And even though he was twenty-two, Greg’s eyes were old, shadowed. Dale wasn’t sure what to make of it. Greg was half his age. He had a bright future ahead of him. And here they were in a college bathroom, Greg trying to help him with his pregnancy tests. “You’re young enough to be my son.”
Greg sighed. “Are you going to piss, or not?”
“I guess. I hope I have enough pee for this.”
He pushed his pants down, pulling his cock out. The entire time, Greg watched him. Dale flushed. Sex was one thing, but peeing was... a little more private than that.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be looking,” Dale said.
“You’ve memorized the instructions on the kits? The timing and all?”
Dale patted over his pockets, realizing he’d left his phone somewhere. Maybe in the office. He groaned, his heart sinking. “I don’t have a timer. Gods damn it.”
“Glad I’m here now?” Greg pulled his phone out, and Dale didn’t know if he wanted to hug this man. Greg was... nice. Adorable. Dale shouldn’t want to breathe him in.
“I guess,” he said.
“You guess.” Greg rolled his eyes. “You’re happy that I’m here.”
“Brat.”
“Shut up.”
But Greg smiled, and Dale relaxed. He wasn’t alone. He had someone doing these tests with him, and it was... nice. So unlike the silent bathrooms years ago, when he’d been trying to conceive.
Greg handed him the first stick. “Five seconds of piss on this one. Ready when you are.”
Dale peed. It felt weird, having Greg’s eyes on him, even though he knew Greg was waiting for the kit. It wasn’t anything sexual. His cheeks prickled with warmth anyway.
At five seconds, Dale stopped the stream, looking around for a spot to set the stick down. I should’ve been more prepared with this.
Greg took the test from him, handing him another one. “Ten seconds on this.”
“I don’t think I’ll have enough if they all need ten seconds.”
“Just keep going.” Greg set the stick down on its box, rereading the instructions on the third test.
Dale did the second and third tests in silence, and by the time he reached the fourth, there was no more pressure in his abdomen. “I don’t think I have enough pee for the last one.”
Greg took the fourth stick, checking the timer on his phone. “Can you hold the rest in? We’ll see how the tests go. Three minutes left on the first one.”
Dale sighed. “I suppose I’d have to.”
It was mildly uncomfortable, holding in pee now that he’d gotten it going. The timer ticked away, and Dale had nothing to say to Greg. Not You’re doing very well in this class, and certainly not I’m impressed by your assignments. Especially when his pants were down around his thighs, and Greg had just watched him urinate all over the pregnancy test kits.
Dale was a professor, but in front of Greg, he didn’t feel like one.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Greg said.
Well, there was that, too. Dale swallowed. “I doubt we have much to talk about outside of class.”
“Aside from last week?” Greg glanced at the timer, then met his eyes. And Dale couldn’t look away from him. A week after Dale’s heat, Greg still looked magnificent, his T-shirt stretched over his pecs, his biceps twice the size of Dale’s.
“Nothing happened last week,” Dale said.
“I’d have stayed if you’d let me.”
Dale looked down at the toilet, at their shoes almost touching. They belonged to two social circles—Dale with the professors, and Greg with his schoolmates. “Your father asked me for a list of omegas.”
Greg rolled his eyes. “And you sent him a list.”
“I didn’t realize it was a list for you until the day after.”
“Do you regret it?”
Dale breathed in the faint aspen scent rolling off Greg, stared at the lines of his full lips. “I don’t know. Should I?”
Greg opened his mouth to answer.
The timer went off then, a jarring tune in the tiny bathroom, and Dale jumped. Greg looked down at his phone. Then he glanced over at the pregnancy tests, and frowned. “You might wanna look at this.”
7
Dale
Dale’s breath snagged. He hurried over to the sink, staring down at the test kits.
On the first test, two blue lines ran through the little window. There were two lines on the second kit, too.
“About twenty seconds until the third one’s ready,” Greg said, but Dale wasn’t sure if he heard that right.
“What—what does it mean?” he asked, even though he knew. His heart was thumping too hard. The tests had to be wrong.
“Two lines is a positive. I checked.”
“I...” Dale blinked at the kits again, pressing his hand to his chest. His heart crashed against his ribs like it was trying to escape. “I can’t be pregnant.”
Greg glanced at his phone, then at Dale. “Third test is ready.”
Dale didn’t want to look, but he did. Two lines. One fainter than the other. “I... I can’t believe it. I’m not... I can’t be pregnant.”
He remembered the suitcase, and Charles dropping him off at the train station, their annulled marriage certificate tucked away in his pocket. Nineteen years ago, Dale had wished desperately that he could’ve borne a child, if only so he could stop Charles’ parents from saying those hurtful things. He’d spent hours staring at single lines on pregnancy tests, hoping they were wrong.
“Whose is it?” Greg asked, his eyes locked on Dale.
Dale swallowed. “I... I can’t...”
He looked down at his flat belly, smoothing his hand over it. It felt normal. A little soft where he’d put on a bit of weight, but it didn’t read pregnant.
The tests stared up at him, and the fourth test showed a single line through the window. That, Dale was more inclined to believe. “That one is right,” he said, pointing.
Greg snorted. “Three positives, and you’re saying the one negative result is right.”
Dale nodded. “Yeah. I’m... I can’t be pregnant.”
For a long moment, Greg studied him. “Do the fifth test. It’ll tell you.”
“I doubt it will.” But Dale dragged his feet back to the toilet, numbly taking the last test from Greg.
