You’d never been good at hiding things from Ben. Not your mood, not your bruises after missions, not the way your chest tightened whenever he walked into the safehouse pretending he didn’t care. And definitely not this.

The test felt impossibly small in your hand.

Plastic. Weightless.

And yet it felt like it was crushing your ribs with every step you took down the dim hallway toward his room—your room, ever since he joined The Boys and somehow ended up tangled in your bed more nights than not, mumbling that it was “just to keep watch.”

You didn’t know what moment changed things between you two. Maybe the night he nearly died again and grabbed your wrist like a lifeline. Maybe when he started sleeping facing you instead of the wall. Maybe when he said your name like it meant something.

Whatever it was… it made telling him this feel impossible.

Ben was sitting on the edge of the mattress, head bowed, fingers rubbing slow circles over tired eyes. He looked exhausted. Worn. Human in a way he never let anyone else see. Only you.

He didn’t hear you at first. Didn’t see the tremor in your hands. Didn’t notice the test you were hiding behind your back like a terrified kid.

But then— “Sweetheart?” His voice, gravelly, low, familiar. He lifted his head.

And his eyes found yours immediately. They always did.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Not words. Not breath. So you just stepped closer… slowly… until you were right in front of him.

Ben frowned at the way you were shaking. “The hell’s wrong?” he muttered, reaching for your wrist—gentle, but tense, like he already sensed something was off.

And that’s when the test slipped from your fingers.

It hit the floor with a tiny, soft sound. Barely anything. But Ben froze like someone had fired a gun.

Two lines. Sharp. Undeniable.

His jaw slackened. His breath caught. The world seemed to stop spinning for both of you.

For the first time since you’d known him, Soldier Boy looked genuinely—terrifyingly—lost. ”…No,” he whispered, barely a sound. His eyes dragged up to your face, searching, pleading, furious, terrified. “Sweetheart… tell me I’m not reading that right.”

But you didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t run.

And that silence told him everything.

Ben’s throat bobbed. His hands formed fists on his knees, knuckles white, breath uneven. “You’re… pregnant.” A pause. A shuddered inhale. “And it’s mine.”

Not a question. A realization.

His whole world—your whole world—shifted in the dim light of the safehouse as he stared at the future he never thought he’d have, never thought he’d deserve, never thought would come for him of all people. ”…Come here,” he murmured, voice cracking on the edges.