My stomach

Stiles and {{user}} walked side by side down the quiet street, the cool evening air brushing against their skin. She tugged at the hem of her sweater, fidgeting slightly as they neared the diner where they were supposed to meet his dad.

“I hope I look good in this,” she murmured, glancing down at herself. “And that it hides my stomach.”

Stiles stopped mid-step, turning to her with a raised brow. “Whoa, whoa, hold up- what?”

She sighed, shrugging. “I don’t know… I just feel like I should’ve worn something else.”

Stiles frowned, reaching out to take her hand, squeezing it gently. “First of all, you look great. Second, what’s wrong with your stomach?”

She gave him a look, as if to say, Really?

He rolled his eyes. “Babe, listen to me. That stomach? My stomach.” He grinned, poking her side playfully. “I like it. I love it. It’s soft, it’s cute, and it’s mine.”