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Sheng Shaoyou hated being pregnant.
There was no deeper meaning behind that statement. No complicated trauma he needed to work through, no profound revelation about his place in the world, no beautiful metaphor about sacrifice, love, or the miracle of bringing new life into it.
He simply hated it.
He hated it with the same quiet, unwavering passion with which he hated incompetent employees, traffic jams, badly tailored suits, people who called him before eight in the morning, and Shen Wenlang whenever Shen Wenlang smiled at him in that particular way that suggested he had just discovered something humiliating about Sheng Shaoyou and intended to cherish that knowledge for the rest of his natural life.
Unfortunately, pregnancy had given Shen Wenlang plenty of material.
At first, it hadn't even been that bad.
In hindsight, Sheng Shaoyou considered those first few weeks a deliberate act of deception committed by his own body.
He was a little nauseous. A little tired. His sense of smell became irritatingly sensitive, and for several days the coffee he had been drinking for almost a decade suddenly smelled like scorched dirt, but all of that seemed manageable.
He was Sheng Shaoyou.
He had survived hostile takeovers, kidnapping, poisoning, being shot at, and Hua Yong's frankly ridiculous interpretation of the words I'm fine.
He could survive morning sickness.
Then morning sickness informed him that its name was merely a suggestion.
Morning.
Afternoon.
Evening.
Three in the fucking morning.
Apparently, their child had absolutely no respect for schedules and possessed an inhuman amount of patience when pursuing a goal—at least if that goal was turning its own parent's stomach inside out.
Sheng Shaoyou blamed Hua Yong for this.
Hua Yong, naturally, disagreed.
“You can't blame me every time the baby does something you don't like,” the Enigma argued in a soft voice.
“I can,” Sheng Shaoyou replied, rubbing his stomach.
“Yesterday you blamed me because you wanted strawberries.”
“Your child wanted strawberries,” replied the irritated S-class Alpha who absolutely should not have been pregnant in the first place. And he wouldn't have been if a certain extremely irritating Enigma hadn't interfered with his nature.
“Our child,” Hua Yong corrected him immediately.
“Your child,” Sheng Shaoyou repeated unhappily.
Hua Yong stared at him for a long moment before, with the wisdom of a man who had survived several dangerous criminal organizations only to recently discover an entirely new form of mortal peril, deciding not to continue the conversation.
That had been four months ago.
Shaoyou was now seven months pregnant.
And he was miserable.
Not dangerously miserable. Not medically miserable. Hua Yong had assembled what looked like half of the best specialists in the country before Shaoyou's stomach had even begun to show, and every appointment ended with some variation of everything looks good, Mr. Sheng, followed by Hua Yong asking another seventeen questions while Shaoyou wondered whether it was possible to divorce someone before actually marrying them.
No.
His suffering was considerably more mundane.
His back hurt.
His feet hurt.
His hips hurt.
His clothes didn't fit.
He couldn't sleep on his stomach.
He couldn't comfortably sleep on his back.
Sleeping on his side worked for approximately twenty minutes before the baby apparently realized that its father had gotten comfortable and took it as a personal insult.
And there was something particularly offensive about discovering that an unborn child was capable of kicking him directly in the bladder.
Shaoyou had previously believed dignity was something internal. Something no one could truly take away from you unless you willingly surrendered it yourself.
Pregnancy had corrected that misconception.
There was no dignity in waddling to the bathroom for the fifth time during a board meeting.
Absolutely none.
Despite everything, he had managed to preserve at least the appearance of it.
Until Shen Wenlang showed up.
Shen Wenlang walked into the Sheng residence shortly after noon, carrying a paper bag in one hand and wearing sunglasses despite being indoors.
Shaoyou disliked him immediately.
This was nothing unusual.
“Why are you here?” Sheng Shaoyou growled.
Wenlang stopped.
Slowly, he lowered his sunglasses.
His gaze traveled from Shaoyou's face to the enormous pillow wedged behind his back, then to the blanket covering his legs, and finally to the bowl resting on his stomach.
Silence fell.
Sheng Shaoyou narrowed his eyes.
The corner of Shen Wenlang's mouth twitched.
They stared at each other in a silent war that conveyed more than a thousand words. Pheromones swirled around them, simmering and ready for attack or defense, and Sheng Shaoyou would never admit that he breathed a little easier when Hua Yong returned from the kitchen.
He was carrying a glass of water and a small plate of sliced peaches, because apparently Sheng Shaoyou's life had transformed into an endless procession of snacks delivered to him at carefully calculated intervals.
“Wenlang.”
“Hua Yong.”
Shen Wenlang pointed at Sheng Shaoyou on the couch.
“Why is he eating off himself?”
Sheng Shaoyou looked down.
The bowl of grapes was, indeed, resting quite comfortably on the curve of his stomach.
He looked back at Shen Wenlang.
“Get out.”
Wenlang burst out laughing.
Not politely.
He didn't even attempt to pretend.
He doubled over, bracing one hand against the nearest chair, his shoulders shaking while Sheng Shaoyou watched him with the cold, murderous patience of a man wondering whether pregnancy could be considered a mitigating circumstance in court.
Hua Yong set the peaches on the table.
“Don't upset him,” Hua Yong said in a low, threatening voice that Shen Wenlang completely ignored.
“I'm not upsetting him,” he protested.
“Leave,” Sheng Shaoyou added, trying not to pay attention to the irritating fly buzzing beside his ear. Yes. Shen Wenlang was nothing more than an irritating fly, and Sheng Shaoyou could simply ignore him.
“Oh, come on, Sheng Shaoyou!” Wenlang finally straightened, wiping his face in amusement. “You have to admit that, objectively speaking, this is really cute.”
“I don't have to admit anything,” Sheng Shaoyou replied irritably.
“You're using your unborn child as a table,” Shen Wenlang added.
Shaoyou picked up a grape.
Wenlang wisely took a step backward.
“If you throw that at me, I'll eat it.”
Instead, Shaoyou put the grape into his own mouth.
He chewed it slowly.
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
Wenlang looked delighted by this information.
Hua Yong, traitor that he was, turned his face away.
Shaoyou saw his shoulders move.
He narrowed his eyes.
“Are you laughing?”
“No.”
“Hua Yong.”
“No.”
“You're laughing.”
Hua Yong turned back around, perfectly composed except for the tiniest lift at the corner of his mouth.
“I'm happy.”
“Why?”
“You're cute.”
Every relationship contained moments when one person was forced to seriously reconsider every decision that had led them to this point.
Shaoyou was currently experiencing one of them.
Shaoyou stared at them.
Then the baby kicked.
Hard.
The bowl jumped.
Three grapes rolled onto the floor.
There was a moment of absolute silence.
Wenlang made a strangled sound.
“Don't you fucking dare.”
That only made it worse.
Wenlang collapsed into a chair, laughing so hard that tears appeared in his eyes.
“Your table kicked you!”
“Get out of my house!”
“Your furniture is rebelling!”
“WENLANG!”
Hua Yong was laughing now too.
Actually laughing.
It wasn't one of his restrained little smiles or the quiet amusement he usually tried to hide whenever Sheng Shaoyou did something Hua Yong considered endearing. He was laughing openly, covering his mouth with one hand, and that betrayal hurt considerably more than Shen Wenlang's behavior because Hua Yong was supposed to love him.
Shaoyou crossed his arms.
Or at least tried to.
His stomach made the position uncomfortable.
He uncrossed them.
Somehow, this made Wenlang laugh even harder.
“I hope Gao Tu gets you pregnant.”
The laughter stopped.
Immediately.
Wenlang slowly raised his head.
Shaoyou felt balance return to the universe.
Hua Yong coughed.
Wenlang stared at him.
“What?” Shen Wenlang wheezed in confusion.
“I said,” Sheng Shaoyou replied calmly, selecting another grape from the bowl, “that I hope Gao Tu gets you pregnant.”
“That's not how it works.”
“This isn't supposed to work either.”
Shaoyou gestured at himself.
Wenlang opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Possibly for the first time in all the years Shaoyou had known him, Shen Wenlang had absolutely nothing to say.
It was beautiful.
Shaoyou smiled.
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You look a little pale.”
“Fuck you.”
“Careful. Apparently that's exactly how these things happen.”
Hua Yong genuinely choked.
Wenlang turned toward him.
“Control your husband.”
“He's not my husband yet.”
“Then it's not too late. Run.”
Shaoyou threw the grape.
Wenlang caught it.
And ate it.
“Bastard.”
“Thank you.”
Unfortunately, the satisfaction of finally silencing Wenlang lasted less than thirty seconds because the baby moved again, shifting beneath Shaoyou's ribs hard enough to change his entire expression.
His hand instinctively went to his stomach.
Hua Yong noticed immediately.
The laughter vanished from his face.
It was merely uncomfortable—that strange sensation of pressure beneath his skin that Shaoyou still hadn't gotten used to despite experiencing it for months. There was something deeply unsettling about watching his own stomach change shape because another human being was moving inside it.
Everyone called it a miracle.
Shaoyou considered it moderately terrifying.
The baby moved again.
He grimaced.
Hua Yong was beside him immediately, kneeling next to the couch and carefully placing his hand over Shaoyou's.
That was another thing Shaoyou hated about pregnancy.
Hua Yong worried.
Constantly.
Sometimes discreetly enough that Shaoyou could pretend not to notice, but he knew him too well now. He recognized the tiny crease between Hua Yong's eyebrows, the way his gaze lingered on Shaoyou whenever he stood too quickly, the hand that invariably appeared against his lower back whenever they walked down the stairs.
Hua Yong had already nearly lost him once.
The doctors had made it painfully clear that this pregnancy was unusual, difficult, and not entirely without risk.
Shaoyou understood why he worried.
That didn't mean he liked watching it happen.
“I'm fine,” he said, quieter and calmer this time.
Hua Yong's thumb brushed over his stomach.
The baby kicked directly beneath his palm.
And Hua Yong's entire face softened.
It happened every time.
Shaoyou hated that too.
Mostly because it made staying angry with him impossible.
“There you are,” Hua Yong murmured to his stomach.
Another kick.
“Stop encouraging him.”
Hua Yong looked up.
“How do you know it's a boy?”
“I don't. I'm angry.”
“So when you're angry, it's a boy?”
“When I'm angry, he's your son.”
Shen Wenlang, who had somehow remembered how to speak and lacked the emotional awareness required to politely disappear from the room, leaned forward.
“And what is he when you're happy?”
Shaoyou considered this.
“My baby.”
Something changed in the room.
Subtly.
Hua Yong went still.
Shen Wenlang's expression softened in that deeply irritating way people had recently begun looking at Sheng Shaoyou whenever he accidentally revealed that beneath seven months of complaining, threats, nausea, back pain, and increasingly creative insults directed at Hua Yong's reproductive abilities, he had actually grown attached to the tiny person currently using his internal organs as recreational equipment.
Sheng Shaoyou noticed.
His expression immediately hardened.
Hua Yong lowered his head and pressed his lips to Shaoyou's stomach through the thin fabric of his shirt.
Sheng Shaoyou sighed.
His fingers almost automatically found their way into Hua Yong's hair.
That was probably the worst part.
Not the nausea.
Not the swollen ankles.
Not the fact that tying his own shoes had become a distant memory.
Not even the humiliating discovery that his bladder was apparently now capable of holding approximately three tablespoons of liquid.
Just this.
Somewhere between the first ultrasound and the moment Hua Yong bought an absurdly tiny pair of socks that no reasonably sized human being should ever have been able to wear, Shaoyou had fallen hopelessly in love with someone he hadn't even met yet.
He loved the little bastard.
He loved him when he kicked.
He loved him when he wouldn't let him sleep.
He loved him when Hua Yong rested his cheek against Shaoyou's stomach at night and talked to him as though the two of them were already sharing secrets.
He loved him so much that sometimes the sheer enormity of the feeling frightened him.
Which was exceptionally inconvenient, because Sheng Shaoyou still hated being pregnant.
Both things could be true.
He could love his child more than anything in the world and simultaneously consider pregnancy an elaborate form of biological punishment.
Wenlang grinned.
Then his gaze dropped to Shaoyou's stomach again.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “one day I'm going to tell him about all of this.”
“No.”
“Absolutely.”
“No.”
“When he's old enough.”
“Wenlang.”
“I'll tell him his father spent nine months threatening everyone around him because his ankles were swollen.”
“I'll have you killed.”
“See? That's exactly what I'm talking about.”
“I know people.”
“So does Hua Yong.”
“Hua Yong loves me.”
Wenlang looked at Hua Yong.
“Hua Yong, would you stop him from murdering me?”
Hua Yong considered this.
For considerably too long.
“I'd ask him to wait until after the baby is born. Excessive happiness might induce premature labor.”
Wenlang stared at him in disbelief.
Shaoyou smiled.
Finally.
Someone in this house remembered where his loyalties were supposed to lie.
Wenlang slowly shook his head.
“You deserve each other.”
“We know,” Hua Yong said.
And apparently that settled the matter.
At least until Shaoyou tried to stand up.
He leaned forward.
Stopped.
Tried again.
His stomach got in the way.
Silence fell.
He looked at Hua Yong.
Hua Yong looked at him.
Neither of them said anything.
Slowly, carefully, Shaoyou held out his hand.
Hua Yong immediately took it and helped him to his feet.
Wenlang made the mistake of breathing slightly too loudly.
Shaoyou turned his head.
“Say it.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“Say what you're thinking.”
“I value my life.”
“Good.”
Shaoyou took two steps.
Stopped.
Closed his eyes.
Hua Yong's hand immediately settled against his back.
“What?”
Shaoyou remained silent.
“What happened?”
Still nothing.
“Shaoyou?”
Finally, Shaoyou opened his eyes.
His face carried the exhausted resignation of a man defeated by forces beyond human control.
“I have to pee.”
Wenlang lasted approximately two seconds.
Then he started laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.
Shaoyou pointed at him.
“Get out.”
“I—”
“Out.”
“But—”
“OUT.”
Hua Yong guided Shaoyou toward the bathroom while Wenlang continued laughing behind them.
Halfway down the hallway, Shaoyou stopped.
“Hua Yong.”
“Mm?”
“After this baby, we're never doing this again.”
Hua Yong nodded solemnly.
“Of course.”
“I'm serious.”
“I know.”
“Never,” Shaoyou insisted.
“Never,” Hua Yong obediently agreed.
Shaoyou regarded him suspiciously.
Then he looked down at his stomach.
The baby kicked.
His expression softened for exactly half a second.
Hua Yong saw it.
Of course he did.
Hua Yong saw everything.
“Maybe in a few years—”
“No.” Sheng Shaoyou cut him off immediately, giving the Enigma no chance to persuade him into any of his ideas. There was simply no possibility whatsoever that he would put himself through this torture again.
Shaoyou allowed himself to be guided toward the bathroom, one hand supporting his stomach and the other gripping Hua Yong's arm.
He was tired.
His back hurt.
His ankles were swollen.
He needed to pee again despite having been in the bathroom less than half an hour ago, and their child had apparently decided that his ribs were the perfect place to practice martial arts.
Sheng Shaoyou hated being pregnant.
He hated every miserable, humiliating, uncomfortable second of the experience.
But when Hua Yong's hand covered his own, warm and steady against the curve of his stomach, and the baby kicked beneath their intertwined hands, Shaoyou couldn't stop the tiny smile that appeared at the corner of his mouth.
He still hated being pregnant.
He just loved what would come afterward.