Your POV
I stare at the kitchen counter in front of me, taking in the sight.
I have pulled out a jar of peanut butter, eggs, tortillas, bagels, cream cheese, hot sauce, a bag of pepperoni, and a jar of cashews.
For some reason, I am starving.
I check the clock on the kitchen wall. 3:19am. I just woke up and for some reason I feel like I need to eat everything we have in the kitchen and more. I shake my head in confusion at this strange urge, but indulge anyway, reaching over to the drawer and pulling out a spoon. I scoop peanut butter onto it and eat it while I reach for a frying pan to cook the eggs.
I want... scrambled eggs wrapped in a tortilla... with pickles and hot sauce mixed in... and peanut butter drizzled on top? What the hell is wrong with me.
I make the eggs before constructing my strange concoction, dicing pickles and mixing them into the scramble with hot sauce before placing it all on a tortilla. I hesitate before putting a dollop of peanut butter on top of it, but do it anyway, using the same spoon that I've been sucking on for the last five minutes.
I'm folding up my burrito when I remember that we also have Oreos. I dive into the cupboard and put some on my plate.
Sometimes I crave eggs or peanut butter because I'm vegetarian, and my body always needs more protein. But I've never wanted something this weird so badly before.
I take a bite of my burrito and close my eyes.
It tastes fucking amazing.
Why doesn't everyone put peanut butter and pickles in a normal breakfast burrito? I literally close my eyes in bliss as I take another salty bite.
"What are you doing?"
My eyes snap open and I jump. I'm still standing at the counter - I was so hungry I didn't bother to sit at the table, and I almost drop my perfect burrito. Timothée is standing in our kitchen doorway in a lavender hoodie and matching sweats, squinting his eyes at the light. His voice sounds groggy. I must have woken him up.
"I was hungry," I say, my mouth full of burrito.
He cocks one eyebrow in confusion when he sees the counter in front of me. A pickle jar, eggs, peanut butter, Oreos, bagels, cream cheese, cashews, and pepperoni.
"Pepperoni? It's been... what, seven years since you've had meat?" he asks, stepping into the kitchen and sitting across from where I'm standing at one of the bar stools lining the counter.
"I don't know. It sounded so good, but I won't do it. Too gross," I say. Honestly, that's not entirely how I feel at the moment. I could eat that whole bag of pepperoni.
"Wait, what's in that?" he asks me, pointing at my burrito.
"Oh, it's egg, hot sauce, diced pickles, and peanut butter. You have to try it. I don't know why nobody has ever thought of this before," I tell him excitedly. I try to hand him the burrito, but he crinkles his nose in disgust.
"Y/N, that smells so terrible," he says, leaning away slightly.
I shrug my shoulders and take another bite of the burrito.
"You just... woke up and got out all this random food?" he asks warily, surveying the counter again.
I nod in response, my mouth too full to answer. I think I need to make another one.
He doesn't say anything for a moment.
"Y/N... this is weird," he says.
He looks wide awake now.
"Huh? I know it's a weird combo but what's the issue?" I ask. I reach for the eggs and the frying pan to scramble more.
"No, like... this is weird. These are weird cravings," he says. He looks extremely tense.
"What?" I ask again. Why is he freaking out?
"When was the last time you had your period?" he asks me carefully.
I freeze where I'm standing.
Something clicks in my head.
How did I not even think of this? The last time I had my period... was... a month ago? I little longer? Oh god, it was a little longer. I don't really keep track... it's never that big of an issue. I was sick the other morning... and once in the late morning last week... and I take a pregnancy test every so often, but it's been a while... oh god. Oh god.
"Y/N?"
I snap back into reality. I'm holding the frying pan and the eggs, still frozen in place.
Timothée gets up, walks over to me, and gently holds my shoulders.
"What's... what are you thinking right now?" his voice shakes only slightly, but I can hear how unnerved he is.
I finally find it in me to move, and I set the eggs and the frying pan down slowly on the counter next to me. I look into Timothée's eyes. I'm sure mine are panicked.
I run out of the kitchen, leaving him standing there, up the stairs, and into the bathroom. I fumble in the cabinet under the sinks for a pregnancy test. I know they're down here somewhere.
How have I been so inattentive?
Everything adds up as I pull out the box of drug store pregnancy tests, and take one.
The morning sickness. The cravings. I have been eating more! And... I've been more moody!
Once I'm done taking the test, I stare at myself in the mirror and shake my hands.
A glimmer of hope peeks it's way through all of the panic I'm feeling, and I smile just slightly at myself.
A soft nock on the door makes me jump for the second time tonight, this one because of all the adrenaline coursing through my body.
I turn and slowly open the door.
"What?" Timothée asks, striding in. He picks up the pregnancy test, which is laying on a tissue. "When will it say?" he gives it a panicked shake and then squints at it again, as if that will make the results come faster.
I feel oddly calm. I feel like I already know. I'm already sure of it. I take the test from him and set it back on the tissue, running my hands up his arms and wrapping them around his neck.
"I think I'm pregnant," I whisper, staring into his eyes. His look of panic turns to shock, and then I see the pure joy flicker across his features.
He leans down and engulfs me in the tightest hug.