Chapter Text
When he walks into his apartment to see Minho already in the kitchen working on making dinner, Jeongin is filled with relief and gratitude. It has been a shit day. Knowing it is Wednesday, and that means a quiet evening with his favourite hyung, having dinner and watching a movie where Minho would rub his sore feet and legs has been the saving grace of a day which now seems to have been spawned in hell. He needs the comfort of routine and Minho is a reliable touchstone with Wednesdays being a time to relax while the rest of the world goes on without them.
The door swings shut behind him, louder than he usually lets it close and he kicks off his shoes While his laces were snugly tied that morning, he’s been on his feet most of the day. Jeongin struggles to pry them off his now bloated feet, knowing that without the compression stockings Minho had provided it would be even worse. Biting his lip, he leans against the wall and yanks his feet free. One after another, the shoes fly free.They clatter against the wall, his strength fueled by fury and tears. Minho turns to face him, and the smile on his face lasts two seconds before he blinks and asks softly, “Baby boy, what’s wrong?”
Jeongin rubs at his face as he slumps his way over to the couch, one hand upon his lower back. “I was ambushed this morning by the principal and some of the parents.”
Minho detours into the kitchen. Jeongin can hear him moving a pot and pan on the stove, and then he’s back, settling down on the couch beside him. “Ambushed?”
Jeongin sighs and lets his head fall back, resting on the top of the couch. His eyes focus on the ceiling as his fingers interlock to cradle his stomach. “The parents wanted to raise their objections to an unmated pregnant omega teaching their children. They didn’t come right out and call me promiscuous, but they may as well have.” His eyes close and his tone shifts, haughty and higher pitched. “‘What are our children learning about proper behaviour when Mr. Yang is their teacher?’” His voice becomes more nasal. “‘Not married, not mated, and yet pregnant. Is this the role model this school is providing for its students?’” Jeongin sighs and looks over at Minho, his voice returning to normal, though heavy with exhaustion. “And that was just the start of it.”
“I hope you told them that your private life was none of their concern,” Minho states as he takes Jeongin’s hand in his own and slides closer to him.
“I can’t. They’re right that teachers are role models, and children, especially young children, are impressionable. Besides, they weren’t asking for my response, or my reasons. They were there to seek my resignation, or to pressure the principal to force me to give it.” Jeongin feels the anger welling up again, and he closes his eyes, knowing the frustration is likely to have him crying again. He is tired of feeling so overwhelmed by this entire experience.
Minho tugs at the hand he holds, and when Jeongin shifts willingly closer, he manoeuvres Jeongin to sit in his lap and wraps his arms around him. His hand presses to Jeongin’s cheek, resting the Jeongin’s head against his shoulder. “Iyen-ah,” his tone is full of compassion and warmth, and Jeongin feels the tears slip through his lashes anyway. “I’m so sorry.”
Jeongin clings to him as he cries. He hates feeling so powerless and he doesn’t know what to do about the situation, but he is glad that Minho hasn’t tried to say everything would be alright, or tried to make suggestions or offer advice. He doesn’t need this fixed right now. He needs to be held, and consoled so he can sort out how he feels about the situation. He spent the day in a cycle between being frustrated, infuriated, and upset. He’s emotionally fatigued.
Sniffing back his tears, he lifts his head to wipe his eyes, only to find Minho’s hand already there, cupping his cheek with his thumb brushing the dampness from his skin. “The principal was able to calm the parents down and have them leave. Then he pulled me into his office so I could explain. If I worked in a public school, I could have told him my private life is my own, and they had no cause to ask me to explain anything, but this is a prestigious private school, and with the tuition the parents pay, they can bully the school into doing whatever they want.”
Minho spits out a curse, “None of us even considered this might happen to you.”
“No, of course not. The world is supposed to be more enlightened now,” Jeongin snorts in derision. “Why would we ever think the worst of people? Or that society is still so closed minded?”
Minho’s arms tighten around him, pressing Jeongin to his chest where his crisp scent of dew in a forest helps to calm him. Jeongin sniffles and sighs, letting himself relax upon Minho’s lap. He shivers as he feels the press of lips against his hair. “However it is you want to deal with this, you know I’m right there beside you.”
“I don’t know. I’m not even sure if I’ll have to do anything else. The principal was understanding, and seemed to support me. He’s going to discuss it with the school’s lawyer and have a response drafted for the parents that he’ll let me look at before it’s sent out.” He huffs out an exhale. “I don’t want to think about this any more tonight. I’ve been so angry and upset and now I’m just exhausted, but still can’t seem to let this go.”
Minho’s hand rubs soothing circles over Jeongin’s back. “How about this? Go have a long warm shower and get into your comfiest sleep clothes. I’ll finish making dinner, we’ll eat. I’ll steep you some tea afterwards, and we can still watch something silly. I’ll rub your feet while you’ve got the warming pad on your back, and then I’ll tuck you into bed for the night. That sound like a plan, baby boy?”
“Hmm.” Jeongin nuzzles his cheek against Minho’s scent gland. “That sounds like the best plan ever, hyung.”
Minho tucks his anger away. He doesn’t have the right to be furious when Jeongin is seeking a way to find calm. It won’t help. No amount of ire on his part should exceed that of Jeongin. It isn’t his place to act, or react, to what had happened. At least, not without Jeongin’s knowledge and approval.
As much as it outrages Minho to hear of the events, his feelings shouldn’t take precedence. Even if he were Jeongin’s mate, it still wouldn’t be his place. It would be overreaching, and the worst way in which he could ever belittle someone he’d made such a commitment to. He never wants to take away anyone’s agency.
While Jeongin takes his warm shower, Minho takes his rage out on some unfortunate vegetables. They aren’t a great stand-in for the prejudiced and judgmental parents Jeongin had dealt with that day, but Minho can’t recall the last time he’s so finely made matchstick carrots. The mushrooms are thin enough that they’d fry up in seconds. Nevermind the sliced onions, which are nearly transparent.
Minho ensures the rice cooker is running, and when he can no longer hear the shower going, he starts cooking all the paper thin vegetables and beef. Once Jeongin wanders back into the kitchen in his chequered flannel sleep pants and a familiar oversized long sleeved shirt, Minho is scooping rice into pre-warmed stone bowls. He gestures for him to go sit at the table while he tops the rice with the carrots, mushrooms, beef, spinach and quickly fries an egg to place on top. He has to cook the egg yolk through, which is a shame, but it’ll still taste good. He sets the bowls on the table and takes his own seat next to Jeongin. He brings in a separate dish with the gochujang sauce, knowing that Jeongin’s usually high spice tolerance has changed of late.
“Bibimbap is good comfort food,” Minho declares.
Jeongin shares a tired smile with him. “Thank you, hyung.”
Dinner is a quiet affair. Minho doesn’t know what to say or what to talk about. He feels that Jeongin is done talking about what had happened and doesn’t want to dwell on it, but that doesn’t mean he wants to hear about Minho’s day. Not that his day has been any different from most of his days. He worked on choreography and taught an advanced hip hop class. Once he’d got home, he’d spent time playing with Soonie, Doongie and Dori before feeding them like a good cat butler, and then headed upstairs and let himself into Jeongin’s apartment to prepare for their usual Wednesday dinner and show. Even if Jeongin wants to have his thoughts side-tracked, none of what Minho had done is particularly diverting.
He laughs when Jeongin, having finished his food, lets his chopsticks rattle in the bowl as he pushes it away and then slumps in his chair. His hands rest over the baby bump as he smiles, eyes closed and dimples out in full force. His words are a lazy slur, “So good, hyung.”
Anyone would be endeared looking at him. Minho considers dinner a successful good start to getting Jeongin to forget about the rest of his day. “How about you go sit on the couch? I’ll get the warming pad for you, and you can find something to watch while I sort out the dishes, hmm?”
“Yeah, hyung. I like this plan.” Jeongin wiggles back to a seated position, then pushes his chair from the table before he takes a deep breath and braces himself to rise from the chair, one hand at his back.
Minho watches him waddle over to the couch. It isn’t quite a penguin waddle, not yet, but he expects that Jeongin will get there in the upcoming months. It’s cute. Not that he’ll ever say it out loud. Jeongin likely doesn’t want to be waddling. Rather than making any further comments, Minho sets up the heating pad as promised and hands Jeongin the remote control before quickly cleaning up after dinner.
When Minho joins Jeongin on the couch, he pulls those cute omega feet onto his lap. “Find something to watch?”
Minho only means to glance at him, but the way in which Jeongin appears anxious, looking down at his hands clenched on the remote control and nibbling on his lower lip has Minho’s gaze locked. He has a duty to Chan. He promised to help care for Jeongin while he is pregnant, but he knows this isn’t all that this is. The way he’d been angry on Jeongin’s behalf, the way his heart clenched as if trying not to break watching Jeongin try to remain strong, and the way he wants to wrap Jeongin in the softest blanket and put him safely in his pocket has nothing to do with that promise he’d made.
“Baby boy, we can watch whatever you want. If you can’t decide, I could find something for you. Just tell me what you need,” Minho offers, voice soft and soothing, with none of his usual playful banter or sarcastic quip.
Jeongin looks up at him. If the scent of still rising bread is indicative of his mood, Jeongin is still feeling uncertain. “Promise you won’t laugh?”
Minho starts rubbing at one of the feet laying in his lap and he smiles. “You know I don’t make promises I can’t keep, but I won’t be mean about it.”
Jeongin frowns, but he still pointed the remote at the television and pressed the buttons to start the program he’d selected. Minho isn’t watching the screen. His focus is on Jeongin, so he doesn’t clue in immediately to Jeongin’s choice. It takes a few bars of the theme song for Minho to clue in, and then he is laughing, head back and high pitched with it. Jeongin kicks at his thigh with a disgruntled groan and lifts the remote again. Quickly, Minho steals away the remote and then catches Jeongin’s foot before his thigh becomes a mottled black and blue. “This is perfect. I haven’t watched this in ages. Not since it first aired. Best choice.”
Jeongin still frowns as he looks at Minho, as if inspecting his expression to determine if he’s being truthful and then Jeongin huffs and settles back into the couch and quits trying to pull his foot out of Minho’s grasp. His tone is still perturbed with a hint of whine, his lower lip a pronounced pout. “I like cartoons.”
Patting his calf consolingly, Minho moves to rub at his feet again. Jeongin’s feet, like his hands, are too big to be considered cute, but the socks are adorned with adorable little foxes. “So do I.”
A few episodes play while Jeongin watches and his scent eases into its baseline warm fresh bread. Minho feels a weight lift from his chest as he rubs at Jeongin’s feet and feels the way in which he relaxes and lets the earlier worries and concerns melt away, at least for the time being. Minho knows they’ll be present again tomorrow, and remain until the school is able to put out an announcement which he can only hope will appease the overwrought and contentious parents.
After Jeongin yawns for the third time, Minho turns off the television at the end of the episode and pats the calves still laying over his thighs. “Let’s tuck you in. Go to the bathroom, brush your teeth, wash your face, and I’ll turn down the sheets for you.”
Jeongin pokes at Minho with his toes before he turns to get up from the couch. “Bossy alpha.”
Minho gives Jeongin’s ass a light slap and watches as he scoots a little further away. “That’s the best you could come up with?”
The reply is almost unintelligible around a yawn. “I’m twierd. Gib me a bweak.”
Folding the blanket before laying it over the back of the couch again, Minho just shakes his head. Hearing the bathroom door close, he moves to the bedroom and turns down the duvet and sheet before beating the pillows into fluffy submission.
Jeongin emerges from the bathroom. His hair on the right side is pressed up and flattened from having dried while resting against the couch after his shower and his eyes are almost closed with exhaustion, but his cheeks are dimpled with a small smile. His hand rises lazily to cover a yawn that is mostly finished by the time his hand is over his lips. Minho is terribly fond of this tired and lightly mussed omega. “In you go. Safe and warm.”
Jeongin only nods in reply before he manages his way into bed, with not as much ease or grace as he would have months ago. As Minho is lowering the covers to tuck them around him, Jeongin catches his wrist. He utters only one word, and it seems small and vulnerable to Minho’s ear. “Stay.”
Minho stills. His eyes close and he breathes in slowly, letting the air expand his chest. It doesn’t help him feel grounded as he had hoped, his lungs laced with the scent of sweet bread, cooling and almost ready to be glazed. He knows he’ll sound rough, raw, so he keeps his voice low. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”
When Jeongin lets go of his wrist, he moves to the other side of the bed and lays down. Turning on his side, he slides along the mattress until Jeongin’s back is pressed to his chest. He lays his arm along Jeongin’s side. “Better?”
He can hear the pout in Jeongin’s words. “I wanted to be the big spoon.”
Minho chuckles, his hand skimming from Jeongin’s side to cover the swell beneath his sleep shirt. “Baby boy, right now you’re always a bigger spoon.”
He shifts to avoid the impending elbow Jeongin shoves at him.
“You’re horrible,” Jeongin proclaims with what sounds nothing like consternation and much more like affection.
“Did you expect anything else?” Minho is amused, and if it hadn’t been such an eventful day and if they hadn’t been settling down to sleep, he’d have tickled Jeongin until he laughed as freely as Minho would himself.
“No.” The single word sounds glum, slipping from lips Minho can imagine forming a moue, with a protruding lower lip. Jeongin’s larger hand moves to cover Minho’s, holding it in place.
Minho presses his smile against Jeongin’s shoulder blade. “Go to sleep.”
Jeongin wakes feeling groggy and overly warm. A heavy arm rests over his waist, and an ankle is hooked around his, keeping his leg pinned to the bed. He knows it’s the middle of the night, likely somewhere between two and five. That seems to be the peak time for him to feel the need to pee in the middle of the night as the pup abuses his bladder, dancing upon it as if summoning rain.
He’d been hesitant that first time to ask Minho to stay, but he’d also felt wretched enough, and Minho had seemed sympathetic, so Jeongin let himself open up and ask for what he wanted. A weakness, he knows. He’d been vigilant about his demands on Minho’s time and affection, but he was worn down, dejected, and Minho had been there for him. A flimsy excuse. He couldn’t deny his need to feel loved in that moment, even if that love wasn’t exactly as he wanted it to be.
It had taken him longer to fall asleep that night than he’d imagined it would. With Minho’s breath dancing along his shoulder, a warm hand curved over his swollen belly, he’d felt safe. Surrounded by care and affection. Riddled with guilt for having asked him to stay.
Jeongin doesn’t try to convince himself that Minho loves him. He knows why Minho is helping him out. Minho never makes a promise he doesn’t keep, and he’d promised Chan he’d aid Jeongin however he could while Jeongin was carrying his and Felix’s pup. Minho cares about him, Jeongin doesn’t question that. Minho loves him in the same way he loves all their friends. Minho is stalwart and loyal; once he decides someone is his friend, that is the way it is for life. He might take a while to understand, as he is enigmatic and reluctant to let others into his life, but once he does, they don’t escape.
Not that Jeongin wants to escape. He doesn’t. He’ll always admire and respect Minho. This hyung of his is everything he’s always believed an alpha could and should be. He’s never aspired to make Minho his. That seems too far a chasm to bridge. After all, Jeongin was far from a perfect omega and not at all what Minho deserves.
When they’d met, their age difference had seemed larger. Minho was handsome and graceful. Jeongin had been in braces, gangly with a new growth spurt, though even time hasn’t weaned him of his adolescent clumsiness. Even if Jeongin had wanted to confess, that willingness was tempered by the knowledge that Minho, like the rest of their friend group, still saw him as a younger brother to be pampered and protected.
It wasn’t that they didn’t see him as an equal, but more that he was the forever maknae, and tucked quite irrevocably into that role.
Given all of that, and the belief that whatever attraction he had for Minho was nothing but a passing crush, kept Jeongin silent.
Besides, Minho had enough admirers that kept him busy, and eventually, Jeongin found admirers of his own.
Carefully, so as not to wake Minho, Jeongin shimmies his way out from under Minho's grasp and trudges his way to the bathroom. He closes the door, the illumination of the night light bright enough to allow him make his way to the toilet and sit down. As much as he’d rather stand, his pregnancy has progressed to the point where grasping and aiming his dick to allow him to pee with any accuracy is questionable, and he isn’t going to risk that at this hour of the morning.
Minho spending the night with him has become almost as regular a part of his life as the drives to and from work and the bento box lunches. While he wants to indulge his own whims and experience what it is like to be the focus of Minho’s attention and affection, he wonders if he will be able to recover from the loss of it once the pup is born.
There is an end to this. Chan and Felix will have their pup. Jeongin will return to his solitary life and Minho will return to his. They will be friends, because Jeongin would never willingly give up on their friendship and neither would Minho. They haven’t done anything that would destroy the relationship they’ve already established. Jeongin’s been careful not to put their closeness in jeopardy, but whatever they have after the birth won’t be this.
It won’t be dinners with long evening cuddles and scenting and sharing a bed. It won’t be waking in the morning to find Minho curled around him, peaceful in his sleep. Nor will it be a cup of tea waiting for him when he emerges from the bedroom ready to face the day, with a breakfast set up at the table for him.
He’ll be returning to a cold and lonely bed, with substandard dinners he prepares for himself, purchased premade from the frozen section of the grocery store. He’ll be taking public transport again, and suffering through whatever cafeteria lunch is available that day if he doesn’t find the time to make something, or have leftovers from dinner the previous night. His life will feel so much more alone than it had before. His memory of the closeness he’s shared with Minho can’t be shed like afterbirth.
Even with regular Wednesday nights planned between them, there will remain a Minho sized hole in his life. The only question is, how long will he willingly, knowingly, indulge himself in something he knows he wouldn’t have if the present circumstances weren’t what they were? Jeongin couldn’t have engineered this more perfectly had he tried to obtain this particular result. He wouldn’t have wanted this in the first place. This masquerade of affection to promote his health and wellbeing for the growing pup is beneficial, and it was supposed to be Chan’s place in the original plan. This is a simulacrum of a relationship which will never be real. Minho was never meant to be his. This is just a fantasy.
For the health of the pup, Jeongin doesn’t really have a choice but to accept the situation, but that doesn’t mean he should leech it for everything he can. He knows if he asked, Minho would do anything he could to support him. He shouldn’t ask for more. He shouldn’t fuel this delusion. It will only be more wounding when this is all over. He doesn’t need to injure himself further.
Making his way back to the bedside, Jeongin can see Minho’s features in silvered light. Just a faint beam through the curtains where they don’t meet perfectly. His face holds none of the sharpness it has when he is awake and alert. All those edges seem smoothed, rounded, softened by sleep and darkness. Minho’s limbs are splayed upon the bed, relaxed and calm, rather than poised towards grace and movement. His mouth slightly parted with a growing pool of drool on the pillow. He is still beautiful. Minho could never be anything else.
With a sigh, Jeongin closes his eyes as he sinks back onto the bed, resting on his side. Perhaps it’s the dip in the mattress which causes Minho to roll towards him. There is the heavy warmth of Minho pressed against his back, the weight of an arm once again over his waist, and a small yet strong hand curving over his stomach. At the sleepy sound of contentment muffled as Minho presses his cheek against Jeongin’s shoulder, he bites his lower lip.
Jeongin feels the tears pooling behind his closed eyes, waiting to be shed. That he won’t be able to keep this scares him. This isn’t his to hold. Minho isn’t his, no matter how much he might yearn for this, it isn’t true. It will ruin him. There is no going back from this. Jeongin has already had too much of a taste to forget or pretend this never happened. Once experienced, he will always know what it is to be the focus of Minho’s devotion.
Hands clenched, Jeongin holds back a whimper.
It has already ruined him.
When Minho wakes in the morning, he no longer feels disoriented. It has been a little over a week, yet he’s become accustomed to sharing a bed with Jeongin. The lanky warmth nestled against his chest, the aroma of fresh bread, the small noises he makes while he dreams.
Last night, Minho had a performance, giving Jeongin no reason to stay over. Unless he wanted to watch television with the cats, which he evidently didn't. The feline trio had become rather clingy with him since the pregnancy, maybe Jeongin needed the break.
So, when Minho had returned to his own apartment, let himself in and distinctly felt the noticeable lack of Jeongin in his space. While the cats were pleased to have him home, curling about him while he lay in bed, it was not at all the same. It took Minho much longer to drift off than normal. Only when he curled himself around a spare pillow, much like he’d surround Jeongin, did he realise what was missing.
How has Jeongin become so integral to him that Minho no longer seems to know how to move through life without Jeongin’s presence?
The past seven months have been a revelation. He’d never perceived Jeongin as he does now. He hadn’t noticed how well their sharp edges fit together. Hadn’t recognised Jeongin as an omega, or attractive and desirable. Jeongin had just been Jeongin.
When Minho first met him, Jeongin was unpresented, long limbed and awkward with it, as if unfamiliar with the way in which his body worked. He’d had clunky glasses and an unfashionable haircut. His teeth had been in the process of being straightened with braces, on the cusp of teenager to adulthood. He was the youngest of their friends. The rest of them had an unspoken agreement that they would take care of Jeongin, protect him, and spoil him.
Even after all these years, Minho had still looked at him through that same lens. He saw Jeongin, the young friend. He had never seen Jeongin, the attractive omega.
If not for the last few months, watching Jeongin adapt to being pregnant and supporting him in the ways that a mate would, Minho wonders if he would ever have seen Jeongin for all of who he is.
Probably not. And what a shame that would have been. Jeongin deserves more than to be conceptually forever eighteen in Minho’s mind.
However, now that he has seen this side of Jeongin, and how well they complement each other, Minho can think of little else. What is he meant to do when this is over? Just go back to being friends, being his neighbour, his favourite hyung?
Is he meant to excise the affection which grows for Jeongin in his heart? Should he somehow manage to erase the way his body knows how they fit together in a comforting hug, in hands held with fingers interlaced, or how the press of Jeongin’s back feels against his chest? How is he to purge the tempting scent of fresh bread spread with apricot jam from his mind?
Minho doesn’t know if he can do that. Moreover, he’s certain that he doesn’t want to. He hadn’t realised that he would or could want Jeongin in his life in this way, but now he can’t imagine his life without him.
Having woken early, he’d fed the cats and headed downstairs, ready to make breakfast.
But as he stands in the doorway of Jeongin’s bedroom, Minho knows that now is not the time to discuss his feelings or their future. Jeongin has allowed him into his life because he needs the support which Chan had been meant to provide. It isn’t Felix’s fault, or Chan’s, but it happened anyway.
Why did Jeongin choose him? For convenience alone, it makes sense, but Jeongin should have thought past that and placed priority over his comfort and security. Minho believes Changbin or Seungmin could have been the better choice. They are both close friends, especially Seungmin, and Changbin has a way of making anyone near him feel comfortable and safe. While Minho made the offer to help when Chan first told him of the snag in their plan, Minho didn’t expect to be called upon. He remembers how his alpha had protested the idea of anyone else taking this role. He doesn’t regret volunteering. It isn’t as simple as that.
He didn’t expect the way in which this would shift his own life and priorities outside of the pregnancy. How is he meant to go back to the way in which he lived his life before? Dating people who never really understand him, or prove themselves incapable of handling the sharp edge of his tongue and recognise when he is teasing rather than serious? None of that is at all appealing. He’d much rather have all the rest of his days be those spent with Jeongin, as if the regular Wednesdays they plan can subsume the remaining days of the week as well.
It’s likely strange, the way in which he leans now against the door jam, watching as Jeongin sleeps. Those long fingers of his curl over the edge of the duvet. His bangs are untidy and hanging over his eyes. The way his body curves in on itself. His mouth slack as he snores lightly. Minho wants to crawl into that bed and curl himself against Jeongin’s back, pull his warm and pliant body against his own and relish the way in which their bodies fit snugly.
Not that Minho would at this time. Jeongin deserves to rest, and without knowing how Jeongin feels, Minho won’t allow himself to take advantage.
But he knows this isn’t sustainable. He is here due to the promise he’d made Chan. He is a stand in, a substitute, not a true partner and not a real choice either. Just the best of the options Jeongin has at the moment. Though Minho doesn’t see himself as the best, it seems Jeongin does, for whatever reason.
It would be selfish of him to confess how his feelings have grown beyond platonic. He can’t speak of his affection for Jeongin, not when he’ll still be needed through the rest of the pregnancy. All Minho can do is try to not overstep and be what Jeongin needs for now. There is some hope that his actions will engender Jeongin to feel some fondness for him. That maybe when this is all done, perhaps Jeongin may come to see him in a different way as well.
Hope is so rarely something to which Minho allows himself to cling. He’s been disappointed frequently in the past. He’s found that action, rather than hope, tends to provide better results, but he can’t act now. He’ll just have to wait.
When Jeongin begins to stir, Minho leaves him to wake and starts making breakfast. Putting water to boil in the kettle is first. A morning starts properly with coffee, or herbal tea in Jeongin’s case at present, though Minho knows Jeongin has a preference for coffee usually.
The tea is steeping and Minho’s scrambling eggs, to which he’d add cut up tomatoes once the eggs are mostly cooked.
When Jeongin emerges from the bedroom, he looks mussed and still half asleep, his fists rubbing at his eyes as he shuffles into the kitchen. Jeongin slumps against Minho’s back, his scent of bread sweet this morning, as his arms wrap around Minho’s waist. At this point in Jeongin’s pregnancy, his belly presses against Minho’s hip, and it isn’t until Jeongin’s chest, softer now than before, rests against Minho’s shoulder blades that they reconnect.
“There’s tea on the counter for you.” Minho tries not to tense as Jeongin rests against him. This is new behaviour. Usually Jeongin will sit at the table and wait for Minho to finish cooking. Is there something going on that has Jeongin feeling clingy this morning? He rarely indulges in physical touch. Minho doesn’t want to ask if something is wrong, because that would imply something likely is. Perhaps Jeongin simply missed him last night, similar to how Minho had felt his lack. Instead, he lays one of his hands over Jeongin’s. “How are you feeling this morning?”
The arms about his waist tighten as Jeongin yawns. He inhales deeply and makes a contented murmur, “A little sore. I feel heavy, but I’m doing alright. Hungry.”
Minho isn’t about to trust a still sleepy Jeongin with carrying a fresh cup of hot tea. “How about you go sit at the table while I finish making breakfast. I’ll bring you your tea. It’s still hot, so be careful, hmm?”
The arms slip from around his waist and Minho hears the scuff of slippers against the floor as Jeongin moves to the table. Minho brings the tea over to the table, setting it in front of him. “There you go, baby boy.”
Jeongin smiles up at him, eyes half lidded. “Thanks hyung.”
Minho turns back to the stove to add the tomatoes to the scrambled eggs and puts the bread in the toaster. He takes a sip from his coffee. “Any plans for today?”
“I need to do some grading. Musical theory.” A yawn, the sound is stilted halfway through, likely by a delayed hand raised to Jeongin’s mouth.
“That sounds delightfully exciting,” Minho comments blandly. “I think I’ll go grocery shopping instead. Anything you want to eat next week?”
The mug rattles as it’s lifted from the table, followed by some exaggerated exhales to cool the tea, and some eventual sips. “Food. I think I want to eat food next week.”
“Brat,” Minho states with more fondness than he’d intended. “You’ll just have to eat what I give you then.”
“I usually do, hyung,” Jeongin quips back, though his tone seems off somehow. It isn’t as carefree as Minho’s come to expect when Jeongin responds to his teasing.
Jeongin does usually eat anything put in front of him though. He always seems to have a good appetite. Perhaps it comes from being the middle child, usually fending for himself at a family dinner. While the eldest takes what they want and the youngest is babied, the middle child has to eke out for themselves whatever they can.
Minho pulls the toast from the toaster, spreads some butter on it and sets the pieces of toast on a plate, cutting them diagonally. He splits the eggs and tomato between two bowls and brings everything over to the table before taking his own seat. He picks up his chopsticks, but waits for Jeongin to take a bite before he tucks himself into his own breakfast.
Jeongin stuffs more into his mouth than Minho had thought possible before he’d met him, and he still manages to chew and swallow without gagging or choking. It’s a talent, though not one Minho would ever praise him for.
They eat in silence. Minho thinks it’s comfortable, until he notices Jeongin has stopped eating and is pushing food around in his bowl. Again he wonders if something is wrong, but still doesn’t want to suggest something is wrong by asking. “Is there something else you’d rather have for breakfast, baby boy? There’s some leftovers in the fridge I could heat up for you.”
Jeongin blinks and looks over at Minho and shakes his head. “No, this is fine.” As if to emphasise his answer, he immediately takes another large bite. Though Minho doesn’t miss how once Jeongin swallows, he goes back to looking out the window and stirring the remaining food around his bowl again.
Either something is wrong, or Jeongin is distracted. Minho could continue to poke and prod him to try to get to the source, but Jeongin can be stubborn, and in the past, that technique hasn’t yielded good results. Just a flare of temper and obstinacy. Patience tends to work better.
When he is done eating, Minho rises from the table. He runs his hand over Jeongin’s hair. “Still eating?”
Minho picks up his own dishes while Jeongin returns from wherever his distracted thoughts seem to have taken him. “No, I’m done. Guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought.”
“That’s alright.” He gathers Jeongin’s dishes as well and takes them into the kitchen and begins cleaning up.
Minho has just finished setting the last of the clean dishes in the dish rack and wet the cloth again so he can wipe the stove when he hears Jeongin sigh.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Words, spoken quietly, but with a desperate despair which causes Minho to still. He can hear his own pulse in his ears, feel the thrum of his heart speeding up in his chest.
What does Jeongin mean by that? Was he still worried about teaching? Was the principal or the school not as supportive as Jeongin had said they’d be after the visit from the parents? Was it the pregnancy?
Minho swallows harshly, filled with dread. He speaks slowly, tentatively. It occurs to him this is the same tone he uses when approaching stray cats. “What is it you can’t do, Jeongin?”
The legs of the chair screech against the floor and Minho flinches. He hears Jeongin rise with a grunt, and the chair is pushed back under the table, the cluck as the back of it hits the table’s edge. He can also sense Jeongin turning to look at him. The scent of stale and mouldy bread drifts into the kitchen. “I don’t want to play house anymore.”
For words uttered with careful tonelessness, they pierce Minho’s heart with the sharpest edge. His hands grip the counter. He watches his knuckles turn white as his pulse becomes so loud it is the only thing he hears. He clings to the promise he made to Chan, hoarding his scent to himself, knowing it is turning vile, the undergrowth of a forest dank and decaying in the dark. He can only imagine how hoarse his voice must sound as he tries to keep it steady.
“No,” Minho whispers, “of course not.”
“You must be tired of this by now, Minho hyung.”
Jeongin’s words sound distant, muffled. Minho knows he can’t remain there in the Jeongin’s apartment. Not without falling apart. Not without declaring himself and offering to Jeongin a heart he obviously does not desire. Stiffly, he drops the cloth in the sink and turns away from the kitchen and Jeongin.
“Right.” He moves to leave. “I’ll just go. No need to pretend anymore.” His hand jitters and he struggles to open the door. “I’ll make sure you get a drive to school on Monday.”
He hears the pained gasp of his name behind him as the door finally opens and he flees.