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Upon hearing the first second of wail produced by his son, Sebastian jumped out of the bed.
He rose quickly, but he was also careful enough not to wake you up. He recalled how you returned to house at eight last night, how then you spent a good time on the warm water of the bath tub. He remembered how you threw a small smile at him as you muttered, "My body aches a bit from all the farming work." Sebastian knew it wasn't just a bit. Sebastian also knew that, perhaps, you hadn't managed to understand enough how hard you work, or how lovely you are, and how Sebastian hoped that you could love yourself a bit better, so at least you could obtain one tenth of the amount of love he had for you.
Sebastian scurried to the crib by the second floor, cradled his baby on his arms, before moving towards the kitchen.
He gently patted the little man's back—his and your little man—as Sebastian waited for the milk in the bottle to be warmed enough. Then, he retreated to the one person sofa across the kitchen, by the living room, sitting and watching his son drinking vigorously from the bottle. The baby has Sebastian's dark, so dark it was almost purple, hair. But he had your eyes; the very same colour Sebastian had gazed into for multiple times, hoping that those very eyes would look back at him—that the owner of those eyes would love him. Sebastian cracked a smile as the little baby lulled back to sleep amidst his feeding session, while he let the wave of not-so-far nostalgia hit him.
It wasn't that long since Sebastian married you, was it?
But here you two were now; with a big house and a baby.
It was pleasantly surprising for Sebastian that he settled into father role so seamlessly.
When his son didn't seem to want any more milk, Sebastian returned the bottle by the kitchen sink, then paced around the house slowly as he waited for the baby to burp. He couldn't help but to take a peek at the bedroom, where you slept so deeply that even Sam's wildest guitar riff wouldn't wake you up. Drawn by your sleeping face—your mouth was slightly open and you might or might not drooled a little—Sebastian continued to pat the baby's back as he walked closer to the large bed belonged to both of you.
"Look," Sebastian whispered and chuckled, turning around so his son could look at his mother's face. "Mummy is sleeping. Isn't Mummy beautiful?"
The baby made a little low gurgling sound, that tiny baby chuckle of happiness, before he finally burped and then yawned. Satisfied, Sebastian returned his already half-sleeping son back to his crib and set the baby monitor on once again. He returned to you, to your warm bed. But you were already half-awake and watching your husband through half-lidded eyes. You could see Sebastian's blush spread on his pale skin. It was a somehow shy but also happy blush. Almost two years into your marriage, it was easier for you to read Sebastian's body language.
"What a good father you are," you croaked through your smile, your voice rough from sleep.
Sebastian, who always preferred action over word, slipped back into blanket you were under, and gave you a big, sloppy forehead kiss.
You giggled, body heavy with sleepiness, but managed to cradle his face loosely on your hands. You stared him square in those black eyes and mumbled, "... Do you really think I'm beautiful?"
He chose word over action this time.
"Absolutely, Dear."
(Sebastian still gave you a kiss afterwards.
This time, it was on the lips.)