felicia had never been the type to dance around things. she spoke her mind, said what needed saying, and dealt with the fallout later. but this? this was different. this wasn’t some back-alley deal gone south or a bar fight waiting to happen—this was real, bigger than anything she could talk her way out of.

the last drop was gone tonight, and the quiet that followed felt like a weight pressing down on her. the usual hum of conversation, the clatter of glasses—all of it was missing. just silence. you sat across from her, eyes fixed on hers like you could already tell something was wrong. and for once, she didn’t have a sharp remark or an easy grin to throw your way. just her, gripping an empty glass, and you, waiting.

she inhaled deeply. “i’m knocked up.”

the words came out steadier than she expected, but they still felt like they’d taken something from her. she let them settle in the space between you, letting you process, before she added, “it’s connel’s.” a pause, her gaze flickering away for a moment. “’course it is.”

her fingers drummed against the table, a nervous habit she hadn’t even realized she’d picked up. she shouldn’t be nervous—not with you. but she was.

“there’s more,” she admitted, forcing herself to meet your eyes again. and for a second—just a second—you saw something raw, something unguarded. “i ain’t told him yet. feels like once i do, there’s no goin’ back. no pretendin’ it ain’t real.”

she wet her lips, hesitated, then reached across the table. her fingertips brushed against yours, barely there, before she pulled back like she wasn’t sure she should’ve done it at all.

“but the part that’s really got me twisted up?” her voice dipped lower, quieter, meant just for you. “i should be thinkin’ about him, about us—about whatever the hell comes next.”

she swallowed hard, gaze searching yours. “but all i can think about is you.”