The words hung between us.I didn’t qualify it.Just let it exist, complete and certain, in the space between one breath and the next.
Nitro didn’t pause.He turned his head so his mouth was close to my hair, his breath warm against my temple, and said it straight back: “I love you, too.”
No hesitation.No qualification.No performance of the emotion men were supposed to feel in moments like this.Just the flat, certain truth of it, delivered in the quiet, no-nonsense tone he used for things he cared about.
My throat felt tight, my eyes suddenly wet, but I didn’t cry.Just sat there with my weight against his side and his hand at the small of my back.
Nitro traced a slow arc against my lower back with his thumb before going still again.I felt his breathing change -- not faster or slower, exactly, but deeper, as if his lungs had expanded to make room for what had just been said.His free hand found mine where it rested against my belly, fingers lacing through mine with attention, his palm warm against my skin.
We’d been moving toward this for weeks -- maybe since the moment I’d walked through the gate with nothing but a half-packed bag and a body that was changing by the day -- but knowing that didn’t make the moment any less staggering.
The twins shifted beneath our joined hands One of them pressed a foot or an elbow against the place where Nitro’s palm rested, and I felt his breath catch, his fingers flex slightly against mine.
“I’ve been thinking about names,” he said, his voice carrying none of the edge it had held in the early days.Just a statement of fact, delivered with the same matter-of-fact tone he used for everything.
I nodded, my cheek brushing against the stubble along his jaw.“Me too.”
He reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out his phone with careful movements, his gaze never leaving mine.“I made a list,” he said.“Just… things I’ve been thinking about.For them.”
He opened an app on his phone -- not the notes section or the messaging platform, but something I didn’t recognize, a simple list with two columns and dozens of entries.Names.Dozens of them, categorized by gender, some crossed out, others highlighted, a few with question marks beside them.Not just a casual thought or a passing consideration, but the map of a future he’d been building in his head since the moment he’d realized what was happening.
I looked at the screen, then at his face -- at the angle of his jaw, at the way he tracked me when I moved.
“We don’t have to decide now,” he said, his thumb making another slow pass across my knuckles.“Just… wanted you to know I’ve been thinking about it.”
I reached for the phone with careful hands, scrolling through the list with deliberate attention.Some of the names were familiar -- traditional choices, family names.Others were unexpected -- unusual but not strange, strong but not trying too hard, exactly what I would have picked if I’d been brave enough to want it out loud.
“I like this one,” I said, pointing to an entry about halfway down the list.“For her.”
Nitro’s breath caught.His gaze moved from the screen to my face and back again, his expression giving away nothing.
“Me too,” he said, his voice lower than I’d ever heard it.“That’s the one I keep coming back to.”
We lingered in the half-dark, his body solid beside mine, letting the moment settle around us without trying to define it.
* * *
The television had gone dark -- not turned off, exactly, but the documentary had ended and neither of us had reached for the remote to start something new.The lamp on the side table was the only light left in the room, throwing long shadows across the hardwood and up the opposite wall.
The words we’d exchanged still hung between us -- not awkward or demanding or any of the things declarations were supposed to be, but present in a way that made the air feel suddenly thinner.I love you.I love you, too.Simple.Direct.
Nitro shifted beside me -- carefully, mindful of his left side, one hand braced against the couch cushion as he repositioned.The bullet wound was healing -- the doctor had cleared him for normal activity last week, with restrictions -- but he still moved with the care of someone learning to accommodate a body that had been fundamentally changed.He faced me slightly.
Neither of us spoke.Didn’t need to.The quiet between us had developed its own particular quality.
Nitro reached out with careful hands and rested his palm against my full, round belly.The touch was neither possessive nor demanding -- just a man making absolutely certain I knew exactly where he was.His fingers spread wide across the stretch of cotton covering our children, his palm warm through the fabric, his breathing even and unhurried beside me.
For one suspended moment, nothing happened -- the twins still, the room quiet.Then one of them rolled beneath his palm -- a distinct, slow movement that traveled from one side to the other, the outline of a spine or shoulder pressing against the place where his hand rested.
His jaw tightened, then released, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble along his cheek.His attention stayed on his hand, on the point where life was happening beneath his palm.
Before either of us could speak, the second baby -- the boy -- kicked, a sharper movement that made my breath catch and Nitro’s fingers flex slightly against my skin.
Nitro’s hand stayed where it was -- palm flat against my belly, fingers spread wide, the map of calluses and scars telling a story I was still learning to read.His gaze moved from his hand to my face and back again, his expression giving away nothing.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and certain, the same register he used when he had made a decision and meant every word of it.“I’m going to give them the best life I know how to build,” he said, each word landing between us, ringing with truth.“You and the babies both.Not a perfect life.Not a life without risk or complication.”He paused.“But everything I have, every day I have it to give.”
The promise hung between us -- direct, uncompromising.
