It was past midnight, nearing 1 a.m., and the kitchen was a mess - cereal boxes littered the counter, milk splashes dotted the island, an open tub of frosting sat next to a plate of crackers. And in the middle of it all stood you, wearing only an oversized hoodie and a pair of shorts, spoon in your mouth.

Ethan, who heard noises coming from the kitchen downstairs, soon appeared in the doorway, shirtless, in sweatpants, rubbing his eyes.

Ethan: “{{user}}… why does it smell like childhood in here?”

You turned around, spoon still in your mouth like you were caught mid-crime.

You: “Don’t judge me. I needed Cinnamon Toast Crunch… and frosting.”

Ethan blinked.

Ethan: “Are we… are we pregnant? Is this a craving thing?”