@seosexual - Tumblr Blog

Aug 15

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ daddy 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

final | series masterlist summary: he’s new to the neighborhood, moving into the house directly across from yours in the quiet little cul-de-sac. you don’t know much about him. only that he works on cars in his garage, mows his lawn shirtless like he’s trying to ruin your life, and always looks a little too tired. it’s not until a little girl appears in his driveway one afternoon that you realize the handsome mechanic across the street comes with a tiny family attached. pairing: girldad!bangchan x reader genre: fluff & angst, little smut cw/tags: emotional vulnerability, abortion/adoption conversations, crying, anxiety symptoms, fingering, oral (f receiving), familial themes, fear of abandonment, emotional triggers and trauma soundtrack: lithen when you're in love / spotify * ✩˚word count: 14.2k ˚✩ *

You stayed there for another few seconds before finally reaching down and pulling the bag free. The knot was still loose, and you tightened it automatically as you lifted it from the can. You already knew what you were going to do. Get it outside, get through the rest of the day, wait until Jia was asleep, then sit down with Chan and tell him the truth.

It didn't work.

The words were simple enough in your head.

You stepped out of the bathroom with the bag still clenched in your hand, only to hear a customer's voice from the front of the nursery.

"Sorry, could I ask you something?"

You looked up to find an older woman standing beside one of the display tables, a small fern cradled between both hands. She began explaining the lighting in her kitchen, and despite everything occupying your mind, you slipped naturally into answering her questions. The bag remained curled tightly in your fingers while you pointed out the differences between the plants she'd been considering, your attention split between the conversation and the weight of what you were still carrying.

Chan appeared a few minutes later from the greenhouse, a stack of empty trays balanced against his hip. His eyes found you first, then dropped briefly to the bag in your hand. "You okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

He shifted the trays higher against his side. "I've got that."

Your fingers tightened around the plastic. "I can take it."

"I know." His eyes stayed on yours. "But you're helping her."

You hesitated. Chan gave you that quiet, patient look that usually meant he wasn't going to argue with you about something that didn't need arguing.

"Go ahead," he said. "I'll take care of it."

You finally loosened your grip, as he took the bag from your hand. The exchange lasted barely a second, but something about letting it go made your stomach twist. You watched him turn toward the back of the nursery before forcing yourself to look back at the customer.

Outside, Chan carried the bag toward the service entrance without giving it much thought. He had a dozen things running through his head already, most of them related to the nursery, the afternoon rush, and whether Changbin had remembered to move the last shipment out of the delivery lane.

The bag caught against something, he stopped and tugged causing the plastic to stretch before giving way with a sharp rip. A few things shifted inside. Something small slipped through the opening and landed on the concrete near his shoe.

Chan looked down.

For a second, he didn't understand what he was seeing, then he did. The test lay on its side, the result unmistakable. Everything inside him seemed to go quiet.

His hand remained wrapped around the torn plastic while his eyes stayed fixed on the test. The nursery continued around him, completely unaware. He could hear the greenhouse fans humming, the muffled voices of customers, the faint scrape of a cart somewhere behind him.

But all he could think about was that morning.

The empty drawer.

Your face when you'd realized.

The pharmacy.

The way you'd held the pill in your palm.

The fact that he'd watched you swallow it.

And now this. His gaze dropped back to the test.

Positive.

Chan's first thought wasn't anger or fear. It was simply, just the fact that you had known before he did, and you had been carrying it alone.

He crouched, picked up the test, and slipped it back into the torn bag. His fingers moved automatically as he retied the plastic, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. He could go inside. He could find you. He could ask what this meant.

But then he thought about the way you'd held onto the bag, the hesitation when he'd offered to take it, the fact that you'd been carrying it yourself instead of simply leaving it for someone else.

You had been trying to decide how to tell him. Maybe you were scared. Maybe you didn't know what you wanted yet. Maybe you were still trying to understand it yourself. He couldn't take that choice away from you.

Chan carried the bag the rest of the way outside and dropped it into the dumpster. He stood there for a moment afterward, staring at nothing.

Then he heard Jia laughing.

He turned toward the sound and found her beneath one of the young trees near the edge of the property, crouched in the dirt with a collection of tiny stones and flowers scattered around her knees.

"Daddy!" She looked up, grinning. "Look what I made!"

Chan walked over and crouched beside her, "what is it?"

"A fairy garden."

He studied the little arrangement with the seriousness it apparently deserved. "That's pretty good."

"I need another rock."

"Another rock?"

"This one is the house." She pointed to a pebble barely larger than his thumbnail.

Chan smiled. "Of course it is."

Jia immediately went back to arranging everything, explaining which flowers belonged where and which rock was apparently the front door. Chan listened, but his mind kept slipping away.

Another baby, the thought came quietly. He looked at Jia, still so small despite everything. Four years old. His little girl. The person who had taught him what it meant to be responsible for someone else's entire world.

He knew what another child would mean now. He knew the exhaustion. The sleepless nights. The fear of getting something wrong. The way your entire life could become organized around someone who couldn't even tell you what they needed yet.

But when he let himself imagine it, the first thing he felt wasn't dread, it was warmth. Another tiny hand. Another voice calling him Daddy. Jia showing a baby her fairy garden with the absolute confidence that she would know exactly how to be a big sister.

And you.

His chest tightened.

He didn't know if you wanted that. He didn't know if you were ready for it. He didn't even know if the test was right. But the possibility had already found its way into his mind, and now he couldn't seem to push it back out.

"Daddy?"

Chan blinked and looked down. Jia was staring at him, "you look sad."

He swallowed. "I'm okay, bug."

She studied him for another second before apparently deciding she believed him. Then she climbed into his lap without warning and wrapped her arms around his neck. Chan held her, a little too tightly at first.

She laughed against his shoulder. "Daddy, you're squishing me."

He loosened his arms immediately, smiling into her hair. "Sorry." She settled back against him anyway. He closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't know what came next.

He only knew that, somehow, the possibility of another child had stopped feeling like something terrifying and started feeling dangerously close to something he wanted.

And that scared him more than anything.

When Jia eventually wriggled free, she pointed toward her garden. "You can go now. I'm busy."

Chan laughed quietly. "Right. Sorry." He stood and headed back toward the nursery. By the time he walked through the doors, his expression had settled back into something normal.

You were standing near the register, looking down at a stack of invoices. You glanced up when he approached, your eyes immediately searching his face.

"Where's Jia?"

"Outside."

You nodded, then started telling him about a supplier who had called with a question about one of the afternoon deliveries. Chan listened.

At least, he tried to. His attention kept drifting back to the test, to the possibility he was carrying around inside his chest now.

"Chan?"

He blinked. "What?"

You gave him a small frown. "I was talking to you."

"Sorry." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

"You okay?"

He looked at you. Like really looked at you. You were standing there completely unaware that everything had changed for him ten minutes ago. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I'm okay."

You didn't look convinced.

But he reached for your hand anyway, threading his fingers through yours and giving them a gentle squeeze. He wasn't going to force the words out of you. Not when you were still finding them yourself. So he stayed beside you, quieter than usual, waiting for you to tell him when you were ready.

The rest of the afternoon settled into a strange rhythm. Nothing was obviously wrong. That was almost the problem.

Chan stayed close without hovering, finding reasons to be wherever you were. When you reached for a box on the higher shelf, his hand was already there. When you carried a tray of small pots toward the greenhouse, he took half of them from you without asking. When you stopped to rub the back of your neck after spending too long bent over a display, a bottle of water appeared beside you a moment later.

It was sweet, but it was also making it increasingly difficult to think.

You had been trying to find a moment alone with him for nearly an hour, but every time you thought you had one, someone walked through the doors or a customer needed help or Chan appeared beside you with that quiet, watchful look that made the words disappear again.

It didn’t work.

You could say it.

You knew you could.

You just needed the right moment.

By midafternoon, the nursery had settled into its Saturday rhythm. Families wandered through the greenhouse, couples debated between houseplants, and children dragged their parents toward anything colorful enough to catch their attention. The place you’d spent months rebuilding finally looked like the business you’d always imagined.

You should have been completely absorbed in it.

Instead, you kept noticing Chan.

He was across the greenhouse helping a customer carry a large ceramic planter toward the register when your eyes met. His expression softened immediately, and he gave you a small smile before turning back to what he was doing.

You looked away first. You were beginning to wonder if he could hear your thoughts.

“You’re staring.”

You nearly jumped. Chan’s mother stood beside you, holding a coffee she’d apparently brought from somewhere nearby.

You blinked. “What?”

She nodded toward the greenhouse, “at him.”

Your face warmed. “I wasn’t.”

She smiled into her cup. “Of course.”

Before you could defend yourself, she glanced toward the greenhouse again, watching her son maneuver the planter onto the counter. There was something knowing in her expression when she looked back at you, but she let the subject drop, taking another sip of her coffee instead. “How’s everything going?”

“Busy.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

The comment caught you off guard. She smiled, not pushing, simply waiting until you finally glanced down at the clipboard in your hands. “It’s good,” you admitted. “Really good. I still can’t believe this is the same place.”

“I can.” She nodded toward the greenhouse. “You worked for it.”

Something in your chest loosened. “Yeah. I did.”

“And he helped.”

Your eyes drifted toward Chan again. He was still across the greenhouse, talking to a customer while helping them maneuver a large ceramic planter toward the register. “Yeah.”

She watched you for another second, her smile softening. “He likes helping you.”

“I know.” A quiet laugh escaped you. “He’s not exactly subtle.”

“No,” she agreed. “He never has been.”

Across the greenhouse, Chan glanced over again. This time, his mother caught him. She lifted her coffee in a small greeting, and he shook his head with a smile before returning to the customer.

You tried not to smile, but apparently failed.

“You two are cute,” she said.

“We’re not…” You stopped yourself before you could finish, already realizing how quickly you'd reacted.

Her laugh was quiet. “I didn’t say anything wrong.”

You looked away, pretending to study the clipboard. She didn't tease you further. Instead, she looked around the nursery and said, “Jia loves it here.”

“She does.”

“She talks about it constantly.”

That made you smile. “She mostly talks about the snacks.”

“Those too.”

You laughed, and for a moment, the strange tension sitting beneath your ribs eased. It didn't last long. Chan appeared beside you a few seconds later, setting the empty planter cart against the wall before looking between you and his mother.

“Mom. What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” you said at the same time she answered, “Jia.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Should I be worried?”

“Always.”

He laughed under his breath, but when his attention returned to you, the amusement faded just enough for that familiar concern to settle back into his expression. “You okay?”

There it was again.

That quiet question. That careful look he'd been giving you all afternoon.

You nodded. “I'm fine.”

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't call you on it either. Instead, he reached over and took the clipboard from your hands. “I'll finish these.”

“You don't have to.”

“I know.”

His mother watched the exchange for a moment before glancing toward the greenhouse. “Why don't you two take a break? You've been working all day.”

“We're almost done,” you said, looking toward the remaining displays.

Chan glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “She's not wrong.”

You gave him a look, and his mother laughed softly into her coffee. “Anyway,” she said, shifting her attention back toward the entrance, “I actually came for something.”

Chan raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“To steal my granddaughter.”

As if summoned, Jia came running through the greenhouse, dirt on her knees and a flower tucked behind one ear. “Nana!”

His mother barely had time to set her coffee down before Jia crashed into her arms. “I have something to show you.”

“Another fairy garden?”

“A better one.” She grabbed her grandmother's hand and immediately began pulling her toward the door. “Come on!”

His mother laughed as she followed, then glanced back at the two of you. “I'm taking her home with me tonight.”

Chan blinked. “Tonight?”

“Unless you have plans with her.”

His eyes flicked toward you. Your stomach tightened. “N-no...no plans.”

She studied you for a second, something unreadable passing through her expression before she nodded. “Good. I'll bring her back tomorrow.”

Jia was already halfway to the door when she turned around. “Bye!”

You smiled and waved. “Bye, sweetheart.”

Apparently that wasn't enough. She ran back, wrapped her little arms around your waist, and squeezed before darting toward Chan. He crouched automatically, catching her against his chest as she threw her arms around his neck.

“Be good.”

“I am always good.”

His mother laughed.

Jia giggled as she took her hand again, and the two of them disappeared through the front doors. Chan remained there for another moment, watching until they were out of sight before finally letting the door swing shut behind them.

The nursery felt different almost immediately.

Not empty or quiet, exactly. There were still customers moving through the greenhouse, the faint hum of conversation drifting from the register, the occasional clink of a pot being set onto a table. But the one person who had given you both an easy excuse to keep moving was suddenly gone.

Chan turned back toward you.

You looked at him.

For the first time all afternoon, there was nothing between you. No Jia, no customer waiting for help, no task that desperately needed doing. Just him standing a few feet away with the clipboard still in his hand, watching you with that same quiet attentiveness he'd had since morning.

Tonight, you told yourself. When you were home. When Jia was with Chan’s mother, when there was nowhere either of you needed to be and nothing left to distract you.

Tonight, you would tell him.

𐙚

By the time you got home that evening, the house felt strangely unfamiliar without Jia. Her shoes weren't kicked off beside the door, her stuffed animals weren't scattered across the living room, and there wasn't a cartoon playing somewhere in the background. The quiet should have made things easier. Instead, it gave your thoughts far too much room.

You and Chan moved through the evening almost automatically, cleaning up after dinner and putting things away without really talking about anything important. You kept waiting for the right moment to appear, but eventually there was nowhere left to hide from it. When you ended up beside him on the couch, his arm resting along the back behind you, you knew you couldn't keep carrying it alone.

He noticed before you said anything. His eyes moved over your face, lingering for a moment before he asked quietly, “You've been somewhere else all night.”

You looked down at your hands. “I need to tell you something.”

Chan didn't say anything. He simply turned toward you, giving you his full attention in a way that somehow made it harder to begin. You'd spent all day thinking about this moment, rehearsing the words in your head until they had become almost meaningless, but now that you were sitting beside him in the quiet of his living room, they felt impossibly heavy.

“The pill didn't work.”

His expression barely changed.

You noticed. It wasn't the surprise you'd expected. Not the confusion. Just a slight tightening around his eyes, like he'd been waiting for you to say it.

“I took it,” you continued. “Right after you came back from the pharmacy. I thought that would be the end of it, but my period didn't come.”

Chan's hand shifted against the couch cushion, though he didn't say anything.

“So I bought a test.” You paused, suddenly unable to look at him, as your fingers twisted together in your lap. “It's positive.”

The words seemed to settle over the room.

For several seconds, neither of you moved. You'd imagined this conversation so many times that you'd convinced yourself you knew how it would go. You'd imagined panic, anger, reassurance. You'd imagined him being happy, and somehow that possibility had frightened you almost as much as everything else.

He didn't look stunned. He only lowered his eyes for a moment before reaching across the space between you and taking your hand.

And that was when you knew.

“You know already.....”

His fingers tightened around yours, “I saw it.”

Your heart stumbled, “when you took the bag...” You stared at him.

“The plastic caught on something outside,” he continued. “It tore, and the test fell out.”

You looked away. “Oh.”

“I didn't mean to find it.”

“I know.”

“I almost came back inside.” His thumb moved slowly over your knuckles.“I wanted to ask you. I wanted to know what you were thinking, if you were okay, if you'd been carrying all of this around by yourself.”

His voice softened, “but I didn't think it was mine to take from you.”

You looked back at him then, “you didn't say anything, why?”

“Because you were going to tell me.”

You looked down at your hands. “I wanted to.”

Chan's thumb moved slowly across your knuckles. He didn't press you for an explanation, and somehow that made it easier to admit the truth.

“I kept thinking I'd find the right moment, and then every time I had one, I couldn't do it.”

“I figured.”

You glanced at him. “How?”

“Because you were carrying that bag around like it weighed a hundred pounds.”

A small, humorless laugh escaped you. “It kind of did.”

His expression softened, and he leaned back into the couch without letting go of your hand. “I knew you were scared. I just didn't know what you were scared of yet.”

Your throat tightened. “Everything,” you admitted.

Chan shifted closer, his knee pressing gently against yours. He didn't tell you everything would be fine. He didn't tell you not to worry. He simply waited.

The silence stretched until you finally forced the rest of it out. Your eyes lifted to his. “I don't know if I want this, Chan.”

Something shifted in his expression, but his hand didn't leave yours.

“I know how that sounds.”

“It doesn't sound like anything.”

“It sounds like I don't want your baby.”

“That isn't what you said.”

“I don't mean I don't want you. I don't mean I don't love you, and I don't mean I don't love Jia. I do. You know I do.” Your voice caught, and you took a breath. “I'm just scared.”

Chan nodded once. “I know, baby. I know.”

You looked away, swallowing against the tightness in your throat. “I planned to build that nursery because I wanted something that was mine. I spent months figuring everything out myself before you got involved. Every decision was mine. Every risk was mine. And now I'm looking at it and thinking about what happens if suddenly everything has to change.”

Your voice wavered as you stared at your hands.

“I don't know what it means to build anything on top of that. I don't know if I can run the nursery and be a mother and still be me. I don't know if I'll resent myself for wanting one thing and needing to make room for something else.”

The words came faster after that, like you'd been holding them behind a dam all week.

“And I don't know what this means for you. You already have Jia. You have your business. You have this whole life that you've worked so hard to make stable, and then there's me. I don't know what adding another person does to all of it.”

Chan was quiet for a long moment.

For a moment, you thought maybe you'd said too much. Then he looked down at your hands and exhaled slowly. “I don't know either.”

You looked at him.

He stared down at your joined hands. “I don't know if I can do it again.”

The admission was so simple that it almost hurt.

“I don't know what another baby does to my life,” he continued. “I know what it means to be a dad. I know the hours. I know what it costs. I know what it's like to be so tired you can't remember the last time you slept properly and still get up because somebody needs you.”

His eyes drifted toward the hallway, as if Jia were still there even though the house was empty.

“And I love being her dad. I wouldn't trade that for anything. But I've spent four years building something that works. Me and Jia. The business with the guys. Our routine. Then you came into it, and that changed things too, but in a way I wanted. In a way I chose.”

His eyes came back to yours, “and now this is something neither of us planned.”

You felt your throat tighten.

“I don't know if I can do it without everything starting to crack.” There was no shame in his voice when he said it. No attempt to soften the admission.

Just fear.

The same fear you'd been carrying.

“I thought you'd be happy,” you whispered.

Chan's expression changed. “I might be.”

You stared at him.

He gave a small, almost helpless laugh. “That's the problem.”

Your eyes burned.

“I can picture it,” he admitted. “That's what scares me. I can picture Jia being a big sister. I can picture another little person running around that house. I can picture you with a baby, and part of me...” He stopped, swallowing. “Part of me wants it.”

The honesty of it made your chest tighten.

“But wanting it doesn't mean I'm not scared.”

You nodded because you understood that better than you wanted to. “I don't know what I want yet.”

“I know.”

“And I feel awful even saying that.”

“You don't have to.”

“What if," you pause, "W-what if I don't figure it out?”

Chan shifted closer until your shoulder rested against his chest. His arm came around you, not pulling you toward an answer, just holding you there. “We don't have to figure it out tonight.”

You closed your eyes.

“I don't have some perfect answer,” he murmured. “I wish I did. You know I do.”

A shaky laugh escaped you. “You're usually pretty good at answers.”

“Not this one.” His hand found yours again, fingers threading through yours. “I don't know what to do either,” he said quietly. “But I know I'm not leaving the room.”

You looked up at him.

He held your gaze. “I mean it. I'm not going to make you decide what you want before you're ready. I'm not going to tell you what you should feel. And I'm not going to disappear because this scares you.”

Your eyes filled before you could stop them. “I don't want you to hear me say that I'm scared and think I'm saying I don't want this life with you.”

Chan's expression softened. “I'm not.”

You looked down, your fingers tightening around his. “I love you. I love the life we've built. I love Jia. That's why this scares me so much.”

His expression softened as his hand closed more firmly around yours. “I know,” he said quietly. “That's what makes me understand.”

That was all it took.

You leaned into him, and his arms came around you as you finally let yourself cry. He held you against his chest, one hand moving slowly over your back while the other stayed wrapped around yours.

Neither of you solved anything.

The test was still positive.

The nursery would still be there in the morning.

The life you'd built was still waiting for you, and now there was another possibility standing beside it, neither welcome nor unwelcome enough to be named yet.

But Chan stayed, and for tonight, that was enough.

𐙚

Morning came quietly.

You woke slowly, your body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that sleep hadn't quite managed to fix. Your back ached from the way you'd fallen asleep on the couch before Chan had eventually coaxed you upstairs, and there was a dull tenderness through your body that made you pause when you shifted beneath the sheets.

For a few seconds, you stared at the ceiling without remembering why you felt so tired.

Then you did.

Last night came back in pieces. The conversation. The crying. Chan's arms around you. The things you'd finally said aloud after spending days carrying them alone. You turned your head toward the other side of the bed.

Empty.

For one strange second, your chest tightened before you heard the faint sounds of movement down the hall. A cabinet closing. The quiet clink of a mug against the kitchen counter.

He was still here.

You pushed yourself out of bed and made your way into the bathroom, stopping in front of the mirror.

You looked exhausted.

Your eyes were swollen, your cheeks still faintly marked from where you'd cried yourself to sleep, and there was something about your reflection that made you feel as though you'd aged a year overnight. You looked at yourself for a long moment before turning on the faucet and splashing cold water over your face.

Nothing had changed while you slept. The nursery was still yours. The test was still positive. You still didn't know what you wanted.

But when you stepped into the kitchen, Chan was there.

He was standing at the counter in a pair of gray sweats and an old T-shirt, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. His hair was still messy from sleep, and for some reason, seeing him like that made the tightness in your chest ease.

He looked over when he heard you. “Morning.”

Your voice came out rough. “Morning.”

His eyes lingered on your face for a moment. He didn't ask if you'd slept well. He could probably tell you hadn't. Instead, he poured the second cup of coffee and held it out to you.

You took it, letting your fingers brush his. “Thanks.”

He nodded and stepped closer, his hand settling against the back of your neck. The gesture was so familiar that it almost hurt.

It was the same place he'd held you when you'd been panicking over the pharmacy. The same steady pressure that had told you to breathe when your thoughts were moving faster than you could control them.

Except there was no countdown this morning. No pharmacy. No desperate attempt to undo what had happened. Just his hand resting there while he pressed a quiet kiss to your forehead.

“You okay?”

You considered lying. Instead, you gave him the only answer you had. “I don't know.”

His thumb moved gently against your skin. “That's okay.”

You looked down at your coffee, “I feel like everything is exactly the same.”

“It is.”

“But it doesn't feel the same.”

“No.” There was no argument in his voice.

You leaned against the counter, letting the warmth of the mug settle into your hands.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was simply different now, filled with all the things you'd said the night before and all the things neither of you was ready to say yet.

Eventually, Chan reached for his own coffee. “We'll figure it out.”

You looked at him.

He gave you a small smile. “Not all of it today.”

Something about that made your throat tighten. “The nursery first?”

“The nursery first.”

“And then?”

He shrugged slightly. “Then whatever comes next.”

You smiled despite yourself. “You're making it sound very simple.”

“It's not simple.” He took another sip of coffee. “It's just one thing at a time.”

You looked down at the cup in your hands.

The last time he'd said those words, you'd been standing in the kitchen with a pill in your palm, watching the clock and trying to convince yourself that seventy-two hours was enough time to fix everything.

This time, there was no clock. No deadline. No pretending that one decision could make the uncertainty disappear.

Just a morning.

A cup of coffee.

His hand finding yours on the counter.

One thing at a time.

You were halfway through getting ready when Chan found you in the bedroom, already dressed and standing in front of the mirror trying to decide whether you had enough energy to deal with another full day at the nursery.

He leaned against the doorframe for a moment before speaking. “Can I ask you something?”

You glanced at him through the mirror. “Sure.”

He didn't answer immediately.

That made you turn around. “What?”

Chan rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking much less certain than he had a moment ago. “Would you be okay if I told my parents?”

You knew exactly what he meant. Your expression softened. “About the baby?”

He nodded.

You looked away, thinking about it. “I don't know.”

“That's okay.”

“I just...” You turned back toward him. “I don't want everyone knowing before we've even figured out what we're doing. I don't want people asking questions when I don't have answers.”

“They won't.”

His answer came quickly enough that you looked back at him. “I wouldn't tell them anything you weren't okay with,” he added. “Just need another viewpoint.”

You studied him for a moment.

He exhaled, his shoulders dropping slightly. “I think I need them right now.”

That was what made your answer easier. Not that he wanted to tell them, that he needed someone too.

You nodded slowly. “Okay.”

His eyes lifted to yours. “Okay?”

“Your parents can know.”

A small breath left him, almost like he'd been holding it.

“But that's it,” you added. “No siblings, no friends, no telling anyone else until we're ready.”

“Of course.”

“And if your mom starts planning a nursery before we've even decided what we're doing—”

“She won't.”

You gave him a look.

He hesitated. “She probably won't.”

You laughed softly for the first time that morning. Chan smiled, stepping closer until he could wrap an arm around your waist.

“I'll call them.”

You nodded, resting your hands against his chest. “Okay.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling back. Then his phone was already in his hand. “Actually,” he said, glancing at the screen, “I think my mom is going to know something's wrong the second I say I need to talk to her.”

You sighed. “Great.”

“She knows me.”

“She sounds terrifying.”

“She is.”

You smiled despite yourself. For the first time since waking up, the thought of telling someone else didn't feel quite as frightening. You didn't have an answer, but, for the first time, you weren't the only two people carrying the question.

By the time you reached the nursery, Chan had already called his mother.

You didn't hear the entire conversation. He'd stepped outside while you unlocked the front doors, pacing slowly along the sidewalk with one hand tucked into his pocket and the other holding his phone to his ear.

When he finally came back inside, you looked up from the register. “Well?”

Chan slipped his phone into his pocket and came back toward the counter, his expression thoughtful. “She knows something is up.”

You waited, watching him. “And?”

“She said she'd talk to us after we leave.”

Your stomach tightened slightly. “At your house?”

He nodded. “She said she'll bring Jia back later, and then we can talk.”

You nodded slowly, trying not to think too far ahead. “What did you tell her?”

“That we needed to talk to her about something important.”

You gave him a look. “That's vague.”

“I know.”

“She definitely knows.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. “She's my mother. She probably knew something was wrong the second I called.”

You leaned against the counter, studying him, “are you nervous?”

Chan didn't hesitate this time. “Yeah.”

Something about the honesty in his voice made your expression soften.

“I haven't had to tell my parents something like this since Jia.”

You nodded.

“And I don't know how they're going to react.”

“Do you think they'll be upset?”

He thought about it for a moment. “My mom will probably scold me first.”

Despite everything, you smiled. “Probably.”

“She'll scold both of us.”

Your smile faded slightly, “yeah.”

Chan reached across the counter and took your hand, his thumb brushing slowly over your knuckles. “But she'll listen.”

You looked at him. He sounded certain of that, even if he wasn't certain about anything else. You squeezed his hand. “Okay.”

His gaze stayed on yours. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

He gave your hand one last squeeze before letting go, and the two of you returned to work.

The nursery continued around you, Sunday customers wandering through the greenhouse and asking questions, children pointing excitedly at flowers and plants they'd never seen before. You tried to let the familiar rhythm of the day pull you back in, but it was difficult to lose yourself in work when you knew there was a conversation waiting for you at the end of it.

Chan seemed to be struggling with the same thing. He stayed close without hovering, finding reasons to pass through whichever section you were working in. When a customer needed help carrying a large pot, he was there before you could reach for it. When you struggled with a stack of trays, his hand appeared beneath the bottom one and took half the weight without a word. Every so often, you'd catch his eyes on you from across the greenhouse, his expression thoughtful before he inevitably looked away.

It wasn't quite the same watchfulness from yesterday. There was less uncertainty in it now, but more weight.

You wondered if he was thinking about what his parents would say. You wondered if he was thinking about Jia. You wondered if he was thinking about the baby.

You didn't ask.

Neither did he.

Instead, the two of you worked.

By late afternoon, the rush had begun to thin. The families disappeared first, followed by the couples who had spent far too long debating between two nearly identical houseplants. Eventually, the greenhouse settled into a quieter rhythm, the only sounds coming from the irrigation system and the occasional bell above the front door.

You were rearranging a display near the entrance when Chan appeared beside you with two coffees. “You forgot yours.”

You looked at the cup he held out. “I didn't forget it.”

“You've been carrying the same one for two hours.”

You glanced toward the counter, he wasn't wrong.

You took the fresh cup from him, your fingers brushing his. “Thanks.”

He stayed beside you for a moment, looking over the display you'd been working on. “Looks good.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

You smiled faintly and turned another pot so its leaves faced toward the sunlight.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. Then Chan's hand found yours. You looked down at your joined fingers before looking back at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You're doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Looking at me like you're trying to figure me out.”

His thumb moved over your knuckles. “Maybe I am.”

“You'll be waiting a while.”

“I've got time.” The words were simple, but they settled somewhere deeper than they should have.

You squeezed his hand. “Your mom is going to be there soon.”

“Yeah.”

“And your dad?”

“She said he'd come.”

Your stomach twisted again.

Chan noticed immediately. His fingers tightened around yours. “Hey.”

You looked at him.

“We don't have to have all the answers tonight.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“We just have to tell them what's happening.”

“And then?”

He gave your hand a small squeeze. “Then we figure out what comes next.”

You looked at him for a long moment before nodding. “Okay.”

The front door opened before either of you could say anything else, and a customer stepped inside. Chan released your hand, but not before his thumb made one last pass over your knuckles.

“Go,” he murmured. “I'll get this.”

You nodded and headed toward the office, grateful for the interruption and, somehow, a little less afraid of the evening waiting for you.

𐙚

The drive back to Chan's house was quieter than usual. Neither of you seemed to know what to say, and with the conversation waiting for you at the end of the night, even the familiar roads felt different.

When you pulled into the driveway, Jessica's car was already parked outside.

Your stomach tightened.

Chan glanced over at you before turning off the engine. He reached across the console and took your hand, giving it a slow squeeze. “She'll wait,” he said quietly.

You looked at him. “What if she doesn't?”

“She will.”

There was enough certainty in his voice to make you believe him.

For the moment.

Inside, the house was warm and lived-in. Jia's shoes were by the door, her little backpack tossed beside them, and the sound of her laughter drifted from the living room.

You barely had time to take off your shoes before she came running around the corner.

“Daddy!”

Chan's entire expression changed.

He crouched just in time for her to throw herself into his arms, wrapping her around his neck. “Hey, bug.”

“You're home!”

“I am.”

She pulled back enough to look at him before immediately reaching for you too. “You're home too!”

You smiled and bent down to hug her, holding her a little longer than usual.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

Behind her, Jessica watched quietly. You caught her eye over Jia's shoulder. She gave you a small, knowing smile but didn't say anything.

That somehow made your stomach twist more.

The evening moved around the subject without touching it. Jessica stayed for dinner, helping Jia tell you both about everything she'd done that day while Chan listened with the kind of attention he always gave his daughter. You laughed when you were supposed to, answered questions when Jia asked them, and tried not to think about the fact that Jessica was watching the two of you from across the table.

She never asked. Not once.

By the time Jia started rubbing her eyes between bites, Jessica seemed to make the decision for everyone.

“Alright, sweetheart,” she said, reaching for the plate. “I think someone's ready for bed.”

Jia immediately protested. “I'm not tired.”

“You've yawned four times.”

“No, I haven't.”

Chan smiled. “You definitely have.”

She frowned at him. “Traitor.”

He laughed and leaned over to kiss the top of her head. “Come on.”

The bedtime routine took longer than usual.

Jia insisted on choosing the story, then changed her mind halfway through. She wanted water, then remembered she needed to tell you something very important about a butterfly she'd seen earlier. By the time Chan finally tucked the blankets around her, her words were already beginning to slur together.

You stood in the doorway while he kissed her forehead.

“Goodnight, bug.”

“Goodnight, Daddy.”

Her sleepy eyes found you. “Goodnight.”

You smiled. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

She reached one small hand toward you. You stepped closer and let her hold your fingers for a moment before her eyes finally drifted shut.

Chan looked at you from the other side of the bed.

Neither of you spoke.

You quietly slipped out of the room, leaving the door cracked open. A few minutes later, Chan joined you in the hallway.

The house was finally quiet.

Jessica was waiting down the hall. She looked up when the two of you entered the living room, but instead of speaking, she simply gestured toward the couch.

“Come sit.”

This time, there was no urgency in her voice. Just patience, and somehow, that was more frightening than being asked outright.

You sat beside Chan on the couch, close enough that your knee rested against his while Jessica settled into the armchair across from you, folding her hands loosely in her lap. For a few seconds, nobody said anything. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, exactly. It was simply the kind that came when everyone in the room knew there was something waiting to be said.

Jessica looked at Chan first, then at you. “You've both been quiet tonight.”

Chan glanced down at his hands. “Yeah.”

“I noticed.”

There was no accusation in it. If anything, she sounded tired. You looked down at your lap, your fingers twisting together, and Jessica's expression softened.

“You don't have to tell me everything at once.”

That almost made it harder.

You swallowed as Chan shifted beside you, his hand finding yours beneath the edge of the blanket. His fingers closed around yours, steady and warm. Jessica noticed, but she didn't comment.

Instead, she looked at her son. “Are you two alright?”

Chan was quiet for a moment. “We're trying to be.”

Jessica's brow furrowed slightly. “That's not usually how you answer that question.”

A breath of laughter escaped him, but there wasn't much humor behind it. He rubbed his thumb across your hand before finally admitting, “No. We're not really sure what we're doing yet.”

Jessica waited.

Chan looked at you before meeting his mother's eyes again. “We found out yesterday that she's pregnant.”

The words landed softly.

No dramatic reaction. Jessica simply went still, her eyes moving to you and then back to Chan. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen.

Then Jessica exhaled slowly and leaned back in her chair. “Okay.”

You weren't sure what you expected, but somehow that simple word made your eyes sting.

Jessica looked between you again. “Okay,” she repeated, quieter this time. “That's a lot.”

Chan nodded. “It is.”

“And you don't know what you're going to do.”

It wasn't a question.

He shook his head. “No.”

Jessica's gaze settled on you. “And you?”

Your throat tightened. “I don't know either.”

She nodded slowly, accepting the answer without trying to pull another one from you. “Good.”

You blinked. “Good?”

“You're allowed not to know.”

The tension in your shoulders loosened by a fraction. Jessica leaned forward, resting her forearms against her knees.

“You're going to have people telling you what you should do. People who think because they love you, they get to make the decision for you.” Her eyes flicked toward Chan. “Don't let anyone do that.”

Chan looked down.

Jessica continued gently, “Not me. Not your father. Not your friends. Not anyone.”

You felt Chan's fingers tighten around yours.

“But,” she added, “you also don't get to pretend this isn't going to change things.”

The honesty of it caught you. Jessica wasn't trying to make the situation prettier than it was, and she wasn't promising that everything would magically work out. She was simply sitting there with you in the middle of it.

“You're scared,” she said.

You nodded.

“So is he.”

Chan gave her a look. “Mom.”

“What?” She looked at him pointedly. “You've been staring at the floor for twenty minutes.”

He sighed. “I know.”

Jessica's expression softened. “You're allowed to be scared too, Christopher.”

He swallowed. “I know.”

She looked between the two of you again. “But being scared doesn't mean you don't want something.”

Neither of you answered, because that was the problem. Neither of you knew what you wanted yet.

Jessica seemed to understand that. “You don't have to decide tonight,” she said. “You don't even have to decide tomorrow.”

Her gaze moved toward the hallway where Jia was sleeping.

“But whatever you decide, you need to make the decision together. Not because you're afraid of disappointing each other. Not because you think one of you owes the other something.” She paused, her voice softening. “You do it because this is your life.”

Your eyes burned, Chan's hand tightened around yours again.

Jessica leaned back, letting the silence settle before adding, “And if you want my opinion, I'll give it to you.”

Chan finally looked up. “I think we do.”

A small smile touched her mouth. “Then we'll talk.”

She was quiet for another moment, studying the two of you as though she was deciding where to begin. Then her expression shifted, the softness giving way to something closer to disbelief.

“Although,” she added, “I do have one question.”

Chan immediately looked wary. “What?”

Jessica's eyes narrowed. “You two are unbelievable.”

Chan winced. “I know.”

“Do you?”

You couldn't help the small, nervous laugh that escaped you. Jessica glanced at you before turning her attention back to her son.

“You have a brand-new relationship, a brand-new business, a four-year-old, and apparently neither of you thought contraception was worth discussing properly?”

“We did discuss it.”

Jessica raised an eyebrow.

Chan hesitated, “eventually.”

“Clearly not well enough.”

His mouth pressed into a line, and you looked down at your hands to hide another nervous smile.

Jessica sighed, though there wasn't much anger behind it anymore. “I'm not angry about the pregnancy. I want you both to understand that. I'm angry that you're sitting here looking like the world just ended because you think you were supposed to have everything figured out first.”

Chan's gaze dropped to the floor. “I don't know if I can do this again,” he admitted quietly.

Jessica's expression softened, “you're doing it again.”

He frowned. “Doing what?”

“Trying to solve ten years from now because you're scared of what happens tomorrow.”

Chan went still.

“You did this when Jia was born,” she continued. “You sat in my kitchen at three in the morning convinced you'd somehow ruined your life because you didn't know how you were going to be someone's father.”

“That was different.”

“It was exactly the same.”

He shook his head, but there was no argument behind it.

“You were terrified,” Jessica said. “You thought you weren't ready.”

“I wasn't.”

“No,” she agreed. “You weren't.”

Chan looked at her.

“Neither is anyone else, no matter how much they prepare.”

The words settled over the room.

“You learned,” she continued. “You adjusted. You made mistakes. You apologized. You figured things out. And most importantly, you kept showing up.”

Her voice softened. “That's what being a parent is.”

Chan swallowed, his thumb moving slowly over the back of your hand.

Jessica turned toward you, “and you don't owe anyone an answer just because there's a test with two lines on it.”

Your throat tightened.

“You get to be scared,” she said. “You get to be angry. You get to wonder what happens to your plans. You get to look at everything you've built and wonder where a baby fits into it.” Her gaze moved around the room before settling back on you.

“You worked very hard for your life.”

You blinked quickly, trying to keep your eyes from spilling over.

“Don't make yourself choose between being a mother and being yourself before you even know what either one looks like.”

Your fingers tightened around Chan's. He shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. Jessica watched the two of you for a moment before continuing. “You built that nursery one problem at a time, didn't you?”

You nodded.

“You didn't walk into that empty building and figure out where every plant would go five years from now. You fixed the roof. Then the greenhouse. Then the plumbing. Then the landscaping. You dealt with whatever was in front of you.” A tired smile touched her mouth, “so stop trying to build an entire life in your heads before you've even decided what the next step is.”

Neither of you spoke.

The fear was still there. The uncertainty hadn't magically disappeared. But for the first time since you'd seen those two lines, the future didn't feel like one enormous thing pressing down on your chest.

Jessica leaned back in her chair. “You don't have to decide whether you can handle the next eighteen years tonight.” Her gaze moved between you. “Just decide what you need to know next.”

Chan looked down at your joined hands, “and if we don't know that either?”

Jessica smiled faintly. “then you figure that out too.”

She stood, smoothing her hands over her jeans before glancing toward the hallway. “One thing at a time.”

Jia was still asleep, the house finally quiet after an evening that had felt much longer than it actually was.

“Get some sleep,” she said.

Chan gave her a tired smile. “We'll try.”

“No. Actually sleep.”

He laughed quietly. “Okay.”

Jessica pointed at him. “And Christopher?”

“Yeah?”

“Do not spend half the night Googling things.”

His expression immediately gave him away.

You looked over at him. “You were going to.”

“I wasn't.”

“You absolutely were.”

Jessica shook her head, already reaching for her coat. “I raised you better than this.”

That earned another small laugh from Chan, and somehow the sound made something in your chest loosen.

Jessica slipped her shoes on by the door before looking back at you. “Call me if either of you needs anything.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

Her expression softened. “Both of you.”

Then she was gone. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving the house quiet again.

You both began cleaning almost without discussing it. There weren't many dishes left, but neither of you seemed ready to go to bed yet. You gathered the glasses from the coffee table while Chan folded the blanket Jessica had been using, smoothing it out before draping it over the back of the couch.

The ordinary movements felt strangely comforting. When you passed him on your way toward the kitchen, his hand settled briefly against the small of your back.

Neither of you said anything.

A few minutes later, you heard a small noise from Jia's room.

Chan looked toward the hallway immediately. “I'll check.”

You followed him anyway.

Jia had rolled onto her side, one arm wrapped around her stuffed dwaekki, her hair spread messily across the pillow. Chan stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her before stepping inside to pull the blanket back over her shoulder.

You stayed beside the door.

He glanced back at you. “She sleeps like you.”

You smiled faintly. “She does not.”

“She absolutely does.”

“She kicks.”

“So do you.”

You gave him a look as he smiled, barely there, before turning back toward Jia.

She stirred, blinking sleepily. “Daddy?”

“I'm here.”

“Is it morning?”

“Not yet.”

She yawned and reached one hand toward him. Chan crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, letting her curl her fingers around his.

“Go back to sleep, bug.”

Her eyes closed almost immediately. You watched him brush her hair away from her forehead, his expression changing in that quiet way it always did when he looked at her.

There was so much love in it.

And somehow, for once, it didn't frighten you.

Not completely.

𐙚

Later, the two of you ended up back on the couch with mugs of tea that neither of you drank very much of. The house had settled into the kind of silence that only happened after Jia was asleep, every room dim and still, the faint hum of the refrigerator filling the spaces between your breaths.

Chan sat beside you on the couch, his knee pressed against yours. For several minutes, neither of you said anything. You watched the steam disappear from your mug while he stared down at his own, turning it slowly between his hands.

Eventually, he exhaled. “My mom was right.”

You glanced over. “About which part?”

“Most of it.”

A quiet laugh escaped you, and his mouth pulled into a faint smile. Then his expression settled again. “I keep thinking I need to know what happens next.”

You looked at him.

He rubbed his thumb along the handle of his mug. “I just don't know how to stop.”

You turned slightly toward him. “You don't have to stop. You just have to stop trying to solve everything tonight.”

His eyes lifted to yours. “I know.”

“You keep doing it, though.”

“I know.”

That made you smile despite yourself.

Chan nudged your knee with his. “It's annoying, isn't it?”

“A little.”

“A little?”

“Very.”

He gave you a tired look, but there was no real offense behind it. For a moment, the tension eased. Then his gaze dropped back to his hands. “I think part of me is scared that if I don't have a plan, I'm going to miss something.”

Your smile faded. “Like what?”

“Anything.” He paused. “Something you need. Something Jia needs. Something the baby would need.”

The last word was still strange coming from him. You could hear the uncertainty in it. “You don't even know if there is going to be a baby yet,” you reminded him gently.

“I know.”

“But you're already worrying about what it would need.”

“Yeah.”

You looked at him for a long moment before reaching over and taking his hand. His fingers closed around yours immediately. “We don't have to decide everything tonight,” he said, almost as if he were reminding himself.

You nodded, your thumb brushing across his knuckles. The motion was idle at first, soothing, the kind of touch you'd offer without thinking. But Chan's hand went still beneath yours, and you looked up to find him watching you with an expression you couldn't quite name.

"What?" you asked.

He didn't answer. Instead, he lifted his free hand and pressed his palm flat against your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw once before settling there. The silence between you shifted—not broken, but thickened.

"You keep doing that," you said softly.

"Doing what?"

"Looking at me like I'm something you're trying to memorize."

His thumb moved again, slow and deliberate. "Maybe I am."

The words landed somewhere between your ribs and stayed there. You didn't pull away when he leaned in, and when his mouth met yours, it wasn't urgent. It was careful. Deliberate. A question that didn't need to be spoken because his hand was already cradling the back of your neck, pulling you gently closer.

You kissed him back until the tea grew cold on the coffee table.

When he pulled away, he didn't go far. His forehead rested against yours, his breathing quiet against your mouth. For a moment, neither of you moved. His hand remained at the back of your neck, his thumb brushing slowly over your skin.

Then you shifted closer.

It was almost unconscious. Your knee moved between his, your hand settling against his chest as you leaned into him again. Chan's arm wrapped around your waist, drawing you gently across the couch until there was barely any space left between you.

The kiss that followed was slower, but it carried something different now. Less uncertainty. More familiarity. His fingers slipped beneath the edge of your shirt, warm against your side, and your breath caught softly at the contact.

You didn't pull away.

His hand moved carefully along your back while yours found the hem of his shirt, your fingers curling into the fabric. The couch shifted beneath you when he moved closer, and for a few seconds, everything outside of this room disappeared.

The nursery.

The test.

The questions neither of you could answer yet.

All of it faded beneath the simple comfort of having him there.

Chan kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, lingering there before finding your lips again. You felt his breath hitch when your fingers brushed through his hair.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. “Is this an apology?”

He blinked, caught slightly off guard. “What?”

“This.” Your fingers remained curled lightly against his shirt. “Are you apologizing?”

His expression changed. “No.” The answer came quietly, but immediately.

“Then don't.”

His brows pulled together.

“I don't want you apologizing for this.”

“I wasn't.”

“You were thinking about it.”

A small, reluctant smile touched his mouth. “Maybe a little.”

You shook your head. “Don't.”

He studied you for a moment, his hand still resting against your waist. “Okay.”

You waited.

He exhaled slowly. “I'm not sorry for loving you.” The words were so simple that they almost hurt.

Your expression softened.

“I'm scared,” he admitted. “I'm scared of what happens next. I'm scared I'm going to get something wrong. I'm scared of what this could mean for you and for Jia.”

His thumb moved gently against your side. “But I'm not sorry that you're here.”

You leaned into him again, your forehead finding his. “Good.”

He kissed you once, softly.

Then again.

You took his from his free hand and set it beside yours on the table.

His eyes tracked the movement, then found yours.

"Bed?" you said.

Something in his face loosened. "Yeah."

His hand in yours, he stood, and you followed him down the hall. Past Jia's door; cracked open, her nightlight a soft pink pool on the carpet, her breath a tiny whisper of sound. He didn't let go of your hand when he pushed his own door shut. The click felt like a seal.

The room was dark except for the streetlight through the blinds. He turned to you and his hands found your face first, thumbs along your cheekbones, like he needed to look at you before anything else.

"Hey," he said, soft.

"Hey."

He kissed you. Slow, at first, a question. Your hands fisted in his shirt and you answered it, pulling him closer until his chest pressed against yours. His mouth opened over yours, deeper, and you tasted the faint sweetness of the tea he never finished.

The bed met the backs of your knees. You went down together, his weight settling over you, one forearm braced beside your head. His hips found the cradle of yours and you both breathed out at once.

"This okay?" he murmured against your mouth.

"Yes. God, yes."

His hand slid down your side, over your hip, under the hem of your shirt. His palm was warm and broad against your stomach, and he paused there, just that, his thumb tracing a slow circle above your navel.

You knew what he was thinking. You could feel it in the stillness of his hand. "Stop thinking," you whispered.

His laugh was a puff of air against your lips. "You first."

Then his mouth found your neck and you stopped thinking entirely.

Your shirt went over your head somewhere between kisses. His followed. Skin against skin, and he made a low sound at the feel of you, your breasts pressed flat against his chest, your nipple catching on the edge of his ribs.

His hand slid lower, over the curve of your belly, slipping under the waistband of your underwear with a deliberate slowness that made your skin prickle.

Two fingers, then three, traced a path down through the slick heat of your folds before they found your clit, circling it with a precision that made your breath hitch.

You arched into his touch, a sharp sound escaping your throat that you quickly swallowed against his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt rough against your lips.

"Quiet," he reminded you, though his voice was wrecked, strained with a hunger he was barely containing. "Jia."

Right. Jia. Four doors down, asleep. The risk of it added a jagged edge to the pleasure, a frantic energy that pulsed between you. You pressed your mouth to his neck instead, your teeth grazing his skin in a silent plea, and he rewarded you.

One finger slid inside you, slow and probing, then a second, stretching you open. You were already wet. Embarrassingly, gloriously wet, the slickness making a soft, squelching sound around his knuckles as he curled them upward, searching, finding the exact spot that made your hips buck off the mattress.

"There it is," he breathed, his voice a low vibration against your skin.

He worked you like he knew you. Like he'd spent the entire evening memorizing the map of your body and this was the final exam. His thumb circled your clit in a relentless, rhythmic grind while his fingers pushed deep, hitting your cervix, and the world narrowed to the wet sound of friction, the heavy weight of him, and the oppressive, intimate dark.

"This pussy's mine," he murmured, the possessiveness in his tone sending a shiver straight to your core. You clenched around his fingers, your internal muscles squeezing him tight.

Your hand found his wrist. Not to stop him, but to hold on, to anchor yourself as the pleasure began to spiral out of control. He watched you fall apart. That was the thing; his eyes stayed locked on your face, tracking every twitch of your eyelids, every bitten-off breath, as if your pleasure was a ritual he needed to witness in its entirety.

"Let go," he said, his voice commanding yet tender. "I've got you."

Your eyes closed, and the thought came anyway, unbidden and terrifying; his fingers inside you, and the possibility of something else in there. Something small. Something that would need a plan, a future, and everything he was afraid of missing. You clenched around him at the thought, a sudden spike of anxiety mixing with the lust, and he went still.

"Where'd you go?"

"Nowhere." You pulled him down into a kiss, open-mouthed and desperate, tasting the salt and heat of him. "I'm right here."

He didn't just want to use his hands. He shifted, sliding down the bed, his body a warm weight moving away from your chest until he was positioned between your thighs. You gasped as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, exposing you completely to the dim light of the room.

He didn't hesitate. He leaned in, his breath hot against your inner thighs before his tongue lashed out, licking a long, wet stripe from your perineum up to your clit. You cried out, the sound muffled by your own hand as you pressed it over your mouth. He ignored the silence, diving in deep.

His tongue was broad and insistent, swirling around your clit before sucking it into his mouth, pulling it with a rhythmic pressure that made your toes curl. He used his fingers simultaneously, sliding two back inside you, pumping them in time with the flick of his tongue. The combination was overwhelming; the wet, slapping sound of his mouth against your pussy filled the quiet room. He drank you in, his tongue probing deep into your heat, tasting every drop of your arousal.

His fingers sped up, pressing, curling, and the tension in your belly wound tight and finally snapped. You came with a violent shudder, your face buried in the pillow to stifle the scream, your thighs shaking uncontrollably around his head. He didn't pull away; he stayed there, continuing to suck and lick through the peak of your orgasm, holding you through the aftershocks until the shuddering stopped.

He eventually pulled back, a thin string of saliva and your own juices connecting him to you for a brief second before he crawled back up. He pulled his fingers out slow, and you felt the sudden loss of it, a hollow, empty ache. He wiped his hand on the sheet; his sheets, his bed, his smell enveloping you; and pulled you firmly against his chest.

You lay there, breathing each other's air, the scent of sex heavy in the room. His heartbeat thudded under your ear, gradually slowing from a gallop to a steady rhythm. His hand found yours, lacing fingers together over his heart.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The house creaked. The streetlight shifted, casting long, skeletal shadows across the wall.

"We don't have to solve it tonight," you said, echoing his own words back at him, your voice small and fragile.

He whispered, soft and warm into your hair, "I know." His thumb slowed on your knuckles, a rhythmic, soothing motion. His breath evened out, deepening into the heavy, unconscious rhythm of sleep.

That fast. Like letting go was the easiest thing in the world.

𐙚

The next morning began quietly, almost normally.

You woke to the smell of coffee and the faint sound of something being moved around in the kitchen. For a few seconds, you stayed where you were, staring at the ceiling and letting yourself forget. Then the weight of the previous night settled back into place.

When you finally made your way to the kitchen, Chan was already there. He stood at the counter with his back to you, pouring coffee into two mugs while the toaster clicked softly behind him. He looked over when he heard your footsteps, his expression immediately softening.

“Morning.”

He slid your mug toward you without asking how you wanted it. You wrapped both hands around it, letting the warmth seep into your palms as you leaned against the counter beside him.

Neither of you mentioned the conversation from last night.

You didn't need to.

A few minutes later, the sound of small footsteps came from the hallway. Jia appeared in the kitchen with her hair sticking up on one side and a stuffed animal tucked beneath her arm. She climbed into her chair without so much as looking at either of you and reached immediately for the cereal bowl Chan had already set out.

He watched her for a second.

“Good morning to you too.”

Jia looked up, blinking sleepily.

“Morning.”

“Thank you.”

You covered your smile with your mug.

Jia's eyes moved between the two of you. “Why are you laughing?”

“Your socks,” you said.

She looked down at her feet as though she'd only just noticed that she'd put on two completely different pairs.

“They're both mine.”

Chan nodded seriously. “That's true.”

She seemed satisfied with that answer and went back to her cereal. The moment passed easily enough that you almost forgot there was anything unusual about the morning at all.

Jia complained when Chan gave her the wrong spoon, then insisted that the blue one was the only spoon that made cereal taste right. He argued that spoons didn't change the flavor of cereal, which only made her more determined to prove him wrong. By the time she was halfway through breakfast, he'd given up and traded spoons with her.

You watched the whole thing over the rim of your coffee cup, smiling when you caught Chan's eye.

He smiled back. It was ordinary, that was what made it strange.

Nothing about the house had changed overnight. Jia was still Jia. Chan was still Chan. There were still dishes in the sink and crumbs scattered across the table and a grocery list stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet you'd never understood the appeal of.

But beneath all of it was the knowledge that something had shifted.

When Jia finished eating, she disappeared into the living room with a stack of coloring books, leaving the two of you to clean up the kitchen. Chan gathered the bowls while you wiped down the table, and for a while the only sounds were running water and the scrape of a chair being pushed back into place.

Once everything was put away, Chan dried his hands on a dish towel and glanced toward the living room before reaching into the drawer beside the refrigerator. He pulled out a notebook and carried it over to the table.

You watched him sit across from you and open it to a blank page. “What are you doing?”

He glanced at you. “Trying to figure out what comes next.”

Something in your chest tightened.

He uncapped the pen and wrote at the top of the page.

Next.

You looked at the word for a moment before meeting his eyes again.

“We don't have to figure everything out today,” he said.

“I know.”

“I just think it might help if we figure out the first thing.”

You nodded. “The appointment,” you said.

He wrote it down.

“One appointment,” he said quietly. “We confirm the pregnancy, find out how far along you are, and talk to the doctor about everything else. The pill. What we need to do next.”

You watched his handwriting move steadily across the page. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The appointment was simple enough. It was something you could actually do, something with a beginning and an end, and that made it easier to look at than everything waiting beyond it.

Chan turned the pen between his fingers, “And after that,” he said, “we talk about our options.”

Your eyes lifted to his.

He didn't rush to fill the silence. He just looked at you, giving you enough space to understand that he meant all of them.

“If you don't want to continue the pregnancy, we talk about that,” he said quietly. “If you think adoption is what you want, we talk about that too. And if we decide we want to have the baby...” His voice faltered slightly before he continued. “Then we figure out how we make that work.”

You looked down at the notebook again.

The three possibilities had existed in your head for days, but hearing him say them aloud made something inside you settle. Not because any of them had suddenly become easier, but because none of them had been taken off the table for you.

“You're really okay with talking about all of it?” you asked.

Chan's brow furrowed. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“I don't know.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Because you think I want one answer?”

You didn't respond.

His hand found yours again, his fingers closing gently around it.

“I don't know what I want yet either,” he admitted. “I know what I'm scared of. I know that a part of me wants to believe this could be a second chance.” His thumb moved slowly over your knuckles. “But that doesn't mean I get to decide for you.”

Your throat tightened.

“We'll talk about it,” he continued. “We'll find out what we need to know, and then we'll make the decision together.”

You looked at the page again. The word Next sat at the top, followed by the appointment and the possibilities neither of you was ready to name as a choice.

It still scared you. Maybe it always would, but it no longer felt like you were standing at the edge of it alone. You leaned back in your chair, letting out a slow breath. “One thing at a time.”

Chan nodded. “One thing at a time.”

𐙚

It wasn't until that night, after Jia had gone to bed again, that the conversation shifted again.

The two of you were sitting on the couch with the television playing quietly in the background, neither of you paying much attention to it. Chan had been quiet for several minutes when he finally reached for your hand, his fingers settling between yours.

“There is something I haven't told you.”

You turned toward him. “What?”

He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb moving slowly across the back of yours. “I've been thinking about what my mom said.”

“About Jia?”

He nodded. “When she was born, I thought I was going to lose everything.”

You didn't interrupt. He seemed to need the silence.

“I didn't know how to be a father. I didn't know how to be a husband. I didn't know how to keep everything together.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “And then my wife left.”

Your chest tightened.

Chan stared at your hands. “I spent a long time thinking that meant I wasn't good enough. That maybe I hadn't been enough for her. Maybe I wasn't enough for Jia either.”

“Chan…”

“I know that's not fair.” A small, tired smile touched his mouth. “My mom has told me that more times than I can count.”

You squeezed his hand.

“But I still think about it.” He finally looked at you. “And when I found the test…” He stopped.

You knew exactly what he meant. The bag in his hand. The torn plastic. The test lying on the concrete. The moment everything inside him had gone completely still.

“I was scared,” he admitted. “Really scared.”

You nodded.

“But there was something else there too.”

Your heart beat harder.

“I thought maybe this was a second chance.”

You went still.

“Not a second chance to fix what happened,” he added quickly. “I don't mean that. I know I can't go back and change anything.” His fingers tightened around yours. “I just mean a chance to do some things differently. To be there from the beginning. To not spend the first few months wondering if I'm doing enough. To not feel like everything could disappear if I make one wrong move.”

His eyes dropped again. “But I'm not asking you to give me that.”

Your throat tightened.

“If we choose this, I want you to know something.” He paused, making sure you were looking at him. “You won't be doing it alone.”

The certainty in his voice made your eyes sting.

“I don't care what happens with the nursery. I don't care if you need to change your schedule or slow down for a while. I don't care if you need me at every appointment or if you need me to take over things you don't have the energy for. Whatever you need, I'll figure it out.”

“Chan…”

“I mean it.” His hand came up, brushing gently beneath your eye before the tear could fall. “I want you to keep your business. I want you to keep your life. I don't want you waking up one day and realizing you've disappeared because you were busy taking care of everyone else.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

“And I want you in my life.” The words were quieter now. “Not because you're having my baby.” He held your gaze. “Because you're you.”

The tear slipped down anyway. He wiped it away with his thumb. “I can't promise you that I'll know what I'm doing.”

A small laugh escaped you through the tears. “That would be a first.”

He smiled. “I can't promise I'll get everything right. But I can promise you won't have to carry it by yourself.”

You looked down, swallowing against the ache in your throat. There was something almost painful about hearing him say it so simply, because that had been your fear from the beginning. Not just the baby. Not just the nursery. Not even motherhood.

It was the possibility of losing yourself somewhere inside all of it.

Chan seemed to understand that without you having to explain. “I don't want you to give up everything you've built,” he said. “And I don't want you to think choosing this means you stop being the person you were before.”

You swallowed. “What if I can't do both?”

“Then we'll figure out what both looks like.”

“And if I don't know what I want?”

“Then we wait.” He said it without hesitation.

You looked at him. “You'd wait?”

“Of course.” He shifted closer. “I don't want you choosing this because you're scared I'll leave if you don't.”

Your eyes burned again.

“I'm scared too,” he admitted.

You hadn't expected him to say it so plainly.

“I keep thinking about what happened before. About my marriage. About Jia. About the way everything fell apart.” His gaze drifted toward the hallway where his daughter was sleeping. “And part of me is terrified that I'm going to repeat something I don't even understand yet.”

You reached for his hand again. “You won't.”

“I hope not.” His honesty hurt more than reassurance would have.

He wasn't pretending he knew everything. He wasn't promising that nothing would go wrong. He was just sitting there with you, scared and uncertain and still choosing to stay.

“I don't know what this looks like,” he continued. “I don't know how I'm supposed to split myself between Jia, you, the nursery, work, and another baby without feeling like I'm failing somebody.”

He looked back at you.

“But if we choose this, I'll figure it out with you.”

Your fingers tightened around his.

“And if we don't?”

His answer came just as quietly.

“Then I'll figure that out with you too.”

That was the part that finally broke something open inside you. Not the promise that he'd provide everything. Not the promise that he could make it work. Just the certainty that he wasn't asking you to make the decision for him.

He was staying either way.

Chan leaned closer until his forehead rested gently against yours. “One thing at a time,” he murmured.

𐙚

The appointment was quieter than you expected. There had been questions, paperwork, the doctor's calm explanation of what they could tell from the tests, and the confirmation that left you sitting there with Chan's hand wrapped tightly around yours.

Pregnant.

The word had stopped being a possibility sometime between the positive test and the drive to the clinic. Now it was something real, something with a due date and a heartbeat you hadn't heard yet but already knew existed somewhere inside you.

The doctor answered everything you asked. How far along you were. What the emergency contraception meant now. What you needed to do next. What your options were. And then, eventually, she left the two of you alone.

The door clicked shut.

For a few seconds, neither of you moved. Chan was still holding your hand, his thumb moving slowly across your knuckles as you stared at the paperwork sitting on the edge of the desk.

“So,” you said quietly.

His thumb stilled. “So.”

You swallowed. “I think I want to keep it.”

Chan went completely still.

You forced yourself to look at him. “I'm scared.”

“I know.”

“I don't know how I'm going to do this and keep the nursery and keep my life and...” Your voice faltered. “I don't know how I'm supposed to be someone's mother without losing myself.”

“You won't.”

The answer came quietly, without hesitation.

You searched his face.

He squeezed your hand. “We'll make sure you don't.”

Your eyes burned.

“I want to keep it,” you repeated, softer this time. “I think I do.”

Chan looked down for a moment, breathing out slowly. When he looked back at you, there was fear there, relief too, and something almost disbelieving beneath both.

“Okay,” he said.

You waited.

His fingers tightened around yours. “Then we keep it.”

There was no dramatic rush of certainty after that. You didn't suddenly stop being afraid, and neither did he. But something shifted. The decision was no longer something hanging over the two of you. It was something you'd made together.

Outside the clinic, neither of you spoke much on the drive back. Chan kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on the center console, palm turned upward. You slipped your fingers into it, and he closed his hand around yours.

“You okay?” he asked.

You looked out the window before answering. “No.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. “Me neither.”

You glanced over. “That's reassuring.”

“I didn't say I was good at reassurance.”

“You're usually better than this.”

“I'm trying.”

You smiled faintly. “I know.”

By the time you returned to the nursery, the afternoon had already picked back up. Someone needed help choosing a fern, a delivery had arrived at the back entrance, and one of the hanging baskets had somehow ended up crooked.

For a while, you let yourself disappear into the work.

It helped. This was still yours. The nursery hadn't changed because you'd made a decision. Neither had you.

Later, you found yourself standing near the greenhouse with a tray of seedlings balanced against your hip when Chan appeared beside you.

“You okay?”

You looked around at everything you'd built. The glass, the plants, the rows of tables you'd spent months arranging and rearranging until the space finally felt like yours.

“Yeah.”

He followed your gaze. “Still yours.”

You looked at him, “still mine.”

His smile was small. “Good.”

That was all either of you said before someone called your name from the register.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly.

By dinner, Jia was already talking about something that had happened in the garden, completely unaware that the two of you had spent the day learning that her world was about to change. She sat between you at the table, swinging her legs beneath her chair while Chan tried unsuccessfully to convince her that vegetables were, in fact, part of dinner.

“I ate three.”

“You ate one.”

“I ate three.”

“You moved the other two around your plate.”

Jia looked at you for backup, and you tried not to smile. “Your dad has a point.”

She sighed dramatically and picked up another carrot. “There.”

Chan nodded solemnly. “Excellent work.”

She chewed it with exaggerated effort, then pointed her fork at him. “Happy?”

“Very.”

For another few minutes, the conversation stayed ordinary.

Then Chan caught your eye. It was barely noticeable, but you knew what he was asking. You gave him a small nod, and he set his fork down.

“Jia?”

She looked up. “What?”

“We have something to tell you.”

Her expression immediately changed. “Am I in trouble?”

You laughed softly. “No. You're not in trouble.” Chan reached across the table and took your hand. “We went to the doctor today.”

Jia looked between the two of you, suddenly serious. “Are you sick?”

“No,” you said. “We're okay.”

Chan smiled at her. “Actually, you're going to be a big sister.”

Jia stared at him. For a second, she didn't react at all. Then her eyes widened.

“A real baby?”

“A real baby.”

Her gaze dropped immediately to your stomach. “Is it in there?”

You laughed softly. “Yeah.”

She leaned forward in her chair, studying you with an intensity that made Chan smile. “Can it hear me?”

“Not yet, probably.”

“When can it?”

“Eventually.”

She thought about that for a moment. “Can I talk to it now anyway?”

Chan's smile softened. “I think you can.”

Jia immediately turned toward you and leaned closer, lowering her voice as though the baby might be sleeping.

“Hi, baby.”

Your throat tightened.

“Hi, baby,” she repeated, even more seriously.

Chan looked down at his plate, smiling to himself.

Jia sat back in her chair. “Can the baby have my yellow blanket?”

“We'll see,” you said.

“I think it should.”

“Jia.”

“It needs it.”

Chan laughed quietly. “Apparently that's settled.”

She nodded, satisfied, and went back to her dinner before suddenly looking at you again.

“Mom, can I have more juice?”

Everything stopped.

The word hung there between the three of you.

Jia seemed to realize what she'd said a second later. Her eyes widened, and she looked at you uncertainly. “I didn't mean—”

You reached across the table before she could finish.

“It's okay.”

Her shoulders relaxed.

She looked at you for another second, then reached for the juice.

“Okay.”

Chan hadn't said anything.

You looked at him.

His eyes were on you, and there was something in them you couldn't quite name. His fingers found yours beneath the table, closing around them carefully, almost like he was afraid the moment might disappear if he moved too quickly.

Jia had already moved on. She was telling you both about all the things she was going to teach the baby, which toys it could borrow, and why she thought it should sleep in her room even though Chan had already explained that babies needed their own space.

You listened, smiling despite the ache still sitting somewhere beneath your ribs.

Across the table, Chan squeezed your hand.

For once, you didn't wonder what came next.

You just sat there and listened to Jia plan a future none of you had expected, with Chan's hand warm around yours and the nursery waiting for you in the morning.

For now, that was enough.

masterlist

a/n: MY SHAAAAAYLAAAAAS we made it gang. When I first had this drafted, I had no clue it would blow up this big. I just love dilfs and kids LMAO but ty ty ty to everyone who tuned in weekly/biweekly, put up with my slowness and what not, everyone who commented and reblogged. I received both love and hate, and honestly they both kept me going. This is it for our family gang. If we meet them again in the future it'll be a cute and fluffy drabble.

@itsraininghyunebuckets , @armynstay, @thereaderinyourmind , @nougatjade , @river121798, @hunnybunny05 , @babydollyriri , @ddearina , @ebnabi, @darlingjunnie , @bamsopoong02 , @straystar-8 , @hyunjinxxs , @amaranth-writing, @gwinamlvr @peachluffe @amarecerasus, @monbrigh , @bangct @changbinniescurlyhair, @babythisisourcinema , @marley1773, @cchapssaltteok , @moonychn, @susu6944 , @whoschanandwhydoyallwannabanghim , @canthavetoomuchchaos , @alienoddityfrompluto , @rockstarkkami, @nebugalaxy , @pedropacals0l0s, @charchartumb-lr, @akilovescake , @moon-1307, @certifiedbahnger, @blueberrieseungmin , @murisakimine , @fanaticstay , @my-leo-obsessions, @barbie-girl84 , @lonelydarknessblog, @channie-juseyo , @fanficwriter5 , @sproite, @angeldust296 @jasmine87906 @ready2readnwrite @darlingjunnie @lamentingweaver

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