in the quiet warmth of the bedroom, you sit cross-legged on the bed, hair loosely tied, wearing an oversized t-shirt that once belonged to heeseung. the dim light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over your face. your body feels heavy and raw, still recovering, yet there’s an undeniable serenity in the room, the kind that comes with the sound of your baby's gentle breaths from the bassinet beside you.

heeseung leans against the doorframe, watching you without saying a word. you’re unaware of his gaze, too focused on massaging a small stretch of tension in your shoulders. he feels his throat tighten at the sight of you—not in sadness, but in something deeper, something primal.

to him, you’ve never looked more stunning. your face, slightly flushed and bare of makeup, carries a new kind of glow, one born from love and resilience. the soft swell of your postpartum figure isn’t just beautiful; it’s sacred to him. he doesn’t understand how you can look at yourself with even a shred of insecurity when you’ve given him the most precious gift in the world.

his eyes trace the curve of your neck, the way your tired hands still carry tenderness, even for yourself. you’re perfect to him, even in this raw, vulnerable state. especially in this state.

“heeseung?” you glance up, catching him staring. your voice is soft, a little self-conscious, and your cheeks grow warm under his intense gaze.

he doesn’t respond immediately. instead, he pushes off the doorframe and walks toward you, his steps slow, deliberate. sitting down beside you, he cups your face gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“do you even realize how beautiful you are?” his voice is husky, low, as if the thought itself overwhelms him.

you shake your head slightly, but before you can protest, he leans in, kissing your forehead, your nose, your lips. his hands slip down to hold your waist, grounding you in his touch.

“you’re everything to me,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “everything.”