*Runze's POV*
Dr. Xi's clinic smells the same as it always does, antiseptic underneath something warmer, the faint trace of the lavender diffuser on the windowsill that I've come to associate with good news and bad news in equal measure.
I sit on the examination table in my usual position, slightly propped, my shirt lifted above my stomach. The paper beneath me crinkles every time I shift.
Bael is in the chair beside me.
His hand has been on my knee since we sat down, warm through the fabric of my trousers, his thumb making an absent circle near my kneecap that I don't think he's aware of. When Dr. Xi began reviewing the ultrasound images on his monitor, Bael's other hand moved to my wrist, his fingers resting lightly over my pulse.
I didn't say anything.
Dr. Xi is talking about positioning, about measurements, about how well the baby has settled in the last two weeks. Good words, solid words, the kind that make the breath come out a little easier.
