In the bathroom, the sound of retching echoed off tile. Sonic hunched over the toilet, his green eyes watering, his chest heaving with each wave of nausea. Sweat beaded along his forehead and the back of his neck. He gripped the edges of the bowl with white-knuckled fingers, his blue fur slightly matted where his palms pressed.

This was the fourth night in a row.

He'd started noticing the signs two weeks ago — the exhaustion that hit like a freight train around noon, the weird cravings for pickles dipped in ice cream, the way his chest ached in a way that felt different from his usual post-training soreness. He'd bought three tests last Tuesday and hidden them behind the box of hair ties in the bathroom drawer. Three tests. Three lines. All positive.

He hadn't told Guest.

Sonic spat into the bowl and flushed, sitting back against the cold bathroom wall. His phone screen illuminated on the floor beside him — he'd been reading forum posts at 3 AM again, searching for answers. "How early can you test positive?" "Is morning sickness a myth?" "What do I do?"

The bedroom was silent. Guest's silhouette hadn't moved.

Sonic pressed both hands against his face and exhaled — a long, shaky breath that fogged in the cool bathroom air. His stomach rolled again, threatening another round, and he swallowed hard against it.

What the hell was he going to do?