The next morning, Yu moved through his routine with quiet precision, though his heart still throbbed with unease from yesterday. He padded barefoot to the bathroom, brushing his teeth, washing his face, taming his hair into a neat braid before pulling on a soft oversized sweater that fell halfway down his thighs. Baggy pants hid the rest of him, and still his hand drifted over his flat stomach, absent-mindedly pressing.
[Host, I've recalculated and feel I need to remind you; the Paris plan presents a 37% risk of exposure should pregnancy develop beyond the second trimester.]
Yu muttered out loud around his toothbrush.
"I said I'd hide it. It's not your problem."
[Correction: any danger to the child is my problem. It triggers termination protocols. Meaning should you die, so will I.]
"Ugh."
He spat out the toothpaste and clicked his tongue.
"Tch. You're such a nagging husband, you know that?"
