Harry's pallor and frequent disappearances to the bathroom didn't go unnoticed by others, either. College campuses are hotbeds of gossip, and soon, whispers started. Was Harry sick? Was he injured? Was he struggling? Leon ignored them all, focusing on surviving one hour at a time and watching Harry from a distance, trying to gauge when he might break.
Harry was becoming an expert at masking his symptoms, but Leon knew the truth. He carried mints everywhere, kept snacks on hand to combat the nausea, and wore baggier clothes under his jersey to hide any eventual changes. But the physical toll was mounting. He was tired, emotional, and increasingly stressed. He was only a month and a half along, but it felt like an eternity for Leon who had to watch the silent suffering.
He was in the library a few days later when his phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. He opened it cautiously.
We need to talk.
It was just those three words. No signature, but Leon knew instantly who it was. The text was followed up immediately by another:
"Meet me at the park near the library." In 15 minutes. Don't be a little bitch.
Harry. He had gotten Leon's number somehow. There was no avoiding it now. The confrontation he had been dreading was happening. With a sigh of resignation, Leon packed his bag. He had to face the Alpha. He just hoped Harry was the one to bring up the physical changes. He had to get Harry to acknowledge something was wrong with his body first. If Harry only remembered fragments of their night, maybe Leon could force the issue. He headed toward the park, his heart pounding a nervous rhythm against his ribs, the pregnancy tests still sitting on his bathroom counter at home.