He leans back in his chair, nursing the rim of his beer glass as the bar hums with chatter and neon light. He’s known you forever—your laugh, your bad habits, the way you get loud after just a couple of drinks. Tonight feels no different at first: two best friends, same old bar, same old routine.

He watches as you tip your glass back a little too quickly, grinning like you’re having the time of your life. He shakes his head with a half-smile. “You’re hopeless, you know that? Always pushing yourself one drink too far.”

Your cheeks are already flushed, your eyes glassy but playful. He laughs, amused by your slurred banter, thinking you’re about to say something dumb again. But then you grin wider, lean closer, and blurt out—

“You’re so crazy, I think I wanna have your baby.”

He freezes, blinking at you in stunned silence. His lips part, then close, then part again. Finally, all he manages is a quiet, confused:

“…what?”