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Jonathan had been tired for days—bone-deep, dragging-his-feet tired—waking up nauseous, having dizzy spells, and running a little too warm in Steve’s arms in the mornings. He told himself it was stress. Work. The broken AC in their apartment. And to top it off, his heat was late, which only made him more anxious.
But when he paused in the grocery aisle on his way to put away a jar of peanut butter, he somehow ended up in the shampoo aisle. Something caught his eye, and he stopped dead, staring at a row of pregnancy tests behind the scratched plastic security case. His stomach dropped.
No.
He couldn’t be.
Could he?
Not now.
Not when the rent was late.
Not when they were stressing out over every bill they had.
Jonathan swallowed hard and checked the price tag again.
$10.99.
He didn’t have $10.99.
He didn’t even have $5.
Hell, he didn’t have $1.
Maybe his boss would give him an advance. No—he needed the money for rent and utilities.
He could ask to stay late, but he already put in 45 hours this week. Last week he hit 48. His boss had been annoyed about that. He doubted he’d allow more.
Jonathan stepped back, gripping the peanut butter jar so tightly his hand throbbed.
It was just stress.
It had to be stress.
But he couldn’t convince himself.
Not when his stomach lurched.
Not when he’d been late.
Not when his body felt wrong.
He shook himself and forced his feet to move. He had to put this peanut butter away.
He was sweeping up shattered glass from a broken jar of salsa when a woman approached him. Middle-aged, kind eyes, shy smile, holding a paper sack of groceries.
“Excuse me?” she asked gently.
Jonathan straightened. “Yes, ma’am? Can I help you?”
She hesitated, lips pressing together.
“I, um… I saw you earlier. You looked upset.” She shifted her weight. “I hope I’m not overstepping, but… well…” She held out a small brown paper bag. “I bought you this.”
Jonathan blinked at it, stunned. “Ma’am, I—”
“Just take it,” she said softly. “We all need help sometimes.”
Jonathan did and slowly unrolled the top to peer inside.
A pregnancy test.
His chest tightened. He looked up at her, startled.
Before he could even get a full sentence out, she offered him a warm smile, squeezed his arm gently, and said, “I hope the result is what you want it to be.”
Then she walked away.
Jonathan finished sweeping quickly and headed straight for the employee restroom. He locked the door, leaned against it, and let out a slow, shaking breath.
He wasn’t ready for this. God, what if he was pregnant?
They weren’t financially stable. They could barely take care of themselves, let alone a baby.
Their apartment was falling apart. They couldn’t raise a child there.
And Steve… he would have to tell Steve, no matter the result.
His hands trembled as he opened the box. He read the directions with blurry eyes, wiping them repeatedly as tears kept forming.
Three minutes.
He had to wait three minutes.
They were the longest three minutes of his life.
He wanted Steve there—wanted his scent, his warmth, his grounding presence.
When the timer finally hit three, Jonathan thought he might throw up. He didn’t want to look—but he had to know. Sitting on the closed toilet lid, he lifted the test with shaking hands.
Negative.
His breath left him all at once—a strange mix of relief and something else he couldn’t name twisting inside him.
He wrapped the test in toilet paper, shoved it deep in the trash, washed his hands twice, splashed water on his face—
And went back to work.
Jonathan shoved his shoulder into their shitty apartment door to get it open. The place smelled like burnt Kraft mac and cheese. He heard Steve cussing in the kitchen, and despite the day he’d had, the corner of his mouth tugged upward.
“Babe?” Steve called. “That you?”
Jonathan swallowed hard. “Yeah, it’s me.”
Steve popped into view, grinning—still in his work clothes, sleeves rolled up, hair fluffed from his hands running through it, tie gone, top buttons undone.
Jonathan tried to smile back.
He wasn’t sure he succeeded.
Steve crossed the tiny living room in two steps and leaned down to kiss him. Jonathan kissed back, but it was soft, unfocused.
Steve hummed happily anyway. “Missed you.”
“Missed you too,” Jonathan whispered.
Steve didn’t notice anything was off yet. He turned back to the kitchen, talking as he moved.
“I tried to cook mac n cheese, but you know how me and cooking get along. Like peanut butter and mustard. We can order something. I got a small bonus today—a tiny, microscopic bonus—but hey, it counts. I’m thinking pizza or Chinese!”
Jonathan tried to follow the rambling, but his mind was foggy. He stood frozen by the door, gripping his bag strap. The headache that had been building for hours was now raging, and his shoulders ached.
Steve dumped the burnt noodles in the trash, rinsed the pot, still talking, and completely unaware of the emotional fallout happening just a few feet away.
Then Steve peeked around the doorway.
“You okay, Johnny?”
Jonathan shook himself. “Huh? Oh. Yeah. I’m fine.” His voice wobbled.
He hung up his jacket, slipped off his shoes, aware of Steve’s eyes on him.
“What were you saying?” he managed.
Steve didn’t buy it. He walked over and placed his hands on Jonathan’s hips.
“Are you okay?”
And that was it.
Steve knew him too well.
“I’m just tired. And my head hurts and…” Jonathan trailed off, looking anywhere but at Steve. If he looked, he’d crumble.
“Baby,” Steve murmured, worried but soft.
Jonathan broke.
He stepped forward, arms wrapping around Steve as tears burned hot and spilled. Steve’s arms locked around him instantly, protective.
“What happened?” Steve whispered. “Did something happen at work?”
“No,” Jonathan said thickly. “Nothing like that.”
Steve’s hand slid into his hair. His arm around him tightened, as if trying to hold him together.
“Talk to me, Johnny.”
Jonathan tried to start at the beginning—with his symptoms, the aisle, the woman—but what came out was:
“I… I thought I was pregnant.”
Steve went still.
Humiliation hit Jonathan like a punch, and he burrowed into Steve’s chest, not wanting to see his boyfriend’s reaction.
“Okay,” Steve said softly. “I was not expecting that. Let’s just… start at the beginning, okay?”
Jonathan sniffed, looking small and tired in a way that made Steve’s chest twist.
“I’ve been tired lately. And nauseous. I got dizzy at work a few times.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Steve asked, voice tight.
Jonathan ignored that—another conversation for another time.
“A-and my heat is three days late.”
“Oh shit, Johnny.” Steve’s eyes widened. “I didn’t even notice. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay—”
“It’s not,” Steve cut in immediately. His scent spiked sharply with guilt. “I’ve been working so much, and I wasn’t paying attention. I should’ve—”
He moved his hands away without thinking.
Jonathan whined before he could stop himself—a small, raw, instinctive sound that seemed to punch the air out of Steve. His omega instincts surged, aching for Steve’s touch, his scent, and in that moment the need for comfort mattered more than pride ever could.
Steve’s hands returned instantly, cupping Jonathan’s cheeks with warm palms.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m not going anywhere. I just wanted to look at you.”
Jonathan collapsed into him again, burying his face in Steve’s chest. His instincts were screaming for Steve’s scent, for safety, for grounding, and Steve wrapped his arms around him, strong and steady.
“I was putting something away,” Jonathan continued, voice shaky, “and I walked past the pregnancy tests. I kept thinking… all these symptoms. What if I was…” His throat closed. “The tests were expensive. Ten dollars.” His voice cracked. “I stood there forever trying to figure out how I could get one. I couldn’t. So I just… went back to work.”
Steve’s scent turned into something pained and protective, thick with worry.
Jonathan’s words kept tumbling out. “Later, I was sweeping up glass, and a woman came up to me. She’d seen me earlier looking at the tests.” His breath shuddered. “She bought one for me. Just gave it to me. Like it was no big deal.”
“Oh, baby…” Steve murmured, smoothing a hand up his back, slow and grounding.
“I took it right away,” Jonathan whispered. “I know I should have called you, or waited, or—I just panicked.”
“Shh.” Steve pressed their foreheads together, noses brushing. “Don’t beat yourself up. You’re telling me now. That’s what matters.”
Jonathan swallowed hard. “It was negative.”
Steve let out a soft breath against his cheek—relief, warm and gentle. Not joy, not disappointment. Just relief that Jonathan wasn’t facing something terrifying alone. His scent softened, wrapping around Jonathan like a blanket.
“We’ll have kids someday,” Steve whispered into his hair. “If you want them. When we’re ready. Not like this. And if anything like this ever happens again, you don’t face it alone. I want to be there.”
Jonathan nodded weakly. “Okay.”
“Everything you’ve been feeling—the stress, nausea, and the overtime, it’s a lot. It can delay a heat,” Steve said gently.
Jonathan only nodded again, worn-out and wrung dry. He knew Steve was right. Back in high school, when he’d been juggling shifts at the movie theater and taking care of Will and trying to keep their lights on, it wasn’t unusual to miss heats.
They stayed like that, clinging to each other, until the panic slowly ebbed out of Jonathan’s body, leaving him exhausted but no longer drowning.
Then Steve’s chest shook with a sudden snort of laughter.
Jonathan blinked up at him. “What?”
Steve wiped a thumb under his eye. “I’m just imagining us trying to raise a baby in this place. The poor kid would need therapy by the time they were six months old.”
“Steve,” Jonathan groaned, laughing despite himself.
“No, seriously. The radiator alone would’ve scared them into talking early.”
Jonathan huffed a laugh. “Stop.”
“And don’t even get me started on the water heater. We’d have to boil water on the stove for bath time like Little House on the Prairie.”
Jonathan nudged him. “Steve.”
“I’m just saying,” Steve said with a shrug, “we’d make it work like champs. But the baby would grow up thinking this apartment was a cosmic prank.”
Jonathan’s laughter softened into something warm. His chest loosened, breath easing.
Steve kissed his temple gently. “But seriously? I’m glad you’re okay. And I’m glad we’re not doing the baby-in-the-haunted-apartment thing yet.”
Jonathan let his head rest on Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah. Me too.”
Steve pulled him close, scent warm and grounding. “Someday,” he murmured. “When we’re ready. When we have more than one working lamp. And a fridge that doesn’t sound like a Demogorgon.”
Jonathan snorted. “You love that fridge.”
“I fear that fridge,” Steve corrected.
Jonathan laughed again, softer this time. “Someday,” he echoed.
They stood quietly, wrapped in each other’s arms, until Steve exhaled—a soft puff against Jonathan’s hair.
“Hey,” he murmured, fingers tracing up Jonathan’s spine, “how about we… don’t cook.”
Jonathan made a small, exhausted sound that was basically an agreement.
Steve smiled. “Let’s order pizza and eat on the couch and watch I Love Lucy.”
Jonathan lifted his head slightly. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Steve squeezed his shoulders gently. “You’ve had a day, babe. Tonight should be relaxing. Stupid sitcoms and greasy pizza kind of easy.”
He searched Jonathan’s face softly. “The TV guide said it’s the chocolate factory episode tonight. That’s the best one!”
Jonathan’s mouth twitched. “You say that about all of them.”
“And,” Steve said, mock-serious, “I promise—cross my heart—not to quote along with Lucy.”
Jonathan snorted. “Liar.”
Steve grinned. “Absolutely.”
Jonathan breathed out something half-laugh, half-sigh. Steve kissed his forehead, warm and grounding.
“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s have a good night.”
Jonathan nodded against him.
“Okay,” he whispered.
And as they walked toward the kitchen together, Steve’s arm looped around his waist, Jonathan felt—finally—like he wasn’t going to break.
Just tired.
Just loved.