I Might Be Holding Your Hand, but I'm Holding It Loose.

“No, look,” she smiled, placing the pregnancy test in his lap. He didn’t need to glance at it to know it read positive. “You’re gonna be a daddy, Bren.”
“But, that’s impossible,” he gulped. “We haven’t had sex.”
Her face dropped, lips twisting and irises shaking slightly. “When you came over. Do you remember? We woke up on the couch and we joked about how Rebecca would think we’d had sex? Yeah, it wasn’t a joke.”
His eyes widened and his tongue graced over his lips, not sure whether to pass out or scream with happiness. He couldn’t even remember conceiving his own child, and that thought alone made his eyes sting behind his red-rimmed glasses.
“A-Are you sure?”
“Are you accusing me of lying, Brendon? Are you accusing me of sleeping with someone else, Brendon? Is that what you’re asking, Brendon?” she spat back, clutching the test in her shaking palm, eyes stinging too.
“No, no, of course not,” he mumbled, shaking his head and pulling her into his lap. He pressed delicate kisses to her neck, running the tip of his nose up and down the prominent vein. He needed her to be calm. Any stress and it increases the chance of losing your baby, as they’d already found.
“I thought you’d be excited. Of all the things to lift your spirits, this, this should have fucking been it,” she growled through gritted teeth.
“Hey,” he cooed softly. “I am excited, but a lot has happened over the past few days, and I’m a little emotionally drained. I’m sorry. It will sink in, I promise?”
“It better,” she whispered, a small smile playing at her lips. He tipped her chin up with his gun finger, leaning in to kiss her, both assuming and praying she would be fine with this. He focused so hard that when their lips came in contact with one another, he recoiled quickly, blushed, then returned to the familiar, welcoming flesh. Three words revolved around his head; this is home.
Her legs slipped from his lap to either side of his hips, bare feet tightening around his back, her cold heels stroking his spine.
“I love you,” he whispered into the kiss, repeating it as she worked down his jaw. He repeated it until his eyes fluttered shut and his tongue felt devoid of any moisture; until every inch of the top half of his body had been kissed better by Emma.
“I love you.” he said, one last time, decisively as they stared at each other.
“Yeah,” she smiled. “I got that.”
“We should celebrate. I’m not sure what for and how, but we should,”
“Not sure what for?” she chuckled. “One, you’ve just gotten rid of your crazy bitch for a fiancée. I think that deserves a marching band in itself.”
He smirked. “And two?”
“Uh, hello?” she raised her eyebrows, pointing at her navel. “I’m cooking something in there. And half of it is yours!”
“Yeah, I guess there is that,” he chuckled bashfully. “Fuck, remember when we were in second grade and your sister told us how babies were made?”
“How could I not,” she laughed softly. “She said that the guys leave a sticky mess behind and that makes a baby, so you said-”
“Let’s pretend to make a baby so I can put the sticky mess on the bullies and they’ll leave us alone.” he cringed, gripping at his head and leaning back in to the sofa. “I’m sure that would have gone down well, had we figured out actually how to make the ‘sticky stuff’ come out,” he smirked. “You fed me a ton of frosting because she claimed it looked like watery frosting. Biggest sugar high ever, thank you very much.”
“Shut up, you loved every second of it,” she chuckled, leaning in to him too. “I saw you cock at 5 years old, and still, doesn’t appear to have grown, does it?”
“I would whack you around the head were you not pregnant.” he glared.
“Bren, the baby isn’t in my head,”
“Fair point.” he nodded and clipped her around the ear, smirking again as she did the same to him. “He functions so therefore everything is fine and dandy. How about two beers and- oh, shit,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. “No alcohol for the baby. Oreo milkshakes to celebrate instead?”
“Fuck yes!” she giggled and stood up so he could walk into the kitchen, her eyes following his every step. She watched him as he got everything out and poured it all into the blender, blitzing it, then sipping it, grimacing at the taste.
“It tastes metallic,”
She let out a previously withheld laugh, almost laughing hysterically. “Oh Bren, you’re such a moron,”
“What?” he pouted. “I don’t get it!”
“You forgot to empty out the remains from when you blended the ring.”
“That’s just- oh, oh yeah, I didn’t anticipate that,” he blushed, laughing to himself and starting all over again. Just before he went to blend everything together, he turned to look at her, eyes widening, jaw slacking, adrenaline pumping.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, Emma, I’m gonna be a dad,”
“That’s the idea,” she nodded, squealing as he lifted her up.
“Fuck. Fuck!” he laughed happily. “Me and you, yeah? We’re gonna be parents?”
“What I had in mind,” she shrugged nonchalantly. “As long as you’re cool with that.”
“Cool with that?! I’m beyond cool with it, I’m fucking ecstatic!” he exclaims, laughing even more, laying her down on the couch, pushing up her shirt to her ribs, kissing around her navel, whispering.
“Hello, little baby. It’s your daddy here, and I’m going to love you so much. Maybe even more than I love your momma,”
She scowled. “Or maybe the same, that’s probably a safer thing to say,” he grinned, humming against her presently flat stomach. “You must be tiny right now, and won’t have developed little baby ears, but I’m still going to talk to you. Hurry up and get cooked, alright? But do a good job of it, we wouldn’t want you to come out with like, toe thumbs.”
“Bren,” she chuckled.
“I’m being honest! Since when was that a sin?”
“Are you finished talking to Mr. Baby yet?”
“You dodged my question,” he countered.
“I assumed it was rhetorical. Anyway, are you done? I’m hankering for that milkshake.” she smiled.
“And Mr. Baby? Isn’t that a little presumptuous? It could be a Miss. Baby for all we know,” he shrugged. “Or a hermaphrodite, then what do we do?” he gasped in an over dramatic manor.
“Let’s just call it Baby for now, alright?” she chuckled, holding his hand.
“Fine,” he sighed. “Come on babe, I owe you that milkshake. And you, Baby. Fuck, dude, Baby and babe? This is too confusing already. Can’t we call it demon child for now?”
“Brendon.”
“Yeah?” he smiled widely.
“You’re such a freak sometimes,” she laughed and leaned into him whilst he just nodded with his stupid grin, because yeah, he is a freak sometimes, but someone is willing to love him for it.