5th time. He sat in a chair next to your bed, his hand squeezing yours and his eyes trained solely on your face. “Any changes?”

As you shook your head and simply complained about the contractions again, your husband nodded and took a deep breath, in and out slowly. He was, without a doubt, scared — which was funny, because he could cleave a curse in two without batting an eye, but turned into a nervous mess watching his wife so close to giving birth to their twins.

Kento found it surreal. He had never imagined himself settling down, the images of a spouse and glorified wedding and a swaddled baby in his arms distant and non-attainable. But here he was, retired and happy and about to become a father.

The two of you were waiting on the doctor to set you up with anesthesia and to walk you through the process. In the meantime, you two just talked quietly. Kento offered a slightly calloused, warm hand for you to hold when the contractions hit, kissing your forehead occasionally.

“They’re almost here,” he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Twins. Can you believe that?”