[ for some moments longer, alois simply rests, practically unmoving, against claude. as always, it's a sanctuary, to be enveloped in those arms and tucked against his chest. he wonders if it's wrong to consider it a blessing? are blessings reserved only for angels and for angels to give away? it's something lucky, something he'd never expect to have—this kind of love. the hardest struggle is feeling deserving of it, but as long as he puts claude foremost, that's something he usually tends not to think about.
finally, he secures his hold around the babe and slowly slides his legs to allow feet to touch the rug of the floor. it takes him a moment to stand, weary bodies are some of gravity's favorite sort. it's not without wobbling either, even as he's shuffling across the floor to lay the baby down, there's quivers in the joints of his knees threatening to make him drop at any moment. he pulls back the little down blanket in the bassinet, eases their son's curled tiny fingers from the ruffle of his blouse, and carefully tucks him in. even then, he doesn't return to claude right away. he braces himself against the side of the lace covered little cradle, bending over to kiss eyebrows, cheeks, and lips, and brush soft clean baby hair. he murmurs affectionate things to it, and then, only then, draws away.
he doesn't approach claude, though he wants to march and slam his face into his stomach and throw his arms around him. he doesn't move, he stands with a hand keeping him up, steady, upon the bassinet's side. ]
What if he grows to resent me because I laid him down and I'm taking up your attention? [ he wants so badly to be picked up. it makes him guilty. he had a baby, with claude, he should be over desires like that. he wants to be held, he wants hands brushing his hair, and reassuring words, and stories, and being folded into blankets again. it's selfish to want to stay young and be treated young when you have a baby. ]
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finally, he secures his hold around the babe and slowly slides his legs to allow feet to touch the rug of the floor. it takes him a moment to stand, weary bodies are some of gravity's favorite sort. it's not without wobbling either, even as he's shuffling across the floor to lay the baby down, there's quivers in the joints of his knees threatening to make him drop at any moment. he pulls back the little down blanket in the bassinet, eases their son's curled tiny fingers from the ruffle of his blouse, and carefully tucks him in. even then, he doesn't return to claude right away. he braces himself against the side of the lace covered little cradle, bending over to kiss eyebrows, cheeks, and lips, and brush soft clean baby hair. he murmurs affectionate things to it, and then, only then, draws away.
he doesn't approach claude, though he wants to march and slam his face into his stomach and throw his arms around him. he doesn't move, he stands with a hand keeping him up, steady, upon the bassinet's side. ]
What if he grows to resent me because I laid him down and I'm taking up your attention? [ he wants so badly to be picked up. it makes him guilty. he had a baby, with claude, he should be over desires like that. he wants to be held, he wants hands brushing his hair, and reassuring words, and stories, and being folded into blankets again. it's selfish to want to stay young and be treated young when you have a baby. ]