The lecture hall hummed like a hive, low voices bouncing off the slanted rows of desks, the glow of laptop screens lighting nervous faces. Students fidgeted with note cards, whispering rehearsed lines, the shuffle of papers filling every pause.
Yu sat stiffly beside Izan, his hands resting on his swelling belly, fingers kneading the fabric of his sweater. His heart thudded unevenly, loud in his ears. Every shuffle, every cough from across the room seemed to make his pulse spike higher.
"Do you think—"
Yu whispered, then stopped, swallowing back bile that rose not from morning sickness but from nerves.
Izan's gray eyes flicked sideways, sharp but calm, and his large hand closed over Yu's fidgeting fingers.
"Don't panic."
He murmured, voice pitched low so only Yu could hear.
"We know the material. We've rehearsed. Just breathe. In. Out."
