Check-Mate

50. Mates

The quiet of the night is broken by a muffled scream, faint but unmistakable. My enigma senses prick up, and I instantly know where it is coming from—Warm's room. 

My heart clenches as worry flares up. His due date is so close now, and it's all I can do to keep from running, fearing he might have gone into early labor. 

I reach his door in a heartbeat, but it's locked. Even through the wood, I can sense his pheromones growing thicker, and the scent sharpens the anxiety within me. 

I don't want to invade his space, but I also can't leave him alone in distress. So, without a second thought, I pull out the spare key I have and open the door, stepping inside.

The bedroom is empty, but the thick trail of his scent guides me further in, leading toward the bathroom. My worry only intensifies as I approach the door, noticing it's left unlocked. 

Without hesitation, I push it open, and there he is—Warm, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, naked, his face flushed and uncomfortable.

 The sight hits me harder than I expect. I have never seen his baby belly before; it's bigger than I imagined, round and prominent against his small frame. His hands tremble slightly as he tries to cover himself up, but the attempt is feeble.

I realize with a pang that he has probably been here for a while, taking a cold shower again, trying to calm his body down. His skin is goosebumped from the chill, and he's shivering slightly, looking like he can barely hold himself up. 

Omegas are supposed to have their mates by their side during pregnancy, the closeness calming them as the bond strengthens. But Warm is alone, and he has been alone throughout this entire process, with only cold water to soothe the unbearable heat he is enduring. 

And yet, despite needing help, he never asked me. He has always kept that distance, refused to let me in. Seeing him like this—it hurts. And I don't care anymore if he pushes me away; I am done watching him struggle.

I grab a large towel, stepping over to him with determination. 

Warm's eyes widen as he tries to retreat, clearly uncomfortable, but he is too weak to resist. I wrap the towel around him, shielding him from the cold, and then, without a word, I lift him into my arms. 

He gasps in surprise, but he doesn't fight back. I cradle him in the safety of my hold, carrying him out of the cold bathroom and setting him down on his bed.

As I start drying him off, I notice just how exhausted he looks. His legs are swollen, and it's painful to see how much strain his body is under. 

Every time I glance at his belly, my heart swells with emotions I can barely contain. He is nurturing our child, but here he is, enduring it all alone. His face reddens under my gaze, and he fidgets slightly, clearly self-conscious.

I turn toward his closet, pulling out a fresh pair of silk maternity pajamas I had bought for him a while back. They are soft and comfortable, chosen with care, but as I walk back to him with the clothes, I can tell he is hesitant, maybe even disapproving. 

I glance down and notice something—he has been wearing my older clothes instead, the ones with my scent lingering on them. He has found some comfort in my presence, even if he won't admit it.

Gently, I start dressing him, and this time he doesn't resist. He allows me to guide his arms through the sleeves, and as I help him, 

I notice the tension in his expression. He is so self-conscious, his gaze downcast, as if ashamed of his own body. 

My eyes fall to his belly, the stretch marks tracing across it like small, delicate lines. To me, they are beautiful, a testament to his strength, but I can see how insecure they make him feel.

Kneeling beside the bed, I reach out, my hand soft as it caresses the swell of his belly. Then, without thinking, I lean in and place a gentle kiss on top of it, reverent, as though acknowledging our baby for the first time. 

"Swadee," I whisper, introducing myself softly, my voice tender. "It's me, your Dad. I love you, little one. Be good to your Papa, okay? Don't give him too much trouble."

A tiny movement stirs beneath my hand, and my heart skips. It's as if our child heard my words, responding with a small, gentle nudge. 

I glance up at Warm, excited to share this moment, but he's still looking away, cheeks flushed, clearly struggling with his emotions. 

The distance he has always kept between us feels wider than ever, but I am determined to bridge it. 

I stand and sit beside him on the bed, placing one arm around his shoulders, drawing him close. I lean in, placing a soft kiss on his forehead.

"You are doing a great job," I tell him, my voice filled with admiration. 

Warm's lips press together, and for the first time, he looks up at me, his eyes wide, surprised. 

I hold his gaze, feeling every unspoken word pass between us. And when he doesn't pull away, I take it as permission, wrapping him in a gentle hug. Slowly, I feel him relax, his hands clutching at my shirt, almost clinging. 

He takes in my scent, and I know he is doing it to calm himself down, though he is trying his best to be subtle about it. But I already know. I can see the relief on his face, and it only strengthens my resolve.

"Warm," I murmur, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "Can I stay with you tonight?" His initial response is hesitant; he starts to tell me to leave, but his body betrays him. I can see the reluctance in his expression, his desire to keep up the boundaries he has set, even as his need for comfort contradicts it.

I take a breath, gathering my courage. "Let me mark you," I say, my voice softer than ever, carrying every ounce of vulnerability I feel. "Let's be mates, Warm. I want us to be a family."

Warm's eyes widen, and for a second, I can see he's about to refuse. But before he can, I continue. "I know it's risky. I know our bond as an enigma and omega might cause complications. But look at Chain and Gym. They are making it work despite the odds. I am willing to take on any risks if it means we could be together."

As I speak, tears fill his eyes, slipping down his cheeks before he even realizes they're there. I reach up, wiping one away with a gentle thumb, and smile softly. "Why are you crying?" I ask, chuckling lightly.

Warm shakes his head, smiling through the tears. "I... I don't know," he whispers. "I just... I cry a lot these days."

His voice cracks, but I know this is his answer. Even if he doesn't say the words out loud, I can feel the "yes" in his gaze. 

Overwhelmed, I lean in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, feeling the depth of my emotions flow into that simple connection. When I pull back, I look into his eyes and say, "I love you, Warm."

More tears fall, but this time, he's smiling. His face radiates happiness as I wipe the tears away, one by one. We stay like that for a while, in quiet closeness, until I feel him relax completely against me. I press my forehead to his, breathing him in, grounding myself in this moment, this gift he has given me.

Finally, I move to mark him. My mouth finds the delicate scent glands on his collarbone, and with a reverence I've never felt before, I sink my canines into his skin, letting our scents mix, binding us in a way that no words could ever achieve. 

A soft, breathy moan escapes him, and I can feel the warmth radiate through his body, the sensation electric and addictive.

When I pull back, I see the mark, proud and undeniable, a symbol of everything we have become. His eyes meet mine, and before I can say another word, he wraps his arms around my neck, pulling me into a kiss—deeper, more passionate than anything I've ever felt.

This is it, I think, a surge of happiness nearly overwhelming me. We are finally together, finally bound as we were meant to be. And with his touch, his warmth, I know that whatever comes next, we'll face it side by side, as mates, as a family.