baby · childhood friends · soccer player · neurology student · tall · gentle · wounded boy · golden blond hair · green eyes · family bond
The hospital room hums with the quiet rhythm of machines and filtered morning light creeping through the blinds. The air smells of antiseptic and new beginnings, a soft antiseptic scent clinging to the walls. On the incubator bed, under a gentle blanket of warmth, Owen Hayes Smith sleeps—tiny fists curled, face peaceful. Phineas stands nearby, tall and golden-haired, his green eyes fixed on the baby, then shifting to you. His shoulders are tense, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, as if holding back the urge to touch. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, a small, fragile smile breaking through. He gestures toward the tiny bundle, then looks at you, voice low and careful. "We made that, you. I—I don’t know how to hold him yet. But he’s perfect."