ROCKSTAR ⇒ jegulus

THIRTY SEVEN

Strolling through the local hardware store, James feels Stella kick from inside of him; a quick, sharp, urgent, kind of kick. He feels a breath of air slip past his lips, pausing to view some of the displayed paint samples.

He's achy, and tired, and his back hurts. His belly feels off too; a small, gnawing, dull, pain festers slightly, and James isn't too sure what to make of it just yet. He needs to get this nursery painting plan out of his way first, and then he'll spend hours fixating on the odd twinging.

At least that's what he's opting to tell himself.

"What do you think of this one?" James asks, slightly breathless, turning to Regulus with a soft yellow paint swatch in his hand.

Regulus raises an eyebrow. "Well, it's yellow, James," He says plainly.

"Yellow?" James repeats. "Why is that, of all things, so offensive to you?"

"I don't want my daughter growing up in a beehive, lemon, themed bedroom,"

James smirks, only half heartedly, and places the paint sample back down. His manner is weary; and not because of the paint samples, it is instead a result of his daughter's endless restlessness. "Okay. No fruit themed nursery, dually noted," He rolls his eyes.

Regulus scoffs softly. "I wouldn't mind a nice, pink, strawberry theme, but lemons are ridiculous. So bitter, so sour," He chuckles.

So far, they hold in their hands; an undesired yellow paint sample, a soft green shade, dusky pink, a gentle lavender, periwinkle blue. There's so many choices and James simply can not figure out which one may one day become Stella's favourite colour.

The sensation of Stella kicking him, paired with the unknown of which goddamn colour to choose is almost sending him over the edge.

Half burning with frustration, James allows that sinking feeling to form within him; he doesn't know his daughter.

He doesn't know her yet, and he knows that it isn't his fault, however he just wishes he knew; just knew what colour to pick, know how to manage the uneasy feelings and emotions that are stemming from not knowing which colour to choose.

Maybe it isn't just about paint.

And, God, his back and feet hurt.

Aiming to distract himself, James turns his attention back to Regulus. "You're silly," James hums, half fondly. His daughter serves him a rough kick to the ribs and James places a hand to his bump, to settle Stella's startling kicks. "Daddy's so silly, honey," His voice is a little breathless and airy. He comes to a halt at the rows of paint samples, half wondering if he could use the gallery to lean on to steady himself.

He doesn't really tend to speak to Stella in front of Regulus. There is something embarrassing about it for him.

"Is she kicking?" Regulus questions, raising an eyebrow.

James can only bring himself to hum in response; with the strength of Stella's kicks nudging him abruptly. A low, budding, cramping sensation burns him slightly; the ache lingering.

Slowly, hesitantly, with the slightest hint of caution, Regulus drops his hand discreetly to James' belly. "Hey, rockstar," He mumbles. "Is everything okay?" He asks, his voice quiet, concerned.

It doesn't seem to matter that they are in public; Regulus' hand is resting over his belly, his palm ghosting over where Stella is kicking.

They're in public, they could be photographed at any second, and somehow, suddenly, none of that seems to matter; because Stella is slowly beginning to settle at just the touch of Regulus' hand.