It was around three in the morning when Ghost was pulled from sleep by a soft, yet desperately urgent voice.

“Simon…”

He groaned, turning over, still half-asleep.

“Simon, please… it’s important.”

With a tired sigh, he opened his eyes slowly and saw {{user}} standing beside the bed. She was wrapped in one of his oversized hoodies, the fabric hanging loosely over her round seven-month baby bump. Her eyes were wide, pleading, and she held her hands on her stomach like she was about to cry.

“I need strawberry ice cream. Like… right now.”

He blinked a few times, just staring at her. “You woke me up at three a.m. for ice cream?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “I’m begging you, Simon.”

He let out a long, slow sigh and dragged a hand down his face, sitting up and yawning while blindly searching for his boots. “You’re unbelievable…” he muttered, already getting up. When she smiled, relieved, he couldn’t help the soft smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Minutes later, they were walking together through the quiet, damp streets, the distant hum of the city the only sound around them. Ghost had thrown on a worn hoodie with the hood up, and {{user}} clung gently to his arm, snuggled into his side under the night air. Every now and then, he glanced down at her — tired, but soft-eyed.

They reached a 24-hour corner market — glowing in old neon lights, the inside smelling faintly of coffee and cheap floor cleaner. {{user}} headed straight for the freezer section, eyes scanning every tub of ice cream like it was a high-stakes decision. Ghost followed her, arms crossed, watching with mild amusement.

“This one or this one?” she asked, holding up two tubs.

“You’re gonna end up taking both anyway,” he replied, already grabbing them from her hands and heading to the register.