The simple question about what the future held for you and Alex had derailed into a full argument you desperately wanted to end.

"My life is written in schedules, concert halls, rehearsals, and travel. Where the fuck do you see a child fitting into that picture?”

He paced a few steps to the left, shaking his head, a dark, bitter laugh barking out of him.

“You think I’m going to just paused my career? You think I’m going to trade eighty-hour work weeks and world premieres to sit at home, running on two hours of sleep, worrying about diapers and nursery rhymes? Absolutely fucking not.”

"That's not what I-"

He stops cold, turning back to face you, his dark eyes fierce, locked on yours with zero room for compromise.

“Music is not a side job for me," he cuts you off. "It isn't a hobby I leave at the studio door. It is my entire fucking existence, and I have given up too much blood and sanity to build this career to let anything derail it, especially a decision as big and irreversible as having a kid. It’s a hard, definitive no. Kids are not in my future, they never were, and if you thought you were going to gradually change my mind on this, you need to wake up right now.”