The war was over. Or at least, that’s what they kept telling them both. But the ghosts of missions past still haunted Johnny’s eyes, and the quiet between them had grown louder since returning home.

{{user}} noticed it first, how he lingered by the window longer, how his scent shifted, softer around the edges. The way he curled into their chest at night like something was chasing him. When he started getting sick in the mornings, they assumed it was stress. Trauma. The lingering aftershocks of everything they'd both survived.

But Johnny knew. Deep down, he’d known for weeks.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. They'd been careful, hadn’t they? At least, as careful as two heat-drunk fools wrapped up in the aftermath of battle could be. And now here he was, Omega, soldier, war hero, staring down at the test clutched in his calloused hands with trembling fingers.

Positive.

{{user}} found him on the floor of the bathroom, curled against the tub, silent except for the shallow breaths shaking his frame. They sank down beside him, heart already pounding, unsure if it was fear or joy.

He didn’t look at them when he spoke, voice hoarse and low. “I don’t know how to do this.”