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★Perfect Night

»|♪ Perfect night - lesserafim

»Pairings : Chan x Reader (f)

» Warnings⚠ :This story contains depictions of physical injury (broken bones), minor domestic conflict, and emotional stress/anxiety related to pregnancy and caretaking.

The dorm was unusually quiet, save for the muffled sound of a heavy cast thumping against the sofa cushions. Chan was grounded—not by the company, but by a fractured radius and a hairline crack in his elbow after a nasty fall during a late-night choreography session.

He was currently a ball of restless energy and protective instinct, a combination that made him a very difficult patient.

The "Clash" in the Kitchen

You were six months along now, your baby bump a prominent curve that made simple tasks a bit more of a balancing act. But you weren't helpless. You were currently standing at the stove, carefully stirring a pot of seaweed soup—Chan’s favorite.

"Y/N, what are you doing?"

The voice was sharp, cutting through the steam. You turned to see Chan standing in the doorway, his left arm encased in heavy white plaster and held up by a black sling. His hair was messy, and his eyes were tight with stress.

"I’m making dinner, Channie. You need to eat so you can take your meds."

"I told you to stay on the couch," he said, his voice rising. "The floor is slick, the pot is heavy, and you’re leaning over a hot stove. Go sit down."

You sighed, wiping your hands on your apron. "I'm pregnant, Chan, not broken. You're the one with the broken arm. I can handle a ladle."

"That’s not the point!" he snapped, stepping closer. His frustration wasn't really at you—it was at the fact that he couldn't help you. "If you trip, or if that boiling water splashesd... I can't even catch you right now. I have one working hand, Y/N. Do you have any idea how much that scares me?"

The raw honesty in his voice softened your stance, but his tone still stung. "You don't have to scold me like a child. I'm taking care of you because I love you."

"And I'm yelling because I can't lose either of you!" he countered, his shoulders dropping. "Please. Just... give me the spoon. I’ll stir it with my right hand."

Youj eventually compromised. You pulled a tall stool over to the stove so you didn't have to stand, and Chan sat right next to you, his "good" arm wrapped firmly around your waist, anchoring you.L

Later that night, as the two of you were curled up on the bed, Chan used his working hand to gently stroke the fabric of your shirt over your bump. The anger from earlier had completely evaporated, replaced by his usual warmth.

"I'm sorry I snapped," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Being sidelined while you're carrying our little one makes me feel like I'm failing as a husband."

"You're not failing," you murmured, leaning back into his chest. "You're just a very bossy patient."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your back. "Maybe. But I promise to stop scolding if you promise to stop lifting the heavy laundry basket."

"Deal," you smiled.

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