"I'M WHAT?!"
Ian yelled, bolting upright from his chair like a distressed nobleman and staring at the doctor in front of him in absolute disbelief.
"Well, we ran some tests and... yeah, we are 97% sure that you are 100% pregnan—"
"WHAT?!"
Another exaggerated gasp. This time, it was accompanied by unnecessarily dramatic gestures and theatrics playing across his glamorous face. "I DARE YOU TO REPEAT THOSE WORDS!"
He started gesturing wildly, trying to extract a reasonable explanation from the poor man in the white coat.
"ME?!"
"I?!" He pointed a finger aggressively at his own chest. "I—am pregnant?! How is that even possible? I can't get pregnant."
He repeated the words, suddenly dropping the exaggerated act for a split second as the sheer illogicality of the situation finally penetrated his brain.
Then, he crossed his arms, lifting his chin with as much elegance as a proud peacock. "There's no way I can get pregnant."
"Sir... actually... recessive omegas are capable of getting pregnant. It's just... not very common..." The doctor looked at the young man, adjusting his glasses nervously as if terrified Ian might throw something at his head.
But Ian... Ian wasn't buying it.
'Oh, for fuck's sake... that's not even—'
"Look here, doctor..." Ian took a big, exaggerated breath. "I cannot get pregnant. That is simply not a possibility for me. Doctors have always told me that because of my physique and my extreme recessiveness, it's practically impossible for me to conceive..." He let out a small, distressed cough. "So, please. Check again."
The doctor: "..."
"Sir, I don't know how to make this news any clearer. We ran the tests. It isn't a stomach bug. You are actually pregnant," he repeated, delivering the line like a judge declaring an inevitable verdict. "...As pregnant as a first generation omega under a full moon during mating season," he added.
Just for fun.
As if the first two times weren't enough, Ian abruptly slammed both fists onto the desk, scaring the absolute life out of the doctor, who was doing his best to maintain his integrity, his patience—and maybe also his life.
"So... what you're trying to say... is that even if it's difficult for recessive omegas, and even more so for extremely recessive ones like myself to get pregnant... I still defied all odds and happened to succeed?... At something I didn't even plan?..."
The doctor seriously began to rethink his life choices. "A true miracle... right?"
"..."
'Calm down, Ian. Calm down...'
Ian's fists clenched even tighter as he tried to recite the national anthem in his head to keep from screaming.
'You are a civilized person, and this isn't the doctor's fault...'
He tried to calm himself. Really, he did. With all his might. But unfortunately, "calm" just wasn't in his vocabulary.
"...Hehehe," he started to laugh. It was a slightly unhinged sound of pure surrender, finally accepting the reality that there was, indeed, a baby growing inside him.
"..." The doctor genuinely wanted to sprint out of the room.
"Hehehe... HAHAHA!!" And Ian just continued to completely lose his mind.
What is wrong with people these days? They do not pay me enough for this, the doctor thought, watching the young man with pitiful eyes.
Male omega pregnancies were a rare occurrence, and this happened to be his first case in a year and a half. Still, more than anything, he couldn't help but feel bad for the kid, who clearly had no idea what to do.
"Ah... okay," Ian finally said, trying to compose himself and act like a rational human being. "It's okay," he repeated.
He adopted a more thoughtful posture, sitting back down and massaging his glabella.
'I can barely think straight, but—damn it!—I can guess more or less how I got pregnant...'
Oh, yes. It all started because of that stupid party. And those stupid clothes, the loud music, the drinks... and then, that stupidly handsome man at the bar. Unfairly handsome.
'No, like, seriously. I remember him being the most handsome man I've ever seen in my entire life. It's not my fault he was born with a face like that!'
And okay, maybe Ian had been a little impatient. After all, he was twenty-six years old and had never even been in a relationship. Connecting the dots, it was all starting to make sense.
'Right. As if I could ever have the luxury of forgetting that stupid night.'
*Two Weeks Ago
"WHO IS READY TO PARTYYY?!"
"GODS, Clara! You're going to break my eardrums!" Ian winced, pulling the phone away from his ear and glaring at it as if it had personally offended his peaceful existence.
"NO! This time, YOU are coming with me! You are getting out of that boring, overly comfortable house of yours because... tonight, we PARTY!!!"
On his end of the line, Ian seriously contemplated whether moving to the middle of nowhere was a viable option.
"..."
The desert was starting to look fantastic.
"Yeah... don't count on me," he finally said, his voice dripping with so much disinterest that Clara was officially offended.
"Nuh-uh." He could practically feel her wagging her finger annoyingly through the speaker. And Ian genuinely wanted to break that finger.
"There's no way I'm letting you off the hook tonight. Come onnn!!!" Clara insisted with all her might.
"Clara... my beautiful, not-so-intelligent friend..."
"Should I be offended?"
"Just shut up and listen!" After taking a long breath, Ian adopted his most understanding demeanor—because he really did love his friend, in his own way—and tried to make her understand. It was probably a hopeless endeavor.
"You know perfectly well that I actually have a job. A real one. And my boss pretty much doesn't exist. So, do me a favor and leave me to my precious free time. Thank you. Besides, aren't we a little too old to be going to clubs? My back is already cracking."
"All I hear are excuses," she fired back, utterly confident.
"It's still a no."
"..."
"Okay! I'm telling your mother about the roses."
That one sentence reminded Ian that he was, in fact, a mortal human being. And then he remembered his menacing mother. And then her angry face. And then the fact that he still wanted to live to see another day.
"OH, DON'T YOU DARE!"
"But you don't understand, my friend. I absolutely dare—in fact, I'm calling your mother right nowww..."
"Clara."
"Ian." She smiled, blowing on her freshly done nails.
"Please don't."
She really was enjoying herself. "Please come with me."
"But—"
"Roses, Ian. The roses..."
'Damn it!'
He knew he shouldn't have been anywhere within a centimeter of those roses. They were sacred to his mother, and then, one morning, she had found them completely scattered and ruined. It was the first time Ian had ever felt true, paralyzing fear.
"..."
"I hate you," he finally surrendered.
"YEAHHH!!!" Clara felt proud that she had managed to drag her friend along. "I know that you actually love me. Now go get ready, look pretty, and meet me at the park at half past ten."
"I really, truly hate you."
"Don't forget to wear something sexyyyy~"
He slapped his hand against his face helplessly, looking straight at his phone in disappointment. "Oh god, I can't stand you."
"XOXO, see you laterrr~"
Ian stood frozen in the middle of his room, glaring at his phone and regretting every life choice that had brought him to this moment. He opened a browser, checked the price for the first flight to a nearby country, and stared at the screen in deep disappointment.
He didn't have the money. There was nowhere to run.
So, burdened with a headache from five days of grueling overtime, piles of document corrections, loud neighbors, and a severe lack of his usual four-shot espresso, he accepted his grim reality.
"UGH!!! FINE!"
"...Let's try to have some fun. And also to look fine. Since I'm already going, it only makes sense to commit completely."
And so he pulled out his best outfit. A little rebellious in the right places, just suggestive enough without looking vulgar. If someone passed him, they would definitely take a second glance; after all, Ian did have an appealing look and an incredibly unfair, gorgeous "face card."
What he didn't know was that he would end up deeply regretting going out that night.
He definitely would.