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Tim woke slowly, awareness returning in layers rather than all at once.
First the warmth.
Then the weight of the blankets.
Then the familiar, steady presence curled against his side.
He opened his eyes to soft gray morning light filtering through the curtains, the world still quiet in that fragile hour before the city properly woke. For a moment he didn’t move. He simply breathed.
Pai was fast asleep beside him, the omega having only just managed to drift off after a restless night of being woken over and over by the baby shifting inside him. If Tim remembered correctly through his own sleepy haze, Pai had gotten no more than three hours of broken rest—dozing briefly, then stirring again at every kick, ache, or wave of discomfort, before exhaustion had finally pulled him under.
Beside him resides not the composed, controlled version the world saw, not the CEO with razor-sharp posture and perfectly measured words, but the version that only existed here.
Soft.
Loose.
Safe.
Pai was turned slightly toward him, one arm folded under his cheek, lips parted just enough that his breath ghosted warm across Tim’s collarbone. His hair had fallen messy across the pillow sometime during the night, bronze strands catching faint light. Without the tension he carried during the day, his face looked younger — almost boyish.
Tim felt that familiar, overwhelming tenderness settle into his chest.
Seventeen weeks.
And somehow Pai was still beautiful in ways that kept surprising him.
It wasn’t the effortless, polished kind of beauty people usually noticed first. It was quieter now—softer, more intimate. The faint shadows under Pai’s eyes from too many restless nights, the way his hair fell messily across his forehead, the gentle curve beginning to show beneath the blankets where their child was growing. Each change should have been ordinary, expected even, and yet Tim found himself caught off guard by it every time.
There was something about the vulnerability of it all. Pai, who was usually so composed, so capable, now sleeping with one hand unconsciously resting over his stomach, as if already protecting what was there. The small crease between his brows hadn’t fully smoothed even in sleep, like some part of him was still bracing for the next discomfort, the next shift, the next interruption.
And Tim loved him for it—loved the strength it took, loved the trust it meant that Pai could finally let himself rest here, beside him.
Carefully, so he wouldn’t wake him, Tim reached for Pai’s hand.
He turned it palm-up and pressed his lips to the inside of Pai’s wrist.
The scent there was always strongest.
Warm jasmine.
Honey-soft skin.
That deeper, musky undertone that had developed over the last weeks — richer now, fuller, threaded with something unmistakably maternal.
Tim inhaled slowly, eyes closing for a second.
His gaze drifted to the ring resting on Pai’s finger.
Simple. Elegant. Perfectly him.
Tim brushed his thumb over the band, remembering the moment he’d slid it onto Pai’s hand — the way Pai had tried to stay composed and failed, the tiny tremor in his fingers, the way his scent had bloomed warm and bright with emotion.
Still here.
Still real.
Still his.
Sometimes Tim had to remind himself that Pai; brilliant, stubborn, powerful Pai — had chosen him. Not out of obligation. Not out of convenience. Just because he wanted to.
His chest tightened again.
He leaned closer and pressed a kiss to Pai’s temple, lingering there before his hand drifted lower beneath the blanket.
Slowly.
Reverently.
His palm settled over the gentle curve of Pai’s stomach.
The bump wasn’t dramatic yet, but it was undeniable. A soft outward swell that hadn’t existed a month ago. Warm beneath his hand.
Alive.
“Hey there,” Tim whispered softly.
Pai shifted faintly in his sleep, but didn’t wake.
Tim’s thumb traced slow circles.
“You were very busy last night,” he murmured.
Pai had tossed and turned for hours, little movements and restless breaths that Tim had pretended not to notice while staying awake beside him.
He leaned closer, voice dropping into that conspiratorial whisper he used only for their baby.
“Little one… I thought we said we were going to be kind to Papa.”
His thumb brushed again.
“You kept him up all night, ducky.”
For a second there was nothing.
Then—
A faint flutter beneath his palm.
Not a kick.
Just a soft movement.
Tim froze.
“…Oh,” he breathed.
Another tiny shift.
Almost hesitant.
Almost apologetic.
His heart felt like it might burst.
“You’re saying sorry?” he whispered, awe flooding his voice.
The baby fluttered again, gentler this time.
Tim let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Okay. I forgive you.”
He bent and pressed a kiss through the fabric of Pai’s shirt to the curve of his stomach.
“Be nice today please,” he added softly. “Papa’s got a long day.”
Then he leaned up and kissed Pai’s temple again.
Pai sighed in his sleep and unconsciously leaned closer.
Tim stayed there a moment longer, memorizing the warmth.
Then he slipped carefully out of bed.
˚✧ ˚✧ ˚✧ ˚
The bathroom filled with steam as Tim showered and dressed for his conference.
He moved quietly out of habit, years of early mornings and careful routines — buttoning his shirt, adjusting his watch, combing his hair while mentally reviewing the day ahead.
By the time he stepped back into the dressing room, sunlight had shifted warmer, spilling gold across the floor.
That was when he saw Pai.
Sleepy.
Disheveled.
Pouting.
Pai stood in the doorway like he had wandered there by instinct rather than intention, hair rumpled from sleep, shirt wrinkled, eyes still heavy.
“You didn’t wake me up,” Pai murmured, rubbing his face with the back of his hand.
Tim’s heart melted instantly.
“Good morning, sleepy ducky,” he said gently.
Pai made a soft disgruntled sound but walked straight toward him anyway.
He stopped behind Tim and wrapped both arms around his waist, pressing his cheek between the alpha’s shoulder and jaw.
Tim stilled, warmth flooding his chest, and covered Pai’s forearms with his hands.
“Mm,” Pai mumbled. “I was cold.”
“You were not.”
“I was,” Pai insisted weakly. “You’re warm.”
Tim laughed quietly.
“You’re exhausted.”
Pai nodded against his back, one hand sliding down over his stomach.
“Little ducky was moving all night,” he complained softly. “Every time I tried to sleep.”
Tim turned his head slightly and he brings a hand up caressing the side of the omega’s head.
“I talked to ducky about that.”
Pai lifted his head just enough to meet the alpha’s soft gaze.
“You did?”
“Mhm.”
“What did you say?”
Tim kept his expression serious.
“I told them that they needed to be kind to Papa.”
Pai blinked.
“And?”
“Little ducky would like to say sorry.”
Pai stared at him.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“They fluttered,” Tim said as matter of fact.
Pai hesitated.
Then his expression softened.
“… They did?”
Tim nodded once.
Pai let one of his hand drop over to his stomach where he rubbed slow circles in acknowledgment.
“Little duck,” he murmured quietly, voice still thick with sleep. “You have to sleep when I sleep.”
Tim turned ever so slightly so that he could reach down, covering Pai’s hand with one of his own.
“I already scolded our pup,” Tim said gently. “We’re a united front.”
Pai huffed a small laugh and pressed his face back into Tim’s shoulder.
For a long moment they just stood there.
Morning light.
Warm apartment.
Tim’s alpha scent slowly filling the air — cedarwood and clean warmth spreading through the space.
Pai’s shoulders dropped.
His breathing slowed.
The baby shifted once more, then settled.
Tim felt it on his back with the omega pressed behind him.
“…See?” he murmured softly. “Our ducky listens when Dad talks.”
Pai snorted faintly.
Then his arms tightened around Tim. His chin finding solace back in the space between the alpha’s shoulder and neck.
“…Can we stay like this for a few minutes?” he asked quietly, voice small in a way it rarely was. “Just… a little longer.”
Tim didn’t hesitate.
“Of course.”
Pai exhaled.
“It’s like I’m recharging,” he admitted. “And… you smell good.”
Tim’s hands slid more securely over Pai’s arms, holding him in place, letting his scent deepen and spread — protective, warm, enveloping.
Pai melted into it.
The baby stilled completely.
All three of them wrapped in the same calm.
For a moment, the world narrowed to warmth and breathing and quiet belonging.
Then—
Pai suddenly gasped.
Tim blinked.
Pai pulled back abruptly and rushed toward the mirror.
“Oh my god.”
Tim turned.
Pai stared at his reflection in horror — hair messy, eyes tired, shirt wrinkled, cheeks still flushed from sleep.
“Why didn’t you say I look like this?!” he demanded.
Tim just smiled.
He stepped closer, cupped Pai’s face gently in both hands, thumbs brushing under his eyes where faint shadows lingered.
“You look adorable to me,” he said softly.
Then he kissed his pout.
Pai huffed dramatically, shaking him off.
“What kind of answer is that?” he muttered, fake-annoyed, already turning toward the bathroom.
Tim laughed under his breath as Pai disappeared inside, muttering about “presentation standards.”
And just like that—
Morning chaos resumed.
˚✧ ˚✧ ˚✧ ˚
By seventeen weeks, Pai could no longer pretend his body wasn’t changing. He’s successfully entered his second trimester last week and although ducky has been quite the night owl, he’s happy to see their child resembling their alpha father— bright and lively.
The curve of his stomach was no longer theoretical. It pressed gently against the inside of his shirts. His suits still fit; impeccably tailored, adjusted twice already without comment, but the structure felt tighter. Less forgiving.
He told himself that was fine.
He had endured worse.
The quarterly expansion review meeting began at nine sharp.
Ten investors.
Three senior analysts.
His grandfather at the head of the table.
The air smelled like polished wood and expectation.
Pai stood as he always did — spine straight, voice measured, hands loosely clasped behind his back as projections glowed across the screen.
He felt it before it happened.
The faint wave of heat.
The slight drop in blood pressure.
The way his omega instincts whispered sit down.
He ignored it.
He had done this before.
He pressed forward, shifting slides, answering questions with surgical precision. He scented skepticism before it was voiced and dismantled it calmly. He redirected tension. He controlled the room.
But halfway through a question about overseas acquisition leverage, the words on the screen blurred.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
His stomach tightened.
The baby shifted faintly — or maybe that was his imagination.
His fingers trembled.
No one noticed.
He inhaled carefully.
The room tilted.
“Mr. Pai?” one analyst prompted.
He tried to answer.
Instead, his vision narrowed into a thin white line.
He sat.
Abruptly.
Not collapsed.
Not fallen.
Just sat hard in the nearest chair.
The silence in the room sharpened instantly.
His grandfather’s eyes flicked up.
“Continue,” Pai said evenly.
His voice sounded distant in his own ears.
Someone pushed a glass of water toward him.
He reached for it.
Missed.
The next thing he knew, the room was horizontal.
•- ASA Expo Bangkok 2026 -•
Tim was in the middle of a tech infrastructure conference call when his phone buzzed.
He ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Then his phone sang.
A soft, distinct tone. Three gentle chimes layered over white noise.
Nana.
Tim went cold.
He excused himself mid-sentence, barely registering the confused voices still speaking through his headset. The moment he stepped into the hallway, he answered.
“Nana.”
Her voice, usually bright and bubbly, was controlled. Which meant she was trying not to panic.
“Hi Tim. Don’t freak out.”
His heart dropped straight into his stomach.
“I’m already freaking out.”
“Pai fainted during the investor meeting.”
Everything inside him stopped.
For a split second there was no hallway. No conference call. No sound.
Just the word.
Fainted.
“But he’s conscious now,” she rushed. “He’s alert. The paramedics are checking him. The doctor says it’s likely exhaustion and low blood pressure.”
Tim was already moving.
“Where is he?”
“In his office. They cleared the room.”
“Stay with him.”
“I’m not leaving.”
Tim’s jaw tightened.
“I’m on my way.”
He hung up and walked fast. Then faster. Then he was running.
The lift took too long.
Every second stretched into something unbearable.
His mind went somewhere dark immediately, the place it always went when it came to Pai.
What if he hit his head?
What if the baby—
No.
He shoved the thought down hard, but it came back anyway, vicious and unstoppable.
What if something happened and I wasn’t there?
His chest felt tight, lungs not quite filling properly. He jabbed the lift button again even though it was already lit.
Seventeen weeks.
Pai had been tired. Tim knew that. He had seen the shadows under his eyes, the way he pushed through discomfort like it was an inconvenience instead of a warning. Tim had told himself it was manageable. That they had time. That Pai would slow down once things settled.
And now he had collapsed in a boardroom.
In front of investors.
In front of his grandfather.
A surge of anger flared under the fear, sharp and hot.
Not at Pai.
Never at Pai.
At the situation. At the pressure. At the impossible expectations that had shaped Pai into someone who would work himself into the ground rather than admit he needed help.
And underneath that anger was something worse.
Guilt.
I should have been there.
Should have pushed Pai harder to rest. Should have taken over more things himself. Should have recognised how bad the exhaustion had gotten.
The lift doors opened.
Tim stepped inside, hands clenched so tightly his knuckles ached.
Another thought slipped in before he could stop it.
Pai hadn’t even gotten to choose when to tell his grandfather.
That knowledge landed heavy.
Pai had wanted control over that moment. Tim knew it. It mattered to him. Timing, presentation, composure. The ability to stand there on his own terms and share something personal without it being forced by circumstance.
Instead, it had been dragged into the open because his body gave out.
Because he pushed too far.
Because no one had protected him from the pressure long enough for him to protect himself.
Tim swallowed hard.
Please let him be okay.
Please let our baby be okay.
The worst possibilities kept trying to form in his head. Images he refused to let fully exist.
Hospital corridors.
Doctors with serious faces.
Loss.
His stomach twisted violently.
No. Not again.
He pressed his palm flat against the cool metal wall of the lift and forced himself to breathe.
Pai is conscious. Nana said he’s conscious.
He clung to that.
Conscious meant breathing.
Breathing meant alive.
Alive meant there was still something to protect.
The lift doors opened again and Tim moved immediately, long strides carrying him through the building faster than he normally allowed himself to move in public.
His heart was hammering now.
Fear. Anger. Guilt. Helplessness.
And beneath all of it, something fierce and primal.
Protect.
By the time he reached the office floor, the only clear thought left in his mind was simple and absolute.
I’m coming.
Hold on.
I’m coming.
•- 12 Weeks; Nana -•
The first person they told at work was Nana.
Pai had insisted.
He did not have many friends. Not real ones.
Most relationships in his life were built on professionalism, hierarchy, or expectation. Nana had started as his secretary, efficient and terrifyingly competent, but somewhere along the way she had become something else entirely.
A constant.
Someone who hovered without suffocating. Who anticipated needs before he voiced them. Who told him when he was being unreasonable without fear of consequence.
Someone trustworthy.
“She’s efficient,” Pai had said. “And she already suspects something. She has very good intuition. She hovers over me like she knows.”
Tim had not argued. He had seen it too.
Nana had walked into the office with a folder and stopped mid-step.
“Why does this room smell like—”
She froze.
Her eyes widened.
She looked at Pai.
Then at Tim.
Then at Pai’s hand resting unconsciously over his stomach.
“Oh my god.”
Pai had sighed.
“Close the door, please.”
Nana did.
Then she burst into tears.
“YOU’RE HAVING A BABY?! I knew it. You smell sweeter.”
Tim had laughed.
Pai had looked mildly betrayed by the volume.
Nana rushed forward, then stopped herself abruptly, clasping her hands together like she was physically restraining the urge to tackle him.
“Can I hug you? Or is that too much? I won’t squeeze. I promise. I’ll sign an NDA in blood.”
Pai rolled his eyes.
“You already have.”
That was the thing about Nana.
She was dramatic. Loud. Emotional.
But she was also the person who quietly replaced Pai’s coffee with herbal tea without comment when he looked too tired. The person who scheduled breaks into his calendar under fake meeting titles so he would not delete them. The person who remembered to order food when he forgot to eat.
She had never said outright that she cared.
She just acted like it.
After Pai stepped out to take a call, Tim stayed behind.
His tone shifted.
“Listen,” he said quietly.
Nana straightened instantly.
“I need you to watch him.”
“I always do.”
“I mean really watch him.”
Her expression softened.
Because she understood exactly what he meant.
Tim continued, “He’ll push. He’ll skip meals. He’ll say he’s fine when he’s not. If anything feels off. Anything. You call me.”
Nana nodded without hesitation.
“I’ll make sure he eats.”
Tim smiled faintly.
“I set a special ringtone for you.”
Her expression turned smug.
“Of course you did.”
There was a beat.
Then she folded her arms and looked at him critically.
“You’re hovering too,” she said.
Tim blinked. “I am not.”
“You are,” she replied. “You just do it differently. But you are.”
Tim considered arguing.
Then didn’t.
“…He’s bad at stopping,” he admitted.
Nana’s voice softened.
“I know.”
A moment passed.
There was an unspoken understanding between them that had formed gradually over months.
They were both orbiting the same person.
Protecting him in different ways.
“He didn’t have people who watched him like this before,” Nana said quietly. “Not for him. Only for what he could do.”
Tim’s chest tightened.
“I know.”
She looked at him for another second, then nodded once, decisive.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve got him during the day. You’ve got him at night and the rare days I’m off.”
Tim huffed a quiet laugh.
“Team effort.”
“Team effort,” she agreed.
Then, after a pause, her eyes sparkled mischievously.
“If you break his heart, though, I will absolutely ruin your life.”
Tim raised an eyebrow.
“That seems fair.”
“And I know where you park.”
“That feels threatening.”
“It is.”
Tim smiled.
Because beneath the humour was something real.
Trust.
They both loved Pai.
Different kinds of love.
But equally protective.
Equally certain that he deserved to be cared for.
When Pai returned a few minutes later, Nana’s entire posture shifted back into professional mode, tablet in hand, expression composed.
But as he sat down, she quietly slid a container across the desk toward him.
“Eat,” she said.
Pai sighed.
Tim hid his smile.
Some things, he suspected, were never going to change.
And honestly?
He was grateful for that.
•- Pai’s Office -•
Tim reached the building in record time.
He did not remember the drive.
Only the feeling.
Cold. Sharp. Urgent.
When he stepped into Pai’s office, the scent hit him first.
Faint distress.
Warm jasmine.
Honeyed exhaustion.
Fear lingered underneath it. Faded now, but unmistakable.
Pai.
Tim’s vision narrowed instantly to the couch.
Pai was sitting upright, pale but composed, shoulders held too straight like he was forcing himself into control. His grandfather stood near the window. Nana hovered nearby, protective and alert.
Tim did not greet anyone.
Normally he would have.
He was always courteous with Pai’s grandfather. Respectful. Formal.
Today, none of that mattered.
He crossed the room in three strides and dropped to his knees in front of Pai.
“Hey.”
Pai exhaled slowly, like the word alone had loosened something inside him.
“I’m fine.”
Tim’s hands were already moving. Over Pai’s arms. His shoulders. Checking for tension, tremor, injury.
Then lower.
His palm settled gently against Pai’s stomach.
Warm.
Alive.
“You fainted,” Tim said quietly.
“I sat aggressively.” Still trying to be composed and in control.
Tim stared at him.
Pai’s composure wavered for a fraction of a second, a hazy, slightly disoriented look still lingering in his eyes. Shock. Adrenaline.
Aftermath.
Tim did not hesitate.
Public scenting was frowned upon.
Especially here.
Especially in front of executives. Investors. Family hierarchy.
But he really couldn’t care less.
Pai needed grounding.
Tim leaned forward and pulled him into his arms, one hand cradling the back of his head, pressing Pai’s face into his neck.
He scented him.
Deep. Steady. Protective.
Cedarwood and warmth wrapped around Pai instantly.
Pai broke.
The moment the alpha’s scent settled over him, the tension holding him upright snapped.
A sob tore out of him.
Tim tightened his arms immediately.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Pai’s hands clutched at his shirt.
“They told me our ducky is fine,” Pai said, voice shaking, words tumbling over each other. “But they haven’t moved. I don’t feel anything. I’m sor —”
His breath hitched violently.
Tim slid his hand over Pai’s stomach.
Right on cue, a faint movement brushed against his palm.
Relief slammed into him so hard it almost hurt.
“They’re safe,” Tim whispered firmly against Pai’s hair. “They’re moving. See? They’re right here.”
Pai froze.
Another tiny shift followed.
Then he started crying harder.
Tim just held him.
One hand over the baby.
One arm around his shoulders.
Scent wrapped around both of them.
Gradually, Pai’s breathing slowed.
The room was silent.
Tim was dimly aware of Nana turning away discreetly to give them privacy. Aware of Pai’s grandfather watching.
Then the older man spoke.
“Is it true?” his grandfather asked quietly.
Tim felt Pai tense again.
Pai pulled back slightly, wiping his face, trying to gather composure like he had done his entire life.
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
Silence followed.
“You are seventeen weeks pregnant,” the older man continued as he walked closer towards the sofa where Pai sat, the younger Alpha moving to sit beside the omega, one arm around the omega’s shoulder and the other still protectively laid on top of the other’s stomach.
“Yes.”
His grandfather inhaled slowly.
Then said, “You intended to inform me when?”
The tone was sharp. Disappointed.
Tim stiffened.
Pai’s shoulders straightened instinctively.
“When it was relevant to company operations.”
The answer was pure Pai.
Professional. Controlled. Defensive.
Tim felt something twist in his chest.
Nana looked horrified.
But the older man’s expression changed.
Subtly.
Not anger.
Something else.
“I see,” he said.
And suddenly his voice wasn’t cold.
It was wounded.
•- Flashback; Pai at 10 years old -•
“You will represent this family with composure.”
A younger Pai stood in an oversized suit jacket, hands clenched at his sides.
“No crying.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
“Success is earned.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
Affection had never been loud.
Praise had been rare.
Approval had been conditional.
Pai had learned early that love followed performance.
•- Back to present -•
His grandfather looked at him now. Really looked.
“You fainted in front of investors,” he said quietly.
“Yes.”
“Because you have been overworking.”
Pai said nothing.
“And you did not inform me that I am to have a great-grandchild.”
The word hung there.
Great-grandchild.
Not liability.
Not inconvenience.
Great-grandchild.
Tim felt Pai go very still beside him.
His grandfather’s hand trembled faintly before he steadied it behind his back.
“I am disappointed,” he said.
Pai’s chest tightened.
But the older man continued.
“In myself.”
Silence filled the room.
“I raised you to believe that miracles required justification.”
Pai blinked.
Shock flickered across his face.
His grandfather’s voice softened, just slightly.
“You should have felt safe informing me.”
Tim felt Pai’s breath hitch again.
Years.
Years of conditioning did not unravel in a sentence.
“I don’t want you to think I was distracted,” Pai admitted quietly.
The older man closed his eyes briefly.
“I think,” he said, voice thickening with something unfamiliar, “that you are carrying the future of this family.”
He stepped forward.
Placed a firm hand on Pai’s shoulder.
“You will reduce your schedule. Effective immediately.”
Pai opened his mouth automatically.
Tim squeezed his knee.
A silent anchor.
His grandfather added, softer, “You will not endure yourself into collapse for my approval.”
For the first time in years, Pai looked uncertain.
Not about business.
About being loved.
Tim watched the shift happen in real time.
The older man was trying.
Awkwardly. Imperfectly.
But trying.
And Pai did not know what to do with that yet.
Because when love had always come with conditions, unconditional concern felt foreign.
Tim slid his arm back around Pai’s shoulders.
Grounding him again.
The baby moved faintly once more under his hand.
Safe.
Both of them safe.
Relief settled into Tim’s chest slowly, replacing the icy dread that had lived there since the phone call.
He pressed a quiet kiss into Pai’s hair.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured again.
And this time Pai believed him.
•- A few days later; Clinic -•
The clinic smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender — clean, controlled, predictable.
Tim liked predictable.
Predictable meant Pai was conscious.
Predictable meant Pai wasn’t going pale in the middle of a boardroom with ten investors watching while Tim’s heart tried to tear itself out of his chest.
Pai shifted beside him in the waiting chair, adjusting his sleeve with that same precise composure he carried into every meeting.
Except Tim knew better now.
By seventeen weeks, Pai could no longer hide the changes — not from Tim.
The subtle curve beneath his clothes.
The fatigue he tried to mask with discipline.
The way his hand sometimes drifted unconsciously to his stomach when he thought no one was looking.
Tim’s chest tightened.
Three days ago, Pai had been standing, presenting projections with perfect authority — and then suddenly sitting down too hard, missing a glass of water, and the next moment he was… gone.
Unresponsive.
Tim had never moved that fast in his life.
He still wasn’t sure he’d recovered.
“I’m fine,” Pai murmured again, glancing sideways at him. “You can stop staring.”
“I’m not staring.”
“You’re assessing.”
Tim hesitated.
“…Monitoring,” he corrected quietly.
Pai’s expression softened despite himself, and he slid his fingers into Tim’s hand.
“I fainted once,” Pai said gently.
“You fainted in a boardroom,” Tim replied.
“During a presentation. After sleeping four hours.”
Pai opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Fair.
The nurse called his name, and Tim stood immediately, one hand hovering at Pai’s back as they walked down the corridor — not touching, but ready.
Always ready now.
The ultrasound room lights were dimmed, soft and warm compared to the sterile hallway.
Pai lay back with a controlled exhale, but Tim saw the micro-tension in his shoulders — the way vulnerability still felt unnatural to him.
Pai was used to being the one in control.
Not the one on the examination table.
Tim pulled his chair close enough that his knee pressed into the mattress.
The gel hit Pai’s stomach.
He flinched.
Tim’s hand was there instantly.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
“Cold,” Pai said, nose wrinkling faintly.
Tim rubbed his thumb across Pai’s knuckles, grounding himself in the warmth of him. The steady pulse.
The screen flickered to life.
Movement appeared.
A tiny body. Arms. Legs. The unmistakable flutter of a heartbeat.
Tim’s breath caught.
It didn’t matter how many times he saw it — the shock never faded.
There was a person in there.
Their person.
Pai’s lips parted, eyes already shining.
“Hi, baby…” he whispered.
And Tim felt something inside his chest break open.
Because three days ago he’d been terrified he might lose both of them.
The technician shifted the wand, studying the image.
“Would you like to know the gender of the baby?” she asked.
Tim looked at Pai.
Pai looked back — excitement bright and nervous and hopeful all at once.
Tim swallowed. “Yeah,” he said softly. “We would love to.”
A few seconds passed.
Then the technician smiled.
“Well… congratulations. You’re going to be dads to a beautiful baby girl.”
A girl.
The word landed deep.
Heavy.
Permanent.
Beside him, Pai gasped — pure delight bursting through him before he could contain it.
“A girl?” he repeated, eyes wide.
Tim blinked at the screen.
A daughter.
His brain immediately betrayed him.
Pai’s eyes.
Pai’s mouth.
Pai’s strength and his softness.
A tiny human who looked like the person he loved most in the world.
Oh no.
“Oh no,” Tim whispered.
Pai turned his head sharply. “What?”
Tim looked at him with absolute seriousness.
“I already have one beautiful person to worry about,” he said. “Now you’re telling me I’m getting another? A tiny version of you? I’m not emotionally equipped for this. I won’t survive.”
Pai stared at him.
Then laughter burst out — bright, breathless, full of relief that he hadn’t realized he needed.
“You’re ridiculous,” he said, squeezing Tim’s hand.
“I’m serious,” Tim insisted. “Pretty husband. Pretty daughter. I’m going to spend the rest of my life threatening teenagers.”
Pai laughed harder.
But underneath the laughter, warmth spread through his chest — deep and glowing.
A daughter.
He hadn’t known how much he wanted that until now.
Not because it mattered more than anything else.
But because he could suddenly see something so clearly.
Tim.
With a little girl.
Pai’s throat tightened.
He could imagine it effortlessly — Tim kneeling to tie tiny shoes, Tim carrying a sleepy child against his shoulder, Tim pretending to cry dramatically when she cried just to make her laugh, Tim hovering anxiously if she so much as scraped a knee.
Tim, completely undone by love.
Pai wanted to see that version of him.
Wanted to give him that.
“You’re going to be such a good girl dad,” Pai murmured.
Tim blinked, startled. “You think so?”
Pai nodded, eyes soft. “Yeah. You’re going to be overprotective and embarrassing… and then you’ll cry when she cries just to tease her or make her laugh.”
Tim frowned faintly. “I would not.”
Pai smiled slowly.
“You absolutely would.”
Tim opened his mouth to argue.
Then stopped.
Because suddenly he could see it too.
A tiny hand wrapped around his finger.
A small voice calling him Daddy.
Someone looking at him like he was the safest place in the world.
Emotion hit him so fast it stole his breath.
Fear came first.
What if he failed her?
What if something happened?
What if he couldn’t protect them?
But underneath the fear was something bigger.
Fiercer.
Love that already existed for someone he hadn’t even met.
His eyes burned.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
Pai squeezed his hand harder.
On the screen, their daughter moved — small and perfect and real.
Tim leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently to Pai’s temple.
“We made her,” he whispered, voice shaking with awe.
Pai turned his head, their noses brushing.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “We did.”
And for the first time since the boardroom — since the moment the world had tilted and Pai had disappeared from his arms — Tim felt the tight knot of fear inside his chest loosen.
Not gone.
It probably never would be.
But now it was wrapped in something stronger.
Hope.
Wonder.
And the overwhelming certainty that he would spend the rest of his life protecting both of them.
•- 18 Weeks; Little Ducky’s Nursery -•
The fainting incident forced change.
Reduced meetings.
Mandatory breaks.
Nana enforcing snacks like a cheerful dictator.
By eighteen weeks, the bump was undeniable.
That night, Tim stood alone in the half-finished nursery.
The crib was assembled.
Did Tim spend four hours building it?
Yes. Yes, he did.
The walls were painted a soft, neutral yellow, and a quiet smile tugged at his lips as he remembered Pai’s eyes that day in the DIY store — the way they’d caught the light, almost shimmering, when he’d spotted the colour and fallen in love with it on the spot.
’If I had to pick a colour for what I feel when I’m surrounded by your scent… it would be yellow.’
Pai had said it with that soft, unguarded smile that always seemed meant only for him.
The small yellow duck plush he bought on an impulsive whim sat in the middle of the rocking chair that Tim bought just for Pai.
Tim stepped closer and placed both hands on the crib railing, the smooth wood warm beneath his palms. He traced the curve of the wood grain absently, grounding himself in something solid, something real.
And exhaled.
The room felt enormous.
Too quiet.
What if he wasn’t enough?
What if Pai deserved someone steadier?
What if he messed this up?
He imagined holding something so small.
So fragile.
His throat tightened.
Behind him, footsteps.
Pai.
“I was wondering where you went.”
Tim didn’t turn immediately.
“Do you ever feel like we’re not ready?” he asked quietly.
Pai moved closer, drifting toward his alpha, his gaze sweeping over the nursery walls as he passed. The soft pastel yellow caught his attention again, warm without being bright, gentle like early morning light filtering through half-drawn curtains.
He remembered standing in front of the paint display far longer than he meant to, fingertips trailing over blues and greens that felt distant, wrong somehow — colours that didn’t settle in his chest. And then he’d found it. This one. The quiet yellow that made something inside him tighten with recognition.
It was the same colour that bloomed behind his eyes whenever he buried his face against his alpha’s neck and breathed him in — that steady, grounding scent that meant home.
Meant safety.
Meant love.
Not sharp like citrus, not bold like midday sun. Softer than that. Closer. The kind of warmth you hold between your palms and keep.
A small smile curved his lips as he looked around the room now, imagining their baby wrapped in that same gentle light, surrounded by the colour that, in his heart, had always belonged to Tim.
“We’re not,” he said honestly.
Tim blinked.
Pai rested a hand over his stomach.
“But we’ll grow into it. We’ll learn and do this parenting thing together.”
Tim finally turned.
Pai’s expression was softer now. Less guarded.
“You make me feel safe, like I can just be,” Pai said quietly. “That’s already more than I had.”
The words landed somewhere deep, somewhere Tim didn’t quite know how to hold yet.
He stepped forward and pulled Pai into his chest carefully letting the omega’s back rest on him, one arm wrapped around the younger’s shoulders, the other settling instinctively over the gentle curve of his stomach. Pai fit there — warm, familiar, right — like he always had.
They stood there in the dim nursery light.
Two people who had been raised differently.
Learning something new together.
The baby shifted faintly between them.
Tim let out a shaky laugh.
“See?” he murmured. “Already dramatic.”
Pai huffed softly, but there was a smile in it.
“Do you like your room little duck?” Tim asked in whisper.
Pai rested his head against Tim’s shoulder, his scent warm and calm, threaded with something that always loosened the tight places in Tim’s chest.
Another kick not hard but an answer.
“I think our ducky loves her room.” There’s a tender smile that blooms on the omega’s face.
Tim’s hand drifted down, spreading over Pai’s stomach more fully now, fingers splayed like he could protect both of them at once. For a moment neither of them spoke. The quiet wasn’t heavy anymore — it was full. Anticipation. Fear. Hope. All tangled together.
“We’re really doing this,” Tim murmured.
Pai nodded against him. “Yeah.”
A beat passed.
“…You built the crib without swearing once, didn’t you?”
Tim snorted. “That is a lie. There was significant swearing. At one point I considered throwing a screwdriver.”
Pai laughed — soft, breathy, real — and the sound wrapped around Tim’s ribs like a promise.
“You’re going to be an amazing father,” Pai said.
Tim swallowed. “I’m going to try my best, for you and for our baby girl.”
“That’s the same thing.”
Another small movement under his hand.
Tim froze.
“…Did you feel that?”Pai’s eyes widened.
“Yeah.”
They both went still, like the moment might break if they breathed too hard.
Tim’s grin spread slowly, disbelief mixing with wonder. “Okay, okay we’ll get you another duck plushie.”
Pai rolled his eyes, but his hand covered Tim’s where it rested on his stomach, holding it there.
“Our baby girl,” Pai said again, softer this time.
Tim leaned down, pressing his forehead briefly to Pai’s temple, breathing him in — warmth, comfort, yellow.
Home.
And for the first time since stepping into the room, the enormity didn’t feel like pressure.
It felt like space.
Room to grow into.
Together.
He stayed there, arms around them both, when Pai’s earlier words echoed back through his mind.
You make me feel safe… That’s already more than I had.
Tim understood them differently now than he might have once.
Not as a simple compliment.
As context.
He had seen enough — in fragments. The way Pai pushed himself past exhaustion. The instinct to minimise his own needs. The composure that snapped into place whenever authority entered the room. And that day in the office… the faint distress under honeyed jasmine, the rigid set of Pai’s shoulders when his grandfather’s disappointment first surfaced, like he was bracing for something familiar.
For love to be conditional.
For approval to be earned.
Tim’s chest tightened.
There were pieces of Pai’s life shaped by expectations he’d never had to carry — years of learning that performance came before comfort, that vulnerability had a cost. Even now, with things changing, with his grandfather trying in his own way to reach him, those patterns didn’t just disappear.
And if they were going to raise a child together, Tim wanted to understand all of it.
Not to fix it.
Not to rush him.
Just to make sure Pai never had to wonder whether he was safe being human. Safe just being Pai.
Before their daughter arrived.
For Pai.
For himself.
For the family they were building.
His arms tightened slightly, protective without thought.
A promise formed quietly in his chest.
I’ve got you. No conditions.
Pai shifted closer in his hold, unaware of the vow taking root, and Tim pressed a soft kiss into his hair — breathing in that familiar warmth again — and let himself simply stand there with him.
Together.