Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Okay, I think that’s the last of it.”

Patrick dropped the box full of linens he had been carrying, looking around the cardboard-filled apartment. Boxes were stacked up against nearly every wall, some larger pieces of furniture placed haphazardly around the room. Sunlight flitted through the open blinds, casting dark shadows across the boxes and highlighting the dust particles floating through the air. He would have to buy an air purifier for his asthma.

A nearby thump turned Patrick’s attention toward Joe, who was carrying his record collection. 

“Be careful!” he exclaimed, rushing toward the boxes. “That’s like, six hundred dollars, dude.”

His lanky companion rolled his eyes, turning to begin moving some boxes off of the sofa. “Relax, dude. I know what I’m doing.”

Patrick huffed, flipping through his vinyls to check for any damage. The move was already stressful enough; he didn’t want to worry about any of his precious babies being broken.

Speaking of babies– “Dude, you shouldn’t be bending down like that.”

Now it was Patrick’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m fine, they’re not even big enough to be hurt by this yet,” he said.

Joe strode over anyway, resting a hand on the small of the other’s back. “I don’t want to be the one liable for my best friend’s injury. Get up.” He hauled Patrick up off of his knees, ignoring the shorter man’s protests as he sat him down on the couch.

“Fuck off! I can still help!” Patrick tried to get up off the old, cushy sofa, but was pushed back down by a hand on his shoulder. He cursed Joe’s Beta height.

“Patrick, you’re pregnant,” Joe said matter-of-factly. “Wouldn’t you rather sit down and just tell me what to do? You usually love that.”

Patrick huffed and crossed his arms, pouting like a child. He knew Joe was right, and honestly he would enjoy getting to boss him around, but it was a pride thing. He was already tired of being pregnant after only a few weeks. Morning sickness was a bitch, his chest was beginning to become sore, and he was having to piss every five minutes. Sinking further into the couch, Patrick leaned his head back, closing his eyes. His thick-rimmed glasses began slipping down his nose.

“Just don’t mess anything up,” he said finally, conceding the point to Joe, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

They took their time rifling through a few of the boxes, with Patrick directing Joe to where things needed to be. Boxes of blankets, cookware, and Patrick’s various collections were slowly emptied. Joe shoved the album boxes underneath the coffee table until they could set up Patrick’s record rack, much to the Omega’s chagrin. 

The sun was nearly set by the time they finished. The two of them had set up the kitchen and bedroom, despite a small hiccup where Joe insisted on moving the mattress by himself.

“Is there anything else you need? Want me to order you takeout?” Joe asked, grabbing his keys off the key holder by the front door.

Patrick felt a bit of panic flare up in his chest. “Uh– yeah, you wanna stay?” He replied. 

Patrick had never lived on his own. After moving out of his parents’ place, he had shared a room with a beta and two omegas from his university, and then once he dropped out, he moved in with his ex. After the… explosive way their relationship ended, he wasn’t looking forward to being alone, especially pregnant and back in Chicago for the first time in years.

“Sure, wanna watch a movie?” Joe asked casually. As he ambled back over to sit next to Patrick, the Omega could see a glint in his eye that betrayed his understanding. He was grateful that Joe didn’t say anything.

Once they found a cheesy eighties movie to watch and their Chinese food arrived (count on Joe to order Chinese), Patrick let himself relax, letting out a deep breath. The day had been hectic, starting early with filling their rented uhaul and ending late with unpacking. It was hard to understand that it was all real. He placed a hand on his slowly growing belly, glancing down and wondering what the life developing within him would turn out to be like.

“Alright,” Joe spoke as the movie ended. “I gotta head out. Marie wants me home in time for Say Yes to the Dress.”

Patrick sighed, looking up from where he was playing with the hems of his blanket. “Okay, tell her I said hi.”

He walked him to the door, standing there as Joe checked he had all his things. Once he was ready, Patrick prepared to see him off, until he was surprised by long arms wrapping around his shoulders.

Joe’s earthy and cool scent enveloped him, and Patrick instinctively leaned in, head resting on the Beta’s shoulder. As he brought his arms up around Joe’s waist, he felt himself getting misty-eyed. 

“I’m glad we got to hang again, man,” Joe murmured. Patrick blinked hard and nodded in agreement. It had been too long.

Then, Joe headed out. For the first time since they arrived, Patrick was well and truly alone.

Well, not entirely.

“What do you think, sweet pea?” he murmured to his belly. “Is Daddy making the worst decision of his life?”

No response. He figured the baby was just sleeping.

Looking around the box-filled room, Patrick felt worry wear at his brow. Even though Joe promised to come back tomorrow and continue helping unpack, he was scared it would never get done. The whole situation still felt temporary. Part of Patrick was still expecting him to come back and beg for his forgiveness, and then everything could go back to how it was before. They could be a family. But he knew that was never going to happen. He made his bed, and now it was time to lie in it.

So, he did exactly that. It was too late for these kinds of thoughts, anyway. Patrick allowed himself to drift away beneath his blanket, hand resting on his tummy and the life growing within it.

***

“Come on, buddy, we gotta go!”

A muffled whine came from behind the closed door. Pete rested his head against the blue exterior, a heavy sigh drawing its way from his lungs. Every single morning went exactly the same– wake up, drink coffee, and go to war trying to get his kid to daycare on time.

“Camilo… I’m not playing around. Open the door,” he tried again. No response.

With another sigh, Pete decided psychological warfare was the only way. “Alright, I guess you don’t get to have these delicious pancakes I’m about to make…”

Hiding behind the corner, Pete waited and counted off the seconds it would take for his son to emerge. Three… four… five… At seven, he heard the soft click of the door opening, and his four-year old shuffled out, frizzy hair, backwards pajama shirt and all.

Pete launched forward, snatching up the little boy by his waist and hoisting him onto his shoulders. Camilo giggled wildly, hands winding into his father’s equally coily hair as Pete lumbered into the kitchen. He dropped the squirming boy into his high chair and turned to the stove, starting to cook the pancakes he promised.

“Cips?” Camilo’s voice was muffled by the pacifier in his mouth. Pete turned to look back at the small boy.

“Yeah, you want chocolate chips? Chips?” He enunciated the ch, hoping the boy would pick up on it, but he just nodded, big brown eyes gazing up at Pete.

Pete gave a smile that didn’t fully reach his eyes and pulled the chocolate chips out of their small pantry. It had been three years since he gained primary custody of his son, and he had been trying with speech therapists and various doctors to get a handle on his development, but to no avail. His ex-wife, Heather, would tell him Camilo was just a “late bloomer,” but Pete found that hard to believe, especially seeing as she hardly saw him anyway. 

The pancakes slid off of the pan onto Camilo’s plastic froggy plate along with scrambled eggs and some cut up strawberries. The toddler, who had switched out his pacifier for his hand, clapped excitedly and began eating. Pete smiled, glad that even with Camilo’s other issues, he was at least not a picky eater. 

Eventually, Pete wrangled the child into brushing his teeth and putting on some real clothes. He packed a PB&J and some snacks into his lunchbox, clipped it to his Blues Clues backpack, and headed to the door. Camilo was still dragging his feet even as Pete grabbed his keys out of a basket.

“Come on, buddy, it’s time for school. Daddy can’t be late to work,” he explained. 

Camilo looked up at him with big eyes, fingers tucked into his mouth. He seemed to understand what his father was saying but remained unmoved. Pete gestured to the door, but Camilo continued staring at him blankly. Finally, he gave in with a sigh and lifted his son into his arms; Camilo smiled a baby-toothed smile and gripped onto his dad’s t-shirt.

The drive to preschool was pretty uneventful, with Pete mostly hitting green lights and Camilo babbling along to his favorite Kids Place Live songs. Morning drives were Pete’s favorite part of the day; he could watch his son in his element. 

Gritting his teeth, Pete parked at the daycare center and unbuckled the toddler. Once he’d clipped Camilo’s backpack straps around the small boy’s chest, he pulled his son closer to kiss his forehead. Camilo giggled, wrapping his arms around his dad’s neck. Pete’s heart swelled, and he willed tears away from his eyes.

Hoisting Camilo into his arms, Pete lumbered towards the entrance, arms straining. A bittersweet feeling prickled his chest as he realized Camilo was almost too big to be carried. He vowed to start going to the gym more.

Pete signed his boy in with one hand, almost wanting not to send him to school. But, when they reached his classroom, Pete had to set his son down. 

Camilo immediately grabbed onto the pant leg of his teacher, Mrs. Green, and stuck his fingers in his mouth.

“Hi there, Mr. Wentz,” Mrs. Green, a sweet Beta woman, greeted him. “How was the morning?”

Pete sighed. “Oh, you know how it is. Toddlers, right?”

Mrs. Green laughed. “Yes, really. Okay, Camilo, you ready to say hi to your friends?” she lifted the small boy into her arms.

Camilo stared at Pete as he tried to inch out of the room. Pete had to turn his head as he saw his son’s eyes welling up with tears.

“Da!” Camilo cried out.

“Don’t worry, buddy, Dada will be back to get you after work, okay?” Pete assured his son with a hand on the back of his head. Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss into his temple. 

Once he had disentangled Camilo’s hands from his shirt, Pete left before he could see the full extent of the boy’s tears. The pediatrician had said he would get used to school dropoffs eventually, but that didn’t make it any easier to send him away. 

Pete passed various stores along the street before coming across his own, Decaydance Records. He debated stopping at the bakery next door for a morning donut, but when he saw the time, he cringed and rushed in.

“You’re late,” was the first thing Andy said to him when he entered, bells jingling beside the door. The Alpha had the strong stench of annoyance coming off of him, but Pete knew it wasn’t genuine.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Pete said, quickly shuffling to the stockroom. 

“You know, you’re lucky no customers came in while you were gone!” Andy called after him. “It would be easier if you would just give me a key to the register.”

Pete emerged with a box full of records, setting them beside the empty promotion shelves and tossing the register key to Andy. The other Alpha caught it without even looking, eyes fixated on the register computer screen.

“I told you, dude, I haven’t had time to get one made with all the stuff I have going on,” Pete clipped as he began loading records onto the shelf, covers facing the door. “Anyway, I was thinking we could do like a little 70s promo today. That nostalgia stuff is really big right now.”

Andy seemed to drop the subject, for which Pete was eternally grateful. He didn’t have time to go through all the shit he has to deal with, what with Camilo’s treatments, court dates, and running the store.

Soon, everything settled down and Pete was able to take a break for the first time that morning. Once Travie came in and started his shift, perpetual headphones fastened to his ears, he headed back to the store room and started marking down prices again. Worry scratched at his mind as he took a Fleetwood Mac record down from twenty-five dollars to fifteen, but he pushed it away and continued with the work.

After a few hours of sitting around and shooting the shit, the door jingled. Pete’s head shot up from where he had been ruffling through a Star Wars comic, but his face drooped a bit when he saw who it was.

“Hey, Joe,” Pete said glumly, leaning his head against the cool glass of the counter.

“Slow day?” Joe said through his turkey club. Pete rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, and the sky is blue. Why’d you come in today?” 

Joe shrugged, heading towards the promo rack. “Nothin’, I dunno. My schedule is clear today ‘cause I’m helping a friend move later.”

“Oh, cool,” Pete said, only half paying attention. A few girls had stopped outside of the store to look at the signs on the window. Pete watched until they walked off, feeling disappointment color his scent.

“What’s wrong?” Joe asked, carrying an Aerospace record up to the counter. Pete gave him a grateful smile.

“Nothing, man, just… life,” Pete scanned the back of the vinyl. “You’d think once I got sober and moved things would be easier,” he joked, handing Joe’s purchase back to him.

“Ha! Too true,” Joe chuckled, taking the bag from the Alpha. “Well, I’m here if you need me, brother.”

Pete nodded, hoping his thanks showed in his eyes. “Good luck with your friend,” he said as Joe walked out.

“Thanks, I’ll need it!”

The rest of the morning went by excruciatingly slow, with only a few other customers gracing the store. Travie was lost in his own world for most of the day, as usual, and Andy was busy triple- and quadruple-checking the books, so Pete was left mostly alone to man the counter. He talked with a chatty Omega dude who bought three records– Pete tried not to let it show that he was probably the only one keeping them afloat for the month. Luckily, he walked away with a punch card, saying he was likely to return. Pete’s anxiety decreased slightly after the encounter.

Glancing at the clock, Pete sighed and sat back down, cracking open the comic book.

***

As was typical these days, Patrick was not awoken by his alarm; instead, he found himself rushing to the bathroom, morning sickness making him queasy and sweaty. Once he had finished barfing up the previous night’s dinner, he sighed and stood, brushing his hands off on his pajama pants. Joe would be here soon, and he had to eat.

After realizing he had basically no food in the house, Patrick resigned himself to texting Joe and asking him to bring something over. He took his prenatal vitamins and sat back on the couch, reaching for the TV remote before he remembered they hadn’t hooked up the cable yet.

Boredom crept at his mind, and he took to scrolling LiveJournal on his Macbook, alert for anything that may be vaguely interesting. But he didn’t have to wait long, as a few minutes later there was a knock on his door.

“I brought breakfast sandwiches,” Joe announced as he let himself in. Patrick wondered where he got a key from. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Bacon egg and cheese croissant?” He asked, closing his computer.

Joe nodded and handed the greasy bag to him. “With spinach on it, I know you.”

Patrick allowed himself a small smile as he bit into the warm sandwich, the savory flavors melting in his mouth. He already felt a bit happier after the first few bites, energized and ready to get stuff done.

“Okay,” he said once he finished his food. “The most important thing for today is to set up my recording stuff.”

“I still think it’s so dumb you couldn’t get more than two days off,” Joe mumbled, mouth full of his sandwich. Patrick grimaced at the sight, feeling slightly squeamish.

“Don’t do that,” he said, “And I’m just a voice actor, I don’t get full benefits. I didn’t really get the days off, I’m using my sick time.”

“Bullshit,” Joe griped, but he stood to unload the box of recording equipment that was thankfully already close to Patrick’s bedroom.

The day went much like the one previous, with the two boys goofing around and unpacking. Joe still wouldn’t let Patrick lift anything that weighted more than a feather, though he protested that heavily. He still managed to sneak around and set up his company-purchased microphone while Joe was in the bathroom. The earful he got later was definitely worth it.

Eventually, Joe had to leave, and after a twenty-minute goodbye filled with reassurances that I only live ten minutes away and you can call me anytime, Patrick watched him go. Somehow, the apartment felt strangely cavernous in the daytime and without anyone else.

Deciding to distract himself with work, Patrick returned to his bedroom and opened his Macbook, navigating to the company’s email client. There were a few emails from his supervisor and some junk about a “team-building exercise” that he knew contractors weren’t invited to. 

He checked his calendar, seeing that he had an online meeting with his supervisor in a few days. It was probably to debrief him on his newest project. Nothing else was scheduled, which was a relief to him. He needed time to get some actual food in the house and maybe even get out a little.

Just then, a familiar ringtone began playing from his laptop, interrupting his aimless meandering. Upon seeing the contact, Patrick sucked in a breath. He had forgotten that he promised to Skype his mom today. It had been ages since they’d talked, and anxiety spiked up in his gut. He thought about cleaning himself up a bit, but decided against it and accepted the call.

“Patrick? Can you hear me?” Patricia’s voice crackled from his speaker. 

She was a practical Beta, with an unusually short stature for her secondary sex and a chip on her shoulder, just like her son. Patrick’s heart swelled at the sight of his childhood kitchen. He should really visit more.

“Loud and clear, Mom.”

“Okay, good. How are you? Settling in well? Your room looks so bare!”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “I just got here yesterday, Mom, I haven’t unpacked all the boxes yet.”

“Well, take your time, I don’t want you to strain. You should get Joe to help you out with installing some shelves,” She said as though she didn’t know Joe had been helping the whole time. “You look pale, are you getting enough vitamin D?”

“Yes, Mom, now can we stop picking me apart?” Patrick sassed back.

His mother laughed, eyes softening. “Okay, okay, I just worry about you! All alone in that big city… a baby on the way… I wish you would let me visit and help out more, but I know, you need your space…”

Patrick sighed, letting his shoulders droop. “Yeah… to be honest, I could kind of use the help. It’s… a little weird, living on my own.”

“Of course I’ll stop by, sweetie, but you know, you won’t be alone for long. Just to think, all three of my babies having babies… stop making me feel old!” His mother’s soft face widened into a smile.

Patrick found himself laughing. “Trust me, Mom, if I could turn back time, I would,” he joked back.

“Speaking of which, when is your first ultrasound? Did you schedule one with Dr. Shulman like I said? Do you want me to go with you?” 

His heart seized at the mention of the appointment. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for everything to become so real yet.

“Yeah, I did, it’s in a week. And yes, that would actually be amazing,” He sighed, hunching forward a bit. “This is so weird.”

Patricia just nodded, a knowing look in her eye. She looked so different from when he had last seen her a year ago. Something about the set of her brow and the lines around her eyes looked sadder, more weathered.

“You want me to bring some hot dish over? I can make that broccoli rice one I know you like,” she offered. Patrick felt tears prick at the corners of his eye.

“Yeah, that would be great, actually,” he murmured. 

She was wearing the earrings Kevin had bought her last Christmas. The one that he missed. How had he let the time get away from him so easily?

Patrick came up with some lame excuse and left the call. Seeing her again made guilt claw at his stomach like some rabid thing, setting his insides writhing with nausea. Maybe being alone now was the best thing for him– that way, he couldn’t drag anyone else into his mess.

He was just grateful his mother was willing to put up with him again. It felt like he was always crawling to her whenever he got into trouble, and she was always there, waiting with open arms. He should send her flowers, or something.

Patrick shuffled back to the living room, now outfitted with some coffee table books and a few things put away on the TV stand. It still didn’t quite feel like home, but he thought once it started smelling like him again, it would. 

Either way, he had a long day of nothing ahead of him, which was just what he needed.

Chapter Text

Pete fixed his headphones more snugly around his ears, hunching down over his spreadsheets. Anyone in the room would be able to smell the stench of frustration wafting off him– the music he put on wasn’t soothing him as he had hoped. They’d had a bad month, with only a few major sales to carry them into the next, and Pete was considering the worst options. It seemed like no matter what he tried, nothing worked. Pete scoffed to himself. It made sense that he’d fail at this, too.

A rap of knuckles on the doorframe drew his attention to Andy, who was standing in his homemade straight-edge tee and a pair of dark wash jeans. His long auburn hair was pulled back into a low pony; behind his thick glasses, he was squinting.

“Dude, it’s so dark in here, what are you even doing?” Andy asked with an edge of irritation.

Pete just gestured toward his spreadsheets.

Andy sighed and stepped towards him. “Put those down and get back out front, you’re stinking up the records. I don’t want them to smell like you, it’ll drive away customers.”

“Hey, don’t go dissing my musk, Hurley,” Pete tried to joke. “I haven’t had any complaints yet.”

Andy grimaced and hauled the other Alpha up, shoving him towards the storefront. “Great to know. Now go do something you’ll actually be useful at.”

Pete rolled his eyes, but he listened to his business partner and took his place at the register. Despite his harsh words, Pete knew Andy was only trying to help him. Besides, he was right– there was no way Pete would be able to get anything done when he was so in his head.

Later, after Travie had come in to start his shift, Pete was spacing out as the others chatted near the register. He stared at his beat-up sneakers, figuring he should probably get a new pair soon. If he had any money left after payday, he would seek them out.

Somehow, the conversation turned to dating.

“... Anyway, she ended up gone by the time I got out of the bathroom, so I guess you were right,” Travie said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I’m always right,” Andy replied, and Pete couldn’t help but agree. “And anyway, that can’t be worse than my last date. Everything was fine until I took her back to my apartment. She flipped when it turned out I didn’t have all the ‘right’ equipment.”

Travie rolled his eyes. “That’s bullshit. I don’t get why girls are so upset when they get to choose the size of the dick.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Andy sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Whatever, it’s probably time I start looking for lays in gay clubs.”

Travie nodded sagely, placing a comforting hand on Andy’s shoulder.

“You’re lucky, Pete,” Andy griped. “You don’t have to deal with all this crap.”

“Yeah, Petey, when are you gonna get back in the game, anyway?” Travie teased, elbowing Pete in the shoulder.

Pete swatted the Beta away, baring his fangs playfully.

“Fuck off, dude. I’m not,” he responded. “I have too much shit to deal with, like with Camilo and the store.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Andy said gravely. “I wouldn’t want to be involved in any of that mess. No offense.”

Pete scoffed. “None taken, asshole.”

Just then, the door opened to the cold outside, and Pete’s attention was drawn to the front of the store.

The man who walked in was short, even shorter than Pete. He was bundled up in a warm, furry parka and trapper hat, a blue cable-knit sweater beneath. Tufts of red-blond hair stuck out from beneath the cap. His cheeks were rosy, and his clear eyes were framed by thick, dark glasses. Pete breathed in subconsciously– the stranger smelled distinctly like an Omega, but something else was beneath it, something sweet that Pete couldn’t quite place.

He tried not to stare as the nervous man, mittens wrapped around a half-eaten apple pie donut, began perusing the shelves. His interest was obvious, though, as Andy and Travie both turned to stare at him. 

“I thought you just said–”

“Shh!” Pete cut off Travie’s joking remark. “Don’t even go there, dude. I told you, I’m not interested… There’s just something weird about his scent,” he whispered.

Andy quirked an eyebrow. “How can you tell that when he’s way over there?”

“No, he’s right,” Travie agreed, shaking his head. “There is something going on with his scent.” He tapped his nose, indicating his superior Beta sense of smell.

Pete almost felt vindicated, until the Beta continued, “But it’s none of our business.”

“Ugh! You guys are no fun. Aren’t you curious?”

“No, Pete, we’re not creepy,” Andy hissed back. Pete rolled his eyes, but he knew to drop the subject.

Andy and Travie returned to their stations, leaving Pete alone at the register. The beautiful blond stranger seemed to be taking his sweet time, quietly browsing through their collection. Pete couldn’t take his eye off him; something about him was enthralling. 

He noticed the man seemed drawn to music from all over the place– sixties folk, eighties experimental pop, nineties punk rock. Pete felt compelled to talk to him, desperate to hear his undoubtedly interesting musical opinions. Suddenly, an idea dawned on him. There was a lone Bowie record next to the register that he hadn’t played in forever, and he popped it onto the record player, deciding to take a shot in the dark.

As “Speed of Life” began playing over the speakers, Pete watched the stranger intently, hoping he would notice. It seemed to work almost instantaneously; the other man’s ears perked up, and his head snapped up to look around the store. Pete mentally cheered and pumped his fist.

After a few more minutes, the man walked up to the front counter. After placing the two albums he had been carrying on the countertop, he pushed himself up on the glass, standing on his tippy toes to point at the record player behind Pete.

“Um, excuse me,” he said sheepishly, “but is that record for sale? I didn’t see it in the section…”

Pete smiled, hoping he didn’t look too crazy. “I don’t know, it’s our last copy…”

The stranger huffed, dropping back down onto his feet. “Well, I’ve been looking for it for a long time, are you sure you can’t part with it?”

Pete was already in the process of removing it from the player as he spoke. He subtly sniffed the air, trying to parse out the strangeness in the Omega’s sweet scent. Nothing occurred to him except for how nice his voice was, clear like bells even in the mid-September fog.

“Just this once,” he said as he laid the record down, winking at the stranger. “I’m Pete, by the way.”

A pale pink colored the man’s cheeks as he looked away. “Patrick,” he cut out, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket. 

Pete went to ring him up, switching to his customer service script. “Had any trouble finding what you were looking for?”

“Not really,” Patrick said, still not looking Pete in the eye. “I mean, aside from this…”

Pete had to stifle a snicker at his snarky comment. “Well, you’re lucky I happened to play it when you walked in, then,” he said, trying for casual.

“Yeah, lucky,” Patrick muttered.

“This is a pretty wide selection,” Pete gestured to the albums on the counter, Tribe Called Quest and Neurosis. “I like that. People with varied tastes tend to have the best views on music.” 

Patrick seemed to brighten at this, the semblances of a smile playing on his plush lips. “I feel like people who only like one or two genres are just closed-minded,” he stated matter-of-factly. Pete’s amusement grew as he reached into a drawer behind the counter.

“Listen, I’ve never seen you around here before, are you new?” He asked, leaning forward on his elbows.

Patrick took a step back, shuffling his feet. “Not really, but yeah, I just moved in like a week ago…”

Pete slid a small card with seven little dots printed on it toward Patrick. “Well, if you like it here and you want to come back, you can have this. When you buy six records, you get your seventh free.”

Patrick seemed to relax a bit, stepping forward again. “Oh, okay, thanks. I’m gonna be honest, I thought you were gonna hit on me,” he laughed, relief present in his voice.

Pete’s eyes blew wide open. “Oh God, no! No, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured frantically as he bagged up Patrick’s purchase. “God, not to be weird, but I have too much shit going on in my life to be hitting on random Omegas that walk into my store.”

Patrick squinted at Pete and didn’t say anything for a bit, grabbing his records and stepping back again.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” he said finally, and Pete was just glad he didn’t royally fuck up the encounter.

“Yeah, I hope to see you in here again soon,” he smiled before realizing how creepy that sounded. “Uh– you know, to talk about music,” he quickly amended, hands flying out.

Patrick smiled a tight smile, turning to leave. As he walked away, Pete got another whiff of his scent on the blast of air from outside. Oats and honey flooded his nose, reminding him of home, and with a sweet undertone that Pete had only smelled a few times; he dug in the recesses of his mind to find it, and gasped quietly when he did. 

It was the same milky scent he remembered from the beginning of Heather’s pregnancy, meaning the handsome stranger was also with child. But Pete hadn’t noticed a ring, and Patrick had been bundled up too tightly to see if he was bitten… either way, he was clearly on his own, something no self-respecting Alpha would allow.

Pete decided to keep his revelation to himself. Not only was it a violation of Patrick’s privacy, and he didn’t even know the guy– but Andy and Travie would for sure dog on him for it. Instead, he held his quiet glee to himself. He hoped this strange Omega would come back to the store. Curiosity gnawed at his mind, and Pete wanted nothing if just to pick his brain and find out his story.

Hopefully, he would get the opportunity. If not, at least he had something interesting to tell his therapist about at the end of the week.

***

The waiting room was cold and smelled of isopropyl alcohol. Despite the flowery graphics on the wall and colorful flyers dotting every table and counter, Patrick felt sick and unwelcome. Almost every other pregnant person in the room was clearly married or in a committed relationship. And here was Patrick, alone.

Well, not really.

“You’ll be fine,” his mother’s voice came from his left, her soft hand covering his. “Plenty of people go through this. Just take a deep breath.”

Patrick closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. “What if she notices I’m single and gives me a weird vibe? I’m not prepared to be judged by even more doctors.”

“Then I’ll set her straight with a fist to the face,” Patricia said curtly, eliciting a snort from Patrick. “Trust me, sweetheart, everything will be okay. I wouldn’t take you to someone who I don’t trust, would I?”

Patrick breathed deep like she had instructed, opening his eyes to stare at his lap. There was a tiny life growing within him, and he was about to meet it for the first time.

“I’m not ready,” he whispered, blinking away tears.

Patricia leaned her head on his shoulder. “Nobody ever is. Even when it’s planned. But this is for your health, and the baby’s health.” She swallowed heavily. “Of course, there’s still time to–”

“No,” Patrick cut her off, sitting up straight. “I can’t. I thought about it a lot, believe me. I just can’t.”

“Okay, then we’re doing this,” his mother said with a firm nod. She squeezed her son’s hand, warming his clammy palms, and he had to look away.

“Stump?” A woman walked in from the back of the clinic, holding a clipboard with her hair tied up in a neat bun.

Patrick sighed and stood, glancing one last time at his mother before heading in. It felt like a death march to their room, and even as the nurse took his weight, height, and blood pressure, Patrick was barely focused. Even when she drew his blood, she had to try on the opposite vein, because his anxiety caused his veins to close up.

“Alright, the OB will be in to see you soon,” said the nurse, her eyes soft and understanding. Patrick hated it. He just nodded, and she turned and left after giving him a gown to change into. Sweat began gathering at his temples, and he nearly squeezed his mother’s hand off as he waited.

It was quiet in the room. A pastel rainbow was painted on the wall, surrounded by butterflies and flowers. It was jarring to see next to the sterile-looking medical equipment. At least the chair looked comfortable, he thought, grasping for anything that could ease his nerves.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the door creaked open, and a tall and thin Beta woman walked in. Her dark, long hair frizzed out from beneath her headband, cokebottle glasses framing her round, weathered face. She wore a white coat with a pink ribbon stitched into the breast pocket. 

The woman, who Patrick assumed was the doctor, bustled in and sat on her wheeled stool. She didn’t say anything for a moment, clacking away at the computer. Patrick glanced at his mother in confusion, and the woman just nodded with a smile.

“Patricia!” The doctor exclaimed, swiveling around with her arms outstretched. “It’s been so long!”

Patricia smiled, squeezing Patrick’s hand. “Really, Diana, we have to catch up sometime.”

The doctor turned to Patrick, scooting closer on her seat. She held a hand out to shake, giving Patrick a soft smile. “Hi, I’m Doctor Shulman. Your mother has told me so much about you!”

Patrick swallowed and grasped her long fingers in his sweaty palm. “Oh… that’s nice. Uh, I’m Patrick…”

Dr. Shulman rubbed her hands together and plucked a clipboard from the desk. “Seems you got yourself in a little trouble, hm?” She winked at Patrick, and his stomach flipped over. “Okay, let’s get started.”

Then, Dr. Shulman began to ask so many questions it made Patrick’s head spin. Everything from his age, to his medical history, to his hobbies, job, and pets. He was just grateful for his mother being there to answer any questions he forgot the answers to. 

“Okay, and the sire’s medical history? Any heart problems, cancer?”

Patrick’s stomach sank.

“Ah…” He struggled to find the words. “Um, he’s… not in the picture.”

Dr. Shulman’s face softened. She leaned forward and placed a hand lightly on Patrick’s knee. “I know, sweetheart. I just need to know what you know about his medical history.”

“Uhm.” Patrick’s eyes shifted to his mother, who nodded encouragingly. “I don’t know.”

Dr. Shulman nodded and scribbled something on her chart. “That’s okay. Well, Why don’t you lay down on the ultrasound table while I go get your ultrasound technician, okay?”

Patrick swallowed and nodded, slowly standing from his seat. His stomach was doing all sorts of acrobatic flips, and he could swear his knees were shaking. The echo bed was at least somewhat soft, and he placed a thoughtless hand on his belly as he settled in.

Soon, the ultrasound tech came into the room, a heavy-set Alpha woman with a tight bun. She gave Patrick a wave and began to fiddle around with the computer. Patrick couldn’t stop staring at the ultrasound wand, long and intimidating.

The technician turned to Patrick and unhooked the wand from its handle, placing a protective cover over it. “Okay, so what we’re about to do is called a transvaginal ultrasound. Do you know what that is?”

Patrick just nodded his head, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to breathe.

“Alright.” She moves closer, placing a hand on his knee. “I’m going to need you to put your knees up, Papa.”

Hearing the word papa made Patrick suck in a breath. He turned his head to the side, squeezing his mother’s hand. He had to do this. For the baby.

Patrick ignored the wand, eyes glued to the ceiling as the technician moved it around. He breathed deep through his nose, reminding himself that this was for his child. The child he decided to keep. The child for which he already had so much love deep in his bones. When he heard the heartbeat, he almost cried.

It took surprisingly little time for the technician to finish. Patrick put his knees down gratefully, sitting up as much as the bed allowed him to. The woman pressed a few more buttons before heading to leave.

“Uh– wait, are you going to tell us anything?” Patrick called.

“Sorry, I can’t say anything,” the technician said, looking back apologetically. “You have to wait for the OB.”

Patrick looked to Patricia, who simply nodded and squeezed his hand. Huffing and leaning back, he watched the technician leave, his foot kicking.

Soon after, Dr. Shulman came back in and sat on the wheely stool, pushing herself back over to where Patrick was sitting.

“You ready to hear the good news?” Dr. Shulman asked. Patrick nodded, chest loosening a bit.

“Well…” Dr. Shulman giddily pressed a folded-up laminate paper into Patrick’s hand. He lifted it up, allowing each section to fall open. It was hard to make out, and the little figure in the middle of the black and gray looked kind of like an alien, but Patrick knew this was his baby.

“Everything looks very healthy, and you’re at ten weeks,” Dr. Shulman explained. She pointed a finger at the photo. “This is their little head… and their teeny-tiny feet!”

Patrick couldn’t stop staring at the images. This tiny little thing was growing inside him; it was almost unbelievable. He felt like a completely different person than he did ten weeks ago.

“How big are they?” he asked, looking back to Dr. Shulman. 

She smiled wide and pulled a piece of paper off of her clipboard. The chart showed a wide variety of cartoon fruits smiling back at him. Dr. Shulman pointed to a purple wrinkled fruit on the graph.

“So, since you are at ten weeks, your little one is the size of a prune,” she said, smiling kindly at him. “And your uterus leans forward, which is normal, it just means you will show a bit more, probably starting around your twelfth or thirteenth week.”

Patrick nodded, eyes once again glued to the ultrasound photos. He placed a finger on the baby’s head, stroking the curve of their skull.

“Do you have any other questions?” Dr. Shulman placed a hand on Patrick’s knee.

He did. Patrick had a million questions whirling around his mind, and he was dying to ask all of them. But he was also exhausted and he just wanted to go home, so he shook his head, meeting her eyes.

Dr. Shulman nodded, getting up from her seat. “Okay, so I’ll see you in another ten weeks for your anatomy scan. In the meantime, here is my personal number. You can call or email me if you have any questions.” She pressed a card gently into his hand.

After assuring them they could stay in the room for a few more minutes if they needed to, Dr. Shulman left. Patrick watched her white coat and playful socks disappear behind the door.

“How do you feel?” Patricia asked once they were alone.

Patrick closed his eyes and thought for a moment. He released his mother’s hand and placed his own back on his tummy, glancing at the photos in his hand. “I don’t know. Better, I guess. I just feel… weird, like, it’s weird knowing this is actually real and I’m really gonna have a baby.”

Patricia nodded and pushed her son’s sweaty bangs out of his face. “I know, baby. At least the hard part is over.” She sighed and looked down in her lap. After a few moments of silence, she spoke again. 

“I can’t lie to you and tell you it will be easy. Having a baby is… it’s the hardest thing you will ever do.”

Patrick swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“But–” she continued, “it’s also the most rewarding. It’s such a… such a deeply magical experience. You’ll feel a kind of love that you never thought was possible. I mean, it might not come right away, and that’s okay. But it will come eventually, and you’ll spend every day just. Amazed. Amazed that this tiny little person came from your own body, and amazed that you would do everything in your power to protect them.” 

Patricia placed her hand on Patrick’s cheek, eyes crinkling. “And I will always, always be there to support you.”

Patrick felt a tear streak down his face. He sucked in a breath to keep the floodgates from opening. “Thank you,” he murmured. “And– and I think I know what you mean, about the love thing. I think I already feel it.”

Wiping the tears silently leaking from his eyes, his mother leaned in and pressed a kiss against his forehead, and Patrick hoped deep in his heart that everything would be okay.

***

The next few days were quite run-of-the-mill for Pete. He got Camilo to daycare, went to work, called his mother, ignored phone calls from Heather, stressed about Camilo, stressed about work, talked to his therapist about Camilo and work… the usual. But there was one difference that he wasn’t quite used to– the fact he couldn’t get a certain glass-eyed Omega out of his head.

It’s not like he was in love or anything. Hell, he didn’t even know the guy. There was just something so fascinating to Pete about the single pregnant Omega on his own. He knew it was possible, of course. He and Heather weren’t mated when she got pregnant, and they only got married because of her condition. But there was something about this guy– Patrick, he remembers– that was simply so alluring. Maybe it was his warm, milky scent, or his sweet baby face that seemed perpetually ticked off. Maybe Pete really was just a creep.

Pete tapped his fingers absentmindedly on the counter. The day had been quite slow, as usual, and he was desperately bored. Metallica played over the speakers, and though he enjoyed the heavy guitar, he’d heard this album too many times for it to grab his interest.

It was Travie’s day off, and Andy was back in the store room crunching numbers. Pete glanced around the empty store, at the old VHS tapes along the back wall and the posters that lined every flat surface. The tapes had been Joe’s idea, something to expand their customer base by offering obscure old movies. It didn’t work, of course. Pete didn’t know anyone who still had a VHS player.

The door rang as it opened and Pete quickly looked over. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, he thought, as Joe walked through the door. The Beta let out a strange bellow of a groan, knocking his forehead on the glass counter.

“Dude, don’t you have somewhere to be?” Pete asked in lieu of a hello.

“Fuck off,” Joe whined, turning so his cheek was pressed against the glass and he could glare at Pete. “I just had the worst exam of my life.”

Pete hummed in acknowledgment, pushing a stool around from the back for Joe to use.

“Thanks,” he said, dropping onto the bare cushion. “I’ll be surprised if I get a D on this, dude. Why do alleles and genome sequences have to be so complicated?”

Pete shrugged, plucking a comic book from his small stash. “I don’t know anything about that stuff, dude, so you’re already doing better than me.”

Joe sighed, ignoring Pete’s protests as he snatched the comic from his hands. “My dad’s gonna kill me if I flunk another test. You don’t want to know the five hour lecture I’ll be in for, man, he’ll literally talk me to death.”

“At least your dad gives a shit about your career,” Pete pointed out. “Mine stopped caring once I decided not to be a lawyer.”

“Yeah, well…” Joe seemed to have a hard time finding what to say. “Maybe I should drop out.”

“Dude, don’t even say that,” Pete chastised. “You’ve gotten this far. Besides, you don’t want to waste all that grant money, right?”

Joe just groaned in response, and Pete knew he had won. If there was anything that could shut the Beta up, it was reminding him that someone else was paying for his education. He was too much of a people pleaser to let that go to waste.

Suddenly, the bell rang again, and Pete’s head darted to see who it was. He’d hoped it was another customer, but he couldn’t bring himself to be disappointed as Patrick stepped inside the store. It had only been two or three days since he was in here last, but it seemed he was drawn back. Pete hoped he’d get the chance to chat a little more.

Patrick seemed somewhat shocked, however, when he looked over to Pete. The Alpha wouldn’t have to wait long to learn why.

“Patrick, I’d hoped you’d find this place,” Joe called, waving the short man over.

“You know each other?” Pete asked, not hiding his surprise. He didn’t know why he didn’t expect it– Joe knew pretty much everybody in this city.

“Yeah, remember when I told you I was helping a friend move? That was him,” he replied. “We used to play together sometimes.”

“You play?” Pete turned wide-eyed to Patrick, glee bubbling up in his stomach. How could he get any more perfect?

“Uh– hi,” Patrick mumbled, waving sheepishly. “I used to, not so much anymore. Haven’t found the time.”

There was a strange tension between Patrick and Joe after he said that. Pete tried to parse what it meant, but he’d never been too intuitive.

“Yeah, well maybe we could get together sometime and do it again,” Joe said, and he and Patrick exchanged a glance that Pete couldn’t understand.

“Well, what brings you in today?” Pete inquired, deciding to change the subject.

Patrick’s eyebrows raised as if he wasn’t expecting the attention. “Oh, nothing, really,” he said, fiddling with his zipper again. Pete found it achingly endearing. “I just finished up work and wanted to get out of the house, so…”

“Oh yeah? What do you do?” Pete was grateful for the opening.

“God, it’s so boring, you really don’t want to know,” Patrick said, waving him off.

“I find it hard to believe anything about you could be boring.” The words came out before Pete could stop them, but when he saw the delightful color they brought to Patrick’s cheeks, he couldn’t be embarrassed.

Joe sensed the conversation shifting and stood, clapping a hand on Patrick’s shoulder before he headed toward the CDs.

“See you, dude,” Patrick said to Joe, then turned back to Pete, shuffling a bit closer to the counter. “Well, if you must know, I’m a voice actor.”

Pete felt himself smile wider. “Cool, like in video games or shows or something?”

“Uh, no,” Patrick replied. “I do, like, commercials. You know the one for the Mechanic on fourth and union?”

Pete couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping. “Dude, that was you? My son couldn’t stop singing that jingle for weeks!”

Patrick’s eyes widened. “Your son?”

Pride swelled in Pete’s chest. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, opening it to reveal photos upon photos of his boy. 

“Yeah! His name is Camilo, he’s four years old.” Pete pointed to a photo of him as a newborn, wrapped in a striped blanket. “This is him from the day he was born, wasn’t he cute? He already had all that hair.”

Something shifted in Patrick’s scent– a sweetness, almost like affection, that made Pete smile softly. He assumed it was only natural for Patrick to feel somewhat emotional at seeing small children.

“He’s adorable,” Patrick murmured, taking a photo of Camilo in his hand. The boy was clearly younger, with far more baby fat and less hair. He had a giant bubble blower in his hand, a large smile lighting up his face. 

“Yeah, he’s my whole life,” Pete said earnestly, gazing at the picture. 

He remembered that day– it was one of the few days that Heather hadn’t tried to contact him back then. Pete couldn’t have been more grateful to have his son all to himself. He'd taken Camilo to the dollar store and bought him all sorts of coloring books and puzzles and toys, just to see him smile. He even used his crayons for the first time, and Pete couldn’t stop beaming about it.

“Anyway,” Pete said, putting his wallet away, “I don’t mean to bore you too much.”

“No, it’s okay, really!” Patrick placed a hand on the counter.

“Well, I must say, you’ve really got a set of pipes on you,” Pete praised, leaning closer to him. “I’ve gotta get you to sing for me soon.”

Patrick’s face turned beet red and he glanced at the floor. “It’s nothing, really,” he said, “I just do it for work. I’ve never had any real training or anything.” He wobbled a bit and Pete felt a pang of worry.

“Aw, come on, Patrick,” Pete insisted, “I’ve been in the scene for years and I’ve never heard any of those kids sing like you.”

Patrick smiled bashfully, looking up at Pete through his lashes. Pete ignored the way it made his heart thump.

“Well… you uh, you flatter me, Pete,” Patrick said, sounding out of breath.

Alarm shot through Pete’s system– he wouldn’t have the poor man losing consciousness in his store.

“Are you alright? Please, sit,” he invited, gesturing to the stool that Joe had been sitting in.

“No, I’m ah, I’m okay,” Patrick huffed. “Just– gotta take it easy.”

“Seriously, dude, sit down,” Pete pleaded. “When my ex was pregnant, she was always out of breath because she didn’t take care of herself– I don’t want you passing out.”

Patrick looked at him in shock, eyebrows furrowed. He relented, however, and took a seat.

“How did you know I was pregnant?” He glowered, arms crossed. Pete mentally slapped himself in the face.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he stammered, “It’s just– well, your scent…”

Patrick cursed under his breath. “I knew I should have started wearing patches.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Pete assured, hovering a hand over Patrick’s shoulder. “I don’t think most people would notice, I just have, like, experience.”

Patrick sighed, slumping. “It’s not your fault. I should have honestly expected people to start noticing.”

Even though Patrick seemed guarded about his condition, Pete was despairingly curious. 

“Uhm… how many weeks are you…?” He queried against his better judgment.

Patrick cut his eyes to the side, but answered anyway. “Ten weeks. I actually just found out yesterday.”

Pete couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. “So you’re almost done with the first trimester. Trust me, the second one is the best,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too weird.

Patrick stared at him for a moment before he laughed suddenly, tension seeping away from his body. “You’re a weirdo, you know that?”

“Well, would you have come back here if I wasn’t?” Pete chuckled.

Patrick seemed to think for a moment. “No, I guess not,” he finally conceded. “But look, I actually have to go,” he said, standing up. Pete reached out to help him, but the Omega waved him off. “I have to figure out what to do for dinner.”

“Aw, sad,” Pete pouted, but he smiled as Patrick headed to the door. “Come back soon!”

Pete watched him go, a giddy cheerfulness resting in his chest. He had almost forgotten what that felt like. The feeling of something new.

Chapter Text

Patrick sat in front of his computer, propping his head up with his palm. His other hand tapped, annoyed, on the desk. The clock in the other room ticked quietly. Patrick glanced out his window, watching the clouds roll slowly across the sky.

His boss was supposed to send him the script for his newest project thirty minutes ago, and Patrick was becoming impatient. As a contractor, he only made money based on the volume of content he could produce each quarter. It wasn’t ideal, but it was what he had for now. It certainly wasn’t ideal when his boss couldn’t give two craps about his schedule.

Patrick swiveled around in his chair but instantly regretted it when nausea gripped his stomach. He slowed, placing a hand on his growing belly. The baby was not letting up even as he inched closer to the second trimester. Pete must have just been being nice.

The Alpha had crept his way into Patrick’s thoughts quite a bit, recently. He had never had someone be so interested in his pregnancy aside from his mother. Patrick didn’t know how to feel. The attention made him squirm, but it was also nice to meet someone else with experience; most people in his age range were just starting their own lives, let alone creating new ones. And how old was Pete, anyway? He already had a child and a small business. Despite this, Patrick couldn’t see him being much older than his own twenty-three.

Anyway, since this guy somehow knew Joe, Patrick thought they could be friends. He was clearly very charming. Patrick didn’t imagine he would have responded well to his questions if they had come from someone else. Maybe it was his cinnamon and smoke scent, or the mischievous glint in his eye– he didn’t know, but something endeared him to the stranger. Besides, he needed to make friends if he didn’t want to be miserable the whole time he lived in this city.

Finally, Patrick’s computer dinged, and he turned back around to see a notification in his inbox. Thanking whatever higher power existed, he opened the file. It was the script for the new recording he was to send to the Ad agency he worked for. Patrick scoffed at some of the cheesy lines, but dragged it to his other monitor anyway, opening his recording software.

The best part of his job was how much control he had over the recording. Though his boss would send a short list of notes that the client had asked for, things like tone and the feeling the commercial wanted to invoke, Patrick could easily disregard them if he thought they wouldn’t fit. He was always given enough information on the client to make his own decisions for the narration. Not only that, but he was even allowed to suggest music from their library, and every once in a while he was allowed to compose jingles. That was his favorite part.

After fiddling with his audio settings, Patrick tested his microphone and set to recording.

“Family… Community… Service. Nonna’s Grocery and Deli has been providing these things to the east Chicago area for thirty-five years.”

Patrick frowned and ended the recording. The script didn’t come naturally to him; he figured tweaking a few words would help the flow.

“Reliable service… Friendly faces… Family. Nonna’s Grocery and Deli has been providing these to your community for thirty-five years.” That sounded much better. 

“With delectable meats, always-fresh produce, and the local brands you love, you can always trust Nonna to provide for your kitchen. Weekly specials keep things fresh for you and your family. Come have a seat at Nonna’ table.”

It was honestly quite a short ad. Patrick played back the recording, scrutinizing every detail to make sure it was perfect. Though he wasn’t paid much, he at least wanted to take pride in his work.

It took three more drafts for Patrick to become satisfied with the final product. He saved the file right as his stomach made a loud grumble. His eyebrows shot up, and he glanced down at his belly before eyeing the time on his Macbook. Ah, yes– it was lunchtime. 

Seeing as his pantry and fridge were still quite bare, Patrick chose to go out again, and his baby seemed to agree. He was suddenly craving the taste of an apple pie donut from the bakery near Decaydance Records. Besides, they had some good looking sandwiches on their lunch menu… not to mention he’d get a chance to step into the record store again. He never actually got to look at the VHS tapes on his last visit.

Loading into his stylish mustard yellow 2003 Kia Soul, Patrick started the ten-minute drive to the bakery. He only seemed to get hungrier as he approached the store. 

Inside, the bakery was pleasantly warm, and Patrick ordered quickly from the tired-looking Omega at the counter, taking his seat near the window. It was a clear day outside, unusual for late September, but he took it gratefully– the fog clogged up his sinuses, which wasn’t fun on top of all of his other pregnancy symptoms.

Soon, his sandwich and donut were ready, and Patrick eagerly sat down to eat them. One of the best things about working on his own schedule was that Patrick could take as long of a lunch break as he needed, and he intended to exploit that to the fullest today. The sandwich looked delectable– prosciutto, greens, and mozzarella with pesto and balsamic vinegar dripping down the sides. 

But as he lifted it up to his face to take a bite, Patrick suddenly felt his stomach lurch, and he had to set the sandwich down and hunch over so as not to hurl all over the counter. Disappointment and embarrassment colored his scent. Clearly, the baby was not a fan of cured meats and soft cheese.

He resigned himself to just enjoying the donut, chewing slowly in case his little buddy decided to hate that, too. Once he was finished, he wrapped up his trash and approached the counter.

“Uhm… I’m sorry, but I seem to be allergic to an ingredient in this that wasn’t listed,” he lied apologetically to the teenage cashier, who seemed as if they couldn’t care less.

“Okay.” They took the sandwich from him and dropped it into a trash can behind the counter. “Do you want a refund on that, or something?”

Patrick nodded nervously, but the clerk just said nothing and extracted his seven dollars from the register.

“Have a nice day, sir.”

Patrick smiled politely and hurried out, shielding his face with his long-ish hair. He didn’t know why he lied to the cashier. Maybe he was just embarrassed about his pregnancy symptoms, or maybe he was still cagey about people knowing he was pregnant at all. He figured it was probably a mix of the two. Though, he supposed he’d have to get over that once he started showing.

Pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind, Patrick entered Decaydance Records, the now-familiar bell announcing his arrival. But to his surprise, there was no tanned, whiskey-eyed alpha at the front desk– instead, he came across a man he only somewhat recognized, with auburn hair and rectangular glasses. He smelled somewhat neutral for an Alpha, like cedar and shale. The man looked up at Patrick.

“Oh,” he said, closing the magazine he’d been leafing through. “It’s you again.”

Patrick quirked an eyebrow. He chose not to respond. “Is Pete here?”

The man shook his head. “It’s his day off. But we’re still here.” He gestured his head to a tall, curly-haired Beta with headphones covering his ears. He was stocking a shelf with some merchandise, seemingly unaware of the customer.

“Oh, okay.” Patrick shuffled his feet, squinting to see that the man’s nametag read Andy. “I just came in to look at your guys’ VHS tapes. I was in the area, so…”

“Sure, go ahead,” Andy remarked, opening his magazine again. 

Patrick stood there for another moment before heading to the back where the store housed an assortment of old tapes. He passed over a few old movies he only slightly remembered before getting to the good stuff– the 80s section. Feeling a giddiness bubbling up in his chest, he schooled his face as he clicked through the films. Maybe, when they were older, he could save some tapes to show to his baby.

“Oh, I love that one.”

Patrick jumped what felt like three feet in the air, a startled yelp sprouting from his lungs. Clutching his chest and turning around, he saw the tall Beta leaning against a shelf, headphones now slung around his shoulders. The man put out a calming hand, eyes wide.

“Woah, man, didn’t mean to spook you,” he placated, leaning towards Patrick a bit. “I just– I used to watch that movie all the time. The Karate Kid,” he explained. Striding over, he plucked the tape from its spot. 

“Oh.” Patrick thought he had been saying ‘oh’ too much lately. “Uh, so did I. But I was always more of a Ghostbusters fan, anyway.”

The Beta shrugged, replacing the tape. “That’s cool. I’m Travie, by the way. We’ve seen you in here a few times.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows. “Patrick. Who’s ‘we?’”

Travie glanced towards the front of the store. “Oh, y’know, me and Pete and Andy. We don’t get a lot of customers, so the ones that come in a lot stick.”

“Ah,” Patrick gave as his answer. He was still unsure what to make of this incredibly tall stranger.

“How’d you hear about this place, anyway?” Travie flicked through a couple of the tapes himself.

Patrick tried to think of the best way to explain. “I’m a friend of Joe’s.”

Travie smiled and shook his head. “Of course. That guy knows fucking everybody.”

Patrick couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, I was thinking the same thing,” he mused. Deciding it had been too long, he grabbed the Karate Kid tape.

Travie nodded in approval. “Well, I have to get back to work,” he told the Omega, already putting his headphones back over his ears. “See you around?”

Patrick nodded, watching him go for a bit before returning to the register.

Andy smirked when he saw what Patrick intended to buy. “I’m assuming Travie convinced you to get this.”

“Well, he didn’t have to do too much convincing,” Patrick replied, smiling a bit at the counter. “Besides, I need to improve my collection.”

“Yeah, you struck me as a collector,” Andy said absentmindedly as he scanned the item.

Patrick was once again surprised. “Really?” How was it that everybody who worked here seemed to pay him so much attention?

“I mean, first time you came in here, you bought a first edition and two foreign represses,” Andy explained. “I don’t know anyone who would go for the more expensive records unless they already had a copy.”

Patrick shrugged, taking his bagged VHS tape from Andy. “You got me, then,” he chuckled. “I like the art they have in different versions of the record, and comparing the sound quality is fun, too.”

Andy nodded, cracking a smile. “Hey, I’m not judging. I collect, too.” His face shifted, and he crossed his arms and leaned back. “But I have noticed you’ve been coming in here a lot. Any reason?”

Patrick felt his face flush. “I dunno… I mean, I just moved here, and I have a lot of free time because of my job. I figured I should probably try to make some friends…” 

It felt strange to be this honest with someone who was essentially a stranger, but something about Andy disarmed him. He seemed calmer and more understanding than most Alphas he’d met. Even Pete, as nice as he was, still had an ‘Alpha’ air about him– self-assured, confident, and not afraid to be upfront about things. Andy seemed a bit more reserved, and that comforted Patrick.

“Well, we’re open every day,” Andy said. His eyes were soft, almost like pity, but in a more understanding way. “If you’re ever bored or just need to get out of the house, you can come in.”

Patrick smiled gratefully. “Thanks, I’ll remember that.”

He took his bag and walked back to his car, looking back up at the sign. There was a warmth in his heart that reminded him of how it felt to be a part of something. 

Starting his car, Patrick put something calming on the radio and set off to look for a real lunch.

***

Pete’s home was constantly in some state of disarray. Whether it be piles of clothes, colorful toys, or his countless journals, there was always something scattered around the living room. It wasn’t dirty, of course, there was no rotting food or dirty dishes everywhere. But Pete definitely had way too much stuff for his small home, and his whirlwind of a toddler often made it difficult to clean up.

That is how he would find the house that evening as he attempted to get his friends to focus in. Conversation floated through the air, overlapping with the sound of Little Bear on the television. Bowls of the vegan lasagna Andy had brought over laid abandoned, half-eaten on the coffee table. Camilo, pacifier firmly in his mouth, sat on Pete’s lap, eyes fixated on the show.

“Obviously The Empire Strikes Back is better than A New Hope,” said Joe, reclining on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table.

Travie leaned forward, eyes wide. “Are you fucking serious? A New Hope is the best Star Wars movie. You get to see how Luke’s whole adventure starts.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Dude, The Empire Strikes Back not only has the most iconic scene in Star Wars history, but it’s the darkest point of the story, you have to be like ‘oh my God, how are they gonna get out of this one?’ It’s suspenseful.”

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t even have that movie if it weren’t for the first one.”

“Guys, can we focus?” Pete cut in, tapping on the clipboard in his hand.

Travie huffed and crossed his arms. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Pete ignored his annoyance and instead looked back at the paper. “We still need to figure out what music we want and what food. I figured we could have the party here, since I’m the only one with a house.”

“Well, I mean, it’s probably only going to be like, twenty people max, right?” Andy interjected. “It doesn’t need to be too crazy.”

“Yeah, but I want it to be special. It’s a special occasion,” Pete replied.

Decaydance Records was turning five years old in a week. Five years ago, Pete got his shit together, and with a hefty loan from his father, opened his own little store. Back then, it was just him, Andy, and Heather. So much had changed in just a small amount of time. Least of all Pete getting divorced and becoming a father.

“Ow, fuck!” 

Pete clutched his crotch as Camilo, who had socked him right in the package, climbed out of his lap. Laughter erupted from his friends, and his son, oblivious to the situation, toddled over to one of his toys and began to play. Pete breathed deeply through his nose, blinking tears away.

“Damn, he went in for the kill!” Travie cried, bracing himself on the sofa’s armrest. 

“Camilo, you gonna become a boxer?” Joe asked the toddler. 

He looked up and stared at Joe, handing him a toy dinosaur, which the Beta took as if he was being given the most precious treasure.

“You guys suck,” Pete griped, but he looked fondly at his son, who was engrossed in making the dinosaurs attack each other. 

Once he stopped laughing, Travie turned to Pete and said, “I can deejay if you want. It’s been a while since I’ve spun some tunes.”

Pete nodded, scribbling Travie’s name next to ‘music’ on his clipboard. “Okay, we still need to figure out catering. I’m sure Andy will want to handle that.”

Andy nodded, and Pete could tell he was already concocting a list of the strangest vegan restaurants he knew.

“I guess we have everything figured out,” Pete said, watching Camilo as he smashed his dinosaurs into each other.

“We just have to decide who we’re inviting,” Joe mentioned. “I was thinking if you wanted to invite customers, we could make up some flyers and hand them out at the store.”

Pete mulled this over. Though it would probably be a great marketing opportunity, he wasn’t sure about having so many strangers in his house. He remembered his younger days, when he and his ex-wife had partied every night, and he’d wake up to random people sleeping in his bathtub. That was a life he wasn’t very keen on returning to.

“Nah,” he said. “I think it should just be some friends. I don’t want my place to be trashed.”

Joe shrugged. “Suit yourself, man.”

“What about Patrick?” Andy suggested.

Pete raised his eyebrows. The Omega had been on his mind since he saw him last. Pete wondered how he was getting along in his new home on his own, and if he would ever need help with anything. Maybe inviting him would be a great way to get to know him better.

“I don’t know,” Joe said, pursing his lips. “Patrick’s pretty shy. I’m not sure how much fun he would have at a huge party, if he even decided to go.”

But Pete was already decided. He wrote Patrick’s name on the guestlist, feeling excited already at the prospect. 

“There’s no harm in just inviting him,” Pete reasoned. 

He didn’t miss the look Joe and Travie shared, but he decided to ignore it. His friends were just looking for something interesting to gossip about– there was certainly nothing going on between Patrick and himself but a budding friendship.

***

When it came to grocery shopping, Patrick was a picky man. He couldn’t stand shops that had bright fluorescent lights and played only whatever pop drivel was on the radio. A calming, warm atmosphere with nice-looking displays and decent music was all he wanted– he didn’t think it was too much to ask.

As he pushed his cart down the aisles of his favorite Fareway Meat and Grocery, Patrick reflected on this. Why did so many insist on making public spaces as uncomfortable as possible? He couldn’t be the only one with a preference for the calm, the wooden, and the dim. Someone should tell the city to invest in more relaxing infrastructure.

Patrick stopped in the bread aisle, scanning the shelves with scrutiny. He glanced between his shopping list and the rows and rows of product. There were far too many options for him to choose from, with far too many uses between them. All he needed was a good sandwich bread; he had no use for artisanal potato loaves or non-gmo gluten-free nut crap. He wished his baby could strike him with a craving now, just to make the decision easier.

“That one’s really good,” a familiar voice said from behind Patrick.

He nearly jumped out of his skin, whipping around to see a disheveled looking Pete pushing a full cart. He was wearing a bright pink zip-up hoodie, gray slippers, and stained sweatpants; his eyes looked simultaneously dead and alight with the same zeal Patrick had become accustomed to. In the seat of the cart sat a toddler with big, brown eyes and curly, light hair. He seemed consumed in sucking on his fingers and staring intensely at Patrick, who thought he was the most adorable kid in the world.

“Jesus, dude, you almost gave me a heart attack,” Patrick scolded, hand over his heart.

Pete laughed, reaching over the Omega to grab a loaf off the shelf. “Sorry, I was just standing here watching you stare at the bread for three minutes. Thought you could use some help.”

Patrick felt a blush crawl up on his cheeks. “Whatever, man, it’s been ages since I’ve shopped here.” He took the bread from Pete’s hands and dropped it in his cart; when they touched, his skin was warm and sent a shiver up Patrick’s spine. “When I still lived with– ah. Anyway, I used to only go to Trader Joe’s.”

Pete’s face changed at Patrick’s slipup, but he thankfully said nothing. “I used to love it there,” he said, taking a package of bread for himself. “I haven’t been in ages since this place is just so close to my house.”

Patrick nodded and sighed. He and Pete stared at each other across the aisle, both unsure of what to say to break the silence. Patrick let his eyes drift toward the toddler sitting in the cart seat.

“Oh!” Pete exclaimed, shooting a hand to his son’s back. “I almost forgot. This is Camilo.” The Alpha beamed, his scent becoming sweeter, closer to a spiced drink than his typical burning cinnamon smell.

Patrick smiled at the little boy, heart swelling at his adorable face. “Well, hi there,” he said in a soothing tone. Camilo stared back, hand slowly sliding out of his mouth.

“Say hi,” Pete whispered, and the boy raised a tiny hand to wave, unblinking eyes never leaving Patrick’s visage. Patrick couldn’t help but giggle.

“He’s adorable,” he told Pete, and the Alpha seemed even prouder, if that was even possible.

“He gets that from his daddy,” Pete joked. He carefully removed Camilo’s hand from his mouth and wiped it on his shirt. “Sorry, I’ve been trying to stop him from doing that.”

Patrick shook his head. “No! I don’t care, plenty of kids suck on their fingers.”

“Yeah, but it’s a little weird when it’s a four year old…” A troubled look fell over Pete’s face, and Patrick got the feeling there was a little more to the story than he knew.

“Anyway. How are things with you?” Pete’s face shifted back to a smile as he changed the subject.

Patrick sighed, glancing back at his list. He tapped his fingers on the cart’s handle just for something to do. “Oh, you know. Work, eat, sleep, basically. I haven’t really been able to get out much since my move, y’know, like this is my first time really leaving the house since I got here.”

“What about your visits to the store? Andy tells me you’ve been in pretty frequently.”

Patrick blushed again, eyes darting to the floor. “Well, I get bored during the day. I guess that counts.”

Pete smiled and leaned closer to Patrick. “Hey, no judgment. But listen, if you’re interested, I’m having a little get-together soon. Decaydance is turning five and we’re celebrating, Travie’s gonna DJ and everything.”

“Really?” Patrick perked up a bit, smiling incredulously. “You’d really want me there?”

“Hell yeah!” Pete cried, then cringed and glanced at Camilo, who was gazing at him intently. “Uh– I mean, heck yeah! You need to get plugged into the social pipeline, man. Plus, Joe will be there, so it’s not like you won’t know anybody.”

Patrick commiserated on this for a moment. He truly did want to make new friends, despite his introverted nature; he had become somewhat dejected being in his house alone for the past few days. But on the other hand… 

“I don’t know,” he said. Pete deflated like a balloon and Patrick fought the guilt he felt. “I mean, I can’t really drink…”

“Oh, dude,” Pete responded, placing a hand on the rim of the other man’s cart. “Most of us are straightedge or sober, so that’s really not a problem.”

Patrick wanted to find more reasons to say he couldn’t go– parties weren’t quite his scene, and he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of all of Pete’s cool friends– but the almost pleading look in Pete’s eyes gave him pause.

“... I’ll think about it,” he said finally. Pete smiled like he had just won the lottery. He jumped up and did a little dance, grabbing Camilo’s hands to lead the toddler into it. It wasn’t long until they were both bouncing up and down with excitement. Camilo’s heart-melting smile was the final nail in the coffin for Patrick.

“Here,” Pete said, reaching out his hand. “Give me your cell and I’ll text you the deetz.”

Patrick rolled his eyes at the other man’s verbiage, but he handed him his cell phone anyway. Pete spent a few seconds typing before handing it back. He had entered himself as a contact with the name Petey :3 and sent himself a text that read “Hi handsome <3”. Patrick rolled his eyes even harder.

“Okay, I’ll let you get back to your shopping,” Pete grinned, and in a few moments he and his son were gone.

Patrick stared at the empty spot where Pete once was, running the interaction over in his mind. He was shocked the Alpha even gave him a second glance, let alone inviting him to a party. Not to mention his adorable son. Patrick almost thought he had made Pete up. Bottles of cheap wine stared back, seeming to agree with him. Then, he set off to the produce section to find himself some bell peppers.

Chapter Text

It was a relatively quiet morning for Pete. He woke up before the sun, as usual, and stood in the artificially bright kitchen with his coffee mug, staring blankly at the fridge. The house was eerily silent; it felt wrong to not hear the sounds of tiny feet on the floor or his friends playing video games. 

But unlike his living room, Pete’s head was far from empty. Countless thoughts swirled around his brain, not letting up for even a second. He dropped his eyes to the lightly rippling surface of his coffee, the dark brown liquid showing him his own reflection. Pete had to look away– his dark eye bags and hallowed eyes were too great of a sight even for himself.

Camilo wasn’t getting any better. Occupational therapy was a slow and painful journey, and though Pete could see some improvements from his son, it felt like they were always taking one step forward and two steps back. Doctors looked at Pete with pity every time he brought Camilo to an appointment. They thought he didn’t notice, but he did. He knew they didn’t think he was equipped to raise the boy on his own; and sometimes, like now, he believed them.

It got him thinking about what it would be like to have someone else in Camilo’s life, which got him thinking about Patrick. He didn’t know how he felt about the Omega. He was undeniably cute, but Pete wasn’t sure if he felt romantically or platonically about him. Was it normal for your heart to speed up just from seeing a friend? Did he even know Patrick well enough to tell? Besides, he didn’t want to drag anyone else into his mess. The stress of raising Camilo, running his business, and his own mental health was too much to put on another person. These questions clouded his mind until he was suffocating on them.

As it was when he got like this, Pete had no choice but to return to his bedroom and his writing desk. His latest notebook was left open to the most recent page of his scrawlings. Pete reread it over and over and then growled under his breath, ripping it out of the journal and tossing it into the wastebasket beneath the desk.

He didn’t know how long he wrote until his alarm was going off, loudly proclaiming it to be six in the morning. Pete rubbed his face and turned off the annoying sound. It was time to put his mask back on again.

Thus began the ordeal of getting Camilo awake and ready for school. Pete managed to wrestle his son into a cute pair of overalls and his favorite animal shirt, get something nutritious into his belly, and remember to put his class project in his folder in time to drive him to class. Though Camilo’s jovial singing did manage to put a smile on his face, Pete could feel the edges of his mind fraying throughout the whole car ride. Dropoff was a blur, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he made it back home.

There was no way he was going into work today. Darkness clouded the corners of his vision, and after shooting a quick text informing Andy and Travie of his absence, Pete crawled back to his room to bury himself in the blanket.

His therapist told him that wallowing was the worst thing to do when he was in one of his moods. He should be channeling his negative energy into something like writing, but he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed now. There was too much going on in his mind to write any of it down. Despite this, there was one thought shouting above all the others– a repeated mantra of failure, failure, failure.

He was going to fail Camilo as a father. He was going to fail Decaydance as a business owner. And he was going to fail his friends and family. Pete drug the covers further over his head, hugging his arms closer around himself. He couldn’t bring himself to cry, or even to feel much of anything. He was just numb.

After what could have been hours or days, Pete had to drag himself out of bed to take a piss. He stared blankly at the toilet lid, thinking about everything and nothing at all, before finishing and climbing back into bed. 

Something on his cell phone stopped him. The screen was lit up with a missed call from the last person he wanted to talk to today. With a groan, Pete prayed she wouldn’t call again and he’d be able to stew in his own misery like he planned.

The phone began buzzing as if it had read his mind and decided to ruin his day. He ignored it, turning away from the desk and listening to his shitty ringtone fill the room with its tinny sound. Finally, it stopped, and Pete breathed a sigh of relief.

The relief didn’t last long, though, as the phone rang for a third time. Fed up, Pete snatched it off of the desk and answered the call, bracing himself for the unpleasant conversation.

“What do you want,” he snapped as a greeting.

Pete heard a tongue click from the other end. “Hello to you too, Peter.” She sounded out of it. Made sense, because she only called him when she was high, drunk, or both.

He hadn’t spoken to Heather in nearly a month, and it was probably the most peaceful period of his life. Like clockwork, she managed to weasel her way back into his life. He didn’t know what kind of dark magic she was using to know the exact worst times to call him, but he was honestly impressed.

“You haven’t called me in ages,” she continued, slurring her words, and Pete rolled his eyes. “I wanted to see how my son was doing, since you refuse to tell me...”

“ Our son,” Pete grated out. “You know how he’s doing. You saw him at visitation last month.”

Heather sniffled. Pete was starting to get fed up. “You know it’s not the same, Pete. I still don’t know why you insist on keeping him from me, I’m his mother, you know,” she sobbed. “My little boy… I miss him, Petey…”

“Maybe if you–” Pete cut himself off, taking a long-suffering breath through his nose. “You know what? No. If you want to do this, you can go through Steigner. I don’t have time for your fucking bullshit.”

Pete ignored Heather’s protests and cut off the call, tossing his cell back onto the desk and burying his face into his pillow. He let out a muffler scream, feeling tears prickle at his eyes.

When would she just leave them alone? Pete was at his wits end. She was already making this custody issue way more difficult than it needed to be, he didn’t need her to start calling him, too. Pete hoped the next trial would come sooner than later so he could rid his life of her forever.

Pete sighed and turned over, staring at the ceiling as a tear trickled down his cheek. Frustration burned hot in his chest; he drove the base of his hands into his eyes. He just wanted to shut out the world.

***

Patrick tugged at the shirt he had tucked into his jeans. He squinted at the mirror, scrutinizing the way the fabric flopped over his hips. Turning to the side, Patrick pulled the shirt back over his tummy and stared at his stomach, looking for any hint of a bump. It didn’t look like he was pregnant, but there was definitely more pudge there than last week.

“Dude, I swear to god, it’s not that serious.” 

Joe was lounging on Patrick’s bed, already dressed in his usual t-shirt and jeans. His legs hung off the side, pointing his converse sneakers at the pile of clothes next to Patrick’s laundry hamper.

“Do you think this shirt is too tight on me?” Patrick replied, ignoring him.

Joe rolled his eyes. “No, Patrick, you look fine. Now can we get going? We’re going to miss the party setup!”

Patrick ignored him, instead continuing to gaze at his reflection. Did his chest look bigger than it did a few weeks ago? It certainly felt more tender. Patrick pouted and prodded at the shirt some more, tucking and untucking it, until Joe groaned and stood from his comfortable spot.

“Patrick, you need to stop worrying. You’re barely even showing and nobody is going to notice.” He batted Patrick’s hands away from his shirt, snatched up a hat, and shoved it onto Patrick’s head. “There. You look like a million bucks. Now let’s get out of here, please. ”

Patrick huffed and fixed the hat to sit better on his head. With one last glance at the mirror, he followed Joe out to the living room. As Joe headed toward the door, Patrick paused, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

Joe noticed something amiss and turned around. Patrick caught a whiff of his annoyance as he spoke.

“What is it now?”

Patrick huffed and cast his eyes to the side, feeling his cheeks heat up. He was afraid to voice his concerns to Joe in case they were stupid, but at the same time, that’s his best friend.

“You know there won’t be any drinking,” Joe offered, taking a step toward Patrick.

“That’s not it,” Patrick whined, staring at his shoes. “It’s just… are there going to be any other Omegas there?”

Joe tilted his head in a doglike manner. “Uhh… I don't know, maybe? Are you worried you’ll be the only one?”

Patrick nodded, letting go of his shirt. “I don’t want to bring down the mood. I mean, a fat, pregnant Omega isn’t exactly party material.”

“Dude, shut up,” Joe scolded gently, taking Patrick’s hands. “You’re gonna be fine. And if anyone says anything weird you know I’ll beat them up.”

“Even Pete?” Patrick asked, half-joking.

“ Especially Pete. That guy has it coming anyway.” Joe nudged Patrick with an elbow, making the Omega smile.

“Okay.”

“Okay? So we’re good to go?”

Patrick nodded. He knew deep down that the guys from Decaydance were cool, that they wouldn’t be weird about his situation, but the fear was still there. He secretly wished, not for the first time, that Tom was still with him. At least then he wouldn’t be alone.

“Finally,” Joe sighed, and he led Patrick out of the door and to the ground floor of the apartment.

When they got into Joe’s car, a clunky old Honda Civic, they drove in silence for a few minutes, Patrick’s head resting on the passenger side window. Butterflies were having some sort of rave in his stomach, and he placed a protective hand over it, hoping the baby couldn’t feel them, too.

“Why’d you ask about Pete specifically?” Joe asked out of the blue.

“Huh?” Patrick was startled out of his thoughts.

“I mean, you could have mentioned Travie or Andy, but you asked about Pete. How come?” The Beta kept his eyes glued to the road, not taking a glance towards his companion. Patrick could tell he was trying to get at something.

“What are you trying to say?” He accused, crossing his arms. “I asked about Pete because I know him best.”

“I don’t know, just…” Joe’s scent shifted darker. “Did he say anything to you?”

Patrick sucked in a breath, feeling his heart thump.

“Fuck. I knew it.” Joe gripped the steering wheel harder, knuckles turning white. “He’s so fucking nosey, I’m sorry, Patrick.”

“No, no! He was… he was actually nice about it,” Patrick defended. “It felt kind of good, actually. Like, knowing there was someone other than my mom with experience.”

Joe hummed, mulling it over. “Okay. But if he does anything weird, I swear to God, I’ll fuck him up.”

Patrick laughed. “I doubt you’ll have to, don’t worry.”

They lapsed back into silence, and Patrick tipped his head back against the window. Pete was definitely a little weird, he wouldn’t deny it, but Patrick liked his strange mannerisms and unusual interest in him. The attention was sort of new. Tom never had any interest in Patrick’s family desires, choosing instead to focus on his career. When Patrick got pregnant and refused to terminate, that was pretty much it for their relationship. Even his mother, with all her support, still looked on Patrick with pity, and it was clear Joe didn’t really know how to approach the subject. Having someone treat his pregnancy like a completely good thing was foreign, but not unwelcome. It helped that Pete was ten types of hot, too.

Patrick hadn’t allowed himself to think too much about that, but it was kind of hard to ignore the more he saw him. The Alpha’s warm smile and cozy scent were hard to resist, and Patrick felt a sort of magnetic pull towards him. He had this way of speaking that made everyone in the room want to stop and listen. But Patrick could sense a pool of melancholy just beneath the surface, and it intrigued him. He wanted to get closer to Pete, find out what makes him tick. It didn’t help that the guy had the cutest kid in the world, and Patrick’s baby-induced hormones drove him crazy for fathers.

Patrick’s shoulders hiked up and his face heated as a realization dawned on him. He had a crush.

***

The scent of burning hair filled Pete’s bathroom. The bright yellow light of his bathroom illuminated the linoleum sink as he leaned towards the mirror, dragging chunks of hair through his straightener. He could hear Travie setting up in the other room, the banging around of equipment as he connected his speakers. Pete felt nervous dread in his stomach, but he tried to squash it. This was supposed to be a party, goddammit.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about Heather since the phone call a few days before. Though his melancholy hadn’t left him, he felt a renewed sense of strength out of spite to his ex-wife. The woman was determined to make his life hell, and Pete didn’t need his own mind doing it, too.

Finishing with his hair, the Alpha trudged out of the bathroom and collapsed onto his couch right across from Travie. His tall companion only acknowledged him with a raised eyebrow, intensely focused on fiddling with the levels on his laptop. Pete huffed and blew a puff of air at the spiky bangs now covering his eyes. It had been years since he’d dressed like this, but he figured it was in the spirit of the occasion. This was who he was when he first opened Decaydance. It was amazing how much he’d changed, but still how much of the same person he was. Pete guessed he had Camilo to blame for that.

Speaking of the little monster, it was unnerving not to hear him playing in his room or watching his favorite shows on their little TV. Pete had been able to book Camilo’s usual sitter, a nineteen-year-old college sophomore who started out just looking for a few extra bucks, but now seems to be going down the childcare route. Last time the two spoke, they were getting a degree in early childhood education to become a full-time nanny. But for now, they made a great babysitter for the rare occasions Pete needed one. Typically, he hated to be separated from his son, but he figured it would probably be a good idea if the party was to last beyond midnight like he expected it to.

Pete tried to find something to busy himself with. His mind was still racing and he felt antsy as he adjusted some party streamers in the doorway. When would people be arriving? Joe has promised he and Patrick would be there early to help set up. Pete felt butterflies aflutter in his stomach; he didn’t need Patrick knowing how he sometimes got. 

Just as he had that thought, there was a knock on the door. Pete bounded over, desperate for some people to talk to and fill his mind with something other than his worries. He swung the door open to see Joe with a large cooler casually slung at his side, a lazy smile on his face. Patrick, on the other hand, stood stiff as a board, running the bottom of his jean jacket through his fingers.

He looked radiant and, not to be cliche, but glowing. Pete instinctively took a deep huff of the Omega’s scent, feeling the milky, honey-tinged smell coat his glands. He felt his heart thump hard in his chest as he took in Patrick’s nervous expression, his sweet apple cheeks and clear eyes.

Uh oh.

“Hello? Earth to Pete?”

It was Joe’s words that snapped Pete out of his stupor. “Oh, sorry dude.” He stepped aside to let the pair in.

Joe quickly descended upon the kitchen, unloading the contents of his cooler into the fridge and across the counter. Chips, dips, sodas, and more suddenly sprung to life across Pete’s kitchen and coffee table, but the dining table was left blank for the main food. That would arrive with Andy. Patrick, still looking out of place, quietly arranged the snacks, though it wasn’t necessary.

Sympathising with his plight, Pete went over to help him out.

“Do you want to help me put up decorations?” He asked with a small smile.

Patrick stared at him wide-eyed for a moment before supposedly regaining his faculties. “Uh– yeah, yeah, sure,” he stammered, scrambling for the streamers and Decaydance-branded coasters. Pete couldn’t help but smile at the Omega’s nerves.

The two of them worked for a bit setting up, but Pete kept noticing Patrick glancing at Travie. He was looking over the Beta’s shoulder to see his laptop screen, making a face every once in a while. Pete had to stifle a laugh– he knew Patrick was a music snob, but he didn’t know how critical he could be. It was endearing.

“Patrick, you’re staring,” Pete whispered, snapping Patrick out of a nearly two-minute spell of silently critiquing Travie.

“Oh!” Patrick jumped and blushed, immediately staring at the floor. “Sorry… it’s just, like, it’s kind of my job to do music stuff, so…”

Pete smiled and placed his hand on the Omega’s. It was warm and sent a tingle up his arm, though he brushed it off as him imagining it. “You can go over there, you know. You don’t have to do the boring part with me.”

Patrick smiled, nodded quickly, and headed over to Travie. The Beta only lifted one ear of his headphones and stepped aside to make room. Pete watched them work together for a while, feeling warmth growing in his chest.

A few minutes later, Joe strode over to Pete and leaned down to mumble, “Make sure Patrick isn’t bullying him too much, he can get kind of aggressive.” Pete just laughed and brushed him off. 

It seemed like no time at all had passed when they finished their setup, all of the usual clutter tucked away and replaced with decorations. Travie had some good music playing, and the four of them sat around the couch shooting the shit. As Patrick and Travie argued over the best 2Pac album, Pete found himself glancing over at Patrick more than once. The Omega looked somehow even better than usual; maybe he was starting to show more. For some reason, the thought made Pete’s heart skip a beat.

There was a knock at the door, tearing Pete away from his thoughts. When he opened it, he saw a pair of legs, a pair of hands, and stacks of delicious-smelling boxes before him. Andy peeked his head around the side and shoved past Pete, barely shooting him a hey before carefully rushing toward the dining room. Pete just smiled and shook his head, following to help him unload the food. 

It wasn’t long before everyone was settled in, enjoying good food and conversation. Pete tried to focus on the people around him, but he kept drifting in every which way. His mind swapped between Heather and Patrick, and he found himself confused on how to feel. He was noticing all sorts of deep-down feelings about Patrick he hadn’t before, or had maybe been ignoring. But as he watched the Omega now, he felt a deep longing in his gut. This could have been the family he and Camilo were supposed to have. Instead, they were left with their mess.

“You okay?”

Pete snapped out of his thoughts to see Patrick leaning close to him, concern painting his features. This close, Pete could smell tiny details on him that he’d missed before. Beneath the honey overtone of his scent, there was a muskier, woodier tone that made his head spin.

“Uh… yeah, yeah,” he eked out, realizing Patrick had asked him a question. “Just… lost in thought.”

Patrick smiled and scootched closer. “Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that head of yours,” he mumbled. Pete thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself, reminding himself Patrick just wanted to be friendly. “How about you? How’s the party treating you?”

Patrick’s smile grew brighter and he shrugged. “I like it. I didn’t expect to feel so talkative, but… I just feel good right now. Probably because nobody’s asked about the, you know…” He placed a hand on his tummy.

Pete’s shoulders softened and he subconsciously leaned toward the Omega. “Yeah, I’m glad you don’t feel awkward about it. There’s really no need to, I mean, the guys have all been around pregnant people before when my ex was pregnant.”

Patrick nodded, but something in his eyes looked more guarded. Pete worried he’d said something wrong and mentally kicked himself.

“Yeah, well, it’s gonna get pretty hard not to talk about it soon,” Patrick muttered, looking away.

It was true– if Pete’s math was correct, Patrick was nearing on his twelfth week. Heather hadn’t started showing until well into her second trimester, but Camilo was a small baby and Heather was… well, a total piece of work, to put it nicely. Since Patrick was actually taking care of himself, it was likely he’d be showing soon. Pete tried not to show his excitement.

“Well, you’ve got an army of dudes who will be there for you,” Pete said softly, gesturing to the rest of the room. Andy had said something that sent Joe into a laughing fit, his nasally honking causing Travie to lean down and cover his ears.

Patrick smiled a tiny smile, leaning back against the couch.

“And we’ll break the neck of anyone who looks at you funny,” Pete added, and Patrick barked out a light laugh. Pete swore he could see stardust fly from his body.

“No thank you, I don’t want to be accomplice to murder,” Patrick giggled. 

They watched each other for a while, caught in one another’s eyes. Pete watched Patrick’s kaleidoscope eyes, trying to memorize the color. It seemed like forever they stayed there, just staring, but it was probably only a few suspended breaths.

Then, Patrick broke his gaze, turning away from him. He tuned back into the conversation at hand, and Pete figured he should too, trying to ignore the roiling nerves in his gut.

Chapter Text

Patrick stared at his computer and sighed. His e-mail client had been open for the past forty minutes with no updates. Glancing out his window, he watched the trees dance in the strong October wind. Patrick wished he could be having as much fun as them as he chewed on his bottom lip. Huffing out a loud sigh, he pushed himself up from his desk. If his supervisor could waste his time, then he could do the same.

Deciding it was lunchtime, he padded into the kitchen to scrounge through his fridge. As he passed the mirror, he caught a glimpse of himself and paused. Yup, there was no denying it. Patrick placed his hands on the top and bottom of his belly. His tummy was already bigger than average, but at thirteen weeks, there was a noticeable roundness that hadn’t been there before. His heart sped up as he smiled slightly at his reflection.

He ruminated on this as he pushed aside boxes of cereal and bags of chips in his pantry. Patrick had been dreading starting to show, and he still kind of did. He knew that, despite his scent having changed, he still did not possess the unique notes of a mated Omega. There would certainly be stares from strangers, as society was not yet accepting of single, pregnant Omegas. If there was one thing Patrick hated, it was being the center of attention. But on the other hand, he couldn’t deny the excitement he felt seeing his bump in the mirror. Patrick couldn’t help but feel proud of himself and his little baby, who was growing so well. Maybe it was just his hormones.

“Ugh!”

Patrick slammed his refrigerator door closed with a growl. Despite his meticulous grocery shopping, there was nothing to eat in the goddamn house that didn’t make him want to puke up his guts. He huffed and tapped his foot on the floor, hands on his hips. He didn’t want to go to the grocery store, as he knew he’d end up spending way more money than he wanted to. 

Suddenly, he was struck by the craving for something sweet, tangy, and soft– the apple pie donut from the bakery next to Decaydance. Patrick smiled and shook his head, looking down at his bump.

“You’ve got a sweet tooth on you, huh?” He murmured. 

Well, if the baby wants it, he must oblige. Patrick put some shoes on, grabbed his wallet, keys, and cell, and headed for the door. Since he was paid pretty recently, he figured he could stop by Decaydance, too. Just to say hi.

His crush on Pete had not subsided since the party a week and a half ago. Patrick had been paying a lot more attention to the Alpha, to his strong scent and the innocent brushes of his hand against Patrick’s arm, to the way he interacted with his friends and son. Everything about Pete only made things worse for Patrick. He didn’t know what to think; on the one hand, he wasn’t sure if he was ready for a relationship so soon after the end of his last one. He didn’t want to overstep or weird Pete out. At the same time, however, it was tempting to cozy up to an independent Alpha with a cute son, someone attractive and who looked upon Patrick with a kindness that made his heart flutter. Pete’s honest and earnest attempts to become friends with Patrick were new and nice; Patrick couldn’t help but fall into his charm. Despite all this, he knew Pete was probably just being nice; he couldn’t imagine why someone would want him.

He didn’t realize he had pulled up to the parking lot until he did, driving on autopilot. Patrick quickly popped in and out of the shop, not finding anything but the donut appetizing. He guessed he’d have to go somewhere else for a more substantial lunch.

The familiar scent of Decaydance flooded into Patrick’s nose and he breathed it in, old and new records, dust, and the mixed pheromones of its employees. He didn’t get more than two steps into the store, before a familiar voice called out to him.

“Patrick! It’s good to see you!”

Pete was waving him over from behind the front desk. He looked… not so great. His eyes, though bright, had a worn edge to them. His hair looked frazzled and he just seemed exhausted. Patrick felt a pang of pity for him; it couldn’t be easy raising a kid all by himself. 

Speaking of which, Patrick looked next to Pete and saw Camilo sitting on the counter, playing with a stuffed dog toy. The little boy wore a green puffy jacket with dinosaurs on it, one hand playing with his hair and the other clutching his puppy. His big, round cheeks were rosy with the cold, and his little nose was running a bit. Patrick’s heart swelled and he couldn’t help a smile growing on his face.

“Hey, Pete,” he said, stepping towards the register. “How’s everything?”

Pete huffed and shook his head, a tired smile on his face. “It’s fine, you know. Camilo woke up with a cold, so I didn’t want to send him to daycare. But I can’t leave the store, so I took him with me, and he’s been running circles around me.”

Patrick looked back over to the toddler. He seemed transfixed on his stuffie, running his hands up and down its soft fur. With his other hand, he twirled his coily hair through his fingers. Patrick couldn’t imagine how the spacey-eyed toddler could run circles around anyone.

“Hey, buddy,” Patrick greeted Camilo, who raised a hand shyly in greeting.

Pete smiled and leaned forward, his hazel eyes keen on the Omega. “Y’know, he usually doesn’t acknowledge people like that. He must like you.”

A blush found its way to Patrick’s face. “I guess he just recognizes me now,” he muttered, not used to being singled out like that.

Just then, Camilo launched into a sneezing fit, his stuffed dog taking the brunt of his outburst. Pete swore and swept the little boy away, carrying him to the bathroom. Patrick was left alone at the front of the store, feeling sorry for Pete. He was grateful he could work from home so when his little one got sick, he wouldn’t have to take them out. It must be rough.

A few moments later, Pete reappeared from the back of the store, Camilo bundled up in his arms. The little boy gripped his toy, face even redder with what looked like the aftermath of tears. Patrick could tell Pete had scent-marked his son to calm him down.

“Remember I said to sneeze into your elbow next time,” Pete was saying. Camilo didn’t seem to mind his father, sniffling into his toy. “Now I’ll have to wash Pup-pup.”

“Is that what he calls it?” Patrick said when Pete returned to the desk with a sigh.

“Yeah, I usually have him leave it at home so it doesn’t get lost or dirty, but I figured he could use the comfort today. He really likes the texture of the fur.” Pete ruffled Camilo’s puffy hair, eliciting a giggle from the toddler.

“Snack!” Camilo demanded suddenly, throwing his sticky hands in the air.

“Oh, is it snacktime?” Pete teased, and the toddler nodded. “Can you tell me what you want, buddy?”

Camilo was silent for a few moments, ruminating carefully on the question. Patrick watched unabashedly, the adorable boy too much for him to bear.

A moment later, Camilo raised his head, big eyes bright. “Peadu-butta,” he exclaimed.

“You want peanut butter puffs?” Pete affirmed. Camilo squealed with excitement. Raising his eyebrows, Pete awed, “Wow, he’s super ready. Can you watch him for a second while I get his snack?” He turned pleading eyes to Patrick.

“Dude, of course,” Patrick replied, “You don’t even have to ask.”

The smile Pete leveled him with made Patrick’s stomach do flips. As he watched the Alpha go back, he wondered what that kind of smile would look like next to him in bed.

Patrick shook his head to rid himself of the thought. Stupid pregnancy hormones were making him act like he was in heat. He chastised himself for thinking of that stuff while watching the man’s son.

Camilo gazed up at Patrick, regarding him carefully as if he were reading the deepest recesses of his soul. Patrick tried not to squirm under the little one’s scrutiny… for such a quiet child, his eyes were intense.

“How are you doing, buddy?” Patrick asked, trying for friendly.

Camilo kept staring at him and stuffed his fingers into his mouth. 

“Yeah, me too,” Patrick muttered.

Finally, Pete reappeared with a plastic bag of puffs for Camilo. The toddler reached out right away, taking the opened bag and shoveling handfuls into his mouth.

“Slow down, dude, you’ll choke,” Pete chastised, gently moving Camilo’s hands away from his face.

Patrick laughed, leaning carefully against the counter. “He loves those things, huh?”

A wry smile twisted on Pete’s lips. “He’s pretty food motivated. I got him potty trained in like a week after months of trying by just giving him M&Ms.”

Patrick laughed at the image in his mind. Then he once again noticed the dark circles under Pete’s eyes, his jittery hands, and his overall tired demeanor. 

Pete had a support circle, but as Patrick thought about it, he realized everyone had busy lives that they couldn’t really step away from. Andy and Travie worked just as tirelessly at the record store, and Joe was always busy with school. He thought about how Pete had barely talked about his parents, and his only mentions of his ex-wife implied they had a less-than-ideal relationship. He probably needed all the help he could get.

“You know… and I hope I’m not overstepping,” Patrick said, lowering his voice as a couple other customers entered the shop, “but if you need extra help, I could babysit.”

Pete’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? I couldn’t ask you to do that, I mean, you’ve got your own stuff to worry about,” he said, gesturing to Patrick’s midsection.

Patrick rolled his eyes. “I’m not due for another, like, 7 months. Besides, I work from home, and my boss kind of sucks at actually giving me stuff to do… it wouldn’t be a problem. I have the time.”

Pete seemed to think for a bit, looking over at Camilo, who was once again rubbing his hands, now coated with peanut butter powder, up and down his plushie. Patrick watched his face closely, hoping he didn’t misread the situation and offend the Alpha.

“Maybe,” Pete finally said, looking down at his hands on the counter. “I mean, I have a babysitter I pay, but… I guess if there was an emergency.”

Patrick smiled and laid his hand on top of Pete’s, trying to ignore how the touch sent a zing up his arm. “Just call me, anytime.”

Pete smiled back and leaned toward him. The eye contact was intense, but Patrick didn’t want to look away. He traced the circular patterns in Pete’s hazel irises with his own, wanting to memorize all the color shifts and shades.

Then, the other customers returned to check out their purchases. Pete’s attention turned to them, but not without sending an apologetic smile toward Patrick. The Omega took it as his cue to disappear awkwardly into the shelves of the store, finally biting into his cold donut. He hoped he hadn’t made things weird between Pete and himself, but he also felt like they’d made some progress.

***

Despite the colorful walls and numerous toys scattered around, the Occupational Therapist office always had an eerie feeling to Pete. Maybe it was all the other children who needed care, or maybe it was just the hospital setting that squicked him out. Regardless, he wanted to be in and out of the waiting room as soon as possible. 

Which was why it was so frustrating that Camilo’s therapist was ten minutes late. She usually didn’t let the sessions go too far over time, but it seemed her last patient was taking longer to wrap up. Pete looked over at Camilo beside him. The little boy was busy with his Leapster, clacking away on the buttons. Pete was still on the fence about giving his son electronics, but his mom had bought the toy as a gift for Camilo’s last birthday. Besides, it worked as a useful distraction, and all the games were educational.

It was a long day for Pete. He had spent most of it reorganizing records and sifting through a massive box of CDs someone had sold to the store for $80. Pete had tried not to think about whether they would make that money back in the near future. At least the holiday season was coming up and they could expect a small spike in sales.

He blinked hard to distract himself from his exhausted and anxious thoughts. He couldn’t let Camilo sense his troubles, and though he didn’t often say anything, the child was impossibly perceptive to changes in scent. Even now, Pete looked over and saw Camilo staring at him, virtual puppies abandoned in his game.

“What’s going on buddy?” Pete asked, trying to be cheerful.

“Miss ‘Licia?” Camilo said, pointing to the door that led beyond the reception desk.

Pete sighed. “Miss Alicia will be here soon, sweetie. She’s with another kid right now.”

Camilo huffed and pouted, going back to tracing letters with his stylus. Pete thought he agreed.

Finally, the door opened and Camilo’s therapist stepped out. She was an athletic Omega woman, always wearing yoga pants and with her hair done in practical cornrows that wouldn’t get in her face when she ran. From the little they had talked, Pete knew she was engaged and lived in the ritzier part of Chicago. Otherwise, she kept their conversations pretty strictly to Camilo’s progress. Pete guessed she might be worried about him being an Alpha. She was beautiful– she probably got hit on by single parents all the time.

“Camilo!” she exclaimed, and the boy ran straight to her, clinging to her leg.

“Hey,” Pete said, waving awkwardly and offering a small smile.

Alicia smiled back, placing her hand on Camilo’s puffy hair. “Hi there, Mr. Wentz. Today I was thinking we could work on some fine motor skills with writing and blocks today. How does that sound, kiddo?” She directed the last question to Camilo, who smiled wide in response.

“Oh, that’s great,” Pete replied, “He was actually just practicing letters on his little game.” He held out the Leapster to Alicia, who took it and gave it a once-over.

“Thanks, this will actually be really helpful. If I can tie the exercises into his interests, it might make it easier for him.”

Pete smiled and hugged Camilo goodbye, promising to see him in an hour. He watched the pair disappear behind the office door, missing his boy already. At least Camilo enjoyed his OT appointments.

Stepping out into the cool October air, Pete stuffed his hands into his overcoat pockets, leaning against the building. A light breeze rustled the leaves of the aspens in the parking lot. Pete heaved a sigh, bringing one hand up to rub at his temples. It had been a week, and he was still in the same shitty headspace. His therapist had called it a “depressive episode” when he talked to her two days ago. Regardless of what it was, Pete was getting fed up. He had too much shit to deal with, but all he wanted to do was lay in bed with the curtains drawn.

A buzz in his pocket alerted Pete to his cell ringing. Opening his screen, he read the caller ID as “Hurley Burley.”

“Andy, what’s up?” Pete sighed, bringing the device to his ear.

“Hey Pete, did you happen to see where that spreadsheet you were working on today went?” There was some rustling on the other end, likely Andy searching for the aforementioned paper.

“Uh… yeah, it’s in the binder with the Blues Clues sticker.” Pete watched a pair of sparrows flit from one bush to the other.

“Ok, cool.” A bit more noise, and Andy seemed to find what he was looking for. “Y’know, we should really figure out a better filing system.”

“Sure, we can work on that tomorrow,” he muttered, adding it to his never-ending mental to-do list.

There was a pause on the other line. “Is everything okay, Pete? I can handle it if you want.” Andy’s voice shifted to something a bit softer.

“Yeah, just…” Pete groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “I just have a lot of shit on my plate. Haven’t been really feeling like myself lately.”

Pete could almost hear Andy’s nod. He was well aware of Pete’s moods and was one of the only people equipped to handle them. Pete was grateful to have him as Pack.

“Do you want me to watch Camilo for an evening so you can relax?” 

Panic shot through Pete at just the thought. “No! Ah– no, no. I don’t want to be apart from him. He’s in OT right now and I’m already struggling.”

Andy chuckled softly. “I mean, I could come to your place and hang out. Bring some food, maybe.”

Pete mulled it over. He would be grateful for the company and the extra pair of eyes on Camilo, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to subject Andy to his funk– literally and figuratively. He’d been stinking up the whole house lately.

“I’ll let you know,” he said lamely. Andy’s disappointment was near palpable. 

There was another lapse of silence. Pete worried Andy might hang up until he spoke again.

“Patrick came in after you left today,” he spoke conversationally.

The mention of the Omega sent blood rushing to Pete’s cheeks. He pictured Patrick’s soft face and bright eyes, his feathery hair and delicious curves. Pete felt a heat stir up in his stomach and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself.

What is going on?

“Pete?”

“Ah, sorry,” Pete breathed hurriedly, “Um, what– did you guys talk?”

Andy once again paused; Pete imagined the cogs turning in his brain. 

“Uh, yeah… he said his mom is coming to town from Glenview this weekend to buy baby stuff. And he bought another few VHS tapes. I think that kid is singlehandedly keeping us afloat,” the Alpha joked. 

Pete found himself barely able to focus on Andy’s words. He kept picturing Patrick pregnant and glowing, holding up onesies and testing out cradles. It made his face heat up even more, and he almost had to sit down.

“Do you, uh… do you think he’ll want help?” Pete swore at himself for asking.

Andy scoffed. “I dunno, dude, why don’t you ask him? You know I don’t know jack about that kind of stuff.”

Pete nodded, pressing his tongue to his cheek as he thought. “Okay, okay. I guess I will,” he mumbled, almost to himself.

“Alright, weirdo. Listen, I’m gonna let you go. Tell Camilo that Uncle Andy said hi.”

Pete didn’t get to respond before Andy cut the line, but he was already opening his texts to Patrick’s number.

hey pattycakes heard u’ll b looking for nursery stuff this wknd think u cld use my expertise?

He started heading back into the building, cheeks rosy from both the cold and his flush. It was only a few minutes before he got a response.

Lol why do you type like that, you’re a grown man. But sure, you can tag along.

Pete smiled, already looking forward to seeing him again. He hoped the Omega’s presence would be enough to distract himself from his brain.

***

Shelves and shelves of product stood in neat lines as far as the eye could see within the gargantuan store. Patrick’s head spun just looking at all of it. He turned to his mother, who smiled at his worried expression.

“It’s not as crazy as it looks,” She soothed, placing a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “We’re just here for hospital bag supplies.”

“Unless there's, like, an outfit or something you just can’t resist,” Joe chimed in. He shot Patrick a playful smile, which calmed him just as much as his mother’s touch.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Patrick said, more to himself than anyone. He lay his hand atop his tummy and his little baby, now 14 weeks along. With every day, he got more and more nervous and excited to meet them.

Next to Joe, Pete stood with Camilo’s stroller, the toddler snoozing the afternoon away. Patrick had been surprised when Pete asked to help, but he accepted it gratefully, glad to spend any time with the Alpha.

Something was off with Pete today, though. His usual playful, if intense, demeanor was eclipsed by a subdued, almost afraid look in his eye. Patrick kept catching him glancing over, eyes lingering too long on his growing belly and chest. The attention wasn’t fully unwanted– Patrick was also guilty of checking out Pete’s lean physique– but it came with a heat that was never present before. Not to mention his scent was stronger than ever, and it was affecting Patrick in ways he’s rather it didn’t in front of his mother.

Patrick elected to ignore the strangeness, choosing to focus on his mother and where she wanted to drag him around the Buy Buy Baby. Despite how early it was in his pregnancy, Patricia had insisted on buying him some items that would come in handy for his birth. He didn’t really want to think about that, the concept of giving birth too daunting for him to ponder without panicking.

“Ah, there it is,” Patricia said, grabbing Patrick’s hand and pulling him suddenly to the right. It was all Patrick could do to keep up with his mother’s determined pace. He glanced back to see Joe and Pete rushing to stay with the group and smiled, happy to have such supportive friends. 

It almost reminded him of what it was like to be in a pack. But Joe and Pete had their own packs, and he couldn’t bring himself to encroach.

“Okay, so this is where most of the stuff you’ll need for labor will be.” Patricia gestured to the shelf before them.

Lined in neat rows were items and tools that seemed to be from a completely different planet. Patrick glanced at Pete, who just shrugged and offered a weak smile. Camilo was still sleeping in his stroller; Patrick was impressed that he slept through that long trek across the store.

Patricia held up what looked like a water bottle with a crooked spout. “This is called a peri bottle,” she explained. “It’s for washing up down there after you have the baby.”

“Mom!!” Patrick felt blood rush to his face as he snatched the packaging from her hands and threw it into the cart. He turned to see Joe with a similar blush and Pete apparently trying not to burst into laughter.

“What? It’s natural, sweetie,” his mother said, seeming oblivious to her son’s embarrassment. 

It went on this way for a while, Patricia picking out doodads and explaining their increasingly embarrassing uses. Joe, who was pushing the cart, was paying even more attention to her ramblings than Patrick, who found the whole ordeal mortifying. His best friend and sort-of, maybe crush did not need to know all the strange things his body was going to do after birth.

After a bit, Patrick hung back with Pete, who was attempting to distract his (now awake) toddler from the toys he was reaching towards. Patrick wondered how to break the ice with the Alpha, who seemed entirely consumed in his head; he decided to try a funny approach.

“So where’s that expertise you promised?” he murmured, leaning toward Pete. This close, it was hard to ignore his deep, intense scent. Patrick swallowed hard and stared down at the buttons on his sweater.

Pete startled, but steeled himself before responding. “Yeah, I’m not as… well-versed in this kind of thing.” He paused, glancing down at Camilo. “When Andy said you were going baby shopping, I expected more, like, onesies and car seats.”

Patrick chuckled. “Yeah, my mom thinks it’s bad luck to buy anything for the baby before they’re born. That’s why it’s all stuff for me… as embarrassing as it is.”

“I don’t think it’s embarrassing,” Pete said far too quickly. He swallowed and a slight color came to his face. “I mean, like your mom said, it’s natural. Nothing I haven’t seen.” Pete nervously fidgeted with his fingers. Patrick wrinkled his brow; he has never seen Pete act this cagey.

“Is everything okay, man?” He asked softly. Patrick tried to ascertain any of what Pete was thinking, but all he saw and smelled were fear and… possessiveness?

Pete took a deep breath, closing his eyes and gripping the stroller handles. “Yeah, yeah, sorry, I’m… I’m alright. Just been feeling… off, I guess, for a few days.”

“Oh… is there anything I can do to help?” Patrick hoped it wasn’t anything too serious.

“No, dude, don’t worry about me. You have enough on your plate.” Pete wouldn’t make eye contact with Patrick. He reached down and fussed with the dinosaur hoodie of his son’s jacket.

Patrick hummed, but the worry in his stomach wasn’t dissipating. “Well, you know, if there’s an emergency or something… my babysitting offer still stands.”

That seemed to put Pete off, and Patrick felt guilt claw at him. He should have known pushing would make things awkward.

“Maybe,” Pete said, but he had a faraway look in his eye. Patrick sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets, silence falling over them like an itchy blanket.

“Oh, Patrick, come look!” Patricia called from ahead of them.

Looking forward, he saw his mother and Joe, who was pushing the cart, standing in front of a rack covered in large, quilted bags. The designs ranged from sickly sweet to downright hideous. Patrick wrinkled his nose at one covered in pastel rainbow angels.

“You’re going to definitely need a diaper bag to carry everything you need for the hospital,” his mother explained as she looked over a bag with a plush giraffe attached to the zipper.

“Sure,” he said, shrugging. Patrick couldn’t lie, it would feel nice to buy something that wasn’t for a completely embarrassing purpose.

“Dude, this is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Joe said, holding up a backpack-style bag with bees and honeycomb stitched into the material. Patrick chuckled, shaking his head at Joe’s puppy dog eyes.

Suddenly, Patrick laid his eyes on one that was close to the back of the shelf. It was a bag with a soft, downy gray color with quilt stitching. He ran his hand over the cushiony material, appreciating the texture and number of pockets. Swimming across the fabric were small seals in grays and whites. They spun in circles and played in swirling patterns. For some reason, he felt drawn to the design.

“Is that the one?” Patricia asked over his shoulder, and Patrick nodded. “You’ve always loved marine animals,” she said softly, taking the bag from him and adding it to their cart.

“It’s really cute,” Joe agreed, nodding sagely.

“Is that all?” Patricia asked, and when she got affirmative mumbles from everyone else, started heading for the register.

Patrick looked to his side and saw Pete gazing into space, hands tight on Camilo’s stroller handles. The toddler was reaching out to touch every bag within reach, but Pete hardly seemed to notice. He was lost in his own mind; Patrick watched as he worked his jaw and knit his brow, clearly mulling over something serious.

“Pete…?” He whispered.

The Alpha barely seemed to react, turning slowly to Patrick and taking a deep breath.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” He sighed. “Just spaced out there. I’ve been feeling so weird lately, for some reason.”

Patrick debated saying his next line, but he decided Pete would appreciate the honesty. “Yeah, you smell kind of different today.”

Pete’s eyes widened. “Really? Oh God, I’m sorry, dude.”

“No, no! It’s not… not necessarily bad, you know?” Patrick felt his face color again. His stupid pregnancy hormones were turning him into a horny dog.

The words seemed to soothe Pete, however, and he dropped his shoulders a bit. “Well, that’s good. I’m surprised Joe or Travie haven’t been dogging on me for it, since they love to tell me how bad I smell.”

Patrick laughed a little too hard and quickly swallowed. “Well– I think you smell nice.” He turned away, stomach roiling with nerves. “Anyway! We should probably catch up with my mom and Joe,” he cried, setting off toward them without waiting for a response.

Was it just Pete’s intoxicating scent mixing with his awful hormones that was driving him crazy, or was this crush going to turn out to be a much bigger problem than he thought?