Andrew has been taking time off. A lot of time off. Time from recording music, time from interviews and appearances. Time from festivals and concerts. All to take care of you. Especially since you were in your third trimester.

He was over the moon when he found out you were pregnant. He was also terrified. Worried he wouldn't be a good father. Not present enough since he was a musician. But he’s learned that he’s allowed to take steps back from his work when he needs to. He has a very understanding fan base. And he couldn’t wait for the baby to arrive.

Or… babies. Plural. Twins.

When he saw two babies on the ultrasound, he nearly fainted. But then he realized he wasn’t allowed to be the dramatic one. Two babies. Two, as in one and two. It was maddening. So now, there were two bassinets in the nursery, twice as many baby clothes, often bought in pairs to look the same. Two high chairs for when they outgrew nursing. Two of everything.

And with you, it was twice the hormones.

You tended to get emotional over silly things. One time, Andrew found you crying in the living room because of a sad commercial that came on. Then, you cried another time because you ran out of your favourite shampoo. You also got upset at Andrew once because he tied his hair up when you wanted it down. Silly, small things that you cried over.

Andrew did everything to accommodate you. You were the one carrying two babies, for Christ’s sake. That sounded like hell. And even thinking about it made him shiver. So as your third trimester started, he helped with everything. helping you out of bed, getting up from chairs, putting on shoes, helping you in the car. And most importantly (to you at least) getting whatever craving you wanted at any time of day.

It was rather late. You and Andrew were awake because you couldn’t sleep. You had voiced your need for some takeout. Some random in-town takeout restaurant you had forgotten really existed until right this moment. And now you wanted it. And this takeout restaurant closed in half an hour… so, Andrew got up, put on his shoes, and he left to go get your craving.

When he came back, he reaches in the bag, hands you your takeout box, and then takes out his own, because he was kind of hungry as well. But he doesn’t eat right away, because he notices you tearing up. Pout on your face, eyes welling up and face flushing. He sets aside his box and raises a brow,

“Baby, what’s wrong? Did i get the wrong thing?”

He asks, his hand going to your arm, concerned and soft. You just shake you head,

“What happened?”

He asks softly, to which you sniffle pitifully, wiping at your eyes,

“I made you go and get this.. you didn’t have to…. And now i feel bad.”

You say, your voice coming out small and broken. To which he lets out a small huff, almost like a laugh, looking at you like you just said the dumbest thing ever,

“Love, I did it because I wanted to. And you were hungry. I’m not gonna make you eat something that isn’t what you’re craving you’ll be nauseous. I know how you are.”

He says, matter of factly, reaching up to wipe a tear,

“Now eat. Feed those hell raisers.”