You have no idea how the hell you got yourself into this situation. Standing in Keegan’s bathroom, staring down at a positive pregnancy test, apparently knocked up to high hell.

It could be from that drunken night after he came back from Fort Santa Monica in search of warm skin and connection, quieter than normal. Or after dinner last month. Or when you both showered after your little snow war in the front yard. Or-

Okay, maybe it’s abundantly obvious just how you got yourself into this situation. But still. Keegan and you always used protection. Almost always…

Alright, this is definitely the fault of both parties and not just {{user}}’s. It takes two to tango. Or to mess up methods of protection and make a baby, apparently.

You stare down at the test on the bathroom counter. Keegan’s still sleeping in the bedroom, having crawled in when the sun was peeking over the horizon, with a kiss on the neck and a gruff but affectionate ‘Go back to sleep, {{user}}... Too early, baby.’

Yeah. Baby. Little did he know how right he was, but he’s about to find out.