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The studio lights were too hot. The kind that buzz faintly, hum just beneath your eardrums and never let you forget you’re being watched. Robb Stark sat forward on the velvet-red couch, fingers laced, trying not to smudge the makeup still brushed under his tired eyes, he hadn’t slept properly in days, not since holding his son for the first time.
His co-stars flanked him, all grinning and laughing through the press tour chaos. Clara Wynn his on screen love interest was to his left, annoyingly draped over the couch cushion between them, her fingertips hovered close to his sleeve, as usual.
His wife had clocked that behavior from the start. Even six months pregnant and unable to see her own feet, she’d squinted at the TV one night and muttered, “Does she need to cling to your arm like she’s drowning every time someone asks you a question?”
He hadn’t dared defend Clara, not when she was hormonal, stunning, and growing his actual child. Not when she’d launched into a detailed fantasy of launching a mic at her head mid-interview.
Now, Robb couldn’t even fake noticing Clara’s arm because his heart was still somewhere back in that hospital room.
The host leaned forward, cueing up the moment Robb knew was coming. “So… mate. Congratulations. You’re a dad now!”
Applause burst through the audience. Robb smiled, cheeks pink with gratitude, a little dazed still.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice a little raspy. “Still trying to wrap my head around it.”
The host grinned. “We heard it was quite the arrival.”
Next to him, Clara chimed in, too loudly, “He nearly missed the birth.”
Robb gave her a sharp look, just a flick of his eyes that said not your story to tell, then back to the host, lips twitching.
“Yeah. Yeah, it was chaos. You want the whole thing?” The crowd cheered again.
He leaned back with a sigh, half-laughing already. “Alright. So we’re in London. I’m here, doing press. She, my wife, she’s home. Thirty-six weeks. All calm. She’d just finished a session at the studio, said she was gonna rest and binge some awful reality show. We thought we had time.”
He paused. His ring glinted in the studio light as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“I’m on my way to Heathrow, about to fly to L.A. Just a few days. Nothing heavy. Then my phone rings. I see her name and I answer with this dumb grin like, ‘Miss me already?’ And all I hear is screaming. No ‘hi.’ No warning.”
He mimicked a higher voice, throwing an arm out. “‘If you so much as get on that goddamn plane, Robb Stark, I will come to L.A. myself, push this baby out in the customs line, and scream loud enough to end your career!’”
The crowd roared, even the host slapped the desk, cackling.
“I panicked,” Robb admitted. “Like, full-body dumbass panic. I go, ‘Wait—what?!’ and she’s already yelling, ‘MY WATER BROKE, YOU IDIOT.’ And I said something truly intelligent like, ‘I thought we had time!’ and she shrieked, ‘TIME IS A LIE, ROBB.’”
“I abandoned the suitcase. Dropped my passport in a gutter, probably. I’m sobbing in the Uber. Driver’s like, ‘Are you the one giving birth, sir?’ I can’t even speak. I’m just, texting her doctor, her sister, her everyone.”
He laughed softly, eyes squinting fondly. “By the time I get there, she’s already at the hospital. Breathing like she’s lifting a car with her mind. I walk in and she just stares at me. And you know what she says?”
The host grinned. “What?”
“‘Why are you crying more than me?’” The audience loses it.
“I swear to God,” Robb said, shaking his head. “She’s the one in labor. Actual contractions. Actual pain. And I’m the one wiping tears off my shirt like a mess. I kept trying to tell her how proud I was of her and she just goes, ‘Hold my leg, Stark, and stop saying poetic crap.’” Even Clara laughed at that.
“And then…” Robb’s voice softened, dipped. “He was here. Our son. Ten pounds. I mean, I picked him up and nearly dropped him, he was so heavy. Full head of dark brown curls. Big blue eyes. My exact nose. And she looked up at him and just shouted, ‘He looks exactly like you?! After all that?!’”
The crowd howled, Robb laughed helplessly. “I tried to tell her he’s got the same mouth as her but she told me to shut up.”
The host wiped a tear. “What’s his name?”
“It’s private, we named him after my father. We call him Neddy Bear as a nickname. Big lad. Very loud. Sleeps on my chest like a tiny king. Has a death grip if you try to take away his pacifier.”
The audience melted into awws. Robb smiled like the world had finally slowed. “People keep asking what it feels like,” he said. “Being a dad. And I don’t know how to answer it. But… the moment she handed him to me, and he looked up, and then curled straight back into her chest like she was the only home he’d ever known? That was it. That’s everything.”
The room fell into a soft silence.
And then, quietly: “She’s the strongest person I’ve ever known.”
The host smiled warmly. “Sounds like she’s lucky to have you.”
Robb smiled back, blinking quickly. “I think it’s the other way around.”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜
The living room was dim, softened by the overcast London sky that peeked through half-drawn curtains, amug of untouched chamomile sat cooling on the coffee table, next to a burp cloth, a teething toy shaped like a banana, and Robb’s hoodie, the one she refused to give back, even though it now smelled like baby powder and not him.
On the couch, you lay curled in the corner, one leg tucked under the other, hair in the loose, half-done bun that had become your default, your arms cradled ten pounds of curly-haired, warm-bellied baby, and he was completely, undeniably his father’s son.
“Look at you,” you murmured down to Eddard, who was fast asleep on your chest, a soft snore whistling from his nose. “Got your father’s ridiculously amazing forehead and his dramatic eyebrows.”
You pouted. “And not a single feature from me. Rude.”
The television glowed quietly in front of you, tuned to the late morning talk show Robb had agreed to do just hours earlier. He hadn’t wanted to go had hovered over you that morning like a worried shadow, kissing your temple six times, as if one more might magically tuck you and Neddy Bear in like armor.
“Do the interview,” you’d said. “Just don’t let Clara stroke your arm this time.”
Now she was doing exactly that on screen, you narrowed your eyes, she laughed too loud, her hand was way too close, and you swore she pretended not to know the baby’s name like she hadn’t asked three times in the group chat.
You were just about to grumble something venomous under your breath when Robb started speaking really speaking and everything inside you went still.
His voice came through the TV, gentle and hoarse and trying-not-to-cry.
“She’s yelling. I’m running. Forgot my suitcase. I’m sobbing in the Uber. Driver asked if I was the one in labor.”
You snorted, a quiet laugh escaping as Neddy twitched in his sleep.
Robb looked like he hadn’t slept since the birth, which was fair, he hadn’t. You both had been taking shifts in the middle of the night, him singing lullabies off-key, you crying silently during 3 AM feedings while hormones chased each other through your chest.
But seeing him there, grinning like a fool, telling the world about your labor like it was the greatest epic of his life, that made your throat close up in a way no lullaby ever had.
“She just looked at me and said, ‘Why are you crying more than me?’”
“That’s a direct quote,” you muttered at the screen. “And it wasn’t even dramatic crying. It was hyperventilation.”
Robb kept going, talking about Eddard, about the curls, the weight, about how he looked exactly like his father.
You looked down again. Eddard stretched in his sleep, lips parting, his lashes fluttering.
“Exactly like you,” you whispered. “Betrayal.” But when Robb’s voice quieted, softened, something inside your chest did the same.
“I’ve played kings, warriors, all sorts of heroes. But the scariest, most incredible moment of my life was seeing her, my wife, do something I couldn’t begin to match.”
“She’s the strongest person I’ve ever known.” Your eyes welled instantly, you blinked fast, then you blinked again.
“Oh, for f—” you hissed, wiping quickly under your eyes with the sleeve of Robb’s hoodie. “Stupid, sentimental, gorgeous man.”
Neddy sighed and snuggled in closer, as if comforted by the sound of his father’s voice on the television. You kissed the crown of his curls, the way Robb did when no one was looking.
The applause on the show picked up again. Robb was smiling awkwardly at the floor while the host clapped and laughed. You could see it that small shake of his head, the shy way he pulled at his collar. He hated praise, but he meant every word he said about you.
Even Clara had shut up for once, you pulled your phone from the couch cushion, thumbed open your texts, and snapped a photo of Neddy Bear sleeping on your chest.
Then sent it to Robb with the caption, “Next time you cry more than me, bring tissues. He still looks like you. I’m suing.”
Seconds later, his typing bubble appeared. “He’s handsome, can you blame him? 😌 I miss you. I miss both my bears.” You liked the message, tucked the phone away and leaned your head back.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜
It was almost midnight when Robb came through the door, soft-footed and quiet like he knew the house was asleep, even though one room was always half-awake now, lit in gentle blues and greens from the baby monitor and the hum of the white noise machine.
You didn’t look up from the couch when you heard him. Just kept your eyes fixed on the faint glow of the screen next to you where your son, your son, lay curled on his side in the bassinet, safe and soft. Breathing deep, ten pounds of newness and need. You ran your fingers absently over the hem of the pink cardigan that still smelled like him,
milk and powder and some expensive baby balm your manager insisted on sending.
Robb’s keys landed in the bowl by the door with a soft chime, and you heard the familiar thump of his boots, the low exhale he always gave when he stepped out of them like the day had been holding its breath until then.
He appeared in the doorway moments later, tousled and travel-tired and grinning the second he saw you.
But your arms were wrapped around your own midsection like a shield, your loose tee bunched up under your elbow. The same tee you’d worn for three days now. The one that still fit sort of, if you didn’t look in mirrors too long.
“Hi,” you said, voice quieter than usual.
“Hey.” His smile softened, as if he heard it, the strain beneath your stillness. He crossed the room and dropped into a crouch in front of you, like it was instinct. His hands found your knees. “You okay?”
You nodded once. “He’s asleep. He didn’t cry much tonight. He must’ve known you’d be home.”
Robb laughed under his breath and leaned his head against your leg, his curls damp from the London mist.
“You saw the interview?” he asked.
“Yeah.” You hesitated, then added, “You made me cry. And you looked like you were trying not to. Again.”
He looked up at you, blinking sheepishly. “I was. I always do when I talk about you.”
You gave him a soft smile, but it faded quickly. Your eyes dropped to your lap. One hand brushed against the curve of your stomach, the part of you that still felt stretched and foreign, the skin softer than before, hips still wide, ribs bruised from the hours of pushing that had brought Neddy Bear into the world.
“I know I should be proud,” you whispered. “But I keep looking at myself and… I don’t know where I went. I just see parts of me I didn’t choose.”
Robb didn’t speak. He reached up, took your hand, and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles like he was trying to anchor you back into yourself.
“I miss the studio,” you added after a moment, quieter now. “I miss hearing my own music through the speakers. Miss feeling like me.”
You glanced up at him, embarrassed. “I used to scare you saying I’d go into labor mid-take.”
Robb chuckled, eyes going soft. “You did. Told me you’d water-break on the soundboard just to make a point and make me catch the baby!”
“Still would,” you said, and this time your smile lingered. “That place is half my soul.”
“I know,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “But the other half’s here. With him. With me.”
He stood, gently helping you to your feet. “Come on. Let me wash your hair. You always feel more human after.”
You let him lead you, even though your body still ached in quiet places. The parts of you that had grown and torn and healed. The parts of you you didn’t recognize in the mirror anymore that you weren’t sure you liked yet.
In the bathroom, Robb knelt behind you in the tub and let the warm water run over your scalp. His fingers combed slowly through your hair, quiet and reverent.
“I hate how I look right now,” you admitted, head leaning back against his shoulder. “I feel like I’ll never be me again.”
He paused, then kissed the side of your face, once, then again, softer. “You’re still you. You just did something goddamn extraordinary, and if you never went back to what you were before, even if nothing fits the same, you’d still be the woman who changed my life.”
His voice dropped to a murmur. “And his.”
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. Later, when you were dried off and swaddled in one of Robb’s worn hoodies, you leaned in the nursery doorway and watched him hum a lullaby to your son your son while rocking him gently. The soft blue light caught Robb’s lashes, his curls still damp from the shower, one hand cradling the baby’s head like he was holding a planet made of glass.
You reached for your phone, snapped a photo you knew you’d never post, just for you, Robb glanced back and saw you smiling.
“You still suing me for giving you a lookalike?” he whispered.
You crossed your arms, still smiling. “He’s got your exact face. I might sue twice.”
Robb laughed and kissed Neddy Bear’s curls, but when he passed the baby to the bassinet, he came back to you, arms sliding around your waist, hands low on your back, fingers slipping under the hem of your hoodie to trace the soft skin above your hips.
“However you come back to yourself,” he said quietly, “I’ll be here, every version, every scar, every note of it.”
You kissed him first this time and for the first time in weeks, your body felt like home again.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜
It was the first time you’d been in the studio alone since the birth, well, mostly alone. Your laptop sat open, waveform tracks lit like tiny city skylines across the screen. A mug of tea (lukewarm now) balanced dangerously close to a stack of notebooks, and your headphones rested around your neck, letting the low hum of bass bleed gently into the room.
You were at the mixing stage. Your favorite part. Final tweaks before mastering the invisible threading between emotion and perfection.
You dragged the volume automation slightly down on the second verse, the one you’d recorded just before your third trimester hit hard. You’d sat in this exact chair then, swollen and breathless and telling Robb with full seriousness that you might give birth right there on the EQ board if the beat hit right.
Now, weeks later, you were here again.
“Darling?” a familiar voice called gently from the hallway.
You looked up, Catelyn peeked through the slightly ajar door, smiling like she’d knocked anyway. She was holding a small blanket draped over one arm and wearing a navy sweater that matched her eyes exactly, Robb’s eyes. Neddy’s eyes.
“I wasn’t sure if I should come in,” she said. “Sounded like you were in the zone.”
You smiled faintly. “I was. But I needed the break. Come in.”
She stepped inside the studio and took a long, slow look around, gaze flicking over the acoustic panels, the worn velvet couch in the corner, the soft glow of your ambient lights.
“This room feels like you,” she said simply.
You swallowed. The compliment landed with unexpected weight. “He’s asleep,” she added, lowering herself into the couch with practiced ease. “Robb just took the longest nap of his life next to him. I didn’t want to wake either of them.”
You let out a soft laugh. “He needs it. He’s been doing every 3 a.m. feed without complaint.”
“You both need the rest. But I can see why you’d come back here.” She looked at the mixing board, eyes almost wistful. “You’ve built something sacred in here, haven’t you?”
You nodded, slowly lowering your headphones onto the desk. “It’s the only place I can still hear myself clearly.”
Catelyn didn’t speak for a moment. Then she leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, hands folded a mother’s posture, a woman who’d been through it.
“He does look exactly like Robb,” she said at last, with a fond, amused sigh. “I know everyone keeps saying it, but… it really is like I’ve traveled back in time. Those curls. That furrowed brow when he dreams.”
You snorted. “You should’ve seen me yelling about it post-birth. Ten pounds and not even a hint of me except for his middle toe.”
Catelyn smiled, but then her voice softened. “But he has your calm.”
You blinked. “What?”
“When you hold him, he settles. Completely. Like he knows you’re the beginning and end of his world. Robb was a screamer, even as a newborn. But Neddy? He’s gentle. Like his mother.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, because the sudden lump in your throat caught you off guard.
“I was scared I wouldn’t know how to be me and be a mother,” you admitted, voice low. “Still kind of am.”
“You don’t have to choose,” Catelyn said. “There’s space for all of it. You don’t stop being who you were before just because you added something new.” She let the words breathe.
Then she added, “I came to see Neddy, yes. But I mostly came to see you. Everyone rushes to the baby. They forget to ask the mother how she is.”
You couldn’t stop the tears if you tried, so you didn’t. They slid hot and quiet down your cheeks while you blinked fast and laughed through the burn.
“I don’t think I’ve cried in here before,” you said.
“Then it’s blessed now,” she replied.
Later, she made tea while you played her the track you were working on. It was low, moody R&B, layered vocals, lush synths, and a heartbeat kick drum that mirrored your own some days. She listened without interrupting, hands wrapped around her mug, eyes fixed on you the whole time.
When it ended, she smiled again. “You’re still all here,” she said. “Every part. Even the ones you’re still finding.”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜
Robb wandered out of the bedroom in a half-buttoned shirt and mismatched socks, blinking like the light had personally wronged him. His curls stuck up in every direction the kind of stubborn bedhead you only get after crashing facedown beside a ten-pound baby who insists on sleeping diagonally across your chest like a tiny emperor.
You heard his steps before you saw him. Not that he was ever stealthy but there was something especially disoriented in the way he groaned softly and mumbled to himself as he padded into the living room.
And then he froze.
You and Catelyn were sitting cross-legged on the studio couch, hunched over a thick photo album, the kind that smelled faintly of cardboard and nostalgia. A scatter of old Polaroids and glossy prints fanned out between you, each one showing younger, rounder versions of the man now standing in stunned horror in the doorway.
Catelyn pointed proudly at a photo of him as a baby, two months old, chubby, scowling, and unmistakably him. Same mess of brown-auburn curls, same blue eyes, same furrowed brow. Your son in a different decade.
“Chunky,” you said, barely hiding your laughter. “He was already doing Neddy Bear cosplay.”
“No,” Robb mumbled, running a hand down his face. “No, no, no. I was asleep for one hour. One.”
Catelyn grinned at her son without an ounce of mercy. “You’ve only got yourself to blame. I warned you I’d bring the album.”
“And I warned you I’d burn that album if it ever saw daylight again.”
You held up another photo, this one of baby Robb mid-cry, tiny fists balled up, face scrunched in righteous fury. “He even has your rage. It’s like watching Neddy on his third bottle refusal of the night.”
Robb groaned louder. “Betrayed by my own blood.”
You leaned into Catelyn, voice conspiratorial. “He keeps trying to say Neddy looks like me. But the kid popped out looking like Robb 2.0. Just chubbier.”
“Exactly!” she said with a victorious nod. “He’s your twin. Just in widescreen.”
Robb shuffled over and collapsed onto the couch beside you, resting his head in your lap with a long, exhausted sigh. “You’re ganging up on me,” he mumbled. “I should’ve stayed asleep.”
“Maybe. But then you’d miss this,” you said, showing him a photo where he was wrapped in a knitted blue blanket, cheeks puffed out, gaze fixed on the camera with all the solemnity of a baby thinking about taxes.
He squinted at it, then let out a small laugh. “Okay. That one’s kind of cute.”
You started to say something back, something teasing, but the way he was looking at you made your words stutter. His sleep-warmed eyes, softened in the way they only ever did when he thought you weren’t watching, flicked from your mouth to your hand still holding the photo, then back to your face. Like he was cataloging every inch of you.
You felt it, that quiet shift. “I forgot how much I missed this,” you said.
“What, humiliating me in front of my mother?”
“No.” You smiled. “This room. This feeling. Being me.”
His hand found yours, squeezing gently. “You never stopped.”
You wanted to believe it, you were trying, you’d spent weeks half-lost in your own skin, unsure where the version of you from the stage and studio had gone. But this moment, the hum of the speakers behind you, Catelyn’s warm presence, Robb’s head in your lap, this felt like balance. Like everything might be able to live in one place.
Catelyn stood slowly, brushing invisible lint from her skirt. “I should let you two have the evening. I’ve overstayed.”
You looked up at her. “You really haven’t. Thank you for coming. And… thank you for seeing me.”
She paused, then leaned down and kissed your forehead a gentle, unexpected act that nearly undid you completely.
“You’re doing beautifully,” she whispered. “In all of it.”
After she left, the flat was quiet again, baby monitor humming faintly, the studio lights low, Robb still sprawled across your legs with a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Hey,” you said, brushing a curl off his forehead. “You know I love him, right? But it’s still kinda rude that he stole your whole face.”
Robb cracked one eye open. “You’re just mad he didn’t get your cheekbones.”
You snorted. “I did all the work, and he comes out looking like your bloated twin.”
“I’ll take it as a compliment. I am devastatingly handsome.”
You shoved him lightly, and he pulled you down onto the couch with him, both of you tangled together, laughing.
And somewhere in the bassinet, Neddy Bear stirred probably dreaming about milk or chaos.
You sighed against Robb’s chest. “I like this version of our life,” you murmured. “Messy and loud but still soft.”
Robb pressed a kiss into your hair. “It’s ours.”
And in that moment, curled in the same studio where you found yourself again, with your husband at your side and your son asleep in the next room, you knew all was well.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜