Work Text:
He fucked up. He knows that.
He was making things worse for himself. He remembers thinking that when he saw Nate stoically got up from the seat and went back to the bed he just lied on moments ago. Maybe he could have salvaged some kind of forgiveness if he didn’t say anything, but he fucked up real bad right then and there.
He remembers looking at Nate who just emptily stared at the ceiling of their OBGYN’s office (can he even call her ‘their’ now?) as she prodded him with the unsightly metals. Jaw clenching, eyes getting even more vacant (if they weren’t already since he saw him just looking at the wall before) especially with the deep bruised bags under them, and completely without a peep, Nate looked…soulless.
Matt swears he wanted to take back his request for the test, but Dr. Florence had already proceeded.
(Also, why did she agree to it anyway? Nathan didn’t verbally consent to the procedure. Is it because he is the Alpha and somehow that overrides Nate’s bodily autonomy? That’s fucking bullshit.)
When he remembers the whole thing, he just wants to throw up because how could he do that to Nate? Nate’s gone through enough already last September, and he was trusted with the past with that bastard Vincent. He was just basically throwing that on Nate’s face. His boyfriend (maybe?) had been violated enough.
Fucking hell, he’s the worst human being on the planet.
His coworkers and fellow students on the evening classes he’s taking keep asking him if he’s okay. Why are you in the funk, buddy? Trouble in paradise? Hahaha.
God, he wants to punch them.
He doesn’t, of course. He’s got enough on his plate. He doesn’t need any more trouble. Besides, he’s a terrible person enough as he is. Imagine if he actually punches them because he’s a little bitch who can’t take a joke.
He just bitterly smiles at them. Nah, It’s cool.
Sometimes they look deeply at him, as if realizing that he might actually be in serious trouble. He appreciates that.
Though, he’ll appreciate it more if he could turn back time so that he didn’t have to go through the day Nate completely dismissed him with a simple, non-committal ‘Okay’.
“Look, honey, you’re gonna be home for Thanksgiving, right? You can’t be that busy.”
“Of course, Mom. I will.”
And I’ll happily listen to how my ‘lifestyle’ is not healthy and I should be settling down with a nice Omega girl. I’ll also keep watching you completely ignore how our relatives from far away states are staunch supporters of banning immigrants and certain groups from entering the country. And banning the little fragile Omegas from getting out of housewife ‘career.’ Looking forward to that.
“Don’t worry, I’ll go home. I mean, it’s not that far drive.”
“Good. Your dad and I would like to see you. And your sister is going to go home for the first time since going to college 3 months ago.”
“Cool.”
Silence.
“You’re…you’re going alone are you?”
Which translates to ‘you’re not going to rub your queerness on our faces, are you, with your so-called ‘boyfriend’?’
“Hmm.”
Even if he wanted to just piss his parents and bigoted relatives off, he’s got no one to piss them off with.
“So, Hello, Hello Mariah is going to be on cinemas in less than a month!”
“Yeah. I know!”
Matt sighs. Of course Nate will be on TV. Why wouldn’t he?
“This is about, sort of a medieval life story, very heavy, almost tragic, huh?”
“Uh uh. Very…olden days, is probably how you can describe it.”
“Very different from the movie you were in last year.”
“Very different, yeah. That one was almost whimsical, full-of teen angst, in a way,” Nate giggles with the interviewer, “but it was youthful and hopeful, still. Hello, Hello Mariah isn’t anything like that.”
Nate has his hand on his chin, looking very sophisticated and smart.
“So how was it to completely overhaul from your previous role to this one?”
“Well…”
Matt tries to listen to it, but many of the terms and the explanation are just hard to digest. Or maybe he is too distracted by how otherworldly Nate looks even with just simple glasses and that cashmere sweaters. Or by the pulsating pain in his chest that he suspects is probably what people call as heartbreak.
The little blobs look very strange.
Dr. Florence said they’re the heads.
They’re not really small, per say. Just small in comparison to the things he sees in real life. Those blobs look bigger than the small columns of vertebrae and the tiny grainy jutting parts she identified as the limbs. Those parts are very tiny, especially when they’re seen from the compressed version on his phone.
He touches his screen with his thumb and index finger, dragging them away from each other to zoom in.
He giggles when he realizes that the babies look like tadpoles.
Very adorably tiny but weird-looking. He can’t believe more than 25 years ago, he also looked just like that. Nate also looked just like that.
Maybe. Maybe not.
Nate’s an Omega male. He probably looked different as a fetus. Or maybe Matt is being discriminatory again.
He sighs out tiredly.
Scrolling to the side several times, he finally stumbles upon the photo of the first letter that he got from the doctor’s office. He was mailed one, and Nate too (or at least he assumes so because Nate has the photo of the same letter.)
Name: Nathaniel Khiem Leighton
Partner Name: Matthew Frey Langdon
Age: 23 years 2 months
Blood Group: O Rhesus: (-)
Typesign: Omega
Status: Positive
Fetal Progress: 5 weeks 4 days (per October 4th 2017)
He scrolls to the bottom slowly, trying to take in all the information in the graphs and the numbers and the words as if there will be new thing that pops up on the photo or that he has somehow overlooked a line.
Of course none of that happens. He’s read the letter more than a dozen times since he realized he fucked up. There is no way he has skipped something.
He breathes out deeply again and presses the lock button on top of the phone before throwing it haphazardly to nowhere in particular.
He just saw the picture few minutes ago.
He’s trying not to let it affect him. You don’t deserve to be angry, Matt, he keeps telling himself. It’s not working.
You see, it’s not every day that you see a photo of your famous kind-of-boyfriend-kind-of-not with a random girl on his lap. Not to mention that the said kind-of-boyfriend-kind-of-not’s friends have told you that he had a girlfriend who has dated him in a much longer time than you do (did? Have they even ended their relationship or not?)
How hard could it be to connect the dots? And how hard could it be to get to the most obvious conclusion? Easy, of course.
What’s not easy is trying not to bawl his eyes out while crumpling to the ground like a little bitch and throwing his phone to the wall as hard as he can while screaming on top of his lung, all at the same time. He’s very tempted to do that. Instead, he just freezes with eyes glued to the screen.
Fuck.
He’s lost him for good, hasn’t he?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Fucking shit. Motherfucking bitch, it hurts.
Fuck.