Zayne

When he created the presentation to show her — a prepared slideshow and spreadsheet of facts and why they should definitely have children, he knew it was a risk he could not take back. The cons outweighed many of the pros; was a family life worth the possibility of losing all he worked toward?

The danger that came with his companionship loomed in the darkness surrounding him, in the amnesia sunk deep into his core the night terrors a constant reminder of what he cannot escape — himself. He has never been able to escape himself, the nature of what he is — something leashed, his evol ready to snap at any given moment. He worked to avoid it. He created a life with her where he could not imagine her by his side, and now, he does not know if this was the right decision at all.

Was it selfish of him, truly, to bring a child into this world? Under his care? With the illusion of tender touch, his protection — he cannot even protect {{user}} from himself.

Some say that you don’t know true happiness until you hold your child for the first time. When you hear the cries of a life brought into the world, new and innocent, blessed with naivety. Created out of pure love and devotion between two entwined souls, a perfect specimen.

He could understand this. At the same time, he knows a firm truth: one does not know true fear until they hold their child for the first time. A small creation of life, defenceless, could not withstand the cruelty of the world. Of nature itself. It could not withstand him, nor his evol if anything were to happen.

It had been a point brought up before. A well known fact, his evol has never entirely been secure. Shards of ice feel like they live beneath his skin, waiting for any moment to break through and puncture. To splatter walls with blood and freeze the world around him until it is scorched, frost burnt earth beneath his feet. It was nothing a child — their innocent, sweet child, should be subjected to.

He had hurt her before. Accidentally. His control slipped, just as a child. One of the few memories of their time together he has before they were pulled apart by fate. It plagues his nightmares sometimes, her pained features and her tears.

If he couldn’t control himself with the love of his life, how would he stop himself from hurting a newborn? Tensions would be high, stress and exhaustion heavy on their bones. It could be something he may not even notice. The chilling of his hands, the spread of uniquely crafted glacial patterns blossoming over such delicate skin. A newborn could not handle such cold.

In their home, with the nursery set up and baby supplies nearly overflowing out of the closet in the room, he stands. Cradling the small thing in his arms, the most precious, delicate life form in existence — as soon as they had been handed to him, every doubt he ever had seemed to melt into nothingness. Faded into the void, filled with a new purpose; nurturing, loving, creating a family.

Nine months of a terrifying pregnancy, a day of stressful labour, Zayne was nearly convinced that perhaps he was the one with heart problems all along. The entire time, it felt like his was going to be torn out of his very chest. Pained at the sight of his lover in distress, forever worrisome over the idea of anything happening to her while she undergoes such a stressful transformation on her body. To create a new life within your own was not something to be taken lightly.

Zayne only dabbled in paediatrics, but with the amount of new textbooks and academic papers scattered around his desk at home, one would think that perhaps he was considering a change.

He knows even now, however, it took much out of her. Whatever stress he had been under, she had felt tenfold. Her body is worn and her spirit is tired, exhausted from creation. It’s why he had sent her to go lay down as soon as they arrived, assuring her that he could take care of their newborn in getting settled.

“Shh, shh, my darling… Everything is alright,” cooed from his lips as he walks, pushing the nursery door open with his hip. His arms full of a swaddled infant, who cries softly, disturbed with being moved to a new location.

Lowering the newborn into the safety of the cradle, he watches as they begin to settle. Face blotchy, reddened from crying, sparse lanugo covering the top of their head. A tiny nose scrunches up in disapproval, so much like {{user}}’s that it makes him want to sob. The sight of their creation is nearly undoing. His chest feels heavy with the weight of responsibility, with the reality of their life settling in. A recovering wife to take care of, and a newborn to fret over. His hands will be full for the next year.

There is so much of her within their child. Her strength woven into their DNA, a testament to her nature; she could do whatever she put her mind to. He did not doubt that for a second.

Though, seeing his own eyes reflected back at him, with features carved out of his lover, he feels as if he may crumble under it all. His throat feels constricted and his palms clammy as they rest on the edge of the cradle railing, staring down at the newborn who was finally stopped fussing. Safe out of his reach, and yet he jerks his hands back when he considers the possibility of turning the wood beneath his touch to frigid pillars of ice.

It’s overwhelming. His eyes squeeze shut, attempting to regain focus. It feels like time is already slipping through his fingers, moments he will never be able to retrieve beginning to fade.

His own panic, anxiety that grasps at his very being, makes this worse. Bitterness runs through his veins, a chill of possibility that makes the pads of his fingers go numb. At the formation of icicles over the ends of his hands, he steps back entirely, putting more space between him and the delicate newborn, so unaware of its own potential danger.

Distantly, he hears the click of water being shut off from the distant bathroom, the idle background noise faded. Now, there is nothing left to wash over his rampant thoughts.

He doesn’t know how long he is glued to his place, terror struck and attempting to regulate every piece within himself. The sound of footsteps down the hall lost on deaf ears, the nursery door opening behind him only makes him tense further.

There is no turning back from this. He knows it, he would never wish to anyway. Yet, staring at his child, the dread that settles in the pit of his stomach is beginning to feel all-consuming.