Simon sank into his couch with a groan, the springs creaking under him as he let the exhaustion of moving eight months’ worth of furniture finally catch up. The TV glowed in the corner, muted, providing background light and the illusion of company in his new, still-empty apartment. For the first time in months, he could finally sit, stretch, and—hopefully—ignore the chaos outside his walls.

But then came the knock. Sharp. Insistent.

He rolled his eyes, already irritated, and stalked to the door. Whoever it was couldn’t possibly know he’d just survived a marathon of lifting, dragging, and cursing at IKEA instructions. He twisted the handle and pulled it open—and froze.

You.

Standing there. Calm. Exquisite. And undeniably changed. A curve that wasn’t there before, a roundness to your belly that immediately demanded attention.

Simon’s mouth went dry, his chest tightening in a way that had nothing to do with moving furniture. He’d thought about you, of course—how could he not? The week-long hookup had been electric, chaotic, fun. Simple. Disposable. That was the agreement, the unspoken rule. One week. Nothing more.

But now? Now, reality was pressing against him in a way he hadn’t expected. The baby bump was proof of what he’d tried to bury in memory. Proof that the week hadn’t been “just a week.”

He backed up a step, voice low and rough. “That… better not be mine…” His eyes flashed with anger, disbelief, and something rawer—pain, regret, fear—all swirling in one threatening gaze. For a split second, it looked like he might turn away, slam the door, retreat into his safe, solitary life.

But something in you held him there. Maybe it was the way your eyes met his, steady, unflinching, daring him to face the consequences of the past. Maybe it was the tiny swell of your belly, so impossibly real, so undeniably yours, that he couldn’t look away.

His jaw clenched, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, every second pounding against his chest. The apartment suddenly felt too small, too full of everything he’d tried to forget.

And in that silence, both of you understood—whatever this was, whatever you’d carried here, it was not simple anymore.