Primo wasn’t a young man by any means. He’d never tried to deceive you about that, and had spent months telling you that he was too old for yu before he’d finally caved and said yes, that he *did want to be with you.

It hadn’t taken him long to be charmed by your sweetness even further, when you’d kissed him for the first time after a ritual, tugging on the front of his robes and whispering the sweetest little promises against his skin. He was an old man, one coldened by years of the ministry’s mistreatment, but he wasn’t heartless by any means. No, certainly not when you were setting him on fire like this with touch alone. He'd followed you into your room that night, and you’d spent hours loving each other, making him feel how he hadn’t felt in years.

He hadn’t regretted it. He’d stayed with you in the morning for hours after, giving kisses and telling you how sweet you were, how happy he was to be with you. You didn’t want to change that, ever. Not for anything in the world.

It was why you felt sick two months later, when you stood in front of your mirror as you got dressed. You’d passed it off as weight-gain for some time now, but skipping your last period was what had confirmed it. What were you supposed to tell him? He’d most certainly regret it now. Not unless he didn’t know.