Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Swimming was the only time Freminet ever really felt normal, weightless, quiet, and mercifully cut off from everything above the surface. The water didn’t ask questions. It didn’t care if he talked too little or stared too much. It just… was. And if he had it his way, he’d live down there permanently, flat on the bottom of a pool like some mildly depressed starfish. Maybe at the bottom of a lake, or even the ocean. He wasn’t picky.

Unfortunately, human lungs had other ideas.

But sometimes, his escape came with a slight detour, which called itself his boyfriend.

As much as he adored Gaming, which he really, genuinely did, Freminet was already half out of the world and into the water by the time they reached the building. He kissed his cheek quickly, hoping to make it inside before the moment turned into one of those kisses that would leave him short of breath, before he even reached the pool.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” Gaming said with a wink, catching his hand before he could escape entirely and pulling him back in for a proper kiss. Soft, sure, and annoyingly effective.

“Have fun at not-drowning practice, my penguin.”

It still felt like some kind of cosmic mix-up that this wonderful, ridiculous boy had chosen him of all people. Freminet’s siblings had pointed it out more than once, how the two of them seemed to exist on opposite ends of every imaginable spectrum, be it socially, emotionally, or energetically. If Freminet was an introvert given human form, Gaming was the kind of guy who could throw a party in a public park and somehow get half the school to show up. He had even managed to convince the older students, with Lyney usually being among them, to bring enough alcohol to turn it into an unofficial festival.

The fact that Gaming had not only noticed Freminet but liked him was a statistical anomaly. One of those strange little miracles that made absolutely no logical sense, and yet, there he was. Still here. Still his.

Freminet just nodded, minimal verbal effort, maximum emotional sincerity as usual. But Gaming already knew the deal.

“See you at school tomorrow,” he murmured, barely above a whisper, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand once before slipping free, stepping closer to the pool, he would honestly like to call his second home.

He gave a small, polite nod to the front desk receptionist as he entered. After two years of showing up every week like clockwork, she finally recognized him on sight, even if it had taken her a full year to notice the quiet blonde kid who disappeared into the men’s changing rooms without a sound.

Not that he blamed her. He had a talent for not being noticed. But he did appreciate it now, being remembered, even if he was pretty sure she still didn’t know his name.

Inside the changing room, the familiar wave of discomfort rolled in before the door even shut behind him.

It was the same setup every week, with a wide open space, too many benches, too much light, and the kind of echo that carried every sound to all corners. And off to the side, mercifully tucked into the corner near the stairs, were a couple of ancient changing stalls. 

Freminet slipped into one of these with practiced ease, pulling the door shut and setting his bag down with a quiet thud. The lock clicked into place. A tiny sound, but it made things feel a little more manageable.

Changing in front of other people had never been an option. Strangers were out of the question, and even with Gaming, who had seen him, touched him and loved him, there were still days when the idea of being looked at felt unbearable. Not because of shame exactly. More like… the sinking, bone-deep discomfort of being seen through the wrong lens. Of having to occupy a body that didn’t always feel like it belonged to him.

Some days were better, others weren’t.

He peeled off his clothes with a kind of mechanical focus. Clothes off. Diving suit on. No ceremony. No looking too closely at his own body. Just efficiency. If he moved fast enough, maybe he could get through it before the self-loathing caught up.

The zipper caught slightly as he pulled it up, and he tugged harder, frowning. The suit felt… tighter. Again.

It had been a little snug last week too, but today it was officially venturing into “mildly suffocating” territory. Around the shoulders. The chest, hips and midsection especially. Basically, all the places you don’t want extra pressure when your favorite coping mechanism is pretending your body doesn’t exist.

He rolled his shoulders, squirmed a little, trying to settle into it. No luck. Still clingy. Still uncomfortably present.

Maybe he should ask Father for a new one, a size up, maybe something that felt slightly less like he was being vacuum sealed. The thought flitted across his mind, then vanished just as fast. He didn’t want to deal with explaining why he needed a bigger suit.

It was probably fine. He could handle a little compression if it meant getting to the part where everything stopped feeling so loud.

Besides, the water was waiting, and he was already behind schedule for his weekly attempt at turning into a sea creature.

He zipped the suit the rest of the way, shoved his clothes into the corner of the stall, and stepped out, ready to sink.

Literally, ideally.

By the time he stepped out of the changing stall, a few of the others had already arrived, voices bouncing off the tile like muffled echoes. Freminet kept his head low, eyes on the floor. If he wanted privacy while changing, he figured the least he could do was give them the same courtesy.

He offered a soft “hey” as he passed someone he sort of, maybe, considered a friend. Not that they talked much. But they’d been often teaming up for dives for over a year now, and that counted for something probably. At least in here, shared silence meant trust.

Freminet draped his towel over his shoulders, more a shield than necessity, then made his way up the stairs. Each step felt like moving closer to the part of the week that made everything else worth tolerating.

And then, there it was.

The pool.

It took up nearly the entire room, a quiet leviathan of still, dark water. Overhead lights shimmered off the surface like a skin stretched too tight, hiding the vastness underneath. From across the room, it looked almost ordinary. Clean. Calm. Contained.

But up close? It was something else entirely.

The drop-off hit instantly. Twenty meters straight down at its deepest point. Staring into it felt less like looking into water and more like teetering on the edge of a black hole. Someone had once come to tour the facility, maybe thinking of joining the club. They’d made it all the way to the edge before the depth hit them and their brain screamed nope. They even almost fainted right there on the tiles.

Needless to say, they didn’t sign up.

Freminet didn’t blame them. The pool was imposing. Beautiful, and a little terrifying, if you weren’t built for it.

Mr. Wriothesley, the Coach of the freediving club, was already perched on his usual bench near the poolside, one leg crossed over the other like he had nowhere better to be. Which, to be fair, he probably didn’t. Teaching this class was his job today after all.

He looked as composed as always, taking up a casual posture, arms stretched across the backrest, eyes quietly scanning the room with that kind of alert stillness that made you think twice about slacking off. Freminet sometimes wondered if the man ever actually blinked.

A small wave. A nod in greeting.

Freminet returned it with a faint smile, then crossed the tiles to the small shelves at the wall, placing his towel there, before slowly moving towards the pool. Toes curled against the cold edge. The surface of the water waited below, smooth and dark like glass pulled tight.

He paused just long enough to glance back.

“Keep your head above the surface until the others show up,” Wriothesley called, tone even, like always, with just the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Right. Same rule every time. But Wriothesley liked to see acknowledgment before anyone got in the water. That unspoken agreement that he is watching and keeping everyone safe.

Freminet gave a small nod, then sat and slipped in, the water climbing over him in a single, seamless motion. Cold wrapped around his chest like a shock. It was sharp at first, then softening into a familiar feeling. Almost like a hug.

The suit clung tighter than it had last week, but here, in the water, that pressure faded into the background.

He kicked off from the wall, letting momentum carry him forward in slow, fluid strokes.

Above him, the ceiling stretched out like a hollow sky. The pool echoed around him with gentle acoustics, reflecting the soft sounds of the water splashing against the side of the pool.

By the time he reached the far side, he let himself come to a halt and turned, arms drifting wide.

Then he floated.

His ears sank beneath the surface, and the outside world dulled into something distant and far away. The muffled thump of water brushing against his skin. The low, constant hum of the filtration system, like a machine breathing through the walls. Every shift of his body echoed back at him in quiet ripples, traveling outward and vanishing before they reached anything solid.

Here, time didn’t pass the same way. Even the too-tight suit seemed to loosen its grip, forgotten under the weightless calm. His body, which felt foreign and loud everywhere else, became just one more shape held by the water. Just another small thing drifting in the deep.

He stretched out, eyes closing.

Stillness.

The surface slowly settled around him, his movements fading until he barely existed at all.

These were the moments he loved the most. The seconds between everything else. Quiet, unclaimed. Like this, he could forget who he was supposed to be, and just… float.

Well. Until reality remembered he existed.

A sudden splash shattered the silence.

Freminet flinched, water splashing onto his face as he jerked upright. So much for serenity.

He blinked through the droplets just in time to see the others walking loudly into the hall, as if they owned the place. One by one, they launched themselves into the pool, turning it from a tranquil sanctuary into a personal wave park.

Freminet sighed softly through his nose and retreated to the nearest edge, letting the water rise halfway over his face. Just his eyes peeked out now, kind of like an alligator on the hunt, with the slight difference that he didn’t plan to kill anyone or anything here. 

If he stayed still enough, maybe they’d mistake him for pool equipment and leave him alone.

Now that the others had arrived, it wouldn’t be long before Coach got things underway.

Sure enough, once the last few made it into the water, some with more grace than others, Mr. Wriothesley rose from his bench, all calm authority in motion. No whistle, no barked orders. Just his voice, steady and even, carrying across the pool with practiced ease.

“Alright. Today we’re tracking progress again. Three meters, breath-hold times, same as last time,” he said, giving a small nod to emphasize the point. “Your time will be noted and we’ll see how much you have improved.”

Freminet’s stomach gave a quiet twist at that. He probably should take the opportunity to officially record something. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the numbers for it. But something about making it official and putting it down on paper for people to see, always made his skin crawl.

“Start with a few laps for warm up,” Wriothesley added, gesturing to the far wall. “Then groups of three, alright?”

And that was that. No big speech. No drawn-out explanations. Just enough structure to keep things moving, and enough space to breathe.

Right on cue, the assistant lifeguard, Mualani was her name, if Freminet remembered correctly, slipped into the room, seeming a little breathless, like she’d jogged the last few blocks to get here. She offered a bright smile to the group, silently taking her place near the benches. Freminet caught the flicker of an apology in her eyes, but Wriothesley didn’t even glance over. If she was on time, even if just barely, she was on time. That was good enough for him.

Freminet let himself sink just a little lower into the water. He hated group work.

Not because he disliked people entirely, but because he just preferred not being perceived by them.

But saying no wasn’t exactly an option. Not when Wriothesley was watching. His authority wasn’t loud or overbearing, but it carried weight, the kind that made you want to do your best. Not because he demanded it, but because disappointing him felt like it would genuinely suck.

So Freminet fell into line with the others, swimming steady laps to warm up. One. Two. Three. The rhythm helped. So did the water.

Then came the voice from the other end of the pool. 

“That’s enough. Group up.”

There went the peace.

Freminet slowed to a stop, turning toward the center where the others were already gathering. Before he could panic about who to approach, someone beat him to it.

Davy.

Same guy from the changing room. Reliable, quiet-ish, and just social enough to save Freminet from doing the talking.

“Wanna join our group?” he asked, motioning to himself and a second swimmer, a taller boy Freminet recognized from past sessions but had never spoken to.

Freminet nodded, relieved. “Thank you.”

Davy laughed like Freminet had cracked a joke. “You’re the best one here, we should be thanking you,” he said with a grin, then casually took Freminet’s hand and led him toward their third teammate waiting near the pool’s edge.

They gathered near the corner, where Mualani had just stepped forward, a clipboard tucked under one arm and a slightly winded look on her face. She shot a quick glance at Wriothesley, who gave her the smallest nod in return.

“Alright,” Mualani began, catching her breath and smiling at the group. “Just a quick safety rundown before we start. You’ve all heard this before, but Coach wants me to run it today so I can stop being ‘in training’ and start being ‘actually helpful.’ His words, not mine.”

A few chuckles from the students.

Freminet stayed quiet, watching the way she spoke, confident, but still a little too fast.

“You’ll take turns diving,” she continued, pacing slowly along the edge. “One diver at a time, down to three meters. Don’t forget to take a diving belt with you! The other two in your group stay on the surface and keep eyes on your teammate the entire time. No exceptions. If you see something off, you signal immediately. You know the signs.”

Her voice softened slightly.

“And most importantly: know your limits. Push yourself, but not too far. Got it?”

A chorus of nods followed, including Freminet’s.

After this, he could dive as deep and as long as he wanted, alone in the water, no conversations, no expectations. Just pressure and breath and silence. He’ll manage to endure a few minutes of group work for that. 

“Coach’ll call out who starts,” Mualani added, stepping back and deferring to Wriothesley.

Wriothesley’s eyes skimmed across the pool like he was taking in every detail, before he called out three people, one from each group, to start the test. Freminet was one of the three who were supposed to start.

“Freminet. Let’s show everyone how it’s done.”

And just like that, all eyes landed on him.

His face flushed immediately. Great.

He sank halfway back into the water, as if hiding in plain sight would make him disappear.

Still, he gave a small nod. He wouldn’t argue. Not with that voice. Wriothesley always sounded proud in this quiet, steady way that made Freminet want to do well, even if the attention made his skin itch.

Along with the two others, he swam to the front, to take one of the belts Wriothesley had carried out for them, just to make staying down at the depth a little easier.

Wriothesley smiled just slightly, then clapped once. “Alright. Practice your breathing. When you’re ready, give me a signal and I’ll start the timer.”

Freminet took his place beside the others, shoulders low, breath already beginning to slow.

This was the part he understood. Breathing. Sinking. Becoming smaller and quieter with each inhale. Preparing to disappear, even if just for a little while.

Freminet inhaled slowly and deep, then let the air slip from his lungs in a measured stream. Again. Then again. He’d done this ritual a hundred times before, lowering his heart rate, easing his body into a calm state before the dive. Normally, it worked like magic. Reliable. Predictable.

But today, something felt… off.

His chest was tight. Not in a panicked way, just not relaxed. His heartbeat ticked along just a little too fast. No matter how carefully he exhaled, it wouldn’t slow the way it usually did.

He tried not to think too hard about it.

The other two had already given Coach the signal and were slipping beneath the surface. Freminet didn’t want to lag behind, didn’t want eyes lingering on him for too long. So he nodded toward Wriothesley, took one final breath- deeper than it should’ve been really- and dove.

The world turned blue.

All sound dulled. The surface folded away behind him. And with it, the noise in his head.

He descended easily to the three-meter ledge and hovered there, suspended in stillness. His limbs floated loosely, fingers brushing the tiled wall as he watched the other two divers settle nearby. Their movements were slow, calm, mirrored versions of his own.

This was the part he lived for.

The weightlessness. The silence. The distant hum of pool filters pulsing through the water like a heartbeat that wasn’t quite his. Down here, the tension in his chest softened a little. The pressure from the suit eased, as if the water absorbed it for him.

Maybe this was enough. Just staying here, not even diving deeper. Just… existing in a way that didn’t feel heavy.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed someone else gliding past in a slow, practiced stroke. A blur at first, but familiar. Mualani was doing her usual rounds as it seemed. Wriothesley must have sent her in to check each group more closely. She moved methodically, scanning the divers one by one with that calm alertness she’d picked up from him.

Freminet drifted lower, fingers slipping off the ledge. His gaze tilted upward, where Davy and the other boy hovered just beneath the surface, watching like they were supposed to. All good. All calm.

But then something shifted.

It wasn’t sudden, not at first. Just a slight wave of wrongness moving through his limbs. A fuzziness in his head. His thoughts slowed, as if they were being dragged underwater ahead of him.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

His arms didn’t quite respond the way he expected.

His chest squeezed, like the breath he took before diving hadn’t been deep enough after all. Like his lungs had been lying to him.

His vision swam, dark corners bleeding into the blue. It was like the light couldn’t quite reach him anymore.

Too soon. This is too soon.

He shifted, or tried to, but it felt like swimming through syrup. His limbs moved in the wrong rhythm, delayed and sluggish. His fingers twitched uselessly.

The water pressed in tighter. His head felt light and full at once. He blinked again, but the world didn’t refocus.

He tried to kick upward. Tried to move. Tried to care that he wasn’t moving.

Somewhere above, a hand shifted. Frantic movement.

The edges of his vision closed in. Blue turned black, like ink spilling across glass.

And then, just before everything slipped away- 

A splash.

Loud. Close.

Then nothing.

There were too many sounds.

Voices, muffled and distant, like they were speaking through water. A siren in his chest. Pressure in his skull. Everything felt wrapped in cotton, dense and slow and wrong.

Then it burned.

His lungs clenched, aching, like they’d been wrung dry and only now remembered their job. He gasped, and the breath came jagged and loud, followed by a violent cough that racked through his chest and shoulders.

Hands caught him before he could curl in on himself. Gentle, firm. Turning him onto his side. A voice, low and steady, spoke close to his ear.

“You’re okay. Just breathe. You’re out of the water.”

Freminet coughed again, harder this time, chest spasming. His throat burned. Every breath felt like it had to claw its way down.

More voices. Softer ones. One of them… Mualani?

His eyes fluttered open and shut again. Everything was too bright, too wet, too cold.

Memory hit in pieces: the silence of the water. The way his limbs had stopped listening. The world shrinking to blue and black.

He blinked up at a blur of ceiling lights and Wriothesley’s face above him, calm but focused, jaw set with that unreadable tension Freminet had only ever seen when something had gone very wrong.

“I’m-” Freminet’s voice cracked and he winced. “Sorry. I- I can walk. I can get to the hospital on my own, it’s not… it’s not that bad.”

There was a pause.

Then Wriothesley exhaled, not sharply, but in that kind of ‘seriously, kid?’ way only he could manage without raising his voice.

“You passed out underwater,” he said quietly, crouched at Freminet’s side, steadying a towel over his shoulders. “You’re not walking anywhere.”

Mualani knelt nearby, eyes wide but kind, a towel clutched in one hand like she wasn’t sure if she should be drying him off or holding it out for him.

“We already called for an ambulance,” she added gently. “Just try to stay still, okay? They’re almost here.”

Freminet swallowed hard. The guilt bubbled up faster than the water ever had.

“I didn’t mean to ruin practice,” he muttered, barely audible. “I- I was fine. Just tired. I thought-”

“You don’t need to explain,” Wriothesley cut in, softer now, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “You’re safe. That’s what matters.”

Freminet turned his face into the towel to hide the fact that his cheeks were burning.

He hated this. He hated being seen, being weak, being the reason everyone else had to stop what they were doing.

But he didn’t resist when Wriothesley’s hand stayed steady on his back, or when Mualani gave his arm a reassuring squeeze as the sound of sirens grew closer in the background.

Because somewhere deep down, even under the weight of the shame, he was grateful.

He just wished it didn’t have to be so obvious.

“I’ll grab his things,” Mualani said, rising quickly once it was clear Freminet was conscious and breathing. Her voice was still calm, but there was tension in the way she moved, her shoulders tight, like she didn’t quite trust the moment to last.

Before she could turn, Davy stepped forward, already climbing out of the pool.

“I can get them,” he said, shaking water from his hair. “I know where his bag is.”

Mualani hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Thanks.”

Freminet was only half following the conversation. The air was colder now, the wetsuit clinging like a second skin turned against him. His muscles ached in odd places. His head felt like it had been stuffed with waterlogged cotton.

Wriothesley knelt beside him, voice low. “Think you can get changed before the medics get here?”

Freminet blinked, the words filtering in like static.

“Or at least out of the suit,” Mualani added, crouching down again, her tone softer now. “It’ll help you warm up.”

Getting out of the suit. What a dream.

Because nothing says ‘I’m totally fine, almost peachy even’ like peeling yourself out of neoprene while feeling like you’re made of overcooked noodles.

He didn’t say that out loud, but his expression must’ve said enough because Wriothesley gave him the faintest huff of amusement before standing.

“You don’t have to do anything alone,” he said, already scanning the far end of the hall for the paramedics.

Freminet nodded vaguely.

A few moments later, Davy jogged back into view, slowing down once he reached the hall, soaked to the knees but carrying Freminet’s bag and towel like it was a rescue mission. He passed them off to Mualani with a sheepish smile and backed off, clearly uncertain if he should say more or not.

Mualani helped Freminet stand up and guided him across the slippery tiles toward the lifeguard hut just off the side of the pool. The walk, if it could even be called that, was a blur. Every step made his legs feel weaker, his vision tunneling a little more with each shift in balance.

By the time they reached the door, his knees buckled and Mualani caught him just in time.

“Okay, okay- easy,” she murmured, guiding him down onto the small bench inside the hut. “Don’t stand again until they’ve checked you out.”

Freminet nodded faintly. The world felt like it was lagging behind his movements.

He barely registered her unzipping the suit or peeling it down from his shoulders, careful not to make him do too much. Everything felt muted, his skin felt too cold, his breath too warm, his body both too heavy and too distant.

Getting dressed was a collection of vague impressions: dry fabric, clumsy hands, the scrape of a zipper. He wasn’t sure if he did any of it himself or if Mualani just took over at some point.

The next thing he noticed was the sharp echo of new footsteps. Shoes, not bare feet. Voices. Efficient. Calm.

Paramedics.

He turned his head just slightly, eyes catching the red of their jackets.

He didn’t remember hearing the doors open.

Everything blurred together after the lifeguard hut.

Freminet stayed conscious, but it didn’t feel like it. Sounds came and went. Voices low and professional, water dripping somewhere far away, zippers, velcro, plastic rustling. Hands moved around him, checking, adjusting. A mask pressed over his nose and mouth, cool air flowing in steady, hissing breaths. He stared at the ceiling. Not the pool ceiling. The ambulance ceiling, white and ribbed, like it had been built by someone who thought comfort was a myth.

Someone spoke beside him, asking questions. He nodded, or shook his head, or just blinked when even that felt like too much. His chest ached, not sharp, just like something heavy had settled inside it. Like there was still water in him, even though he hadn’t swallowed any. Hopefully at least.

They asked about allergies. About pain. About if this had ever happened before.

Then, one question stumped him.

“Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”

Freminet’s eyes twitched. His throat clenched around the breath he’d just taken, the mask suddenly too close to his face.

He turned his head just slightly toward the voice, barely managing to speak.

“I’ve never even had a period,” he said, voice hoarse, cracking at the edges. “Ever. So… no.”

It came out too fast. Too defensive. Like he had to justify something he never wanted to explain out loud.

The nurse just sighed, not in irritation, but more tired in that clinical way professionals got when a patient’s shame said more than it should’ve.

“We’ll check, just to be sure,” she said gently. “It’s standard before we can do imaging. Nothing personal.”

Freminet turned his face away again, burning quietly under the oxygen mask.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, his eyes open but unfocused. Streetlights flashed in short bursts through the small ambulance windows, too far above to touch.

At the hospital, more hands. Brisk instructions. They didn’t rush, but they moved with the weight of protocol. He was wheeled through corridors that blurred into one another, all white walls, pale lights, something antiseptic clinging to the air. They asked his name again. His date of birth. They took his temperature, his blood pressure, blood samples. Someone clipped a pulse monitor to his finger. Another nurse tucked blankets around him as they moved him into a small private room.

Someone mentioned a pregnancy test again, like they’d already forgotten the first answer.

He didn’t argue this time.

He just stared at the ceiling until it blurred too, waiting for everything to stop feeling like he was floating. Or drowning.

Whichever came first.

A nurse returned to his side with a clipped smile and a quiet efficiency that made her movements feel distant, like she was part of a scene being acted out behind a sheet of glass.

She adjusted the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger, then slipped a stethoscope beneath the collar of the hospital gown someone must’ve dressed him in while he wasn’t paying attention.

“Deep breath,” she said, pressing the cold diaphragm to his back.

Freminet inhaled.

She listened to his, admittedly rather shaky breath, and then nodded faintly to herself, checked something on the monitor, and marked it down on the chart.

“Your blood oxygen’s looking stable,” she murmured. “That’s good. You’re recovering.”

Freminet blinked slowly. Recovering. Sure.

The door opened again with a soft click, and another nurse stepped in, this one younger, a clipboard balanced on her arm like a tray. She barely glanced at him before speaking.

“So,” she said, like she was announcing the weather, “we were about to do a quick chest X-ray to make sure there wasn’t any fluid in your lungs, but that’s on hold.”

She paused.

“Because you’re pregnant.”

Silence.

The word didn’t land so much as slide across his brain like a stone skipping across the surface of a lake.

Pregnant.

She kept talking, saying something about a different scan, a low-risk alternative, ultrasound maybe, but her voice was already warping at the edges, too far away.

Freminet just stared at her.

No. No, that wasn’t right.

They were wrong.

He couldn’t be. He’d never even- he would’ve known, wouldn’t he? People knew. People had symptoms. Signs. Whatever they were. He hadn’t had anything. Nothing obvious. Just the dive suit fitting weird and maybe feeling tired, but he was always somewhat tired.

His chest rose and fell too quickly. The oxygen mask was still there, but it wasn’t helping now. His breath caught halfway up his throat and stayed there, refusing to move.

He tried to count backward from ten. He got to seven before his thoughts started racing again.

They mixed him up with someone else. That had to be it. There were other people. Other charts. Other tests. It wasn’t him.

It couldn’t be him.

His fingers tightened slightly on the blanket, clutching fabric he hadn’t realized was there. He looked at his hands. His arms. His body. Everything still felt like his. So why did it suddenly feel like it wasn’t?

He looked up again just in time to see the younger nurse sigh and turn, leaving the room with a casual flick of the door behind her, as if she hadn’t just detonated something.

The other nurse stayed.

She said something soft and maybe comforting, but it didn’t reach him. The words filtered through, muffled and meaningless.

All Freminet could hear was the echo in his own head.

Pregnant.

No, no, no. They had to be wrong. He wasn’t.

He couldn’t be.

The sharp, unmistakable sound of heels striking polished tile pulled Freminet out of the thick fog of his thoughts. He blinked, only then realizing how dry his eyes were. His whole body felt brittle, like glass under pressure.

Muted voices filtered in from the hallway. One of them hit instantly, a tone that cut through everything. Precise. Controlled. Familiar.

The door opened, and the young nurse from earlier peeked her head in, still too casual for the gravity of the moment.

“Freminet, your mother is here.”

He gave a small nod.

No one corrected her. It usually wasn’t worth the breath and confusion.

Arlecchino entered the room with her usual measured stride, black coat swinging faintly behind her. Her posture was perfect, her presence like a storm held just at bay. She didn’t look flustered or out of breath. If she’d left court in a hurry, she’d buried every trace of it beneath that unreadable expression she always wore like armor.

She approached his bedside without hesitation, her eyes scanning him once, efficiently, as if taking inventory of every bruise, every detail.

“You look horrible,” she said lightly, but her voice was even, calm, and oddly gentle beneath the words.

Freminet didn’t meet her eyes.

A quiet alarm went off somewhere deep in his chest. He shouldn’t say anything about the pregnancy. The doctors were wrong anyway. They’d figure that out soon enough. There was no reason to bring it up, especially not to her.

Arlecchino sat in the chair beside the bed, crossing one leg over the other. Her coat didn’t even wrinkle. She folded her gloved hands in her lap.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” she said, voice low but steady. “No one told me I got a call. But I came as soon as I could. I was told you’re stable now.”

Her eyes met his, sharp, searching.

“How are you feeling?”

Freminet swallowed, guilt rising up the back of his throat like bile. She must’ve walked out of a courtroom to come here. A trial, maybe. A hearing. Something important. And he’d passed out like an idiot in a pool and dragged her away from work over nothing.

He shouldn’t have needed anyone. Should’ve just gotten up and walked out and handled it.

He was supposed to be fine.

“Fine,” he muttered, barely audible.

The room fell quiet.

Arlecchino didn’t push.

She rarely did. She knew how silence worked. Knew that sometimes it was more effective than confrontation. She just sat there, the picture of control, watching him with the eyes of someone who’d been trained to read every detail, and who was now carefully choosing not to say what she was really thinking.

Freminet turned his face slightly toward the window, as if the blank stretch of sky beyond the glass had something to offer him. It didn’t.

He wasn’t fine.

And sooner or later, someone was going to say the word pregnant again in front of her.

He just hoped it wouldn’t be him.

The silence lingered long enough to start folding in on itself.

Freminet kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling tiles, each one slightly uneven under the fluorescent lights, counting the grid lines like they meant something.

Across the room, the nurse shifted her weight and cleared her throat softly. The sound made Freminet flinch, barely.

“Well,” she said, her voice careful, “once we’ve run a few more scans, and everything comes back clear, you’ll be free to go home.”

Her fingers tapped something into the tablet resting at her hip.

“We’ll be checking your lungs for fluid or any lingering signs of trauma. It’s mostly a precaution at this point. But while he’s being scanned,” she stopped and glanced politely at Arlecchino, “we’ll need someone to handle the discharge paperwork and medical review. Miss Chalereau, if that’s alright with you?”

Arlecchino gave the nurse a curt nod. “Of course.”

Then her attention returned to Freminet.

“You’ll be alright?” she asked, not doubting him, just verifying.

Freminet nodded once. He didn’t trust his voice to sound convincing.

Arlecchino studied him for a breath longer, then stood with smooth, deliberate grace. She touched his shoulder briefly, just enough to ground the moment, no more.

“I’ll be back once they’re done,” she said.

It wasn’t a question or a reassurance. It was a statement of fact.

She stepped out of the room with the nurse following behind, the door clicking shut with a finality that left Freminet alone again in the too-quiet room.

The ache in his chest hadn’t gone away. Neither had the word echoing in his skull like a dropped stone in deep water.

Pregnant.

They had to be wrong.

Didn’t they?

A different nurse entered a few minutes later, older, calm, clipboard in hand. She closed the door gently behind her and approached the side of the bed, pausing only when she saw the way Freminet was staring at nothing in particular, eyes fixed but distant.

“I’m guessing you didn’t really hear what my colleague said earlier,” she said softly, not unkind. “About the scans.”

Freminet blinked, slow and vague, then nodded once in apology. He hadn’t meant to ignore her, he’d just… stopped registering sound.

She checked his vitals on the monitor, then looked back at him, more gently this time.

“Based on your reaction, I’m going to assume you didn’t know,” she added, voice even quieter now. “Would you like us to inform your guardian?”

Freminet’s head snapped up, panic flaring immediately in his eyes. He shook his head fast, almost frantically.

The nurse gave a slow, understanding nod. No judgment. Just acknowledgement.

“Alright. We won’t say anything. That’s your call.”

She tapped a few notes into the chart, then continued. “Once we’ve confirmed your lungs are clear, we’d like to do a quick ultrasound. Just to check on everything and rule out complications.”

Freminet didn’t answer right away.

He couldn’t.

He glanced down, an impulse more than thought, and for the first time really looked at his stomach. Just a soft curve. Barely there, but now he noticed it. And once he noticed, he couldn’t unsee it.

He placed his hand there cautiously, more out of instinct than intention.

And then he felt it. Not movement. Just pressure. A shape.

His hand recoiled like he’d touched a hot stove.

No.

They were still wrong. They had to be.

But his nod came anyway, small, sharp and resigned.

The nurse didn’t comment on it. She simply made another note.

The scan itself was quick. A technician came in, wheeled him down the hall, attached a few leads and ran the equipment. Cold gel. Wires. The soft buzz of machinery. Nothing alarming. Nothing painful.

When it was done, the nurse reappeared with a light blanket and a calm tone.

“Your lungs look good. Clear. No sign of water or damage. You’re fine to be discharged later, but we’d recommend rest for the next day or two. No physical exertion.”

She paused, letting that land, then offered a gentle, expectant look.

“Are you ready for the ultrasound?”

Freminet nodded again, slower this time.

Even if every part of him still wanted the answer to be no.

Freminet lay on the examination table, the thin hospital gown clinging to his skin, damp in places where he hadn’t realized he was still sweating. The room was too quiet, too warm. His heart raced beneath his ribs like it was trying to escape.

How was he supposed to tell Father?

She had walked into that hospital room like nothing could touch her, all steel composure and silent fury just waiting for a direction. What was he supposed to say?

Oh, by the way, I’m pregnant. Surprise. Hope the judge was understanding in letting you go early.

No. No, he wouldn’t have to tell her. Because this wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

The nurse had said they’d run a scan, sure, but once it was done, they’d see. It would be empty. They’d apologize for the mix-up, tell him it was some lab error, some strange reading. He’d get dressed. Go home. Forget this.

But…

What if it wasn’t a mistake?

His thoughts jumped again.

What about Gaming?

How was he supposed to explain this to his boyfriend?

He could already picture the stunned silence, the confusion. Gaming trying to laugh it off until he realized Freminet wasn’t joking. 

Infertile. That was the word they had both trusted. The doctors said so. Early puberty blockers, no cycles, no period, no nothing. It was supposed to be impossible.

So why did his suit feel tighter?

Why had he felt so tired?

No. No, no. It was stress. That’s all. The water. The pressure. The blackout. His body was just being dramatic. It wasn’t a baby, it was fatigue. Gas. Something else.

He squeezed his eyes shut. His chest rose and fell in shallow, fast breaths.

It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.

Then came the cold gel. The pressure of the probe. The low hum of the machine starting up.

His mind went blank.

The nurse adjusted the probe in slow, practiced movements, her expression unreadable. Freminet didn’t look at the screen. Not at first. He stared at the ceiling, white and full of tiny perforated holes that looked like stars if you were scared enough to hallucinate.

Then the nurse angled the monitor slightly toward him, just a little. Just enough.

“There,” she said, voice quiet and certain. “That’s your baby.”

And everything stopped.

His racing thoughts fell away like a dropped glass shattering into silence. His chest still rose and fell, but it didn’t feel like breathing anymore. Just motion.

He stared at the screen.

Small. Curled. Unmistakable.

A soft flicker marked the heartbeat. A limb shifted, twitching. The form was real. Defined. Human.

Shit…

She kept talking.

“Looks like about seventeen to eighteen weeks. That’s a bit over four months. Small, but otherwise healthy.”

Freminet didn’t move. Not a sound came out of him. His mouth might’ve been open. He didn’t know.

The only words that made it out were barely more than breath.

“Can I get an abortion?”

The nurse’s face softened, but not with pity. Just weariness.

“I’m sorry. This far along, it’s only legal in cases where the baby isn’t viable or the pregnancy puts your health at serious risk.”

Her tone stayed gentle. Matter-of-fact.

“But if your psychological health is at risk, you can request an evaluation. If a certified mental health provider agrees, you may qualify for an exemption. It takes time, but it’s possible.”

She reached over to a small clipboard and pulled a card from the stack, placing it neatly on the tray beside the monitor.

“This clinic can get you started.”

Freminet still said nothing.

“And you’ll have to stop taking testosterone immediately, as I saw it’s still being prescribed to you,” she added. “It’s not safe to continue while pregnant.”

She began cleaning the probe, wiping the gel from his abdomen. The machine powered down beside her with a soft electronic sigh.

Then she hesitated, glancing at the printer attached to the machine.

It whirred softly. A page slid out.

She pulled the printout free and offered it out to him, holding it gently by the corner.

“It’s yours. In case you need it.”

Freminet stared at it like it was a live grenade.

A single sheet. The image that had just silenced his entire world.

He reached for it slowly, fingers trembling at the edges, and took it without looking down.

He didn’t unfold it. Didn’t glance at the picture.

Just held it.

Back in the dim, quiet exam room, Freminet sat on the edge of the bed, gown still wrapped loosely around him. A nurse had returned with his clothes folded neatly on a chair in the corner, his bag placed just beside it.

Before she could say anything, he carefully slipped the ultrasound photo and the clinic card beneath the gown, pressing them flat against his stomach with trembling fingers. Hidden. Out of sight. As if that might undo what he’d seen.

“They brought your things,” the nurse said softly, gesturing toward the chair. “Would you like help getting dressed?”

He shook his head, still staring at the floor. “No, thank you.”

She gave a small nod and stepped out, leaving the door closed behind her.

Freminet walked, slow and stiffly, across the room. He opened his bag and slid the card and photo inside, slipping them into one of the side pockets and zipping it shut with careful hands.

Only then did he begin to dress. Shirt first. Pants. Jacket. Each movement slower than the last, like his limbs weren’t entirely convinced this was real.

As soon as he finished adjusting his sleeves, the door opened again.

Arlecchino stepped in, coat still perfect, expression unreadable but calm.

“Did everything go well?” she asked, eyes skimming his posture, his face, his bag.

Freminet nodded once. “They said I can go.”

“Good,” she said, approaching him. Her gloved hand rose, and she gently patted his head, brushing a few damp strands of hair from his forehead.

“You scared us, you know,” she said, her tone a little quieter than usual. “Be more careful next time.”

He didn’t answer.

“No diving practice next week,” she added, with the finality of a court order. “And no swimming course. Rest.”

Another nod. Freminet didn’t argue. He wasn’t sure he was even allowed to go diving now. Was it safe? Would pressure mess with… with it? The thought made his chest tighten.

What was he even supposed to do now?

She reached for his bag, and a flicker of panic spiked in his chest.

Not the bag.

What if she looked? What if she saw?

But then he breathed, just barely, and remembered that Father never went through their things. Not without asking. Not once. It would be unlikely she changed that habit now.

She picked it up with practiced ease and slung it over one shoulder.

“Come on,” she said simply.

He followed, legs still unsteady. Arlecchino didn’t rush him. She kept just a pace ahead, glancing back when they reached the elevator, slowing for every turn in the corridor, every uneven step.

At reception, she handled the paperwork like she’d done it a hundred times. Form after form, ID, insurance, signature, all without looking flustered. Once everything was signed, she led him out through the hospital doors, the afternoon light making him blink.

Her car was parked nearby, sleek and spotless. She unlocked it with a subtle click and opened the passenger side door for him before circling to the driver’s seat, dropping Freminet’s bag on the back seat.

“I’ll drop you off at home,” she said, her voice neutral again. “I have to return to the office for a few hours. Lyney and Lynette are making dinner.”

A pause.

“Please eat enough tonight.”

Freminet nodded again, automatic.

She shifted into drive, then glanced at him briefly.

“Your boyfriend called, by the way. Asked if you were okay.”

Freminet froze.

His heart jolted. He turned quickly toward his bag, fingers scrambling for the zipper.

In the back seat, Arlecchino reached behind her, calmly, and lifted the bag.

“Here,” she said, handing it forward, setting it gently on his lap. “Don’t strain yourself.”

He clutched the bag with both hands, holding it tight against him.

Inside, his phone buzzed once and then went quiet again.

As Arlecchino eased the car out of the parking space with practiced precision, Freminet unlocked his phone.

A mistake, maybe.

He was immediately met with a wall of notifications. Most were from Gaming. No surprise there.

The messages started in full-blown panic mode, all time stamped around half an hour after diving practice had supposedly begun.

“Are you okay?? Lionel said something happened with you, in the chat.”

“Why aren’t you answering??”

“Did you lose your phone or something? Please tell me you’re okay.”

Then came the damage control. Stickers. Too many hearts. A shaky attempt at casual reassurance that somehow still screamed please text me back between every line.

About halfway through, one message stood out.

“Lyney said you’re fine. Your father told him you just had to get some scans. So. I’m calming down now. Kind of.”

Right. Of course Arlecchino had updated his siblings while she waited. She was efficient like that.

Freminet scrolled down and almost smiled softly when he saw a photo.

Gaming’s dog, Man Chai, mid-motion blur, barely visible except for one frantic eye and a blur of fur. The caption read:

“He says get well soon too. He’s very concerned. Or he smelled snacks. But mostly concern.”

Freminet typed back before he could overthink it.

“Looks like Man Chai’s blessing worked.”

The little “typing…” bubble appeared instantly. Predictably.

What followed was a flood.

A keysmash. Several, actually.

“YOU’RE ALIVE! OH THANK GOD I was already thinking the worst! But your brother told me your father was with you and said you’re fine! Are you fine? HOW are you?? I KNEW something felt off when I dropped you off. I should’ve said something. I KNEW IT. Ughhh.”

Freminet let out a quiet breath, half sigh, half laugh. Gaming’s dramatics were, weirdly, comforting. He didn’t need to say much when Gaming was already filling in the emotional silence with ten different trains of thought.

“Everything’s fine,” he typed. “I just have to rest for a bit.”

He stared at the next message he almost sent for too long.

“Can you come over later? I need to talk to you about something.”

He deleted it.

Too soon.

Instead came:

“Probably won’t be allowed back at school tomorrow. Can you tell me if anything important happens?”

Gaming responded quickly, as usual.

“Of course!! I’ll bring you the homework after class. We’ve got that test Friday, remember? I can help you study! Unless you’re still dying. In which case, I’ll study and you’ll lie there looking pretty.”

Pause.

“Actually, I could tell the teacher you nearly drowned. She’d definitely give you a pass. I mean… you kind of did. But still.”

Freminet sighed, thumbs hovering.

“Please don’t scare the teacher. I’m fine, remember?”

There was something comforting about the way Gaming filled the silence, turning tragedy into mild comedy and worry into overzealous support. The more they chatted, the more Freminet felt the tightness in his chest begin to ease, not vanish, but soften. Like maybe everything hadn’t unraveled just yet.

He barely noticed the car slowing until Arlecchino pulled into the driveway. Home.

Before he could get out of the car and put his bag over his shoulder, she stepped to his side. 

“Let me carry it,” she said, not unkindly. “You’re still pale.”

Freminet tensed for a moment, remembering the ultrasound photo inside, but then forced himself to relax. She wouldn’t look. Everyone deserved their privacy. That was a rule she upheld more fiercely than most. So he carefully handed the bag to her.

He followed her up the steps slowly, each one a little easier now that the haze had begun to clear.

The front door opened.

And then he was tackled.

“You’re alive!” Lyney’s voice was a full-volume declaration, arms flung around Freminet before he’d even had time to brace. “Do you have to give us heart attacks like this?”

“I’m fine,” Freminet mumbled, but there was no real irritation in his voice.

Lynette leaned around the corner from the kitchen, holding a wooden spoon. “Dinner’s almost ready. Father told us not to make anything too heavy.”

Arlecchino brushed past them with the bag slung over one shoulder and set it down near the stairs with her usual no-nonsense grace.

“He needs rest. No arguments,” she said, already halfway back toward the door. “Lynette’s in charge.”

Lyney gasped like he’d just been personally betrayed.

“What?! Why Lynette? I am extremely reliable, Father.”

Arlecchino didn’t even slow her pace. “I’m sure you are,” she replied dryly, without a shred of conviction, and didn’t elaborate.

The front door shut quietly behind her, and Freminet watched Lyney deflate in real time, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “This is favoritism.”

But after a beat, Lyney turned back, plastering a slightly over-bright smile onto his face.

“Alright, fine. Come on, let’s get you to the living room, Fremi. We’ve got blankets and dinner, and I was thinking we could watch a movie. Maybe that one you like with the seals. Song of the Sea, right?”

He meant well. Probably had been thinking about this for hours. How to hover in disguise.

Freminet hesitated, then shook his head, eyes dropping to the floor.

“Actually… can I eat in my room today?” he asked, voice quiet. “I’m kind of tired.”

Not a lie. Just not the full truth.

Lyney’s smile faltered. “But-” He caught himself, adjusted. “Right, of course. Yeah. Sure.”

He tried to recover with a grin. “Tomorrow then? We’ll do the whole thing. Blankets, seals, snacks, emotional trauma- whatever you want!”

Freminet didn’t look up. “Tomorrow.”

Luckily, before Lyney could launch into another offer, Lynette stepped in from the hallway like some quiet guardian angel. She placed a steady hand on her twin’s shoulder and gently nudged him out of the moment.

“Let him rest. It was an exhausting day,” she said, calm but firm.

Then she turned to Freminet and held out her hand.

“Come. I’ll help you get upstairs.”

There weren’t enough words in any known language to describe how grateful he was for her. For her silence. Her timing. Her ability to read the room like it was printed in subtitles just for her.

He nodded and took her hand, letting her guide him upstairs, each step heavier than the last, his body aching in all the wrong places.

In his room, Lynette placed his bag neatly on the chair at his desk, which was its usual spot, and turned back to him.

“I’ll bring you dinner in a bit,” she said. “Text me if you need anything, alright?”

He nodded again. She lingered only a moment longer, then slipped out and closed the door with a soft click.

Finally, silence.

Freminet exhaled.

His eyes darted to the bag. He wanted, he needed, to take out the ultrasound picture and the clinic card. Hide them somewhere. Anywhere. Somewhere no one would accidentally find them. Not Lyney, not Lynette, and definitely not Father.

But he had no idea how long he had before someone knocked again. Two minutes? Ten?

Instead, he crossed the room and sank onto his bed, curling around his favorite plush, a big, soft penguin with one flipper slightly more worn than the other.

It didn’t fix anything, but it helped. A little.

He wished Gaming were here. To hold him. To talk to him. To maybe laugh a little too loud at something stupid until the tension cracked and Freminet could breathe again.

But at the same time… the solitude felt good.

He didn’t have to talk. Didn’t have to explain. Didn’t have to keep up with anyone’s expectations or hide the way his hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

He could just be.

Alone. Quiet. Pressed into the warmth of a stuffed penguin.

And for now, that was enough.