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Neil stepped into the same grimy house he’d lived in for the past few months. There were still dirty plates left in the sink (because everyone else always expects him to clean them, by default). Rick and Vyvyan were fighting over something likely arbitrary in the living room. Mike was barking that he couldn't hear the telly. All normal things for a very normal Saturday.
Except this wasn't a normal Saturday. No, Neil had brought a very abnormal guest with him for a Saturday.
Said abnormal guest was currently making little fussy cooing noises in his arms, waggling his little mittened fists in the air as if preparing for a fight. Neil rocked him gently and he settled a little. “This is my house, right? Where I live. And… And you're gonna live here too, okay?”
The baby made another squeal, as if responding.
“I know it isn't much, but…” Neil trailed off, examining the part of the ceiling where the roof had caved in, the dirty dishes in the sink, and of course there was the chaos of his roommates. Finding no way to finish that sentence, he simply left that there and stepped in.
“Guys, I actually need you to be quiet today, alright?” he tried, somewhat knowing it was futile. “Because… Because, I've actually got something really interesting to talk to you about—”
“Oi! Is that a bloody baby?” Vyvyan practically shouted, despite Neil having just warned him to be quiet. Fortunately, the baby squirmed a fair bit, but didn't cry.
“Um, yeah, that's the interesting thing I had to tell you all, right?” Neil said, rocking the infant very, very gently. He'd always been clumsy, so he was very much hyper-aware of just how fragile this little thing was. “Do you remember when I had that stomach ache a couple of days ago?”
They all looked to each other briefly, confused. “No,” said Vyvyan.
Neil sighed. “Do you remember when I kept asking you all for a lift to the hospital and you all said no?”
They nodded. They did remember that.
“Well, after that I just walked myself to the hospital,” Neil continued. “And they told me something really heavy. They told me… that I was going to have a baby.”
Well, in truth, Neil hadn't actually believed that fact at first. He'd believed that had to be weird medical terminology for something else. It had to be. He couldn't be having a baby. Sure, there had been that one party where he'd met a business student. She was actually really scary at first, but she was nice when they... Well, you know, did it. Still a bit grouchy, but... nice. But, surely, he couldn't really be pregnant. He wasn't even that big.
He hadn't believed it when they did all the blood tests, hadn't believed it when a nurse said he was in labour, not even when his legs were up in stirrups and a doctor was instructing him to push. He hadn't let himself accept it until there was suddenly a slimy, wailing baby on his chest, with a long purple-blue cord coming from its belly. A cord that led back to him.
At first Neil was hesitant. He couldn't imagine bringing this tiny little thing back to the flat. Couldn't imagine even taking care of it for eighteen years. Even Wayne was made out of rubber because he killed all the real plants he was trusted with. Maybe he could ask the nurse to return it or something? Give it to a nice old woman who could never have children but always wanted them?
But then his baby gave a tiny, adorable little sneeze. It had stopped crying for the most part now. Then, he nuzzled up to Neil. No one had been so unconditionally, immediately in love with him in years. He didn't deserve this—he hadn't even known this baby was inside of him until, maybe, a few minutes ago now, and completely (though unintentionally) neglected his existence. Yet his son ( his son ) seemed to find solace in his very skin and flesh.
At that moment, Neil was so overwhelmed with love and anxiety and confusion he just started babbling. “Um, hello. This is… heavy. Not that— Not that you're heavy. No, you're actually very tiny. And pretty cute. I'm sorry I didn't know about you. Or prepared for you. Or really noticed your existence. I know that it feels like not to be noticed… I'm also sorry if I'm boring you now. I do that a lot. I hope I'm okay. A-As a dad, you know. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'd quite like to be your dad.”
And the baby squinted his grey blue eyes up at him and just… stared. Taking this lanky, slightly smelly hippy in that he was now in the care of. But he must have approved of having Neil as a father, because he only cooed sweetly.
But, that was then. For now, Vyvyan was staring at the baby as if it were a particularly hideous alien, with that typical sneer that was always plastered across his face. “This fell out of you?” he asked, crudely. Neil nodded. “Makes sense… Looks like you, at least.”
His tone insinuated that he hadn’t intended this as a compliment.
Behind him, Rick just sneered. “Well, this is just gweat! Bwilliant! We can barely afford to feed ourselves, Neil, you selfish bastard! And now you bwing that thing home? That thing that’s going to dwink up our money through its pooing and eating and sleeping—If it ever does sleep that is. You know I need my beauty sleep to wite my pwecious poetwy, and I will not have some scweaming, pink waisin keep me up at all hours.”
Neil held his baby a bit closer to his chest, as if physically shielding him from Rick’s tirade. “Well, I’ll be the one up with him and taking care of him—you know, being his dad and all—so you won’t have to lift a finger, Rick.”
He’d meant it as a jab but, truly, the lack of sleep was the least daunting part of parenting for Neil. He was practically an insomniac. He didn’t mind being awake late to take care of his baby—if anything, he preferred it. When he was in hospital recovering, his baby was taken to the nursery for the night every night, and he got so nervous about it that he couldn’t sleep anyways. The nurses said it was to give Neil a proper rest, but he would have prefered getting less rest if it meant having his baby close to him through the night. Besides, he was still convinced that sleeping caused cancer. Maybe that was why babies were up so much in the night. Maybe they knew.
Vyvyan was still sneering. “Can I kick it? Babies bounce, don’t they?”
“No!”
“They don’t bounce?”
“No—Well, I don’t know, actually. But no, you can’t kick him… He’s mine.”
“Of course you can’t just kick the new baby, Vyv,” Mike cut in, sauntering over to Neil and his bundle of joy. “At least wait a year for it to outwear its welcome first.”
Neil pouted.
“Joking, Neil,” Mike reassured. “Here, let me get a look at him.”
Neil, a little hesitantly, held the newborn out for Mike to look over. Which Mike did, with a noise of approval. “Hmm… Nice kid. Very nice work, Neil. What have you named the lad? Lentils or something?”
“No, of course not, Mike. His name’s John, after John Lennon,” Neil argued. “Lentils is his middle name.”
“Ah, of course, of course,” Mike nodded. “Speaking of which, we’ve had no one to make us tea for the past two days, so you’d better get a move on.”
Neil sighed. Of course. He’d just gone through one of the most life-altering experiences one could go through and his roommates were more concerned with money, sleep, food and violence to bother to say ‘hey, Neil, this seems really heavy, do you want any help?’ Then again, he wasn’t sure he could trust most of them with little John. Mike, maybe, given that he was practically already like a dad to the lot of them, but even that would be a dodgy idea. Still, the effort would have been nice.
But he expected nothing more at this rate, so he really shouldn’t waste time on being sad about it. Not when he had another person he actually didn’t mind having to care for.
Rick suddenly scrunched up his nose in an exaggerated display of disgust. “God, what is that smell? Wight, who’s farted?”
John grunted in Neil’s arms, little face going a bright, glowing red. Then he began to wail, as babies often do. Neil bent his head down and gave his son a good sniff. “Oh… Oh, sorry about that guys. He does that sometimes.”
Rick looked horrified. “Well, you’d better get that thing sorted out before you do anything, Neil! And you’d best give your hands a good wash after. I’m not having baby poo flavoured whatever-it-is.”
“Alright, Alright, Rick,” Neil said, before trudging up the stairs, his silence only occasionally broken as he shushed John in some attempt at comfort.
Neil didn’t really have a lot of baby things yet—that being any—given that John had come so suddenly into his life, but he had things mostly sorted out. The hospital had given him a couple of plain white onesies, diapers, a couple of bottles and a breast pump for free, out of sympathy for his peculiar case. He wasn’t sure he’d need the latter two, though. He was perfectly content with exclusively nursing John, for now at least, and the pump looked more like a terrifying science fiction machine more than anything. He had an empty bedroom drawer by his bed he’d do up later to serve as a makeshift crib, and had laid an old, already stained towel on his bedroom floor to change John’s nappies on. He’d probably thrift things later, and/or ask his parents if they had anything saved from his infancy he could re-use.
He gently laid John down on the towel, and began to change him. There had been a nurse at the hospital who had taught him all the basics of taking care of a baby. An older, stern woman who’d made Neil a little anxious first, but whose experience he’d soon grown to appreciate. She’d only laughed a little when he’d changed John for the first time and put the nappy on backwards, but mercifully said nothing, simply informing him and letting him rectify the mistake.
Soon enough, John was yet again clean, dry and clothed, and the messy nappy tossed into the only bin upstairs, in the hallway. He still wailed though. He didn't settle for a while after his changes sometimes, but he eventually did for Neil. Rarely anyone else. The nurses would try to cope with his fussing for ages until he eventually tired himself out or was handed over to his father.
What a lovely thing it was, Neil thought, to be wanted.
“You're alright. All clean now,” Neil mumbled soothingly, picking him up to cuddle him close. And, finally, John's cries melted down into tiny little coos again.
“I'm sorry about that lot downstairs. They can be nice sometimes, but they are a bit… much,” Neil continued to babble on. “It’s okay. They don't seem fond of me most days, either. But you do. I'm not sure why, but I'm quite fond of you too. Even if you are quite noisy when you cry. And you make stinkier messes than I do.”
He watched as John gradually, but visibly, fell asleep in his arms, completely comfortable there. Neil gave him a soft smile. He gently kissed his son's tiny little head, the warm skin coated with downy brown hair—the same shade as his own.
“I love you, John… Thank you for choosing me.”