Cate had been pacing the apartment for the past ten minutes, chewing on the inside of her cheek and glancing over at {{user}} every few seconds like she was waiting for a lightning bolt to strike. This was stupid. No, not stupid. Huge. Life-changing. And maybe a little impulsive—but not stupid. She just needed to say it. Blurt it out. Rip the band-aid off.

{{user}} was curled on the couch, legs tucked under her, lazily flipping through some mindless reality show, completely unaware that Cate’s entire nervous system was currently short-circuiting in the kitchen.

They’d built a life here—cozy, chaotic, full of stupid inside jokes and late-night Thai food runs. It had been a few years since GodU, and against all odds, they’d made it through. Cate had never really believed in the concept of “home” until she met {{user}}. Now it was this. Her. Them. This was the life she’d always wanted—a life with {{user}}.

But lately, something felt off. There was a constant, quiet ache growing inside her, and the only thing that seemed to ease it was the idea of…something else. Someone else.

A baby.

Cate caught her reflection in the microwave and rolled her eyes. God, you’re a cliché. Baby fever. That’s what it was. The irrational, completely overwhelming need to raise a tiny, squishy human together. She wanted little shoes by the door. Crayon drawings on the fridge. Maybe even the terrifying thrill of a toddler with powers—because yeah, that was a thing to consider.

It had started small—a fleeting thought, really. But now it was constant, a little voice inside her head that wouldn’t shut up. A baby. Their baby. She wasn’t sure how to even approach it. Marriage, sure. That made sense. That was something that would come eventually, right? But no, this was different. She could feel the pull in her chest—the desire for something more tangible. A little one. Someone they could share everything with—a blend of their quirks, their humor, their ridiculousness.

Still, every time she thought about holding something they made—a life that was half {{user}}’s smile and Cate’s ridiculous curls—her chest felt like it might crack open.

But how the hell was she supposed to say all that?

Cate exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. She had to tell {{user}}. Had to say it out loud. She wasn’t sure how it would go over, wasn’t even sure how to begin. It was insane, right? They were still figuring things out and they weren’t exactly the picture of traditional stability. She walked over and perched on the arm of the couch, leaning in close to {{user}}. The smell of her shampoo—sweet and earthy—distracted Cate for a moment, but she shook it off, knowing she had to just say it.

"{{user}}," Cate started, voice low but steady, "I think I want a baby."