You showed much constraint, and didn’t ask him anymore questions until you had gotten into the car then as you put your belt on and he turned the car on your reached out a hand and placed it on his arm.
“Babe?” you asked, your voice full of compassion, “what’s wrong?”
He clenched his jaw again and stared straight ahead, refusing to look at you.
“Babe?” you asked again, worry rising in your voice.
“I’m fine,” he croaked out, gritting his teeth together.
“No, you’re not! You have been on edge this whole time… ever since the doctor announced the gender. Is that the issue?”
“No. I’m so damn excited I feel like I’m gonna cry, FUCK!” he exclaimed, slamming his open palm against the steering wheel.
“Really? So you’re ok?”
“Yes! I… this is all I’ve dreamed of. You. Me. And a daughter. I’m gonna show her what a real dad is like. A dad who cares and treats her well and doesn’t…” His voice trailed off and you squeezed his arm as tears welled in your eyes.
“You’re gonna be an amazing dad, I know it,” you said as you tried to reach across to hug him, which proved quite difficult because of your moderate belly in the way, but somehow you managed to give him an awkward hug and you felt his body shaking with emotion.
He managed to compose himself after a few minutes and you pulled back as his quivering subsided, then you headed home.
You tried not to look at him on the drive home, because occasionally he would sniff and wipe his eyes, and you wanted him to feel like he at least had his dignity intact if you didn’t watch, and then you both went back into the house to have some lunch.
Time ticked on and you started to decorate the other room for the baby, slowly filling it with all the essentials.
“Babe!” you shouted downstairs one day, “should I get the ‘soft swing ultra comfort rocking chair with recliner’? Or should I get the ‘mummaway rock solid delux with built in foot rest and back warmer’?”
“First of all… what the fuck are the names?” he called back, “why the fuck aren’t they just called ‘rocking chairs’?”
“They are! But they have all the other things added. Just tell me which one!” you called.
“Which one is cheaper?” he asked, walking out into the foyer area.
“The ultra comfort is $800 and the rock solid is $850.”
“I don’t fucking know. They’re both insanely priced,” he replied, “which one do you want?”
“I don’t knowww,” you wailed, “I think they’re both good, that’s why I’m asking you.”
“Ok. Rock. Paper. Scissors,” he replied, walking up the stairs to meet you half way, “if you win you get the ultra blah blah one and if I win then it’s the other one that has a name so long it should be the title of a manga.”
“Uh… ok?” you replied, readying your fist.
“Ok, ready?” he asked, “scissors, paper, rock.” He flicked his fist up and down then threw out a flat hand and you threw out rock, “ok, I win. you get the second one something about hard cock.”
“Rock solid,” you replied, “but I don’t know if I want that one~,” you whined.
“Fucking… get the other one then,” he replied, “it doesn’t need to be this hard.”
“But I don’t like the shape of the recliner knob,” you pouted.
“Oh my fucking god,” he whispered under his breath, “you can’t be serious, ok you know what, this is an intervention. I’m going to randomly order one of them and when it turns up, that’s the one you’re getting, ok?”
“But what if you order the wrong one?” you asked, with absolute grave concern.
“Wh—” He just stared at you for the longest time. “I’m not doing this,” he then added after he had mentally tried to figure out what the fuck you were on before taking the pamphlet that you had in your hand.
“What are you doing?!” you wailed, following him downstairs as he marched to the computer and typed something in and covered the screen so you couldn’t see it.
“Guess which one I purchase?” he asked over his shoulder.
“It’s the soft swing ultra comfort, isn’t it? Is it? I hope it is,” you said hopefully, yet fearfully.
“Correct!” he said, quickly sliding the pointer over the purchase button and buying that one.
Dabi… in his wisdom… hadn’t bought either of them yet, he was waiting to see if you would subconsciously pick one over the other… and then he would buy that one- and his plan had worked perfectly.
“Thank you so much!” you squealed, throwing yourself at him and pushing your 6 month pregnant belly into him as you draped your arms over his shoulders.
“You’re welcome, you weirdo. Now go and take a nap,” he said, pulling your arms off his shoulders and turning you around to face the stairs with a little pat on your backside, “I’ll be up to tuck you in in a second I’ll just finish up payments here.”
“Thank you, daddy,” you said as you happily waddled off back to the stairs to go and have an afternoon nap.
That night, after a very relaxing afternoon in front of the TV, you were lying in bed together- you, in a multitude of pillows, and Dabi- on the outside, just chatting about random things when suddenly, a pressing question entered your mind as you were drifting off to sleep.
“Dabi?” Would you love me if I lost an arm?” you asked in the most serious voice you could muster.
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation.
“What about both arms?” you then challenged.
“… yes?” he replied, a little more cautiously.
“You’re not even thinking about these you’re just saying yes to shut me up,” you pouted.
“Yes,” he said confidently.
“See? You don’t actually love me.” You burst into tears, absolutely distraught by this self decided conclusion.
“What the fuck… Listen. You could be a fucking amoeba for all I care, and I would still love you,” he said, confused by your sudden teary state.
“You’re not taking me seriously,” you said in an annoyed tone, still crying, “I can’t deal with this.”
The room fell silent and Dabi was just about to drift off to sleep when you spoke again.
“Where are the potato chips?” you suddenly asked.
“What the everlasting fuckery is this?!” Dabi asked loudly, “Y/N, it’s fucking 4am. Even Richard Fungus is asleep and you’re crying about being an amoeba and wanting potato chips?!”