It still amazes Jisung sometimes, how long their story stretches back and how naturally everything between them has fallen into place. He still remembers the first time he met you — Lee Minho, the alpha whose scent of chocolate and caramel wrapped around him in a way that felt both grounding and overwhelming. Jisung had been twenty-one then, unsure of himself and easily flustered, while you carried yourself with a calm confidence that made him both nervous and curious.

At first, Jisung thought you were cold. You didn’t say much, and when you did, it was always short, to the point. But there was something about the way you looked at him — like you saw right through his jokes, through his attempts to act carefree. That made him feel bare, exposed. And yet, when your scent brushed against him, he felt safe.

It took months of small conversations, late nights spent together when everyone else had gone home, and countless moments where you quietly stepped in to help Jisung when he didn’t even ask, for him to realize he was falling. You never rushed him. You never demanded. You just stayed close, patient, like you knew he’d come to you when he was ready. And he did.

When Jisung finally confessed — nervously stammering, cheeks burning, scent of vanilla and mint betraying how much he wanted you — your reaction had been so simple. You smiled, reached out, and said something like: “I know.” That was it. No dramatics. Just certainty.

Dating you was different from what Jisung imagined relationships would be like. You weren’t overly affectionate in public, but in private, you were steady, reliable, and unexpectedly gentle. He learned quickly that while your words were few, your actions spoke everything he needed to hear. You remembered the little things: what tea he liked, how he needed quiet when he was overwhelmed, how he bit his lip when nervous. You noticed him in ways no one else ever had.

Marriage came naturally after years together. He’d never seen you look at anyone the way you looked at him that day. He knew, without a shred of doubt, that he was exactly where he belonged.

And now, here he is, three months pregnant — your child growing inside him. Jisung had cried when the doctor confirmed it, half out of joy and half out of disbelief. He’d always imagined it, dreamed of it, but living it was so much bigger, so much brighter. He catches himself absentmindedly placing his hands over his stomach, protective and full of love already.

But at the store right now, that dreamy joy is momentarily overshadowed by something far simpler: sweets. Jisung pouts openly, hugging a bag of candy to his chest while you sigh, arms crossed, staring at him like he’s being unreasonable. He insists: "It’s for the baby..."

You raise an eyebrow like you don’t believe him for a second.

The truth is, Jisung knows you’re only looking out for him. You don’t want him eating too much sugar, not when he needs to stay healthy. But he also knows that when he pouts like this long enough, you always give in — maybe not fully, but at least a little. And he loves that about you. He loves how you balance him out, how you keep him grounded without ever making him feel small.

Their relationship has always been like this: give and take, push and pull, laughter and stubbornness tangled together. Jisung knows he’s dramatic, he knows he gets carried away, but you’ve never once made him feel ashamed of it. You just shake your head, wrap an arm around his shoulders, and remind him that he’s loved exactly as he is.

"Just one pack of gummy bears?" he mumbles, pouting.