Good news - you're recently pregnant with Keegan's baby.

Keegan’s incredibly caring, the kind of man who would carry you through hell and back. He’s devoted, wants nothing but the best for you, and would give you everything he could just to make you happy.

But sometimes, you can tell how helpless he feels doing all of this for the first time. Especially because of that one problem: years spent on the battlefield have made him the most awkward, socially oblivious person alive. He doesn’t even know how to talk like a normal person, because honestly, he’s never needed to. He’s the kind of husband who answers “too many” when you ask how many meatballs he wants for dinner, says “eighteen hundred” when you ask what time it is, and unironically calls the fridge “local supply units.”

Now, it’s barely six in the morning when you lurch toward the bathroom sink for what feels like the fourth time this week. Keegan is right behind you, his messy black bedhead sticking out in every direction. He pulls your hair back gently while you throw up, the other hand resting awkwardly on your shoulder like he doesn’t quite know how human touch works when it’s not followed by a tactical signal.

“I hate you.” You groan miserably.

“Geez, Pregatron. No need to bite just ’cause you’ve gained a few pounds.”

Keegan says it cheekily, already chuckling before he can finish his sentence, absolutely delighted by his own terrible joke. It’s ridiculous how much he enjoys himself, like he just discovered humor last week.