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Type stood in the coffee shop line absentmindedly, just thinking to himself. Today had been a good, if not mildly stressful day. Stressful only in the sheer size of the list of things he had to buy for this week, all these past weeks. It was a new thing for him, shopping hours on end with no one around, Techno would've joined him today, but he had a test.
Once Type had gotten the hang of it however, he really found he didn’t mind shopping alone. Especially when he wasn’t shopping for himself. It was good for letting his mind work. Type didn’t know it, but he was smiling softly at the reminder of the little one growing in his womb. He was about eleven weeks into his pregnancy, the bump was barely showing anything but it was still there. All of his loose fitting clothes still concealed the evidence and today he was wearing a forgiving hoodie, so to the rest of the world he looked like a normal twenty-two year old male.
Every week was just as this, Type worked through university hours and attended classes, went to football practice using pregnancy-safe, doctor-recommended exercise routines, and reserved Sunday as his shopping day. Where he would have a prepared baby shopping list put together by himself, Techno, and Champ, consisting of all the things he’d need to stock up on for the baby when he or she came. It was easier to shop on Sunday’s, the three close friends quickly figured out, because A) he had no classes on Sunday’s and B) he got paid every Saturday, so he wouldn’t have to worry about budgeting for the baby.
Techno and Champ had been Type’s close friends since high school, and have always known that he wanted to be a parent, a good dad, but it wasn’t till their freshman year as college students did they really understand how much he wanted it, how badly he yearned, and how prepared he was to have a family.
Back then, Type had a serious partner that he was going out with, a partner who claimed to love him, someone who’s ugly colors were revealed with a pregnancy scare. Type had taken three drug store tests at the time to be absolutely sure, two had come back positive, revealing that he was with child. Type’s partner promised to stay with him to the end and the two of them began building their lives around having a child together.
Type’s level headedness, and at times, genuine excitement at the thought of being a father, even so early in his adult life, surprised Champ and Techno greatly, and they were overall happy for their friend, ready to help in any way. Then came the news, when Type actually went to the hospital for a check up and found out that he was in fact not pregnant, that he hadn’t been pregnant the whole time and that those drugstore tests, though effective, aren’t the end all, be all for pregnancy tests. Type’s partner expressed his unabashed relief when Type told him the truth. He then confessed that before the pregnancy, he’d been planning to break up with Type, but suddenly everything happened and he felt trapped in the relationship, like he had to stay. With the truth of Type’s condition out, he left, shattering Type’s heart to a million pieces and never looking back.
Type was brought back to reality, to the coffee line, when the person in front of him moved up. He moved with her, keeping his respectable distance and subconsciously rubbed his belly through the big pocket of his black hoodie. It was almost nothing at this stage, just a small baby bump, but it was still there, and it was his great comfort. Type and baby against the world, with the help of uncle Techno and uncle Champ, of course. Type chuckled softly to himself, remembering when he told those silly uncles-to-be about his decision to actually get pregnant. Because it was his decision, his choice. This precious bubble of life inside him was very much planned for. Type had already done half the grunt work during his pregnancy scare, all he needed was the child. And screw his ex, he didn’t need a romantic partner to make it happen. If he wanted a kid, he was going to have a kid damnit, forget about the boyfriend or the husband, he was ready and willing to do this himself. Which is exactly what he did.
It had taken Type, Techno and Champ about six months before they found a donor clinic that they were all comfortable with. And two long months of endless known-donor sessions before the boys agreed to seek out an anonymous donor, and two more months after that before they found the father of Type’s child.
His picture was attractive to say the least, and his information said he was about as tall as Type which was a major bonus, given how apparently short all the anonymous male donors in Thailand were. He had dark hair and eyes, a strong brow and a very sharp jawline that Type could get behind. His description spelled out the rest.
His occupation was listed as an aspiring entrepreneur, which certainly caught Type’s interest, he was apparently working through graduate school towards a masters degree in Business Economics, already having two standing bachelors. One in Business Econ, and one in Music, which Type thought was out there, but cute. He was younger than Type by five months, which was well within his limit of a five year age gap, and he looked even younger in his photo than his page suggested. His family tree had no history of any genetic or mental illnesses or disorders that might be passed to offspring and overall he just seemed like the perfect donor for the job.
He was young, smart, healthy, he was...he was here...he was sitting right. Over. There. Wait what? Type did a double take.
There was a figure, a man, sitting alone at one of the window tables in the far back of the cafe, and he kind of looked exactly like Type’s sperm donor.
What the fuck?
Type was now openly staring at the stranger across the room, not taking his eyes off of the eerily familiar man even as he stepped up to the counter to order, as it was now his turn. He kept trying to get a good look at this doppelganger’s face because what? But the guy’s head was down, he was working it looked like. Ducked behind the screen of his laptop with papers strewn all about him on his small table for two. Type tried to move himself, angle his head to look at the man from over or beside his screen but it didn’t help much.
This absolutely couldn’t be him, Type surmised. There just fucking happened to be a man whom looked exactly like his baby daddy, if a little bit older, sitting not twenty feet away from him at a random ass cafe near his school. That’s all.
Then again, “Sir?” It has been a while since Type has seen his donor’s picture. “Sir? Your order?” Almost half a year now. Maybe he’s just forgotten what he looked like and his brain is tricking him. “Sir?” Making him think that this equals that. “Sir?” Type snaps out of his fervor.
“What?” His head turns to the cashier in front of him. Shit. He shakes himself out of his thoughts. Shit he’s an idiot. “Sorry, fuck, I’m sorry. I was just a little distracted for a second.”
“That’s alright,” The cashier smiles up at him, happy to have caught his attention. “What would you like today?”
“Uh,” Type looks back over to that man again. It’s a scary resemblance. He has coffee on his table amidst the papers, which he distractedly takes a sip of without looking away from the screen in front of him. Type has terrible impulse control, and he blames the hormones one hundred percent for the thing he says next as he turns back to the cashier. “I’ll have what he’s having.”
Well shit.
And now his own stupid arm is pointing across the room to a complete stranger, who happens to look a hell of a lot like his donor.
“I’m sorry,” The cashier asks in light confusion, “you know this gentleman?”
“I just might.” Type mumbles to himself, “Oh,” he says louder while laughing, “of course! He's a...very close friend of mine.”
Good thing Type’s always had a knack bullshitting people when he needed it most. He watches his charms work yet again as the cashier smiles back at him. “Great, if you could just give me his order, and your name, I’ll ring you right up, sir.”
Well shit. “Oh, no,” he laughed, “we have this game where we meet up for brunch, and whoever arrives first orders anything they want, and the loser,” he gestured to himself, “has to get whatever that might be.” He gives a helpless shrug, “I have no idea what his order could have been. You don’t happen to remember it, do you?”
Unfortunately, the cashier shook her head. “I’m sorry it’s been a busy day and he got here over an hour ago.”
“That’s alright, I’ll just order my drink and we don’t have to tell him.” Type winked playfully at the cashier like it was their little secret and she giggled behind her hand.
“You sure you don't want to just ask him?”
Type shakes his head. Unknowingly placing his hand on his stomach. The bump was comforting. He was stressed. It worked. “Oh, that’s fine, I don’t want to hold up the…” he turned to gesture behind him, but no one was there. Great. “Nevermind then.” By the time he turned back around, which was less than a second, he could have sworn, the cashier to Type’s absolute terror, was already leaning over the counter to call the man in question.
Oh shit. Holy shit. Shit. SHIT.
“Excuse me sir?” She called out, careful not to disturb the few guests that were there, but loud enough to get his attention, it’s not like he had earbuds in. “Sir?” He didn’t look up. “Sir?” With every new call, Type silently wished for death. Then he immediately held his stomach with both hands and cursed himself for wishing something like that. “Sir?” She finally got his attention, he looked up. Wide eyes, handsome face, confused smile.
“Um,” He chuckled awkwardly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t order anything else.” His voice was light and smooth, but not alarmingly so, it matched his face and body. He gave the woman at the counter an apologetic smile, which Type almost melted for. Holy shit this man was gorgeous in real life. No! Not in real life. Type chastised himself. You don’t even know if this is your guy. You don’t know if you’ve seen him anywhere other than right here, right now.
“No sir,” The cashier smiled. “I was just wondering what your order was, for this young gentleman.” The cashier gestured to Type, who was not expecting that. His eyes widened as the handsome stranger's attention was diverted inderailably to him. He blushed so hard, so fucking fast, he was sure his face and ears just broke records.
The man’s confused look fell on Type, before he seemed to piece together the situation to himself. Ha. Like he’d have any idea what’s actually going on. Hey, random stranger, I think I might be carrying your child. Thoughts? No, we haven’t met before, why do you ask? Type internally scoffed at the ridiculousness of it all. He probably thinks I’m some easy pair of legs looking for attention. No thanks. You might be pretty, but I’m not buying.
“Oh really?” He smirks right at Type, making him blush more. With an added layer of anger spiking his system. Dickhead, your sperm could be in me, or any number of men and women and you’re blatantly flirting with some rando in a coffee shop? Although he supposed anonymous donors were allowed to have lives, and he really shouldn't be getting posessive over a man he didn't know. Who cared that he might be the second father of Type's child? Not Type, that's who.
Type opted to say nothing, preferring to get this interaction over with as quickly as possible with as little input from him as necessary. “I think I’d be happy to give this young man my coffee order.” Type almost glared at him, but deciding how rude it’d be to death-glare a man he hadn’t met, technically, he decided to just glare at the floor.
Type hated when men thought they were being cute by showering him with attention. He was twenty goddamn two, he was no stranger to the concept of strangers flirting with him. He knew how he looked, he knew he was slim, tall, fit and athletic, that didn’t mean he liked or appreciated the fact that men and women (but mostly men) felt like they owed him all the sweet talk just because he looked like something they would want. It was disgusting.
It didn’t matter how good looking the guy was, and this particular guy was very good looking, Type begrudgingly had to admit, all up close and personal like this, not that he hadn’t been up close and personal with this guy before. Maybe. Probably. Type couldn’t tell anymore. The longer he looked at him, the longer his doubt diminished. And even if he was the donor of his dreams, what the hell was Type supposed to do with that? He didn’t know this man. He didn’t want a boyfriend or a husband. Type and this baby were fine on their own, thank you very much.
The man gave his order to the cashier, who seemed like she was having too much fun with this. “Great, thank you sir,” she smiled to the stranger before turning back to Type, “and your name?”
Type lifted his burning eyes from the floor and squared his fears dead in the pretty brown eyes, “Type,” he expelled forcefully, and only to the smirking stranger he added, “Type Thiwat Phawattakun.”
The man’s smirk turned into a wide, genuine smile, and unlike most guys in the past, he didn’t seem deterred by Type’s intense glare.
The cashier rang Type up quickly and he was suddenly left with the matter of what to do now. Feeling as though he had no other choice, Type swallowed a difficult breath along with half his pride and slowly began walking over to the man’s table. The stranger sat back as Type neared, his beautiful face never faltering it’s smile, he looked completely amused at Type’s clear nervousness which Type did not appreciate in the slightest.
“Can I…” Type grumbled out, “sit?”
“Of course.” The man quickly moved to sit up and pull out the chair for Type to take. “Type Thiwat Phawattakun.” He smiled.
Type nodded with his lips pursed. Congratulations. You have working ears and a memory that lasts longer than three seconds. “Just Type works.” Was what he said aloud, however.
The stranger nodded. “Type it is.” He smartly agreed.
Sitting here. Mere inches away from him. Seeing his smile. His face. The way the sharp bridge of his nose looked complimentary to his cheekbones and overall facial structure. The way his brows were shaped, the brown his hair was, his lips, his jaw, and most importantly, most strikingly, those eyes. The first thing that drew Type to him in his photo, the eyes he couldn’t get out of his head even after six months. There was no doubt in Type's mind that this was his man. The man whose child he was currently carrying.
Shit. Type’s nervous hands went into the giant front pocket of his hoodie so he could discreetly stroke the baby bump. This man’s baby. He at least had the right to know, right? This was his child. Right?
“What’s your name?” Type asked in earnest. Partly because he should say something right now to fill his panicked silence, but mostly because in actuality, he was genuinely curious to know it. I mean he would have carried on fine without it, but now that he had this chance, he knew he had to ask.
“Tharn.” The stranger answered. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Tharn Thara Kirigun.”
“Tharn.” Type repeated. Okay so, how the fuck does one have a conversation with another human being again? Type shifted a little in his seat before he cleared his throat. “So, what is it you do for a living, Tharn?”
Tharn laughed at the wording, but otherwise didn’t comment on it. “Well, in an effort to not sound too douchey or narcissistic, I actually have my own company so I guess you could say I’m my own boss.”
Type almost choked. Well that confirmed it. Entrepreneur, right? “Your own company?” He covered his reaction up with, “Wow, that’s interesting, what-- what does your company specialize in?”
“We’re mostly looking to advance the technological side of music. We make and manufacture equipment anywhere from loudspeakers and microphones, to headphones and earbuds, to whole soundboards and recording paraphernalia like it.” Tharn explained. Then he gave a sheepish smile and Type’s heart was shaking. “I have sort of a passion for music, and I’ve worked hard building my company and getting our name out there.”
“That’s very admirable.” Type nodded, and he really meant it. Tharn’s drive and work ethic really seemed to match what he’d read about him and Type was only further reinforced in his choice. He was electing to set aside the bizarre fact that he was talking to the actual father of his child right now. “What’s your company called?”
“Kirigun Muse Entertainment.” He smiled. “Or Muse. Most people just call us Muse.”
“No freaking way.” Type couldn’t help but exclaim. Tharn chuckled at his reaction and just shrugged. Muse. The fucking CEO of Muse Entertainment. Whose full name was apparently Kirigun Muse Entertainment. Type had a pair of Muse earbuds in his car right now. He decisively shook his head. “You’re serious?”
“I have no reason to lie.” He shrugged. “But here,” he stuck a hand in his front pocket and pulled out a card, handing it to Type. He sat back as Type inspected it, taking a sip of his coffee.
Type accepted the card, carefully looking it over. It was an employee I.D. card that had a more updated face in it’s rectangle, from the one he'd seen at the clinic. The man, Tharn, in comparison to the first picture Type had seen of him, looked older, sharper, more matured here. If he was cute in the first one, he was straight up, inarguably handsome in this one. It was clearly the same person, just a little more grown. Type had already reached this conclusion, shit, did the universe have to keep hitting him over the head with it? This man was his impregnator. Great.
Type tried his best to keep his expression even, as he knew Tharn must be watching him carefully, he looked back up at the man in question and nodded silently, handing the card back to him. “Okay,” he said simply, “slightly impressive.”
Then the man was laughing as he took his card back. “Thank you.”
“Slightly.” Type emphasized.
“Understood.” Tharn acknowledged, smiling up at Type in a way that quickened the boy's heart beat.
And then Type didn’t know what he was doing. He was leaning forward? Why? “Tharn, I--”
“Order for Type!”
The call-out cut him off and Type snapped his mouth shut, surprised at himself. You’d think of anyone, that he’d be used to his own impulse by now, but nope. Holy shit. What had he been about to say? He blinked, looking back at the awaiting order and got up, relieved to have an excuse out of the immediate vicinity. Type made his way over to his-- well technically Tharn’s, order as he chastised himself quietly.
On the way back to his seat, Type caught the rich aroma of coffee as it wafted towards him and he grimaced. A few weeks ago, he would have been perfectly happy to down the dark liquid before it even had time to cool off, but since his pregnancy he's really started detesting the taste of coffee and caffeine in general. Which fucking sucked cause he could seriously go for a cup right now. He sat down heavily and smelled it again to see if it might be okay enough for him to power through, but when he couldn’t stop himself from making a face for the second time, he turned his nose at it, deciding against trying it out. It was better than forcing the baby to drink something he or she didn’t like, only for the little one, and subsequently Type, to throw it up later.
“Well don’t drink it all at once.” Tharn joked, gauging his reaction.
“Sorry.” Type said, setting down the drink in front of him. “Could you drink this for me? Don’t get me wrong, I usually love coffee but ever since--” he went to hold his stomach again openly, to gesture to the baby, implying the pregnancy, but he managed to stop himself mid-movement. Holy shit, he almost exposed everything. Fucking perfect.
“Ever since?” Tharn questioned.
“Um ever since the…” He could feel the thud of his heart pushing against his ribcage. “The uh," Ah, shit, might as well rip the band aid. "The baby.” Type finished nervously. Fuck that was hard. “Heh,” he chuckled uncomfortably. “Little tyke doesn’t like anything I used to. Can’t even eat strawberries, can you believe it?”
“Oh,” Tharn’s eyes widened and he sat back. “You, you’re pregnant?”
Type closed his eyes and nodded. “Yes.” He looked back at Tharn. “Eleven weeks.” He was unsurprised to find Tharn looking at him as if for the first time all over again. His eyes drifted towards Type’s midsection and lingered there for a moment before snapping away. Type sat back and faced Tharn. “Do you want to feel? My clothes still cover the bump, but I am showing a little.”
Tharn looked seriously at Type. “May I?”
Type lifted his hand and nodded, “It’s okay.”
Tharn reached one hand out with a shy smile and gave Type a nervous expression. Type waited for the familiar feel of forgiegn hands holding him. Ever since he started showing, his friends had been all over him. There was just something about a baby bump that excited people. He didn't mind it too much, it didn't happen more often than he was comfortable with, but something told him the further along he went, the less true that would be.
Just when Tharn had been about to touch, he completely backed away in a nervous ramble. “You know if you’re uncomfortable, you really don’t have to...I mean, I wouldn’t want to--”
“Oh for fucks sake.” Type sighed before he was suddenly grabbing the hand of Tharn’s that was closest to him, and guiding it towards his belly. He laid the hand gently across his bump and Tharn felt it. He stilled, looking over at Type, and the man in question was already matching his gaze. Tharn silently asked for permission to move his hand around and Type slowly nodded a very small yes.
Tharn’s hand, which was still being pressed against the stomach by Type’s own, slowly moved up and around the bump. Feeling it out very gently. In fact, Type would believe them to be the most gentle hands besides his own, that have handled his forming baby. He smiled softly to himself. Maybe deep down, Tharn’s body knew how close the baby inside Type actually was to him.
After a few short moments, Tharn pulled his hand away. “So you’re pregnant.” He spoke in a very hushed tone.
Type nodded. “I didn’t know how to say it, but I didn’t want to go on with this," he gestured between the two of them, "while you didn't know.” He explained.
“Thank you for telling me.” Tharn nodded.
Type nodded back, but it wasn't over yet. “That’s not all.” His hands reach for purchase inside his hoodie again. He needed the baby’s comfort now more than ever.
“You have a partner, I’m assuming.” Tharn sighed, resigning himself to the disappointment of Type being unavailable.
“What? No.” Type shook his head. “I didn’t tell you I was pregnant to stop your flirting. I’m not with anyone.”
“So…” Tharn smiled slyly, courage instantly regrowing. “Then you liked my flirting?”
Type tsked. “Asshole. Would you shut up and listen to me? There’s another reason I sat down with you today.” He looked at the table in front of them, avoiding Tharn’s eyes. “The truth is, I uh, I recognized you.” He confessed. “At least, I thought I did. And I had to come over here to make sure it really was you.”
“Oh.” The sparkle in Tharn’s eyes faded. “Then you want an autograph or something?”
“Oh my fuck, no, that’s not what I meant.” Type groaned. “How big is your fucking ego? I didn’t know you were that Tharn Kirigun obviously. Shit.”
Tharn chuckled and bowed in quick apology. “Sorry, my mistake, please continue.”
“Are you actually going to listen to me?” Type asked incredulously, looking at Tharn like he was beyond over the man’s behavior. Tharn only nodded. “You are? You’re not going to interrupt me with your stupid conclusions like ten more times first?”
“No, no,” Tharn smiled, encouraging Type to continue. “Please.”
“What I was trying to say is that I definitely recognized you from somewhere,” Type started up again, “Somewhere important. And what I have yet to tell you may affect both of us forever but,” Type nodded with a heavy sigh as he rubbed his belly. “You have to know, it’s the right thing to do.”
“Uh, look Type, you're really nice and everything, but before you go on, I’m fairly certain this is the first time we’ve ever met.” Tharn said, suddenly getting very nervous. “I don’t think… I mean, there’s no way we ever…” he doesn’t finish his sentences. He can’t say it. “It’s just impossible.”
“Would you just shut up and let me finish?” Type snapped again. “Don’t be an idiot. Of course this is the first time we’ve ever met.” Tharn visibly relaxed. “I had to ask for your name for fucks sake.”
“Sorry.” Tharn sighed in relief. “I just needed to make sure you weren’t crazy or anything. I mean,” he laughed with nervous reprieve, “for a second there, I thought you were about to say that--” he gestured to Type, struggling to get the words out. “Well that-- maybe this baby--” he shook his head in a hurry, “which couldn’t possibly--”
“Thara Kirigun, shut up.” This worked incredibly well, the man clamped his mouth shut almost immediately as he looked at Type in surprise. The boy continued. “I need your pompous ass,” Woah. That came out of nowhere. Type usually had more patience with people than this. Even the stupid ones. Especially people he didn’t know and who did know him.
He figured he was so pissed, from so little, because of the hormones, but that didn’t make him any less mad. Or any less inquired to stop. “To know a few things before I go on. First, I wanted this baby. My child is mine. He or she was not a mistake, accident, or surprise, and this pregnancy was planned very carefully and well for the better part of three years.” Tharn nods rapidly. Type doesn't let him speak.
“Second, I know I look young, but I’ve wanted nothing more than to be a parent for a very long time, and you, you insulting jerk, do not have any right to speculate or judge me for my own goddamn decisions.” Type glared.
“Third, and most importantly, I had this baby inseminated within me eleven weeks ago after I chose to be impregnated through an anonymous sperm donation, and today, as I was standing in line, I recognized you from your picture as the man I chose to be my baby daddy.” Type took a harsh breath. He could feel unfallen tears cling to his lashes. Stupid fucking hormones. Fuck. With the anger came the pain and humiliation, the sting of rejection and sorrow for himself and his precious baby. It was all too much. “Tharn, you are the father of the child inside me.” Another breath. “And me, being the nice, fucking amazing person I am, figured you at least had the right to know.”
With this last statement he abruptly stood out of his chair. He didn’t flinch at the harsh scraping sound it made as he stood up. He couldn’t give less of a fuck at the people who were staring at them. He just shot up and got the fuck out of there wiping away his unshed tears away with the wrists of his sleeves.
Tharn for a moment just watched him walk out. Still in shock. When it finally hit him that if Type left now, he might never, ever see him again. With his child. He couldn’t take the thought. He leapt from his seat leaving all his stuff behind. He could replace everything anyway. He didn’t really care as he chased after the boy, calling out Type’s name. Asking him to slow down.
Type hadn’t gotten that far before he heard Tharn's shouts. He was still heading to where his car was parked. He acted as though he couldn’t hear the shouts behind him, too embarrassed and hurt.
Tharn finally caught him about to disappear around the corner, grabbing Type delicately by the wrist, but crowding the boy in, making sure he couldn't leave.
Type struggled against him but didn’t try too hard. Settling to just sniffle and wipe his eyes again. Tharn stared at him with awe and wonder. He couldn’t say anything, he just looked at Type. His piercing eyes making the subject of the gaze want to squirm under it.
Type was about to protest more when Tharn finally spoke. “This baby.” He began softly while slowly reaching his open palm towards Type's stomach. Type let him, he felt the hand come against his baby bump again, caressing it like the most breakable glass. “This is really my baby?” His voice broke, but he didn’t care. He was allowed to be emotional damnit.
Type sniffled again and looked at him with the most beautiful, angry, and determined eyes Tharn had ever seen. He gave the smallest nod. It was firm, certain.
“Oh fuck.” Tharn broke right there. Instantly pulling Type into his arms. He let his head fall against Type’s shoulder and his arms moved around him. One went to his lower back, while the other went to hold the bump securely.
Type didn’t move at first, not expecting this, especially after Tharn’s initial reaction in the shop. It was getting him all emotional again. He could feel it welling up deeply in his chest. His lips trembled as the tears were begging to fall anew, but he didn’t know why. Was it still anger? He didn’t feel too mad anymore. He wasn’t sad. He wasn’t exactly overjoyed either. It was a few moments before he even realized that Tharn’s shoulders were shaking too.
His large, comforting hand was slowly moving, caressing the bump as he cried. Type slowly lifted his hands to the back of Tharn’s head and across his shoulders, holding him close. Tharn leaned into his touch. “Tharn?” Type asked, voice raw.
The man swallowed thickly and finally stood back. Type let his hands fall away not knowing what to do as he stared up at Tharn. He had tears streaming down his cheeks, but he also had the biggest smile on his beautiful features, lighting his whole handsome face up. He was laughing, and crying.
“I can’t believe-- I mean I knew that maybe one day, but I never imagined--” He laughed again, something real and loud. The sound was music to Type’s ears.
"So, you're okay?" Type asked carefully.
Tharn nodded, using one hand to wipe his face, still holding Type with the other. “I’m fine, I'm fine," he laughed wetly, "I mean, maybe I'm not, but I don't care. I only need one more second, please. Just,” he slowly lowered himself to his knees and wrapped his arms around Type’s waist, resting his head against the baby, his baby. He pressed his proud smile into the fabric of Type’s hoodie. “Please just let me hold you. Both of you.”
A warm feeling bloomed directly in the center of Type’s chest. He began running his fingers softly through Tharn’s hair. He couldn't believe how nice it felt to be held again. He closed his eyes softly, letting the warmth overtake him. “Okay.” He whispered.