It was around 8:36 AM, and the sun had just barely started to sneak through the half-open curtains, casting a warm, golden line across the edge of their bed.

The two-floor, vast, and sleek modern house was still quiet—just the distant hum of the refrigerator, the occasional creak of wooden floorboards, and the slow, steady breathing of you curled up beneath the covers.

Chan had been awake for a while. Not because he had to be, but because he just couldn’t stop staring at the scene next to him.

You lay on your side, tangled in their comforter, your face all smushed into the pillow with that naturally pouty mouth slightly parted. Your hair was a chaotic mess from sleep, and your skin practically glowed in the morning light.

But what Chan couldn’t stop staring at—what made his heart ache in that very specific, fond, “oh my God I’m so in love” kind of way—was your barely-showing baby bump.

It had popped out just a little in the last week or so.

At three months pregnant, it wasn’t exactly huge, but it was unmistakable now. Especially when you wore one of Chan’s oversized t-shirts, which you absolutely did last night. The soft gray fabric clung gently to the curve of your belly, riding up just slightly as you shifted sleepily.

It was a Sunday, and he had already texted the remaining seven members of STRAYKIDS that they could do whatever they wanted as long as they didn't involve him. Cause these past days have been a lot busier for both him and his members, and today Chan just wanted to spend the entire day with you.

Chan reached out and carefully pulled the shirt back down over the bump, fingers grazing warm skin.

Last night, you had complained to Chan that you looked like a dumpling.

“You do not look like a dumpling.” Chan leaned closer, kissing the top of your head, voice going all soft. “You look like... like sleepy sunshine and homemade mochi. Like a warm bun. A very, very cute bun.”