As the pieces click and recognition of the blooms on his face, so too does his uncertainty and fear; it etches into the handsome lines of his face, waking your heart, breathing new life in to the fears that had begun to dissipate. You rise to meet him but do not embrace him as you always have, though your skin longs for his touch, unsure of what he needs, what he wants to make this moment any easier. You hadn’t given yourself the chance to think it through, afraid that if you had you would have convinced yourself to turn around, flee from the responsibility, bury all of your fear and doubt and blame somewhere where you wouldn’t find it again.

Never mind that there is something that you cannot run from inside of you with its own heartbeat, own tiny movements—in the months to come, its own mind, thoughts, breaths—its own life—the thought of it is enough to quell your rising panic, your mind grasping at just what that means, its own life, and you cannot help the small smile that claws itself up your lips. Its life, with you to teach it all of the things within your small little world, nurture it, keep it safe—the smile fades as you look back up to Rohan’s face, see there all of the things that plague your heart, begin to smother the excitement that a child should bring, all of the things you started to feel anew from the moment you knew, despite all of your worry, despite the reluctance of your heart to love that way again.

It hits you like a brick wall then, amongst the lost look in his eyes, amongst the terror written all over his face, that you cannot imagine having this child without him, ears tilting back as you step a single step towards him, wanting, needing, to share this moment, to turn it into something that would not leave him seeming to feel so very cold. To show him that the child that grows within your womb (seemingly by the second), that you, need him, and just how very much. That it will, somehow, if he would only give it the chance, all be alright. “I’m sorry,” you pause, your brows furrowing for a second as you try your best to compose your thoughts, slow the beating of your thrumming heart, press just another step closer. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner.”  Another step, and one more, your body aching feverishly for his warmth, his safe embrace, things that you have so terribly missed.

“I didn’t know how, I—I still don’t know how.” You are uncertain any more as to whether it is still the child you are talking about, or something that shifts deep in your heart every time you so much as think of his name, his sweet smile, summer eyes. You can feel it now, glowing hotly as you move ever-nearer to him, finally press your nose to his cheek. As you breathe him for the first time in too long, selfishly, greedily, it only leaves you craving more, more as you trail your muzzle along his neck, to his shoulder, finally pressing the bridge of your nose to the tuck of his throat, pulling your body as close to his as you are able, wanting only to be so much closer. "I know it's a lot, but our child needs you. You breathe into him, your heart skipping a hesitant beat.

"And I need you, too, Rohan."