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If you had told Gao Tu a few months ago that Shen Wenlang was the type of alpha who spoiled his omega and gave them everything they wanted, he wouldn’t have believed you. He probably would have laughed in your face, thinking it was some kind of joke.

The Shen Wenlang he knew from years ago, even from just a few months back, was nothing like the man he knew now. That version of Wenlang had been sharp around the edges, cold-eyed and distant, the kind of alpha who carried his hatred like a second skin. Gao Tu had never dared to imagine that man softening, much less smiling at someone.

The truth was, Gao Tu and Shen Wenlang had never been close. At least, not in the way friends were supposed to be. To Gao Tu, he was just someone Wenlang kept by his side because he was useful. A tool, maybe a companion in passing, but never a friend. And even if Wenlang had thought of him that way, could a friendship really survive when it was built on lies?

The lies, after all, had been his. Gao Tu had perfected the act of being a beta, wearing that mask so well that sometimes he almost believed it himself. He had to, because Wenlang’s hatred for omegas wasn’t just casual disdain, it was ingrained in him. Gao Tu had been so sure that Wenlang would carry that hatred with him to the grave. That was why he had hidden the truth for so long, keeping his own nature sealed tight inside.

So imagine Shen Wenlang’s shock when he found out that the omega he had been with that night in the X Hotel was Gao Tu, and that Gao Tu was carrying his son.

Wenlang’s first reaction hadn’t been anger, nor the ruthless rejection Gao Tu had braced himself for. Instead, the alpha’s entire face softened, and he stepped forward and pulled Gao Tu into his arms, holding him so tightly it felt like he never wanted to let go. Wenlang’s breath was shaky against Gao Tu’s ear, his voice breaking as he whispered,

“Gao Tu… I’m sorry. I was so stupid. I’ve been such a fool. Please… let me take care of you. Let me take care of our child. If you’ll let me… please, let me.”

Gao Tu froze in his embrace, his heart pounding in his chest. This wasn’t what he had expected at all. He had been so sure Wenlang would hate it, would accuse him of lying, of deceiving him, of using him. Slowly, he placed his hands against Wenlang’s chest and pushed gently until the alpha loosened his hold.

“When I asked you once what you would do if your omega got pregnant,” Gao Tu said, looking straight at him, “you told me you’d tell them to get rid of it.”

The words hung in the air. Wenlang’s expression crumpled, and he shook his head quickly.

“That’s different.”

Gao Tu’s brows knit in confusion. “Different? How is it different?”

Wenlang looked away, as though embarrassed by his own words. 

“Because they weren’t you,” he admitted, the tips of his ears reddening.

Gao Tu blinked, dumbfounded. He parted his lips, but no sound came out. He didn’t even know how to respond to something like that, the sincerity in Wenlang’s voice leaving him stunned. But before he could gather his thoughts, Wenlang’s voice broke the silence again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” the alpha asked, turning back to him. His eyes searched Gao Tu’s face, desperate and almost pained. “Why didn’t you tell me you were the omega from that night in the hotel? Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant with my child?”

For a long moment, Gao Tu just looked at him, his gaze unwavering. 

“How could I?”

The words seemed to hit Wenlang harder than anything. He drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again. 

“I know I was a real jerk to you,” he said, his grip tightening unconsciously on Gao Tu’s hand. “I said so many unforgivable things I wish I could take back. If I could undo them, I would. But I can’t.” His throat bobbed, and he leaned closer, his forehead almost touching Gao Tu’s. “What I can do is this: you’re pregnant with my child, and I want to take care of you. I want to take care of our child. Please… let me.”

Gao Tu’s chest clenched. His voice wavered when he whispered back, “But I’m an omega. And you… you hate omegas.”

The words hurt to say, but they were the truth he had always carried with him. He braced himself for the sting of rejection, for Wenlang’s silence, for the cruelty he knew too well.

But instead, Wenlang’s gaze softened. He cupped Gao Tu’s face in both hands, his eyes filled with sincerity that Gao Tu couldn’t look away.

“I don’t hate you,” Wenlang said, his voice firm yet tender, every word falling like a vow. “I never did.”

Gao Tu almost cried right there and then. Hearing those words from Shen Wenlang—the person he had been in love with for a decade, the person he was so sure would hate him if he ever found out the truth, the person he thought would never reciprocate his feelings, would never love him back, would never even truly see him—left him breathless. His eyes stung, and he couldn’t do anything but lean forward, pressing his face against the alpha’s chest. He rested there, breathing in the rhythm of Wenlang’s heartbeat, and let the alpha hold him.

Since then, Gao Tu had started living in Shen Wenlang’s house.

Of course, he hadn’t agreed to it easily. Gao Tu was stubborn; he had never relied on anyone else in his entire life. He was used to being alone, used to taking care of himself and carrying his burdens alone. 

When Wenlang first suggested it, Gao Tu shook his head, insisting, “I’m fine where I am. You can help me if you want to, but I’ll stay in my apartment. I don’t want to trouble you.”

But Shen Wenlang had been firm, his brows drawn together as he replied, “Gao Tu, you’re not troubling me. I want to be with you.”

Gao Tu tried to protest again, but Wenlang pressed on, his voice full of conviction. “Isn’t it better for the baby if I’m around? My pheromones can help both you and the pup. And how am I supposed to take care of you if I’m not with you? How am I supposed to take care of our baby if we’re not under the same roof?”

The words made Gao Tu falter. He blinked fast, his heart racing when Wenlang said our baby. He looked up at Wenlang, lips parting, but no immediate answer came out.

Wenlang, noticing the hesitation, softened his tone and reached out, brushing a hand gently over Gao Tu’s hair. “I’m not asking to control you. I just… I want to be there. I want to know if you’re tired, if you’re hungry, if you can’t sleep at night. I don’t want you to face this alone, Gao Tu. Please.”

Gao Tu swallowed, his throat tight. “I’ve always been fine on my own,” he murmured, almost defensively, though the conviction in his voice was weaker than usual.

“I know you have,” Wenlang said, cupping Gao Tu’s cheek with his palm, his thumb brushing along his skin in circles. “But you don’t have to be anymore. Let me share this with you. It’s our baby, our family. Don’t shut me out.”

The sincerity in his voice made Gao Tu’s chest cave. He had never seen Wenlang like this before. So open, so patient, and so earnest. 

When Wenlang bent his head and said, “Our baby,” Gao Tu felt his resistance crumble just a little more.

Gao Tu looked away, cheeks warm, his voice small. “You really want me here that much?”

Wenlang smiled faintly, leaning down to rest his forehead against Gao Tu’s. “More than anything. I want to wake up and see you. I want to know you’re safe. I want our child to grow up with us together, not apart.”

Gao Tu’s lips wobbled, and though he wanted to argue again, he found that the words wouldn’t come. His heart was beating too fast, and the warmth in Wenlang’s eyes was too overwhelming. So instead, he let out a sigh and nodded once, almost shyly.

And just like that, he moved into Shen Wenlang’s house.

Living with Shen Wenlang was, to Gao Tu’s surprise, easy, and more than that, pleasant.

The alpha’s house was huge, far bigger than anything Gao Tu had ever imagined living in, but it wasn’t the cold, empty space he thought it might be. It was minimalist and clean, organized down to the smallest detail, but there was a warmth to it too, as if Wenlang had unknowingly built a place that was waiting to be shared.

Of course, it was awkward at first. Sharing a roof with Shen Wenlang—of all people—was something Gao Tu would never have pictured for himself, not even in his wildest dreams. Never in a million years did he think they would end up in this situation together. But life had a strange way of unfolding, and here they were.

On their first night in the house, Wenlang had hesitated at the doorway of his own bedroom, his hand lingering on the knob before turning toward Gao Tu. 

“Stay here. With me.”

Gao Tu blinked, heat rising to his cheeks. “Wenlang… this house has so many bedrooms. I’ll be fine in any of them. You don’t need to share a room with me.”

For a moment, Wenlang looked like he wanted to argue, but then he caught the stubbornness in Gao Tu’s tone. He pressed his lips together, exhaled slowly, and finally nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “If that’s what makes you comfortable.”

And just like that, he didn’t press further. Gao Tu appreciated that more than he could say.

Still, Wenlang was present in every other way. He tended to Gao Tu’s every need and want, often before Gao Tu even realized what those were. 

“Do you feel alright?”

“Are you hungry?”

“Do you want to rest for a while?”

“Is there anything you’re craving?”

At first, Gao Tu didn’t know how to react. He was so used to being the one asking those questions, the one taking care of others. He had built his whole life on not expecting that kind of tenderness from anyone. And now, here was Shen Wenlang, the man who had once carried nothing but disdain for omegas, looking at him with such patience that Gao Tu didn’t know what to do with it.

When Wenlang handed him a glass of warm water one afternoon, Gao Tu found himself blurting out, “You don’t have to do all this, you know. I can take care of myself. I’ve always taken care of myself.”

Wenlang crouched down beside the sofa, resting his forearm casually against the edge as he looked at him.

“I know you can. I know you’ve always been strong, Tu. But just because you can doesn’t mean you have to. Let me take care of you.”

Gao Tu swallowed a lump around his throat, and for a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to meet Wenlang’s gaze. The words lodged themselves in his chest, unfamiliar yet so deeply wanted that it scared him. He wrapped his fingers around the glass, staring at the water as if it held answers.

“No one’s ever asked me before. If I was okay… or if I wanted something.”

There was a pause, and then Wenlang reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Gao Tu’s ear, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary. 

“Then let me be the first. And let me keep asking, for as long as you’ll let me.”

ꭥ

Days in Shen Wenlang’s house felt as if Wenlang had rearranged his life around Gao Tu without saying a word about it.

Meals were where Wenlang’s fussiness showed the most. He insisted on preparing breakfast himself, even though Gao Tu told him multiple times that he could manage. The alpha, however, wouldn’t hear a word of it.

“Sit,” Wenlang said one morning, placing a hand on Gao Tu’s shoulder when he tried to stand. “I’ve already got it handled.”

“You don’t have to cook every time,” Gao Tu muttered, though he let himself sink back onto the chair.

“I want to,” Wenlang replied simply, cracking an egg into the pan with ease. “Besides, you need proper meals. Not whatever instant noodles you’d eat if left alone.”

Gao Tu blinked, flustered. “I don’t always eat instant noodles.”

Wenlang glanced over his shoulder with a look that said otherwise. Gao Tu ducked his head, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, but he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips. It was ridiculous how good he felt just watching Wenlang cook.

It didn’t stop there. Wenlang made a habit of accompanying Gao Tu whenever he wanted to stretch his legs outside and get some sunlight.  At first, Gao Tu protested.

“You don’t need to follow me every time I take a walk,” Gao Tu said, slipping on his shoes.

Before he could finish tugging one on, Wenlang crouched down in front of him and guided his foot into the shoe, adjusting the laces with care. Gao Tu froze, his ears burning as heat rushed to his cheeks.

“I’m not following,” Wenlang corrected calmly, picking up his own jacket with one hand as though nothing had happened. “I’m coming with you.”

Gao Tu looked away quickly, hoping Wenlang wouldn’t notice how flustered he was.

“Same thing,” Gao Tu shot back.

“No,” Wenlang said with a hint of a smile. “If I follow, that means you’re ahead of me. But I want to walk beside you.”

That silenced Gao Tu more effectively than anything else could. His heart thudded hard against his chest, and he ended up letting Wenlang walk with him.

It was in those little moments like eating meals someone else had cooked for him, having him at his side during walks, catching Wenlang’s glances of concern that Gao Tu began to realize just how nice it felt to be cared for. He had spent so much of his life convincing himself he didn’t need anyone, that he was fine on his own, but being with Wenlang… it was different.

Shen Wenlang even went so far as to take a paternity leave, which meant he was in the house with Gao Tu twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” he said one morning, standing by the window with a cup of warm milk in his hands. “I’m only two months pregnant. I can still move around just fine, and I can do simple tasks. You don’t need to hover over me.”

Wenlang, sitting across the room with his laptop open but clearly not paying attention to it, looked up at him with that calm expression of his.

“I’m not hovering,” he said.

“Yes, you are,” Gao Tu replied, exasperation creeping into his voice. “You don’t even let me pick up a broom. Or fold laundry. Or carry anything heavier than a pillow.”

“That’s because you don’t need to,” Wenlang said evenly, shutting the laptop with a click. He stood and walked over, taking the cup gently from Gao Tu’s hand as if it weighed too much. “All you need to do is take care of yourself and the baby. That’s enough.”

Gao Tu blinked at him, half touched, half ready to pull his hair out. “But I’m so bored. Do you know how long the day feels when I just sit around and do nothing? I’m not used to this.”

Wenlang’s gaze softened at that, but his tone stayed firm. “Then get used to it. You’ve taken care of yourself long enough. I’m here to take care of you now.”

The words hit something deep inside Gao Tu’s chest, making his throat close up, but he still refused to give in entirely.

“Fine,” he said stubbornly, “but at least let me wash the dishes. I’m not going to break from standing at the sink.”

There was a long pause, Wenlang’s jaw clenching slightly as if he were debating it. Finally, he sighed and nodded. “Only the dishes. Nothing else.”

“Deal,” Gao Tu said quickly, as though Wenlang might change his mind.

But when he actually stood at the sink later that evening, sleeves rolled up and hands in the warm water, he nearly groaned when he felt a presence behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was Wenlang; arms folded, leaning casually against the counter, his sharp eyes trained on him like a hawk.

“You know,” Gao Tu said, voice dry as he rinsed a plate, “you don’t have to stand there watching me. I’m alright, I swear.”

“I’m just making sure,” Wenlang replied, completely unbothered.

“Making sure of what? That the plate doesn’t attack me?” Gao Tu muttered, cheeks turning red when he heard Wenlang chuckle under his breath.

“I’d rather be here and know you’re fine than risk you slipping or cutting yourself. I can’t take that chance with you. Not anymore.”

Gao Tu’s hands stilled in the water, his heart doing a wild little jump. He tried to cover it up by scrubbing harder at the plate, but his ears gave him away, burning bright red.

“You’re ridiculous,” he whispered.

“And you’re precious,” Wenlang countered, so simply and sincerely that Gao Tu almost dropped the dish.

He managed to finish washing, but not without Wenlang standing there the entire time, ready to step in at the slightest slip. And as much as it drove him insane, Gao Tu couldn’t deny the truth that he liked it. Liked knowing someone was there, watching over him, ready to catch him if he ever faltered.

ꭥ

They ate together from breakfast to dinner almost every day. Shen Wenlang cooked, and to Gao Tu’s surprise, he was pretty good for an alpha. Gao Tu found himself enjoying their meals together far more than he had expected, not just because the food was good, but because there was something comforting about sitting across from Wenlang, sharing the same space, exchanging glances and smiles.

One morning, as Wenlang brought over a plate of scrambled eggs and spinach, he set it down a little too close to Gao Tu’s edge of the table.

“Careful,” Gao Tu said, reaching out to steady it.

“I was careful,” Wenlang replied defensively, leaning slightly forward. The forward motion made his sleeve brush against Gao Tu’s arm. Gao Tu’s ears immediately turned red, and he coughed awkwardly, ducking his head.

“I mean, uh, just checking,” Gao Tu mumbled, trying not to make a big deal out of it, but his heart was thudding embarrassingly fast.

Wenlang’s lips quivered, a smirk tugging at the corner. “You’re so flustered over nothing.”

“Nothing? My arm—your sleeve—i-it’s nothing!” Gao Tu protested.

“Uh-huh,” Wenlang said, shaking his head slightly, clearly amused. He sat down, spreading the scrambled eggs on his fork and offering a bite toward Gao Tu. “Here, try it. You need your nutrients.”

Gao Tu blinked at him, caught off guard. “I, uh, thanks,” he murmured, taking the fork carefully. He tasted it and was immediately impressed. “Wow… this is really good.”

“I know,” Wenlang said simply, as if it were obvious.

The meals weren’t just tasty, they were carefully prepared. Wenlang made sure every dish was healthy and nutritious, suitable for a pregnant omega. 

While he plated a colorful mix of quinoa, steamed vegetables, and grilled salmon, Gao Tu couldn’t resist asking, “How did you even… know how to make all this… good for me?”

Wenlang glanced up from the stove. “I read books,” he said casually, as if that explained everything. “And I checked with a doctor friend of mine, just to be sure.”

Gao Tu’s eyes went wide, and his hands paused mid-air. “You… you did all that? For me?”

Wenlang tilted his head, expression unreadable for a brief second before the faintest warmth crept into his eyes. “Yes. You and the baby deserve the best.”

Gao Tu felt a flutter in his stomach. “I… I’m… wow,” he stammered, eyes glimmering. “I didn’t expect… I mean, I didn’t think you’d…”

“I did,” Wenlang interrupted softly, cutting him off in the gentlest way. “I’m not the type to do things halfway. I want to do this right. For you. For us.”

For a moment, he could only nod, overwhelmed. He looked down at his plate, tasting the food again, and realized that he didn’t just appreciate the meal but appreciated everything behind it. The thought, the effort, the care. Wenlang had taken the initiative without being asked, without boasting, without expecting anything in return.

At night, when Gao Tu was alone in his bedroom, he couldn’t help but be swallowed by his own thoughts.

He thought about Shen Wenlang and the way he had rearranged his life around him without a word, about the care he took in everything he did, from meals to walks, from tiny touches to simple gestures that made Gao Tu’s heart flutter. He thought about the way Wenlang’s eyes softened when he looked at him, the kindness and patience in his voice, the way he seemed to hover and yet never smother, always making sure Gao Tu and their child were safe and comfortable.

And the truth that he tried so hard to push aside kept pressing against the walls of his mind: he loved him.

Gao Tu felt his chest squeeze as he realized just how much. He was falling for Shen Wenlang harder with each passing day, and being this close, living under the same roof, made it feel almost unbearable in its intensity.

But with those feelings came a knot of uncertainty. Gao Tu didn’t know if Wenlang felt the same way. Did he feel love? Or was it only responsibility, only duty, only care for the baby and the omega he had promised to protect? Gao Tu had no way of asking.

“I shouldn’t,” Gao Tu whispered into the dark room, his fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. “I shouldn’t ask. I shouldn’t hope…”

He pressed his face into the pillow, letting out a sigh, trying to let the longing slide away like water slipping through his fingers. He told himself it was better to let it go, to cherish these moments for what they were without expecting anything more.

And yet, even as he tried to convince himself, his heart didn’t know how to lie. He wanted more. He wanted to hold Wenlang in the quiet of the night, to tell him how he felt, to hear the answer he feared he might never get. He wanted to be acknowledged, to be loved, in return.

Morning came, the sunlight peaking through the curtains that made Gao Tu stir under the blanket, stretching lazily.

Before he could fully open his eyes, a knock came at the door.

“Gao Tu… breakfast is ready,” Wenlang called, barely above a whisper as though speaking any louder might startle him.

Gao Tu blinked awake, the sound of the alpha’s voice sending a flutter of warmth through him. “I… I’m getting up,” he murmured, voice husky from sleep.

Moments later, Wenlang appeared in the doorway, holding a tray neatly balanced in both hands. The tray was simple but thoughtful: a small bowl of oatmeal topped with fresh fruit, a glass of warm milk, and a cup of tea. The sunlight caught the strands of Wenlang’s hair as he stepped into the room, and for a heartbeat, Gao Tu forgot to breathe.

“You don’t have to bring it in here,” Gao Tu murmured, rubbing a hand over his face. “I can come downstairs.”

When Wenlang smiled, just the smallest tug at the corners of his lips, Gao Tu’s heart skipped a beat. He had always loved how that smile reached his eyes, how it seemed to light up his whole face. And in that instant, Gao Tu realized he was falling for him more.

“I know,” Wenlang said, setting the tray down on the bedside table. “But I wanted to. You were up late last night, and I thought… you might like to rest a little longer. Sit up, I’ll help you.”

Before Gao Tu could protest, Wenlang moved closer and gently helped him sit up, hands on his shoulders, careful to avoid jostling him too much. Gao Tu’s ears burned, his heart thudding in a way that felt embarrassingly obvious.

“Here,” Wenlang said, leaning slightly so that the tray was within easy reach. “I made sure everything is easy to eat. No bending over, no reaching.”

Gao Tu’s fingers hovered over the food, almost shyly. “Thank you…”

ꭥ

Gao Tu insisted on going to his prenatal appointment alone. He had said it lightly, almost dismissively, as if Shen Wenlang’s presence wasn’t necessary.

But the alpha had frowned at once, a crease forming between his brows. His voice was firm, but there was a hurt to it that made Gao Tu pause.

“Why would it be a bother?” Shen Wenlang asked, incredulous. “I’m the father, and I’m your alpha. Isn’t this exactly where I should be?”

That shut Gao Tu up. He didn’t know what to say to that, so he had simply kept quiet, avoiding Shen Wenlang’s gaze.

By the time they arrived at the hospital, Gao Tu was beginning to regret not protesting further. The sterile smell of disinfectant and the distant beeping of machines made his chest feel tight. He wasn’t usually easily rattled, but this was different. His palms were damp, his shoulders tense.

Shen Wenlang noticed, of course. Without a word, he reached over and took Gao Tu’s hand.

Gao Tu stiffened at the touch, his head turning in surprise. Shen Wenlang didn’t say anything, just held on gently, his thumb brushing over Gao Tu’s knuckles.

For a moment, Gao Tu debated pulling away. But after a hesitant pause, he laced their fingers together. The intimacy startled him, but it was oddly comforting.

Wasn’t that the reason he hadn’t left, even after everything between them? Shen Wenlang had always been his safe zone, even when the rest of the world did.

When they were called into the examination room, their hands were still laced. Gao Tu noticed the slight tremor in Shen Wenlang’s fingers and the coolness of his palm. At first, he thought it was his own nervousness bleeding through, but then he realized Shen Wenlang was nervous, too.

The thought made something twist softly inside his chest.

The doctor, a kind-faced woman with glasses perched on her nose, greeted them warmly. “Congratulations to both of you,” she said, flipping open the chart. “Today we’ll be doing a routine checkup, and we’ll also be able to listen to your baby’s heartbeat.”

Gao Tu’s throat went dry. He sat on the examination table stiffly, still clutching Shen Wenlang’s hand. The alpha didn’t let go.

The doctor began the examination with professionalism, speaking in an easy tone to keep Gao Tu at ease. “You’re doing well so far. Your vitals look normal, and the baby is developing just as we’d like to see at this stage.” She smiled encouragingly. “That’s wonderful news.”

Gao Tu blinked rapidly, willing back the sudden sting in his eyes.

“Now, there are some things I’d like you to be mindful of,” the doctor continued. “Avoid lifting heavy objects, and try not to overexert yourself, especially in the next few months. Stay away from raw or undercooked foods, certain types of fish that are high in mercury, and of course, no alcohol or smoking. Rest is very important, and a little bit of exercise can help, but only what feels comfortable for your body.”

As she spoke, Shen Wenlang’s grip on Gao Tu’s hand tightened slightly. The alpha leaned forward attentively, his eyes fixed on the doctor as though he were committing every word to memory.

“Can you make me a list of all the foods and activities he should avoid?” Shen Wenlang asked, his voice low but earnest. “I want to make sure I don’t miss anything. And… is there anything I should be doing to help him feel more comfortable?”

The doctor chuckled softly. “It sounds like you’re already very supportive. Helping him manage stress, preparing healthy meals, encouraging rest. All of that will make a big difference. And yes, I’ll give you a detailed list before you leave today.”

Gao Tu’s heart gave a strange, fluttering jolt. He stared down at their joined hands, suddenly too aware of the warmth between them, of how serious Shen Wenlang sounded.

When it came time for the sonogram, the doctor applied the cool gel to Gao Tu’s stomach, and he hissed softly at the sensation. Shen Wenlang immediately squeezed his hand again, as though silently asking if he was okay.

Then the screen lit up.

“There,” the doctor said, angling it so they could see. “That’s your baby.”

The room seemed to stop all at once. Gao Tu could make out the faint shape, and then the rhythmic sound of a heartbeat filled the space.

His breath caught. His eyes burned again, and this time, it was harder to fight the tears back. He bit his lip hard, trying to steady himself.

Beside him, Shen Wenlang’s eyes lit up, bright and unguarded. His entire expression softened, wonder flashing across his face as he stared at the screen. “That’s… ours?” he whispered, almost as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Yes,” the doctor said. “A strong heartbeat. Your baby looks healthy.”

Gao Tu swallowed hard, overwhelmed. He wanted to cry, but he held it in, clutching Shen Wenlang’s hand like an anchor.

Shen Wenlang didn’t let go for even a moment.

ꭥ

One of the worst parts about being pregnant, Gao Tu decided, was the morning sickness. It wasn’t just the occasional nausea everyone talked about. It was merciless. The queasiness started the moment he woke up and stayed long after, leaving him dizzy and weak. He lost his appetite; even the sight of food made his stomach churn.

Shen Wenlang noticed. 

He noticed how Gao Tu pushed his meals around without eating. How his complexion turned pale, his cheeks hollowing slightly from the weight he was losing. The alpha’s eyes followed him at the breakfast table, in the evenings when Gao Tu pretended he was full after only a few bites.

But Gao Tu brushed it off. He told himself it wasn’t a big deal, that he would endure.

Until the morning he collapsed.

He remembered standing up too quickly, the world tilting around him, his vision narrowing into darkness. The next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes to the antiseptic white ceiling of a hospital room. 

And then he saw Shen Wenlang.

The alpha was slumped in the chair beside the bed, dark circles etched under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept a wink. The moment Gao Tu stirred, Shen Wenlang shot upright, eyes wide and frantic.

“Gao Tu! You’re awake,” he breathed out, almost in disbelief. He leaned forward so quickly the chair nearly toppled behind him. “How are you feeling? Does your head hurt? Do you feel dizzy? God, thank heavens you’re awake—” His voice wavered, his hands hovering as if he didn’t know whether to touch him or not. “Fuck, I was so scared.”

Gao Tu blinked at him, his chest clenching. He’d never seen Shen Wenlang look so openly shaken before. He parted his lips, guilt washing through him. “...I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

The words only seemed to deepen Shen Wenlang’s frown, but before he could reply, the doctor entered the room.

“You’re awake,” she said gently, checking his chart. “That’s good. How are you feeling, Gao Tu? Any lingering dizziness?”

“A little,” Gao Tu admitted. “But better than before.”

The doctor nodded, then looked between him and Shen Wenlang. “I’ll be honest with you both. Gao Tu is experiencing what we call a pheromone-deficient, and a large part of that is due to the lack of alpha pheromone support.”

Gao Tu blinked in confusion. “Lack of… pheromones? But we live together.” He glanced at Shen Wenlang, bewildered. “How could that be?”

The doctor adjusted her glasses and explained patiently, “Simply living in the same space isn’t enough. An omega’s body draws strength and balance from their alpha’s pheromones. It’s not just proximity. It requires intimacy. Regular scenting, skin contact, pheromone exchange. Without that, the body works harder to sustain the pregnancy, which can cause severe morning sickness, weakness, and even dangerous collapses like the one you experienced.”

Shen Wenlang’s head lowered slightly, his jaw tense.

The doctor continued, her tone reassuring, “Don’t worry too much. With proper care, Gao Tu should recover well. A few hours of rest here, then you can go home. But moving forward, you both need to prioritize regular pheromone bonding. It will make the pregnancy much easier on him.”

When she left, silence filled the room. Gao Tu’s fingers twisted in the bedsheet. His mind raced with the doctor’s words.

Finally, Shen Wenlang spoke, “...I’m sorry.”

Gao Tu turned to him slowly.

“I didn’t know,” Shen Wenlang admitted, his eyes troubled. “I should have asked, should have read more, but I didn’t. And I was—” He faltered, his hands clenching in his lap. “I was too scared.”

“Scared?” Gao Tu echoed.

Shen Wenlang let out a shaky breath. “Scared that you didn’t want me that close. That you didn’t like me enough to let me scent you, or to be near you in that way. I thought if I tried, you’d push me away. So I stayed back, even though I wanted to… even though I wanted to take care of you properly.”

The honesty in his voice made Gao Tu’s chest cave. He had thought he was the only one overthinking, the only one harboring feelings too complicated to voice. But here was Shen Wenlang, admitting he had been afraid, too.

Since that day in the hospital, things had changed.

Gao Tu no longer returned to his own room. Instead, he found himself walking toward Shen Wenlang’s bedroom, slipping under the same blanket, into the same bed. At first, it was unbearably awkward. Shen Wenlang lay on his side with his back half-turned, keeping a careful distance as though afraid the slightest brush of contact would scare Gao Tu away.

It was almost frustrating how respectful he was.

Gao Tu turned once, then twice. Finally, he let out a breath and scooted closer, inch by inch, until his back nearly brushed Shen Wenlang’s.

The alpha must have felt the shift, because he rolled over too, eyes wide in the dim light. He looked startled, almost boyish, like he’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Gao Tu…” Shen Wenlang looked uncertain, almost nervous.

Gao Tu held his gaze for a long moment before asking, his tone softer than he intended, “Can you… hold me?”

For a second, Shen Wenlang just blinked at him. Then he sputtered, his composure cracking in the most uncharacteristic way. “Hold you? N-Now?” His voice rose slightly, flustered, as if the request had turned him into a nervous little pup all over again.

Gao Tu almost laughed, but instead he tilted his head stubbornly. “Yes, now. Or… do you not want to?”

The effect was immediate. Shen Wenlang scrambled closer, shaking his head quickly. “No! I do. I mean, yes, I want to.” His words tripped over themselves as he slipped an arm around Gao Tu and carefully drew him in.

And just like that, Gao Tu was enveloped in warmth.

He rested his head against Shen Wenlang’s arm, his face pressed to the alpha’s chest where he could hear his heartbeat. Their legs tangled naturally, and Shen Wenlang tucked him closer. Gao Tu froze for a moment, overwhelmed by the sheer intimacy of it.

It was the first time he had ever been this close to anyone. He hadn’t thought it would be Shen Wenlang—hadn’t dared to imagine it—but here he was, breathing in the alpha’s scent, his heart racing so fast he was sure it must be pounding against Shen Wenlang’s ribs too.

“Comfortable?” Shen Wenlang asked after a while.

Gao Tu pressed his face closer into his chest to hide his expression. “...Yes.”

And maybe, he didn’t mind if Shen Wenlang knew how fast his heart was beating.

From then on, everything began to change.

His health improved almost immediately. The nausea that had plagued him every morning faded away. His appetite returned, and so did his color. The bags under his eyes disappeared. He was eating more, smiling more, even laughing sometimes, and he knew exactly why. 

ꭥ

In the evenings, they would sit in the living room with a movie playing. At first, they sat at opposite ends of the couch, as though the space between them was necessary. But somehow, by the middle of the film, Gao Tu would find himself leaning closer. Shen Wenlang would shift too, inch by inch, until Gao Tu was practically curled against his side, their shoulders pressed together, their legs brushing. Sometimes, without realizing it, he would end up perched so close it looked as though he was sitting in Shen Wenlang’s lap.

One night, Shen Wenlang laughed, glancing down at him. “Do you even realize where you’re sitting anymore?”

Gao Tu, cheeks warm, pretended to be absorbed in the screen. “Shut up. It’s comfortable.”

Shen Wenlang grinned, his arm resting along the back of the couch, not quite touching him but close enough to feel safe. “Then stay comfortable. I don’t mind.”

It was the same at the dining table. What began as two seats placed neatly apart slowly turned into shoulders brushing as they ate. Gao Tu didn’t know when he stopped pulling away from casual contact. Sometimes, when he pushed his food around distractedly, Shen Wenlang would nudge him gently.

“Eat more,” Shen Wenlang said one evening, sliding his chopsticks toward him. “Here, try this.” He lifted a piece of tender meat and held it out patiently.

Gao Tu blinked at the gesture. “You’re… feeding me?”

“Why not?” Shen Wenlang’s smile was small but certain. “You’re eating too little again.”

Gao Tu hesitated, then leaned forward, taking the bite with a reluctant huff. “You’re insufferable.”

But Shen Wenlang only chuckled, eyes warm. “Maybe. But if it gets you to eat, then I don’t mind.”

Gao Tu chewed slowly, his cheeks a pretty shade of red, and though he tried to hide it, the corners of his lips betrayed him by lifting into the faintest smile.

Day by day, without even realizing it, they had become comfortable with one another. What once felt awkward now felt natural. And every time Shen Wenlang’s shoulder brushed his, every time their hands touched a little longer than necessary, Gao Tu’s heart reminded him of just how much he had begun to rely on the alpha at his side.

ꭥ

There were moments during the pregnancy that both broke and mended Gao Tu’s heart.

Sometimes, he would wake in the middle of the night to the sound of Shen Wenlang’s voice. His eyes would flutter open, only to find the alpha not in bed, but seated on the floor by the bedside. Shen Wenlang’s head would be bent low, his hand resting gently over Gao Tu’s stomach as he whispered softly to their unborn child.

“Little one,” Shen Wenlang murmured, “I can’t wait to meet you. I’m so happy you’re coming into our lives. You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to holding you.”

There would be a pause, a chuckle, before he added, “But you need to be nice to your omega father, alright? Don’t make things too hard for him. He’s already doing so much for you. Be gentle in there.”

Tears would fill Gao Tu’s eyes. He would lie still with his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, and savor the warmth those late-night whispers brought him. When Shen Wenlang thought he wasn’t listening, Gao Tu’s heart felt full.

And then there were the cravings.

Pregnancy cravings hit him without warning, often at the most inconvenient times.

At three in the morning, Gao Tu sat up abruptly in bed. Shen Wenlang, startled, immediately rubbed at his eyes and asked, voice hoarse with sleep, “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

Gao Tu hesitated before mumbling, “...I want pickled radish with chocolate syrup.”

Shen Wenlang blinked at him, dead silent for a full three seconds before groaning into his hands. “Gao Tu, are you serious?”

“Yes.” Gao Tu crossed his arms stubbornly. “I can’t sleep unless I eat it.”

Shen Wenlang dragged himself out of bed, muttering under his breath, “Pickled radish with chocolate… at three a.m.… you’re going to be the end of me.”

But he went anyway. He always did. Within twenty minutes, he was back with a plate, looking half-exasperated but still offering it to him with a soft smile.

Another time, Gao Tu craved dumplings from a very specific shop across town. It was pouring rain that night, the kind that drenched everything in seconds. Shen Wenlang stood by the door with his coat and umbrella, and Gao Tu sat on the couch, chewing on his lip.

“You don’t have to,” Gao Tu said, “It’s too far. Forget it.”

Shen Wenlang shook his head. “You want dumplings from that shop, right? Then I’ll get them.”

“But it’s raining—”

“I’ll be fine,” Shen Wenlang interrupted. “Stay here. I’ll bring them back.”

And he did. He returned soaked through but clutching a steaming bag of dumplings like it was treasure. When he set them on the table, Gao Tu’s eyes stung unexpectedly.

“You’re ridiculous,” Gao Tu whispered, but his chest was aching in the best way.

“Ridiculous for you,” Shen Wenlang teased, ruffling his damp hair.

There were other nights, too. Nights when Gao Tu suddenly wanted something as simple as fresh strawberries. Shen Wenlang would scour the fridge, and if there weren’t any, he would drive to the twenty-four-hour market just to find them. He once came back with not only strawberries but whipped cream and little biscuits, presenting them proudly as if it were a feast.

“I thought… maybe this way it’s more fun,” Shen Wenlang said sheepishly, setting the tray on Gao Tu’s lap.

Gao Tu laughed then, the sound bubbling up unrestrained. “You’re spoiling me.”

“You deserve to be spoiled,” Shen Wenlang replied without hesitation.

There were mornings when Gao Tu woke to the smell of warm congee and ginger tea, Shen Wenlang bustling in the kitchen. There were afternoons when Shen Wenlang would rub his back patiently as Gao Tu complained about cramps or mood swings, listening without judgment, only murmuring, “I know. It’s alright. Let me help.”

Every effort, every small act, made Gao Tu’s chest full with gratitude. He wasn’t used to being cared for like this, to having someone drop everything just to make sure he was comfortable.

ꭥ

There were nights when Gao Tu simply couldn’t sleep. The baby seemed to have chosen those exact hours to practice kicking, and every shift in his body felt exaggerated. His temperature swung from too warm to too cool, his back ached, and his belly made it impossible to find a comfortable position. He turned over again with a sigh, hugging the pillow tightly against him.

Beside him, Shen Wenlang stirred. “Gao Tu… would it help if I… if I scented you?”

Gao Tu froze, his cheeks instantly burning. He turned his head to look at Shen Wenlang, eyes wide. “Scent me?” His voice came out small, embarrassed, because the thought alone made his heart skip.

Shen Wenlang looked almost as flustered, his own face warm in the glow from the moonlight seeping through the curtains. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting away. “I just thought—if you don’t want to, that’s fine. Forget I said anything.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Gao Tu could feel the pounding of his own heart, the heat rising to the tips of his ears. He swallowed, then slowly tilted his head to the side, baring his neck.

The gesture made Shen Wenlang’s breath stutter audibly. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Gao Tu…”

“Just do it,” Gao Tu whispered, his cheeks burning even hotter.

Shen Wenlang leaned in carefully, as though giving Gao Tu a chance to change his mind. The moment his nose brushed against the sensitive skin of Gao Tu’s neck, a sharp shiver ran through the omega’s body. Gao Tu gasped, his hand instinctively flying to grip Shen Wenlang’s arm.

The alpha’s scent poured out, wrapping around him like a blanket. Shen Wenlang pressed his face closer, nuzzling, taking his time. His breath fanned over Gao Tu’s skin, and with each pass of his nose, Gao Tu felt the tension in his body slowly begin to melt.

Then Shen Wenlang hesitated, his lips brushing lightly against Gao Tu’s neck. He stayed there, waiting, testing the waters.

Gao Tu’s breath came quicker, his mind spinning, and without thinking he pushed Shen Wenlang closer. That was all the confirmation the alpha needed. His lips pressed against Gao Tu’s neck, then traveled upward in slow kisses along the line of his jaw, then down to his collarbone.

“Wenlang…” Gao Tu whispered, a little breathless. His head tilted back instinctively, baring more of his skin.

Shen Wenlang’s scent thickened around them, filling the room. When Gao Tu finally pulled back, Shen Wenlang’s face was already flushed, his eyes half-lidded, and his breathing uneven. He looked like a mess. Adorable, undone, yet holding himself back all the same.

After a beat of silence, Shen Wenlang spoke, “Gao Tu… I want to kiss you. Can I?”

Gao Tu blinked at him, startled. His lips parted, his heart racing in his chest. He licked his lips nervously, then nodded. “Yes.”

The alpha wasted no time. His hand slipped behind Gao Tu’s nape, fingers curling against his skin as he pulled him in. He kissed Gao Tu softly at first. A peck, then another, then another, like he was trying to memorize the taste of his lips. Each kiss lingered just a fraction longer than the last, until he tilted his head and pressed their mouths together more firmly, capturing Gao Tu’s upper lip between his own.

Gao Tu parted his lips slightly, and their mouths fit together perfectly, as though they had been made for this moment.

In one smooth motion, Shen Wenlang moved, lifting Gao Tu carefully into his lap. Gao Tu let out a startled squeak, clutching at the alpha’s shoulders, but he recovered quickly, wrapping his arms around Shen Wenlang’s neck and kissing him back with fervor.

Shen Wenlang deepened the kiss, his tongue swiping gently against Gao Tu’s lips. It was a question, a request, and Gao Tu with his heart pounding, and breath shaking opened his mouth for him without hesitation. A soft sound of pleasure slipped from his lips when Shen Wenlang’s tongue brushed against his own, the taste of him overwhelming, intoxicating.

Their kiss grew deeper as Shen Wenlang kissed him like he was learning every corner of his mouth, like he wanted to savor this moment forever. His hands moved with care. One on Gao Tu’s waist, supporting him, the other cradling the back of his head as though Gao Tu were something precious.

Gao Tu clung to him, his fingers curling in the alpha’s shirt, the heat of Wenlang’s scent flooding every corner of his mind until nothing else existed.

When they finally pulled apart from the kiss, both of them were panting and breathless, lips swollen and faces flushed. Their eyes were hazy, dazed as if the world had spun off its axis and left only the two of them behind. Gao Tu’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his heart beating so loudly he thought surely Shen Wenlang could hear it.

Shen Wenlang looked utterly undone. His hair was mussed from Gao Tu’s fingers, his mouth slightly parted, his gaze fixed entirely on the omega in his lap as if he couldn’t believe what just happened.

Reality caught up to Gao Tu then, and embarrassment flooded him all at once. He squirmed slightly, flustered at the realization that he was straddling Shen Wenlang’s thighs. “I should… I should move—” he began, fumbling to slip off.

But Wenlang’s hands tightened around his waist, holding him in place. 

Gao Tu froze, staring at him. The alpha didn’t say anything for a long while. He just looked at Gao Tu and the omega felt like his heart might combust.

“You look beautiful.”

Gao Tu blinked rapidly, heat rushing to his face. “W-What?” He sputtered, his ears going pink.

Shen Wenlang held his gaze, his lips quirking almost shyly, but his eyes were sincere. “You do. You’re beautiful.”

Gao Tu had no idea what to do with himself. His whole body felt like it was on fire, his fingers gripping the alpha’s shoulders. “You… you can’t just say things like that…” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

There was a pause, Shen Wenlang’s hands still resting at his waist, before he drew in a breath and spoke again. “Gao Tu… would you be my boyfriend?”

The words hit Gao Tu like a bolt of lightning. His eyes widened, and for a moment he was completely speechless. “What did you just say?” he finally blurted, staring at Shen Wenlang as though he couldn’t believe his ears.

Wenlang’s expression was earnest, his brow furrowed slightly. “I know this is backwards,” he admitted. “We’re having a child, we’re already living together, and I should’ve said this a long time ago. But the truth is… I’ve never dated anyone before. I’ve never been with anyone. You’re the only person I’ve ever… liked. And I want to be with you. Properly.”

Gao Tu’s mouth opened and closed helplessly, his mind scrambling. “You… you like me?!” he exclaimed, still in disbelief.

Wenlang looked away for a moment, his ears reddening, before nodding. “Yes,” he confessed. “That’s why I was so jealous before. Every time you smelled like an omega, I thought it was someone else, and it drove me insane. Not knowing it was you.”

“Oh,” Gao Tu whispered, his lips parting, the truth settling into him like sunlight. His heart leapt into his throat, and he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. Blushing furiously, he leaned forward and kissed Wenlang again, a soft press of lips that spoke more than words.

When he pulled back, Gao Tu’s eyes were sparkling. “Okay. I’ll be your boyfriend.”

Shen Wenlang buried his face in the crook of Gao Tu’s neck, his breath shaky with relief and joy. “Thank you. I’ll be good to you. To both you and our baby. I promise.”

Gao Tu’s heart swelled, and he hugged him back, smiling into the alpha’s hair.

ꭥ

When they later found out that their baby was a boy, they were both overjoyed. Gao Tu had laughed and covered his face with his hands in disbelief, while Shen Wenlang practically lifted him off the ground in excitement.

“A boy!” Wenlang kept repeating, his grin wide, his eyes shining. “We’re having a boy, Gao Tu! Can you believe it?”

Gao Tu had laughed so much his belly hurt, especially when, only a few days later, he found Wenlang sneaking baby toys into their room. “Wenlang!” he scolded, holding up a little stuffed lion the alpha had bought. “It’s too early for this! He’s not even born yet!”

Wenlang only grinned sheepishly, taking the toy back. “I couldn’t help it. I just… I can’t wait to meet him.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss against Gao Tu’s cheek, murmuring, “Our son.”

ꭥ

As they sat together on the balcony, the cool night air carried the scent of blooming flowers. They shared the same cushioned couch, sitting close, with Gao Tu’s head resting comfortably on Shen Wenlang’s shoulder and his arms wrapped around him in a gentle embrace as they gazed at the star-filled sky.

For a long while, they didn’t speak. The silence between them was peaceful. Then Gao Tu’s soft voice broke it first. “I never got to thank you.”

Shen Wenlang turned his head slightly, looking down at him. “For what?”

“For everything,” Gao Tu murmured. His hand rubbed over his belly absentmindedly. “For taking care of me. For taking care of our Lele. You’re going to be such a great father.”

Shen Wenlang’s eyes widened slightly, and when Gao Tu lifted his head to look at him, he saw that the alpha’s gaze was glistening, glossy with unshed tears.

“You think so?” Shen Wenlang asked, his voice shaky.

Gao Tu smiled at him, leaned up and pressed a kiss against his lips. “I know so.”