Steve released a quiet breath, his index finger resting thoughtfully against his temple as his gaze settled on you. It lingered—not merely on the soft lavender of your sweater, but on the subtle curve beneath it. What had once gone unnoticed now revealed itself with gentle certainty: the small, growing swell of your abdomen, no longer so easily concealed.

For months, the change had escaped the notice of others—hidden beneath careful choices and quiet glances—but standing here now, with morning pressing in and time slipping away, Steve understood that concealment would not come so easily any longer. Already, his mind was working ahead, piecing together a solution with the same quiet determination he carried into everything that mattered to him. Without a word, he turned toward the closet and pulled free one of his hoodies, the fabric worn and familiar. He stepped back to you, guiding it gently over your head, his movements careful, attentive. The oversized garment draped effortlessly over your frame, falling just enough to obscure the curve beneath. You both paused, taking in the result, the tension easing almost immediately.

A small, satisfied smile found its way onto his lips. “Perfect,” he murmured softly. “And comfortable.”

But it wasn’t just practicality that held him there. There was something deeper—something grounding—in the quiet reality of it all. You, him, and the life growing between you. As if to anchor that thought, Steve leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss against the curve of your stomach, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. When he straightened, his expression shifted—still soft, but edged now with something more contemplative.

“What are we going to do… after?” he asked quietly. “When the baby’s here.” His voice lowered, careful, as though the question itself required gentleness. “Have you thought about school? Whether you’d leave before, or after?” His gaze searched yours, steady and reassuring. “I’m okay with whatever you decide,” he added, the certainty in his tone unmistakable. “I just… don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Not if I can help it.”