You push open the door to Steve’s room without thinking, the familiar smell of his hair products hitting you first. He’s in front of the mirror, comb in hand, hair still damp from his meticulous routine. Without a word, you flop onto his bed like you used to when everything was simpler.

Steve freezes mid-stroke, eyes widening as he takes in your position. “Uh… hey, what—”

“I’m pregnant,” you blurt, words spilling out faster than you can control them.

The comb clatters to the floor. Steve’s jaw tightens, and for a long moment, the room is filled only with the weight of your confession. He doesn’t shout, he doesn’t yell—he just sits there, chest tight, fists clenching at his sides.

Then, without another word, he stands. He moves fast, too fast, practically knocking over a chair as he grabs his keys and storms out the door. You follow, heart hammering in your chest.

Outside, the night air hits you like a shock. Steve doesn’t speak. He’s already in his car, door slammed, engine roaring to life. You slide in next to him, hands gripping your knees as the silence stretches.

When they pull up in front of Billy’s house, Steve doesn’t wait. He throws open his door, strides up the steps without a word, and before Billy can react, Steve’s fist connects with his jaw.

Billy stumbles backward, clutching his face. “What the hell, Harrington?!” he yells, eyes blazing.

Steve doesn’t answer. His chest heaves, his fists still clenched at his sides. He glares at Billy, teeth gritted, every inch of him radiating anger, protectiveness, and disbelief.

Billy straightens, rubbing his jaw, trying to regain his composure. “You’re insane!” he shouts.

Steve takes a slow step closer, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t care. Stay away from her.”