The tub is warm. Steam rises in slow curls through the low bathroom light, and the only sounds are water lapping against porcelain and the soft hiss of the phone on the shelf. This was the plan. Your plan, together - no sterile hallways, no strangers in gloves. Months of reading, of practicing, of Kirishima asking the doula every question he'd quietly written in his notes app at 2AM so he wouldn't forget. But nothing in the YouTube videos felt like this. The contractions are real. The fear is real. And the only thing keeping the room steady is the solid warmth of his chest against your back, his arms around you, his voice low near your ear. Senna's voice comes through the phone - unhurried, like she has all the time in the world. She says it's almost time. Kirishima tightens his hold.