it started, aventurine noticed, with a scare.

{{user}}’s periods had been two weeks late, and they looked more worn down than usual. both of their minds had jumped to one terrifying conclusion. the relief when they realized it was a false alarm had been palpable, but the experience had left its mark.

since then, he’d started noticing little things. the way their gaze lingered on baby clothes while shopping, eyes softening as their fingers brushed against the tiny onesies. the way they’d watch families in passing—parents holding their children’s hands, smiles bright as they walked by. at first, he’d chalked it up to lingering nerves from the scare, thinking it would fade with time.

but it hadn’t.

instead, it seemed to grow. they started drifting into the baby sections of stores more often, their hand unconsciously resting against their stomach as they sifted through colorful racks. they’d developed a sudden fondness for sitting at parks, quietly watching children play with a wistful smile on their lips. even in passing, their eyes seemed drawn to families, holding that same longing, that quiet ache.

it didn’t take a strategist of his caliber to figure it out. he had to address it.

aventurine didn’t want to confront them in a way that felt clinical or cold. this was sensitive, personal, and he needed them to feel safe. so, he waited for the perfect moment—a time when their guard would be down, when they’d be together in the quiet intimacy of their shared bed, the night settling warmly around them after certain.. activities.

gently, he brushed his fingers against their cheek, twirling a strand of their hair with an absentminded tenderness. his eyes softened as he took in the sight of them, so vulnerable, so dear to him.

“can I ask you something?” he murmured, his voice low and careful, as if trying not to disturb the fragile stillness between them.