Chapter Text
Asahi
It felt impossible, how fast time had slipped past me.
Nine months pregnant. Eleven months since I had carried my pink suitcases into Jaehyuk’s cold penthouse, clutching plushies like they were the only anchor I had. Back then, the walls felt like ice, the floors too polished for someone like me, and the bed too big for two strangers forced into each other’s lives.
And now, here I was — swollen belly curved beneath my palm, breath shaky, the late evening light spilling gray-gold across the nursery walls we had painted together. Nine months. Nine months of swollen ankles, sudden cravings, arguments softened into quiet compromises, and his steady hand always reaching out when I stumbled, even if he never said much. Nine months of learning the way Jaehyuk moved through the world — too cold for anyone else, but with me… warmer, in small ways.
I pressed a hand to my belly, fingers tracing the rise and fall. “Can you believe it, babies?” My voice was soft, shaky, almost shy in the empty apartment. “It’s been eleven months since I moved in with your dad. And now… now you’re ready to come out?”
I laughed under my breath, but the sound broke. My eyes burned. I didn’t know if it was hormones, or fear, or just the surreal weight of everything pressing down.
That’s when I felt it.
A sharp, deep pull low in my belly. A contraction.
I froze. My breath stuttered out, chest tight. “…Oh.”
At first, I thought maybe it was another false alarm — I’d had Braxton Hicks for weeks now, those tight, uncomfortable squeezes that made me think it was time only to end up curled in bed, embarrassed. But this one… this one felt different. Stronger. More real.
Then, warm liquid rushed down my thighs, soaking through the thin sweatpants I wore. My hand flew down, trembling. My eyes widened.
“My water—” My voice cracked. “Oh my god. It’s— It’s happening.”
Panic shot through me so fast I stumbled back against the wall, clutching my belly with both hands. My heart hammered like a trapped bird. The nursery — half-decorated, crib already waiting — blurred in my vision.
The babies were coming. Now.
I tried to breathe, like they’d taught me in classes, but my chest wouldn’t open. It hurt, like I couldn’t pull air in. My body shook, sweat prickling my neck.
“Jaehyuk,” I whispered, though he wasn’t here. He had gone to the gym earlier, promising he’d be back by dinner. It was nearly seven now. I was alone. Alone, and everything was starting without him.
Another contraction hit, worse this time — like my body was being ripped in half. I screamed, clutching at the wall, doubling over. Tears stung my eyes, hot and helpless.
I reached for my phone with shaking hands, nearly dropping it three times before I managed to find his number. The moment I hit “call,” another wave ripped through me, and I sobbed into the empty air.
He picked up on the second ring.
“Asahi?” His voice was low, distracted, like he hadn’t expected me. Then, hearing me, it sharpened. “What’s wrong? Baby—”
“My water broke—” My words came out strangled, wet with tears. “It hurts— I can’t— Jaehyuk, it’s happening, it’s happening right now—”
There was silence on the other end, just for half a breath. Then his voice, all command, all steel.
“Don’t move. I’m coming home. Right now.”
The line went dead before I could answer.
I dropped the phone, my whole body trembling as another contraction clawed through me. I sank down to the floor, back pressed against the nursery doorframe, hands gripping my belly as if I could hold everything together. My heart screamed for him. I needed him here. I couldn’t do this alone.
The next minutes were a blur — pain, breathing, crying into my knees — until the front door slammed open so hard it echoed through the apartment.
“Asahi!”
His voice thundered through the halls, urgent, shaking. And then he was there, running into the nursery, hair damp with sweat from the gym, chest heaving. He dropped to his knees beside me without hesitation, huge hands on my arms, on my face, grounding me.
“I’m here. I’m here, baby. Look at me.” His eyes were wild, blown wide with panic, but his voice — his voice tried to be steady, strong. “We’re going to the hospital. Right now.”
“I—I can’t— It hurts—” I sobbed, clinging to his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me alive.
“You can,” he said firmly, voice cracking with something raw underneath. He slipped one arm under my knees, the other behind my back, and in one motion, lifted me up against his chest like I weighed nothing. His heart pounded against my cheek, fast and furious.
I cried into his neck as he carried me through the apartment, whispering over and over: “You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”
The elevator ride blurred — my nails digging into his shoulders, his jaw clenched tight. And then we were in the car, doors slamming, engine roaring to life.
He drove like a man possessed.
Red lights blurred, horns blared, but he didn’t care. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, veins bulging in his forearms, his jaw set like stone. Every few seconds, his free hand reached for me, gripping my thigh, my hand, anything just to keep me tethered to him.
“Breathe, baby. Stay with me,” he muttered, over and over, like a prayer. “Don’t close your eyes. I’m right here.”
Another contraction tore through me and I screamed, breaking in half beside him. His hand found mine, squeezing so tight it hurt.
“I know, I know,” he whispered hoarsely, eyes wet, glued to the road. “I’m getting you there. Just hold on for me.”
And for the first time in my life, I believed him completely.
—————-
Jaehyuk
The ride to the hospital is a blur, but every sound is carved into me like scars. Asahi’s breath hitching, breaking. His body curling up, then thrashing against the seatbelt when the pain hits him again. His cries. My name torn from his throat like he’s drowning and I’m the only air left in the world.
“Jae—” His voice cracks. “It hurts—fuck, it hurts—”
I don’t even know I’m crying until my vision doubles. My hands are slick on the wheel. I can’t let go, not even to wipe my face, because if I do, I’ll lose him. I press the pedal harder, even though the world is nothing but streaks of red and white lights.
“Breathe for me, baby. Just breathe. We’re almost there.” My voice is steady but inside I’m falling apart, every word cracking against the edges of my chest.
His hand claws at my arm, so small and desperate, nails dragging crescents into my skin. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and I don’t care. I’d let him break bone if it meant grounding him through this.
“Don’t—don’t let me go—” His eyes are wild, glossy with pain and fear, lips trembling as he sobs.
“I won’t.” The words leave me like a promise, sharp and certain. “I’m right here. You’re not doing this alone.”
By the time the hospital lights flare ahead, I’m already pulling into the emergency lane, tires screaming. The car jolts to a stop, and I’m out before the engine dies. The world slows as I round to his side and see him there, trembling, hair plastered to his face with sweat, chest rising too fast.
I lift him into my arms, his head falling against my neck, and he clings so hard I swear he’ll tear my shirt apart. I’ve carried championship belts, I’ve carried broken ribs and bruises, but nothing weighs like this—my whole world in my arms, fragile, breaking, begging me not to leave.
Inside, the lobby erupts in chaos. Nurses rush toward us, voices sharp, but all I can hear is him.
“Please—” His sobs shake against my throat. “Please don’t let me do this alone.”
“You’re not alone,” I snap back, more to the universe than to him. “He’s not doing this alone!” I shout at the nurses, fury in my voice. “Do you hear me?!”
They wheel a stretcher over, tugging at me, telling me to put him down. My body locks, resisting, but then his hand finds my jaw, trembling, weak. His lips barely move but I hear it like thunder:
“Stay.”
So I do.
I run beside him as they rush us through hallways that blur into white. I don’t know what the doctors are saying. I don’t know what paperwork they’re shoving at me. I only know the sound of his voice splitting open, the way his body arches and twists as another contraction tears through him.
He screams. It rips right through me. I grab his hand, press my forehead to his temple, whispering through clenched teeth: “Breathe. Baby, please. You can do this. Just look at me.”
His nails dig so deep into my hand that blood beads, but I don’t flinch. I want the pain. I need to carry some of it for him.
By the time we’re in the delivery room, his whole body is trembling. His hair is plastered to his face, his lips swollen from biting back sobs. He grabs my shirt, fisting it so tight that the fabric strains.
“I can’t,” he sobs, eyes rolling, chest heaving. “Jae—I can’t—I can’t do this, I can’t—”
My own chest caves. For the first time in years, my body shakes not from exhaustion in the ring, but from pure helplessness. I’ve taken punches that shattered bone. I’ve bled in front of thousands. But I’ve never broken like this, until now.
I cup his face, force him to look at me through the blur of tears. My thumb drags across his cheek, clumsy, desperate. “Listen to me,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “You can . You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. Stronger than me. Stronger than all of this.”
He sobs harder, curling into me, shaking his head. “I’m scared—”
“I know, baby. I know.” My lips press to his damp hair, to his forehead, over and over like prayers. “But I’m here. I’m not leaving. I’ll hold you through every second. Scream into me, break me, whatever you need—but you’re not alone.”
Another contraction slams through him and he wails, collapsing against me. His scream tears through the sterile room, and I break completely, pressing my forehead to his, both of us shaking.
“You’re almost there,” I breathe, even though I don’t know how much longer. My hand never leaves his. “Almost there. And when this is over… when it’s over, we’ll meet them. Jeongwoo and Junghwan. Our boys. You’re going to see their faces and know it was all worth it.”
His sobbing slows for a moment, his eyes fluttering open, and he stares at me through tears. Something in me shatters.
And then—another wave hits, and he screams again, clinging to me like I’m the last thing tethering him to this earth.
And maybe I am.
⸻
The air in the delivery room is thick with sweat, antiseptic, and something unnameable, like the universe itself is holding its breath. Asahi’s body is shaking violently, every nerve screaming in agony. His hands clutch mine like they’ll never let go. His eyes are wild, panicked, drowning, and I can’t do anything except mirror him — let myself drown with him, hold him steady as best I can.
“You’re doing it, baby,” I whisper, voice hoarse, trembling as much as he is. “You’re so fucking strong. Just a little longer. Almost there. Almost.”
He can barely hear me over his own screams, over the primal, terrifying rhythm of labor. His lips are quivering, his chest heaving. Another contraction tears through him and he screams my name, eyes clenched, nails dragging down my arm.
“I can’t—” he sobs, voice breaking. “I can’t do this—please—”
“Yes, you can,” I grit out, tears spilling down my own cheeks. “Yes, you can, and you are ! I’m right here. Every second, baby. You’re not alone. I’m not leaving!”
And then it happens. The first cry, sharp and tiny, cuts through the chaos. My heart lurches like someone just struck it, and I look down to see the nurse holding him up, red-faced, slick with fluid, screaming at the world — our little Jeongwoo.
“He’s… he’s here,” I breathe, shaking, staring at him in disbelief. His tiny fists curl, his eyes squeezed shut, his whole body trembling in this huge, terrifying, miraculous way.
Asahi collapses back against the bed, sobbing uncontrollably, tears streaming freely. “Jae…” His voice is a whisper, hoarse and broken. “He’s… he’s real—he’s real—”
“I know, baby, I know.” I lean over, press my forehead to his temple. My hands never leave his. “You did it. You’re amazing. Our baby… look at him—he’s perfect.”
Asahi reaches out with trembling fingers, almost afraid to touch, then clasps his tiny son to his chest. His tears soak Jeongwoo’s hairless head. “Oh my god—he’s so… small…” His voice breaks with awe, love, and fear all tangled together.
And then another cry pierces the room. I glance up and see the second nurse holding Junghwan, just as tiny, just as loud. My chest tightens, and Asahi’s sobs double. “Our… our second one…”
I move quickly, helping guide Junghwan to his trembling father. Asahi’s hands shake as he cups the baby’s back, his chest rising and falling as he presses him close. “Oh… oh my god…” His voice is trembling, a broken little sound of disbelief and wonder. “They’re… they’re both here… ours… ours…”
I kneel beside him, one arm around his shoulders, my other hand brushing back his damp hair. “They’re perfect. Jeongwoo and Junghwan… our boys. You did this. We did this.”
Asahi shakes, leaning into me, letting himself fall apart entirely. His tears wet my shirt, his sobs rattling through the room. I tighten my hold, pressing my cheek to his hair, whispering prayers, affirmations, anything to soothe him.
“They’re so small…” he whispers again, cradling them both against his chest like they might vanish if he lets go. “I can’t… I can’t believe this… they’re ours…”
“You did it, baby. You held them. You brought them into the world. You’re the strongest person I know. I love you. I fucking love you.” My voice cracks, and I don’t even try to hide it. This is everything. Fear, love, awe, heartbreak… it all spills out in the same word.
Asahi leans further into me, clutching both boys. “I… I don’t even know how—how to feel… I’m scared… and happy… and…” His words trail into sobs, and I hold him tighter, pressing my lips to his temple, whispering, “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to feel anything all at once. You’re here, they’re here, we’re here… together.”
The room is quiet except for the tiny cries of Jeongwoo and Junghwan, the soft hum of machines, and Asahi’s uneven breathing. I brush his damp hair back from his face, letting my forehead rest against his, feeling the heat of his body, the weight of our new lives in our arms.
And for the first time, in the middle of chaos, pain, and absolute exhaustion, I let myself feel it fully: we made it. Together.
⸻
Asahi
The hospital room was quiet, except for the faint beeping of machines and the soft, almost imperceptible cries of my tiny babies. I was exhausted. Every muscle in my body ached, my heart thudding with a mix of adrenaline, fear, and awe. Nine months of waiting, growing, hoping—and now they were here. Jeongwoo and Junghwan, so small, so fragile, so impossibly perfect.
I held them in my arms, both at once, trying to get a feel for their weight, their movements, the way their tiny fingers curled around mine. They were warm, soft, and utterly dependent on me. And then Jennie, the nurse, came closer, smiling warmly. “Alright, Asahi,” she said, voice gentle, like she already knew how overwhelmed I felt, “it’s time for their first feeding. Don’t worry, I’ll help you.”
I nodded, my voice failing me. My chest was heavy, sore but full, the memory of pregnancy and months of preparation a raw pulse in me. “I… I can do this, right?” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else.
Jaehyuk, standing beside me, dropped his hand to my back, his palm firm and grounding. “You can,” he said softly, his voice steady, calm. His eyes never left mine, full of something I didn’t have words for—pride, love, awe. My chest warmed at his touch. I could feel the steady beat of his presence anchoring me.
Jennie guided my arms. “Let’s do one at a time. Jeongwoo first. Hold him close, tummy to tummy. Make sure his mouth is open, and gently bring him to you. He’ll latch naturally.”
I took a shaky breath and positioned Jeongwoo, his tiny head fitting against my large, soft chest. His mouth opened instinctively, searching for comfort, nourishment, and I felt a wave of astonishment at how perfect it all felt. He latched on, and the sensation—warm, tender, intimate—made my chest tighten. I was feeding him. Me. My body. This was real.
Junghwan whimpered, restless in my other arm. “It’s okay, baby,” I murmured, shifting slightly, trying to soothe him while not disturbing Jeongwoo. Jaehyuk leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You’re doing amazing, baby,” he murmured, and I felt my chest squeeze with emotion.
Jennie watched carefully, guiding. “Now, once Jeongwoo settles, we’ll switch to Junghwan. Turn by turn. It’s okay if it takes a little while.”
I nodded, overwhelmed but determined. My big chest seemed to respond instinctively, providing exactly what they needed. Junghwan latched after a moment of fussing, and I sighed, the sound more relief than breath. They were feeding, together and separately, and I felt tears prick my eyes.
Jaehyuk’s hand never left me, sometimes brushing along my spine, sometimes resting lightly on my thigh, steadying me. He whispered encouragement, soft words that made my chest ache with a mixture of love and desire. He was watching me do this, being the parent, being the safe place for our babies, and I felt so exposed and so seen.
Their little noses scrunched as they fed, tiny hands pressing against my chest, curling into my skin. Their weight was feather-light but heavy with meaning. My heart swelled with a fierce protectiveness I had never known existed.
Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity, the room filled only with the sound of their sucking, their occasional whimpers, and my own steady breathing. Jennie adjusted their positions, showing me how to support their backs, tilt their heads slightly, keep them comfortable. I followed her guidance, every movement careful, precise, filled with awe.
Jaehyuk shifted slightly, leaning closer until his chest brushed mine. “You’re incredible,” he whispered. “I… I can’t even describe it.”
I glanced at him, flushed and tired, my eyes brimming. “I don’t know if I am… I’m just… feeding them,” I said, voice trembling. But he shook his head, pressing a kiss to my temple.
“You are. You are their everything right now,” he said simply.
Time blurred. I fed one, then the other, over and over, learning each baby’s rhythm, feeling the connection grow, the bond deepen. Every sigh, every little whimper, every tiny grasp of their hands into mine sent waves of emotion I couldn’t contain. My chest ached, my arms shook, but I didn’t care. This—this moment—was ours, ours as a family, and nothing else existed.
By the time Jennie checked on both of them and nodded, satisfied, I realized I hadn’t even noticed the clock. Hours had passed—or maybe just minutes. I was consumed, utterly, completely, by them, by this act of love, by the incredible, terrifying, beautiful reality of being a parent.
Jaehyuk leaned against me, head brushing mine, eyes soft and wide. “We did it,” he whispered, almost in awe. “We… we really did it.”
I rested my forehead against his, exhausted, exhilarated, and felt an overwhelming surge of warmth, love, and something deeper. Yes, I was their parent. Yes, I had survived the first feeding. And yes, Jaehyuk was here, solid, protective, and loving in a way that made my heart ache.
I squeezed him gently. “We did,” I murmured, a tiny smile breaking through the exhaustion. And as the babies nursed, content and warm, I realized this—the quiet intimacy of our new family, our little world—was exactly where I was meant to be.
⸻
The soft gray light of morning spilled across the penthouse floor, slipping between the curtains and dusting everything in a gentle warmth. The apartment was quiet—save for the faint, rhythmic breathing of Jeongwoo and Junghwan nestled against Asahi’s chest. A week had passed since the hospital, since that whirlwind of birth, tears, and first feedings, and now the world felt slightly slower, softer, like we were finally allowed to breathe.
I sat propped up on the bed, pillows stacked behind me, my chest still sore from the feeding, my arms full of warmth and life. Both babies rested against me, tiny bodies curled and trusting, and the weight of them was light but heavy with meaning. I stared down at them, heart thrumming with a mix of awe, exhaustion, and something tender that made my chest ache.
Jaehyuk leaned against the headboard beside me, bare-chested, eyes shadowed with tiredness but sharp with focus. He hadn’t slept much, hadn’t left my side for long, but he still moved with that quiet, steady efficiency—heating bottles, folding tiny clothes, making sure everything ran smoothly. His hand brushed mine as he passed, casual yet intimate, grounding me.
“You’re doing well,” he said softly, almost as if testing the sound of it on his lips. “All of us are… surviving.”
I smiled, a little crooked and exhausted. “We’re surviving,” I echoed, though my voice trembled slightly. “They… they need us so much.”
“They do,” he murmured, and there was a pause before his eyes softened, lingering on me. “And you… you’re incredible. I don’t know how you’re doing this—feeding them, keeping them calm. You make it look… natural.”
I flushed, embarrassed and warmed all at once. “I… I’m still learning. But I have you,” I whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’ve been here every step, Jae.”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he shifted closer, his hand resting over mine, over the babies, as if to remind me we were all tethered together. “I will be,” he said finally. “Every step. Always.”
We settled into a rhythm that felt new and fragile: Jeongwoo nursed first, then Junghwan, then the babies slept, and I could finally lay back, let my body relax, and feel their warmth against me. Jaehyuk stayed close, brushing my hair, helping adjust pillows, feeding me small sips of water between feedings, murmuring encouragement.
The penthouse felt alive, not with luxury or silence, but with the sound of tiny breaths, soft coos, and the intimacy of recovery. Every glance Jaehyuk shot me carried something more than protection—it was awe, it was pride, it was something I wasn’t quite ready to name, but it made my chest tighten in the best way.
At one point, the babies wriggled, tiny cries spilling into the room, and Jaehyuk instinctively shifted closer, helping me position them. “They’re okay,” he murmured, brushing my cheek with the back of his hand. “We’ve got this.”
I laughed softly, leaning into him, exhausted and exhilarated all at once. “I feel like I’ve never done anything this hard or this important,” I admitted. “And I’m terrified every second.”
“Good,” he said, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “Because that means you care. That means we care.”
I turned my gaze back to the babies, their tiny hands curling, their breaths soft and even now. And as Jaehyuk’s arm wrapped around me, steadying, protecting, holding me as much as him holding the babies, I realized—this was it. This was our life, fragile and chaotic and breathtakingly real. And for the first time, I felt… completely safe, completely loved, and completely ready to be their parent.
The week had passed, and though exhaustion lingered, the chaos had softened into something intimate and beautiful. In the penthouse, with Jaehyuk near and our sons in my arms, I finally allowed myself to breathe, to feel, to love—and to accept that we were all in this together, forever.
⸻
The room was quiet now, except for the soft, even breathing of Jeongwoo and Junghwan nestled against me. Jaehyuk had finally leaned back against the pillows, one arm draped across my shoulders, the other still holding the babies close. The penthouse, bathed in the late afternoon light, felt like a world all its own—a bubble of warmth and love in a life that had just begun.
I let out a tired laugh, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. “We survived the week,” I whispered, and Jaehyuk’s lips curved into the faintest smile at my words. “I can’t believe it… all of this. Them. Us.”
He squeezed my shoulder, his touch grounding. “It’s just the beginning,” he said softly. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”
I nodded, closing my eyes for a moment, letting the exhaustion and joy wash over me. Then, slowly, deliberately, I reached for my diary—the small, worn notebook I had kept tucked under the bed for years, the one that had chronicled my life from my earliest memories to this surreal, unbelievable moment. I flipped it open, and the page greeted me with the neat, careful script of my own hand.
Dear diary,
I can’t believe I’m writing this while holding them. Jeongwoo and Junghwan, my babies… I gave birth to them. I survived it. It was terrifying, overwhelming, and every second, I felt like I was being pulled apart and remade all at once. And yet, here they are, perfect and alive in my arms. My heart is so full it hurts in a way I never thought possible.
Jae… he’s been incredible. I didn’t expect… I didn’t expect to feel so safe, so loved, so seen. Watching him hold them, watching him help me, the way he just… is here—it makes me want to cry every time I look at him. I never thought I could feel this kind of closeness, this kind of warmth. But I do. And it scares me how much I love him already.
They’re tiny, fragile, and yet so strong. I can’t stop staring at them, memorizing every line of their fingers, every curl of their hair, every little sound they make. Being a parent feels like standing on the edge of the world, and the world has never been more beautiful or more terrifying. I hope I can do this. I hope I can be everything they need.
Tonight, as I watch them sleep against me, I finally feel… home. Not the apartment, not the city, not even Jae—but here, in this moment, with them and him and all of it. This is the first page of our new life. And I want to remember every single second.
I closed the diary gently, pressing it to my chest. Jaehyuk glanced down at me, his eyes softening further, and whispered, “You’re amazing, baby.”
I smiled, the tiredness and love mingling into something almost indescribable. “We’re amazing,” I corrected softly, leaning into him. “All of us.”
The afternoon sunlight wrapped us in a quiet glow, the room full of soft breaths, warmth, and the gentle, steadfast rhythm of our new family. Outside, the city carried on, unaware of the tiny, extraordinary world we’d made here. Inside, we had each other. And for the first time since this journey began, I could let myself feel that nothing else mattered. Not yet, not for now.
And as I drifted into a light, exhausted sleep with both babies pressed to my chest and Jaehyuk’s steady heartbeat against mine, I knew that tomorrow, the day after, the days ahead—they would all be ours. Together.