Chapter Text
In hindsight, Charles should have been expecting this.
Charles isn’t completely sure how he’s found himself in this situation. He’d been kind of disappointed to find out he was being roomed with a first year in his third year, but Lando was just on the line between feral and pitiful, so he hadn’t been that bothered after a few months. Enough to sign off on the new lease where Lando remained his roommate for his fourth year, too.
He isn’t stupid enough to think he and Lando have formed some sort of solid pack bond, but it’s always nice to come home to a fresh omega scent as compared to Pierre’s almost chemical beta scent his first two years. And Lando likes cuddling, something Charles pretends he doesn’t enjoy, so it’s good. His nests have never been so – well. So comforting.
Right now, though, Charles thinks he would rather be living in the street, what with Lando sobbing his eyes out in his arms. “I’m so stupid, Charles!” he wails.
Charles pets through his hair, unsure of how to proceed. “Don’t try and steal my lines now,” he teases, trying to lighten the mood. “I am not sure this is such a big deal, Lando, everyone–”
Lando peels himself away from where he was trying to attach himself to Charles’ skin to glower at him tearfully. “Really? Everyone sleeps with a teenager during the annual New Year’s Eve party? Without protection? Did you?”
“Well… no,” he admits, and Lando returns to the fetal position in his lap. Charles doesn’t comment on how he’s only just turned nineteen himself, and that the “baby alpha” he hooked up with, Oscar, is going to turn nineteen in, like, four months. Charles decides to try his luck, though. “He’s not that young, you know. He’s like, six months younger than you, did you know? And I don’t think he’s going to tell anyone–”
“You’re missing the point,” he moans. “I slept with him. I could be pregnant!” And with this, he dissolves into a fresh round of tears.
Charles decides to switch tactics, trying to drag Lando up like a ragdoll. “Well, come on then, let’s go to the pharmacy and get you some tests.”
Lando lets out a big sniffle, but from where he’s propped him against the sofa in their apartment, he seems to be mulling the idea over in his mind. He lets out a sigh of relief when Lando nods hesitantly, shepherding him towards the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, running water over a washcloth and dabbing it on Lando’s face. His eyes are still a bit puffy and red when he’s done, but at least he’s stopped crying.
The hug catches him a little off guard, even if Lando’s spent a greater part of the last hour trying to form a symbiotic relationship. Lando buries his face in Charles’ neck, inhaling deeply. “Thank you,” he mumbles. “‘M sorry. I know I’m kind of a baby. And a drama queen.”
Charles rolls his eyes. Yeah, he’d add a few more not-so-kind words to that list, but he still mostly just wants to ensure Lando’s safe and happy. “It is okay,” he says, and he means it. He thinks it’s probably because he’s older, his omega wants something – someone – to take care of. And Lando’s always getting himself into trouble, providing an ample amount of healthy stress and fretting for him. He sprays down their scent glands with neutraliser and then they walk two streets over to their usual pharmacy.
Charles puts on his friendliest smile, and a polite assistant sends them back on their way with six separate tests from three different brands, because Lando had tugged anxiously on his sleeve when the woman had only put in two. They walk back to their dorm, the sun setting over them. George, a student in Charles’ year, runs into them on the elevator, and he keeps the conversation short, just bordering on the edge of impolite.
“Okay,” he says after he’s locked the door after them. “Do you want dinner first, or to take the tests?”
“I think the tests,” Lando replies, gone a fair few shades lighter. “I think I would be sick if I ate.”
Charles doesn’t mention that neither of them can cook for shit, and that’s probably why they’re sick all the time, not the nerves. He simply nods, and they cram themselves into the tiny bathroom. He’d made to leave, and Lando had gripped his arm in terror, which put a quick end to the conversation.
“What if,” he starts, and he can see the panic overflowing from his body, “what if the tests are wrong, or bad, or something– what if they don’t work–”
“I think they work,” he says, trying to be soothing. “Here, these two were the most expensive, and then these were, and then the last one was this.” He splits them into duos dutifully, pulling one of the last group towards him. “Why don’t I do one and you will do the other five? Is this okay?”
Slowly, he nods. This time, he lets Charles leave for the other bathroom. He does the thing, and after washing his hands, he leaves the test on a tissue on the counter, rummaging around their kitchen and deciding what recipe would be least likely to give them food poisoning. A text alert on his phone catches his wandering attention. It's from Carlos.
Involuntarily, he smiles. He's sent Charles a picture of a bouquet of gardenias, his phone pinging again with his follow up text.
Carlos Sainz
[Attachment]
This is what you smell like.
I checked
You
Better buy them then x
Carlos Sainz
Do you want to come over?
You
Not a chance x
Lando joins him after a minute or two, carefully arranging his tests on the counter on the opposite side from Charles’. “Leave that now,” he says impatiently. “Now, do you want cheese sandwiches, or do I try to make some pasta.”
Lando makes a face. “The last time you made pasta everything was undercooked. I didn’t even know pasta could still be crunchy–”
“How was I supposed to know the exact temperature they were boiling it at–”
They bicker back and forth for a while before deciding to make cheese sandwiches. Lando cuts the sides off his bread like a child, and then into squares, for whatever reason. Charles makes his one like a normal person, which he voices out loud, and then they bicker back and forth about that before moving the plates to the counter. Charles peers over Lando’s shoulder and sighs when he sees all five have come out negative, ruffling his hair and rounding over to the other side. “What did I say? I told you it will be fine–”
“Okay mooom. You don’t have to be so mean to me about it,” he pouts. “Hey let me see yours–”
“It’s like yours,” he says idly, not having even spared it a glance, sliding it over. “You’re done? I’ll throw them away–”
“Charles,” he squeaks, voice oddly high pitched, even for Lando. “Did you see this?”
He frowns. “See what?’
“Charles,” he repeats. “Charles, this says pregnant.”