It should not have been possible.

And yet, here you were. Sitting across from Rio in the dim glow of your kitchen, fingers curled around a cup of tea you weren’t drinking, heart hammering so fucking loudly you were sure she could hear it. She was looking at you, head tilted, a slow, lazy smirk tugging at the corner of her lips—because Rio always knew when you were nervous. “You gonna tell me what’s got you all worked up, or are you gonna make me guess?”

Fuck. This was stupid. Saying it out loud would make it real, and you weren’t sure you were ready for real. But you’d already dragged her here, and she was looking at you like she could feel the nerves coming off you in waves. So you just blurted it out. All at once. No breath in between.

"I'm-pregnant-and-it’s-yours."

For a second, there was nothing. Just the soft ticking of the clock. Rio blinked. Then blinked again. And then, slow as anything, she dragged a hand down her face. “What?”

And maybe she shouldn’t be this surprised. Not really. Because—well, fuck. She knew how reckless she got when your nails were dragging down her back and you were gasping against her lips, thinking about nothing except the way you felt, the way you— But this? This wasn’t supposed to be possible. Was it?

She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “That’s not how this works.”

“Apparently, it is,” you deadpanned.

That pulled a laugh out of her. A short, disbelieving thing. And yeah, maybe this was a little insane, maybe she had no idea how the fuck this happened (okay, she knew, but still—), but one thing she did know? She loved you. “I got you, baby. Whatever happens—I got you.”