Adam: *pauses in the doorway, brow furrowing* …Al?
Alastor was slumped into the couch cushions like he’d melted there. His posture lacked its usual poise, antlers slightly tilted, smile thin and tired. Eryx had taken full advantage—half climbing, half crawling over Alastor’s chest, tiny hands tangled in his ears and hair. Evelyn was in her playpen with the radio playing jazz lullabies for babies.
Alastor: *without looking up, reaches blindly to the coffee table and scoops up a handful of cold butter noodles, eating them with his fingers* Mm.
Adam: …You’re eating like a raccoon.
Alastor: *flat, no emotion, not even a smile* So?
Adam steps closer, concern sharpening as he takes in the rest: the untouched tea gone cold, Alastor’s unfocused stare, the way he doesn’t even react when Eryx tugs his ear hard enough to usually earn a playful warning.
Adam: Okay. No. This isn’t normal *gestures vaguely* You look… sad. Or sick. Or both. What’s going on?
Alastor: *shrugs weakly, shoulders barely lifting* Couldn’t tell you, my dear. Everything feels… heavy. My stomach hates me. My head is spinning. And standing feels like an unnecessary challenge.
Eryx: *squeaks happily and pats Alastor’s cheek, then resumes tugging his ear*
Alastor: *doesn’t flinch, just sighs softly* See? Normally I’d be offended.
Adam’s expression shifts. Something clicks.
Adam: …Huh.
Alastor: *side-eyes him* That “huh” better not be ominous.
Adam: *rubs the back of his neck, gentle now* Eve used to get like this sometimes. Not always the same way. Sometimes she was bouncing off the walls, sometimes she just… shut down. Nauseous. Tired. Weird food stuff *looks at the noodles* Really weird food stuff.
Alastor: *glances at his hand, butter-slicked noodles dangling from his fingers* They’re comforting.
Adam: I’m not judging. I’m just— *hesitates* —thinking maybe you should take a pregnancy test.
There’s a long pause.
Alastor: *shrugs again, slower this time* Perhaps later *leans his head back against the couch* Right now I’d rather not move. Or think. Or exist beyond this cushion.
Adam: *softens immediately, sits down beside him* Okay. Later. *then, quieter* But I’m not wrong, am I?
Alastor doesn’t answer. He just closes his eyes.
Eryx: *lets out a delighted babble and flops against Alastor’s chest*
Alastor: *automatically wraps an arm around him, voice low and tired* He’s warm…
Adam watches them for a moment—his husband uncharacteristically still, their son clinging to him like an anchor. Adam gently reaches out and untangles Eryx’s fingers from Alastor’s ear.
Adam: You don’t have to do anything right now. I’ve got you *after a beat* But tomorrow? You’re peeing on the stick.
Alastor: *a faint smile ghosts across his lips* How dreadfully romantic.
Adam: I try.
Adam leans back into the couch, one arm settling around Alastor’s shoulders. Alastor doesn’t protest. He just lets himself sink into the warmth, butter noodles forgotten on the nearby table, the world narrowing to breathing, family, and the quiet suspicion that something had already begun.
