Chapter Text
The restaurant was quiet after closing, the way Seokjin liked it best on special nights. Just the warm glow of the pendant lights over the oak tables, the low hum of the old playlist he kept for anniversaries—mostly soft jazz and a few nostalgic Korean ballads—and the faint smell of garlic and sesame still lingering from dinner service.
Taehyung sat at their usual corner table, legs tucked under him on the cushioned chair, watching his husband move around the kitchen with that effortless grace he never seemed to lose. Seokjin had taken off his chef jacket hours ago, sleeves of his black button-up rolled to his elbows, apron still tied around his waist. He carried two plates out with a proud little smile.
“Anniversary dinner, round three,” Seokjin announced, setting the dishes down. “Grilled branzino with that yuzu butter you like, and the japchae I made extra spicy because I know you secretly want it even when you pretend you don’t.”
Taehyung laughed softly, reaching out to tug Seokjin down for a quick kiss before he could escape back to the kitchen. “You spoil me.”
“I married you. That was the original spoiling plan. Everything else is just maintenance.”
They ate slowly, talking about nothing and everything. How Taehyung’s advanced watercolor class had finally stopped treating him like the “cool young teacher” and started actually listening. How Seokjin was thinking of adding a weekend tasting menu but didn’t want to lose the regulars who came for the homestyle doenjang jjigae. Three years of marriage, and the conversation still felt easy. Comfortable. Like slipping into favorite clothes.
By the time they got home, though, something felt off.
Taehyung blamed it on the rich food at first. He’d been tired all week—long days standing in the art studio, paint under his nails, kids asking a thousand questions—but tonight the exhaustion sat heavier in his bones. He barely made it through brushing his teeth before collapsing onto their bed, still in the soft cream sweater Seokjin loved on him.
“You okay?” Seokjin asked, climbing in beside him and immediately pulling Taehyung against his chest. His hand rubbed slow circles over Taehyung’s back.
“Just worn out,” Taehyung mumbled into his shoulder. “Anniversary dinners are dangerous. Too good.”
Seokjin chuckled, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Sleep, baby. I’ll make you that barley tea you like in the morning.”
But the next morning, the tea didn’t help. Neither did the toast. Taehyung spent twenty minutes hunched over the toilet in their bathroom, stomach rolling even though there was barely anything in it. He rinsed his mouth, stared at his reflection—pale cheeks, tired eyes—and something in his chest fluttered with a strange, nervous hope.
He waited until Seokjin left for the morning market run before he did it.
The pregnancy test was buried in the back of the drawer under extra towels, one of the packs they’d bought eight months ago when they decided to stop “not trying.” Taehyung’s hands shook a little as he read the instructions again, even though he’d memorized them weeks ago. He peed on the stick, set it on the counter, and walked out of the bathroom like it might explode if he stayed too close.
Five minutes felt like fifty.
When he finally looked, two pink lines stared back at him. Clear. Bold. No question.
Taehyung sat down hard on the edge of the tub, staring at the test in his hands. His vision blurred.
“Oh my god,” he whispered. Then again, voice cracking, “Oh my god.”
He laughed through the tears that slipped down his cheeks, pressing a hand to his still-flat stomach like he could already feel something there. Eight months of negative tests, of quiet disappointments they tried not to let weigh too heavy, and now this. Just like that.
He took a picture of the test, sent it to no one yet, and hid the stick in his nightstand drawer like a secret he wasn’t ready to share with the whole world.
That same week, on Wednesday, he met Jimin at their favorite café near the river.
Jimin was already there when Taehyung arrived, wearing an oversized hoodie and bouncing his leg under the table. The moment their eyes met, Jimin’s face crumpled and lit up at the same time.
Taehyung slid into the seat across from him, and they just stared at each other for a second.
“You too?” Jimin asked, voice small.
Taehyung nodded, biting his lip to keep from crying in public. “Two lines. You?”
“Two very loud pink lines,” Jimin said, and then they were both laughing and crying, reaching across the table to grab each other’s hands. The barista gave them a curious look, but neither of them cared.
“I’m scared shitless,” Jimin admitted after a while, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Namjoon’s been reading baby books for months already. He’s going to lose his mind. But Tae… I keep thinking, what if I’m not ready? What if we mess this up?”
Taehyung squeezed his fingers tighter. “I’ve been throwing up every morning and still can’t believe it’s real. I keep touching my stomach like it’s going to disappear. We’re both going to be terrible and amazing at the same time, I think. That’s probably normal.”
Jimin let out a watery laugh. “Sick besties. We’re going to need a couch and blankets and terrible dramas for the next few months.”
“Deal.”
They stayed at the café for almost two hours, talking in hushed, excited voices about due dates and first appointments and how they were going to tell their husbands. The fear was there—quiet, whispering—but so was the joy. Big, overwhelming, terrifying joy.
That evening, Taehyung waited until after dinner.
Seokjin had made mild seaweed soup and grilled mackerel, noticing Taehyung’s pickier appetite lately but not pushing. They were on the couch, some cooking show playing low in the background, when Taehyung crawled into his lap and rested his head on Seokjin’s shoulder.
“Jinnie,” he said softly.
“Hm?” Seokjin’s hand came up automatically to stroke through his hair.
“I have something to tell you.”
Seokjin pulled back enough to look at him, eyebrows drawing together in concern. “You okay? You’ve been tired lately. If the restaurant’s schedule is too much for date nights, we can—”
“I’m pregnant.”
The words hung in the air for a second.
Seokjin blinked. Once. Twice. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “You’re… what?”
Taehyung pulled the test out of his hoodie pocket and held it up between them. The two pink lines were still clear.
Seokjin stared at it like it was written in another language. Then his eyes filled with tears so fast it startled both of them. He made a sound—half laugh, half sob—and suddenly Taehyung was being lifted, gently but firmly, into Seokjin’s arms as he stood up from the couch.
“Careful,” Taehyung laughed, wrapping his legs around Seokjin’s waist out of habit.
Seokjin buried his face in Taehyung’s neck, holding him like he weighed nothing. “We’re having a baby,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Taehyung-ah… we’re having a baby.”
“Yeah,” Taehyung said, tears slipping down his own cheeks again. “We are.”
Seokjin pulled back, eyes shining, and kissed him—slow, deep, reverent. When he spoke again, his voice was thick but steady. “I’m going to take care of you. Both of you. Whatever you need. Cravings at three in the morning? I’ll cook. Can’t sleep? I’ll sing until you do. You just have to tell me, okay? No being strong and quiet about it.”
Taehyung nodded, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m scared,” he admitted quietly. “What if I’m not good at this? What if—”
“You’re going to be incredible,” Seokjin said firmly, thumb brushing away a tear on Taehyung’s cheek. “And even on the hard days, I’ll be right here. We’re doing this together.”
Across town, in a cozy apartment filled with bookshelves, Jimin was having his own moment.
Namjoon had gone very still when Jimin showed him the test. Then he’d sat down heavily on the couch, pulled Jimin into his lap, and cried silently into his shoulder for a full minute.
“I’m going to order every evidence-based pregnancy book tonight,” Namjoon said eventually, voice rough. “And the ones that aren’t evidence-based, just in case. We should probably start a spreadsheet for—”
Jimin laughed, kissing the worry lines between Namjoon’s brows. “Joonie. Breathe. We can do the nerd stuff tomorrow. Tonight just hold me.”
Namjoon’s arms tightened around him immediately. “I’m going to be the best dad. And the most annoying husband who reads too much. You know that, right?”
“I’m counting on it,” Jimin whispered.
Later that night, as Taehyung lay in bed with Seokjin’s hand resting protectively over his stomach, he let himself feel the full weight of it—the fear, the excitement, the love that already felt too big for his body.
Seokjin kissed his temple. “Two pink lines,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Taehyung smiled in the dark. “Yeah. Two pink lines.”
The nausea didn’t ease up like the books said it might. If anything, it dug in deeper by week seven.
Taehyung woke up most mornings to the familiar lurch in his stomach before he even opened his eyes. Their bedroom still smelled faintly of the lavender linen spray Seokjin had started using, but it didn’t help much when everything tasted like metal and regret. He’d slip out of bed carefully, trying not to wake his husband, only to end up on the cool tile floor of the bathroom with his forehead pressed against the side of the tub.
One Thursday, it was particularly bad. He’d managed half a slice of plain toast and some ginger tea before bolting. Seokjin found him there ten minutes later, still in his pajamas, knees drawn up.
“Hey,” Seokjin said softly, crouching down beside him. His hand found the nape of Taehyung’s neck, thumb rubbing slow, steady circles. “Same spot again?”
Taehyung nodded weakly, eyes closed. “I hate this. I barely ate anything yesterday either. I’m starting to look… gaunt or something.”
“You’re growing a whole person. Your body’s throwing a tantrum about it.” Seokjin’s voice was calm, the same tone he used when calming down stressed line cooks at the restaurant. He grabbed a clean washcloth, ran it under cool water, and pressed it gently to Taehyung’s forehead. “I called Minho. He’s covering the lunch shift today. I’m staying home.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” Seokjin cut him off gently, leaning in to kiss his temple. “The restaurant’s not going to fall apart without me for a few weeks. You’re more important right now.”
By the time Taehyung felt steady enough to move to the couch, Seokjin had already set up a little station: a bowl of plain congee with just a hint of sesame oil, some sliced pear, and the anti-nausea wristbands Taehyung kept forgetting to wear. Seokjin sat beside him, one arm around his shoulders, the other resting lightly over Taehyung’s stomach even though it was still completely flat.
“Still nothing there,” Taehyung muttered, glancing down.
Seokjin smiled and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss right below Taehyung’s belly button through his shirt. “Doesn’t matter. Hi, little one. Go easy on your dad today, yeah? He’s working really hard for you.”
Taehyung’s throat tightened. He ran his fingers through Seokjin’s hair, blinking back the sudden sting in his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Mm. But it’s working. You smiled.”
The days blurred together like that. Seokjin took over the kitchen completely, experimenting with anything that might stay down—cold cucumber soup, rice porridge with a little chicken broth, frozen banana smoothies. He held Taehyung through the worst vomiting spells, rubbing his back and murmuring quiet nonsense until the heaving stopped. At night, when Taehyung couldn’t sleep because the nausea lingered or because his mind wouldn’t quiet, Seokjin would pull him close and sing. Low, gentle songs from their childhood playlists—old trot ballads and soft acoustic versions of songs they’d danced to at their wedding.
One particularly rough night in week eight, after Taehyung had thrown up everything he’d managed for dinner, he curled up against Seokjin’s chest and whispered, “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this, Jinnie. It’s only been a month and a half. How am I supposed to do this for nine months?”
Seokjin tightened his arms around him. “You don’t have to be strong every second. That’s what I’m here for. You’re already doing the hardest part. Just… let me take care of the rest tonight.”
Taehyung nodded against his shirt, exhausted but comforted by the steady beat of Seokjin’s heart.
Meanwhile, Jimin was fighting a different kind of battle.
The fatigue hit him like a truck. He’d close the dance studio for “staff training days” that were really just him napping in the back office. Emotions swung wildly too—one minute he was crying over a puppy video on his phone, the next he was snapping at Namjoon for breathing too loudly while reading.
They had their own rhythm. Namjoon would come home from the publishing house with new books and quiet understanding. He’d make Jimin sit on the couch with his feet up, then read aloud from whatever pregnancy guide he was on that week in his deep, steady voice until Jimin dozed off.
On a cloudy Tuesday, Taehyung and Jimin declared a “sick bestie day.”
They met at Taehyung’s place since Seokjin had turned the living room into a comfort zone—extra pillows, blankets, a humidifier running with eucalyptus. Jimin showed up in baggy sweatpants and one of Namjoon’s hoodies, looking pale but determined.
They barely made it through one episode of a drama before both were horizontal on the couch, heads on opposite ends, feet tangled in the middle.
“I cried at a cereal commercial this morning,” Jimin confessed, staring at the ceiling. “Like full ugly crying. Namjoon just handed me tissues and kept making me tea. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
Taehyung let out a tired laugh that turned into a groan when his stomach rolled. “I threw up four times before noon yesterday. Lost three pounds already. Seokjin keeps trying to hide the scale but I found it. I look like a sad raccoon.”
Jimin reached over and squeezed his ankle. “We’re both messes. But the babies are okay, right? That’s what matters.”
They spent the afternoon dozing on and off, sharing quiet stories about weird dreams and the weirdest cravings so far. Jimin wanted spicy tteokbokki at 2 a.m. but couldn’t handle the smell. Taehyung kept dreaming about painting entire rooms in shades of peach and mint. When Seokjin came home later, he found them both asleep under the same blanket, the TV still playing softly.
He smiled, covered them with an extra throw, and went to make more ginger tea for when they woke up.
The first ultrasound appointments happened a week apart.
Taehyung went on a Friday morning. Seokjin closed the restaurant entirely for the day, something he almost never did. He held Taehyung’s hand the entire time in the dim exam room, both of them staring at the screen with wide eyes.
The technician moved the wand gently over Taehyung’s lower belly. “There we go,” she said with a warm smile. “Strong heartbeat. One hundred and sixty-two beats per minute. Everything looks perfect for eight weeks.”
The rapid whooshing sound filled the room. Taehyung’s breath caught. Seokjin’s grip tightened, and when Taehyung looked over, there were tears in his eyes.
“That’s our baby,” Seokjin whispered, voice thick. He leaned down and kissed Taehyung’s forehead, then, when the technician stepped out for a moment, pressed another soft kiss to his stomach. “You hear that? You’re doing great in there.”
Jimin’s appointment was the following Wednesday. Namjoon apparently brought three different notebooks and asked so many questions that the doctor laughed and told him to relax. The heartbeat was strong there too—one hundred fifty-eight beats. Jimin sent Taehyung a teary voice note from the car afterward, voice cracking with excitement and leftover hormones.
That weekend, the four of them had a quiet dinner at home. No big announcements yet—just support. Seokjin cooked the mildest meal he could manage, and they sat around the table talking about everything except the fear that sometimes crept in during the quiet hours.
Later that night, after Jimin and Namjoon had gone home, Taehyung stood in front of the bathroom mirror in just his sleep shirt, lifting it to stare at his still mostly flat stomach. The slight softness was there, but nothing dramatic. He felt the exhaustion in his bones, the weight he’d lost in his face.
Seokjin came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Taehyung’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”
“That I should look more pregnant by now,” Taehyung said honestly. “Jimin already looks a little rounder. I just look… sick.”
Seokjin turned him gently, hands cupping his face. “You look like someone who’s working incredibly hard. Our baby is healthy. The heartbeat was perfect. That’s all I care about.” He dropped to his knees right there on the bathroom rug, lifting Taehyung’s shirt and pressing a lingering kiss to the spot just above his waistband. “I love this belly exactly like this. Every single day it’s carrying our kid.”
Taehyung’s fingers threaded through Seokjin’s hair, the worry easing just a little under the warmth of that touch.
Weeks 6 through 12 weren’t easy. There were more tears, more nights where Taehyung doubted if he could keep going like this, more afternoons where he and Jimin lay on the couch like two exhausted puppies, holding hands and reminding each other they weren’t alone.
But there were also the quiet moments—Seokjin’s lullabies in the dark, the daily belly kisses that became their little ritual, Jimin’s ridiculous memes about pregnancy brain sent at 3 a.m., and the strong, steady heartbeats that made everything feel real.
They were struggling, yes. But they were struggling together.
Week thirteen felt like crossing some invisible finish line. The constant nausea had finally started to loosen its grip on Taehyung, though he still moved a little slower in the mornings. He stood in front of the full-length mirror in their bedroom one Saturday, lifting the hem of his oversized sweater. There it was—a small, subtle curve that hadn’t been there before. Nothing dramatic, just enough that his usual jeans felt a bit snug around the middle. He turned sideways, smoothing a hand over it.
Seokjin came up behind him, freshly showered and smelling like the citrus body wash Taehyung liked. He wrapped his arms around Taehyung’s waist, chin resting on his shoulder as he looked at their reflection.
“Starting to show a little,” Seokjin said quietly, his palm settling over that gentle swell. “Looks good on you.”
Taehyung leaned back into him with a small sigh. “It’s tiny compared to Jimin’s. He sent me a picture yesterday. His is already rounding out more. Looks like he’s hiding a soccer ball under his shirt.”
Seokjin pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. “Everyone’s different. Our little one is growing exactly how they need to. Doctor said everything’s on track at the last check-up.” He gave the bump a gentle rub. “Ready to tell people?”
They’d waited until now on purpose. First trimester had been rough enough without adding everyone else’s excitement and worry on top. But at thirteen weeks, with strong heartbeats and clear scans, it felt safe. Exciting, even.
“Yeah,” Taehyung said, turning in Seokjin’s arms to face him. “Let’s do it this weekend. Small groups, though. I don’t think I can handle a big crowd yet.”
They started with Seokjin’s parents on Friday evening.
Seokjin’s mom had insisted on cooking, even though Seokjin offered to bring food from the restaurant. The house smelled like doenjang jjigae and freshly steamed rice when they walked in. Taehyung’s stomach actually handled it well for once, which felt like a small victory.
They waited until after dinner, when everyone was settled in the living room with tea. Seokjin reached over and took Taehyung’s hand, giving it a squeeze.
“Eomma, Appa,” Seokjin started, voice steady but warm. “We have some news.”
His mom paused mid-sip, eyes already widening like she suspected. Taehyung smiled shyly and pulled up the latest ultrasound photo on his phone—the one where the little bean shape was starting to look more like a baby.
“We’re thirteen weeks along,” Taehyung said softly. “You’re going to be grandparents.”
The room exploded in the best way. Seokjin’s mom let out a sharp cry of joy and immediately burst into tears, pulling both of them into a hug that smelled like her rose hand cream. His dad, usually the quieter one, kept clearing his throat and patting Seokjin’s back repeatedly, eyes suspiciously shiny.
“A great-grandchild for your halmeoni,” his dad said roughly. “She’ll be over the moon. When’s the due date? Do you need anything? More space? We can help with the nursery—”
Seokjin laughed, waving him off gently. “We’re good for now. Just… be excited with us.”
They spent the rest of the night looking at old baby photos of Seokjin, his mom offering advice about cravings and which pillows worked best for back support. Taehyung felt warm all over, the kind of warmth that settled deep and made the lingering tiredness easier to carry.
The next day was Taehyung’s side—his older brother and sister-in-law came over for lunch at their place. His brother kept staring at Taehyung’s middle like he couldn’t quite believe it, then broke into a huge grin when Seokjin showed off the ultrasound pictures on the fridge.
“You look good,” his sister-in-law said, hugging him carefully. “A little glow already. How are you feeling?”
“Better than before,” Taehyung admitted. “Still tired, but the throwing up has mostly stopped. Thank god.”
They talked about names (nothing decided yet), about how Taehyung would balance teaching with the later months, and whether the baby would inherit Seokjin’s cooking skills or Taehyung’s art eye. It was easy. Happy. His brother teased Seokjin about becoming a soft dad, and Seokjin just smiled and pulled Taehyung closer on the couch.
Sunday they met up with Jimin and Namjoon, along with a few close friends from the studio and the restaurant crew. They’d rented a small private room at a quiet café near the river—neutral ground, good food that wouldn’t upset sensitive stomachs.
Jimin walked in with a noticeable bounce in his step, wearing a fitted knit top that proudly showed off his rounder bump. It had popped more dramatically in the last couple of weeks, sitting high and cute on his frame. Taehyung hugged him tight, feeling the solid press of Jimin’s belly against his own smaller one.
“You look amazing,” Taehyung whispered.
Jimin pulled back with a bright smile, though his eyes were already misty. “You too. That sweater hides it well, but I can tell it’s there.”
They made the announcement together, the four of them standing in front of their friends. The room filled with gasps, cheers, and a lot of happy tears. One of Jimin’s dance instructors started crying so hard she had to fan herself. Namjoon’s colleague from the publishing house kept repeating “This is incredible” while scribbling notes like he was already planning a baby book edit.
After the initial excitement died down, everyone crowded around with questions and offers of help. Someone passed around a notebook for well-wishes. Seokjin’s head chef promised to make special meals for Taehyung whenever he needed them. Jimin’s best dance friend offered to modify classes so he could keep teaching longer.
But then came the little comments that stuck.
“Jimin-ah, your bump is so adorable already,” one of the studio moms said, reaching out to gently touch it with permission. “So round and perfect. You’re carrying like a pro.”
Jimin laughed it off, cheeks pink. “Feels more like a basketball some days.”
Taehyung smiled along, but he tugged at the hem of his loose sweater self-consciously. His own bump was there, but it sat lower, subtler, easily hidden. No one had said anything about it yet. He told himself it didn’t matter—healthy baby was what counted—but the quiet comparison lingered anyway.
Later, while they were all eating dessert, another friend leaned over. “Seriously, Jimin, you’re glowing so much. That belly is cute as hell. Taehyung, you’re hiding yours well though. Still in denial?” She said it with a teasing laugh, clearly meaning no harm.
Taehyung chuckled softly. “Something like that.”
Seokjin’s hand found his under the table and squeezed, but Taehyung just leaned into his side and focused on the strawberry cake.
That evening back at home, the four of them sprawled out in Taehyung and Seokjin’s living room with notebooks and tablets, planning small celebrations. Nothing huge—just family baby showers later, maybe a simple gathering when they found out the genders.
Namjoon had already made a shared spreadsheet. “We can do a combined thing around week twenty if everyone’s up for it. Keep it low-key. Good food, comfortable seating.”
Jimin nodded enthusiastically, rubbing his bump absently. “I want tiny socks. Like, an obscene amount of tiny socks. And we should paint little handprints or something for the nursery walls. Tae, you could design it.”
Taehyung perked up at that. “Yeah? I was thinking soft colors. Maybe some clouds and stars for a mural.”
Seokjin watched him with that fond look, the one that always made Taehyung feel steadier. “Whatever you want to paint, we’ll make space for it. I’ll even help tape off the edges so it doesn’t get messy.”
They talked for hours. About car seats and cribs, about how their kids would probably grow up best friends just like them. Jimin and Taehyung curled up together on the big couch at one point, comparing notes on which maternity pants actually stayed up. The husbands hovered nearby—Seokjin bringing more tea, Namjoon reading aloud from a baby development app.
Before Jimin and Namjoon left, Jimin pulled Taehyung aside near the door.
“You okay?” he asked quietly. “You got quiet when they were talking about bumps earlier.”
Taehyung shrugged, glancing down. “Mine’s just… smaller. It’s fine. I’m glad yours is obvious. Means everything’s going well for you.”
Jimin hugged him, bump and all. “Ours are both doing great. Don’t let the random comments get in your head. You’re growing a whole person too.”
“I know,” Taehyung said, hugging back. But the seed was there, small and quiet.
Later that night, after the house was empty and quiet, Seokjin found Taehyung in the nursery-to-be, standing in the middle of the empty room with one hand on his stomach. The moon came through the window, soft and silver.
Seokjin stepped in behind him, arms sliding around gently. “Thinking about colors already?”
“Something like that.” Taehyung leaned back. “It’s real now that people know. Scary and nice at the same time.”
Seokjin hummed in agreement, his hand covering Taehyung’s on the bump. “We’re going to be okay. All four of us. Six, soon.” He kissed the top of Taehyung’s head. “Come on. Let’s go to bed. I’ll sing that old song you like.”
Taehyung smiled despite the tiny worries tugging at the edges. The news was out. Their little circle was full of love and support. The comparisons were just background noise for now—something they’d figure out how to tune out together.
As they walked down the hall, Seokjin’s hand never left the small curve under Taehyung’s sweater, a quiet reminder that this was their story, exactly as it was unfolding.
Weeks fourteen through twenty brought a strange mix of relief and new complications. The worst of the morning sickness had faded for both of them, leaving behind a kind of tired but steady energy. Taehyung could stand in his classroom again without worrying he’d have to bolt for the bathroom mid-lesson. He’d even started sketching more in the evenings, little ideas for the nursery mural he kept thinking about. But his bump… it was still so small. A gentle slope that only showed if he wore something fitted, easily hidden under the loose button-ups and sweaters he favored for teaching.
Jimin, on the other hand, had bloomed. By week sixteen his belly sat round and high, impossible to miss. He’d started posting casual studio updates again, and the comments were full of heart emojis and “you look so cute pregnant!” messages from his dance community. It was sweet. Taehyung told himself that every single time he saw it. Still, something uneasy had started twisting in his chest whenever they stood side by side.
One Saturday afternoon, Jimin texted him a string of shopping bag emojis followed by We need real maternity clothes before I split another pair of leggings. Come with me? Namjoon keeps suggesting online shopping but I want to try stuff on.
Taehyung hesitated for a second in the kitchen, phone in hand, then replied: Yeah, let’s do it. Seokjin’s at the market anyway. Pick you up?
They met at the big mall on the east side, the one with the good food court and the maternity boutique on the second floor. Jimin was already waiting near the entrance, wearing an oversized denim jacket that didn’t quite close over his bump anymore. He waved with both hands when he spotted Taehyung, his smile bright.
“You look good,” Jimin said as they hugged. Taehyung felt the solid press of Jimin’s belly against his own smaller one and tried not to linger on the difference.
“So do you,” Taehyung replied, meaning it. “That bump is really popping now.”
Jimin rubbed it proudly. “Feels heavier every week. Haneul’s been kicking like she’s practicing dance moves in there. Come on, let’s find something that doesn’t make me look like I stole my husband’s clothes.”
The maternity store was bright and airy, with soft lighting and racks organized by trimester. A couple of sales associates greeted them with knowing smiles. Jimin dove right in, pulling out stretchy tops with clever side panels and jeans with wide, supportive waistbands. Taehyung followed more slowly, fingers brushing over fabrics that felt foreign. He picked up a few things in darker colors, the kind that might skim over his subtler curve without drawing attention.
They took a big pile into the fitting rooms. Jimin’s side was a flurry of activity—zippers, laughter, little gasps of “oh this feels so much better.” He stepped out in a soft gray long-sleeve dress that hugged his bump perfectly, the fabric draping nicely over the roundness.
“What do you think?” Jimin asked, turning sideways in the mirror. “Too much?”
“You look really cute,” Taehyung said honestly. “Comfortable too.”
Jimin beamed. “Your turn. Show me what you grabbed.”
Taehyung tried on a simple black button-up with hidden stretch panels. It fit well enough, but when he stepped out, he kept tugging at the hem. In the mirror, his bump was there if you knew to look, but it didn’t announce itself the way Jimin’s did. He looked mostly like himself, just a little softer around the middle.
“Nice,” Jimin said, tilting his head. “You could wear that to parent-teacher nights easy. But try the blue one too. The color would look great with your skin tone.”
They kept going like that for almost an hour. Jimin collected a small mountain of clothes. Taehyung ended up with three tops and a pair of pants, nothing too bold. As they browsed the accessories section—belly bands, nursing pillows, even some cute headbands for later—strangers started noticing.
An older woman with a shopping bag paused near them. “Oh my goodness, look at you,” she said to Jimin, eyes lighting up on his prominent belly. “How far along are you? That bump is just adorable. So round and perfect. You’re glowing, honey.”
Jimin laughed, hand automatically cradling it. “Sixteen weeks. Thank you.”
“First one?” she asked, already smiling wider when Jimin nodded. “You’re carrying beautifully. I bet it’s a girl with that high bump.”
A younger couple nearby overheard and chimed in. The woman touched Jimin’s arm lightly. “Seriously, your belly is so cute. I’m jealous already. Mine was all out front like a basketball, but yours looks so neat and pretty.”
Taehyung stood a little behind them, pretending to examine a rack of nursing bras. No one glanced his way. His own sweater hid everything neatly. He smiled along when Jimin looked back at him, but the knot in his stomach tightened.
They moved to the checkout, and another associate rang them up. “Your friend’s bump is goals,” she whispered to Taehyung while Jimin was distracted with his card. “He makes pregnancy look easy.”
Taehyung just nodded, murmuring something vague about agreeing.
By the time they left the store, Jimin was chatting happily, swinging his bags. “That was actually fun. I thought I’d hate maternity shopping but the stretchy stuff is lifesaver. You got some good pieces too, right?”
“Yeah,” Taehyung said, keeping his voice light. “Thanks for dragging me out.”
They grabbed iced decaf teas and walked slowly through the mall, window shopping for baby things. More people noticed Jimin. A group of teenage girls cooed loudly. “Your belly is so cute!” one called out. An older man tipped his hat and said, “Looking strong there, papa.” Each comment landed like a little pinprick for Taehyung. Jimin laughed them off, gracious as always, but Taehyung grew quieter, responses shorter, steps slower.
By the time they reached the main entrance, his throat felt tight. He kept one hand in his sweater pocket, the other absently brushing over his own smaller bump under the fabric. It felt… inadequate. Like his body wasn’t doing enough somehow, even though the doctor had said everything was measuring fine at the last appointment.
Seokjin and Namjoon arrived almost at the same time, pulling up in their respective cars near the curb. Namjoon hopped out first, taking Jimin’s bags with an easy grin and kissing his temple. “Successful haul?”
“Very,” Jimin said, already showing off one of the tops by holding it up.
Seokjin stepped out of his car more slowly, eyes scanning Taehyung’s face the moment he got close. He always could read him like that. “Hey you,” he said softly, taking the lighter bags from Taehyung’s hands. “Everything okay?”
Taehyung nodded quickly. “Just tired from walking around.”
They said quick goodbyes to Jimin and Namjoon, promising to text later about a double dinner sometime that week. Taehyung climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up, staring out the window as Seokjin pulled away from the curb.
The silence lasted maybe three blocks before it cracked.
“Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin said gently. “Talk to me. You’re doing that thing where you get really quiet and pull away.”
Taehyung’s eyes stung. He tried to hold it back, but the words spilled out anyway, voice wobbly. “Jimin’s bump… everyone kept saying how cute it is. How perfect and round. Strangers, the sales people, even some random lady. They barely looked at me. Mine’s just… there. Small. Like I’m not even really pregnant sometimes. What if something’s wrong with me? Or with the baby? Why isn’t my body changing like his?”
The tears came then, hot and fast. He covered his face with both hands, shoulders shaking. “I feel so stupid for caring. I know the important thing is that Aseul is healthy. But today it just… it hurt. Like I’m doing this wrong somehow.”
Seokjin didn’t say anything right away. He signaled and pulled over into a quiet side street parking spot, putting the car in park. Then he reached over, unbuckling Taehyung’s seatbelt and pulling him across the console into a tight hug. Taehyung buried his face in Seokjin’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar smell of his cologne mixed with the faint restaurant spices that always clung to him.
“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Seokjin murmured against his hair, one hand rubbing slow circles on his back. “Not a single thing. Our baby is growing exactly right. The scans show it. The measurements are good. Some people just carry differently, that’s all. Jimin’s body is doing its thing, and yours is doing yours. I love yours exactly like this.”
Taehyung sniffled, clutching at Seokjin’s shirt. “I felt invisible next to him. And then I felt guilty for even thinking that.”
“I know.” Seokjin kissed the top of his head, holding him closer. “It’s okay to feel it. You don’t have to pretend with me. But I need you to hear me when I say this: I wouldn’t change a thing about how you look right now. That little bump? It’s ours. It’s carrying our son. That’s the most beautiful thing in the world to me.”
They sat like that for a long while, the car engine ticking softly as it cooled. Seokjin just held him, patient and warm, until the sobs eased into quiet breathing.
When Taehyung finally pulled back, eyes red but calmer, Seokjin brushed the tears off his cheeks with his thumbs. “Let’s go home. I’ll take care of you tonight.”
The drive back was quieter, but the heavy kind of quiet that felt safe. Seokjin kept one hand on Taehyung’s knee when he wasn’t shifting gears.
At home, Seokjin went straight into caretaker mode. He filled the bathtub with warm water and a generous pour of lavender bath salts, the ones that always helped Taehyung unwind. While the tub filled, he helped Taehyung out of his clothes, kissing his shoulder, then his smaller bump, lingering there for a moment.
“Hi, little guy,” Seokjin whispered against the skin. “You’re doing great in there. Your dad’s working so hard for you. We love you so much.”
Taehyung’s eyes stung again, but softer this time.
Seokjin helped him into the bath, then sat on the edge, rolling up his sleeves to gently wash Taehyung’s back and shoulders. They talked about small things—the new watercolor set Taehyung wanted to try, a funny story from the restaurant that morning—until the water started cooling.
After the bath, Seokjin wrapped him in the big fluffy robe and led him to the bedroom. He had a plate of fresh strawberry cake waiting on the nightstand, the kind from the bakery down the street that Taehyung had been craving lately. Just a small slice, perfectly moist.
“Eat a little if you can,” Seokjin said, sitting beside him on the bed. “Then I’ll give you a massage.”
Taehyung managed half the slice, feeding Seokjin a bite too, which earned him a soft smile. Then Seokjin grabbed the cocoa butter cream they’d bought a couple weeks ago and had Taehyung lie back comfortably against the pillows.
The massage was slow and careful. Seokjin warmed the cream between his palms before smoothing it over Taehyung’s belly in gentle circles. His touch was reverent, thumbs tracing the subtle curve with so much care it made Taehyung’s chest ache in the best way.
“Every night from now on,” Seokjin said quietly as he worked. “This is our time. You, me, and the bump.” He leaned down and kissed the spot right above Taehyung’s belly button. “You hear that, Aseul? Your dad’s belly is perfect. Strong and beautiful and exactly what you need. We can’t wait to meet you.”
Taehyung threaded his fingers through Seokjin’s hair, watching him. The envy that had burned so sharp earlier had dulled into something manageable, held at bay by the steady warmth of Seokjin’s love.
“I’m sorry I got so upset,” Taehyung whispered eventually.
Seokjin shook his head, still rubbing slow circles. “Don’t be. This is hard sometimes. Your body is changing in ways you can’t always see, but I see them. Every single day. And I love every part of it.”
They stayed like that for a long time—Seokjin’s hands on his skin, quiet words spoken to the baby, the room filled with the faint scent of cocoa butter and lavender. Outside, the city hummed along, but inside their bedroom it felt like the whole world had narrowed down to this: the three of them, safe and together.
Taehyung closed his eyes, letting the last of the day’s heaviness slip away.
Weeks twenty-one to twenty-six settled into a rhythm that felt both exhausting and strangely magical. The second trimester had brought back some energy, but with it came the undeniable reality that their bodies were changing faster now. Taehyung’s bump had grown, finally rounding out enough that loose sweaters no longer completely hid it, though it still sat smaller and lower than Jimin’s. He found himself resting a hand on it more often without thinking, especially when he was sitting at his desk grading student sketches or standing in the kitchen watching Seokjin cook.
One Saturday morning, the four of them decided to tackle the nurseries together. Namjoon and Jimin had turned their spare room into a soft, dreamy space with pale yellow walls and shelves already filling with books. Taehyung and Seokjin were still in the middle of painting their nursery a gentle sage green that Taehyung had mixed himself.
“Pass me the tape,” Taehyung called from the stepladder. His back twinged a little as he reached up, but he ignored it.
Seokjin appeared right behind him, steadying the ladder with one hand and holding the painter’s tape in the other. “You’re going to fall and give me a heart attack. Get down. I’ll do the edges.”
“I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” Taehyung grumbled, but he let Seokjin help him down anyway. The truth was, bending and stretching had started feeling different lately, like his center of gravity was shifting in small, sneaky ways.
Jimin waddled in from the hallway carrying a box of supplies, his bump leading the way under a soft oversized t-shirt. “We brought the extra drop cloths. Namjoon’s being extra careful about not dripping paint on the floor. He’s read three different articles on VOCs in paint.”
Namjoon followed, looking slightly sheepish with a measuring tape around his neck. “Better safe than sorry. The baby’s brain is developing right now. We want zero chemical exposure.”
The room filled with easy chatter as they worked. Taehyung handled the mural sketches on one wall—soft clouds and little floating stars with tiny animals peeking out. Jimin kept stealing glances at it, eyes bright. “Tae, that’s going to be beautiful. I might steal the idea for one corner of ours. Maybe some dancing stars for Haneul.”
They took breaks often, sitting on the floor with snacks Seokjin had prepared—plain rice cakes for sensitive stomachs, cut fruit, and chilled barley tea. During one break, Taehyung suddenly craved something weird. He paused mid-bite of watermelon and looked at Seokjin with wide eyes.
“Kimchi ice cream,” he said. “With a drizzle of chocolate sauce. Don’t laugh.”
Seokjin didn’t laugh. He just raised an eyebrow and stood up. “Give me twenty minutes. I think I can make that work without poisoning you.”
Fifteen minutes later, Seokjin returned from the kitchen with a small bowl. He’d blended a tiny scoop of vanilla ice cream with just enough finely chopped kimchi for the tang, then added a swirl of melted dark chocolate on top. Taehyung took one hesitant spoonful and closed his eyes.
“Oh my god, it’s perfect. Salty, sweet, spicy, cold. This is your fault for making me pregnant and weird.”
Seokjin sat beside him on the floor, rubbing his lower back absently. “I’ll take the blame if it means you eat something without throwing it up later.”
Jimin, across the room sorting tiny onesies he’d bought earlier that week, laughed. “I had ramen with strawberry jam last night. Namjoon took a video because he said my face looked like I’d discovered fire.”
Namjoon held up his phone with a proud grin. “For the baby book. Evidence of cravings.”
The afternoon passed in comfortable chaos—paint streaks on forearms, music playing low from Taehyung’s phone, laughter when Jimin got stuck trying to stand up from the floor and needed both husbands to help. By evening, the walls were mostly done, and the nursery started to feel real.
A few days later, the emotional side hit harder.
Taehyung had come home from teaching a bit early, feet aching. He sat on the edge of the couch to change into house slippers and reached down to tie the laces on his sneakers first. His fingers brushed the laces, but his belly got in the way. He tried again, straining forward, and felt a sharp pull in his back. The laces stayed stubbornly untied.
He sat there for a long moment, suddenly overwhelmed. Tears pricked his eyes before he could stop them. It was such a small thing—tying shoes—but it felt like his body was reminding him how much had changed, how much more there was still to go.
Seokjin found him like that, still hunched over. “Tae? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t even tie my own damn shoes anymore,” Taehyung said, voice cracking. “It’s stupid. I know it’s normal, but… I feel so big and clumsy already, and mine’s not even that huge compared to Jimin’s. What happens when it gets bigger?”
Seokjin knelt in front of him without hesitation. He gently batted Taehyung’s hands away and tied the laces with careful fingers. Then he looked up, eyes soft. “You’re not clumsy. You’re growing our son. That’s not small.” Before Taehyung could protest, Seokjin slid one arm under his knees and the other behind his back and lifted him smoothly, like it was nothing.
“Jinnie! Put me down, I’m too heavy now—”
“Shh. Dramatic husband time.” Seokjin carried him through the house with exaggerated care, narrating the whole way. “We’re passing the kitchen where I will cook whatever strange thing you want later. Now entering the bedroom, where you will rest while I massage your feet.” He deposited Taehyung gently on the bed and flopped down beside him, pulling him close. “Better?”
Taehyung buried his face in Seokjin’s chest, laughing wetly. “You’re ridiculous. But yeah… better.”
That became a thing for a while—Seokjin dramatically sweeping him up whenever Taehyung complained about small tasks. It was over-the-top and silly and exactly what Taehyung needed on the harder days.
Meanwhile, Jimin had gone full baby clothes mode. He’d text Taehyung pictures at random hours: Look at these tiny socks with clouds on them. Or these footie pajamas with little bears. One afternoon they met at a baby boutique downtown, and Jimin bought out half the newborn section while Taehyung picked out a few neutral pieces—soft onesies in sage and cream that matched their nursery colors.
“You’re going to have the best-dressed baby,” Taehyung teased as they left the store.
Jimin rubbed his round belly with a content smile. “I can’t help it. Everything is so small and cute. Does it make you nervous? Shopping for stuff this tiny?”
“A little,” Taehyung admitted. “Still feels unreal sometimes.”
Their park walks became a weekly ritual. The one near the river had a flat path perfect for their growing bellies. They’d walk slowly, arms linked, talking about everything and nothing. The leaves were starting to change color, and the air felt crisp.
One Tuesday, Jimin’s bump looked especially prominent under his light jacket, drawing a few fond smiles from passersby. Taehyung kept catching himself glancing over, comparing again despite trying not to. His own belly felt adequate when he was alone with Seokjin, but next to Jimin it still seemed quieter somehow. Smaller.
“You okay?” Jimin asked after a while, slowing down near a bench. “You got quiet.”
Taehyung sighed, sitting down. “It’s nothing new. Just… your bump is so obvious and cute. Mine still feels like it could be hidden if I tried. I know it’s dumb. I’m happy for you. Really.”
Jimin sat beside him, shoulder bumping his. “It’s not dumb. I notice the difference too, you know. Sometimes I worry mine’s too big, that I look too round. We’re both just doing this the way our bodies know how. Our babies are both healthy. That’s what matters, right?”
Taehyung nodded, squeezing his hand. “Right.”
The real scare came two weeks later, on a quiet Thursday night.
Taehyung had been lounging on the couch after dinner, hand on his bump, when he realized the usual flutters and kicks had been quiet for hours. Too quiet. He waited, poked gently, drank cold water, lay on his side. Nothing strong. A few weak movements, but not the usual energetic ones he’d grown used to.
“Jin,” he called, voice tight with panic. “Something’s wrong. The baby’s not moving much.”
Seokjin was by his side in seconds, phone already in hand. “Okay. We’re not waiting. Grab your jacket.”
The drive to the after-hours clinic was tense but controlled. Seokjin kept one hand on Taehyung’s knee the whole way, talking calmly. “Breathe with me. Whatever’s happening, we’re handling it together.”
At the clinic, the nurse took them back quickly. The doctor used the Doppler, then moved to the ultrasound machine when the heartbeat was a little hard to find at first. Taehyung’s heart pounded in his ears.
“There we go,” the doctor said after a minute, smiling. “Strong heartbeat. One hundred forty-eight beats per minute. Look—your little one is just sleeping. See the thumb near the mouth? Perfect position, good fluid levels. Everything checks out fine.”
Taehyung let out a shaky breath, tears slipping down his cheeks. Seokjin pressed his forehead to Taehyung’s temple, arms wrapped around him tightly.
“Scared me,” Taehyung whispered once they were back in the car.
“I know,” Seokjin said, voice rough. “But he’s okay. You both are.”
That night, Seokjin was extra gentle. He made Taehyung’s latest craving—pickles dipped in chocolate spread—and then spent a long time with the cocoa butter, rubbing slow circles over the bump while talking softly to it.
“You gave your dad a fright tonight, Aseul,” he murmured. “Keep moving around in there so we know you’re doing your thing. We love you already, kid.”
The double dates helped balance everything out. One Friday they all went to a quiet movie theater showing an old Studio Ghibli film. Namjoon brought pillows for their backs, and Seokjin snuck in snacks that wouldn’t upset stomachs. They laughed at the same scenes, Jimin tearing up at the emotional parts thanks to hormones, Taehyung leaning against Seokjin’s shoulder feeling warm and safe.
Another night they had dinner at Seokjin’s restaurant after closing—private tables, soft lights, mild dishes tailored for pregnant appetites. Namjoon read aloud from a baby development book between bites, making them all chuckle at the “your baby is the size of a cauliflower” updates.
“Cauliflower for me, bigger head of lettuce for you,” Jimin joked, poking his own belly.
Taehyung smiled, the earlier scare and comparisons feeling further away in the glow of good food and better company. “We’re all just growing vegetables at this point.”
As the weeks ticked toward twenty-six, the nesting urge grew stronger. Taehyung spent more evenings folding tiny clothes, organizing the changing table, and adding details to the mural. Seokjin would find him there sometimes and simply join in, humming old songs under his breath.
One night, after another park walk where Taehyung had managed not to compare quite so much, he lay in bed with Seokjin’s hand on his bump, feeling steady kicks again.
“We’re really doing this,” Taehyung said softly.
Seokjin kissed his shoulder. “Yeah. And we’re going to keep doing it. One weird craving, one tied shoe, one park walk at a time.”