“Sit down when you’re done,” Greg said, his eyes burning into Dale. “I’ll start the timer for this.”
When he’d zipped up his pants, Dale sat down on the toilet, his hands shaking. “I still don’t believe it.”
“Did you sleep with anyone else?” Greg asked. “This week?”
Dale shook his head, staring at the tiled bathroom walls.
“In the past two months?”
He shook his head again.
“Four months?”
Still no.
“Fuck,” Greg said, leaning against the sink. He stared at Dale, running his hand through his hair. “The baby’s mine?”
“We’re still waiting on the last test,” Dale said. “The other three are probably flukes.”
A beat of silence.
“You’re a professor,” Greg said, studying him. “You know how well these things work.”
Pain hissed through Dale’s chest, sharp and unwelcome. His throat tightened. “Don’t you think I know,” he muttered, and his voice cracked.
Nineteen years ago, Charles had brought home a case of pregnancy tests. Every week, Dale would sit in the bathroom, stopwatch in hand, waiting for the minutes to pass. Charles had begged. Then he’d threatened, and his parents had stared sourly at Dale, scorn on their faces.
Dale hadn’t been prepared for it. His parents had bartered him off, and he’d never wondered why he was their only child.
The first year into the marriage, he’d taken bottle after bottle of supplements. The second year, Charles’ parents had begun their whispering. The third, they’d dropped all attempt to be polite, and even Charles had started to question Dale’s ability to bear children.
Dale had grown fond of Charles, had hoped that Charles would keep him, maybe get a second omega. But Charles had handed him the annulled certificate and five hundred dollars, and Dale had felt like a ship unmoored in a storm, drifting through the choppy waves.
He’d hidden himself away in a small Californian town, hoping no one recognized him there.
In Meadowfall, the shame that had haunted him had faded with his history. Dale had studied for his PhD, worked his way through a lab, setting and meeting goals until he found worth in himself again.
Someone stepped in front of him. Dale looked up from the bathroom walls, his cheeks itchy.
“Sorry. I didn’t think it would hit you this bad,” Greg murmured. He crouched in front of Dale, reaching up to cup his cheeks. Then his thumbs brushed along Dale’s eyes, damp and apple-scented like he’d just washed them with soap.
Greg wiped the tears off Dale’s cheeks—Dale hadn’t even realized he’d been crying.
“It can’t be real,” Dale said.
“Why not?”
“I would—would still have a family if I did,” Dale said. He turned his wrist up, exposing the silvery bonding mark on his wrist. “I tried for three years straight. The doctor said I’m infertile.”
Greg glanced past Dale’s shoulder, at the sink, and Dale didn’t have any words for this.
“So I’m going to be a dad,” Greg said. His face was blank, too, and Dale hadn’t even started to think what this meant for Greg.
“I won’t—if the tests are accurate—I won’t hold you responsible,” Dale said. It was his fault. He’d told Greg to skip the condom. After Greg left his office last week, Dale had rolled a condom over his plug, slid it in, and savored the thought of Greg’s cum inside him.
Years ago, he’d tried it with Charles, but it had never resulted in a pregnancy. It shouldn’t be working now.
Greg stood and bent awkwardly, pulling Dale into a hug. “Sorry. I should’ve used a condom.”
Why would you even...? “No, it’s not your fault,” Dale said, gulping. Greg’s arms tightened around him, sturdy and strong, and Dale wanted to lean in and forget everything else.
The stopwatch beeped. Dale jumped again, his heart crashing into his ribs.
“Gods, I don’t think I’ll make it through today,” he mumbled, sinking his face into Greg’s shoulder. “I’m not... This is all a dream.”
Greg shifted, shutting off the alarm. Then he eased Dale off his chest. “C’mon, at least let me grab the kit.”
“I don’t know if I want to see it,” Dale said.
Greg leaned away, picking up the fifth test from the sink. Then he handed it to Dale, and two blue lines stared up at him.
He was pregnant. He was two years from tenure, and... and the child was Greg’s.
“Oh, gods. This is fucked up.”
“No shit,” Greg said. “You want a photo of the results as proof?”
Dale bit his lip. That would be incriminating in itself. He shook his head. “No. I don’t... I don’t think I’ll need it.”
He leaned back on the toilet, turning the kit around in his hands. He was pregnant. The child was Greg’s. And Dale didn’t know where he’d go from here.
“Are you keeping it?” Greg asked.
“Yes.” Dale rubbed his thumb over the test kit. He still couldn’t believe he was pregnant. But if he was... If he really was... Then he wanted this child.
Especially when Greg had wanted Dale when they’d mated. It hadn’t been sex for the sake of a baby. Greg had held him like he’d mattered, and the child was a reminder of that.
At twenty-two, Dale couldn’t imagine Greg wanting a baby. “Sorry,” Dale said, his throat tight. “This is my fault. I won’t need you to share in the parenting, or anything like that. You’re too young—”
Someone called out in the hallway outside, a muffled voice, and they both froze. Stared at each other. They were still in the college, one door away from the public.
“I’m not too young, damn it,” Greg muttered, glancing at the door. He stepped closer. “That kid’s also mine.”
“What do you want with it?” Dale shrank away from him, sliding his hand over his belly.
“I don’t know. I want to help.” Greg sank to his knees in front of Dale, curling his warm fingers into Dale’s palms. He was a basketball star. He had intelligent eyes, a well-to-do family, and he could do so much without the hindrance of a baby.
“You have
