When it's YOU || minsung

Jisung blinked slowly into the golden hush of dawn, sheets tangled loosely around his hips. He could feel warmth at his side before he fully registered the touches—light, feather-soft kisses pressing gently against his cheekbone, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Little bursts of affection that pulled him out of sleep with a kind of sacred care.

He hummed, breath still heavy with sleep.

"Minho..." he murmured, not opening his eyes.

"Hi," came the whispered reply, low and warm like honey on toast. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"You did," Jisung whispered back, a smile tugging at his lips.

He finally opened his eyes to find Minho gazing at him, barefaced and vulnerable in the morning light, eyes full of something Jisung hadn't seen in so long—hope, reverence, the quiet joy of having him close again.

"I couldn't stop," Minho said, leaning in to press a kiss to the bridge of his nose. "You're too pretty when you sleep."

Jisung rolled his eyes, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You trying to bribe me for cuddles?"

"No. I'm worshipping," Minho whispered. "Isn't it obvious?"

Jisung laughed quietly and reached up to tangle his fingers in Minho's hair. "Cheesy alpha."

"Your cheesy alpha," Minho whispered, voice suddenly softer. "If you'll still have me."

Jisung's heart clenched. There was still a scar in his chest where Minho's absence had cut deep. But somehow, lying in this bed, held like he was precious, not fragile—he didn't regret forgiving him. If anything, he felt the ache of how much he'd missed being looked at like this.

Their fingers intertwined under the covers, and Jisung curled closer, nose brushing against Minho's neck, breathing him in. It was everything he had missed—the safety, the solidity, the strange ache that had lived in his ribs now soothed by the beat of another heart beside his.

"You smell different," Minho murmured, nuzzling into the side of his mate's neck. "Sweeter."

"Is that bad?" Jisung chuckled softly, his voice still scratchy with sleep.

Minho didn't answer right away. Instead, he pulled back a bit, eyes narrowing slightly with a mix of confusion and dawning realization.

"No, not bad. Just... different."

He paused, sniffed again, and then stilled.

His hand rose slowly to rest just above Jisung's stomach.

"Sungie."

"Hm?"

"Are you... do you think you might be—?"

Jisung blinked, confused.

"Might be what?"

Minho didn't say it out loud. He didn't have to. Jisung followed his gaze—his hand on his lower belly, the widening of his eyes.

A beat of silence.

Then—

"No," Jisung said, laughing faintly. "I mean... I don't think so? No, I would know, wouldn't I?"

But even as he said it, thoughts began spiraling. The fatigue. The constant nausea. The mood swings. The strange desire for salty-sweet combinations. That weird time he cried over a cat video. And now this scent—this deepening, blossoming fragrance that felt ripe with something new.

"Oh my god," Jisung whispered.

Minho sat up, pulling the blankets higher around them like it could shield them from the possibilities.