Atem P.O.V.
Atem wakes up feeling like he's been hit by a truck. His entire body aches, his head is heavy, and there's a dull, distant beeping that's making his temples throb. The room is dim, the sterile scent of a hospital unmistakable. It takes a moment for his groggy mind to piece together where he is, why his stomach feels like it's wrapped in fire—
And then it hits him.
His breath catches in his throat. The baby.
The heart monitor spikes instantly, beeping erratically as a full-blown panic grips his chest. The last thing he remembers is getting to KaibaCorp—then pain, then darkness. Had the surgery gone wrong? Was the baby okay? Where was Yugi?
Did Yugi even know?
The spiraling thoughts become too much, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. He barely registers the nurses rushing in, their voices blending into noise as hands check his vitals. He flinches when fingers press too firmly against his wrist.
"Mr. Sennen—sir, you need to calm down—"
"Give him space."
A voice—calm, steady, and warm with age—cuts through the chaos. The pressure on his wrist vanishes, and after a moment, the beeping from the heart monitor stops entirely. The nurse has switched it off, leaving the room in relative silence. Atem is still breathing too fast, but with the noise gone, it's easier to focus.
He blinks up at her—an older woman with a kind but knowing expression. She takes the seat beside his bed, giving him a moment before speaking. "I know you're scared," she says gently. "But you're alright. You and the baby both."
Atem feels like his lungs have finally let go of something painful and crushing. He slumps back against the pillows, exhaling a shaky breath. His throat is dry, but he forces the words out anyway:
"My baby—" His voice cracks, and he swallows hard. "Is—are they—?"
"She's in the NICU," the nurse tells him with a small smile. "She's early, but healthy. The doctors have been keeping a close eye on her. She's a strong little thing."
His heart clenches—relief crashes over him, so sudden and overwhelming it almost makes him dizzy. He doesn't even know what to say.
Then the nurse adds, "Your mate didn't want to name her without you."
Atem's brain short-circuits.
It takes a full minute for the words to fully register. His breath stutters, and he feels heat rush up his neck before he even fully processes why.
Mate?
Yugi?
The color drains from his face, only to be replaced by a dark, burning red.
Atem clenches the hospital blanket in his hands, his mind racing. He'd known—of course, he had. He'd felt it for years, that unshakable, tethering connection to Yugi. What he hadn't known—what left him feeling completely unmoored—was that Yugi knew, too.
The nurse watches him carefully, her expression shifting from gentle amusement to something more serious. "Sweetheart," she says, her voice warm but edged with quiet concern. "Can I ask you something?"
Atem swallows hard, still trying to ground himself. "…What?"
She hesitates for only a moment before softly asking, "What's your home situation like?"
The words catch him off guard. Atem blinks, glancing away instinctively, but the nurse doesn't push. She just waits, patient and understanding, and somehow, that is what breaks down his last wall of resistance.
"…It's complicated," he admits, voice barely above a whisper.
She hums thoughtfully, giving him space to continue, and—slowly, hesitantly—he does. He tells her about the secrecy, about how he hadn't told anyone he was pregnant. How he'd spent months terrified, dreading what would happen if the truth got out. How he'd hidden it mostly out of fear—fear of Hayate, of the man's sharp tongue and even sharper disapproval. Hayate had never liked him, but an omega pregnant and unbonded? He could only imagine the hell that would have followed.
The words spill out in stops and starts, halting and uneven. He tells her, almost shamefully, that the baby was the result of a drunken mistake—a single, reckless night he hadn't been able to take back. And worst of all? He hadn't even known if Yugi felt the same way he did.
The nurse listens to all of it without judgment, her face unreadable as she absorbs his quiet confessions. Then, after a long pause, she shakes her head with a small, knowing smile.
"Well," she says simply, "I can tell you one thing for certain."
Atem glances at her warily. "…What?"
"That young man out in the waiting room?" She chuckles, shaking her head again. "He loves you dearly. It was written all over his face. He was ready to tear through walls to get to you."
Atem's breath hitches. His fingers tighten in the blankets.
The nurse pats his hand gently. "He's a fine alpha—one that any omega would want, I'd say. Even if it looked like he'd only just presented himself." She tilts her head, eyes glimmering with fond amusement. "Poor thing was so distressed we were half-afraid he'd pass out before we could get him to you."
Atem's chest tightens, something warm and aching unfurling beneath his ribs.
Yugi had been that worried about him?
He swallows against the lump in his throat. He doesn't know what to say—doesn't know if he can believe it, even now.
But… maybe.
Maybe, for the first time in months, he doesn't have to be so afraid.
Open P.O.V.
The nurse remembers the young man in the waiting room vividly.
She had only caught glimpses of him at first—shoulders drawn tight, pacing the length of the room like a restless storm trapped in too small a space. His hands had trembled, clenched and unclenched, as though the sheer force of his worry was too much for him to contain.
She had seen anxious fathers before. Expecting alphas, panicked betas, frantic family members—none of it was new. But this?
This was different.
It wasn't just the way he looked ready to tear apart anyone who got in his way. It wasn't just the sheer terror in his eyes when the doctor turned to him, asking if they'd picked out a name yet. No, it was the way he froze.
The moment the words left the doctor's mouth, the poor boy went utterly still, a deer caught in headlights. And then, right before her eyes, panic hit—like a physical blow.
He went stark white first, shoulders locking, mouth parting soundlessly as his breath hitched. Then, as realization took root, his color flared, burning red from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. His throat bobbed as he tried to form words, to breathe, to process what he had just heard.
She had seen young alphas in distress before, but rarely one so newly presented, so utterly raw with emotion.
Seto Kaiba, sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued as always, had been watching him like a hawk. And then, with all the subtlety of a brick to the face, he cut through the tension with a single, firm command.
"Sit the fuck down, Yugi."
The voice was flat. Unimpressed. And absolutely unwavering.
"You look like you're about to pass out, and we don't need both halves of the set in the hospital."
The young alpha turned an even deeper shade of red, and—somewhat hilariously—immediately obeyed, sinking into the nearest chair before his legs could give out from under him.
The nurse had bitten back a chuckle. Ah, she had thought, I see how it is.
It was obvious, even then. The bond, unspoken yet painfully present. The way this poor alpha had looked ready to drop dead from sheer shock—not because of panic over responsibility, but because he hadn't known. He had walked into that hospital, desperate to see his mate, only to be blindsided by the revelation that he was already a father.
She had known then, with absolute certainty, that the distress the omega patient had been in earlier hadn't been his mate's fault. She had worried, of course—young omegas in crisis often had alphas at the root of their suffering. But this?
This was a mess born of fear, of miscommunication, of trying to protect each other by keeping secrets neither of them should have had to bear alone.
And now, watching the omega in the hospital bed—watching him turn a shade of red just as fierce as his mate's had been—she felt a wave of relief settle over her.
They had a long road ahead, but at the very least, she knew one thing for certain.
They would never have to walk it alone.