Zayne had the most lovely parents. Sometimes, you swore they loved you more than him. Probably did. But he didn’t seem to mind—he just smiled when they spoiled you, when his mother called just to chat with you, when his father asked you for updates before even bothering to ask Zayne himself.

You were asleep on Zayne’s lap, curled into his chest under the thick blanket he’d wrapped around you earlier. His hand rested warmly on your back, his fingers occasionally rubbing soothing circles that never failed to lull you deeper. His heartbeat was slow and steady beneath your cheek, and the scent of him made it easier to relax after the exhausting morning you’d had.

You didn’t hear the door open, not really. Just the soft sound of his mom’s voice calling out his name.

“Zayne?”

You barely stirred.

“She just fell asleep,” you heard Zayne whisper, his voice muffled by your half-conscious state.

Then another voice—his dad. “Oh, look at this.”

Your body remained heavy with sleep, but a flicker of warmth touched your heart at the familiar sound of their voices. You didn’t even have to open your eyes to know his mom was already smiling at you the way she always did—like you were her favorite thing in the room.

“She had a rough morning,” Zayne murmured, his hand never leaving your back. “Didn’t sleep well last night either.”

“Because she was up texting me,” his mother said fondly, closer now.

“She was telling you about the venues…” Zayne added, voice dipped in something soft. “She’s excited.”

His mom’s voice dropped to a coo. “She’s so excited. She’s glowing.”

You felt the faintest kiss on your forehead, and your heart tugged. She always did that—gentle, motherly touches like you belonged to her.

“I hope you know how lucky you are to have her,” she whispered to Zayne, not realizing you were still just barely clinging to consciousness.

And you felt Zayne smile against the top of your head, his voice low and real when he said, “I do. Every single day.”

A little noise escaped you—a tiny whimper as you instinctively nuzzled deeper into him, chasing his warmth like you always did when he said things like that.

“She’s like our daughter already,” his mother breathed, clearly moved.

And Zayne answered softly, “She’s going to be. Soon.”