Remember, Everything Will Be Alright

VIII

Warnings: gore, pregnancy loss, panic attacks, medical emergency, brief mention of suicide

17 August 2019

Phil woke up to the brush of Dan's hair across his nose. They had begun their close, cuddle-sleeping arrangement the night that Dan announced to Phil that he was pregnant. When Dan came home after midnight, Phil made sure to bring him into his arms; placing one under both of their heads and using the other to cradle Dan's flesh that held in their baby. It took a few days for Dan to get used to Phil's body heat directly behind him. It was nothing one less blanket couldn't fix. He found that he did sleep a bit sounder with Phil's arm weighing him down. Phil's leg even provided a seat for Dan to push up against. The change was well worth the dead limbs they sometimes woke up with.

The scent of Dan's hair, so natural and familiar, could have lulled Phil back to sleep if he wasn't strong enough to resist. Against the desire he felt in every bone of his body, he had to get out of bed. He stood and tucked the remaining sheet around Dan to keep him warm.

The fresh air outside their bedroom smacked Phil with a breeze that accentuated the dampness of certain parts of his clothes: an old, t-shirt and his underwear. The cold sensation—all down his front, under his arms, and between his thighs—wasn't something overly-peculiar.

Just the result of a night of Dan and I sweating all over each other.

Phil went along his everyday routine, brewing a cup of coffee and microwaving himself a bowl of instant oatmeal. It was only when Phil leaned back against the sink to wait for his breakfast, hands held at his groin, that he was able to feel just how damp his clothes had been. He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it taught to inspect. A bright, red stain the size of a £2 coin adorned the bottom edge of Phil's yellow shirt. He lifted it further to check his skin for the source. He found nothing. No scratches, cuts, or bug bites that would have produced a bleed. His eyes drifted further down his body, stopping on a smaller blood stain on the belt of his underwear. After another panicked inspection of the skin of his waist turned up no culprit, Phil searched through his memory to find the blood's source.

The night before had been normal. After Dan finished his tea, Phil washed Dan's mug, brushed his teeth, and changed into his pajamas the same way he did every night before he curled up around Dan.

No.

To the tune of the microwave beeping with the forgotten breakfast, Phil ran back to his and Dan's room. He turned on the lights, weary that it might startle Dan. Phil came around to his side of the bed, carefully undoing the tucked blanket he had secured under Dan. Phil tried his hardest not to disturb him as he lifted the duvet. As Dan's back became uncovered, Phil failed to find any visible stains trapped in the black clothes Dan had worn to sleep.

"Dan," Phil called as he made his way around to the other side of the bed. He took a seat beside Dan. "Sweetie. Wake up."

After a gentle shake, Dan's eyes drifted open and swiftly shut as he took in the light. "What?" Dan asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Don't panic," Phil said.

Dan shot up in bed. "What? What's wrong?"

"How are you feeling?" Phil asked.

"How am I—what? What'd you mean how am I feeling?"

"Do you feel any better than you did last night?"

Dan shook his head. "I'm still sore. Why, though? You're really scaring me."

"Honey," Phil said as he stood, displaying his shirt, "I think you bled on me while we slept."