Silver Lining

twenty three.

Nathan Fields.

With every week that passes and we get closer to our babies' arrival, Iris grows more uncomfortable. If it's not one baby waking her up to pee, it's the other kicking her in the ribs, meaning she hasn't gotten a good night's sleep in weeks now.

On top of that, her bump seems to be growing a little bit more every day, and she's getting beyond frustrated with nothing fitting her properly, but the "ugly maternity" clothes.

"Soon enough I won't even be able to fit in your shirts; your shirts, babe!" she paces in front of her bed, wearing one of my shirts comfortably and I can't help but find the view incredibly hot from where I'm laid, waiting, "You're not even listening."

"I am; I promise, I am," I assure her, sitting up, "I can buy you some clothes if you need more clothes and if that will make you feel better because I don't want you to be upset over something I can help."

She looks at me and tears well in her eyes when she says, "I'm going to grow out of your clothes too."

Though, it's highly unlikely she ever will, I compromise, so she doesn't cry, "Then guess what? I'll buy more clothes just like mine for you"

I'm over six feet tall with shoulders almost twice the size of hers so unless she's growing a four-year-old, I'd doubt she'd ever outgrow my clothes.

I fear I've said the wrong thing when a tear falls to her cheek and she quickly wipes it away until she whispers weakly, "But they won't smell like you."

I shake my head at the girl in front of me before I crawl across the bed to her, taking her hands, "Then I'll wear them until they do; how about that?"

"You would?" she looks at me, and before I reply, I gently wipe her damp lashes dry.

"Of course I would," I kiss her forehead and she sighs, leaning further into me.

"Do you think I'm completely insane?" she asks, looking at me with doe eyes and I chuckle in response, shaking my head.

"No, sweetheart, not at all," I murmur, and after a few seconds, she lets out a low whine, "What's up?"

"I'm hungry," she grumbles against my chest.

I gently take her chin, tilting her face up to look at me, "I'll cook you anything you want, what are you craving, baby?"

Her hand suddenly drifts to her belly, a smile growing on her face as she says, "They're happy now, both of them just kicked."

"So, you're already fighting each other, little ones" I laugh, putting my hand on her bump and she moves it to the middle where they must have kicked last.

"Keep speaking about food, they seem to like that," she chuckles.

"Are you craving something sweet or savoury?" I ask to get some idea of what to make her.

"Hmm, I'm not sure. What do I want? Chocolate, mango, apples? Ew nope, not apple," she grimaces at the idea and I chuckle.

"So, not something sweet?"

"Oh my God, cinnamon pancakes," she gasps at the idea and then beneath the palm of my hand I feel two gentle kicks, each coming from a different direction.

"I think that's my answer," I grin, rubbing my hand over her bump.

"My mouth is watering," she says with a laugh.

"Do you want to stay here while I make them?"

"No, I'll come with you," she says happily, letting the shirt fall over her bump.