Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It stares back at her – two rectangular lines, crimson but faded, miniscule but seemingly large, huge enough to swallow her whole, to wedge themselves into the pit of her stomach to stich a home. Her fingers curl against it, and the cold plastic does nothing, feels nothing against skin, already numb at the idea, at the fact, at what’s waiting for her, for them. She trembles, and she suddenly feels how achingly chill the tiles of the bathroom floor are against bare soles, how the cold creeps into her, freezes into her, but not enough as a wake-up call from the trance she’s now settling uncomfortably in. She can’t recall when’s the last time she blinked, when was the last time she’s inhaled, exhaled – breathing now a stranger as her world tilts, spins, then stops, the spins again at an opposite direction, in an agonizingly slow pace enough to splatter, to blur the world beyond her, before her. She feels her heart constrict, feels every pulse, every thrum against her chest, and for a moment, she kids herself that she hears double, hears the faintest sign that there’s something beyond there, something she’s carrying within her, alive and burning, and echoing every beat of her own heart – a miniscule version of her, of Jinu.

She cards damp lavender tresses through her fingers, feeling every tendril stick, cling onto her, reminding her of the life that’s now clinging onto her just the same, unrelenting, loud. A clammy palm settles onto the crown of her head, eyes still wide, still blown by shock, her mind empty and full at the same, her emotions a combination of each stroke of anxiety, shock, happiness, doubt, and a thousand more that’s added fuel to the fire. Her ear rings, loudly then silently, as she feels nausea climb against her throat as if she’s a hundred stories high, each climb filled with tension, making her stomach churn and twist into haunting braids, ropes that only know how to twist, and twist, and twist.

The twin lines stare back at her in their faded crimson etches, reminding her of the situation she’s now in, knee deep, waist deep until there’s no space left for her to breathe. She feels her thighs numb against the toilet, feels the sizzle of limbs losing feeling for sitting too long against an uncomfortable makeshift chair, and knows that she has to move, has to stand. She’s been here for half an hour, or maybe full – she’s lost count, and she knows she will inevitably draw attention, and she can’t bear answering questions now, not now when she’s unsure what to say either, when her tongue feels like sandpaper, and her throat feels as if she’s swallowed ash and gravel. But she doesn’t move – she doesn’t have the energy to, and just bounces her left leg as if that will take care of the numbness, will shake her away of this reverie that is nothing and everything all at once.

There’s warmth that’s buried underneath the dread, a sunbeam underneath the nimbus clouds that’s shrouded her, and she knows, knows how her bones tingle, that she’s happy, that she wants this. But, somehow, for now, the warmth isn’t enough to cast against the torrential rain, and the rainbow seems far away, and wrong. She presses the heel of her palm against her chest, feels the loudness of her heart, and the heaviness as she tries to break the rigidity fear has forced her to feel, and she notices that she’s blinked for the first time, but not enough to wake her from the trance. A shaky breath leaves her lips, and she notes how it sounds haunting than a sign of life, seems like it’s echoing the tremor that’s made a temporary home neath her skin.

There’s an itch to go for a run, to break through the suffocating walls of her bathroom, of her room, of the penthouse; the desire to feel nothing but her calves burning, protesting, the wind caressing her as she weaves through the afternoon crowd to get away from her thoughts, and the lack thereof. She’s craving the reprieve running will bring her, but something tells her to stop – a motherly instinct, she supposes, a nudge to stop her from doing something she will regret later. Despite this, it doesn’t ease up the tension that’s settled in her shoulders, doesn’t melt the chill she’s felt deep into her bones, doesn’t wake her from the fear that’s stealing away the warmth that she knows is there.

“Rumi?” She hears Jinu call out from the other side of the door, and she’s surprised to hear him, almost letting go of the thin plastic she’s been holding onto like a lifeline for the past half-hour, hour, or two.

She lets out a shaky sigh as she decides to pocket the test, decides to decide on it later, decides that she wants silence for a while, wants something to allow her to settle into this newness before eventually embracing it with arms wide.

“I’m in here.” She says, and hopes her voice doesn’t give her so much away as she braces a hand against her knee, and reluctantly peels herself off from the toilet.

Her legs feels like they have a mind of their own, or a lack of a mind, as they do nothing to steady her – the stress of sitting uncomfortably already taking a toll on her. Shaking hands frantically turn the faucet, almost comedic how she’s using two hands, yet failing to turn it open on the first try. Eyes land upon her pallid, noting how pale she is, seeing the worry cast on her features, seeing fear haunt her before choosing to shake it off by splashing cold water against her once, twice, thrice before eliciting another shaky sigh. It’s just now she sees how awfully red-rimmed her eyes are, begging to shed tears she didn’t even know she was holding back until now. A choked sob leaves her, and she desperately presses a palm against her lips before placing her forehead against the cool mirror.

“Are you okay?” Jinu asks, bringing her back to the present, and she hears the door knob turn before light from her room, spills and mingles with the warm light in the bathroom. “Hey,” she hears him say as his fingers wrap around her wrist, tugging her so she can collapse against his shoulder, so she can listen to his heartbeat to still hers that’s wild, and afraid against her own chest.

“Sorry, I’m just…” She says, whispers against his chest. What is she, exactly? She doesn’t even know, but she knows she’s overstimulated; she knows she’s filled with effervescent emotions that are fighting their place for her to feel, everything happening all at once.

He presses a kiss against the top of her head as he wraps his arms around her tightly as if the very act can shield her from the assault of her own thoughts. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head, and forces herself to lift her head to look at him, to take in the worry that’s now overtaken his features, to take in the calm and the softness of his brown eyes as they search hers. “I want to go for a walk. I need… air.”

She says, and Jinu nods, threads their fingers together to lead her out of the suffocating walls of the bathroom, out the room, but she stops before they can leave together, halts just enough so she can look up at him with the promise of I’ll tell you later. “Alone, please.”

He nods, and lets go, and Rumi’s heart aches at how easily she can see the powerlessness he feels cross his features, the understanding tinging his eyes enough to communicate that it’s okay, but he still wishes she’ll tell him to come, to soothe this ache he’s unsure what.

She nods the same, a reassurance of some sort, that she will tell him, that she just needs this, that she just needs the space to allow herself to feel the multitude of emotions that’s crowding over her, and making it difficult for her to breathe. Her legs feel heavy as she walks away, as she submerges into the confinement of one solitary room to another, the elevator walls feeling smaller during the descent – the venture downwards a mixture of too fast, and too slow. She tugs her facemask snug against her face, but doesn’t bother to hide the wild purple tresses, untamed, clinging onto her like a child to its mother, free of the braid it’s usually confined in as she weaves herself out of the building, and into the chaos that is Seoul at two in the afternoon on a weekday – all busy-bodies, caffeinated, and wishing to be at the confines of their home; fatal zombies to capitalism as they count away the hours that’s left, as their minds disappear anywhere but the warmth of the sun, the noise of cars honking and strangers chattering, and the speed of life.

Rumi lets out another sigh as she decides to become one with the noise, tearing through the sequence of adults trapped in a responsibility they never asked for, letting her limbs guide her, draw her somewhere where she can find reprieve, solace before she decides to bear the weight of what happens now. Her hair feels heavy, and disgusting pressed against her back, against Jinu’s hoodie, and his shirt – damp and wild and thick and itchy, and for a moment she wants to fight the tangles, and let it loose from underneath, despite the threat that if it spills free, it will get caught by whatever pavement she’s walking on, a high chance to trip, and knock the air out of her lungs. Briefly, she chastises herself for being frozen in time, for foregoing spending hours weaving her lavender tresses into her signature braid as she crosses the street.

She has to thank capitalism for allowing her to go unnoticed – strangers busy, trying to get somewhere, eyes glued to their phones as they walk briskly, as they charge forwards with the hope to get back to their office before their lunch break ends or before a boss notices. Smiling for a photo is easy, pretending to be okay is easy, forcing herself to be here is practiced, but she has no energy to perform, her thoughts tangled in the noise of everything and nothing all at once.

Rumi thumbs a strand of loose hair, and tugs it behind the shell of her ear as she pierces through the crowd of pedestrians, now invisible between sweltering bodies, and makes way to a boba place she’s seen from across the avenue she’s been mindlessly traversing in. The airconditioned air is a welcome reprieve from the warmth of the sun as it wraps her in a comfortable embrace as she opens the door, the bell from above her announcing her arrival to customers buried in their own ruminations. They don’t look up, but a cheery annyeonghaseyo is thrown automatically as a barista waves at her with a practiced smile. Despite the mask, she finds herself returning the smile, eyes crinkling before it’s gone as she approaches the counter and recites her order – wintermelon, boba pearls, and fifty-percent sugar; her go-to when all she wants to do is sink, and think about everything. The order is quickly made and fetched, quick enough to stop her from spiraling, and forgetting, quick enough to let her disappear without being interrupted.

She takes the corner seat that’s shrouded by a jukebox, and a magazine stand, a place where she can just be. Rumi then takes a sip of her boba once she’s settled against the plush leather settee, the sweetness taking over the bile she’s unsure when it’s risen, allowing her to savor the normalcy for a while, to clear her thoughts for a while, to ground herself. She lets out a breath, counts to three as she takes another sip, as she lets herself feel the anxiety, the panic she’s been trying to fight off. Her fingers drum against the plastic lid as she opts to people watch to quell the fear that’s stolen away the joy she’s supposed to be feeling, the warmth that’s supposed to be there.

She’s unsure why fear’s taken ahold of her so fiercely, unsure why it’s clouding over her, thundering over what she’s supposed to be celebrating with Jinu. But it’s the dominant feeling that’s pursuing her right now, like a predator to a prey, and she knows she has to deal with it in order to abate it, in order to quiet it enough so she can feel the sun, the warmth of having something she’s never even thought, of considering of having until now. She presses her palm against her stomach, feels the imaginary slope that she knows will be there in a few months time, and allows her fingers to curl against Jinu’s hoodie, willing herself to fight the fear that’s clinging so desperately onto her. She breathes out another sigh as she tries to find where the parasite is coming from so she can unfurl it, so she can quiet it, so she can understand it; and part of her knows that it’s stemming from the fact that she’s never had a role model when it came to motherhood, and from what she’s experienced with Celine and how she’s carried it, she’s afraid that she’ll be just the same. Whilst Celine had ensured to give her a life that’s comfortable, the ice that’s settled in her veins, the walls she’s built, and the wounds she’s carried had been direct consequences of an upbringing that’s built on guilt, purpose, and hatred.

She knows for herself that she wouldn’t lead motherhood the same way; knows that if she – she’s already decided that it’s going to be a daughter – comes with patterns due to her heritage, she won’t be teaching her to hide, to loathe that part of her that’s equally beautiful. She knows that her child will be born into a family full of love, full of acceptance, and full of joy unlike the family she’s been born into. She knows that no one will sneak that kind of ideology into her upbringing, knows that she won’t let anyone; knows that it will never be a threat, but she’s afraid nonetheless. What if her insecurities bleed into it? What if she makes mistakes? What if she fails?

Rumi whistles out a stuttering sigh as she pokes through her boba tea, and wraps her arm tighter across her stomach, and chastises herself for being ridiculous. She supposes she can stock up on parenting books, discreetly attend workshops, go to therapy, and… she can always ask for support from those around her, especially Jinu’s. She knows she doesn’t have to go through this alone; so what is she doing now?

She reaches for her phone from her jean’s pocket, and unlocks it to a photo of her and Jinu as her lockscreen – his brown eyes finding hers, communicating warmth even through the photo, and Rumi feels her heart swell, and the ice thaw. She stares at it for a long while, and wonders if their child will have his warm eyes, and soft smile; wonders if she will be just like her mother, or would she be as ridiculous and adorable as her father. Anticipation replaces fear as she forces herself to open the messages application, and clicks on her conversation with Jinu. Despite living under the same roof, their chat box is lively as if they’re far apart, as if there’s miles and miles of distance stretching across them. She just notices that he’s sent her a message earlier – a reassuring, call me if you need me, sitting unread until now.

Rumi feels the unshed tears sting her eyes, and blames it on the hormones as she rereads the message, and as if waiting for her to see it, three dots appear, indicating he’s typing, and she knows he must be worried sick to be watching an empty chat box for two hours. A watery chuckle leaves her lips as she types, and she sees his own text bubble stop, silently allowing her to say what she wants to say. Despite the digital exchange, he still finds his way to show he’s willing to listen first before saying anything. God, she loves him so much, and she knows their child will be lucky to have a father like him.

“Meet me at the Cat Café?” She sends as she stands to order his favorite boba tea – strawberry cream with boba pearls filling half of the cup, seventy percent sugar (tooth-rotting sweetness she can never get behind), and a second of the wintermelon she’s emptied half an hour ago.

Her phone pings whilst she’s waiting, and she knows he’s already on his way to her. Beside her, a five-year-old in a braid pesters her mother, eyes wide, faux tears clinging onto the edges, and a full-on pout on display, and she can’t help the excitement that blossoms through, that replaces the anxiety she’s earlier felt.

“Eomma,” the girl pleads, clinging onto her mother’s hand, tugging as she uses it to anchor herself while her gaze travels from Rumi to her mother. “I want to see Unnie Rumi.” She adds, and Rumi can hear the lisp wedged in between words as she takes note of the girl’s purple hoodie, and sees a photo of herself plastered on it.

“We’ll go to the convention after.” Her mother reassures, and Rumi is briefly reminded of the time where she’s pleading Celine to take her to the teddy bear museum, and how Celine relented after she’s thrown a tantrum.

She knows her daughter will be so much more… demanding.

The five-year-old stomps her feet, and sways, accidentally stepping on her white shoes, and the mother’s eyes widen in horror and part annoyance. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes on behalf of the toddler, and Rumi waves her off, and shakes her head.

“It’s okay,” she says, flashing her a smile, before remembering that she has her mask on. An idea blossoms, and before she can stop herself, she’s already tugging the mask off, and giving the pair a real smile than just a crinkle of her eyes.

She supposes it’s her hormones, a motherly instinct, that’s made her want to do this despite her state, that’s making her want to embrace the child, and give into her tantrums. Is this what Celine felt? Part of Rumi hopes so; part of her hopes that there’s a sliver of motherhood underneath the cold, and unrelenting prejudice.

“Hi,” she says, and the little girl perks up just as the mother holds in a gasp. “My name’s Rumi; what’s your name?”

The little girl flashes her a toothy grin, and Rumi finds that she’s missing one front tooth, making her smile all the more adorable. “Han-byeul,” she supplies, and part of the consonants are lost in the lisp as she bounces up and down just as Rumi’s lowering herself to crouch to her level.

Han-byeul throws her arms around Rumi in a small embrace as she squeals in excitement, and Rumi feels her heart swell knowing she’ll have her little one soon, knowing that in a few months’ time, this will be her and Jinu’s daughter or maybe, son.

“How old are you?” She asks once Han-byeul lets go of her to ask her mother to take their picture.

“Five,” she holds up her fingers short of one before raising a shaky thumb to complete the age she’s announced. “I just turned five.” She says and Rumi fights the urge to pinch the little girl’s cheeks, and opts to pat her head affectionately.

“Belated happy birthday; I wish I could have been there.” Rumi says just as the door opens, and the bells jingle to announce Jinu’s arrival.

He flashes her a smile as she waives at him, a smile of her own – genuine, and relaxed, making its way to her lips.

“Hi,” she says once she’s bid the little girl goodbye, and makes her way to Jinu, threading their fingers together, her heart starting to pick its pace up again.

He kisses her cheek, and notes the nervousness he can feel from a mile away. “Hi.”

Rumi passes him his boba tea as she leads him to the booth she’s earlier occupied by herself, the frantic beating of her heart filling her ears as blood rushes up her face. She knows it’s ridiculous to be worried, to still be afraid of how he’ll react, but a part of her is still housed by fear. She knows he’s just recently returned to music – recently just announced his retirement as an idol to produce music for Huntr/x instead, and knows that it’s just been five months since he returned to the land of the living, and he may think this is too fast, and too soon. What if he doesn’t want this?

“I’m…” she whispers as she meets his eyes before looking away, and fixates her gaze towards the strangers weaving into one another, into a mess of robots intending to find their way home now that the sun is setting, now that the day’s almost turning into night.

She’s suddenly too aware of the pregnancy test in her pocket, and feels its weight burning a hole into her. Rumi swallows once, twice, thrice, before she’s reaching for it, and curling her fingers around it. She’s hyperaware of Jinu’s penetrating, and inquisitive gaze pinned towards her, hyperaware of the words he’s stopping himself from saying lest he might chase away the confession she’s seconds away from saying. She shudders as she squeezes her eyes shut before staring at a traffic light that’s now just turned green – go, go, go.

She takes the test from her pocket, and slides it across the table, not bothering to look at him as she does so, trying to chase away her nervousness by counting the seconds left before the light turns red, before everything stops. The light flickers to yellow, to pause, and she can hear Jinu’s breath hitch as if in sync. As the light turns red, she feels her world stop just as he brushes his thumb against her outstretched hand, and intertwines their fingers together. He tugs at her to steal her attention away, and it’s almost comical how she slowly turns her head to meet his gaze.

“Hey,” he whispers, and she hears the smile in his voice before she can see it. “Hey, is this true?” He asks delicately as if afraid that any other word can shatter the moment they’re currently sharing.

Rumi nods, once, twice, thrice before she allows herself to flash him a cautionary smile. “Yes,” she affirms as she tightens her hold on his hand, afraid he might drift away. “Are you okay?”

“I should be the one asking you that.” He says as he exhales a laugh that’s filled with joy, of worry. His free hand cards through his raven hair, and he shakes his head in disbelief. Rumi can see the happiness in his eyes despite the nervousness intermingling with it.

“You’re not mad?” She asks, and he gives her a perplexed look before he stands up, and sits beside her, never breaking apart from their held hands.

“Why would I be?” He says rhetorically as he presses a kiss on the side of her head, once, twice, thrice – a silent I love you, as he holds her close. “I’m happy. I’m excited. Unless… you don’t want to keep it?”

Rumi shifts from her seat and lets go of Jinu’s hand to place both of her hands on the sides of his face, cupping his jaw. “I’m scared, Jinu.” She whispers as she holds his gaze, and searches for strength in them. “But I want to do this with you.”

“I know,” he can practically feel it in his bones – her fear, her reluctance, but he can also feel her happiness, her excitement. “I am, too.” He confesses as he presses their foreheads together. “But, I’ll be here with you. We’ll make this work; we’ll be afraid and happy together, okay?”

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

Jinu traces a line on her bare stomach with the pad of his pointer finger as he hums to himself, eyes trained at the non-existent slope, mind going a hundred miles per hour, excitement and anxiety clutching at him, work already forgotten and casted at the darkest corner of his mind. The morning sunlight leaks through the curtains of the balcony, letting in a golden slant that knifed through the gloom that shrouded the room, its rays touching Rumi faintly, illuminating her like a goddess basking in sunshine. He takes a moment to watch her underneath it, to take in the way her eyelashes, purple as they are, fan across her cheeks as she watches him through hooded and heavy eyes, contemplating about nothing and everything all at once, the same way he does her. A quiet break into the morning before they have to be tousled by the duties of an idol and music producer, before they have to teeter around the impending chaos, the shrieks they will receive from the girls, and the stories Bobby will hurl in order to spin this into something appetizing, something that will not cost them their careers at the rise of speculation, of judgement.

Jinu presses a kiss on the softness of her stomach below the navel, reverent and lingering, his hum vibrating against her skin – reassurance, water to the fire of fear that he knows has been eating her alive, something to ground her from all of the things she’s considering. She threads her fingers through his raven locks in answer, her thumb drawing soothing circles against his scalp as she continues to watch him, as she continues to latch onto him, and he her.

Looking back at it, at the moments they have shared, at the life they have built after the inferno, after his death and resurrection, he’s had his speculations, jagged pieces of the puzzle that maybe, somehow she may be carrying a little bit of him, a little bit of her. It started with visible exhaustion – granted, Rumi never really knows how to rest, eternally wearing exhaustion on her like it’s second skin, like it’s normal, but something about the way her shoulders were heavier three or two months ago had made him think twice, thrice; had made him check the calendar, and noted that she hadn’t had her period for quite some time. He had meant to ask about it, but never really found the words to properly break it to her.

Hey, love, you missed your period, sounded terrible and awkward, and eventually he had forgotten about it when he heard her complain about her irregularities due to stress the comeback had casted upon her.

And then there was her appetite – always inexplicable, but even more so when she stopped eating kimbap, and would visibly look sick, as if the very thought of it was offensive to her palate. He had found her once hunched over the rim of the toilet after she had decided that the nausea was a fluke and decided to hunker down the kimbap he had prepared for her, determined as she was, just like how determined her stomach was to hurl it the moment she tasted the seaweed. She had chalked it up to food poisoning – a ttekboki that had gone bad she had eaten earlier that morning, a batch she had found camped behind the refrigerator, shrouded by a handful of leftovers, one she had sworn had been there for over two weeks. At that time, Jinu believed her, but that had been three months ago, and she hadn’t eaten kimbap since. So, he logged it in his journal, a diary of some sorts of the signs he’d been observing, of the tells that he can clearly see, but needed to be spelled out.

So many signs, but he still waited, patient as ever, for the notion to dawn upon her, to even consider that what she’s going through was entirely normal, but not for the reasons she might have been thinking. Despite his guesses, his assumptions, the very thought of it had not been a walk in the park – the first time had considered the idea, he had opted to go for a walk after blanking right in front of her when she asked him why he had been giving her that look for the past few days, why it seemed that he was terrified of something as if Gwi-ma was back, crouched and whispering terrible nothings in his ear. It wasn’t so much as fear that had caused him to bolt, not the fact that he didn’t want this with her, but the fact that he did, and he didn’t know if he deserved it – a third chance at life, a family with a hunter he had betrayed, to be dependable when in the past he wasn’t.

He knew then that he was going to do everything that he can to be a great father for their children, a great husband to her, but the doubts kept pulsing through, nagging at him as if he’s still at the mercy of his shame. Shameful now that he has chosen to stay; shameful knowing that a man who had sacrificed innocents was going to have a life they never had. For weeks, the same thoughts had eaten him alive, had him dismissing the idea that she might be pregnant, that she might be carrying, and forced himself to face the present just so he can vanquish every wicked and truthful echo of his past doings. It was just then when he had seen her asleep in the recording booth, head resting against the microphone stand, cheek smudged with ink from the notebook she’s used as a pillow, oblivious to the soft buzzing of the speakers, that he had broken himself free from the anxiety, had forced himself to get his bearings – that if she was pregnant, she would be needing a man than a husk of who he was, and he couldn’t be that man if he dwelled on the past further.

“What are you thinking?” Rumi hums, her voice silk, blanketing his thoughts, and awaking him at the same time as she cups his jaw, and lifts herself up further so she can properly share his gaze from where he’s perched against her stomach.

Jinu shifts to a sitting position beside her, but not before he peppers her bare stomach with kisses. “Just that I had my suspicions about you being pregnant three months ago.” He says as he gathers her in his arms, pulling her flush against him so he can rest his chin on top of her shoulder.

Rumi’s breath catches in her throat as she tilts her head to give him a look, purple hair falling free from the shell of her ear, tendrils skimming, and veiling her bare chest as if to spare her the smallest of modesty. “You’ve had your suspicions for three months? Why didn’t you tell me? And also, how?”

She raises a brow at him, which he kisses away with a chuckle. “I wasn’t sure.” He shrugs, his palms now settling on her stomach as if to hold the tiny life that’s growing in her. “I noticed that you hadn’t had your period for a while… and that you stopped eating kimbap.” He says it so nonchalantly as if it’s expected, as if being so tuned into her is ordinary, the bare minimum.

Rumi flushes beet red. “You know when I get my periods?” She asks despite her flustered state, sharing a sharp, and teasing gaze that does nothing to get his cheeks to flush as crimson as hers. In the past maybe, but something about the fact that they now have this together eradicates the humiliation (what is there to be humiliated anyway) of being caught red-handed that he deeply cares for Rumi in all aspects.

“Darling,” he says softly as he thumbs her chin, and gives her a soft kiss. “It would be weird not to. I live with you; of course, I know. I even have it on my calendar.”

“You’re such a dork.” She replies as she rolls her eyes, but there’s no bite to it, only affection.

He kisses her again. “Your dork.”

Something so simple, so ridiculous shouldn’t be bringing tears to her eyes, and yet it does, and Rumi finds herself sniffling, dousing his shoulder with tears that streamed wildly, seemingly never-ending. Worry casts on his features as he straightens, and shuffles her closer to him, wiping away at the pearls that streaked and stained her pallid, as if the very action will get her to stop – it just made things worse.

“Hey,” he says as she hiccups, as she burrows herself further onto him, wet face snuggled against his chest, the beating of his heart frantic, but enough to lull her. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” she murmurs against his skin. “You’re perfect. It’s just these hormones.” Each word is wobbled by emotion as she clings tighter, as she wills herself to stop shedding, tries to muster up the bravado to calm herself down, but the love that blossoms through her just makes it worse, makes things worse, and she’s crying even harder.

Jinu places a kiss at the top of her head before he’s bringing her face to his so he can look her in the eye. “Looks like we need to stock up on tissues.”

This is the second time that Rumi’s cried for the day, not that he’s keeping score; he’s just simply counting, charting it in his journal – an anecdote of her little symptoms, a preparation of some sorts in case they think of adding a second one. It’s for science. It’s for their future.

He passes her a tissue as they watch the screen – black and white, monochromatic, but colored with the life that they now have, filled with a little bit of her, a little bit of him. He can feel his own tears well in his eyes, can feel every emotion knocking the air out of his lungs, and he shudders quietly as he watches the little blob that Rumi’s now called Gom – their own little teddy bear; he should have seen that coming –, dazed, captured in a trance that’s their child, and the prospect of their family. The steady heart beat is music to his ears, and at some point, he hears himself asking the doctor if they can keep a record of it apart from the photos of the ultrasound.

“You’re almost over the first trimester of pregnancy.”  The doctor states as she comes back into the room with a prescription and a booklet in hand, her eyes briefly trained onto their little Gom before flitting over to Jinu then to Rumi. “You’ll experience less symptoms soon, but watch out for heartburn, back pain, and constipation. You’ll also need to stop eating anything that’s raw or undercooked, soft cheeses and unpasteurized dairy, coffee, high-mercury fish like swordfish or shark, deli meats and liver, and raw sprouts due to the risk of harmful bacteria and parasites.”

Jinu takes out the notebook he’s been using as a journal, and quickly scribbles the recommendations as if he’s being tasked a quest by an NPC in a game Zoey has introduced him to, and Rumi watches him with mirth in her eyes, as she feels herself fall deeply more in love with him.

“I’d also recommend to avoid alcohol, processed food, and make sure produce is washed thoroughly.” She finishes off, and Jinu nods like a student paying attention to a teacher as he scribbles homework. While Rumi thinks it’s sweet, and feels herself getting emotional once more, she can’t help the amusement that bubbles through her at the fact that he has an actual notebook to write everything down instead of typing it in his phone. “I’ve written down the prenatal vitamins, and everything else. I’ll see both of you in the next four weeks, but if you need anything, my number is in there, or feel free to drop by anytime. I’ll give you guys sometime, and Sohee will hand out the recording and ultrasound. Congratulations again.”

Once the doctor closes the door, the confirmation of this chapter of their life settles, and blankets the room with the warmth they have shared in the booth yesterday when Rumi had told Jinu about the test. A warmth that’s entirely theirs, fragile for now, but will eventually settle, supported by their determination to fight off any hint of anxiety, of doubt that they’re both sure is there. Jinu stares at the monitor, and takes in the sight of it, before his gaze finds Rumi, and how beautiful she is despite the shed tears from earlier.

He can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her, he thinks to himself before returning back to his notes to ensure he didn’t miss anything. While he knows, feels that it has to be now, he still needs to make sure that he’s written everything down for her safety and their child’s.

Rumi glances towards Jinu, her mouth curved into a smirk as she watches him busy himself with his notes. “You look cute writing your notes. You know, you could have just typed it in your phone.”

“I’m old school.” He quips without looking up, and Rumi breaks into short laughter.

“You are old.”

“But not too old to have a baby with you.” He says as he closes the notebook and tucks it back in the pocket of his jacket. He catches the way her bottom lip wobbles – a sign that she’s close to tears again, and Jinu quickly pats her head affectionately in an attempt to stop her. “Hey, don’t cry yet.”

“Why not?” She asks, words muffled by emotion as she turns her head to the side to face him, and look at him with wide, brown eyes, encased in unshed tears.

“You’ll have no tears left by the time I give you this.” He fishes out a box from his bag and places it on her palm with a grin plastered on his features, which she returns with slow blinking. Jinu chuckles as he motions for her to open it before disappearing from her side to fetch a wad of tissues to clean her stomach up from the gel used for the ultrasound. Jinu wipes it off with reverence, and she can feel her heart swell once more with the love she carries for him.

She sucks in a breath and whistles out a watery sigh as her eyes flit back to him then to the box multiple times, the promise heavy, her heart already weeping with joy. “What’s this?” She asks, despite already knowing what it is, what it holds for both of them.

“Open it.” Jinu states as he then takes out fresh wet wipes from her bag, and cleans the stickiness off her before he unrolls her shirt to cover her stomach.

She gives him one last look as she moves to a sitting position, fingers shaky as she pries it open, and reveals a ring that’s purple under the light with a diamond marquise sitting on top of it. She inhales deeply before looking back up at Jinu that she’s now noticed to be kneeling right in front of her. Rumi fights off the emotion that’s knocking at her walls heavy, swallowing the tears, and opts to chuckle.

“Are you proposing just because you got me pregnant?” She asks, sarcasm clearly in her tone as she takes out the ring from the encasement, and studies it, holding the diamond under the luminescent light. She notices words engraved into it – you have my heart and soul written in Korean, iridescent and small purple patterns wrapped around the gold band to adorn the words he’d carefully picked out.

“Well, I’ve had the ring before I had my suspicions.” He says as he stands up, and takes the ring from her hands to slip it in her ring finger, then sealing it with a kiss.

“I haven’t said yes,” she says, jokingly. “And you haven’t really asked.”

“You didn’t give me the chance to.”

“Okay, then ask.” She quips but she’s already crying, already wiping away the happiness that’s been made concrete by her tears since this morning. Jinu takes this as an opportunity to kiss them away, to chase them away with the promise of holding her forever, for all eternity for as long as she lets him.

“Will you marry me, Rumi?”

“Yes.”

Rumi cries for the third time today.

The tears are out before the words, sentences spoken as if written in cursive, but surprisingly understood by the girls who had been looking at them expectantly at first, then warmly and full of emotion the second.

“I thought I’d have to kill you again at some point.” He hears Mira tell him despite the tears as she’s moved on from encasing Rumi in an embrace to studying the ring he’s proposed with. “Sick, you even included the patterns – nice touch, demon boy.”

Zoey on the other hand has her face pressed on Rumi’s stomach as if doing so will get Gom to give her a little kick, a little hello there she’s been expecting despite being told that it’s too soon. “Hi, little baby; I’m Auntie Zoey, your best aunt.” She declares, which earns her a glare from Mira that he knows lacks any malice, just friendly competition.

Rumi wipes the tears from her face once more. “Thanks for understanding, guys.” She says, and he knows that the reactions they have given were enough to soothe her, enough to stop her from expecting a blow that will never come. “But I still want to apologize since this means we’ll have to go on hiatus indefinitely.”

Mira places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes once, twice, thrice to provide reassurance. “It’s okay; Zoey and I did want to explore other things aside from music.”

“You sure it’s okay?” She then turns to Zoey, who’s now risen to her full height, and bobbing her head up and down.

“Yeah, there’s this reality show for rappers that I wanted to try, but couldn’t because of the comeback. Now I can!”

Jinu makes his way back to her to hand her his handkerchief, and takes the soiled tissues from her hands. “Thank you, guys; really. I don’t know why I was so scared to tell you.”

Mira and Zoey flash her a small, but reassuring smile. “Have you told Bobby?”

Rumi shakes her head as she runs a hand through her hair. “I haven’t; I think I’ll need a full day for that.”

“Yeah, I think so, too.” Zoey acquiesces. The last time an announcement that was career threatening, he almost went to cardiac arrest that they had to triple the three-percent he was getting. “We’ll be there if you need us.”

Chapter Text

When it comes to his girls, there are always secrets – secrets he’s never dared to uncover, tangled thorns he had never once thought of unravelling. Curiosity sometimes got the best of him, but the most it did is to push him to ask vague questions he would usually brush off the moment he would ask them or the moment the question mark formed against his lips. He trusted them – even when there’s something about the wind that’s telling him that they are living a double life, and the cuts and bruises underneath their makeup weren’t just borne out of pure clumsiness.

At one point, he suspected them to be part of an underground Korean mafia when he’d caught Rumi sneaking down a balcony that’s seventy stories high with nothing but sheer bravado, when he’d caught Zoey tucking something suspicious underneath her hoodie, and when Mira seemed terrifyingly busy sharpening her knuckle rings that he knew was stained with crimson – blood before she ground it on a whetstone. He kept a blind eye then, pivoted, turned on his heel albeit slowly, albeit the question mark and exclamation points were already forming in his tongue. And then, there had been their inexplicable stunts, their hatred towards the Saja Boys and the determination that came along with it – something told Bobby that there’s more than meets the eye, that if he dug deep enough, he’d find it.

But, as always, he will toss it in the wind, tuck his shovel back where he got it – in the darkest corners of his mind, and would resort to flashing his girls a large grin with wide, brown eyes filled with nothing but affection, accompanied by, I love my girls. It’s not because he’s afraid of what he’ll uncover, frightened by whatever skeletons they keep in their closet because he knew eventually, they will tell him, even if the last secret they kept from him dragged on for half a decade, and took him two weeks to understand that they were deadpan, serious, and there was not a trace of delusion, hallucination, nor hilarity in sight, in between the wedges of their carefully crafted sentences. It crossed out his mafia theory, but his point stands nonetheless. The girls harbored a lot, and sometimes he wonders if they have a pocketful of it, or a bank where they keep these so they don’t lose track.

The most with the secrets had been, and still is Rumi.

He’s charted it off as self-defense upon learning what Celine had put the girl through years of training, raising her – walls built brick by brick, years of building, of tucking fear at the back of her mind, and he knew just a few months of therapy wouldn’t cut it. But there’s been progress – he’d seen it, he’d experienced it, and the girls have, too. She’s more open – more talkative than he’d imagined her to be, and maybe he has Jinu to thank for that despite the circumstances, despite how fast he had settled even when the wound’s still too raw. Regardless, when she sent him a text message about something she wanted to tell him, it still took him by surprise, knocked the wind out of his lungs, and forced him to read the message over and over again even as he’s speeding through the streets, even when he’s trying not to fall flat on his face as he surges through the penthouse.

Rumi: Bobby, there’s something I need to tell you.

She’s sent the message half an hour ago, and the lack of any reply is thrumming hard against her ribcage as she balances a “pregnancy for dummies” book on top of her bent knee, the words cursive and mush inside her head – her mind already running a thousand miles per hour, and she knows that if it had legs, it will be jelly by now. Jinu’s hums are basically white noise by now as her eyes remain fixated on the sun beaming through the floor to ceiling glass windows as she thinks of every possible reaction Bobby may have with the suddenness of… well, everything.

She’s thought of doing it over the phone, but fought against it, knowing how Bobby will be, knowing the questions, the go-to after this – she simply can’t do that where she won’t be able to calm him down by a simple reassuring tone or sentence. And, she knows that he will, eventually, show up in the penthouse with the barrage of questions she’s sure he has up his sleeves. Unfurling secrets with Bobby is a whole day event – there’s just so much to answer, so many she’s not even thought of herself.

“So, what do you think of the melody?” Jinu asks from where he’s seated, knuckles still kneading away the knots she never thought she had on the soles of her feet.

She blinks up at him, eyes clearly showing how far away she is, how many thoughts are running through her mind, how she’s trying to find the answers to the questions Bobby will be sure to ask. At her visible disorientation, he offers her a chuckle as he smoothens his palm against her ankle, up her calves so lovingly she might just melt.

“You weren’t listening, were you?” He questions in rhetoric, but there’s no bite to it as he lifts her leg to kiss the underside of her ankle in reverence, in softness – a chaste reassurance that he’s here to ground her, to support her. Rumi blinks at him again, but before she can shape out anything, he’s already speaking back up. “Relax; it’s going to be fine. We’re going to be fine.”

“Do you think the peace offering that we have is enough?” She asks just as Jinu returns to massaging her feet, and she feels the sleep being nudged out from her so quickly. She yawns, but she quickly fights it, and she wonders if performing until the second trimester will be possible given how tired she already is; they’ve only busied themselves with picking up groceries, and cooking Bobby’s favorite food and she already feels as if she’s ran a marathon.

“I think it will be more than enough.” He says, gesturing to the table filled with dishes. “Aside from that, it’s not like you’re disappearing right away. You are bullying me to help you produce another album before going on an indefinite hiatus.”

Rumi frowns at him, and throws a glare that he knows lacks any actual edge. “It is your job, though as our producer, so.” She sticks out her tongue, that forces another bout of laughter from Jinu – God, she’s adorable, he thinks.

“You know, if our daughter turns out to be like you, it will be the death of me.”

Rumi smiles, and his heart actually flutters. “You act like that’s a bad thing.”

“I swear to God, you guys get more disgusting each day.” Mira mutters from across the halls, pink hair coming into view as she emerges from the confines of her room and eyes the food splayed on the table. “I’m guessing you guys are going to tell Bobby today?”

Just as she asks, the elevator doors chime in with its loud tell-tale ping, announcing his frantic arrival. Bobby’s a sight – clothes strewn, hair matted by sweat, and eyes wild – and the fact that she hasn’t actually told him yet, makes it even more comical, scarier. Mira takes in the sight, tuts, and casts her gaze between the food, Bobby, and the couple, contemplates staying before pursing her lips.

“Well,” she begins as she walks towards the elevator. “I’m out of here.”

Rumi reddens at this, and moves quickly, causing her to accidentally kick Jinu in the face as she scrambles, only for Mira to waive at her goodbye. “Wait, no.” She deflates once she’s met with shiny doors, and a Bobby that’s eyeing the food questioningly. “Hey, Bobby.” She greets, and she can feel the room swell with tension as he walks cautiously as if expecting the worst.

“Hey,” he croaks out as he approaches the kitchen with slow, calculated steps. What’s worse than the girls being demon hunters this time? – that they sold their souls? Bobby gulps.

“Take a seat.” Rumi says, and the room feels warmer as she gestures at the pulled chair. “So,” she starts just as Jinu follows her.

“We have some news.” Jinu adds as he stalks behind her. The fact that both of them remain standing puts unease to Bobby’s bones, and part of him already feels where this is heading – they’re dating.

That’s fine – everything is fine. Bobby can spin this, can explain this to the network. They can deny it, hide it – it shouldn’t be an issue; this will be easy. The fans loved RuJinu when it first came to – and a part of him knows that they still do, still yearn for it, especially after finding out that he’s working for Huntr/x as their music producer after the Saja Boys disbanded. He’s seen the tweets, the fan arts, the comments, the edits, and – Oh my God – the fanfiction.

This is easy. This is extra publicity.

They will dodge the haters – he’ll clock it. It will be like Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift, and if they’re lucky, Hyun Bin and Son Yejin. Right, easy peasy. He can already see it, sense it. There’s no need for all this food or peace offering – Bobby’s fine.

Bobby just grins at the two as he picks up a fork to pick on the hotteok – really, they shouldn’t have. This is fine. “Let me guess, you guys are dating?”

This elicits nervous laughter from Rumi as she casts a nervous glance over at Jinu, and Bobby feels like he’s given birth to a different breed of anxiety at the way she reacted. “Uh,” she starts as she looks back at him then to Jinu, then back at him then to Jinu, and Bobby feels like a pendulum following her line of sight. “So,” she starts again as she swallows the thick knot that’s formed in her throat, willing herself to find the right words to avoid sending Bobby into a spiral.

Jinu wraps his fingers around her arm, and forces her to sit down along with him, and she’s glad that he can sense how her brain has short-circuited and her legs have stopped working. She looks at Bobby, whose piece of hotteok and fork alongside his arm is suspended in the air. Well… whatever, she supposes. Any words that will come out of her will win him a first class seat to spiral world, so what the hell, right?

“I’m – we’re,” she corrects herself, making sure to share accountability and hellfire with Jinu. “ – pregnant.”

Bobby felt himself die right then and there, and he’s unsure how to pick the shovel back up and bury himself. So, he was wrong – there’s definitely something worse. Rumi did sell her soul to the devil – a devil named Jinu.

Once unthawed from the five-minute shock, Bobby drops the hotteok on the plate with a clang as he rises from the seat, ready to jab a finger or absolutely anything towards Jinu until he spoke. “Wait, wait – I’m marrying her. We’re getting married.”

This, of course, doesn’t stop Bobby from attacking a demon a foot taller than he is. “You think marrying her because you knocked her up is any better? My Rumi deserves a marriage filled with love, not of duty.”

He’s got a fist full of Jinu’s shirt and all of his attention and fears, and even if Rumi finds it surprisingly funny, she can’t have this fight unfurl right before her eyes.

“It’s not loveless.” Rumi defends as she places a hand on Bobby’s shoulder in hopes to calm him down from this protective high he’s currently on. Bobby casts her a glance as he loosens his grip on Jinu – and phew, Rumi thinks. “He planned on proposing even before we found out. We’ve been seeing each other for five months. I’m happy – he makes me happy. I love him – we love each other.”

Bobby’s face softens as he lets go, and grabs Rumi by the shoulders, and searches her eyes. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“More than ever.”

They talk about the album before the hiatus, the projects the girls wanted to do, and what they will be telling the media. By the time the girls come back, and the sun has fully set, the conversation has shifted over to white dresses, a venue, and wedding dates.

Chapter Text

Jinu’s spotted her at weird places, doing odd things he doesn’t have a name for, but have an inkling what’s causing it.

An effervescence that’s misplaced, bounding off the walls like a ball that’s been released, projectile against one corner towards another with no counteractive action to stop it in its course unless you want to get hit by the impact, and be left sprawling on the floor like a dead body in the midst of the crime scene. He is unsure what has caused this suddenness, the sugar rush that isn’t there before, but now is a terrifyingly, glaring presence that reminded him so much of a toddler’s determined to ruin a parent’s day – maybe this is practice. She has always been determined, headstrong when it comes to things she wanted done and achieved, but this is something else entirely – if she had the same persistence when she was still convincing him to betray Gwi-ma, maybe then he would have relented so easily out of sheer annoyance, and to get her to stop from bouncing off the walls, and doing everything he’s sure is going to drain the life out of her later in the evening.

It started a few weeks ago after a long morning at the studio while trying to get the right beat, Rumi’s decided to wonder then wander very far from what they have been trying to do. He caught it – the look that crossed her features, the spark dying in her eyes only to be replaced by a different, brighter, more dangerous glimmer – before he heard her go off-key, then to a mumble as she brought her phone from her pocket only to type something haphazardly as she tried rising from her seat clumsily. He expected, and experienced this from Zoey when a lyric change would haunt her, and force her out of the booth to pester him, but not Rumi, never his Rumi. She was always so focused, so hyper-fixated in perfection that oft times, she would try to perfect perfection itself that whatever this was, was something entirely foreign, and did not belong to her. She opened the booth’s door then so forcefully that the hinges sang in annoyance, in protestation as it then slammed against the side of the wall that was thankfully cushioned, and saved from the assault her sudden burst of energy had forced it to receive.

She looked up at him then just as he was taking off his headphones to look at her quizzically, she waived her phone in front of him, and practically bounced off her feet. “Teddy bear museum.” He heard her say with all the joy that he’s sure she’s stolen from everyone else that she was practically buzzing, trembling from it. Even her purple hair that she’s tightened into her signature braid was swaying from all the movement she wasn’t trying to bottle up.  “Let’s go.” She added, wide, brown eyes begging, pleading – a weakness, but he won’t let her have the upper-hand yet.

He raised a brow at her, and made a note then to write this down in his growing entries of Rumi’s symptoms alongside what would be the best way to deal with this as a piece of advice towards himself if they ever decide to go this path once again, which he knew that they would – by accident or through planning. Pregnant Rumi always has sugar rushes; be warned. Always say yes. “We still need to finish your solo.”

She pouted, and he swore that he could almost see the tears brimming at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill, coaxing him as if to say – go on, say no to me. “You don’t love me.”

Ah, there it was.

“What?” Flustered, taken aback, and a bit offended, he reached out to her, only for her to recoil with a pout that he’s sworn had trembled like a warning that a waterfall was about to erupt or a dam was about to release her crocodile tears. “I do love you.” He said, and he knew that the slight offense was in there. “Baby, we’ll go to the museum; let’s just finish recording.”

She ignored it, and crossed her arms against her chest; from this angle, Jinu swore that he could see the smallest swell of her belly as if their kid was peeking to personally say – hello, and I dare you to say no. “I wanted to buy our little Gom her own teddy bear, and I want the biggest one. They only have one left – please.”

“It’s just one more run, and then we can –“

“But, love,” she groaned as she moved, almost lunged forwards to show him the teddy bear she’s been eyeing, and he was sure she had notifications on. “Someone else might get it.”

He had never seen this side of her before – so much energy, so much effervescence he was sure that’s misplaced, foreign; so much attention towards one thing then another. He had never read this symptom of pregnancy before, had always thought that lethargy was more normal than whatever this was that’s causing her to be at one emotion to another all at once, and how seamless the transition seemed, but despite that, he knew that he would be lying if he didn’t find it endearing, especially with the slight wobble she was doing with her bottom lip. If their daughter was anything like her mother, he would be a doomed man. Four-hundred years, and all four centuries spent being a demon only to fold so easily, and so willingly it was comical.

He looked at her, carded his raven hair through his fingers, and whistled a sigh of surrender. “Fine.” He knew if he wouldn’t relent, they wouldn’t be able to move forward with recording, and she would find something else to fixate on. He would rather have her bouncing off the walls of the teddy bear museum than to have her pouting all day, and refusing to record anything – he would never hear the end of it.

“Thank you!” She exclaimed, practically bounced off her feet, and tugged at his arm as if they were pressed for time, almost knocking the wind out of his lungs.

She has been a ball of chaos since then, a buzzing lightning, ball of electricity kept in a box, electrifying anyone who will come near her that even Zoey, in all her effervescence and enthusiasm has been drained of all fight that he’s found her once staring listlessly at Rumi whilst she abandoned one activity after another. It’s been two weeks of this, and he has been extremely caffeinated to keep up with her sudden bursts of creativity and activity that his blood might as well be coffee and energy drinks combined.

“Rumi, sweetheart, please slow down.” He says, concern gently sewn in his tone of voice as she barrels through the empty room with paint in both hands that she has insisted on carrying after arguing that she’s strong enough, and had him pinned at a wall once upon a time when they were trying to kill each other.

He scratches the back of his neck, and he swears that Derpy throws him a sympathetic look as he winds down the halls, ignoring Mira’s laughter at the same time that’s echoing from the kitchen. He hauls the rest of the supplies with one arm, purposely slowing his strides down to buy her enough time before she decides to climb up the ladder, and paint the ceiling first herself. He knows that he won’t hear the end of it, but he will bear with it, for as long as he’s there to catch and stop her from doing anything dangerous or what he deems to be dangerous. Despite her insistence that she can do it alone, he will never relent out of fear that she might get into something that will hurt her and the baby – everything’s a hazard, especially if she’s like this. He’s had half a mind to put her in a leash, and as she’s growing extremely adventurous, he’s leaning more onto the idea.

“Come on, old man.” She yells one door down as he rounds up the corner, and enters the room, only to find her already laying out the newspaper on the floor to protect it from each potential splatter of paint once they start painting.

He places the brushes and rolls down, and takes the newspaper from her. “You shouldn’t be bending so much.” He berates her out of affection and worry as he finishes what she started despite her groans of protest.

“I’m fine. You worry too much.” She tuts as she takes a seat anyway, and watches him through her eyelashes, hiding the smile creeping up her lips. Despite her protests, she loves being at the end of Jinu’s admonishing, finding it endearing, feeling her heart swell with love every time he casts her a look of worry, every time he has to make sure every step she takes won’t crack underneath her feet. This can’t be the same man who used to throw her against the mattress during sex. “I’m not made of glass.”

“I won’t stand here and watch you prove that you aren’t.” He argues back, and there’s no anger, only love and worry that he knows he will never run out of. He takes the masking tape from the paper bag, and tears a large strip to keep the newspapers in place, making sure it doesn’t shift, and won’t be a hazard once she moves around it. He’ll never forgive himself if this will cause her to slip and fall off her feet.

“You’re being dramatic.” She states as she tests the newspaper underneath her feet from where she’s sitting, and finds it incredibly snug as if it’s vinyl.

“I’m being cautious.” He says as he kneels to place the tape across the newspaper, making sure it’s tight, and safe to place a ladder on. “Sue me for wanting the mother of my child safe.” He casts her a look, and Rumi fights the urge to abandon what she decided on doing on a Saturday morning to ask him to take her instead.

There’s something about his protectiveness that’s causing her nerves to jump as if electrified.

“And, it’s not like I don’t have any reason to be worried.” He starts, and she already knows where this is going, can feel it in her bones, and she frowns at him like a petulant child. “After finding the bed empty in the middle of the night, and you deciding to sneak off via the balcony, I think I’m being reasonable.”

“I wanted ice cream.” She says even though the argument won’t do her any good, won’t justify her actions.

“You could have woken me up.” He raises a brow at her just as he finishes up, and dusts his hands against his knees.

She flashes him an innocent smile. “You looked too cute asleep to wake up.”

“You could have used the door and went out the penthouse like a normal person.”

“Pregnancy brain.”

“Makes it all the more reasonable to be cautious.” He says in finality as he takes the seat beside her, and wraps an arm around her shoulder to pull her flush against him like a missing puzzle piece slotting in one of his jagged pieces, finding its way back home. He presses a kiss to her cheek then to her temple before breathing her in. “I just want you to be safe, so let me take care of you.”

She hums as she allows herself to settle beside him, fights the restlessness that’s setting in her bones like it’s the only thing she knows for the past few weeks. “Okay,” she finally says after a beat as she leans further into his warmth, and feels the exhaustion coming into her like waves, the impromptu shopping spree for paint supplies finally taking a toll on her like a villain waiting, hiding in the bushes. She wants to fight it, but knows it’s a losing battle.

“So,” Jinu says after a while, after a few minutes of just holding one another. “What did you have in mind for the room?” He asks as he takes in the plain white walls, and the five cans of paint sitting gingerly on the floor. He knows she’ll be painting an enormous teddy bear amongst all the ideas she’s been bouncing off him since five in the morning, but wants to hear her babble about it once again.

However, no answer comes, and he feels her body go limp against him; he already knows that the effervescence has already asked her to pay up. A short laugh escapes his lips as he presses one more kiss on top of her head before he decides to lift her up, and carry her back into their room so they can take a nap together. They’ve been up since three in the morning because of her cravings, and he knows that sleep will be a stranger once again the moment she stirs awake, so he might as well join her.

Gently, he places her on her side of the bed as a snore escapes her lips, and he makes his way to wrap his arms around her. With all of the weight of taking care of Rumi who’s found so much energy, sleep comes easy for him.