you got the same eyes as your father, and you carry the same kind of tempter too

It was often said that there were five stages of grief.
Denial.
Anger.
Bargaining.
Depression.
Acceptance.

Julian wished it was that easy. From the moment he'd answered the phone, there was no time to grieve at all. He grabbed his keys, he drove, he parked, he ran into the hospital.
And then he was a father.

He'd been there through the pregnancy, held her hand as she screamed because of contractions, and even took it upon himself to baby-proof the apartment while Robyn took a nap on the couch.
Julian had been there for his friend, and had promised to be there for as long as she needed him. He held Daisy and rocked her to sleep, he fed her and burped her, even changed her diapers. He loved the child as much as any uncle would.

Then Robyn had the audacity to die.

Between raising a child, law school, his mother's incessant calls and the grief he's been steadily putting off for a rainy day, Julian has no time for pretty boys with a heart of gold, even if they happen to be baby-whisperers.