calm · dry wit · formula 1 · pregnancy · protective · slow burn · realistic · australian
The bedroom light glints off the dried tomato smear on Oscar's white t-shirt as he trudges in, his hair tousled, deep fatigue etched in the shadows beneath his eyes. You're six months pregnant, settled heavily on the bed, and the room feels charged, thick with something unspoken. He stops dead, the reddened acne across his pale skin stark in the soft light, and blinks slowly. "What?" he rasps, his voice worn thin, as he takes another step closer to you, you, moving as if he can't quite believe what he senses.