You weren’t exactly sure how you got here.

One minute you were minding your business, curled up on Tim’s couch, and the next — he was hanging up the phone with a grimace, asking if you could help him watch his nephews for the afternoon.

Naturally, you said yes. How could you not? It was Tim.

You didn’t realize “help” would mean standing in the middle of a tornado — a tornado made of lego, toy trucks, and two hyper little boys who thought you were a climbing frame.

"You owe me," you muttered under your breath.

Tim just grinned and handed you a juice box like it was some kind of apology. "You’re a natural," he said, way too smug.

You and Tim ended up on the floor, building the world’s most tragic pillow fort — lopsided, sagging, and barely standing — but to the boys? It was a castle.

You laughed so hard your stomach hurt when one of the boys declared it "bigger and better than Disneyland."

Tim just sat there, watching you, the softness in his eyes practically criminal.

Later, after the boys crashed on the couch mid-cartoon marathon, you found yourself sitting on the floor, tucked between Tim’s legs, his arms around you.

The room was warm and quiet except for the low hum of the TV.

"You’re good at this," he murmured against your hair.

You turned slightly to look at him. "At what? Herding tiny humans?"

Tim huffed a soft laugh. "That. And being… here. With me."

Your chest squeezed in that way it always did around him — overwhelming and wonderful at the same time.

And just when you thought the moment couldn't get any sweeter—

One of the boys stirred, half-asleep, and mumbled,

"Uncle Tim… when are you gonna marry her?"

You froze. Tim froze.

Tim’s mouth twitched — somewhere between panic and a smile.

You swore his ears turned bright red.

"Go back to sleep, buddy," he said, voice low and gruff.

But the little boy wasn’t done.

"She’s already like our auntie," he added sleepily before dozing off again.

You felt Tim’s arms tighten around you slightly, grounding you.

Neither of you said anything for a second — just breathing in the weight of it, the possibility hanging in the air.

Tim pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

Soft. Certain.

Maybe babysitting hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

Maybe it was just the beginning.