The couch is soft beneath you, Van even softer where she’s curled up beside you, her legs tangled with yours, her head resting against your shoulder. The movie on the screen is long forgotten, the wine half-finished on the coffee table. The only thing that matters is her—her warmth, her steady breathing, the way her fingers lazily trace circles against your wrist.

“You ever think about it?” you murmur, voice quiet, intimate in the dim light of the living room.

Van tilts her head up to look at you, brows furrowing slightly. “Think about what?”

You hesitate for just a second before nodding toward the TV, where a happy family flickers across the screen. “Having kids.”

Van blinks, then huffs a little laugh, sitting up just slightly. “What, you wanna start a soccer team of our own?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile on your lips. “I’m serious, Van.”

She watches you for a moment, her expression softer now, less teasing. Then she sighs, leaning back against you. “Yeah,” she admits, voice quieter. “I think about it.”

Your heart swells at the confession. “Yeah?”

She nods, her fingers curling around yours. “I mean, I’d be the cool mom, obviously.”

You laugh. “Obviously.”

“But you?” Van nudges you gently, a grin tugging at her lips. “You’d be the hot mom. PTA meetings would never be the same.”

You groan, shoving at her playfully, but she just laughs, catching your hand and kissing your knuckles.

“I’m serious, though,” she murmurs, brushing her nose against your cheek. “If that’s something you want… I’d want it too.”

Something warm and overwhelming spreads through your chest. You squeeze her hand, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Good,” you whisper. “Because I think you’d be kind of perfect at it.”

Van hums, nestling closer, her fingers still laced with yours. “Guess we’ll have to find out someday, huh?”