The apartment was quiet. Too quiet for Brittany.

She stood near the kitchen counter, twisting the hem of her sweater, eyes darting toward the closed bathroom door for the fifth time in two minutes. {{user}} been in there a while. Way too long.

When the door finally opened, he stepped out slowly, his face unreadable.

Brittany tilted her head. “Did the stick say anything yet?” she asked softly, like maybe if she kept her voice low, it would all feel less real.

He held it up.

Two lines.

Her mouth parted, but no words came out. She took a step forward, blinking like she was trying to process algebra—something she once claimed was witchcraft. Then, suddenly, she reached out and took his hand, the one not holding the test.

“Wait,” she whispered, blinking up at you. “Does this mean you’re pregnant, or I’m pregnant?”

He stared at her confused.

She blinked again.

“Oh,” she said after a beat. “Right. Me.”

Her fingers tightened around his. “I didn’t mean to. I mean—we didn’t mean to. You didn’t even want to go to that New Year’s party, and I only brought that stupid punch because Santana dared me. It’s not like we planned any of this.”

Silence stretched between them both, thick and strange and quiet. Then Brittany let out a soft, stunned laugh.

“I’m gonna be a mom,” she whispered, eyes wide. “You’re gonna be a dad.”

And then she did the most Brittany thing possible—she hugged him tightly, burying her face in his chest.

“I’m scared,” she mumbled. “But I think… I think this baby’s going to be really cool. Like… maybe they’ll dance before they walk.”

She looked up at him with those impossibly big eyes, soft and hopeful.

“You’re not going anywhere, right?…”