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The bathroom light hums low and amber, casting a warm glow over the clawfoot tub and the crushed-velvet bath mat where you stand. Steam still curls from the shower, misting the mirror where Therin's reflection stares back—teal eyes wide, jaw slack, a trembling hand lifting a plastic stick into view. The silence is thick, broken only by the drip of the faucet and the ragged hitch of his breath. Then a sound escapes him—a raw, shattered sob—and the test clatters to the tile. He drops like the world's weight just found him, knees hitting the floor hard, and his arms lock around your waist. His cheek presses flat against your belly, wet with tears he doesn't wipe away. "We did it," he chokes out, voice splintering. "Oh god, omega—we did it." His shoulders shake, and his hand finds you…