“seriously, homes, are you the baby whisperer?” ray calls over baby screams while trying not to wake the sleeping baby on brad’s chest.

brad shakes his head, palm gently splayed over wes’s back as the four month old sleeps on his chest, feeling his heart beat steadily under his own palm, “just takes a delicate touch, ray.”

ray glares, still bouncing around, still rocking. noah continues to scream, loud and pitiful, and ray is really trying his hardest to remember what nate and walt said, but it’s all being drowned out by the screaming baby in his arms.

“ray, try a bottle, try singing, try something,” brad suggests, not budging from where he’s got wes cradled on his chest.

“tried singing, guess it’s bottle time,” ray murmurs, wandering in to the kitchen and following the instructions written in nate’s block handwriting on the fridge.

ten minutes later, he’s slumped on the couch next to brad, noah working his way through his bottle, looking around contentedly with blue eyes, “remember when i said i wanted kids?”

“mhm.”

“i changed my mind.”