Chapter 127: Chapter 127 - Let’s Talk About Condoms
Iyisha woke slowly, the room still dim, her body heavy and sore in that deep way that made her blink twice before she remembered why. She rolled onto her side and froze for a second when her eyes landed on him.
Malcolm was sprawled on his back, one arm thrown above his head, hair mussed, skin warm and unguarded in sleep, and the sight of him hit her harder than she expected. Too good. Almost unfairly so. She stared a beat too long, blinking like she needed to convince herself he was real.
She pushed herself upright and immediately winced.
Something warm slid down her inner thigh.
She froze completely, breath catching, legs locked, the reality of it settling in all at once. With stiff careful steps she made it to the bathroom, cleaned herself up, then sat there longer than necessary, elbows on her knees, head bowed.
No condom.
Again.
She squeezed her eyes shut, chastising herself quietly, replaying the choices that led there, knowing it was pointless and still unable to stop. It was not just on him. It never was. It took two. It always did.
When she finally stood and went back to the bed, her movements felt slower, heavier. She stopped beside it and looked down at him.
If she got pregnant, he would not leave her to fend for herself.
At least that was what she told herself.
Then the doubt slipped in, unwelcome and sharp. Would he. She did not know him well enough to be sure. Not really.
As if pulled by the weight of her stare, Malcolm’s eyes opened.
He focused on her instantly, alert even in sleep, gaze finding her where she stood frozen at the side of the bed.
"What," he asked, his voice still rough and deep, low enough that it sent an unwanted flutter through her.
Her mouth opened before she could soften it.
"We didn’t use a condom," she blurted. "Again."
He looked at her for a long second, then sat up and stood, completely unbothered by his nakedness, solid and calm in a way that only made her nerves worse.
"It’s fine," he said.
The words hit her wrong immediately.
Her eyes narrowed, heat flaring sharp and sudden as she turned fully toward him, because fine sounded like dismissal, like something she was supposed to swallow and move past without question.
"Fine?" she snapped. "What do you mean fine."
He did not answer.
Instead he turned away, reached for his pants, and pulled them on with unbothered ease, the quiet scrape of fabric suddenly loud in the room. The silence stretched, heavy and infuriating, while she stood there watching him move like nothing had shifted at all.
"Malcolm," she said, her voice tighter now, accusatory.
He straightened and spoke without turning.
"I got a vasectomy."
The words did not register at first.
"What," she said, blinking, her brain lagging behind the sound.
He pulled his shirt on, tugged it into place, still not looking at her, still maddeningly calm while her thoughts scrambled.
"There’s still a chance," she muttered, not even sure what she was arguing against, panic, confusion and logic colliding in her chest.
"I had it done when I was eighteen," he said evenly. "And you have an IUD."
It was not a question.
She froze, then nodded, slow and automatic, the room suddenly feeling smaller as the information settled, reshaped things, opened questions she did not know how to ask yet.
Then a knock hit the door.
Sharp. Close.
Iyisha flinched, her head snapping toward the sound, her heart jumping hard as reality rushed back in all at once.
Iyisha slipped into the bathroom and closed the door, moving through the motions of freshening up, splashing water on her face, steadying herself in the quiet. The edge she had felt earlier dulled as her thoughts slowed, shifting on their own now that the panic had passed.
Eighteen.
She stopped at the sink, hands braced on the porcelain, staring at her reflection while the number settled. That was young. Younger than she would have expected for a decision like that, and it made her pause, wondering what kind of life pressed someone into choices that final so early.
By the time she dressed, the tightness in her chest had eased. The tension that had followed her out of the bed loosened until she could breathe properly again, and she shook her head faintly, more at herself than anything else.
She had worked herself up over it.
Of course Malcolm would not put her in danger. The certainty felt steady now, obvious in hindsight. She should have asked him sooner instead of letting her thoughts spiral on their own.
She stepped out of the bathroom and froze.
Cyborg stood inside the room, leaning casually near the door, that same crooked grin already on his face. Iyisha sucked in a sharp breath, her body jolting before memory caught up with her. The knock. She had forgotten about it completely.
"Malcolm’s a lucky bastard," Cyborg said, eyes flicking between them. "You really outdid yourself last night."
Her surprise hardened into irritation.
She lifted her hand, palm up, expectant. "Where’s my winnings?"
"You’ll get it, Malcolm’s girl." he said easily, grin never fading.
"I do have a name," she added flatly.
Cyborg tilted his head, studying her. "Don’t like it."
Behind her, Malcolm was already moving, packing his bag with quiet efficiency, calm like the interruption was nothing new.
"What did Mikey call you?" Cyborg continued.
Iyisha blinked as the memory clicked into place. The table. The lights. The Asian guy with the neat hair.
"Astrel," she said.
Cyborg’s grin sharpened. "That’s better."
She rolled her eyes.
"I didn’t come here to flirt," he continued, tone shifting just enough to cut through the room, as if that was flirting. "I came to warn you."
Iyisha’s attention snapped fully to him. "About what."
"The military," Cyborg said. "They’re coming in for an inspection."
The word settled heavy between them.
Iyisha turned to Malcolm instinctively. He did not look surprised. He only nodded once, already confirming whatever calculation he had been running in his head.
"Where can we hide?" Malcolm asked, voice steady, controlled.
Cyborg’s grin faded completely this time.
"That," he said, "depends on how visible you’ve been. They’re going to comb this place," Cyborg said, his voice dropping just enough to matter. "They’re looking for...specific people."
His eyes slid to Malcolm.
Iyisha felt her stomach tighten instantly. If the military took Malcolm, there was no fixing it. No talking their way out. It would be over before it even started, and the thought made her chest feel too tight to breathe properly.
"The lightest search is at the gate," Cyborg continued, watching her closely now. "Screening zone."
Her gaze snapped back to him.
"I’m thinking you join the screening while they are here," he said. "Malcolm stays with you. Officially as your guard."
She did not hesitate. She nodded once. She had worked the screening zone before. She knew the routines, the questions, the rhythm of inspections and how to look useful without drawing attention.
"When will they be gone?" she asked.
Cyborg held their gaze a second too long, something close to apology slipping through his expression before he masked it again.
"Three days."
The number settled heavy in the room.
Iyisha glanced at Malcolm instinctively. Three days of soldiers, lists, questions, eyes everywhere. Three days of not slipping. Not hesitating. Not making a single mistake.
Will they make it?
