Archive of Our Own

Minho’s life at university was a whirlwind of choreographies, late-night rehearsals, and the occasional forced social interaction with his small but chaotic friend group. As a junior Dance Major specializing in Urban and Hip-Hop Dance, Minho valued his alone time above anything else. Yet, somehow, he always found himself drawn into the orbit of one person who epitomized the complete opposite of his quiet, reserved nature: Bang Chan.

Chan, a senior Music Major specializing in Music Production and Composition, was everything Minho wasn’t. Outgoing, endlessly energetic, and brimming with an almost overwhelming warmth, Chan was a magnet for people. Minho would never admit it aloud, but there was something about Chan’s easy confidence and genuine kindness that tugged at his guarded heart.

It didn’t help that Chan always seemed to gravitate toward Minho, his teasing smiles and affectionate gestures making it almost impossible for Minho to keep his emotions under wraps.

The first time Minho met Chan, was during his first year as a college student. Fresh out of high school and still adjusting to the fast-paced rhythm of university life, Minho reluctantly agreed to help with a choreography project for the music department. The collaboration was supposed to be a simple favor for one of his professors, but it turned into something much more.

“I’m Chan,” the older student had introduced himself, his smile wide and disarming, his dimples making him look even more approachable as he extended a hand toward Minho. His Australian accent added an unexpected charm. “Thanks for helping out with this. I’ve got two left feet, so I’m counting on you to make me look good,” he said, switching to Korean, which caught Minho off guard. The fluency with which Chan spoke the language was impressive, and Minho couldn't help but admire how effortlessly he switched between languages.

Minho had scoffed, crossing his arms after shaking the offered hand. “Just try to keep up, hyung.”

That initial collaboration had been an exercise in patience. Chan, while modest about his skills, turned out to be a pretty good dancer. Though he wasn’t quite on Minho’s level, his smooth movements and natural rhythm made it clear that he had more talent than he let on. What he lacked in precision, he made up for with enthusiasm and effort. His self-deprecating humor and determination slowly chipped away at Minho’s initial irritation, and by the end of the project, Minho found himself laughing along with Chan’s jokes.

By Minho’s sophomore year, Chan had moved into a dorm with Changbin, a boisterous Music major freshman at the time specializing in Sound Engineering. The two alphas were practically inseparable, their loud, playful arguments often echoing down the hallways of their shared dormitory. Minho, who had started spending more time with Chan, begrudgingly found himself roped into their antics more often than he cared to admit.

In Minho’s junior year, his new roommate Jisung brought an entirely new dynamic to his life. Jisung, a bubbly Music Major freshman studying Songwriting and Lyricism, was a whirlwind of energy who, despite being a huge introvert, somehow seemed to know everyone on campus. 

Through Jisung, Minho was introduced to his close-knit group of friends who quickly became a constant presence in his life. Hyunjin and Felix, both freshmen Dance Majors—Hyunjin studying Contemporary Dance and Felix focusing on Jazz and Musical Theater Dance—shared Minho’s passion and often sought his guidance during late-night rehearsals. Seungmin and Jeongin, Vocal Performance majors, had an uncanny ability to harmonize perfectly during impromptu singalongs. Seungmin’s dry, quiet sarcasm was the perfect counterbalance to Jeongin’s youthful exuberance, creating a dynamic that kept everyone on their toes.

Despite their differing majors and personalities, the group’s chemistry was undeniable. They quickly formed a tight-knit circle, with Chan naturally taking on the role of pseudo-pack alpha.

As time passed, Minho’s feelings for Chan deepened, though he was careful not to let it show. He’d convinced himself that Chan’s flirtatious comments and affectionate gestures were nothing more than harmless teasing. After all, Chan was like that with everyone—always smiling, always caring.

But Minho couldn’t help the way his heart raced whenever Chan’s fingers brushed against his or how his cheeks warmed whenever Chan shot him a wink from across the room. His crush was a carefully guarded secret, hidden behind sarcastic remarks and expertly crafted indifference.

One evening, the group gathered for their usual game night in Chan and Changbin’s dorm. The small living room was filled with laughter as they competed in various board games, the energy chaotic and comforting.

“Have you guys heard about this lunar phenomenon happening tonight?” Changbin asked, his tone exaggeratedly mysterious as he leaned forward to place a game piece.

Jeongin raised an eyebrow. “You mean that thing where the moon turns red? Sounds like just another superstitious thing to me, hyung.”

“It’s not just the red moon,” Changbin countered. “Supposedly, weird stuff happens to people. Like, I don’t know, emotional shifts, strange dreams…”

“Or waking up with superpowers?” Hyunjin quipped, earning a round of laughter.

Jisung, ever the dramatist (second only to Hyunjin), leaned back and waved his hands in a flourish. “What if… hear me out… two people switch bodies?”

The room fell silent for a beat before everyone burst into laughter.

“That’s oddly specific, Jisung,” Seungmin remarked dryly, his lips twitching in amusement.

“I’m just saying!” Jisung protested, grinning despite himself. “You never know. Maybe the universe just decides to mess with us for fun.”

Before anyone could respond, Jisung added quickly, “And I call dibs on Chan-hyung! I need to know if the rumors about his huge co—” He was cut off as the room erupted in chaos.

Minho rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. As absurd as Jisung’s theory was, the idea lingered in his mind as the night wore on. Amidst the laughter and teasing, he was oddly amused by the chaos his friends stirred up.

After the games ended, Chan insisted on walking Minho back to his dorm since Jisung decided to have a sleepover at Hyunjin and Felix’s place. It was a familiar routine by now, one that Minho secretly looked forward to despite his protests.

“You don’t have to do this every time, you know,” Minho muttered as they strolled through the quiet campus.

Chan shrugged, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. “I want to. Besides, it’s an excuse to hang out with you a little longer.”

Minho’s heart did a little flip at the casual admission, but he quickly masked it with a scoff. “You’re insufferable.”

Chan laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “And yet you keep putting up with me. What does that say about you, Minho-yah?”

Minho didn’t respond, instead focusing on the path ahead. The glow of the streetlights cast soft shadows around them, and for a moment, the world felt smaller, quieter.

When they reached Minho’s dorm, Chan lingered for a moment, his usual playful grin softening into something more sincere.

“Sleep well, Minho,” he said, his voice gentle.

Minho nodded, his throat suddenly dry. “You too, hyung.”

As he climbed the stairs to his room, Minho couldn’t shake the fluttering feeling in his stomach that had lingered ever since Chan walked him home. He tried to brush it off as just a lingering effect of the evening, but the butterflies refused to settle. With a sigh, he collapsed onto his bed, the feeling still there as he drifted off to sleep.

Minho woke with a sense that something was off, a feeling that made him instinctively know he was somewhere unfamiliar, even though his eyes were still closed. The first sensation was a deep, unshakable heaviness as if an invisible weight was pressing down on his body. His limbs ached with a dull, unfamiliar strain, and even breathing felt slightly labored. A sweet blend of scents lingered in the air, mingling with a faint warmth that he couldn’t place.

Slowly, Minho opened his eyes, his vision blurred by sleep. The first thing he noticed was the room around him—it wasn’t his. The walls were painted in a calming beige, a stark contrast to the dull brown of his dorm. The curtains were a soft cream color, their delicate fabric fluttering slightly from an unseen breeze. The bed beneath him felt softer than his own, and the sheets carried a subtle scent that was both soothing and alien.

A wave of confusion washed over him as he scanned the unfamiliar surroundings. Panic bubbled beneath the surface as his mind raced to make sense of what he was seeing. Where was he? How had he gotten here? His heart pounded in his chest, each beat loud and insistent in the silence of the room.

Minho shifted slightly, intending to sit up, but froze when he felt a strange sensation—a faint, almost imperceptible movement inside him. His breath hitched, and his hands instinctively moved to his abdomen. His fingers trembled as they brushed against the rounded curve of a very pregnant belly.

His eyes widened in disbelief as he stared down at himself, his mind struggling to comprehend the sight before him. His once-flat stomach was now impossibly swollen, the fabric of the oversized shirt he wore stretched taut over the curve. The faint flutter of movement beneath his palm sent a jolt of shock through his system.

“What… what the—?!” he whispered, his voice hoarse and unsteady. He pressed his hands against the swell of his belly again, as though expecting it to disappear under his touch. But it didn’t. The warmth and solidity of it were undeniable, and the faint movements within were unmistakably real.

Before he could fully process the implications of what was happening, another sensation jolted him out of his daze. A weight pressed against his back—a solid, steady warmth that sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn’t just the sensation of touch; it was the undeniable presence of someone else in the bed with him.

Minho’s breath caught in his throat as he turned his head ever so slightly. Draped over him was a muscular, fair-skinned arm, the strength and definition of it evident even in the dim light of the room. His heart raced wildly as panic began to take hold.

The arm shifted slightly, tightening its hold around him as the person behind him stirred. A soft, sleepy murmur reached Minho’s ears, muffled and indecipherable, but unmistakably familiar.

His mind raced. Who the hell was in bed with him? And why did their voice—low and raspy from sleep—sound like…?

“Minho…” the voice murmured, laced with a mix of concern and grogginess.

Minho stiffened. His instincts screamed at him to get away, to put distance between himself and this stranger—no, this intruder. Ignoring the cumbersome weight of his body, he turned his head sharply, his gaze landing on the nightstand beside him. A retractable backscratcher lay within arm’s reach, its oddly menacing shape the only potential weapon in sight.

Without thinking, Minho grabbed it and struggled to sit up, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. The unfamiliar weight of his belly made it difficult, and he gritted his teeth in frustration as he maneuvered into a semi-upright position.

The person behind him groaned softly, their voice clearer now. “Minho? What’s wrong?”

That voice. It wasn’t just familiar—it was Chan’s.

Minho’s grip on the backscratcher faltered as he froze, his head whipping around to confirm what his ears were telling him. There, lying beside him, was Bang Chan. But this wasn’t the Chan he had walked home with the night before.

This Chan looked older—not significantly, but just enough for Minho to notice. There were faint lines at the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and his hair was styled differently, with strands of silver threading through the dark brown. Despite these changes, the warmth in his expression and the gentle curve of his lips as he looked at Minho were unmistakably Chan.

Minho’s mouth opened and closed several times, no words managing to escape. His mind felt like it was short-circuiting, unable to reconcile the image before him with the reality he knew.

Chan propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze softening as he took in Minho’s panicked expression. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said gently, his voice steady and soothing. He reached out as if to touch Minho’s shoulder, but Minho flinched away, clutching the backscratcher like a lifeline.

“Don’t come any closer!” Minho snapped, his voice trembling. “What the hell is going on? Where am I? And why the hell do I look like this?!”

Chan’s brows furrowed in confusion for a moment before realization dawned on his face. His lips parted as if to speak, but he hesitated, his gaze flickering to Minho’s swollen belly.

“You’re in the future,” Chan said softly, his tone calm but laced with a quiet certainty.

Minho blinked at him, confusion written across his face. “What… what do you mean?” His voice trembled, struggling to keep his composure.

Chan sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I know this is a lot, but it’s true. The lunar phenomenon—it's real. Somehow, you’ve switched places with your future self.”

Minho stared at him, his grip on the backscratcher loosening as the words sank in. “This… this can’t be happening,” he muttered, shaking his head. “None of this makes sense!”

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Chan said, his voice steady, “but you’re safe. And I’m here to help you figure it out.”

Minho’s gaze darted between Chan’s face and his own body, his mind still reeling. The backscratcher slipped from his hand, landing softly on the bed.

“Future… self?” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips.

Chan nodded, his expression soft but serious. “Yeah. And we’ve got a lot to unpack.”

Minho was now sitting on the bed, back resting against the headboard with a pillow tucked behind him. His legs stretched out beneath him, and despite the growing discomfort in his belly, he couldn’t tear his mind away from what Chan had just explained. The words were still swirling in his head, and he was doing his best to make sense of it all. His hand rested lightly on his round belly, but his focus wasn’t there; it was on the overwhelming truth of his situation.

Chan sat beside him, his calm presence a steadying influence, though Minho could tell that even he was waiting for the confusion to settle within him. Minho’s head was spinning, and he still couldn’t grasp what was happening.

“So... let me get this straight," Minho started, his voice shaky as he tried to process what he’d just been told. "Right now, I am in the body of... Future Minho? Your Minho?” His brow furrowed in confusion, lips pressed together as if trying to make sense of it all. He turned to Chan for confirmation. “And this… This already happened to your Minho... ten years ago?”

Chan nodded, his expression soft and understanding. "Yes, that’s right,” Chan said, his tone patient but firm. “Ten years ago, during the lunar phenomenon, Minho swapped with his future self, just like what’s happening to you now. Which means my Minho is in your body right now.” He paused, watching Minho closely. “We’ve been through this before. It lasted for two days back then, and it’s cyclical. We figured this switch happens only twice every ten years. So, right now, you’re in Future Minho’s body, and he’s in yours.”

Minho blinked, his mouth opening and closing as his mind raced to catch up. “So, the two of you have gone through this before... and now it’s happening again. I’m in the future, and the Minho you're married to is in my body from ten years ago?”

“That’s exactly what I just said,” Chan teased, causing Minho to glare at him. Chan laughed, finding Minho cute, though there was a trace of warmth in his gaze as he watched Minho struggle to process everything. “We figured this might happen again after the news about the lunar phenomenon spread yesterday,” Chan explained. “If my Minho went to the future during our time, it only makes sense he’d end up back in the past this time. And it’s not something we can control. It’s just how the lunar phenomenon works.”

Minho let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair, unable to fully grasp the reality of the situation. “I’m... in my future self’s body. And I’m supposed to live out my future with you—married to you... having kids with you.” He paused, feeling his heart thud in his chest as he processed the idea that this was real. 

Chan smiled gently, his hand reaching out to squeeze Minho’s. “Actually, we already have two kids,” he said softly, glancing at Minho’s belly. “We have a daughter, a son, and twins on the way.”

Minho’s breath caught in his throat. His mind couldn’t fully absorb the information, but his heart fluttered at the thought. He placed a hand over his belly, trying to make sense of the sudden wave of emotions. The thought of being a parent and a mate to Chan felt both surreal and overwhelming.

“But how did I get here?” Minho asked, his voice trembling slightly as he turned to face Chan. “I mean... I understand the switch, but how did this all happen? How did I go from... just a junior in college, to actually being married to you and having kids with you?” His words felt heavy, laden with the confusion that had taken over his mind.

Chan paused for a moment, looking down as if lost in the memory of everything they had been through. His voice softened, tinged with nostalgia. "I don’t know if I can tell you exactly how it happened," he said, his tone gentle but certain. "All I know is that from the moment we met, I felt something for you."

Minho stared at him in shock, his heart hammering in his chest. He could feel his pulse in his ears. “You... liked me?” he asked, the disbelief evident in his voice. “You like like me?” His voice cracked slightly, a mixture of relief and pure shock. “I... I thought... I thought I was just your best friend, that you were just being nice to me because that’s what best friends do. I had no idea.”

Chan smiled, his eyes twinkling with affection. “All the little things I did for you... they weren’t just acts of kindness. They were me showing you how much I cared for you. How much I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you, even when I tried to hide it.”

Minho felt a lump form in his throat, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. The realization that all the little things Chan had done for him were not just random acts of generosity, but deliberate ways of discreetly courting him... It hit him harder than he expected. His heart was full to the brim, and he could hardly contain the emotions that overwhelmed him.

"God, I..." Minho whispered, his voice faltering. "I can’t believe this is real.”

Chan squeezed his hand, his voice soft and full of love. “It’s real, Minho. This is our life. This will be your life. We’ve been married for five years, and we’ve been through so much together. We have a beautiful daughter, a son, and the twins on the way. We’ve built this life together. It’s yours, just as much as it is mine.”

Minho felt tears spring to his eyes as the full weight of everything finally settled on him. This was his life. His future. His family. And it was everything he had ever dreamed of, and yet... it was still so hard to believe. He could hardly process it all.

“What’s it like now?” Minho asked, his voice small, his eyes brimming with emotion. “I mean... what do we do? What’s our life like?”

Chan smiled and leaned back, his gaze thoughtful. “Well, I’m a producer now. One of the biggest in the K-Pop industry, actually. You’re running your own dance company. You, Hyunjin, Felix, and some of your dancer friends started it right before we got married. You’re one of the top choreographers, though you’re on maternity leave right now; but the company’s doing really well.”

Minho blinked, still reeling from the idea that he had achieved everything he had ever dreamed of. He had a successful career, a loving partner, and children on the way. It was all so much to take in.

“And we’ve been married for five years. Our daughter is four, our son is two, and we have the twins on the way—due in about a month,” Chan continued.

Minho’s heart skipped a beat. He was a father. A father. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, but the flood of emotions was hard to contain. “Can I... can I see them? O– Our kids?”

Chan’s eyes softened with warmth, and he pulled out his phone. “Of course. They’re with my parents right now. It was actually a great coincidence—they’re visiting from Australia, and we thought it’d be better for the kids to stay with them while the lunar phenomenon happened, just in case anything felt... off.”

Minho nodded, his throat tight as Chan handed him the phone. His hands trembled as he scrolled through the pictures. There, staring back at him, were two little faces: their daughter with Minho’s eyes and mischievous smile, and their son with the same soft, loving expression Chan often wore. The moment Minho saw their faces, tears welled up in his eyes, and his chest tightened with a love he couldn’t quite explain.

“They’re... perfect,” Minho whispered, his voice breaking as he looked at the photos of the children who were his. “They look so much like us.”

Chan chuckled softly, his fingers brushing against Minho’s hand. “They are. And they’ve got all the love we can give.”

Minho smiled through his tears, his heart swelling. “I’d love to see the house,” he said, his voice soft but edged with a hint of distraction. He knew he wasn’t ready to unpack everything Chan had told him, not yet. Seeing the house—diving into something tangible—felt like the only way to keep himself from drowning in the flood of emotions and information.

“Of course.” Chan smiled, standing and offering Minho his hand. “Let me help you up. I know you’re still getting used to the belly.”

Minho chuckled, nodding as he took Chan’s hand and carefully got to his feet, feeling the unfamiliar weight of the pregnancy. As they headed toward the door, Minho felt a sense of awe at the life he had glimpsed.

Chan’s warm hand hovered over Minho’s lower back, offering steady support as they left the bedroom. His touch was gentle yet firm, a silent reassurance that Minho wasn’t alone in navigating the weight and discomfort of his advanced pregnancy. Minho felt every slight shift in his body with a newfound sensitivity—his lower back aching more with each step, his swollen feet dragging just a little more than usual. The familiar warmth of Chan’s touch was the only anchor in the sea of discomfort. Walking behind Minho, Chan moved with deliberate care, his watchful eyes tracking every cautious step. Minho’s movements were slower now, each one carefully measured to maintain balance, and Chan seamlessly matched his pace, ever the attentive protector.

As they walked down the hall, Minho found himself focusing on the subtle strain in his muscles, the weight of the growing life inside him pulling at his every movement. There were moments when he almost felt as though his body might betray him—like it was no longer fully his.

Their first stop was a room just down the hall, its door slightly ajar to reveal a comforting palette of navy blue, gray, and white. The soft hues immediately enveloped the space in a calm, magical atmosphere. Minho stepped inside, his eyes widening as they landed on the centerpiece—a stunning mural of a glowing moon, surrounded by shimmering stars that seemed to dance across the walls. He inhaled deeply, the calm of the room easing some of the tension that had built in his body. For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting the gentle space soothe him, though a flutter in his belly reminded him of the responsibility growing inside him.

“This is Haneul’s room,” Chan said softly, his voice carrying a note of pride. “He loves it here. Can’t get enough of the stars.”

Minho took a moment to absorb the sight, his gaze lingering on the meticulous details of the room. Everything about it radiated thoughtfulness and care, from the plush navy rug underfoot to the gentle twinkle of the star-shaped string lights above. His attention was drawn to a stuffed wolf perched proudly on a bookshelf, its soft fur and endearing expression inviting a closer look. Minho reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against the plush fabric, but he felt a sudden wave of exhaustion hit him. He steadied himself, pressing his hand lightly against the bookshelf for support, and tried to shake the weight of the moment.

“That’s Wolf Chan,” Chan explained with a chuckle, stepping closer to Minho. “Nabi named him. She said he looked like me, and Haneul couldn’t stop giggling every time she called it that, so the name stuck.”

Minho couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, though the ache in his belly was beginning to intensify. “It’s adorable,” he murmured. “And fitting. He does look a little like you.”

Chan grinned, his dimples deepening. “It was a gift from Felix,” he added. “He had it custom-made for Haneul’s first birthday. Felix was so proud when he handed it to us—he even gave a little speech about how every kid needs a friend like Wolf Chan. He was so serious about it.”

Minho laughed softly at the thought, the image of Felix’s earnest face flashing through his mind. “That sounds like him. Always going the extra mile.”

Chan nodded, his gaze fond. “Felix hasn’t changed much in that regard.”

As they moved on to the next room, Chan stayed close behind Minho, his hands hovering protectively near Minho’s back in case he needed extra support. The weight of Minho’s pregnant form was more noticeable now. With each step, his breath was a little more labored, and his muscles screamed in protest. He tried to ignore the fatigue pooling inside him, but the physical strain was undeniable. Minho could feel its heaviness in his joints; his body was no longer the agile thing it once was.

They entered a room painted in a blend of blush pink, lavender, and mint green, a whimsical contrast to Haneul’s space. The walls seemed to shimmer with fairy-like charm, soft string lights draped artfully along the corners, casting a gentle glow.

“This is Nabi’s room,” Chan said, his tone warm and affectionate. He walked over to the bed and picked up a plush rabbit, holding it out for Minho to see. “This is Leebit. Nabi named it after you. Felix had this one custom-made too.”

Minho took the plush rabbit carefully, his fingers tracing the intricate details of its stitching. The little rabbit, with its delicate features and charming design, was a work of art. A slight wave of emotion washed over him—this was his daughter’s comfort, something he’d be a part of forever. Yet, even this small moment felt like it required a deep breath to steady himself.

“She won’t sleep without it,” Chan added with a soft chuckle. “It’s practically a member of the family now. Honestly, I was surprised my mom managed to calm her down so quickly last night when she forgot to bring Leebit with her.”

Minho laughed softly at what Chan said as he handed Leebit back to him. Chan gently placed it on the bed among other carefully arranged toys.

Their final stop was a nursery painted in a soft, muted terracotta, the shade warm and earthy without being overwhelming. The room exuded a quiet, serene atmosphere, with simple furnishings in light, natural wood that complemented the walls and added to the peaceful vibe. Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the space. Minho couldn’t help but feel a gentle calm wash over him, the warmth of the room wrapping him in a sense of peace.

“This is for the twins,” Chan murmured, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “We didn’t go all out because, well, they’re not going to remember it—we learned that after the first two times. But we wanted it to feel warm and peaceful.”

Minho’s eyes swept over the room, landing on the cribs positioned side by side. His hand instinctively moved to his belly, his thumb brushing along the curve as he took a deep, steadying breath. The sight of this room, combined with the knowledge of the lives growing inside him, filled him with equal parts awe and apprehension.

“It’s perfect,” Minho whispered, his voice barely audible, a soft tremor in it. The words didn’t just refer to the room, but to the life that was rapidly becoming his reality.

Chan rested a hand on Minho’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “You had the final say on everything,” he said with a teasing smile. “Even in your third trimester, you wouldn’t stop until this room was just right.”

Minho let out a quiet laugh, imagining the stubborn determination he must have shown. The thought of those countless conversations, the back and forth, the little moments of deciding and disagreeing, made his heart flutter. His pregnancy may have slowed him down, but it had never dimmed his resolve.

As they continued the tour, each room revealed more about the life they had built. The lived-in clutter—children’s books scattered on a coffee table, a toy truck abandoned near the stairs, one of Chan’s jackets draped over a chair—spoke of a home filled with love and activity. Minho moved carefully, but he couldn't ignore the occasional sharp pang in his side, the ache in his hips from standing too long. It was a strange feeling, being aware of every shift, every little pain that came with pregnancy.

By the time they reached the living room, Minho’s emotions were a mix of wonder and bittersweet nostalgia. Two cats greeted them almost immediately. The familiar gray coat of Dori made Minho’s heart leap.

“Dori,” Minho whispered, kneeling carefully to stroke the soft fur of his beloved companion.

“And this is Bbungie,” Chan added, motioning to the fluffy white cat now nuzzling Minho’s hand. “You and Nabi named him together. He’s been with us for a few years now and she loves to sleep with Nabi in her room.”

Before Minho could ask, Chan’s expression softened, a shadow of sadness flickering in his eyes. “You’re wondering about Soonie and Doongie, aren’t you?”

Minho nodded, his throat tightening.

“They passed a few years ago,” Chan said gently. “Old age. But they’re still with us in a way.” He reached out, his fingers brushing the locket around Minho’s neck. “You kept their ashes here.”

Minho froze. He hadn’t even realized it was there, its familiar weight resting against his chest as he moved through the house. He instinctively pressed his fingers to the cool metal, his heart skipping at the sudden awareness of it.

Chan smiled softly, noticing Minho’s surprise. “You’ve been wearing it ever since,” he said, his voice gentle, understanding. “It’s always been there when you needed it.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, Chan added, “I have one too. It’s in our room.”

For a moment, Minho’s heart clenched, thinking Chan meant he had a locket for Soonie and Doongie as well. But as he looked at Chan’s face, realization dawned. Of course—it wasn’t for the cats. It was for Berry.

Chan caught the recognition in Minho’s expression and nodded softly. “Yeah. For Berry,” he said, his voice holding a quiet mix of grief and fondness. “You were the one who suggested it. Said it’d help me feel close to her even after she was gone… and it did.”

Minho pressed his fingers to his own locket, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the bittersweet ache in his chest.

After the tour, Chan guided Minho to the couch. “Rest here while I make breakfast,” he said, fetching a blanket and tucking it around Minho’s lap.

Minho's heart softened as he watched Chan move about the kitchen, the sounds of clattering dishes and sizzling food filling the space. It wasn’t just the effort Chan put into making breakfast, but the thoughtfulness behind it—the way he tucked Minho in with the blanket, as though he knew just how much he needed the warmth. It was a gesture so tender, so simple, yet it made Minho feel cared for in a way he hadn’t quite expected.

He could hear Chan humming softly to himself, his focus entirely on preparing the meal. But every so often, Chan would glance over at him, giving him a small smile or an encouraging nod, making sure he was okay. Those little moments of reassurance made Minho’s chest flutter. Even the smallest things—like making sure he had everything he needed to rest—made him feel so cared for. And as the warm aroma of breakfast filled the air, Minho realized that this, the quiet domesticity of it all, was something he could live with forever.

The ache in his back and feet seemed to dull in the presence of Chan's care, and for the first time since he woke up in this alternate reality, Minho allowed himself to lean into the quiet comfort of the morning. It was a feeling he hadn’t known he needed, and yet, now that it was here, he couldn’t imagine a world without it.

Minho’s gaze roamed the living room, the soft hum of activity carrying over. The space was undeniably lived in. Cat toys—plush mice, jingling balls, and a scratched-up post—were tucked into corners, evidence of Dori and Bbungie’s playful antics. His hand instinctively closed around the locket again, its presence as grounding as the weight of his pregnancy.

The mantle above the fireplace drew his attention next, lined with an assortment of framed photos. His eyes softened as he took in the images: a family portrait with Chan holding Haneul in his arms, Minho crouched beside Nabi, her tiny hands gripping a stuffed Leebit. Another showed the two kids on the backyard swing set, Haneul mid-laugh while Nabi pushed him with all her might. There was even a candid shot of Chan asleep on the couch, his head tilted back with both kids sprawled across him, their faces peaceful in slumber.

Minho’s gaze drifted lower, landing on the coffee table. A well-worn children’s book sat atop it, its pages slightly crinkled from use. The cover was adorned with colorful illustrations of animals, and a small crayon drawing peeked out from between its pages as an impromptu bookmark. Beside it was a toy truck, its bright red paint chipped in places, as though it had been loved too fiercely.

The smell of food wafted in from the kitchen, warm and inviting, drawing Minho’s focus back to the moment. He shifted slightly on the couch, his hands resting on his belly as he tried to process the overwhelming comfort of the room. This was his home—his family’s sanctuary filled with love, memories, and stories waiting to be told.

When Chan returned, carrying a tray laden with food, Minho’s lips curled into an involuntary smile. The meal was simple—eggs, toast, and fresh fruit—but the presentation was thoughtful, complete with a glass of orange juice and a folded napkin. The smell alone made Minho’s stomach growl audibly, and Chan chuckled as he set the tray down in front of him.

“Hungry?” Chan teased, taking a seat beside him.

“Starving,” Minho admitted, picking up a piece of toast. The first bite was heaven, the warmth of the food grounding him in the moment.

As they ate, Minho glanced at Chan. “So,” he began, a playful glint in his eye, “who’s the fun parent?”

Chan grinned, his dimples on full display. “That would be me. Hands down.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking. “Really?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Chan replied with mock seriousness. “You’re the stricter one. But,” he added with a mischievous glint, “you’re also the most mischievous. You know how to push boundaries in your own way.”

Minho laughed, setting his fork down as he imagined himself in the role Chan described. It felt fitting.

Chan leaned back slightly, his gaze turning fond. “Haneul, though? That kid is a ball of energy. He loves being outside. Even at just two years old, he’s climbing everything he can reach. I swear, if we let him, he’d probably pitch a tent and live in the backyard.”

Minho smiled, the image of their adventurous little boy lighting up his mind. “Sounds like he’s going to keep us on our toes.”

Chan chuckled. “He already does. And then there’s Nabi...” His voice softened, his smile taking on a slightly exasperated edge. “She’s a little bossy. She loves playing in her room, and I mean loves it. Her imagination is wild. But the moment she decides it’s playtime, she’ll drag everyone into it—me, you, and even poor Haneul, who doesn’t always understand what’s going on.”

Minho chuckled, picturing their daughter with her hands on her hips, issuing orders to her family. “She sounds like a handful.”

“She is,” Chan admitted, his voice warm. “But she’s our handful. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Minho’s chest tightened as he set his fork down, his hand instinctively moving to rest on his belly. The life Chan described felt so vibrant, so full of joy and challenges. It was overwhelming, this glimpse into a future he hadn’t anticipated, but it was also undeniably beautiful.

Chan must have noticed the emotion flickering across Minho’s face, because he reached out, his hand covering Minho’s gently. “Hey,” he said softly, his thumb brushing across Minho’s knuckles. “You’re doing amazing. I know this is a lot, but... we’re a team. We always have been.”

Minho swallowed hard, nodding. “Thanks, Chan.”

Chan’s smile was gentle and reassuring. “Always.”

As they finished their meal, Minho felt a strange mix of contentment and longing settle over him. The home around him, the family they had built—it all felt like a dream he was just beginning to understand.

Minho reached for the plates, his movements slow but determined. He wasn’t really thinking about the task at hand, but rather trying to keep his mind occupied. The weight of everything—the emotions swirling inside him, the flood of new memories, the strange sense of displacement—was almost too much to process all at once.

“Let me clean up,” he said, his tone soft but resolute, as if the simple act of washing dishes could provide some relief from the overwhelming rush of thoughts. It wasn’t the plates that mattered; it was the steady, rhythmic motions of cleaning that helped ground him, even for just a moment.

Chan, however, wasn’t having it. In a fluid motion, he stood and swooped in, gently prying the plate from Minho’s hands before he could even fully rise from the couch. “No way,” Chan said with a grin, shaking his head. “You’re not lifting a finger today.”

Minho frowned, trying to protest, but Chan wasn’t listening. Instead, as if on autopilot, Chan leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Minho’s cheek. It was a fleeting gesture, so light it was almost imperceptible—but it sent shockwaves through both of them.

Chan froze mid-step, his face instantly coloring. His lips parted as if to apologize, his eyes wide with surprise.

Minho, equally startled, sat still, his hand instinctively brushing the spot where Chan’s lips had landed. His cheek felt warm—no, it was burning—and his chest fluttered wildly.

“I—uh—sorry,” Chan stammered, his voice unusually soft as he shifted awkwardly on his feet.

“It’s fine,” Minho said quickly, his voice higher-pitched than normal. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound more composed. “Really.”

Chan nodded, clearly flustered, and hurried off to the kitchen, the plates clinking together as he busied himself with the dishes.

Minho sat there for a moment, still touching his cheek, as if trying to absorb the sensation and etch it into his memory. Inside, his heart was racing. The kiss had been nothing—just a casual, absent-minded gesture—but it had left him breathless. He cursed silently, scolding himself for being so affected. It was just Chan being Chan, right? Sweet, thoughtful, affectionate Chan.

Except it wasn’t nothing. Not to him.

This was different. This wasn’t the college best friend Chan he knew—this was a Chan who was married to his future self, who had built a life and a family with him. A Chan who kissed him instinctively, without hesitation, because that’s what they did in this time of their relationship. It wasn’t forced or awkward—it was natural, automatic, like second nature.

Minho’s chest tightened at the thought. This was the future he had stumbled into, the life they had created together. And while it was overwhelming to process, it was also deeply comforting in a way he couldn’t explain.

Still, he scolded himself for letting it get to him. He had to keep reminding himself that this wasn’t his reality—not yet, anyway.

Minho shook his head, forcing himself to snap out of it. “Hormones,” he muttered under his breath, as if saying it aloud would make it true.

When Chan returned from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel, Minho was already sitting upright, his composure firmly back in place.

“Hey,” Minho began, determined to change the subject. “Can we go for a short walk? I want to stretch my legs a bit.”

Chan’s brow furrowed with concern as he studied Minho. “Are you sure? You’ve been getting tired quickly, especially lately.”

“I’ll be fine,” Minho assured him, waving a hand dismissively. “I just… I want to see what’s out there, you know? Get a feel for the neighborhood.”

Chan hesitated, clearly torn between indulging Minho and worrying about overexerting him. Finally, he nodded. “Alright. But the moment you feel tired, we’re heading back. No arguments.”

“Deal,” Minho replied, a small smile playing at his lips.

Chan helped Minho to his feet, his hands gentle but firm as he supported Minho’s weight. “Let’s get you ready first,” he said, guiding Minho toward their bedroom. His hands never left Minho’s back, steadying him with each careful step.

In the bedroom, Minho paused by the bed, catching his breath. “I’ll freshen up a bit,” he said, gesturing toward the bathroom.

“Take your time,” Chan replied, already moving to the closet to pick out something comfortable for Minho to wear.

In the bathroom, Minho shut the door and leaned against it for a moment, exhaling deeply. He turned to face the mirror, his eyes scanning his reflection with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.

His face, while slightly fuller than he remembered, still looked youthful. He ran a hand over his cheek, noting the smoothness of his skin. If someone told him he was in his mid-twenties, he would’ve believed it.

But then his gaze dropped lower, and his breath caught.

His belly—round, firm, and undeniably large—dominated his reflection. Seeing it like this, in the vanity mirror, made it feel more real than ever. He turned slightly to the side, taking in the sheer size of it, and placed both hands on the curve.

He could feel the life within, subtle shifts and flutters that reminded him of the twins growing inside him. Twins. The word echoed in his mind, filling him with a mix of awe and disbelief.

They were real. His hands glided over the taut skin as the realization settled in—he and Chan had made them.

The thought of Chan sent a jolt through him, and before he could stop himself, his mind began to wander. He thought of Chan’s hands, warm and strong, resting on his belly. Chan’s voice, soft and soothing, whispering reassurances. Chan’s lips, brushing against his cheek and bond mark…

Minho’s cheeks flushed as heat coursed through him. He felt the telltale wetness pooling between his thighs and bit his lip, embarrassed by his body’s reaction. He glanced away from the mirror, scolding himself silently.

“Not now,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Focus.”

He took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. Slowly, the heat subsided, leaving only a faint blush on his cheeks. He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water onto his face, the coolness a welcome shock that helped ground him. He let the water run for a moment, staring at the rippling surface as if it held the answers to the storm of emotions swirling inside him.

Minho grabbed a nearby towel, patting his face dry before straightening his posture. He smoothed out his shirt and took another deep breath, forcing himself to focus. One last glance in the mirror, and he felt ready—or at least ready enough—to face Chan again without letting the turmoil in his heart show too much.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Chan was waiting with a lightweight jacket draped over his arm.

“All set?” Chan asked, his tone gentle.

Minho nodded, taking the jacket and slipping it on. “Let’s go.”

Chan smiled, offering his arm for support. Minho took it gratefully, leaning into the warmth and steadiness that Chan provided. Together, they made their way toward the front door, the sunlight streaming through the windows and beckoning them outside.

As they stepped outside, a breeze greeted them, carrying the earthy scent of fresh dew and faint floral undertones from distant blooms. Minho glanced at Chan, who was already animatedly talking about their neighbors. His voice was bright, weaving a tapestry of vivid descriptions—Mrs. Park and her mischievous orange tabby, Mr. Kim and his nosy tendencies, the friendly couple two doors down who always left baked goods on their porch.

“You’re surprisingly detailed about people,” Minho remarked with a soft chuckle, his lips curving into a small smile. Despite his initial wariness, he found Chan’s chatter comforting, even endearing. It filled the quiet spaces between them, turning what might have been an ordinary walk into something colorful and engaging.

Chan glanced at him, his grin widening. “Well, someone’s gotta keep you in the loop,” he teased. “Future-you would know all this already. Guess that makes it my job to catch you up.”

The reminder of his unusual circumstances—being here, in this life that wasn’t yet his—sent a tiny ripple of unease through Minho. But Chan’s steady voice, the casual way he referenced their shared future, anchored him. It felt like an unspoken promise: Minho belonged here, even if it didn’t quite feel real yet.

As they strolled through the sunlit neighborhood, Minho became increasingly aware of the attention they were drawing. Strangers offered lingering glances, their expressions a mix of admiration and curiosity. Some smiled warmly; others whispered quietly to one another. Minho flushed under their scrutiny, his hands instinctively moving to smooth his shirt over the gentle curve of his belly.

One particularly bold woman approached, her secondary gender immediately apparent from her scent: an omega. Her face lit up with genuine excitement. “You’re glowing!” she exclaimed. “How far along are you? Is it twins? I’m assuming it is. You look absolutely radiant.” Her enthusiasm was disarming, and Minho stammered a polite response, unsure how to handle the attention.

Before he could falter further, Chan’s arm tightened around his waist. The gesture wasn’t overbearing; it was steadying, protective, and grounding. Minho froze for a moment, startled, before something inside him stirred. His omega instincts recognized Chan’s silent claim and responded in kind. He straightened subtly, letting himself lean into the hold, his shoulders relaxing as a soft, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips.

The shift was subtle, but the older omega noticed it, her eyes flicking briefly to Chan before her smile grew even warmer. “You’re lucky,” she said with a knowing look. “Take care of each other.”

Minho barely registered her words, his focus entirely on the comforting weight of Chan’s arm and the way it made him feel secure, cherished. The realization sent warmth blooming through his chest. He didn’t understand why it felt so natural to respond this way, but for once, he didn’t question it.

By the time they returned home, Minho’s feet were beginning to ache. He tried to ignore it, not wanting to disrupt the peace of their outing, but Chan noticed almost immediately. “You’re tired,” he said simply, his voice tinged with quiet concern. “Let’s get you off your feet.”

Minho blinked at him, startled by how easily Chan had read him. Was it that obvious, or was this part of their bond? Either way, he let Chan guide him back home without protest.

Once in the living room, Chan guided Minho to the couch with careful hands, his movements a blend of tenderness and certainty. “Sit tight,” he said with a reassuring smile before disappearing momentarily. Minho, still overwhelmed by the sheer domesticity of the moment, settled into the plush cushions, unsure of what to expect next. Chan returned a moment later, carrying a warm towel in one hand and a small bottle of oil in the other.

Minho blinked at him, surprised. “You don’t have to—” he began, though the persistent ache in his feet whispered otherwise. The idea of a massage was too tempting to resist, and his protest trailed off into a sheepish nod.

Chan knelt in front of him, his movements practiced and smooth as he gently took Minho’s feet into his lap. The warmth of the towel was the first thing Minho noticed, followed by Chan’s firm yet soothing touch. As Chan worked the oil into his skin, his fingers moved with an expertise that immediately eased the tension, coaxing a soft, involuntary moan from Minho.

The sound startled him, and his hand flew to his mouth in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean—” he stammered, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson.

Chan laughed, the sound light and teasing. “Relax, babe,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Nothing I haven’t heard before.” He threw in a playful wink for good measure, leaving Minho flustered beyond belief.

“You’re impossible,” Minho muttered, trying to glare at him but failing miserably. The affectionate grin on Chan’s face made it impossible to stay annoyed.

Chan chuckled again, his smirk softening into something tender. “You’re too cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” His hands continued their gentle kneading, each motion laced with care.

For a while, the room was filled with comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional sigh from Minho. Then, as if struck by a thought, Chan spoke up. “Hey, I was thinking,” he began, glancing up at Minho. “Do you want to see more photos of the kids? We’ve got a ton of albums on the shelf.” He nodded toward a nearby bookshelf, where a collection of neatly arranged albums sat waiting.

Minho’s gaze flicked to the shelf. He had noticed them earlier but hadn’t given them much thought. Now, curiosity sparked within him. “Sure,” he said, his voice soft but eager.

Chan’s face lit up. He rose effortlessly, retrieved a few albums, and returned to his spot in front of Minho. Placing the stack on the coffee table, he handed the first one to Minho before resuming his massage.

Minho opened the album, his curiosity growing with each turn of the page. The first set of photos documented him and Chan during their early days—candid snapshots and grinning selfies. They looked so young, so carefree.

One picture stood out: a candid from their wedding day. In the photograph, they stood close, locked in a quiet, intimate moment that seemed to belong only to them despite the bustling celebration around them. Chan’s hands rested firmly yet gently on Minho’s waist, while Minho’s hands were splayed over Chan’s chest, fingers brushing against the lapel of his suit. Chan was flashing his famous dimpled smile, his eyes crinkled with uncontainable joy, radiating warmth and affection. Minho, in contrast, appeared almost blank-faced, his expression neutral to the casual observer. But for anyone who truly knew him, the subtlety spoke volumes. His gaze, steady and unflinching, was locked on Chan’s face with a quiet intensity—a look of awe, admiration, and love so profound it made the air between them feel electric. The sheer emotion encapsulated in that single frame made Minho’s throat tighten every time he looked at it.

He quickly turned the page, overwhelmed by the surge of emotions. The next album focused on Nabi. Minho found himself staring at a series of photos of himself with a growing baby bump. Each stage was carefully documented, accompanied by handwritten notes in Chan’s familiar script. The images of Nabi as a newborn were the most heartwarming. In one, Minho was cradling her against his chest, his face a mix of exhaustion and pure bliss.

Haneul’s album followed, showing a similar progression. This time, Nabi featured prominently, her small hands often resting protectively on Minho’s belly. One photo showed her pressing a kiss to the bump, her tiny face full of wonder. Minho’s eyes misted as he flipped through milestones—the first smile, the first steps, the first sibling cuddle.

By the time Minho closed the last album, his vision was blurry with unshed tears. He wiped at his eyes, but a single tear escaped, trailing down his cheek. Chan immediately noticed and reached up to brush it away with a gentle thumb.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice laced with concern. “You okay, love?”

Minho nodded, his lips curving into a shy smile. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Just... it’s a lot to take in.”

Chan smiled warmly, his hand lingering on Minho’s cheek for a moment before pulling away. Then, his expression turned slightly cautious, his voice dipping to a gentle tone. “Do you think you’d feel okay to call the kids? No pressure—just if you’re ready.”

Minho hesitated. The thought of seeing Nabi and Haneul filled him with nervous anticipation. But the longing to connect with them, even through a screen, outweighed his reservations. Finally, he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said softly, his voice steadier now. “I think I’d like that.”

Chan’s grin widened, the warmth and love in his eyes making Minho’s heart swell. With a reassuring squeeze to Minho’s hand, Chan reached for his phone, the room once again filling with the quiet hum of anticipation.

A warm smile spreading across Chan’s face as he dialed. The call connected quickly, and the screen lit up with the image of his parents holding the phone. Behind them, the muffled sound of children’s laughter could be heard.

“Ah, Nabi, Haneul, come here! Appa and Eomma want to talk to you!” Chan’s mother called out. A flurry of movement followed, and within seconds, two excited faces appeared on the screen.

“Eomma!” Nabi exclaimed, her voice bright with excitement as she waved at Minho through the camera. Haneul was quieter, but his wide grin and small wave made Minho’s heart swell. Hearing them call him “eomma” sent a wave of warmth crashing over him, so strong that he felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. These were his pups—his precious children—and they were more perfect than he could have ever imagined.

“What did you have for breakfast, my loves?” Minho asked, his voice soft yet eager.

“Sausage rolls!” Nabi declared, bouncing slightly in place. “Grandma and Grandpa brought ‘em from their house! They’re so yummy!”

Minho raised a brow, glancing at Chan, who chuckled and mouthed, Australian thing.

“Appa ate them when he was little,” Nabi added as Haneul was quietly nodding along to everything his sister said. Minho couldn’t help but giggle at the sight—Nabi’s endless chatter and Haneul’s quiet agreement. The way Haneul followed Nabi’s every word with such earnestness made Minho’s chest ache with affection.

“Tell us about your morning,” Minho prompted, wanting to hear more. Nabi launched into a detailed account of their activities, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke. Minho giggled at her enthusiasm but found himself glancing back at Haneul, marveling at how much he resembled Chan. The realization that Nabi mirrored him so strongly only added to the emotional weight he felt.

At one point, Minho looked away from the screen, his eyes landing on Chan. His lips formed a small, adorable pout as he tried to process the emotions overwhelming him. Chan noticed immediately and cooed softly, reaching over to rub Minho’s hand in a comforting gesture. “You’re doing so well, love,” Chan murmured, his voice gentle.

After ten minutes, the kids began to grow restless. “Bye, Eomma! Bye, Appa!” Nabi called cheerfully, waving as Haneul echoed her farewell. They handed the phone back to their grandparents before darting off, their laughter fading into the background.

The screen went dark after they said goodbye to Chan’s parents, leaving Minho and Chan alone once more. Silence enveloped them, Chan giving Minho the space he needed. He could tell Minho was processing everything, his eyes distant yet full of emotion.

“You look like you’re thinking a lot,” Chan eventually said, breaking the silence.

Minho opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. His thoughts were a chaotic swirl, making it impossible to articulate anything coherent. After a long pause, he finally spoke, though it wasn’t an answer to Chan’s observation.

“Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course,” Chan replied without hesitation, his hand still resting on Minho’s.

Minho took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly as he said, “I’m struggling to believe all of this is real. It feels so real, but… I can’t wrap my head around it. You’re with me. We’re married and mated. We have kids—and twins on the way. I just… I can’t believe it. You didn’t even like me during my time.”

That last statement made Chan pause. His expression shifted, a mix of frustration, determination, and nostalgia crossing his face. “That’s not true,” he said firmly, moving to sit beside Minho on the couch. 

Minho blinked, startled by Chan’s sudden intensity. Chan paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, his voice steady but full of meaning.

Chan looked down for a moment, as if lost in the memory of everything they had been through. His voice softened, tinged with both certainty and warmth. “Ever since we met, I felt something different with you. At first, I didn’t know what it was, but it didn’t take me long to realize that I liked you. Not just in the alpha sense of wanting to claim an omega like you—but because I wanted to spend every moment with you. You made everything brighter. You became my best friend first, but over time, it wasn’t just admiration anymore. Slowly, but surely, I fell in love with you.”

Minho’s eyes went wide, his breath hitching in his throat as the weight of Chan’s words sank in. His mouth opened, but no sound came out at first. His heart thundered in his chest as a rush of emotions overwhelmed him—surprise, disbelief, and something else he couldn't quite name. Slowly, his gaze dropped to his hands, his fingers fidgeting nervously in his lap as he tried to process everything. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, and he swallowed hard to push back the tightness in his throat.

“I… I never knew,” Minho finally managed, his voice barely a whisper, shaky and full of vulnerability. “You treated me the same as everyone else…”

“No, I didn’t,” Chan countered, his smile softening as his eyes twinkled with affection. “With you, I did things without you asking. Everyone else had to ask me for favors, but with you, I just… wanted to help. To make you smile. All the little things I did for you… they weren’t just acts of kindness. They were me showing you how much I cared for you. How much I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you, even when I tried to hide it.”

Minho felt a lump form in his throat, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. His heart was hammering, his pulse loud in his ears. “You... liked me?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly. “You fell for me?”

Chan nodded, his voice almost wistful. “And when you finally let it slip that you might feel the same way, I asked you out, then we started dating, and everything just... fell into place.”

The realization hit Minho harder than he expected. All the little things Chan had done for him were not random acts of generosity, but deliberate ways of discreetly courting him. His heart felt full to the brim, overwhelmed by the emotions washing over him.

Minho’s heart raced as Chan’s words sank in. Before he could stop himself, he leaned forward, their lips meeting in a kiss that was both tender and electrifying. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them.

But as much as Minho loved it, he gently pushed Chan away. “We shouldn’t do this,” he whispered, his cheeks flushed. “Not when your husband is away.”

Chan blinked, then laughed softly. “You are my husband,” he said, his tone laced with amusement.

“It’s not the same,” Minho argued. “I’m not the Minho you married. He might get upset.”

Chan smirked, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Would you be upset if your younger self was kissing me?”

Minho froze, the weight of Chan's question hitting him in waves. His heart pounded as clarity washed over him—his future self wouldn’t just forgive him; he’d be glad. Glad that his younger self could experience Chan’s love, even briefly. He could almost imagine his future self smiling at the thought, relieved Minho had embraced this moment.

Breath hitching, Minho leaned in and kissed Chan, without hesitation or guilt—only the certainty that he was allowed to cherish this.

For a brief moment, Chan froze, his eyes wide with surprise as though he hadn’t fully expected this to happen. But his reaction was short-lived; his hand rose gently, cupping Minho’s cheek with a tenderness that made the omega’s chest tighten. The pad of Chan’s thumb brushed softly over Minho’s flushed skin, the touch soothing and grounding.

The sincerity in that small gesture made Minho’s heartache in the most bittersweet way. He could feel the restraint in the way Chan held him, as if afraid of going too far or doing too much. Yet, within every movement, there was a deep longing that mirrored the one Minho had tried to ignore for so long.  

Minho’s heartbeat was thundering in his chest as the world around them seemed to dissolve. The room, the furniture, even the lingering doubts in his mind—they all faded, leaving only Chan. There was nothing but the warmth of Chan’s lips against his, the alpha’s scent filling Minho’s senses, and the steady rhythm of his breath. It felt safe. No, more than safe—it felt right. 

The tension that had gripped him for what felt like forever melted away, replaced by a profound sense of belonging. His chest felt lighter, freer, as if the weight of all his uncertainties had been lifted. Slowly, he leaned further into the kiss, his fingers moving to grasp at Chan’s shirt. The fabric bunched beneath his hands as their lips moved in sync, each touch slow and deliberate like they had all the time in the world.  

Chan kissed with a patience that made Minho’s knees weak—soft, unhurried, and achingly gentle, as though Minho were the most fragile thing he’d ever held. It was intoxicating. Every delicate glide of Chan’s lips against his sent tiny waves of warmth surging through Minho’s body, leaving him lightheaded and dizzy in the best possible way.  

But no matter how much he tried to focus on the moment, an unavoidable frustration began to creep in. Minho shifted slightly, trying to adjust himself, but it was no use. The fullness of his belly pressed firmly between them, making the already snug space feel impossibly tight. The discomfort was enough to make him pull back, his lips tingling and swollen as he leaned away.  

With a soft huff, he frowned, glancing down at the prominent curve of his belly. “This is so annoying,” he muttered, exasperation coloring his tone.  

Chan chuckled softly, the sound low and warm as his hands moved instinctively to rest on Minho’s hips. “Annoying? I thought it was pretty nice,” he teased, his lips quirking into a playful grin.  

Minho’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, and he quickly averted his gaze. “It was nice,” he mumbled, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “But this…” He gestured vaguely to his belly, his frustration evident. “It’s in the way. I don’t even know how to—how does your Minho deal with this?”  

Chan’s teasing expression softened instantly, replaced by something gentler. His hands slid up, cupping Minho’s belly with surprising reverence, his thumbs brushing over the fabric of Minho’s shirt. “He’s had a bit more practice,” Chan said with a soft laugh, yet his tone was patient and encouraging. “But we can always move somewhere more comfortable.”

Minho shot him a half-hearted glare, though the sincerity in Chan’s touch made him pause. He hesitated for only a moment before sighing, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Sure,” he said, shifting to get more comfortable. “This couch is awful.”  

Chan laughed, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Let’s go to the bedroom—it’ll be easier for both of us.”  

Standing first, Chan held out his hand to help Minho up. For a moment, Minho hesitated, caught off guard by the ease with which Chan offered support. The quiet strength in Chan’s touch, the way he instinctively adjusted to accommodate Minho’s balance—it made something flutter deep in his chest.  

“Come on,” Chan said, his voice soft but resolute. “Let me take care of you.”  

There was something about the way he said it, so calm and confident, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Minho’s cheeks flushed again, but he nodded, allowing Chan to guide him toward the bedroom.  

Chan guided him to the bed, his movements unhurried as he propped up several pillows behind Minho. “Here,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Sit back like this. Lying flat on your back isn’t ideal for you—or the babies—at this stage.”

Minho blinked up at him, his gaze filled with quiet admiration. “You really know what you’re doing, huh?”  

Chan chuckled. “Well, I too had some practice,” he joked, his smile lopsided and endearing. “This is my third time doing this, after all.”

Minho’s cheeks flushed at the words, a mix of awe and shyness washing over him. “Right,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.  

Once Minho was settled, Chan straddled him, hovering just above, his movements careful as he positioned himself without pressing against Minho’s belly. Minho gasped and blinked in surprise at the proximity, his heart racing a little at how close Chan was without touching him. “Better?” Chan asked, his tone low and reassuring.

Minho nodded hesitantly.  

As Chan leaned in to kiss him again, Minho melted into the warmth of it, his heart pounding as Chan’s lips moved against his. Slowly, Chan’s hands began to explore, slipping beneath the hem of Minho’s oversized shirt. The moment his warm palms brushed over the swell of Minho’s belly, the omega gasped softly, breaking the kiss.

“Too much?” Chan asked, his hands immediately stilling. His gaze was steady, searching Minho’s face for any sign of discomfort.  

“No, it’s just…” Minho hesitated, his voice wavering as his eyes darted away. “No one’s ever touched me like that before.”  

Chan’s expression softened, his touch feather-light as his thumb gently traced over Minho’s belly. “Does it feel good?”  

Minho swallowed hard, his throat dry as he nodded.  

Encouraged, Chan’s hands continued their exploration, reverently tracing the curve of Minho’s belly. Each touch was deliberate, almost worshipful, as if Chan was memorizing every detail. When his fingers skimmed higher, brushing over Minho’s chest and grazing a sensitive nipple, Minho’s breath hitched. His back arched instinctively, and a soft, unbidden sound escaped his lips.  

Chan froze for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good?”  

The omega’s flushed face and trembling nod were all the answers Chan needed. 

Minho's breathing deepened, each exhale trembling as he focused on the sensations Chan’s hands left in their wake. The air between them was thick with their scents.

Chan's touch wasn’t hurried; it was patient, deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world to savor this moment.

For a brief second, Minho’s gaze flickered to Chan’s face, and his cheeks flushed with a mix of shyness and longing. Chan caught his eye and offered a gentle, reassuring smile that made Minho’s heart stutter. The quiet intimacy of that look, as if Chan were grounding them both in the shared experience, made Minho’s chest tighten.

"You're beautiful," Chan murmured, his voice soft but steady, as his hands resumed their exploration. Minho’s eyes fluttered shut at the words, overwhelmed by their sincerity, and leaned into the warm, steady touch guiding him.

Taking Chan's actions as encouragement, Minho let out a soft, shaky breath, his body instinctively leaning into the alpha's touch. Chan's hands explored with reverence, tracing the gentle curve of Minho’s belly as if committing every inch to memory. His fingertips lingered on the taut skin, his touch warm and soothing. Slowly, they traveled higher, brushing over Minho's sides before settling on his chest. When his fingers grazed a sensitive nipple, Minho’s reaction was instant—a sharp gasp escaping his lips as his back arched slightly off the mattress.  

Chan froze, alarm flickering across his features. “Did I hurt you?” His voice was thick with concern, his brows knitting together as he quickly withdrew his hand.  

“No!” Minho blurted, his face flushing a deep shade of red. His hands instinctively covering his chest, though the lingering sensation of Chan’s touch sent a shiver through him. “It’s just… they’re, um, sensitive. Really sensitive.”  

The hesitation in his voice only seemed to confirm what Chan already knew. Understanding washed over his face, and the corner of his lips quirked into a knowing, teasing smile. “Sensitive, huh?” His voice dropped an octave, rich with teasing. Before Minho could respond, Chan’s thumb brushed over the nub once more, sending a jolt of pleasure through him.  

“Chan!” Minho gasped, his voice caught between a protest and a moan. Heat bloomed across his skin, and he squirmed beneath Chan’s unwavering gaze.  

But when a bead of white liquid suddenly formed at his nipple, Minho stilled entirely, staring at it in shock. His wide eyes met Chan’s, panic lacing his voice. “What—what is that? What’s happening?!”  

Chan didn’t seem startled. If anything, his calm demeanor only unsettled Minho further. “It’s milk,” he said softly, his voice warm and soothing.

“Milk?!” Minho’s voice cracked, his ears burning with embarrassment. “But—why now?!”  

“It’s normal when you’re close to giving birth,” Chan reassured him, his hands never leaving Minho’s sides as he leaned closer. “Your body’s amazing, Minho. Everything it’s doing is to take care of our babies.”  

Before Minho could protest further, Chan’s head descended, his lips brushing against the sensitive peak. His tongue flicked over the nub with deliberate slowness, testing Minho’s reaction before he began to suck gently, drawing the milk from him.

The sensation was unlike anything Minho had ever felt. His head fell back, a broken cry tearing from his lips as his hands flew up to cover his face. “Chan—stop, I—” He couldn’t even finish his sentence, overwhelmed by the mixture of embarrassment and pleasure flooding his senses.  

Chan pulled back slightly, his lips glistening as his eyes searched Minho’s face. “Do you want me to stop?” His voice was steady, laced with both concern and something deeper—something primal.  

Minho shook his head vehemently, peeking at Chan from behind trembling hands. “No… don’t stop.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried a vulnerability that made Chan’s chest tighten.  

The soft laugh that escaped Chan was more affectionate than teasing. “Alright,” he murmured, dipping his head once more. His ministrations grew bolder, drawing sweet, breathy moans from Minho as he drank deeply, the milk flowing in slow, steady pulls.

Chan paused for a moment, his lips still lingering against Minho’s skin, before pulling away slightly, his voice thick with admiration. “You taste incredible, Minho,” he murmured, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of his chest. “So sweet… every time.” His gaze softened for a moment, as if savoring the moment, before he returned to the gentle rhythm, his mouth taking in more of Minho’s milk.

When Chan shifted to the other nipple, Minho’s body reacted instinctively, arching into the touch as if desperate for more. His scent grew heavier in the air—rich and intoxicating, laced with the unmistakable notes of arousal. Chan’s sharp senses picked up on the slick gathering between Minho’s thighs, and his gaze darkened with desire.  

“You’re enjoying this a lot, aren’t you?” Chan teased, though his tone remained soft and reverent.  

Minho groaned, pressing his hands against his flushed face. “Shut up…”  

But Chan didn’t relent, his free hand sliding down to trace the waistband of Minho’s sweatpants. His fingertips lingered there, teasing but never pushing too far. “You’re so wet, Minho. Do you know how much you’re leaking right now?”  

“Stop!” Minho protested, though his voice lacked any real conviction.  

Chan’s response was to kiss his cheek, the gesture tender and grounding. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice filled with unshakable sincerity. “You carry our babies so well.”  

Minho’s breath hitched, his embarrassment giving way to something softer—something warmer. He lowered his hands, meeting Chan’s gaze with wide, vulnerable eyes.

“You’re stunning, Minho.”  

The words settled over Minho like a blanket, warming him from the inside out. He bit his lip, his heart racing as he reached out to tangle his fingers in Chan’s hair. “Then… keep going.”  

Chan’s lips curved into a gentle smile as he leaned in to kiss once more, his touch reverent and slow. Every movement, every caress, spoke of a love so profound that Minho couldn’t help but surrender completely. For the first time, he felt the full weight of the bond they shared—a connection built on trust, care, and a love that seemed destined to grow with every moment they spent together.

Minho’s heart raced as he let himself relax, feeling the steady rhythm of the alpha’s breathing against him. The room felt quieter somehow, the world outside fading into irrelevance. Chan pressed a soft kiss to Minho’s temple, his lips lingering just long enough to let the gesture speak louder than words ever could.

"We don’t have to rush," Chan whispered, his voice a soothing balm to Minho’s frayed nerves. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The reassurance settled deep in Minho’s chest, but the lingering vulnerability in his expression didn’t waver completely. Chan noticed and took his time, his hands and words both grounding and patient, waiting for Minho to find his own pace.

Chan carefully helped Minho onto his side, his touch tender and deliberate as if handling the most fragile, precious thing in the world. The omega’s breath hitched, his nerves betraying him as he clung tightly to the edge of the blanket beneath him. Every movement spoke of his uncertainty, the tremble in his fingers a testament to how uncharted this moment felt for him.

Chan adjusted the pillows meticulously, ensuring they supported the gentle curve of Minho’s swollen belly and cradled his back. He reached for another pillow, placing it carefully between Minho’s legs to offer extra comfort. The soft lighting in the room bathed them in a golden glow, casting long shadows that seemed to cocoon them in their own private world.

“Are you comfortable?” Chan asked, his voice low and soothing as he settled behind Minho, their bodies fitting together seamlessly. One arm slipped around Minho’s waist, his palm resting on the soft swell of his hip.  

Minho nodded hesitantly, though his heart raced like a drumbeat in his chest. He swallowed hard, his voice coming out in a shaky whisper. “I… I think so. It’s just that—” He paused, his words faltering as he struggled to voice his vulnerability. “I’ve never done this before.”  

Chan stilled, his brow furrowing as he absorbed the words. His throat tightened with emotion as the weight of the moment hit him. This wasn’t his Minho—not the one he had cherished and loved openly, the one who had welcomed him with both body and soul countless times. This Minho, younger and untested, was experiencing this intimacy for the very first time in a body that’s not yet his.  

Chan’s heart tightened, but he pushed aside the feeling and leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of Minho’s ear. “I’ll take care of you, my omega,” he murmured, his tone steady and filled with quiet resolve. “We’ll go slow. The second you want me to stop, just tell me, and I will.”

Minho turned his head slightly, his wide, trusting eyes meeting Chan’s. The vulnerability in his gaze was almost too much for Chan to bear, but he held steady, offering the reassurance Minho needed. “Okay,” Minho whispered, his voice trembling as he added, “Alpha.” The title was spoken with a hesitant reverence, yet it carried a weight that made Chan’s chest tighten with emotion.  

The corner of Chan’s mouth lifted in a small, tender smile. He pressed a soft kiss to the nape of Minho’s neck, lingering there as if to transfer every ounce of his love and devotion through that simple touch. “You’re safe with me,” he promised, his voice as unshakable as the bond they shared.  

His hand drifted to Minho’s belly, fingers tracing gentle circles over the taut skin. The motion was instinctive, grounding both of them in the moment. Minho let out a shaky breath, his body gradually relaxing under the alpha’s care.  

Chan’s other hand slid lower, pausing just before the juncture of Minho’s thighs. He felt the omega tense beneath his touch, the hesitation radiating from him like a ripple in still water.  

“Relax for me,” Chan murmured, his voice a soft rumble that seemed to vibrate through Minho’s very core. “Let me take care of you.”  

Minho exhaled shakily, his muscles gradually unclenching as Chan’s fingers brushed against his slick cunt. The sensation made him jolt slightly, his body instinctively trying to close off, but Chan’s hand remained steady, patient.  

“Wait,” Minho whispered, his voice laced with nervousness. He turned his head slightly, his cheeks tinged with a deep blush. “Shouldn’t you… prep me first?”  

Chan chuckled softly, the sound low and teasing as he leaned in to nip playfully at Minho’s earlobe. “You’re still prepped enough from last night,” he murmured, his tone tinged with both affection and mischief.  

Minho’s cheeks flushed deeply, though he had no idea what Chan was referring to. The unexpected words still sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through him. “W-what?” he stammered, utterly flustered, his mind racing to catch up.

Chan smiled against Minho’s skin, his lips brushing against the omega’s shoulder as he gently nudged his thighs apart. “Trust me, my omega,” he said, his voice soothing yet edged with an unmistakable desire. “I promise you’ll feel good.”  

The alpha’s careful, deliberate movements and the warmth of his touch made Minho’s heart flutter despite his nerves. He closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath as he allowed himself to surrender to the moment. For all his trepidation, there was one thing he was certain of: with Chan, he was safe.

Chan’s hands lingered on Minho’s hips, his thumbs drawing soothing circles against the sensitive skin there. He took his time, letting Minho adjust to the intimacy of their closeness. The alpha’s lips peppered soft kisses along Minho’s collarbone, each one a silent reminder of his devotion.

“Breathe, Minho,” Chan murmured, his voice low and steady. His words washed over Minho like a calming tide, easing the tension in his muscles. Minho did as he was told, taking slow, measured breaths, his fingers clutching the sheets beneath him for grounding.

The anticipation built between them, the air thick with a heady mix of trust and longing. Minho shivered as he felt Chan shift slightly, his movements unhurried but purposeful, a clear indication of what was to come.

Minho barely had time to process the heat of Chan’s whispered words before he felt the alpha pressing against his entrance. Chan’s movements were deliberate—slow and careful—as if he were savoring every second of their connection. Minho’s breath hitched, his body tensing instinctively at the initial stretch. It was overwhelming, the sensation of being filled so completely that it bordered on too much.  

Chan paused immediately, his hands steadying Minho with a firm yet soothing grip. His lips brushed against Minho’s ear, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down Minho’s spine. “Breathe, my omega. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”  

The gentle command helped Minho refocus. He exhaled shakily, forcing his muscles to relax as Chan pushed further, inch by inch, the alpha’s girth stretching him in a way that was both familiar and new. Minho gasped softly, the sound caught somewhere between discomfort and pleasure.  

Chan stilled once he was fully bottomed out, his body pressed flush against Minho’s. He didn’t move, allowing his omega the time he needed to adjust. His hand slid up to cradle Minho’s belly, the gesture instinctively protective. “You’re amazing,” Chan murmured, his tone filled with awe. “How are you still this tight? We literally did this last night.”  

Minho’s lips parted to respond, but the teasing remark barely registered in his pleasure-clouded mind. His body was too focused on the way Chan filled and stretched him. A soft moan escaped his lips, and his head tipped back slightly, exposing the column of his neck. The motion exposed the mating mark Chan had given him years ago, a beautiful, darkened bite just below his ear.

Chan chuckled softly at the sight, his laughter warm and affectionate. “Never mind,” he murmured, leaning in to nuzzle the back of Minho’s neck. “You’re perfect. My omega. My mate.”  

The words sent a rush of warmth through Minho, a deep sense of belonging that nearly brought tears to his eyes. He whimpered, his hips shifting instinctively as he pressed back against Chan, silently pleading for more.  

“Patience,” Chan chided softly, though his own restraint was beginning to slip. He started with slow, shallow thrusts, his movements cautious but deliberate. His hand never left Minho’s belly, fingers splayed wide as if to anchor them both in the moment.  

“You’re so good for me,” Chan murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His lips brushed against Minho’s shoulder, pressing a series of lingering kisses there. “So perfect. My beautiful omega.”  

Minho’s breath hitched as Chan began to move more steadily, the sounds the alpha made only amplifying his pleasure. Each groan, grunt, and pant seemed to resonate through Minho’s body, feeding a fire deep inside him.  

He couldn’t help but preen at the way Chan’s moans grew louder with each thrust. Knowing he was the cause of his alpha’s pleasure—knowing he could undo Chan so completely—sent a wave of arousal surging through him. Minho’s lips curled into a soft smile, his body arching instinctively to draw out more of those delicious sounds.  

“Alpha,” Minho whimpered, his voice trembling as he clenched around Chan, desperate to give him as much pleasure as he was receiving. The way Chan’s breath hitched in response made Minho’s chest swell with pride.  

Chan groaned, his voice deep and ragged as he buried himself deeper into Minho. “You drive me crazy,” he muttered, his hand gripping Minho’s hip tightly. “You feel so good—so perfect.”  

The praise made Minho shiver, his soft moans mixing with Chan’s low growls. He clung to the pillow beneath him, his body moving in sync with Chan’s, his heart racing at the intensity of their connection.  

The pleasure built slowly, like a gentle wave lapping at the edges of his mind, until it began to crest into something deeper.  

“Faster,” Minho whimpered, his voice barely audible over the sound of their labored breathing. “Please.”  

Chan groaned again, his control slipping as he quickened his pace. His movements grew deeper, more purposeful, and the new angle allowed him to hit a spot inside Minho that made the omega cry out. Minho’s body trembled, his head falling forward as the pleasure consumed him.  

“You’re mine,” Chan growled, his voice rough with possessive adoration. His grip on Minho’s hip tightened, and his other hand moved to cradle Minho’s belly more firmly. “My omega. My mate.”  

The words anchored Minho, their weight heavy and comforting in his chest. His release loomed closer with every thrust, his body tightening around Chan in anticipation. The pleasure was all-encompassing, leaving Minho breathless and overwhelmed.  

“Alpha,” he gasped, his voice raw and pleading. His body shuddered, clutching at the alpha with everything he had.  

Chan felt the telltale flutter of Minho’s walls and knew his omega was close. He thrust deeper, his knot beginning to swell, locking them together in the most intimate way possible. When the knot finally seated itself fully, Minho cried out, his body clenching around Chan as his release washed over him.  

The sensation—the tightness, the connection, the sheer intimacy—was too much for Chan. He let out a low, guttural groan, his body shuddering with the force of the pleasure coursing through him as his release surged. He felt Minho’s walls pulse around him, tightening impossibly, milking him deeper, and the sensation was enough to send him spiraling further. His knot throbbed with each wave of cum, and he couldn’t help but tighten his grip on Minho’s belly, feeling the weight of the moment, the weight of what they shared. The intensity of his orgasm seemed to stretch on, each pulse pushing him deeper into a blissful haze, until he was sure he had completely lost himself in Minho, in their bond.

Minho, still panting beneath him, whimpered at the sensation of being filled so completely, his own orgasm still echoing through his body. He could feel Chan’s seed filling him, warm and thick, and it only heightened the sense of connection between them. As Chan’s grip on his belly tightened, Minho instinctively pressed back, responding to the alpha’s possessiveness, knowing that this was exactly where he belonged. The overwhelming intensity of their orgasms left Minho breathless, his body trembling in the aftershock of their shared release.  

Both of them lay there still panting softly, their bodies still connected as they waited for Chan’s knot to go down. The room was filled with the warmth of their shared intimacy, and the soft scent of omega and alpha mingling together created a calming cocoon around them.  

Chan pressed gentle kisses along Minho’s shoulder, his lips lingering as if to reassure the omega without words. Minho smiled faintly at the touch, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and contentment.  

“Thank you, Chan,” Minho murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.  

Chan immediately shook his head, his hand on Minho’s hip giving a soft, affectionate squeeze. “There’s no need to thank me,” he said quietly, his tone carrying both affection and firmness. “Taking care of you is what I want to do. Always.”  

Minho’s heart fluttered at the sincerity in Chan’s voice, and he let out a small hum in response. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the warm press of Chan’s body against his and the way his mate’s hand rested protectively on his swollen belly.  

The exhaustion from the day and their lovemaking began to weigh on Minho, his eyelids growing heavier. He shifted slightly, letting out a soft, pleased sigh.  

As if sensing his omega’s needs instinctively, Chan leaned closer, his voice a gentle murmur in Minho’s ear. “You can sleep. Rest for a while. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll clean you up when my knot goes down, so don’t worry about anything.”  

The words were like a lullaby, wrapping Minho in comfort and safety. His chest tightened with emotion, and his lips parted as if to thank Chan again. But then he remembered what Chan had just said, and instead, he reached for Chan’s hand resting on his belly.  

Minho pressed a tender kiss to Chan’s knuckles before bringing his alpha’s hand to his chest, holding it close to his heart. His actions said everything his words couldn’t: gratitude, trust, and a profound sense of belonging.  

Chan’s heart swelled at the gesture, his gaze softening as he watched Minho’s breathing even out. His omega looked so peaceful, his features relaxed in sleep.  

He adjusted the blanket to cover both of them better, his hand never leaving Minho’s chest. As his knot began to subside, Chan stayed still, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. For now, everything was perfect. His omega was safe, cared for, and in his arms—exactly where he belonged.  

Minho blinked sleepily as he stirred awake, the unfamiliar weight of his belly grounding him in the startling reality of his current circumstances. The reminder that he was in a different timeline sent a ripple of emotions through him, each one more overwhelming than the last. Now, the soft afternoon light streaming through the curtains painted the room in a gentle warmth, coaxing him into full consciousness. He stretched as best as his rounded belly allowed, wincing slightly at the tightness radiating from his abdomen.

The sudden urge to pee made him groan softly as he maneuvered into a sitting position. Each movement was deliberate, his hands instinctively cradling his belly as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

 After a bit of effort, he stood, steadying himself before shuffling toward the bathroom.  

The relief of an empty bladder made him sigh contentedly, though his energy still felt drained. As he emerged from the bathroom, the faint sound of humming drifted upstairs, drawing his attention. He paused, listening closely. It was Chan’s voice, warm and familiar, humming a soft tune as he worked in the kitchen below. Minho’s lips curved into a small smile.  

Curious, he made his way toward the staircase, one hand gripping the banister for support. His other hand instinctively rested on the curve of his belly, as if to soothe the weight that made every movement a little more cumbersome. Just as he prepared to descend the stairs, he was startled slightly when Chan appeared at the bottom, grinning up at him.  

“You scared me!” Minho accused softly, his voice tinged with affection despite his words.  

“Sorry,” Chan said, climbing the stairs toward him. “I heard the bedroom door, so I figured you’d need a hand coming down.” Without waiting for a response, he gently placed a hand on Minho’s lower back for support and offered his other hand for balance. “Come on, nice and slow.”  

Minho felt his heart swell at the thoughtful gesture, marveling at how it was just one of countless acts of care Chan had shown him in the few hours since he’d found himself in this timeline. But then again, Minho had always known Chan to be thoughtful—it was simply who he was, no matter the time or place.

His movements were cautious as Chan guided him step by step, the alpha’s steady presence keeping him grounded. When they reached the bottom, Minho let out a breath of relief, glancing at Chan with gratitude shining in his eyes.  

“I didn’t wake you earlier,” Chan began as they headed to the kitchen, “because I know how tired my Minho has been, and well… you’re in his body. He hasn’t been sleeping much lately, so I thought you deserved the rest after everything this morning.”  

Minho opened his mouth to thank him, but his stomach had other plans. A loud, unmistakable growl echoed in the quiet kitchen, stopping them both in their tracks.  

For a moment, there was silence. Then they burst into laughter, Minho clutching his belly as the twins shifted slightly in response to his movements.  

“Well,” Chan said through his chuckles, “perfect timing.” He walked over to the kitchen counter and opened the microwave. “I made lunch earlier, but since you were still asleep, I cleaned up a bit and worked on some music while I waited for you.”  

Minho’s sharp gaze caught something in his tone. Narrowing his eyes, he crossed his arms—well, as much as his belly allowed—and asked, “Did you eat?”

Chan hesitated, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh… not yet. I wanted to wait for you.”

Minho sighed, a mix of exasperation and familiarity tugging at his features. “Of course you did,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Some things never change. You’re hopeless.”

Chan grinned as he set the plates in the microwave to reheat. “Hopelessly in love, maybe,” he quipped, winking at Minho.

Minho rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked into a small smile. It was so like Chan—this version of him, just like the one from his time—to put everyone else before himself, even at the expense of something as basic as eating. Minho had spent countless moments scolding his best friend for prioritizing work over his well-being. Apparently, not even years could break that habit.

Chan busied himself at the microwave, reheating the food with practiced ease. The soft hum of the appliance filled the room as he leaned against the counter, glancing over at Minho with a small, content smile.

When the food was ready, Chan set their plates down at the kitchen island, pulling out Minho’s chair before taking his own seat. They ate in companionable silence, broken occasionally by Minho’s soft compliments about Chan’s cooking.  

“Do you always cook for us?” Minho asked, his tone light but curious as he gestured between himself and his rounded belly.

Chan chuckled, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Not really. My Minho doesn’t let me. Even after taking care of two kids all day and with the twins on the way, he insists on cooking for all of us.”

Minho let out a soft laugh, the realization hitting him. “I guess I’m just that stubborn,” he said with a grin, amused by the thought of himself continuing this habit in the future. He could already see it—his future self, exactly like this, refusing to sit back while others took over.

Chan grinned, his eyes warm with affection. “You really are. He only lets me take over once in a while—usually on weekends or special occasions. You say it gives me a chance to ‘pull my weight.’” He laughed softly, adding, “But I know it’s because he likes how I spoil him when I do it.”

Minho huffed in mock exasperation, though his lips curved into a small, amused smile. “Sounds like me, alright.”

Once they’d finished eating, Minho tried to gather their plates, but Chan was faster, scooping them up in one smooth motion.

“I could’ve done that,” Minho said, rolling his eyes.

“And I could never let you,” Chan countered with a smirk as he started washing the dishes.

Minho stayed at the counter, propping his chin in his palm as he watched him. “So, what do you usually do on weekends?”

Chan glanced over his shoulder, a playful grin on his face. “Well, weekends are usually family time. We do chores, play with the kids, and sometimes go out. But since Minho already did the laundry yesterday, which I wasn’t thrilled about, we’ve got the day to ourselves.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “So, what do we do with this free time?”

Chan rinsed off the last of the dishes and set them in the drying rack before turning toward him with a grin. “I don’t know about you, but I vote for just chilling and watching something.”

“Sounds good to me,” Minho said.

With the dishes done, Chan disappeared upstairs for a moment, returning with a massive blanket draped over his arms. He spread it across the couch in the living room, carefully arranging it before helping Minho settle down.

“What do you feel like watching?” Chan asked, sitting beside him and pulling the blanket over both of them. “Let’s stick to things released before your time, though. Don’t want to risk spoiling anything.”

They laughed before Minho thought for a moment. “Something nostalgic. Studio Ghibli?”

Chan nodded and scrolled through the options, eventually settling on My Neighbor Totoro. The soft, whimsical soundtrack filled the room as they snuggled under the blanket. Chan’s arm rested protectively over Minho’s belly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the taut skin.

Despite the strangeness of the situation, Minho felt a deep sense of peace. The weight of the day faded as he nestled closer to Chan, the alpha’s warmth a reassuring constant. For now, in this moment, everything felt exactly as it should be.

The warm spray of water cascaded over Minho’s bare skin, steam curling around their intertwined bodies as he leaned back against Chan in the shower. The air was thick with the natural blend of their scents—Minho’s honey, amber, and a hint of milk, and Chan’s sandalwood and bergamot. It created an atmosphere of intimacy and comfort as if the very air they breathed was part of their connection. Minho’s back rested securely against Chan’s firm chest, his head tilted just enough to meet the alpha’s lips in a kiss that was both tender and consuming.

Chan’s large hands gripped Minho’s hips with gentle yet possessive strength, guiding him closer as if he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance between them. Their tongues moved in a sensual rhythm, exploring each other with a fervor that only deepened with each passing second.  

Minho broke the kiss with a soft, teasing moan, his fingers tangling in Chan’s damp curls. “You’re insatiable,” he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of playful exasperation as he tilted his head to the side, granting Chan access to his neck.  

Chan chuckled, his lips trailing down to the sensitive spot just below Minho’s ear. “Can you blame me?” he whispered, his breath hot against Minho’s damp skin. His hands slid lower, coming to rest on the curve of Minho’s swollen belly, his thumbs brushing over the taut skin with reverence.  

Minho shivered at the touch, his hands gripping Chan’s forearms for balance. “I still can’t believe you,” he said, his tone laced with mischief.  

“Believe what?” Chan asked, his voice thick with arousal as he nuzzled against Minho’s neck, his lips brushing over the omega’s pulse.  

“That you got this worked up over Howl’s Moving Castle,” Minho teased, turning slightly to catch the sheepish smile that tugged at Chan’s lips.  

Chan groaned, tilting his head back to let the water cascade over his face. “You knew exactly what you were doing,” he replied, though his voice held no real accusation—only admiration and desire.  

Minho’s lips curled into a smirk as he pressed kisses along Chan’s jawline. “It’s not my fault you’re so easily distracted.”  

Chan growled softly, his hands tightening on Minho’s hips. “Keep teasing me and see what happens,” he warned, his voice low and edged with hunger.  

Minho’s lips curled into a small smile as the memory of the earlier moment played in his mind. Nestled on the couch, halfway through their second Studio Ghibli movie, he had shifted slightly between Chan’s legs to find a more comfortable position. The subtle movement had pressed his back firmly against Chan’s chest—and against something unmistakably hard.

Chan’s reaction had been instant, a cough escaping him as his face flushed bright red.

“Something wrong?” Minho had asked, feigning innocence as he turned to look at him.

Chan had stammered a hasty denial, but Minho wasn’t fooled. Sensing an opportunity to tease him, he had subtly pressed back again, delighting in the sharp intake of breath it elicited from the alpha.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Chan had warned, his voice strained as he struggled to maintain his composure.

Minho had only grinned, turning fully in Chan’s lap to straddle him. “Am I?” he had asked, his tone dripping with playful challenge.

What had begun as harmless teasing quickly escalated, their kisses growing feverish as Chan’s hands roamed over Minho’s body, one settling protectively on his belly. But just as the heat of the moment threatened to consume them entirely, Minho had pulled back, his cheeks flushed.

“I need a shower,” he’d murmured, grinning sheepishly when Chan groaned in frustration. “I haven’t even showered yet today.”

Chan had let out a strained chuckle, his voice full of mock exasperation. “You’re killing me.”

That had led them here, to their ensuite bathroom, where the teasing had given way to something far more intimate.

In the shower, Chan’s lips left a trail of fire along Minho’s neck and shoulders as he pressed him gently but firmly against the tiled wall. Minho’s hands gripped the bar installed along the shower wall, his knuckles whitening with tension as the hot water cascaded over their bodies, adding to the steamy haze that enveloped them. 

“I always think one of the best ideas I’ve ever had was putting this here,” Chan murmured, his voice low and thick with warmth, vibrating against Minho’s damp skin. “It helps when Minho showers alone, but let’s face it—I installed it for moments like this.” He nipped at Minho’s shoulder, eliciting a soft gasp, before soothing the spot with a tender kiss.

Minho couldn’t help but let out a soft, breathy moan, his breathing uneven as his body responded to Chan’s ministrations. His fingers tightened on the bar, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat building between them. Chan’s large, calloused hands glided down Minho’s sides, reverently exploring the curve of his belly before settling on his hips. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Chan whispered, his voice tinged with awe as he gently guided Minho to arch forward. He positioned himself, the tip of his length teasing against Minho’s entrance, earning a whimper of anticipation from the omega. 

Minho trembled slightly, his breath hitching as Chan began to ease inside him, the stretch gradual and deliberate. “Chan…” Minho’s voice broke on a moan, his body instinctively relaxing to accommodate the familiar intrusion. Chan groaned deeply, his forehead resting against Minho’s damp shoulder as he sank into the warmth that enveloped him.

“You’re perfect,” Chan rasped, his voice husky with pleasure. He gave Minho a moment to adjust, his hands tracing soothing circles along Minho’s hips before he began to move. Slowly at first, he rolled his hips, each thrust deliberate, coaxing soft moans and gasps from Minho that only spurred him on. 

The sound of their bodies meeting filled the shower, mingling with the rhythm of the water. Chan’s movements became more insistent, his grip tightening as he drove deeper, hitting the spot that made Minho cry out, his nails scraping the shower bar. 

“Right there,” Minho panted, his head dropping forward as waves of pleasure coursed through him. “Don’t stop…”

Chan’s pace quickened, his hips snapping against Minho’s in a steady, rhythmic cadence. His knot began to swell, stretching Minho further, locking them together as he thrust deeply one final time. With a low growl, Chan spilled inside him, the release sending shudders through his entire body. 

As Chan’s knot locked them together, Minho let out a strangled cry, his own release overtaking him. His body trembled violently as his seed spilled against the tiles, the intensity of his climax leaving him breathless. His knees nearly buckled, but Chan’s strong arms circled his waist, holding him steady.

Minho whimpered at the sensation, overwhelmed by the fullness inside him and the heat of his release mixing with the rush of the water. Chan groaned against Minho’s shoulder, his hips jerking slightly as his knot pulsed again, swelling further and sending another wave of his seed deep inside. 

“You’re incredible,” Chan murmured, pressing a kiss to Minho’s temple as he cradled him against his chest. Minho turned his head to meet Chan’s lips in a slow and tender kiss. 

Minho sat on the vanity in his cozy pajamas, the soft fabric clinging to his body as he ran a blow dryer through his damp hair. The quiet hum of the dryer filled the room, mixing with the faint sound of water dripping from the en suite. His mind wandered lazily, still replaying the events of the day as the heat from the dryer warmed his scalp.  

Chan emerged from the bathroom moments later, freshly showered and dripping wet, a white towel slung low around his waist. Beads of water clung to his toned chest, trailing down to disappear beneath the towel. He reached for another towel to pat his hair dry, unaware of the pair of eyes locked onto him.  

Minho’s movements slowed as his gaze lingered on Chan’s body. He hadn’t realized how captivating Chan looked fresh out of the shower. The sharp lines of his muscles, the soft sheen of water on his skin, the relaxed ease in his posture—it all made Minho’s heart skip a beat. His fingers paused mid-motion with the blow dryer, completely distracted by the sight in front of him.  

“Minho?” Chan’s voice broke through the haze, snapping Minho out of his daze.  

“Huh?” Minho blinked rapidly, his face heating as he realized he’d been caught staring.  

“I said,” Chan chuckled, clearly amused, “My Minho made a grocery list before the ‘switch’ happened. I figured I’d head out tomorrow to get everything.”  

“Oh.” Minho blinked again, switching off the blow dryer as he tried to focus. “I’ll come with you,” he offered casually, setting the dryer down on the vanity.

Chan raised a skeptical eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, which only made his biceps look more prominent. “Are you sure? Your swollen feet—”  

“I’ll manage,” Minho interrupted, his tone firm but warm. “I don’t want you doing everything alone. Besides, I could use some fresh air.”  

Chan hesitated for a moment before giving a small smile. “Alright. But if you need to sit down or take a break, promise you’ll tell me?”  

“I promise.”  

Chan nodded in approval, turning to rummage through the small walk-in closet for clothes. Minho couldn’t help but glance at him again, his heart fluttering as Chan towel-dried his hair, unaware of the effect he had. After a moment, Chan pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants, leaving his chest bare, his skin still slightly damp from the shower. He ran a hand through his hair, giving Minho a soft, easy smile before joining him in the bedroom.

Minho swallowed hard, his cheeks warming as he shifted subtly in place. His body tingled with a warmth he didn’t entirely trust, and for a mortifying moment, he was certain he felt the faintest trace of slick come out.

Later that night, after they fed the cats, the two of them curled up in their bedroom with a takeout dinner spread across the bed. Minho leaned back against the pillows while Chan sat beside him, cross-legged, passing him a container of noodles. The screen flickered with familiar scenes as they picked up Howl’s Moving Castle from where they’d left off just over an hour ago.  

“This part always gets me,” Minho mumbled through a mouthful of dumplings, his eyes glued to the screen.  

Chan glanced over with a small smile, his arm instinctively wrapping around Minho’s shoulders. “You’ve probably seen it a hundred times, and you still get emotional.”  

“Don’t act like you’re any better,” Minho teased, leaning into Chan’s warmth. “Blame it on the pregnancy hormones, but when you were in college, you always cried during scenes like this.”  

Chan laughed and murmured, “Fair enough.”  

As the movie played on, their laughter and quiet conversation filled the room, mingling with the soft glow of the screen. By the time the credits rolled, their takeout containers were empty, and Minho’s head was resting on Chan’s chest, his breathing slow and steady.  

Chan pressed a kiss to Minho’s hair, his hand resting lightly on Minho’s belly. “Goodnight,” he whispered softly, savoring the peace of the moment.  

Minho murmured something in response, half-asleep but utterly content, as the two drifted off together, tangled in the warmth of their shared space.

Minho stirred awake the next morning, his eyelids fluttering as he shifted slightly in bed. For a fleeting moment, he thought everything that had happened yesterday had been nothing but a vivid dream. As he began to stretch, the weight of something solid and warm registered against his side, making him pause.

The weight of an arm draped securely over his round middle pulled him from his haze, and reality hit him with certainty. It wasn’t a dream.  

He blinked, fully opening his eyes to take in his surroundings. The faint morning light filtering through the curtains cast a soft glow over the room, and he turned his head to glance at Chan, who was still fast asleep behind him.  

Chan’s arm was snug around Minho’s pregnant belly, holding him close. Minho stayed still, letting the warmth and comfort of the moment settle over him. His body felt heavy, his limbs sluggish and uncooperative. He figured mornings like this would be common at eight months pregnant with twins—where his body protested every movement.  

But his bladder wasn’t as forgiving. A dull pressure reminded him that he needed to pee, and soon. With a soft sigh, he carefully lifted Chan’s arm off his middle, doing his best not to wake the alpha. He froze as he shifted to move toward the edge of the bed.  

There it was—pressing against his backside. Firm, hot, and unmistakable. Chan’s morning wood.  

A flush crept up Minho’s neck, spreading across his cheeks as he bit down on his bottom lip. The sensation had caught him off guard, but his bladder made it clear that now wasn’t the time to linger. Resolving to deal with the situation later, he slowly pushed himself upright.  

The movement was no easy task. His swollen belly made it difficult to find balance, and each effort to get out of bed felt like climbing a mountain. After some grumbling and a few awkward shifts, Minho managed to stand and waddled his way to the ensuite bathroom.  

When he returned, relief coursed through him, though he also realized it was still early—6:22 a.m. He padded back to the bed, intending to slip under the covers for a little more rest, but his eyes caught something that made him pause.  

There, just beneath the thin fabric of Chan’s sweatpants, was the unmistakable outline of his erection.  

Minho’s breath hitched as he stood frozen, his gaze fixed on the sight. His face burned as thoughts began to race through his mind, none of them particularly innocent.

Would it be wrong to touch him while he’s sleeping?

The question lingered, but as the seconds passed, his growing arousal drowned out any hesitation.  

He cursed under his breath, blaming the pregnancy hormones for how his body was reacting. A faint yet familiar warmth began pooling between his legs, and he bit his lip to suppress the urge to moan. Unable to resist any longer, he whispered to himself, “Fuck it,” and crawled back onto the bed.  

Careful not to jostle Chan too much, Minho positioned himself near the alpha’s hips. He was grateful that Chan hadn’t pulled his sweatpants up too high, making it easy for him to slip a hand beneath the waistband.  

When Minho freed Chan’s hardened member, he couldn’t help but marvel. It was perfect—thick, long, and beautiful in a way that left Minho awestruck. He swallowed hard, feeling his mouth water as he licked his palm and wrapped his hand around the shaft.  

Slowly, he began to pump, his fingers gliding along the smooth, heated length. His lips parted slightly as he watched for any reaction from Chan. Sure enough, the alpha’s brows furrowed ever so slightly, and a soft sigh escaped his lips.  

Minho’s arousal deepened, his body responding with a fresh wave of slick. The ache between his legs became almost unbearable, and he found himself craving more. Shifting slightly, he adjusted his position, grabbing a pillow to support his belly as he lowered his mouth to Chan’s cock.  

He hesitated for only a moment before leaning in to lick the tip, tasting the faint saltiness of pre-cum. Encouraged by the soft groan Chan let out, Minho took him into his mouth, inch by inch, his tongue working in slow, deliberate motions.  

The response was immediate. Chan stirred beneath him, a low moan rumbling in his throat as his hips twitched. Minho froze, glancing up to see if the alpha was waking. When Chan’s eyes remained closed, Minho resumed, bobbing his head carefully, mindful of his swollen belly.  

Another moan, louder this time, made Minho look up just as Chan’s eyes fluttered open. Their gazes locked, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.  

Then Chan’s lips curved into a lazy, satisfied smirk. “Good morning,” he said, his voice rough with sleep and thick with pleasure. “What a pleasant thing to wake up to.”  

Minho pulled off with a soft pop, his face burning with embarrassment. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I didn’t mean to wake you—”  

Chan reached out to cup Minho’s cheek, silencing him with a gentle touch. “Don’t apologize,” he murmured. “I’m not complaining.” His thumb brushed against Minho’s flushed skin as he added, “You should finish what you started though.”  

The reassurance sent a thrill through Minho, and he quickly resumed, his lips wrapping around Chan’s length once more. This time, he worked faster, his arousal fueling his movements as Chan groaned beneath him, his hips bucking slightly.  

“Fuck,” Chan murmured, his voice breathless. “So good to me, Min.”  

Minho moaned around Chan’s cock, the vibrations drawing another loud groan from the alpha. His slick was now dripping down his thighs and soaking his pajamas, his body aching for more.  

Chan’s breathing grew uneven as Minho continued to work him, his soft lips and wet mouth driving the alpha closer and closer to the edge. His hand found its way to Minho’s hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, and he gave a gentle tug, unable to contain the low groan that escaped his lips.  

“I’m close,” Chan gasped, his voice strained with urgency, hips twitching slightly beneath Minho’s ministrations.  

Minho stilled, releasing Chan’s length with a wet pop. He licked his lips, and his face flushed a deep red, not just from exertion but from the desire that coiled hotly in his chest. He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding as he glanced up at Chan. “Can I… can I ride you?” he asked softly, his voice trembling with both shyness and overwhelming need.  

Chan’s dark eyes softened, the primal hunger in his gaze melting into something warmer as he reached out to brush his fingers over Minho’s swollen belly. His hand lingered there, pressing gently as if to remind them both of the life they had created together. “Of course you can,” he murmured, his voice rich with affection and desire.  

Minho’s body trembled with anticipation as Chan sat up slightly, his strong hands helping the omega shed his loose pajamas. The cool air against his flushed skin covered in slick made him shiver, but it was nothing compared to the electricity that shot through him when Chan’s fingers brushed against his slick hole.  

“You’re so wet for me,” Chan whispered, his tone deep and reverent. His fingers moved with purpose, teasing Minho’s entrance with a featherlight touch before dipping inside just enough to make the omega whimper.  

“Ch-Chan…” Minho gasped, his hips instinctively pushing toward the alpha’s hand. The teasing was driving him wild, his body aching for more. But Chan didn’t rush. He took his time, exploring Minho’s most sensitive spots, preparing him with slow, deliberate strokes that had the omega clutching at his broad shoulders for support.  

“Patience, my omega,” Chan murmured, his thumb circling a particularly sensitive spot that had Minho crying out. “I want to make sure you’re ready for me.”  

Minho could only nod, his lips parted as soft gasps and moans fell freely. By the time Chan was satisfied, the omega was trembling, his body slick with arousal and need.  

With Chan’s guidance, Minho carefully straddled him, his knees sinking into the mattress on either side of the alpha’s hips. His round belly rested comfortably between them, and Chan’s hands moved instinctively to cradle it, his thumbs brushing soothing circles over the taut skin.  

“Take your time,” Chan said softly, his voice steady despite the tension coiling in his body.  

Minho nodded, gripping Chan’s broad shoulders for balance as he positioned himself. Slowly, he began to sink down, his breath hitching as the alpha’s length stretched him inch by inch.  

The sensation was overwhelming in the best way—full, warm, and intimate. Minho’s head fell forward, his lips parting in a shaky moan as he settled fully onto Chan, his thighs quivering from the effort.  

“God, Minho…” Chan groaned, his hands gripping the omega’s hips firmly, holding him steady as he adjusted. His jaw clenched, the sight of Minho atop him nearly undoing him completely.  

Minho took a moment to catch his breath, his swollen belly brushing against Chan’s firm torso with each inhale. When he finally began to move, it was slow at first—a tentative roll of his hips that sent sparks of pleasure through them both.  

“Just like that,” Chan murmured, his voice thick with praise. His hands guided Minho’s movements, encouraging him as he found a steady rhythm.  

The room filled with the sounds of their pleasure—Minho’s soft cries blended with Chan’s deep groans. The bed creaked beneath them, the gentle sway of Minho’s body mesmerizing as his belly shifted slightly with each movement.  

“You feel so good,” Minho whispered, his voice breathy and uneven. His fingers dug into Chan’s shoulders for support as he rode him, his head tilting back as the pleasure built higher and higher. As he leaned his head back, Minho also leaned into the movement, shifting his hands from Chan’s chest to his thighs behind him. The new angle allowed Chan’s cock to reach deeper, but it didn’t last long before his hands returned to where they felt most secure, gripping Chan’s shoulders again as the sensation grew even more overwhelming.

“You’re perfect,” Chan replied, his gaze fixed on the omega with an intensity that made Minho’s heart flutter. He shifted closer, wanting to lean in and kiss Minho’s chest and collarbone, but Minho’s weight on his upper body and his round belly were in the way. Chan couldn’t help but smile at the thought—Minho was so beautifully round, and knowing that he was the cause of it only stirred something deeper inside him, the sensation intensifying the desire that had been building since he woke up.

As Minho’s pace quickened, his moans grew louder, uninhibited as he lost himself in the sensation. The slick warmth between his thighs, the fullness of Chan inside him, the way the alpha’s hands gripped his hips with a possessive strength—it was all too much and yet not nearly enough. 

As Minho moved above him, his pace quickened, driven by the growing heat in his core and the way Chan’s hands guided his hips with firm but gentle pressure. Chan’s gaze never left Minho, dark and intense, yet brimming with adoration as his hand occasionally drifted to caress Minho’s swollen belly.

“Alpha,” Minho whimpered, his voice trembling as the pleasure built higher. “I need— I need more.”

Chan’s grip tightened, his restraint slipping. He thrust upward to meet Minho’s movements, his pace deep and deliberate. Minho gasped, his back arching as the overwhelming sensation of being stretched filled him.

“I’ve got you,” Chan rumbled, his voice a low growl that sent shivers through Minho. One hand remained steady on Minho’s belly while the other moved to support his back, keeping him steady.

Minho cried out as he felt the unmistakable swelling at the base of Chan’s length, pressing insistently against his inner walls. His body instinctively clenched, drawing Chan deeper as the knot began to form.

“Minho, I’m close,” Chan growled, his voice strained as his hips snapped upward.

“Yes—yes, please,” Minho gasped, his nails digging into Chan’s chest as he rode out the waves of pleasure, meeting each thrust.

With a final deep push, Chan’s knot slipped inside, locking them together. Minho’s breath hitched as he felt the stretch, overwhelming but fulfilling, sending him over the edge. His climax hit him hard, and he trembled in Chan’s arms, crying out as pleasure coursed through him.

Chan followed immediately, his release spilling deep inside Minho as he groaned his name. The warmth of it spread, and the sensation of being completely filled left Minho breathless and sated.

The two of them remained locked together, their bodies pressed close, Minho’s round belly nestled securely between them. Chan’s hand stroked soothing patterns along Minho’s back as their breathing slowed, though both were still panting softly, catching their breath.

Minho shifted slightly, his hands resting on Chan’s chest for support as he stayed upright. He let out a quiet hum, glancing down at Chan through half-lidded eyes. “What time… are we going to the grocery?” he asked between breaths, his voice still shaky from the lingering pleasure.

Chan smiled, his other hand moving to caress Minho’s thigh. “Around nine,” he replied, his tone soft and steady. “That gives us plenty of time to get everything we need.”

Minho nodded, his body relaxing even as he stayed perched above Chan. He shifted his hips slightly, drawing a soft gasp from them both as Chan’s knot held them securely together.

“After my knot goes down, you should get some more sleep,” Chan said, his hand gently brushing over Minho’s belly. “I’ll get up, feed the cats, and make us some breakfast.”

Minho let out a content sigh, his fingers idly tracing the lines of Chan’s collarbone. “Mmm, okay… that sounds good,” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with trust.

Chan’s gaze softened as he watched Minho, his hands offering gentle reassurance. “Good. You need the rest,” he whispered, his voice full of warmth.

Minho hummed in agreement, the weight of his belly and the soothing rhythm of Chan’s touch grounding him as the tender moment stretched on.

The rustle of grocery bags filled the house as Minho and Chan stepped inside, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly through the quiet space. They made their way to the kitchen, where Minho placed a bag on the counter, glancing at the time and marveling at how quickly they’d managed to get everything done.

Minho had expected the shopping trip to take much longer, especially with how big the store was and how extensive their list had been. But somehow, they'd made it through in record time.

As they moved through the aisles, Minho had found himself struggling more than usual. Reaching for things on high shelves or bending down to grab items had become a Herculean task with his growing belly. At one point, a friendly shopper had smiled at him and complimented his pregnancy, and Minho had blushed, stammering through a response, not quite prepared for the attention. He found himself clinging to Chan more often than not, the instinct to stay close feeling stronger than ever. And more than once, his pregnancy brain had kicked in, leaving him staring blankly at the grocery list in his hands, forgetting what he had just read seconds ago.

“That was quicker than I expected,” Minho said, eyeing the long list of groceries they’d picked up. “How did you pull that off?”

Chan grinned as he shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over a chair. “Practice. We’ve been going to that grocery for years now, so I know where everything is. Plus, I’ve got the dad instinct to move fast and efficiently when it comes to errands.”

The mention of “dad instinct” made Minho’s thoughts drift back to the phone call they’d had before their grocery trip. He let out a small laugh as he recalled the excited voices of their children.

Nabi and Haneul were so excited to talk to them, even if only for a few minutes. Nabi, ever the chatterbox, had excitedly shared every detail of her morning, as well as yesterday’s adventures. She went on about breakfast, the game she’d played with Haneul, and Grandma and Grandpa, and where her grandparents had taken them the day prior. In the background, Haneul’s sweet, babbling voice could be heard as he tried to talk over his older sister, his words still not fully formed but no less enthusiastic.  

“Eomma, bring us something yummy!” Nabi had chirped through the phone, her voice full of excitement. She had clearly picked up on the fact that Minho and Chan were heading to the grocery store, eager for them to bring home something special.

Minho had smiled softly. “We’ll see, aegi-ya. But you two have to be on your best behavior while you’re with Grandma and Grandpa, okay?”  

“Promise!” Nabi declared, and Minho could hear Haneul mimic her in his adorable, garbled way.  

Even though Minho knew he wasn’t technically their Eomma in this timeline, the warmth and connection he felt during the call were undeniable. This glimpse into what his future could hold, the love and joy in this family, stirred something deep within him.  

Back in the kitchen, Chan had already started unpacking the bags. He moved with practiced efficiency, pulling items out and sorting them into neat piles: fridge, pantry, counter. Minho, unwilling to sit idly by, reached for one of the bags to help.  

“You don’t have to do that,” Chan said, glancing up and giving him a small frown. “I can handle it. You should just sit down and relax.”  

Minho shot him a look, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Don’t start with me. I’m not just going to stand here and watch. I can at least hand you things.”  

Chan sighed, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re as stubborn as ever.”  

Minho just shrugged as he began passing Chan items from the bag, carefully placing the heavier ones closer to him.  

They worked together in companionable silence, the occasional rustling of bags and clink of jars breaking the stillness. The kitchen began to feel cozier as the groceries slowly disappeared into their designated spots, the countertop clearing with each passing moment.  

Just as they finished with one of the larger bags, Chan’s phone buzzed on the counter, the screen lighting up with an incoming call. He picked it up, glanced at the caller ID, and smiled before answering.  

“Hey, Jisung,” Chan greeted warmly as he pressed the speakerphone button.  

“Hyung!” Jisung’s cheerful voice filled the room. “How’s your weekend away from the kids going?”  

Chan chuckled, glancing sideways at Minho. He raised a finger to his lips, silently signaling for Minho to stay quiet. “It’s going great. Minho’s still sleeping, though,” he replied smoothly, his voice casual.  

Minho arched a brow, but he understood immediately why Chan had said that. It wasn’t about keeping Minho out of the conversation; it was to avoid revealing anything that might confuse Jisung—or worse, exposing the complicated truth that this Minho isn’t the actual one from this timeline.  

“Lucky you,” Jisung laughed. “I wish I could get a break like that. Honestly, though, leaving Jiwon is so hard. I’m excited to get back to work after my maternity leave, but I’m not ready to leave my baby boy yet.”  

Minho froze, his hand hovering over a bag of rice. His ears perked up at the mention of Jisung’s baby, and his heart fluttered involuntarily.

Jisung has a baby?

He couldn’t help but smile softly, warmth blooming in his chest. The thought of his college roommate and close friend being a parent in this timeline was both surprising and endearing.  

“Jiwon’s lucky to have you,” Chan said, his voice full of sincerity. “It’ll get easier with time, but yeah, those first steps back to work can be tough.”  

“Don’t remind me,” Jisung groaned dramatically, though the affection in his tone was unmistakable. In the background, the faint sound of a baby’s cry began to rise, growing steadily louder. Jisung sighed. “Ah, he’s up. Gotta go, Hyung! Talk later!”  

“Take care, Ji,” Chan said, ending the call with a smile.  

As soon as the line disconnected, Minho turned to Chan, curiosity shining in his eyes. “Jisung has a baby?”  

Chan chuckled, nodding. “Yeah. his first baby with Jeongi—” He stopped himself abruptly, clearing his throat. “Uh, with his partner, yeah.”

Minho froze, handing over a box of snacks. His gaze snapped to Chan, his brows furrowing in curiosity. “Jeo...?” he echoed, the incomplete name hanging in the air. “Were you about to say Jeongin?”  

Chan cleared his throat, suddenly busying himself with organizing the contents of the fridge. “Uh, no, I wasn’t.”  

But Minho wasn’t convinced. He tilted his head, studying the way Chan’s shoulders tensed slightly. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said with a small, knowing smile.  

“Am not,” Chan muttered under his breath, still focused on the groceries.  

“Are too,” Minho countered, stepping closer and narrowing his eyes at him. “So, Jisung and Jeongin?” He drew out the name, testing it like a puzzle piece that suddenly clicked into place.  

Chan sighed, turning to face Minho with a look of defeat. “Okay, fine. Yes, Jisung and Jeongin are together. And, yes, they just had a baby.” He raised a hand before Minho could respond further. “But that’s all I’m going to say about it. You’re not supposed to know too much about the future, remember?”  

Minho blinked, the revelation sinking in. He thought back to his college days with Jisung and Jeongin, trying to reconcile the idea of the two of them as a couple and now, as parents. “Wow,” he murmured. “That’s... surprising. But kind of sweet, too.”

He remembered a conversation with Jisung back then. Jisung had confided that he had a crush on Jeongin, though he knew his feelings weren’t reciprocated. At the time, Jeongin hadn’t been interested in dating anyone. Jisung had accepted that Jeongin likely wouldn't consider him as anything more than a friend, but to cope with his unrequited feelings, he’d taken to teasing Jeongin relentlessly. He would fake trying to kiss him at every opportunity, leaning in with exaggerated moves that always left Jeongin recoiling, visibly grossed out by the gesture. It had become something of a running joke between them, Jisung always pushing Jeongin's buttons, while Jeongin would pretend to be disgusted, even though it was clear there was something else simmering beneath the surface.

Now, thinking about it in the context of Jisung and Jeongin as parents, Minho found it hard to believe. The teasing and the playful tension that had once filled their interactions seemed a world away from the reality of the family they would have in the future.

Chan softened at Minho’s reaction, though he quickly recovered, his tone firm. “Just don’t get too curious, okay? You’re going back to your timeline tomorrow, and the less you know, the better. We don’t want you accidentally changing anything.”  

The reminder was a sharp tug back to reality. Minho’s smile faltered slightly, and he grew quiet, his mind heavy with the thought of leaving.  

Chan watched him for a moment before sighing and stepping closer, resting a hand on Minho’s shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently. “I know it’s hard, but it’s for the best.”  

Minho nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I know,” he said softly. “And I promise, I won’t meddle. I won’t even mention anything about Jisung or Jeongin or anyone else when I go back. But... do you think I could know just a little more? Just for me?”  

Chan hesitated, caught between his desire to ease Minho's curiosity and his concern about the consequences of revealing too much. He wasn’t particularly worried about protecting the timeline itself, but he knew that by giving Minho too much, he could inadvertently interfere with Minho’s original timeline, altering things in ways that couldn’t be undone.

Finally, he relented with a small nod. “Fine. But only a little. And only after we finish putting these groceries away. Deal?”  

Minho’s smile returned, faint but genuine. “Deal.”  

Chan gave him a small grin in return before gesturing to the remaining bags. “Now, let’s hurry up. And we should probably order lunch while we’re at it. I know you’re going to want dessert too.” He glanced at Minho’s round belly with a teasing smile. “You’re going to need it with that growing appetite of yours.”

Minho chuckled, the weight in his chest easing slightly as they returned to their task. For now, he’d focus on the “temporary” present.

The aroma of the freshly delivered Korean food filled the dining room, rich and inviting as it lingered in the air. Minho’s eyes sparkled as he carefully unwrapped the dishes, his mouth already watering as the rich aroma wafted up to him. “I bet they still make this so good,” he said, his voice laced with nostalgia. “I can already tell it’s going to taste just like how they make it during my time.”  

Chan chuckled as he passed Minho a pair of chopsticks, his gaze fond as he watched Minho take a bite. The omega’s expression melted into pure bliss, his cheeks puffing slightly as he chewed. “You’re really enjoying it,” Chan teased, leaning his chin on his palm as he admired Minho.  

Minho didn’t respond immediately, too busy savoring the flavors that danced on his tongue. After swallowing, he placed a hand on his belly, his eyes twinkling. “I’m not the only one enjoying it. These two,” he said, patting his belly affectionately, “must love it too. They’ve been moving like crazy since I started eating.”  

Chan laughed warmly, his voice filling the room. “They really do. My Minho always says they start squirming every time we eat from this place.” He reached across the table to rub soothing circles on Minho’s belly, his touch as gentle as a whisper. Minho didn’t pull away—he couldn’t if he wanted to. The touch sent a wave of comfort through him that made him sink further into his seat.  

Minho coos. “Really?” Minho mused, watching Chan’s hand move over the swell of his stomach. “Then I think that means they take after you. My Cha— The Chan from my time loves this place.”  

Chan smirked, raising a brow. “Well, I do still love this place. It’s one of our go-to's.”  

The conversation flowed easily as they continued their meal, the clinking of chopsticks and occasional contented hums filling the room. Minho’s curiosity about their friends eventually bubbled to the surface, and he couldn’t resist asking Chan how everyone was doing in this timeline.

Chan didn’t seem fazed by the questions, though a flicker of hesitation passed over his face. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as if carefully considering his words. 

Chan sighed, his expression calm but firm. “I’ve already mentioned that they’re married and just had a baby,” he said, crossing his arms as if to draw a line. “That’s all you need to know about those two.” His tone made it clear he wasn’t going to elaborate further, though his eyes flickered briefly, as if daring Minho to press him.

Minho tilted his head, his brows furrowing as he processed the information. “Married and a baby, huh?” He let out a soft laugh, more incredulous than amused. “I mean, I’m so happy for them, especially Jisung. But still... him as Jeongin’s mate?” He shook his head, his lips twitching in disbelief. “I never would’ve seen that coming back in college.”

Chan nodded, smiling. “Yeah. Honestly, everyone thought they’d be the first to have kids too. They had so many pregnancy scares before my Minho and I even got married.”  

Minho froze mid-bite, staring at Chan as if he’d sprouted a second head. “Pregnancy scares?! Jisung and Jeongin?! Are we talking about the same Jisung who once panicked because he thought he accidentally swallowed gum and it might stick to his insides forever?! And the same Jeongin who we treated like our own kid?!”  

Chan burst out laughing, nearly dropping his chopsticks. “The very same. But yeah, they were a little reckless for a while. Now they’ve got a baby boy—Jiwon. He’s got Jeongin’s sharp features and Jisung’s energy.”  

Minho couldn’t help but smile at that. The mental image of Jisung and Jeongin as parents was both heartwarming and hilarious. He could already picture the chaos Jiwon would bring into their lives. 

“And Hyunjin and Seungmin?” Minho prompted, his curiosity growing. “Are they still together after all these years?” He asked partly out of curiosity, but also because couples who started dating in high school and went into college together often didn’t last. It wasn’t uncommon for the transition to bring more challenges than most relationships could handle.

Chan’s expression softened, though there was a hint of sadness in his voice. “They had a rough patch. It got so bad that they actually broke up for a while. Everyone thought it was over for good.”  

Minho’s chest tightened at the thought. Hyunjin and Seungmin had always seemed so solid, so unshakable. “But… they got back together?”  

Chan nodded, his smile returning. “Yeah. They worked through it, and now they’re stronger than ever. They just announced their first pregnancy.”  

Minho exhaled in relief, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m glad. They deserve to be happy.”  

“They do,” Chan agreed.  

“What about Felix?” Minho asked, leaning forward slightly. “What’s his story?”  

Chan hesitated for a moment, his lips twitching as though suppressing a laugh. “Well… Felix and Changbin are together now.”  

Minho blinked, his brain struggling to process the information. “Felix?! And Changbin?!”  

“Yep. And get this—Felix accidentally got pregnant. No one even knew they were, uh…involved. Turns out they’d been hooking up for a while.”  

Minho’s jaw dropped. “Felix?! Are you serious? Out of all of us, he’s the one with the most dramatic love story?”  

Chan laughed at Minho’s incredulous expression. “Yup! Now they’ve got two kids. Their second baby was born last year.”  

Minho shook his head, still trying to wrap his mind around everything. “I can’t believe it… but I’m happy for them. For all of them. It’s good to know everyone’s happy and doing well.”  

The warmth in his voice was genuine, and his hand rested on his belly again as he thought about his friends’ futures. Knowing that they all found happiness, even if he didn’t know the full journey, filled him with joy. But it also reminded him that his time in this timeline was limited. 

The thought was bittersweet. Every moment here had been precious, from exploring the house to talking to Nabi and Haneul on the phone, to seeing their baby pictures, to the intimacy he’d shared with Chan. It had been perfect, and the realization that it was coming to an end made his heart ache.  

As Chan stood to clear their plates, Minho hesitated before speaking. “Hey, um… do you think we could just spend the rest of the day doing nothing?” His voice was soft, almost hesitant, but his gaze was pleading.  

Chan paused, his hands stilling on the dishes. He studied Minho for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he smiled. “Of course. Let me just clean up real quick.”  

True to his word, Chan finished in record time. When he returned, he leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed casually. “Do you want to build a nest? We could stay there until the kids get home.”  

Minho blinked in surprise, his heart swelling at the suggestion. “You’d really do that?”  

Chan nodded, his smile warm. “Yeah. I think it’d be nice.”  

Together, they headed to the bedroom. Chan handed Minho some of his clothes, ones drenched with his scent, while Minho gathered the comforter, blankets, and pillows from the bed. His instincts kicked in as he began arranging everything into a cozy, protective space.  

Chan watched from the side, his heart full as he observed Minho work. The omega moved with quiet determination, his hands deftly tucking and folding despite the obvious strain of his pregnancy. Chan wanted to help, but he knew better than to interfere. Nest-building was sacred for omegas, and it was important for Minho to do it himself.  

When Minho finally stepped back to inspect his work, he turned to Chan, his cheeks slightly flushed. “Does it look okay?”  

Chan’s eyes softened as he smiled. “It’s beautiful. Perfect.”  

Minho’s face lit up at the praise, and he climbed into the nest, settling himself among the soft fabrics. Once he was comfortable, he looked up at Chan and patted the spot beside him. “Come on in.”  

Chan didn’t hesitate. He slid into the nest beside Minho, wrapping an arm around him. Minho sighed deeply, melting into the alpha’s embrace. Surrounded by Chan’s scent and warmth, Minho felt a peace he’d never known before.  

As he rested his head against Chan’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, his eyelids grew heavier with each breath. Chan’s arms tightened around him protectively, and soon, his breathing slowed to match Minho’s. Together, wrapped in each other’s warmth, they drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep, the world outside the nest fading away.

Minho stirred awake at the gentle touch of Chan’s hand on his shoulder. His lashes fluttered, his senses slowly sharpening as he registered the warmth radiating from the body beneath him. His head rested on Chan’s chest, which rose and fell in a steady rhythm, each breath a quiet reassurance. Chan’s arm was wrapped securely around his waist, anchoring him, while his other hand rested lightly on Minho’s back. The comforting scent of the alpha—woodsy, warm, and familiar—immediately grounded him, dispelling any lingering grogginess.

“Hey,” Chan murmured, his voice a soft rumble that sent a shiver down Minho’s spine. His tone was gentle, laced with affection and something that felt like awe. “I didn’t want to wake you, but Mom just called and the kids will be home soon. Thought you might want some time to get ready before they get here. I know it might feel a little overwhelming.”

Minho blinked a few times, processing the words. The mention of the kids sent a thrill of excitement mixed with nerves through him. He shifted slightly, his hand resting on the swell of his belly, a gesture that had become second nature within his time here. His lips quirked into a faint, sleepy smile as he met Chan’s gaze. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. “You’re right. I should probably prepare myself.”

Chan’s smile deepened, his dimples appearing as he gave Minho’s waist a gentle squeeze. “Take your time,” he assured, his voice steady and comforting. “You’re going to be amazing. You did great when we talked to them on the phone.”

Minho’s heart swelled at the words, but instead of replying, he leaned into Chan, seeking the alpha’s scent. Chan responded instinctively, pulling Minho closer and burying his nose in the crook of Minho’s neck. The intimate act of scenting filled the space between them with a sense of safety and belonging, their bond quietly reaffirmed in the simplicity of the moment. Minho closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, grounding himself in Chan’s presence before the chaos of meeting their children began.

After a few quiet moments, Chan pressed a soft kiss to Minho’s temple and whispered, “Want to help me with dinner? We’ve got a little time before they arrive.”

Minho hummed his agreement, reluctantly pulling away. “Of course.” Chan helped him to his feet, his hands firm yet gentle as he guided Minho from the cozy nest. Minho winced slightly as he stood, a hand instinctively cradling his belly. “I can’t believe I napped for more than three hours,” he muttered, glancing at the clock. The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a golden glow across the room. “This body must be working overtime.”

Chan chuckled softly as he led Minho downstairs. “You needed it,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a teasing smile. “And I didn’t mind. I got to hold you the whole time.”

Minho’s cheeks flushed at Chan’s candid words, but he didn’t respond, instead following him into the kitchen. 

“Here,” Chan said, handing Minho a bundle of fresh vegetables. His hands were slightly damp from washing them. He turned back to the meat, carefully trimming and seasoning it with practiced ease.

Minho nodded in thanks, his focus shifting to the vibrant greens and reds in front of him. He worked efficiently, his hands moving with precision as he chopped. The kitchen felt alive with activity, the scent of fresh produce mingling with the spices Chan was using. The quiet partnership between them was seamless, each movement flowing into the next like a well-rehearsed routine.

“How’s it coming along?” Chan asked without looking up, his hands deftly rubbing a marinade into the meat.

“Almost done,” Minho replied, glancing at the growing pile of chopped vegetables. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Chan working so diligently. “You know, the Chan from my time only knew how to cook instant noodles.”

Chan burst out laughing, the sound filling the kitchen. “Well, I’ve come a long way since then, haven’t I?” he said, shaking his head with amusement.

Minho’s laugh was light, the kind that warmed the room. He slid the chopped vegetables into a bowl and reaching for the next bundle. The steady rhythm of their tasks continued, the quiet camaraderie between them making the simple act of cooking feel special.

“How do Nabi and Haneul feel about the twins?” Minho asked after a while, his curiosity getting the better of him. He still couldn’t fully wrap his mind around the idea of having future children, let alone two more on the way.

Chan’s face lit up at the mention of their kids. “They’re excited now,” he said, still working on the meat, “but it wasn’t always like that. When we first told Nabi, she was… not thrilled.” He glanced at Minho with a knowing smile. “She thought we were going to love the babies more than her and Haneul. She cried about it for days.”

Minho frowned, his heart aching at the thought of their daughter feeling that way. “How did you guys handle it?”

“We reassured her, a lot,” Chan explained, his tone softening. “It took some time, but she warmed up to the idea. Now, she’s so proud of being the eldest. She tells everyone she’s going to protect all her baby siblings.”

Minho smiled at the thought, his chest swelling with pride. “And Haneul?”

Chan laughed, his voice warm and rich. “He’s only two, so he doesn’t really understand. But he gets excited whenever we mention the babies. He claps and yells, ‘Babies!’ It’s adorable.”

Minho chuckled, the image of the little boy cheering over the twins filling him with a deep sense of joy. He could already feel himself falling in love with these children he hadn’t even met yet.

The sound of a car pulling up outside broke through their quiet conversation. Minho froze, the knife in his hand hovering mid-air. His heart began to race, nerves bubbling to the surface.

Chan noticed immediately. He placed the meat down and quickly washed his hands at the sink, his movements efficient yet calm. Then, drying his hands on a nearby towel, he stepped to Minho's side and placed a reassuring hand on his lower back.

“They’re here,” he said with a calm smile. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a soothing murmur. “You’ve got this. You’re going to be amazing.” He pressed a kiss to Minho’s temple before heading to the door.

Minho stayed in the kitchen for a moment, taking a deep, steadying breath. His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest, a mixture of excitement and anxiety threatening to overwhelm him. Finally, he set the knife down, wiped his hands on a towel, and made his way to the front door.

The sight that greeted him was enough to make his breath catch. Chan stood in the doorway, Haneul perched on his hip, while Nabi clung to his free hand, bouncing excitedly. In front of them were Chan’s parents, smiling warmly as they talked to their son. The scene was so ordinary yet so profound that it brought tears to Minho’s eyes.

Meanwhile, Dori and Bbungie were already at the door, tails wagging and meowing excitedly as they greeted the pups. The two cats rubbed up against the children’s legs, meowing and purring in delight. Minho couldn’t help but smile at the sight, feeling a rush of warmth spread through him.

The moment Nabi spotted him, her face lit up like the sun. “Eomma!” she shrieked, letting go of Chan’s hand and running toward Minho with open arms. Minho instinctively bent down, his arms opening to receive her. He pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her cheek and inhaling her scent. It felt so natural, so right, that he didn’t even think about it. “I missed you so much,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Haneul, not to be outdone, began squirming in Chan’s arms. “Me too! Eomma!” he cried, reaching out with tiny hands.

Chan laughed, setting him down carefully. “Remember what we talked about, buddy? Eomma can’t carry you right now because of the babies.”

Haneul didn’t seem to care. He toddled over to Minho and flung his arms around his leg, hugging him tightly. Minho knelt down again, wrapping the toddler in a warm embrace. “I missed you too, sweetheart,” he said, kissing Haneul’s chubby cheek. The overwhelming love he felt in that moment brought fresh tears to his eyes.

Nabi giggled, pointing at his face. “The babies are making Eomma cry again!” she announced proudly.

Minho laughed through his tears, nodding. “Yes, they are,” he admitted, wiping his eyes. 

Realizing he hadn’t greeted Chan’s parents yet, Minho decided to get up. But being eight months pregnant with twins made it a challenge to rise from where he was kneeling on the floor. He shifted awkwardly, trying to maneuver himself into a standing position without much success.

Chan, unaware of Minho’s struggle, had his back turned as he chatted with his parents at the door. Chan’s mom, however, noticed immediately. With a soft tut, she nudged her son and said lightly, “Go help your mate!”

Chan turned quickly, his eyes landing on Minho. In an instant, he was at Minho’s side, his hands firm and steady as he helped him to his feet. Minho offered him a grateful smile, and with Chan’s reassuring presence beside him, he waddled to greet Chan’s parents. The warmth and familiarity in their embrace brought him a sense of comfort and belonging he hadn’t realized he needed.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Chan and Minho invited his parents to stay for dinner, but they politely declined, explaining they already had plans to meet with a few of their friends. With warm hugs and promises to visit again soon, they headed home, leaving Minho and Chan to focus on the children.

Minho smiled warmly at the kids. “So, how was your time with Grandma and Grandpa?” he asked, his voice filled with curiosity.

Nabi’s eyes lit up, and without missing a beat, she grabbed Minho’s hand. “Come on, Eomma! Sit on the couch, and I’ll tell you everything!” she exclaimed, tugging him toward the living room.

Minho let out a soft laugh, casting a quick glance at Chan as Nabi led him to the couch with all the confidence in the world. Chan caught the look—the one that clearly said, Do you see this?—and laughed, shaking his head in amusement before heading back to the kitchen to start on dinner.

Once Minho was seated, Nabi climbed up beside him and launched into an animated recounting of her weekend with her grandparents, her little hands waving dramatically as she spoke.

Meanwhile, Haneul toddled over to his toy box that was neatly tucked in the corner of the living room—a medium-sized container with a design that matched his room’s motif—and began pulling out his favorite toys. He settled down nearby, playing quietly but giggling every so often at his own antics.

Minho leaned back on the couch, his heart full as he listened to Nabi’s excited chatter and watched Haneul play happily at his feet. The sounds of Chan cooking in the kitchen—soft clinks of utensils, the sizzle of something on the stove—filled the home, blending with Nabi’s enthusiastic recounting of her weekend. It was a symphony of warmth, the comforting rhythm of family life.

Minho smiled fondly as he watched Nabi chatter excitedly, her little hands waving animatedly as she recounted the events of the past two days. She spoke of building pillow forts, racing toy cars, and how Haneul had tried (and failed) to keep up with her during a game of tag. The toddler in question was currently sprawled on the floor, busy stacking colorful blocks, oblivious to the world around him.  

Once she finished her tale, Nabi suddenly scrambled to her feet and made her way to her toy box, digging through it with purpose. Minho quirked a brow in curiosity but didn’t question her—until she proudly pulled out a soft blanket and spread it on the floor.  

"Eomma, sit here!" she instructed, grabbing Minho’s wrist with her small but determined hands.  

Minho chuckled at her enthusiasm but sighed as he prepared to get up. He shifted forward, planting one hand on the couch arm for support as he tried to push himself up. With a small grunt of effort and a bit of wobbling, he finally managed to stand, pausing for a second to regain his balance.

Nabi, completely unbothered by his struggle, tugged him toward the blanket with single-minded determination. Minho followed, still catching his breath from getting up, unsure of exactly what she had planned but having a gut feeling about where this was going.

Sure enough, as soon as he carefully lowered himself onto the floor, Nabi turned toward Haneul and called, "Haneul-ah! Come play picnic with us!" Minho watched as she immediately began rummaging through her toy box, no doubt about to bring out an assortment of toy dishes, plastic food, and tiny cups for their pretend picnic.

Haneul, however, was far too engrossed in his tower of blocks to acknowledge her invitation. He mumbled something incomprehensible under his breath before returning to his masterpiece. Nabi huffed dramatically but seemed undeterred, already plotting how to rope him in.  

Minho, on the other hand, had an idea. One that would prevent an entire toy store’s worth of items from being sprawled across their living room floor. "Nabi," he called softly, catching her attention. "What if we play something different tonight?"  

Her eyes widened with interest. "Like what, Eomma?"  

Minho smiled. "A storybook treasure hunt."  

Nabi tilted her head, intrigued, while Haneul finally looked up, curiosity flickering in his big round eyes. It was clear they had never played this before.  

"What's that?" Nabi asked, sitting up straighter.  

Minho gestured toward the small bookshelf by the wall. "First, you and Haneul pick one story together—just one, a book you both love." He emphasized the rule to avoid any potential bickering. "Then, as we read, I’ll call out things in the story, and you two have to find something in the house that matches. But instead of running to grab it, you just have to point it out from where we’re sitting. Understand?"  

The idea had them both grinning with excitement. Nabi immediately rushed to the bookshelf, flipping through books while Haneul waddled over, peeking at the covers she considered. After a bit of deliberation, they finally returned with their selection: a book about a curious little wolf exploring the woods.  

They all sat cross-legged on the living room floor as Minho began reading, his voice animated and warm. Whenever he mentioned something specific—like a tree, a hat, or a spoon—the kids eagerly scanned their surroundings, pointing things out with bright eyes and excited giggles.  

At one point, Minho mentioned gloves. Before the kids could even start looking, a hand suddenly poked out from behind the kitchen wall, wiggling an oven mitt.  

The children burst into laughter.  

"Daddy!" Nabi squealed, pointing at him. "You're so funny!"  

Chan, who had been listening from the kitchen as he prepared dinner, grinned and playfully shook the oven mitt like a puppet before disappearing again.  

Minho felt warmth spread through his chest, especially when Chan peeked out a moment later to offer him a smile—one that spoke volumes. ‘You’re doing so well,’ it said without words.  

Minho’s emotions getting the best of him. He swallowed thickly, blinking back the sudden sting in his eyes. Damn these pregnancy hormones. 

The game continued for a while longer, but it was soon interrupted when Chan called out, "Dinner’s ready!"  

The kids jumped to their feet, their enthusiasm shifting to food as they rushed to Minho, both trying to help him up. "Come on, Eomma!" Nabi urged while Haneul grunted dramatically as he tugged at Minho’s arm.  

Minho playfully pouted. "Are you two calling me heavy?"  

Nabi and Haneul giggled, but before they could respond, Chan arrived in no time, effortlessly pulling Minho up. "I got you, baby," he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to Minho’s temple.  

Dinner was lively, filled with conversation about their weekend with Grandma and Grandpa. Minho ensured both kids had eaten enough before letting them down from their seats. Meanwhile, Chan got up and quickly began washing the dishes, moving efficiently as he scrubbed plates and rinsed utensils.

Minho, however, gently pushed Chan away from the sink when he tried to continue. "I’ll do this," he insisted. "You take care of the kids."

Chan hesitated, not wanting Minho to overwork himself, but one look at his husband’s determined gaze and he relented. "Fine," he sighed, kissing the top of Minho’s head before turning his attention back to wrangling the kids into agreeing to take a bath.  

By the time they returned, freshly bathed and in their chosen pajamas—Nabi in a frilly pink sleep dress, and Haneul in a superhero-themed set—Minho was already drying his hands, the dishes done.  

"Alright, my loves," Chan called, ruffling their hair. "To our bedroom, you go. Eomma will read you a bedtime story."  

Excitement returned to their faces as they ran ahead to their parents’ room. Minho waddled behind them, Chan walking beside him with a guiding hand on his lower back.  

They all climbed onto the bed, the kids settling between their parents. Haneul immediately latched onto Minho’s side while Nabi cuddled up to Chan.  

Minho began a bedtime story about a kitten named Mittens searching for the coziest place to sleep. Mittens wanted the softest, warmest nest, so she set off on an adventure through the house.

First, she found a pile of fresh blankets in the laundry room—warm and fluffy but too hot from the dryer. Next, she tried a stack of pillows on the couch, but they wobbled too much. She even curled up in a knitted blanket on a rocking chair, but it wasn’t snug enough.

Finally, Mittens climbed onto the bed, where she found the perfect nest: soft sheets, a warm blanket, and a pillow just the right size. But even then, something was missing. Only when her parents joined her, curling up around her with their warmth and steady purrs, did Mittens finally close her eyes and drift into a deep, peaceful sleep.

By the time Minho reached this part, Haneul was already fast asleep against him, his small hands curled around Minho’s arm. Nabi, though still awake, was blinking sluggishly, fighting the pull of sleep.

Chan got up from the bed, moving carefully so as not to wake Haneul. He carefully scooped his son into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to his head. "I’ll tuck him in," he murmured. Minho kissed the little boy’s forehead before watching Chan disappear down the hall.

Nabi tugged at Minho’s sleeve. "Eomma, can you walk me to my room and tell me one more story?"  

Minho’s heart melted at the request. "Of course, baby."  

He walked her to her room and smiled when he entered, spotting Bbungie already curled up in Nabi’s bed. Minho couldn’t help but laugh softly at the sight. The fluffy white cat seemed to have made himself at home in Nabi’s bed, as though he’d been waiting for her to settle in.

After tucking her in, Minho continued the bedtime story, his voice soft and soothing. Halfway through, Chan returned, kneeling beside Minho as they both watched Nabi finally succumb to sleep.

Together, they kissed her goodnight before leaving her room and heading to their own for some much-needed rest.  

After a quick shower—where Chan helped Minho wash up with the utmost care—Minho sat on the edge of their bed, buttoning his pajama top.  

Chan stepped out of the bathroom, towel-drying his hair, only to stop in his tracks.  

Minho looked absolutely breathtaking—his soft, round belly prominent, his skin glowing under the evening light. For a brief moment, Chan could see the Minho from his college days—the same stunning man he fell in love with, just now carrying the undeniable evidence of their love.  

Minho, oblivious to Chan’s stare, absentmindedly rubbed his belly, lost in thought.  

Chan smiled. How did I get so lucky?

He quickly shook off the reverie, realizing he was just standing there, staring. With a soft chuckle, he moved quickly, his body still warm from their shared bath. He stepped into the closet to pull on a loose pair of pajama pants and nothing else. The fabric clung slightly to his damp skin, but he paid it no mind—his focus was entirely on Minho, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed, exactly where he had been moments ago.

But now, he was looking at Chan.  

There was something unreadable in his gaze. His posture was relaxed but expectant, his hands resting on his belly as though grounding himself. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing even, but there was an unmistakable longing in his expression.  

Chan didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, closing the space between them, his movements slow and deliberate. Minho didn’t move away. He didn’t even blink—just let Chan reach for him, taking his hands and helping him to his feet.  

The moment Minho stood, Chan’s hand instinctively went to the small of his back, guiding him forward until their bodies pressed together. The warmth of Minho’s belly settled against Chan’s front, a tangible reminder of the life growing inside him. Chan’s free hand came up, resting just above Minho’s hip, fingers pressing into the fabric of his pajama top.  

Still, Minho remained quiet.  

But the way he looked at Chan… it said everything.  

“Tell me what you want, Min,” Chan said, his voice gentle, coaxing.  

Minho’s breath hitched. His lips parted, then closed again, as if second-guessing himself. But instead of answering, he looked down at Chan’s hands, his fingers brushing against them hesitantly.  

Chan let him lead.  

Minho slowly took Chan’s hands and guided them upward, pressing them to his chest—where the fullness of his body was warm and heavy beneath Chan’s palms.  

Understanding dawned in Chan’s eyes. His breath caught as he studied Minho’s face, taking in the way his cheeks flushed with shy embarrassment.  

“Are you full?” Chan murmured, his thumbs brushing gently over the fabric covering Minho’s nipples.  

Minho’s breath hitched before he nodded, averting his gaze, his face burning.  

Chan let out a low chuckle, fond and teasing. “You could’ve just told me, baby.”  

Minho’s lips pressed into a pout. “It’s embarrassing.”  

Chan only smiled before leaning in, his lips brushing against Minho’s in a feather-light kiss. “You never have to be embarrassed with me.”  

Minho exhaled shakily as Chan kissed him again, this time deeper, more lingering. Minho melted against him, his hands gripping at Chan’s shirt, tugging him impossibly closer.  

Chan guided them toward the bed, his movements slow and careful, mindful of Minho’s belly. When Minho settled back against the pillows he had arranged earlier, Chan couldn’t help but smirk. 

“You planned this,” Chan teased, eyeing the way Minho had stacked the pillows perfectly to support his back.  

Minho rolled his eyes, cheeks still flushed. “I just wanted to be comfortable.”  

“Uh-huh.” Chan’s smirk deepened when his gaze dropped lower, noting the buttoned pajama top Minho wore. “And you just happened to pick something easy to take off?”  

Minho’s blush deepened, but he didn’t answer.  

Chan chuckled softly, his fingers moving to the buttons, undoing them one by one with agonizing slowness. Minho’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling with anticipation.  

When the last button was undone, Chan spread the fabric open, revealing Minho’s swollen, sensitive nipples and gravid belly. His mouth went dry.  

“Gorgeous,” Chan whispered, his fingers ghosting over the soft skin before he leaned down.  

Minho barely had time to react before Chan’s lips wrapped around one of his buds, sucking gently. The moment his tongue swirled over the sensitive bud, Minho let out a sharp gasp, his fingers flying to tangle in Chan’s hair.  

“Ah—C-Chan—”  

Chan hummed against him, his mouth warm and eager, coaxing the milk from him in slow, rhythmic pulls. The taste of milk filled his mouth, sweet and warm, and Chan swallowed greedily, his free hand massaging the neglected side.  

Minho exhaled shakily, his body melting into the mattress, overwhelmed by the steady, insistent pull of Chan’s mouth. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath, the pleasure coursing through him warm and consuming. He could feel his lips parting, the words forming at the tip of his tongue, aching to be spoken—I love you.  

But just as quickly as the thought surfaced, he swallowed it down, his chest tightening.  

He couldn’t say it.  

Not because he didn’t want to—he did, so badly it hurt. But this wasn’t his Chan, not really. This was a Chan from the future he wasn’t even sure he would get. His Chan deserved to hear those words first. If Minho said them now, would they even mean the same thing?  

His throat constricted, the words fading before they could escape, leaving only the rapid beat of his heart against his ribs. Instead, he let out a soft, shuddering breath, his fingers tightening slightly in Chan’s hair as he pushed the feeling aside.  

Chan groaned softly, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before pulling away with a wet pop. Without hesitation, he shifted, his lips latching onto the other side, eager to taste more. His free hand replaced his mouth on the first bud, thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles around the dampened skin as he suckled deeply from the other. The steady rhythm of his mouth sent shivers down Minho’s spine, drawing out another whimper as his fingers tangled in Chan’s hair, holding him close.  

Minho gasped, his belly pressing firmly against Chan’s front as he arched again, heat pooling low and insistent. His thighs trembled, parting wider, instinctively inviting more as Chan moaned against his skin, utterly lost in him.  

Chan pulled away briefly, his lips glossy with Minho’s milk. “You’re leaking so much slick, baby.” His voice was a teasing whisper, his fingers trailing lower to brush against Minho’s inner thigh.  

Minho shivered. His voice was barely above a breath. “Then do something about it.”  

Chan groaned softly, his patience snapping.  

With slow, deliberate movements, he helped Minho out of his pajama bottoms, tossing them aside before positioning himself between his legs. He pressed a kiss to the inside of Minho’s thigh, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his slick before aligning himself, the head of his cock teasing Minho’s entrance.  

Minho let out a shaky breath, his fingers tightening in the sheets beneath him.  

Chan pushed in slowly, his cock stretching Minho inch by inch until he was fully seated inside. A deep, guttural moan escaped Chan as he stilled, reveling in the warmth surrounding him.  

“Fuck, Min…” Chan’s voice was thick with pleasure. “You feel so good.”  

Minho let out a whimper, his arms wrapping around Chan’s shoulders. “Move—please.” 

Chan obeyed, rolling his hips in slow, precise thrusts, each movement deep and deliberate. The friction between them was intoxicating—the way Minho’s belly pressed against Chan’s front, the way his swollen chest heaved with every breath.  

Chan’s mouth found Minho’s again, their kisses messy, desperate. His hand returned to Minho’s chest, squeezing and massaging as he continued to drink from him between thrusts.  

Minho was a trembling mess beneath him, his moans high-pitched, his body writhing in pleasure.  

It didn’t take long before Minho’s legs trembled, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. “C-Chan—”  

“I know, baby,” Chan whispered, his thrusts growing erratic as his knot began to swell. “Almost there.”  

A few more deep strokes, and Chan’s knot locked them together, sealing him inside as he spilled his seed. The sensation sent Minho over the edge as well, his own climax painting their stomachs, the warm essence landing on Chan’s abs and the curve of his belly.  

Chan collapsed against Minho, their bodies tangled, their breaths heavy.  

For a long moment, they simply lay there, lost in each other.  

When Chan’s knot finally went down, he carefully got up, his movements slow as he made his way to the bathroom. He grabbed a small towel, dampening it with water before returning to Minho. Gently, he cleaned them both up, his touch tender as he wiped away the remnants of their shared moment. Afterward, he pulled Minho into his arms, spooning him from behind, his heart still racing with contentment.

As sleepiness started to settle over him, Minho’s voice broke the quiet. “Chan,” he murmured softly, a hint of something deeper in his tone.

Chan hummed in response, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on Minho’s arm, as if grounding them both in the moment.

Minho blinked back the growing tide of emotion. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "Thank you for these past two days. I... I don’t even know how to express how much they’ve meant to me." His breath hitched. “You made me feel so loved, so seen, in a way I never thought was possible.” His chest tightened, and the words spilled out before he could stop them. “Thank you for giving me new reasons to wake up every morning, for showing me what it feels like to truly be cared for, to be wanted…”

Minho’s voice cracked as tears began to form, the raw emotion overwhelming him. “I never knew I could feel like this. I never knew I needed this so badly.”

Chan tightened his hold on Minho, his thumb brushing over Minho’s cheek, wiping away the tears that had slipped down. His own eyes were glossy, unshed tears pooling at the corners. He didn’t speak at first, but his touch was everything Minho needed in that moment.

"It was my pleasure," Chan finally murmured, his voice low, full of warmth and sincerity. "This isn’t goodbye, Minho. It’s just a promise of what’s to come."

The words hit Minho like a wave, and fresh tears welled in his eyes. He hadn’t expected to feel this way, but the depth of Chan’s words stirred something deep within him. This wasn’t just a fleeting moment—it was a commitment, a future they’d create together.

Chan kissed him again—this time different. It wasn’t the heated kiss of before, filled with passion. This kiss was slow, tender, full of unspoken promises and emotions too big for words. Minho felt the depth of Chan’s love in that kiss, the quiet strength of it, and the understanding that neither of them had yet said the words out loud. But they didn’t need to—not yet.

Minho realized, with a swell of love in his chest, that Chan was saying I love you through the kiss, though neither of them had said the words yet. He could sense it, feel it in the way Chan’s lips lingered, as if savoring the moment. Minho understood—just as he hadn’t spoken those words yet either, neither did Chan. Chan wanted the Chan in Minho’s timeline to be the first to say it.

As they pulled apart, Minho couldn’t help but smile through his tears. Chan tucked him closer, holding him tighter, and they settled back into the warmth of each other’s embrace. The silence between them felt sacred, and soon their breaths synced, slow and steady, as sleep finally claimed them both—wrapped in warmth, in love, and in a future that was beginning to unfold for the omega.

Minho stirred awake to the sound of his phone alarm blaring beside him. Groggily, he reached over, fumbling with the screen before finally shutting it off. As his mind slowly came to, he let out a quiet sigh, already dreading the start of another school week. But the moment he opened his eyes, a strange sense of familiarity—and yet unfamiliarity—washed over him.  

His college dorm room.  

Minho blinked, staring at the ceiling, feeling momentarily disoriented. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes as he took in his surroundings. His neatly arranged desk, the pile of laundry Jisung never folded, the faint scent of Jisung’s peach-scented lotion in the air—it was all the same. But something was off.  

His clothes.  

Minho frowned as he looked down, noticing that he wasn’t wearing what he had worn to bed after their game night last Friday. Instead of his usual loose sleepwear, he was in a hoodie and sweatpants he didn't even remember putting on.  

A dream?  

His heart pounded as the memories of the last two days flooded back into his mind—his older self, his future, Chan, and their life together. Minho’s fingers clenched the fabric of his hoodie. He thought he had just experienced the most vivid, elaborate dream of his life, but this… this didn’t feel like just a dream. If it had been, why would he wake up wearing something different?  

His eyes flickered to Jisung’s bed. The younger omega was still fast asleep, one side of his face squished against his pillow, his lips puckered like a puffer fish. He looked peaceful, completely unaware that Minho had apparently skipped two days of his life.  

Reaching for his phone, Minho checked the date.

Monday.

This meant either he had been asleep for two whole days and no one thought to wake him up, or he had actually lived in his future self’s body over the weekend. The first option was completely ridiculous—Jisung would have lost his mind if Minho had been unconscious for two days straight. That left only one logical conclusion:  

He really did switch consciousness with his future self.  

Minho swallowed, his grip on his phone tightening. His first instinct was to wake Jisung up and ask him, but seeing how soundly the younger omega was sleeping, he hesitated. Jisung had always been a heavy sleeper, and Minho knew he’d be grumpy if he was woken up too early.  

He thought about calling someone—Chan.  

His thumb hovered over Chan’s name in his contacts before he hesitated. What was he even supposed to say? Hey, did I act weird this weekend? or Did future me tell you anything?

It felt too weird. What if Future Minho didn’t tell anyone and just went along with his life in this timeline?  

Minho sighed, shaking his head. There were too many questions swirling in his mind, and he wasn’t going to get answers by overthinking it. He had a class to get ready for.  

Moving as quietly as possible, he slipped out of bed and headed for the shower, careful not to wake Jisung. Even as he got dressed and made his way down the stairs of the omega dorms, his mind kept racing with different scenarios. Had Future Minho told anyone about the switch? Had he shared anything about their lives, their friends, their future? Minho had gotten a glimpse of what was to come, but there were still so many things he didn’t know—Future Chan had been careful not to tell him exact dates or a timeline.  

Would this change anything?  

Lost in thought, Minho nearly missed the sight of someone pacing outside the entrance of the dorms. His steps slowed when he recognized the familiar figure.  

Chan.  

The alpha was standing there, his brows furrowed, looking deep in thought as he anxiously paced back and forth. But the moment he looked up and their eyes met, he froze.  

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They simply stared at each other, and Minho could tell—Chan wasn’t just looking at him. He was assessing him, trying to figure something out.  

Then, at the same time, they both blurt out different questions.  

“What are you doing here?” Minho asks.  

“Are you back?” Chan asks.  

They both paused, confused by the other’s words, before laughing softly at the awkward timing. Chan, ever the gentleman, motioned for Minho to go first.  

Minho didn't hesitate. "Why are you here? Your class isn’t until later." 

Chan exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh… I wanted to check on you. To see if you were… back.”  

Minho blinked. "Back?"

Chan nodded. "Are you you? Are you my— Are you the real Minho?" 

And that was when it clicked.  

A mischievous smirk tugs at Minho’s lips, and he decides to mess with him. “What are you even talking about? Are you feeling okay? Did you forget to take your meds or something?”  

Chan stiffened, his expression shifting into one of slight panic.

Minho almost wanted to keep playing with him, but seeing the genuine nervousness on Chan’s face, he let out a soft laugh and finally admitted, "Relax. Yeah, I’m back. I’m the real Minho." 

Relief flooded Chan’s face. "So it really happened? You actually switched places with your future self?" 

Minho nodded.  

Chan let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. "Holy shit. I thought I was losing my mind this weekend."

Minho watched as Chan processed everything, his brows furrowing like he had a thousand questions running through his mind. He was cute when he was like this.  

“You can ask me anything,” Minho said, crossing his arms. “But I can’t tell you everything. I don’t know what I could share.” 

Chan nodded in understanding. Checking his watch, he glanced back at Minho. "You have an hour and a half before class. Want to grab breakfast and talk?"

Minho thought about it for a second before nodding. "Sure." 

They hopped into Chan’s car and drove to a popular breakfast place just outside campus.  

While waiting for their kimchi fried rice and Korean-style eggs and toast, Chan leaned in, eyes full of curiosity. "So… what can you tell me about the future?"  

Minho paused, carefully considering his words. "I can’t tell you everything, but… what I could tell you about your future is that you’ll be successful. Doing something you love." 

Chan’s eyes widened slightly.  

"And you’ll have a family. You’ll be happy."

Minho left out the part where he was the one Chan ended up with. He also omitted the fact that their future selves had pups together. Just thinking about it made his heart flutter, but he kept his expression neutral.  

Chan sat back, absorbing the information. He didn’t say anything at first, but Minho noticed the small, hopeful smile on his lips.  

Minho smirked. "What? You look pleased."  

Chan exhaled, chuckling. "I mean… yeah. That sounds like the perfect future."  

I hope it’s with you, was what Chan wanted to say. But he didn’t.  

Instead, he asked, "What about you? What’s your future like?"

Minho hesitated before answering. "Apparently, I’ll be successful in dance. And I have a family too."

Chan’s smile grew. "That’s amazing. I’m really happy for you."

Their food arrived, and they continued talking, mostly about what happened over the weekend. Chan shared what Future Minho had told him—mostly harmless details about their friends, funny stories, things that weren’t major life events.  

“Future you didn’t tell me when these things will happen, though,” Chan mused, sipping his drink. “It’ll be fun to look back at this moment when they actually do.”

Minho chuckled. "Yeah. It will."

Chan’s smile lingered as he glanced over at Minho. “I could drive you to class, if you’d like. Less time to think, more time to... well, talk, maybe.”

Minho hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Sure, that sounds good.”

Minho sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window as Chan drove through the quiet morning streets. They weren’t talking, and despite the comfortable silence between them, it only seemed to amplify the storm of thoughts swirling in Minho’s mind. He had just experienced two days in the future—two days where he was living a life he hadn’t known he even wanted until now. A life where he was married to his best friend, carrying their pups, and so undeniably happy. Yet, here he was, in the present, unsure of how to even begin the next step. The future was right there in his hands, but the path toward it felt as unclear as the faint outlines of buildings in the distance. 

He snuck a glance at Chan, who was humming softly while drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. It was such a small, mundane thing, yet it made Minho’s heart flutter in his chest.  

This was the same person who held him in the future, who whispered words of love to him, who rubbed his belly and kissed him like he was the most precious thing in the world. But in this timeline, they weren’t even together yet.  

That realization alone sent his mind spiraling. Who made the first move? When did Chan confess? Would things still fall into place as they were meant to, or had Minho’s awareness of the future changed things?  How had it all unfolded, and was there anything he could do to ensure it played out the same way?

He should have asked Future Chan these questions—the things that had been eating away at him ever since he returned. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He couldn’t let himself obsess over this. The future he saw was everything he could ever want, and the last thing he needed to do was jeopardize it by acting impulsively.  

When they arrived at Minho’s building, he expected Chan to stop outside the entrance, but instead, Chan drove into the parking area and found a spot. That was unusual.  

Minho gathered his things and was just about to thank Chan when the alpha spoke.  

“Wait,” Chan said, his voice slightly hesitant. “Before you go… can I ask you something?”  

Minho quirked a brow, hand still on the car door handle. “What is it?”  

Chan looked everywhere but at Minho, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, um… future you kept telling me something over the weekend,” he started, stumbling over his words. “He told me to go for what I really want. That things don’t have to be perfect, but they’ll turn out okay in the end.”  

Minho smirked. “You’re rambling, old man.”  

Chan chuckled, shaking his head before taking a deep breath. “Right, okay. What I’m trying to say is…” He finally looked at Minho, eyes nervous but determined. “Do you want to go out with me?”  

Minho blinked, momentarily stunned. “…We just went out?”  

Chan let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “No, I mean—” He exhaled, gathering his courage. “I want to take you on a date, Minho. I want to court you.”  

Minho’s heart stopped.  

Of all the possibilities he had considered, this was not one of them. He had spent the entire car ride trying to suppress his desire to ask Chan out first, and now here was Chan, asking him out before he could even process his own feelings.  

His first instinct was disbelief. “Are you messing with me? Did future me put you up to this?”  

Chan shook his head earnestly. “No one told me to do this. I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a long time, but I was scared of ruining what we have. But future you…” He hesitated, a small, fond smile on his lips. “Future you gave me the confidence to finally do it.”  

Minho stared at him, his mind blank. He had spent two days in the future falling deeper in love with Chan, and now that he was back, his best friend—his future mate—was standing right in front of him, asking if he could court him.  

When he didn’t respond, Chan quickly backtracked. “You don’t have to say yes,” he rushed to say. “I’m not pressuring you or anything—”  

“Yes,” Minho interrupted, finally finding his voice.  

Chan blinked. “Wait, what?”  

Minho chuckled, warmth blooming in his chest. He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Chan’s cheek, pulling away with a small smirk. “I said yes, idiot. I’d love to go on a date with you.”  

Chan sat there, stunned, a deep blush creeping up his neck. Minho grabbed his bag and opened the door, looking back one last time. “I’ll text you after class,” he said before hopping out and jogging toward the building.  

Chan remained frozen in place, fingers touching the spot where Minho had kissed him, a dazed smile spreading across his face. His heart was pounding, stomach filled with the kind of butterflies he never thought he’d feel again.  

Meanwhile, Minho’s pace slowed as soon as he stepped foot inside the building. He needed to get away from the overwhelming rush of feelings threatening to overtake him. His heart was still pounding in his chest, not just from the run, but from the look on Chan’s face, the way his lips still tingled after he kissed Chan. His face was burning, and his mind was racing.

He quickly made a sharp turn into the nearest restroom, locking the door behind him. Leaning against the sink, he took several deep breaths, trying to calm the storm inside. His reflection stared back at him, flushed and wide-eyed. He had to admit—this was exactly what he’d been hoping for, but now that it was real, it felt too big to wrap his head around.

The weight of it all settled into Minho’s chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself fully smile. It wasn’t just hope or excitement—it was certainty. The future he had seen, the one he had yearned for, was finally becoming real. It felt right, and as overwhelming as it was, Minho knew he was ready. He wasn’t walking into the unknown anymore. This was the beginning of something beautiful, and it was his to claim.

Epilogue

Chan stirred in his sleep, his body instinctively reaching out for warmth—only to find cool, empty sheets beside him. His brow furrowed as his fingers blindly sought Minho, but his mate wasn’t there.  

That realization pulled him from the depths of sleep, his eyes cracking open as he blinked groggily in the dim morning light filtering through the curtains. The absence of Minho’s warmth made him sit up slightly, his senses sharpening with concern. His mate rarely got up before him these days—not with the weight of their unborn twins pressing down on his body.  

Before his worry could escalate, the sound of the toilet flushing in their ensuite caught his attention. He darted his eyes toward the bathroom door just in time to see Minho emerge.  

Chan’s chest filled with warmth at the sight. Minho, still heavily pregnant, waddled toward the bed with slow, careful steps, one hand bracing the underside of his belly for support. His pajama top was undone, likely a result of him needing more room to breathe, and the sight of Minho’s swollen belly bared so casually made something tender unfurl in Chan’s chest.  

A soft smile curved his lips as he watched his mate.  

“Good morning,” Chan murmured, voice thick with sleep. “You’re back.”  

Minho returned his smile, reaching the edge of the bed before lowering himself onto the mattress with a sigh. “Did you miss me?” he teased, brushing his hair back as he adjusted his position.  

Chan scooted closer, pressing his chest against Minho’s back as he wrapped his arms around him. His nose found Minho’s scent gland, inhaling deeply before pressing a lingering kiss there. “What do you mean? You were here the whole time,” he teased in return, his tone rich with affection.  

Minho hummed in pleasure, preening under Chan’s attention as he melted into his embrace. He turned his head just enough for their lips to meet in a slow, unhurried kiss—one that spoke of love, comfort, and the ease that came with years spent together.  

When they parted, Minho smirked slightly. “So… how was my younger self?”  

Chan chuckled, resting his chin on Minho’s shoulder. “He freaked out at first, obviously,” he said, a grin pulling at his lips. “But he adjusted quickly. We were doing it by noon.”  

Minho snorted, laughter bubbling from his lips as he shook his head. “Did you at least treat him well?”  

“Of course,” Chan murmured, nipping at Minho’s jaw before kissing him again.  

Minho hummed, satisfied. “I’m just glad he got to experience a knot while he was here. That’s all that matters to me.”  

Chan barked out a laugh, shaking his head in amusement. “Of course that’s what you care about.”  

Minho grinned, clearly unbothered, and turned fully in Chan’s embrace. He settled onto his knees, pressing his body flush against his husband’s as their lips met again, this time with more intent.  

Chan’s hands traveled over Minho’s body, mapping the familiar curves and dips of his pregnant form. His thumbs traced gentle circles over Minho’s belly, feeling the slight shifts of their unborn pups inside.  

Between shared kisses and soft laughter, they slowly repositioned themselves until Minho was on his knees, his back pressing against Chan’s chest as he reached behind to cradle Chan’s nape, pulling him into another deep kiss. Chan’s hands wandered, tracing over Minho’s belly before gripping his hips, guiding him down onto his length with care.  

The moment Minho sank down fully, a shudder ran through both of them.  

Minho let out a long, breathy moan, his hands gripping Chan’s thighs for support as he adjusted to the stretch. Chan groaned against Minho’s neck, his fingers flexing against his mate’s hips as he willed himself to stay still—despite the overwhelming heat and tightness surrounding him.  

Minho exhaled sharply, his body trembling slightly as he took a moment to adjust. He tilted his head back, resting it against Chan’s shoulder as he sighed.  

“You okay?” Chan murmured, voice husky as he nuzzled into Minho’s scent gland.  

Minho nodded, his fingers stroking over Chan’s hands that rested protectively on his belly. “More than okay,” he whispered. “You always fill me so well.”  

Chan groaned at that, his grip tightening for a moment before he relaxed, letting Minho set the pace. His mate rocked his hips slowly, rolling them in a way that made Chan’s breath stutter.  

Minho moaned again, his voice breathy and needy. “Missed you,” he murmured, his tone laced with longing. “Missed my alpha… missed your knot so much…”  

Chan’s breath caught, his heart clenching at the sheer need in Minho’s voice. He tightened his arms around his mate, pressing gentle kisses along Minho’s shoulder as he whispered, “I’m right here, love. Always.”  

Minho whined at that, rocking faster as his pleasure mounted. “I felt so empty without you,” he confessed, his hands gripping Chan’s wrists as they lay protectively over his belly. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about this… about how good it feels when you’re inside me.”  

Chan groaned, his lips parting against Minho’s skin as he let those words sink deep. His fingers flexed, tracing slow, reverent circles over Minho’s stretched belly, feeling their pups shift as if they, too, recognized their parents’ bond.  

Minho’s movements became more desperate, his pleasure building higher. “Alpha… I need you,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Need your knot—need to feel you claim me again.”  

Chan’s grip on Minho’s hips tightened, his control unraveling. “You’ll have it, baby,” he promised, his voice raw with love and need. “I’ll fill you up, make sure you never feel empty again.”  

Minho moaned brokenly at that, his body trembling as pleasure washed over him. The way Chan held him, touched him, worshiped him—it was everything he had missed over the weekend, everything he had craved.  

The coil of pleasure in Minho’s stomach snapped first, a high, breathless cry spilling from his lips as his body clenched around Chan, milking him for everything he had.  

Chan wasn’t far behind. With a deep, guttural groan, he buried himself as deep as he could, his knot locking them together as his release flooded his mate.  

As they basked in the warmth of their post-release haze, Chan kept his arms securely around Minho, holding him close even as the aftershocks of their pleasure subsided. Their hands remained on Minho’s belly, feeling the occasional flutter of their unborn pups shifting inside.  

Minho sighed, his head still resting against Chan’s shoulder, his body lax and completely relaxed. “I really did miss you,” he murmured again, softer this time, the edges of sleepiness creeping into his voice.  

Chan smiled, pressing a lingering kiss to Minho’s temple. “I know, love. I missed you too.”  

For a while, they simply stayed there, wrapped up in each other, enjoying the quiet intimacy between them. The warmth of the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over their tangled limbs and Minho’s rounded belly.  

Then, suddenly—  

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

A soft but persistent noise came from the other side of the door.  

Minho lazily lifted his head, blinking drowsily as the sound continued. Chan groaned, his head falling back against the headboard, already knowing what—or rather, who—was causing the disturbance.  

Another set of scratches followed, this time accompanied by a faint mew.  

Minho let out a breathy laugh. “Looks like Dori and Bbungie want to join us.”  

Chan huffed in amusement, rubbing soothing circles over Minho’s belly. “They’re so spoiled. They can’t handle being apart from you for even an hour.”  

Minho smirked, turning slightly to nuzzle into Chan’s neck. “Can you blame them? I am their favorite.”  

Chan scoffed. “Excuse me? I’m the one who feeds them—”  

Meow! Another insistent scratch at the door cut him off, as if their cats were tired of waiting.  

Minho chuckled, but it was quickly replaced by a wince as he shifted, adjusting to the sensation of Chan’s length exiting his body.  “You should get up and let them in before they throw a tantrum.”  

Chan sighed dramatically but carefully helped Minho off of him before getting up. He pulled on a pair of loose sweats before making his way to the door, rolling his shoulders. As soon as he cracked it open, two small blurs of fur darted inside.  

Dori immediately leaped onto the bed, curling up right where Minho had been lying, while Bbungie trotted over with his tail high, rubbing his face against Minho’s legs in greeting.  

Minho cooed, running a gentle hand down Bbungie’s back as the cat purred contentedly. “Good morning,” he murmured, his voice dripping with affection. “Did you miss me too?”  

Chan, watching the scene unfold with an amused smile, shook his head before climbing back into bed beside his mate. He wrapped an arm around Minho’s waist, nuzzling into his scent gland as their cats settled in around them.  

“See?” Minho teased, scratching Dori behind the ears. “I told you I was their favorite.”  

Chan groaned, but there was nothing but love in his voice when he muttered, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”  

Minho laughed, leaning in to kiss him softly.  

But soon, the thought of the kids waking up reminded them that they weren’t alone.  

With a reluctant sigh, Minho leaned back, running a hand over his belly. “We should probably get up. The kids will be up soon.”  

Chan groaned playfully, nuzzling into Minho’s neck. “Fine.”  

Getting out of bed was a process—especially for Minho. Chan, ever the doting mate, helped him waddle toward the bathroom, making sure he was steady before heading downstairs to prepare breakfast.  

As Minho freshened up, Chan moved through their home with familiar ease, the scent of coffee and warm food beginning to fill the air. He could hear the soft patter of Minho’s feet padding across the floor as he set the table, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.  

"Finish cooking the food, babe," Chan said before he washed his hands. "I’ll go check on the kids."  

It didn’t take long for their children to start waking.  

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Chan slipped into their daughter’s room first. Nabi was already stirring beneath her blankets, but before she could fully wake on her own, Chan launched a tickle attack.  

“Dad, stoppp,” she whined, her voice still thick with sleep as she tried (and failed) to swat him away.  

Chuckling, Chan left her be and moved on to Haneul’s room. Their youngest wasn’t nearly as grumpy in the mornings—if anything, he thrived on the attention. The moment Chan entered, Haneul squealed in delight, immediately launching himself into his father’s arms.  

Chan hoisted him onto his shoulders, the little boy giggling as they made their way downstairs.  

By the time they reached the kitchen, Minho was already plating food, his belly just barely grazing the countertop as he hummed to himself. Chan pressed a quick kiss to his mate’s temple as he passed, murmuring a soft thank you before settling down with their family.  

Nabi trudged into the kitchen, still half-asleep, while Haneul clung to Chan’s hair, playing with the strands absentmindedly.  

Minho smiled at the sight, his heart full.  

Their family. Their home.  

Everything was exactly as it should be.  

END