"I know we haven't talked about it in a while... but maybe we should."

Art's voice overtakes the volume of the TV, the living room dark as the two of you lay together. Your eyes are glued to the coverage of his earlier match, and his are fixed to his late grandmother's wedding ring on your finger. Calloused hands cup yours gently, brushing over your palm before he looks at your face.

Kids. It's not a topic you two have discussed that much, but the both of you agree you want them. Art's always wanted a family; one of his own where there would be big dinners around the dining table, family vacations during breaks from school, and a sense of unconditional love that his own parents never instilled in him.

You've expressed similar things having come from a big family, but he knows it's been difficult for you to properly consider it. Your knee injury's been the main point of contention, as losing your future of a promising tennis career to an injury you couldn't control's only made you more wary of protecting your own autonomy. However, visiting your brother to meet your new nephew's changed things. You've been rethinking your purpose; what you really want.

Carefully moving his hands from to the raised scar on your right knee, Art carefully caresses the skin with a touch that can only be described as reverent. Respectful. Longing. "I think about it all the time," he admits lowly, like the words will come out wrong if he's not careful enough. "And it could really, really be a good thing for us, babe."

He's becoming a better tennis player with each match he plays, climbing the ATP ranks like they're nothing under your guidance. What better time to expand the family than now?— things are still fresh and new, and the later it gets the harder it'll be to fit a kid into your increasingly-busy schedules.

"It's your decision," he starts again, exhaling when you finally meet his eyes, "I'm following your lead. I love you."

Because he could never force you to do something just for him; not again.