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“You smell sweet.” Wenlang murmured into his neck, hugging him from behind.
“Good morning to you, too.” Gao Tu smiled and continued to wash the dishes. Wenlang playfully bit the exposed skin, making him close his eyes and enjoy this new morning routine.
Ever since they resolved all of the misunderstandings and got together, Wenlang became a constant presence in his life. Together they went through never-ending ups and downs, but they always had each other to lean on. Although two years had gone by, the pain of losing their baby was still fresh in their minds. Back then, nothing was right. Wenlang found out too late to properly care for him in the late stages, and in the end his body wasn’t able to keep up with the strain. Back then, Wenlang almost lost not only the precious child but also Gao Tu. Ever since then, Wenlang made sure to always use protection, to never make Gao Tu go through this kind of pain again, and to never risk losing him.
“Let me help.” He finally let go of Gao Tu’s waist and moved him to the side to take his place in front of the sink. “But seriously, is that perfume? You smell sweeter than usual.”
“No, just me.” Gao Tu replied, drying off his hands and staring lovingly at the man he loved. “Weird, I could swear it’s a little different.” His body decided it was the perfect time to make him feel queasy. Quickly, he made his way to the bathroom and, as quietly as he could, he dry heaved over the sink. “You okay?” Wenlang shouted from the kitchen, concern lacing his voice.
“Mhm.” He replied curtly, still feeling his stomach twist. The feeling was oddly familiar; a memory of the time he was pregnant flashed through his mind, and another wave of nausea hit him. It couldn’t be, could it? They were always so careful. To be honest, he wouldn’t mind trying again, but not now, not so soon after… Anyways, Wenlang was so meticulous that there was never a possibility of getting pregnant again. So, despite the similarity, it must’ve been indigestion. The queasiness quickly passed, and he continued on with the day, forgetting the morning.
He really should’ve spent more time thinking it through, because the nausea didn’t disappear; on the contrary, as the days went on, it got progressively worse. It got to a point he could no longer ignore it. Thankfully, Wenlang hadn't noticed as he was too busy at work and always left early in the morning. By the time he’d get back, Gao Tu’s symptoms would be much less prominent. This of course meant he’d be all alone when he’d decide to check the reason for his sudden illness. His brain was in denial; it was too soon, the wound in his heart still too fresh. It should’ve been impossible, yet all of the signs pointed to the obvious. He was pregnant. One morning, he finally gathered enough courage, and as soon as Wenlang went out to work, he got dressed and made his way towards the nearest convenience shop. The deja vu was killing him, but he tried to focus on the task at hand. The streets were almost desolate, a layer of mist still clinging to the morning air, it felt ominous. He picked out the same test he used before, just one, and went back home. His steps slowed as he reached the door, and for a moment he just stood there, unwilling to go through the threshold. He knew what waited for him on the other side. After what felt like hours, he finally went inside and made his way to the bathroom. He didn't need to read the instructions; he knew exactly what to do, and soon he was sitting on the edge of the bed, the test held tightly in his trembling hands.
Two red lines.
Of course.
He pressed the palm of his hand to his stomach. Not again. He remembered the last time - the months of pain, the fear in Wenlang’s eyes, the way the doctors had said he’d been lucky to survive. Wenlang had cried, once, in the hospital hallway where he thought Gao Tu couldn’t hear. He couldn’t go through it again, and yet the thought of getting rid of the life growing inside made the pain much worse. Tears welled up in his eyes as he realised he’d never be able to make the decision to have an abortion. He knew that meant he’d have to hide the pregnancy from Wenlang. Suddenly, he remembered the comment Wenlang made about his scent; the pregnancy must’ve started to affect the way he smelled, and soon it would be obvious. He went back to the convenience store and picked up the scent inhibitors, a new kind that could hide pregnancy pheromones. They were made to protect omegas; he never thought he’d ever use them to deceive the man he loved. As soon as he got them, he took off the cap, breathed once, and let the chemicals settle into his body. The sweetness in his scent dulled almost instantly, the way a candle goes out without oxygen.
It was his day off, so he spent the rest of it cooking for his alpha, thinking of ways to break the news to him. In the end, he decided to put it off for as long as possible. Gai Tu knew what Wenlang’s reaction would be. Anger, anger and fear that he would lose him. So it was really for the best.
That evening, when Wenlang came back home, he smelled the air as he made his way towards Gao Tu. “I’m serious, lately you’ve been smelling like-” He paused, brow furrowing slightly, as if something familiar had slipped away before he could name it. Then the moment passed. “Never mind. You smell normal.”
It’s for the best. Gao Tu reminded himself and engulfed the alpha in a tight embrace, hiding the wetness of his eyes.
It was easier said than done. Days passed, and the subtle changes in Gao Tu became harder to control. His mornings were filled with bouts of nausea, sudden fatigue that left him collapsing into the couch for long stretches of time, and a scent that required higher and higher doses of the inhibitors to hide.
Wenlang was none the wiser, but Gao Tu’s heart hammered. How long before he notices? How long before this secret slips through?
Wenlang, oblivious as ever, leaned over him one evening while Gao Tu rested his head in his lap. “You’ve been sleeping a lot more than usual.” Wenlang said, brushing his hand through his hair. “I know you’ve been busy, but…”
“I’m fine.” Gao Tu interrupted softly, forcing a smile. “Just… tired from work.” The words rang hollow even to him.
Wenlang hummed, unconcerned, and rested his forehead against Gao Tu’s shoulder. “Just… tell me if something's wrong, okay?” Gao Tu swallowed, heart hammering. The warmth of Wenlang’s presence made his heart ache.
“I will.” The lie slipped off his tongue with ease. “You know I will.” He added to reassure him, even though his chest constricted painfully with each word.
Gao Tu alone carried the secret, and every day the weight of it pressed harder.
After a few weeks of pretending everything was normal, he decided to check in with a doctor. Again, on his day off, he waited until Wenlang went to work and made his way towards the clinic. The city was quiet, gray light filtering through the car windows as Gao Tu gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, palms turning white. Each breath felt shallow. He knew he was pregnant, but this visit would confirm it. There would be no more running from reality.
Inside the clinic, a nurse greeted him with a smile that felt distant, mechanical. He handed over his information and sat in the waiting room, knees pressed together, heart hammering with each tick of the clock. When the doctor called him in, Gao Tu went in silently and sat in a cold chair. The examination room was uncomfortably white, with bright walls reflecting the harsh lighting. It felt intimidating.
The doctor greeted him, cheerful but professional, and began routine questions. Gao Tu answered automatically, voice even, though inside he could feel the panic rise. When the doctor suggested an ultrasound, Gao Tu’s pulse spiked. He lay back on the table, stomach exposed, trying to still his trembling hands. The cool gel against his skin sent a shiver up his spine. Wenlang’s absence made the moment feel both lonely and heavy - he didn't want to face this alone.
Then the screen lit up.
The image was faint, grainy, but unmistakable. He saw it before, a small dot the size of a walnut was clearly visible. Gao Tu’s breath caught in his throat, but he couldn’t look away. It was real; he was truly pregnant again, the universe gave him another chance. The baby, so small and impossibly fragile, was already a part of him.
The doctor smiled, pointing at the screen, interrupting his train of thought. “Healthy. Everything looks good for this stage.” Gao Tu barely heard the words. His gaze stayed locked on the flickering image. “Is the alpha part of the picture?” The words broke the peaceful moment. Gao Tu looked away before answering.
“He doesn’t know yet.”
“So he’s absent?” Gao Tu shook his head furiously in denial. “If he were close to you, he’d already be able to smell the pregnancy.” The doctor looked at him quizzically, handing him tissues to wipe the gel off his abdomen.
“I use inhibitors to hide the change in my scent.” He revealed while cleaning off the skin.
The doctor sighed and looked at him with concern. “They aren’t dangerous, but they’re not ideal either. They’re also not made for prolonged use. Besides, you need your alpha’s pheromones to help the baby develop properly. They’re not as effective if he doesn’t know his omega is pregnant with a child.”
Gao Tu swallowed, guilt twisting his stomach. “We..” He hesitated before deciding to be truthful. “We lost our first baby, and I almost died too. It took a tool in him.” The memories of his alpha looking so broken filled his mind. “I didn’t want to put him through it again.”
“Do you want to terminate the pregnancy?” The doctor's words were like a cold shower.
“No!” He shouted suddenly, hands instinctively covering his belly in a protective motion.
“Then you really should tell him. The sooner he knows the better, both for you and the baby.” The matter-of-fact tone of the doctor’s voice only angered him.
“What about him?” He pushed. “I want what’s better for him, too.”
“He’s going to feel better knowing you’re not hiding secrets, that you find him dependable. Not telling him won’t change the fact that you are pregnant.” Honestly, she was right, and Gao Tu knew it. It still didn’t change the fact that he was dreading this conversation.
“I… I will tell him.” He finally whispered. “I just… I wanted to protect him.”
The doctor nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I know. But protecting him also means letting him be here with you. He’s part of this, part of your baby’s safety. Trust him.”
At the end of the visit, the doctor handed him a small printout of the ultrasound. He stared at it all the way to the exit, fingers tracing the outline of the tiny dot that represented his child, their child.
Back in the apartment, he buried the photo deep under the clothes in his wardrobe and decided to give himself a few days to prepare for the reveal.
The universe seemed to have different plans.
That evening, the apartment was quiet, sunlight filtering softly through the curtains. Gao Tu was in the living room, curled up with a blanket, trying to rest despite the fluttering in his stomach and the ever-present fear that Wenlang might notice.
Wenlang, meanwhile, was tidying up the bedroom, humming absentmindedly. He was folding the laundry. As he went to put it away, he noticed the clothes inside were all messy, so he decided to fold them too to make more room. As he took out all of the tangled sweaters, he noticed a small piece of paper pushed against the back wall of the wardrobe. He picked it up and froze. It was an ultrasound picture. A soft, sad smile curved his lips. “Baby Lele.” He murmured, studying the image with gentle affection, memories of their first child surfacing. But as Wenlang studied it more closely, his brows furrowed. The date was wrong; it was far too recent. He blinked, his smile faltering. Confusion rippled through him.
He held the picture carefully, stepping toward the living room where Gao Tu lay, head turned away. “Tu…” His voice was low, almost breaking. Gao Tu’s eyes snapped open at the tone of his alpha's voice. He sounded heartbroken. “What is this?” He asked, holding out the photograph.
Gao Tu could feel his face drain of colour. For a few seconds, he looked at it in silence, and when he finally looked up into Wenlang's eyes, he noticed they were full of tears.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with a mix of fear, frustration, and relief. “Tu… are you pregnant?” He set down the photo on the table next to them and knelt to be face-to-face with the omega.
Gao Tu let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and squeezed his eyes shut as he nodded in confirmation. “I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want to burden you.” He spoke softly.
“Burden me?” Wenlang sounded outraged at the idea.
“Let me finish.” Gao Tu placed the palm of his hand on Wenlang's chest and continued. “I missed the timing, at first I didn't want to scare you and then…” He paused. “I didn’t know how you’d react. We haven’t really talked about trying again and…” Another pause as he hesitated. “I was scared you’d want me to terminate.” The words were barely audible, but Wenlang heard them clearly.
“I can’t say that thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” He admitted as he gently stroked GaoTu’s cheek. “But honestly, I want this as much as you do. I’m just scared it’ll end up like…” Words caught in his throat at the memory.
“I know. I’m scared too, but this time you’ll be with me through it all, won’t you?” Gao Tu’s words brought him back to reality.
“There is no other way, you’re stuck with me.” He leaned down to place a soft kiss on his lips and lingered there for a second. “Wait.” He suddenly jerked up. “Your scent.” He leaned down again, burying his face in the crook of Gao Tu’s neck and inhaled. “It’s… I can’t smell the pregnancy.“ Panic rose in his chest. “Is the baby? Is it okay?” He asked carefully, scared of the answer.
“Sorry, I used inhibitors to hide it.” Gao Tu quickly explained. “I needed time to process it without worrying about your reaction.”
“I guess I understand.” He placed his hand on the omega’s abdomen and stroked the soft skin gently. “I really hope this time’ll be different.” He leaned closer to the stomach and whispered. “I hope we get to meet you.” And he placed a sweet kiss on the side of the belly.
Wenlang stayed there for a long time, forehead resting against Gao Tu’s stomach, his arms circled around him as though he could shield him from the world by sheer will. Gao Tu’s fingers threaded through his hair, trembling; both of them lost the sacred moment.
“I didn’t want you to find out like this…” Gao Tu whispered, voice breaking.
Wenlang’s arms tightened, his scent shifting - a deep, grounding warmth that wrapped around Gao Tu like a blanket. “Tu, I’m not angry at you.” He murmured, eyes glistening. “I’m just scared. I’m so scared of losing you again. That’s all I can think about.”
“I know,” Gao Tu whispered. His hand covered Wenlang’s, pressing it more firmly to his stomach.
Wenlang tilted his head up, looking at him. “I thought I had time, Tu. I thought we had time to heal before… ” His voice cracked.
Gao Tu cut him off softly, tears shimmering in his eyes. “If you ever have to choose, choose the baby.”
Wenlang’s breath hitched sharply. “No. Don’t say that.” His hands framed Gao Tu’s face, thumbs brushing away tears. “Don’t ever say that again. I can’t do this without you, Tu. You’re everything to me. I can’t lose you, you know that.” Wenlang’s alpha instincts thrummed under his skin, a protective urge so strong it almost hurt. He pressed his lips to Gao Tu’s temple. “You’ll tell me everything. No more hiding. No more inhibitors. You’ll let me take care of you. We’ll do this properly this time. Together.”
A shaky breath escaped Gao Tu. He nodded, eyes closing. “Together,” he whispered.
Wenlang drew him into his arms and held him close, flooding the room with his scent - warm, earthy, protective, a promise without words. Gao Tu relaxed against him for the first time in weeks.
“Tomorrow,” Wenlang said quietly into his hair. “Tomorrow I’ll call the clinic. We’ll do everything right. I’m not losing either of you.”
Gao Tu’s tears spilled over, his hands fisting in Wenlang’s shirt. “Thank you,” he whispered. Silence fell around them, and they stayed embraced like that, alpha kneeling beside his precious omega.
The weeks that followed were quieter, slower. Wenlang became the kind of careful that bordered on obsessive. He woke before Gao Tu every morning to make breakfast, insisted on carrying anything heavier than a feather, and never let him walk up the stairs alone.
“You don’t have to follow me around.” Gao Tu would tease, though there was no real protest in his tone.
“Humor me.” Wenlang always replied. “I’m just making sure.”
The days blurred into a steady rhythm of a routine. At night, Wenlang would rest his palm against Gao Tu’s stomach, feeling for movements that hadn’t yet begun, whispering half-formed promises. Gao Tu would lie still, eyes closed, listening to his alpha’s words. For the first time in years, peace felt possible.
Then, one night, that peace was shattered.
Gao Tu woke before dawn with a deep, unfamiliar ache and the uneasy sense that something was wrong. He touched Wenlang’s arm, whispering his name. The moment Wenlang saw the look on his face, he was out of bed, heart in his throat. They turned on the light, and Wenlang let out a desperate cry. Gao Tu looked down and saw their usually white sheets covered in blood. Before he could process what it could mean, Wenlang picked him up without a word and drove him straight to the hospital.
Wenlang’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking as he signed forms and tried not to imagine the worst. Gao Tu sat quietly beside him, complexion pale, trying to reassure him even now.
“It’s probably nothing.” Gao Tu said softly, trying to make himself believe those words. “I heard it can happen sometimes.”
Wenlang only shook his head, eyes red. “There was so much blood, Tu. Too much.” He almost wailed and hugged him tightly as they waited.
The nurse called them in. The examination felt endless. Wenlang stood by Gao Tu’s side, gripping his hand so tightly that Gao Tu finally had to whisper. “You’re hurting me.” He eased his hold immediately, apology written all over his face.
Finally, the doctor smiled - a calm, steady smile that made Wenlang’s knees almost buckle. “It’s all right.” She said gently. “The baby’s heartbeat is strong. What you saw can happen in the early stages of pregnancy. It’s called spotting; it doesn’t mean you’re losing the baby.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Wenlang’s hand went to his face, hiding a choked sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. Gao Tu reached for him, their fingers tangling.
“It’s okay,” Gao Tu whispered, pulling him close. “We’re okay.”
Wenlang dropped to his knees beside the bed, forehead pressed against Gao Tu’s hand, breathing in his scent - the warm sweetness calming his nerves. “You scared me,” he muttered. “You both did.”
“I know.” Gao Tu’s voice trembled. “But we’re still here.”
That night, back home, Wenlang refused to sleep. He sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting protectively over Gao Tu’s stomach, watching the slow rise and fall of his breathing until dawn painted the room in light again.
The months that followed went by quickly. Every appointment, every heartbeat heard through the monitor, became a small victory. Wenlang attended every check-up, never once letting go of Gao Tu’s hand.
When Gao Tu began to show, Wenlang would catch himself pausing mid-conversation just to look at him, eyes soft with disbelief and wonder. “You’re glowing,” he would say, every time, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was real.
The night the baby came, the world outside was wrapped in rain. The drive to the hospital was a blur of lights and thunder, Wenlang’s hands trembling on the wheel. But this time, there was no panic, just a fierce determination that they would make it through.
Hours later, when the first small cry filled the room, Wenlang forgot how to breathe. Gao Tu was exhausted, tears streaming silently down his cheeks, but when they placed the tiny bundle against his chest, the world seemed to still. Wenlang stood beside him, one hand resting on Gao Tu’s shoulder, the other shaking as it touched the baby’s tiny fingers.
“Look.” Gao Tu whispered, voice barely audible. “They have your eyes.”
Wenlang laughed - a choked, uneven sound that carried years of fear and relief in it. “They’re perfect,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Gao Tu’s temple. “You both are.”
Gao Tu leaned into him, eyes fluttering shut. “We did it.”
Wenlang’s hand found his, their fingers interlocking over the tiny heartbeat between them. “No,” he said softly. “You did it. You’re incredible.”
Later, when the room was quiet and the rain had faded to a soft patter against the windows, Wenlang sat awake, watching over his family. Gao Tu slept peacefully, their child nestled safely in his arms.
For the first time in a long time, Wenlang let himself breathe fully, the ache in his chest finally easing. The fear that had lived there for years began to fade, replaced by something else - hope.
He leaned forward, brushing a kiss across Gao Tu’s forehead, and whispered into the stillness: “Thank you for staying. For fighting. For giving us this.”
Gao Tu stirred, opening sleepy eyes, smiling faintly. “Always.” He murmured.
Outside, dawn broke. Pale gold light spilling into the room, catching on the edges of the crib, the soft blankets, the curve of Gao Tu’s hand as it cradled new life.
For the first time, their little family felt whole.