Chapter Text
Ayan notices the silence first.
Not the absence of sound—because the city never truly sleeps—but the way his body has begun to move more carefully within it. As if something inside him has asked the world to lower its voice.
He wakes before dawn, long before Akk’s alarm, with his hand resting on his stomach without remembering when he put it there. The sheets are warm. Akk is solid beside him - his Akk the Alpha who he love so much, his Alpha who has 1 years relationship with him already, one Akk arm slung loosely around Ayan’s waist, breath slow and even. Alpha scent, grounding and familiar, surrounds him like a wall he didn’t know he’d been leaning on.
Ayan closes his eyes.
Something is different.
It’s not fear—not exactly. It’s a hum under his skin, a quiet pull that tugs at him when he stands, when he eats, when he breathes. His heat cycle is late. Very late. His appetite comes and goes in strange waves, nausea curling unexpectedly in the mornings. And his emotions—gods, his emotions—have been fraying at the edges for weeks now.
He tells himself it’s stress. Work. Life. The way the world never quite makes room for an Omega to slow down.
But this morning, with the early light filtering through the curtains and Akk’s steady presence behind him, denial feels thin.
Ayan slips out of Akk’s hold carefully, easing himself from the bed. Akk stirs but doesn’t wake, only turning slightly, reaching for warmth that isn’t there anymore. Guilt pinches sharp in Ayan’s chest.
“I’ll be back,” he whispers, even though Akk can’t hear him.
The bathroom light is too bright.
Ayan squints, leaning against the counter as he exhales slowly through his nose. He stares at his reflection: hair a little messier than usual, eyes darker with lack of sleep. He doesn’t look different. That’s the strange part. He feels different in ways that haven’t reached the surface yet.
The test sits on the counter, unopened.
He bought it three days ago. It’s been waiting ever since.
Ayan picks it up with hands that are steadier than he expects. There’s a sense of inevitability now, like his body already knows the answer and is simply waiting for his mind to catch up.
The minutes afterward stretch too long and not long enough at the same time.
He sits on the edge of the bathtub, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor tiles. His scent is muted, carefully controlled, but beneath it there’s something else—soft, budding, unfamiliar. It scares him how instinctively he wants to curl around it, to protect it from even his own thoughts.
When he finally looks, it feels like stepping off a ledge.
Positive.
The word doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Ayan presses a hand over his mouth, breath hitching. His other hand moves—again without conscious thought—to his stomach. There is nothing to feel yet. Nothing tangible. And yet—
“Oh,” he whispers.
The sound is barely there, swallowed by the room.
His legs tremble, and he sinks fully onto the floor, back against the tub. A laugh bubbles up, sharp and disbelieving, and then turns into something dangerously close to a sob. He lets it happen, quietly, because Akk is still asleep and Ayan doesn’t know how to explain this yet.
Pregnant.
The word echoes through him.
This wasn’t planned. They talked about it, sometimes, in the abstract way people do when the future feels far away. Akk always careful, always checking, always saying whenever you’re ready. Ayan had smiled and said we’ll see and meant it.
He hadn’t expected now.
His Omega instincts stir, warm and fierce, wrapping around the truth like it belongs there. But tangled with that warmth is fear—sharp and real. The world isn’t kind to pregnant Omegas. Expectations pile up fast. Judgments even faster.
And Akk—
Ayan swallows.
Akk deserves to know. Akk has the right to know. And yet the idea of saying it out loud makes his chest tighten painfully.
What if this changes everything?
--------------------
By the time the sun is fully up, Akk is awake.
He notices immediately that something is wrong.
Not wrong in the sense of danger—no sharp scent of fear, no distress—but off. Ayan is quieter than usual, movements slower, eyes thoughtful in a way that makes Akk’s Alpha instincts rise to attention.
“You’re up early,” Akk says gently, pouring coffee into two mugs. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “Did you sleep okay?”
Ayan hums, noncommittal. He’s sitting at the table, hands wrapped around a glass of water instead of coffee. Akk notices that too.
“You’re not drinking coffee,” Akk says.
Ayan looks up, startled, then smiles faintly. “Didn’t feel like it.”
Akk files that away.
They move around each other with practiced ease—years of shared space smoothing the edges of morning—but there’s a thread of tension humming beneath it. Akk doesn’t push. He knows better than to crowd an Omega who’s clearly thinking.
Still, his gaze keeps drifting back.
Ayan eats only half his breakfast. He pauses halfway through, hand pressing briefly to his stomach, breath hitching before he schools his expression.
Akk sets his fork down.
“Aye.”
The Omega looks up. “Yeah?”
“You okay?” Akk asks, softly.
It’s not the words—it’s the tone. Open. Steady. No demand in it at all.
Ayan’s throat tightens.
“I—” He stops, takes a breath. “Can we talk? After you get back from work?”
Akk frowns slightly. “I can stay home.”
“No,” Ayan says quickly, then gentler, “It’s okay. I just… need a little time.”
Akk studies him for a long moment. Alpha instincts urge him to insist, to hover, to protect. He reins them in.
“Okay,” he says instead. “But if you need me, you call. Immediately.”
Ayan nods, relief flickering across his face. “I will.”
When the door closes behind Akk, the apartment feels too quiet again.
--------------------
Ayan spends the day in a strange haze.
He cleans, slowly. Rearranges a few things without realizing why. At one point he sits on the couch and simply breathes, hand resting over his stomach, grounding himself in the knowledge that he’s not imagining this.
By the time Akk comes home, the sun is low and Ayan’s nerves are stretched thin.
Akk pauses just inside the door.
Ayan’s scent hits him immediately—richer, warmer, threaded with something unfamiliar that makes Akk’s breath catch. His Alpha responds instinctively, protective urge flaring sharp and sudden.
“What happened?” Akk asks quietly.
Ayan stands from the couch. He looks small, somehow, and impossibly strong all at once.
“I need you to sit,” Ayan says.
Akk does.
Ayan paces once, twice, then stops in front of him. His hands are shaking now. Akk notices. He reaches out, but stops short, letting Ayan decide.
“I took a test,” Ayan says finally.
Akk’s mind goes very still.
“What kind of test?” he asks, voice careful.
Ayan meets his eyes. There’s fear there. Hope. Trust.
“A pregnancy test.”
The world seems to tilt.
Akk stands without realizing he’s moving. He closes the distance between them slowly, deliberately, like approaching something sacred.
“And?” he asks, even though he already knows.
Ayan swallows. “It’s positive.”
For a moment, Akk doesn’t move for a long moment.
Then he exhales—not sharp, not startled, but slow, grounding, like he’s choosing to anchor himself right here. His hands come up, warm and steady, resting lightly on Ayan’s arms.
“Okay,” he says again, softer this time. Certain.
Ayan lets out a small, breathless laugh. “You’re… very calm about this.”
Akk’s lips curve, just barely. “I’m not calm,” he admits. “I’m just… here.”
He hesitates, then lowers himself so they’re eye to eye. “May I?”
Ayan knows what he means. He nods.
Akk’s hand settles over Ayan’s stomach, gentle enough that it barely presses, like he’s afraid of startling something fragile and precious. His breath stutters when he realizes—truly realizes—that there is a future beating quietly beneath his palm.
Akk doesn’t say anything at all.
Then he smiles.
It’s not wide or overwhelming. It’s soft. Private. Like something meant only for the two of them.
“Hi,” Akk murmurs, not to Ayan—but to what’s between them.
Ayan’s eyes burn. He swipes at them, embarrassed, but Akk notices anyway. He stands, pulling Ayan into his chest, one hand still resting protectively at his lower back.
“You don’t have to be scared,” Akk whispers. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. I’ve got you.”
Ayan exhales, tension draining from his shoulders as he leans fully into the embrace. Akk smells steady—warm Alpha certainty without possession, without pressure. Just home.
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Ayan admits quietly.
Akk presses a kiss into his hair. “You did. That’s enough.”
They stay like that for a long time, swaying slightly, the world outside their apartment fading into something distant and unimportant. The future is still unknown. Complicated. Messy.
But right now, in this quiet space, it feels gentle.
It feels safe.
Akk’s hand remains over Ayan’s stomach, thumb tracing slow, absent-minded circles, as if memorizing the shape of what’s to come.
And for the first time all day, Ayan smiles without fear.