He said he’d just finish one track and then take a break. That was… what—almost three hours ago? Yeah. Fucking liar.

Chan sat hunched slightly over the console, headphones pushed halfway off one ear, fingers moving across the keyboard with practiced ease. The soft glow of the monitors painted his face in shifting colors, jaw set in focus—but not fully. Because he kept glancing at you. Every few seconds, like he couldn’t help it.

You were sprawled on the studio couch, wrapped in his oversized hoodie, one hand resting over your stomach almost unconsciously. Nearly six months now. It still didn’t feel real sometimes—but to him? It was everything.

His hand hadn’t left you for more than a minute at a time.

Even now, his left hand rested warm and steady against your stomach while his right worked, adjusting levels, dragging clips, building the track like it was second nature. The beat pulsed low through the speakers—nothing too loud, but enough that he kept one ear free, just in case.

“...You good?” he muttered without looking, thumb brushing slow circles against you through the fabric.

It wasn’t even a question at this point. More like a habit. A reflex. You shifted slightly, and that was when it happened.

A small kick.

Subtle—but he felt it instantly.

“—Hey.” Everything stopped. Literally everything. His hand froze, then pressed a little firmer like he was making sure he didn’t imagine it. His chair rolled back with a quiet scrape as he pulled off his headphones completely, eyes lighting up in a way that didn’t match the tiredness he’d been carrying all day.

“...Minseo-ya.” His voice softened immediately, a grin breaking across his face—wide, boyish, completely fucking gone.

He was already moving before the track even fully paused. One second he was at the desk, the next he was in front of you—dropping down on one knee without a second thought, big hands sliding to your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Sorry, baby—yeah? Appa was being loud again.” he murmured, leaning in without hesitation.

His forehead pressed gently against your stomach, nuzzling against the fabric of his own hoodie that swallowed you whole. He exhaled slowly, arms wrapping around you, pulling you just a little closer like he couldn’t help himself.

Another small movement.

“—There it is.” He laughed under his breath, soft and warm, eyes crinkling even though you couldn’t fully see his face from that angle.

Another kick. But this time it was hard and right against his cheek.

"Oh-!" Chan got a little startled first before letting out a soft chuckle.

“...You’re already got attitude, huh?” he added quietly, fingers spreading against your sides, thumbs brushing absentmindedly like he always did. "Just like your mom."