waitress!reader tells linecook!barry that shes pregnant
you catch him between smoke breaks— back in the break room, shirt clinging to his chest, sweat at his temples from the lunch rush. he’s got that pissed-off look already, like someone breathing wrong might set him off.
you don’t say anything at first. just stand in front of the table where he’s leaning, arms crossed, jaw tense, tapping one boot heel against the tile. he glances up, then down. “the hell’s this face for?”
“i need to tell you something.” he stubs out the cigarette in a cracked little ashtray someone probably stole from the waffle house down the road, then leans back with a sigh.
“if it’s about the fryer again, don’t. not right now. swear to god i’ll walk.” you open your mouth, then close it. you didn’t plan this part. didn’t plan any of it, really. he squints. “you good?”
your throat tightens. “i’m pregnant.” he freezes. no smartass comment. no sarcastic exhale. just still. his brows furrow like he didn’t hear you right. “…what?”
“it’s yours.” silence. his face doesn’t move at first. his mouth twitches like he’s about to speak, but nothing comes out. he shifts his weight, standing a little straighter, arms falling from his chest. “you’re serious?” you nod. your fingers are cold now, and your knees feel hollow.
he rubs a hand over his face, looks away, mutters under his breath, “fuck.” and you know him well enough to know what’s coming. the shutdown. the blame. the version of him that makes everything harder just so it doesn’t have the chance to hurt.
“i’m not askin’ you for anything,” you say quickly. “i’m just—i didn’t wanna keep it from you.” he doesn’t respond. not right away. but his face is different. not angry. just— scared. unreadable. like his brain’s moving ten miles a minute behind his eyes. finally, he mutters, “how far?”
“seven weeks, maybe eight.” his eyes flick up. “you okay?” the question catches you off guard. your lip parts. “i think so.” he stares at the wall for a moment. then he nods, slow. you think maybe he’s gonna walk out, like he usually does when shit gets too real. but he doesn’t. instead, he says, “you tell anyone else?”
“no.” he nods again, just as slow. “you plan to?” you shrug. “eventually.” he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, jaw ticking. his voice is quieter when he speaks again. rough. “you thinkin’ about keepin’ it?” you nod.
he nods back, like he’s still trying to catch up. you’re not sure what to say next. you’re bracing for him to get cold. cruel. start saying things that’ll hurt on purpose, like he always does when he’s cornered. like this isn’t already hard enough.
but then his eyes flick back to you— and this time, they stay there. dark and unreadable, but not empty. not mean. “you should’ve told me sooner,” he says. “i was scared.” he swallows. “of me?” you don’t answer. his face twists. a second of regret flashes across it. maybe guilt. “shit.”
he rakes a hand through his hair. exhales hard. “fuck.” you watch him— barry, the same guy who always has a short fuse and no filter, who rolls his eyes when you talk too much and calls you a pain in the ass more than your own name— and for once, he looks like he might actually be thinking before speaking.
you clear your throat. “you don’t have to be involved. seriously. i know this wasn’t part of anything. we weren’t even—”
“don’t.” his voice cuts sharp, but not angry. just final. you blink. he looks up at you again. this time there’s something real behind it. tired, but real. “don’t talk like i don’t fuckin’ care.” your breath catches. he shakes his head. “i don’t know what the hell this is. you ‘n me. i didn’t think it was— more than what it was.”
“i know. me neither,” you say. “not really.”
“but you’re— he shrugs. “you’re not just some girl i screw in the walk-in. you’re not. i swear.” it’s quiet. so quiet. you step a little closer, heart beating loud. “then what am i?” he looks at you. just looks. and for once, the sarcasm’s gone. the mask. all of it.
“you’re the only person i care about,” he says. your chest aches. he blinks hard, clears his throat. “if this kid’s mine, if it’s really happening— then i’ll be there.” your eyes burn. “you don’t have to say that.”
“i’m not sayin’ it for you,” he mutters. “i’m sayin’ it ‘cause i will be.” you stare at him. at this man who’s never said anything real without barbed wire wrapped around it. and for once, he’s not running. he glances at the clock on the wall. “i gotta get back on the line. they’re probably burnin’ the place down without me.”
“yeah.” you turn to go, but before you reach the door, he says your name. not harsh. not teasing. just soft. you pause. he’s watching you. fidgeting with a cigarette he doesn’t light. “you eaten today?”
you shake your head. he gestures with his chin. “go sit at booth three. i’ll make you somethin’. something real.” your throat clenches. you nod once, quickly. “okay.”
you walk out, heart pounding. and even though nothing’s solved— not really— you feel a little less alone than you did ten minutes ago. and in the kitchen, barry ties his apron tighter and starts the grill with shaky hands. he doesn’t say anything, but in his chest, something’s shifted.
he might not know how to love. but he knows he wants to keep you safe.
and maybe, just maybe, that’s a start.
a/n : should i write an intro for this au even tho i already have wrote two drabbles for it 🥹
tags : : @enchantedstarfish @cameronsbabydoll @battybaby111 @iwishiknew-69 @alinavalentine @kittyreposts @littlelamy @heavenlyangelbaby @faitthhhhh @pointocean
