Back When I was Living for the Hope of it All

by kokode

Summary:

And yet here Mingyu was, tangled in the sheets with someone else’s boyfriend—a man who would never be his.

 

If he had even an ounce of self-control, he would have stopped this the moment it began. He would have pulled away from Wonwoo’s drunken kiss, he would have pushed him out the door instead of letting him drag him into bed.

 

But he hadn’t.

 

He let himself be kissed, touched, fucked—because the truth was, he wanted it too.

 

But now, as morning crept through the curtains, reality sank in like a knife to the chest.

 

I’m a terrible person.

Chapter 1: The First Sin

Notes:

i'm back again with another minwon and my bp!gyu agenda, now joined with his bff bp!hao 🥰 i'm still in the middle of editing and writing the rest, but i figured i might as well post the first ch for accountability (bc if i didn't post it now i might never get around to editing the other chapters and another fic will never see the light of day ever again orz)

mistakes are all mine, i'm sorry english is not my first language
separate fiction from reality~
and finally, i hope you enjoy reading~

The party had been too much. Too many drinks, too many stolen glances across the room, too much tension pressing down like a weight neither of them could acknowledge.

Mingyu never meant for it to happen. But Mingyu had always been weak to Wonwoo.

Maybe it was the way his gaze lingered just a second too long. Maybe it was the way his voice softened when he said Mingyu’s name. Or maybe it was the way he smiled—not the polite smile he gave to others, but the one meant just for him.

It was wrong.

God, it was so fucking wrong.

Yet here he was, gasping into Wonwoo’s shoulder, nails digging into his back as he was pressed into the mattress.

And he was drowning in him.

Wonwoo wasn’t supposed to go home with him tonight. He was supposed to be in Junhui’s bed, at Junhui’s place, not buried deep inside Mingyu, not groaning against his ear as if he’d found something he could never let go of.

Wonwoo wasn’t supposed to be here, wasn’t supposed to be pressed against him like this, wasn’t supposed to be worshipping his body like Mingyu was the only thing that had ever mattered.

But God, it felt like he was.

The moment their lips clashed in the darkened hallway of their shared apartment, all logic had disappeared. It had started with a drunken argument—something trivial on the surface, but laced with something deeper.

"Why the hell do you even care?" Mingyu had slurred, gripping the fabric of Wonwoo’s sleeve, his eyes burning despite the alcohol blurring his vision. "It’s just a fucking shirt."

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened. "Because it’s not just about the shirt, and you know it." His voice was low, but there was something raw in it—something dangerous.

Mingyu’s pulse kicked up. Wonwoo was looking at him like he had just said something unforgivable, like he was seeing him for the first time.

"Then why do you keep looking at me like that?" Mingyu challenged, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo had murmured back, fingers brushing against his jaw in a way that set fire to Mingyu’s skin.

And then he was being pushed against the wall, lips crashing together in a desperate, messy kiss.

Mingyu should have stopped it.

But when Wonwoo’s hands slid under his shirt, when his breath hitched at the feeling of Mingyu’s body beneath his fingertips, when he whispered, "I need you," —it was over.

They didn’t make it to the bed at first. The wall, the floor, the couch—everything was a blur of tangled limbs and breathless moans. 

The first push inside stole the air from Mingyu’s lungs, his hands scrambling for something—anything—to hold onto. Wonwoo gripped his waist, keeping him steady, whispering things that Mingyu knew he wasn’t supposed to hear.

"You feel so fucking good," Wonwoo groaned, forehead pressing against his. " Fuck, you always— " Wonwoo started, but then he faltered.

Always?

He froze.

It was so brief, so fleeting, but Mingyu felt it—the sudden tension in Wonwoo’s shoulders, the hesitation in his breath.

Like he had just remembered something. Like he had just remembered someone else .

He felt the shift. The sudden realization in the way Wonwoo stiffened, in the way his breath hitched as if something had just clicked into place. That realization settled in Mingyu’s stomach like lead. 

Mingyu knew that pause. He knew what it meant. He didn’t need to hear the name to know who it was.

Junhui.

For a moment—maybe just for a second—Wonwoo had thought he was with Junhui .

The weight of it made his chest clench, shame creeping up his spine. But before he could react, before he could push him away, Wonwoo exhaled sharply and moved —rolling his hips deeper, like he was running from his own thoughts. Like he was trying to convince himself it didn’t matter.

" Mingyu ," Wonwoo groaned, this time knowing . This time saying his name like it meant something. Like it was him Wonwoo wanted.

And that was all it took.

Mingyu arched, his body responding before his mind could catch up, his legs tightening around Wonwoo’s waist. He was drowning in heat, in pleasure, in the way Wonwoo’s fingers dug into his skin like he never wanted to let go.

And Wonwoo didn’t hold back . He never did—not when it came to Mingyu.

Not when Mingyu needed something, wanted something.

Wonwoo always gave. He had always been the one to spoil Mingyu, to let him get away with things no one else could. Always slipping him the last bite of his food, always going out of his way to make Mingyu smile.

And now, even in this— even in this —Wonwoo was giving him everything.

The thought alone had him tightening around Wonwoo, moaning as their hips met again and again, again and again , the pleasure almost unbearable. He gave him everything, kissed him breathless, left bruises Mingyu wouldn’t be able to hide .

Wonwoo was relentless, hands gripping Mingyu’s hips as he thrust into him over and over, filling him in a way that made Mingyu tremble.

Wonwoo took him apart piece by piece, and Mingyu let him. He let himself be spread open, kissed senseless, touched in ways that had him begging for more.

Wonwoo’s hands weren’t rough; they were careful —like he was memorizing him, savoring every inch. His lips didn’t just claim, they lingered—soft and reverent, pressing into the dips of Mingyu’s collarbones, dragging along his chest before capturing a sensitive bud between his teeth.

Mingyu arched into it. He offered himself to Wonwoo.

"Please," he gasped, barely recognizing his own voice.

He shouldn’t be saying this.
He shouldn’t be enjoying this.
But Wonwoo gave him what he asked for anyway.

And then finally, when the first waves of exhaustion had settled, they had stumbled to the bedroom, where Wonwoo took his time, drawing out every sound, every shudder, every plea.

Mingyu had never felt so wanted.

So claimed .

Now, as Wonwoo’s fingers dug into his hips, as he groaned against Mingyu’s neck, pressing him down into the mattress, Mingyu couldn’t bring himself to care. His thighs trembled, still wrapped around Wonwoo’s waist. His body was slick with sweat, oversensitive, marked by hands that had no right to touch him this way.

And Mingyu took it all . He lifted his legs higher, let Wonwoo sink deeper, clung to him like he was afraid of the moment ending.

His body had never felt more full, more consumed, more wanted .

And then, in the haze of pleasure, Wonwoo murmured something against his lips.

"So fucking beautiful," he breathed. "You’re mine, Mingyu. You know that, right?"

Mingyu shattered.

His climax ripped through him so suddenly he barely had time to breathe before Wonwoo was kissing him again, riding out every aftershock, whispering his name like a prayer.

Mine.

It was so good . So consuming.

And that was the most terrifying part.

Because when Wonwoo buried his face in the crook of Mingyu’s neck, when his voice broke as he whispered, " I need you ," it wasn’t just sex .

It was them .

And it felt inevitable .

But this was supposed to be Junhui’s.

Junhui, who had been nothing but kind to him. Junhui, who smiled at him without knowing that Mingyu would betray him like this.

Junhui, who was loved by both Mingyu’s best friend and his housemate. Mingyu didn’t know when it had started—when the casual fondness had shifted into something more, when his heart began to ache in ways it shouldn’t.

The weight of it all pressed down on him, suffocating, but when Wonwoo moved again—when he rolled his hips just enough to remind Mingyu of how deep he still was—it sent a shiver through his spine.

How could something so unforgivable make him feel so alive?

Mingyu clenched his eyes shut.

Don’t think. Just feel.

But his heart didn’t listen. Because when the pleasure faded, when the warmth of Wonwoo’s touch was no longer enough to drown out his thoughts, guilt came crashing down like a tidal wave.

As Wonwoo’s hands traced over his skin, a different memory flashed through Mingyu’s mind.

"You don’t get it, Gyu," Minghao had once said, his voice soft, wistful. "When you love someone, you don’t just want them. You want them to be happy—even if it’s not with you."

Mingyu had scoffed back then, brushing it off like it was nonsense—not because he didn’t understand, but because he didn’t want to. Because wanting someone should have been enough, shouldn’t it? If you wanted them badly enough, shouldn’t that be all that mattered?

But now—now he understood.

Because as Wonwoo kissed him, as he whispered things that should’ve belonged to someone else, Mingyu felt the sharp sting of knowing he had just become the kind of person Minghao would never forgive.

Minghao had never outright confessed, but Mingyu knew. He saw it in the way Minghao looked at Junhui, in the way his voice softened whenever he spoke about him.

And yet here Mingyu was, tangled in the sheets with someone else’s boyfriend—a man who would never be his.

If he had even an ounce of self-control, he would have stopped this the moment it began. He would have pulled away from Wonwoo’s drunken kiss, he would have pushed him out the door instead of letting him drag him into bed.

But he hadn’t.

He let himself be kissed, touched, fucked—because the truth was, he wanted it too.

But now, as morning crept through the curtains, reality sank in like a knife to the chest.

I’m a terrible person.

Mingyu woke to the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, body aching in a way that screamed of the sins they had committed. His lips were swollen, his skin marked with bruises that hadn’t even begun to fade. He had let this happen—wanted it, begged for it. And worst of all—he knew he would do it again.

Beside him, Wonwoo stirred, shifting closer, his lips brushing against Mingyu’s shoulder. 

Mingyu froze.

He should say something.

He should push Wonwoo away, tell him this was a mistake, tell him to go back to Junhui.

But he didn’t. 

Because deep down, beneath all the guilt, beneath all the self-loathing, a selfish part of him whispered:

I don’t want him to stop.

Notes:

okay??? 😭 https://www.instagram.com/reel/DHiTq3_yZwu/?igsh=MWExM25hZDBqMW94Yw==

Chapter 2: The Line That Shouldn’t Be Crossed

Notes:

ik i said in that 1 comment that i will update last wknd, but sleep kept me prisoner for those 2 days, and i was all too willing to be caged~

Mingyu woke up alone.

For a moment, he thought maybe last night had been a fever dream—something his guilt had conjured up to torment him. But then he shifted, and the dull ache between his legs reminded him that it had been real.

Wonwoo had been here.

Wonwoo had touched him, kissed him, fucked him.

Mingyu squeezed his eyes shut, pulling the blanket over his face. What the fuck have I done?

The smell of sex still clung to his sheets, to his skin. He should get up. Shower. Burn his fucking bed. But instead, he lay there, staring at the ceiling, suffocated by the weight of his own thoughts.

This was a mistake.

It had to be.

It wasn’t just that Wonwoo had a boyfriend—it was who his boyfriend was.

Junhui.

Mingyu wasn’t particularly close to him, but Jun was over all the time, practically a fixture in their home. He had laughed at Jun’s stupid jokes, shared meals with him, even made fun of Wonwoo together when he was being insufferable.

And more importantly—Jun was Minghao’s Jun.

Not in the way Minghao wanted, not in the way that would ever become real, but in the way that mattered to him. And Mingyu knew. He knew his best friend had been in love with Jun for years, had loved him quietly, patiently, even when Jun started dating Wonwoo.

And what had Mingyu done?

He had gone and fucked his best friend’s crush’s boyfriend.

God, I’m disgusting.

Mingyu forced himself out of bed, but the moment his feet touched the floor, he heard movement outside his room. He froze.

Wonwoo.

The walls in their house were thin. He could hear Wonwoo moving around in the kitchen, opening cabinets, pouring coffee—going about his morning like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just spent the night buried inside Mingyu.

Mingyu squeezed his eyes shut. This is fine. We can move past this. We have to.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his door and stepped out.

Wonwoo was standing by the kitchen counter, coffee in hand, scrolling through his phone. He didn’t look up when Mingyu entered, didn’t acknowledge him at all.

Good. That was good.

Mingyu swallowed down the uneasy feeling in his chest and walked past him toward the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water.

Still, nothing.

No tension. No stolen glances. No awkward fumbling.

Maybe he’d imagined it—that pull between them, the heat that hadn’t faded even after the pleasure had.

Maybe Wonwoo regretted it just as much as he did.

Mingyu should’ve felt relieved.

Instead, he felt sick.

---

Later that morning, Mingyu’s phone buzzed with a message from Minghao.

[Hao] : You home? I’m coming over.

[Mingyu] : Yeah.

Normally, he would’ve been happy. Minghao coming over meant a distraction—mindless gossip, watching dumb videos together, eating takeout until they both passed out on the couch.

But today, it felt like a ticking time bomb.

Minghao had no idea.

He had no idea that his best friend had done the one thing that would break him.

Mingyu was still trying to pull himself together when the front door opened, and Minghao walked in, carrying a bag of food. “I brought breakfast.”

Mingyu forced a smile. He wasn’t sure he could stomach food right now, not with the ghost of Wonwoo’s touch still lingering on his skin. “What’s the occasion?”

Minghao shrugged. “I just felt like it. And I was already out.”

He walked past Mingyu toward the kitchen, and for a second, his nose wrinkled. “Why does it smell weird in here?”

Mingyu’s stomach dropped. “I, uh, spilled something last night.” His throat felt tight, but he forced a laugh. 

Minghao hummed in acknowledgment, already unpacking the food. “Whatever. Just eat before it gets cold.” 

Mingyu sat at the table, picking at his food while Minghao talked about his morning. He tried to focus—tried to push down the nausea curling in his gut—but then Wonwoo walked past, mug in hand.

Their eyes met.

It was barely a second. Barely anything at all.

But it was enough.

Mingyu looked away first, shoving a bite of food into his mouth as if that could silence the pounding of his heart.

Mingyu could still feel Wonwoo’s eyes on him..

He felt the weight of it, the memory behind it, the silent acknowledgment of what they had done.

But he could do this.

He could pretend last night never happened.

As long as he and Wonwoo never crossed that line again, everything would be fine.

Right?

---

Except they did.

The first time had been a mistake.

The alcohol had burned hot in their veins, the haze of drunken recklessness clouding their judgment. But when morning came, reality struck with an unforgiving hand.

They didn’t talk about it.

Didn’t look at each other for days.

Mingyu had convinced himself it wouldn’t happen again.

But he had underestimated Wonwoo’s resolve.

Or perhaps—his lack of it.

It started with a knock.

Soft. Hesitant.

Mingyu had been lying awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying that night in his head over and over again. He thought he imagined it at first.

But then it came again.

A quiet, almost guilty knock.

He knew who it was.

He should have ignored it. Should have turned away and buried himself under the covers. But his legs carried him to the door before he could think better of it.

He opened it.

Wonwoo stood there, shoulders tense, eyes dark with something unreadable.

Neither of them spoke.

There was no need to.

Wonwoo stepped in. Mingyu stepped back.

And just like that, they were in bed again, tangled in sheets that smelled like regret.

This time, there was no alcohol. No haze of drunken mistakes to blame it on.

This time, they were fully aware of what they were doing.

Wonwoo didn’t hesitate. His hands were on Mingyu’s skin the second the door closed, fingers digging into his waist, lips crashing into his like a man starving.

Mingyu gasped, stumbling back onto the bed as Wonwoo followed, pressing him down, caging him in. Their bodies fit together too easily, too naturally, as if they had done this a hundred times before.

They shouldn’t be doing this.

But God , it felt good.

Mingyu arched beneath him, fingers tangling in Wonwoo’s hair, dragging him closer, greedy for more. Wonwoo’s mouth was hot and insistent, tracing a path down his throat, his chest, lower—

By the time Wonwoo pushed inside him, Mingyu was already wrecked.

There was nothing slow about it. No tenderness. Just raw, desperate need.

Wonwoo took him hard, fast, bruising kisses and rough hands, like he was trying to brand himself into Mingyu’s skin.

Mingyu clawed at his back, legs tightening around him as pleasure blurred into something sharp, something painful.

It wasn’t love. Not yet.

For Wonwoo, it was an addiction, a hunger he couldn’t control.

A craving for something Junhui couldn’t give him.

Because Junhui didn’t have this .

Didn’t have the tight, wet heat that wrapped around Wonwoo’s cock and made him lose himself every single time.

Didn’t have the ability to take him in raw, to feel the heat of his release spilling inside, filling him up in ways he never could with Junhui.

Wonwoo was addicted to him.

For Mingyu—

It was falling.

Again.

And again.

---

One night turned into two.

Two turned into three.

Before long, it became a habit neither of them could break.

Wonwoo would slip into Mingyu’s room under the cover of darkness, pressing him into the mattress, muffling his groans with his lips, thrusting into him with a kind of reckless abandon, sinking deep inside him with a desperation that left Mingyu breathless.

Every touch, every thrust, every bite into his skin was a brand, a reminder of what they weren’t supposed to be doing. Every time he spilled inside Mingyu, it was like they were daring fate to catch up to them.

And yet, they couldn’t stop.

Wonwoo was different with him.

With Junhui, he was gentle. Reserved. Careful.

But with Mingyu, he was something else entirely.

Rough. Needy. Addicted.

Mingyu knew it wasn’t love.

But he wanted it to be.

---

Some nights, after Wonwoo had fucked him raw and left him trembling, he would stay awake, watching the slow rise and fall of Wonwoo’s chest.

Pretending, just for a moment, that they were something real.

That he wasn’t just a secret Wonwoo tucked away in the dark.

That there wasn’t someone else waiting for him in the morning.

Mingyu knew he was being selfish.

Knew he was hurting Junhui, hurting Minghao—hurting himself.

But no matter how much guilt ate away at him, he couldn’t stop.

Because when Wonwoo was inside him, when he whispered Mingyu’s name against his skin like it meant something—

Mingyu could almost believe it did.

Chapter 3: An Unwanted Consequence

Notes:

surprise double update~

The first time was a mistake.

The second, a lapse in judgment.

But the third—the fourth, the fifth—

Those weren’t mistakes anymore.

They were choices.

And choices had consequences.

---

Mingyu had barely fallen asleep when the knock came again. Soft, barely audible. But he heard it.

His body knew before his mind did.

He should have ignored it. Should have buried himself under the blankets and pretended he didn’t hear. But his legs moved before he could stop himself, carrying him to the door.

He opened it.

Wonwoo stood there, just like before.

Messy hair, an unreadable expression, standing in the dim glow of the hallway light.

The moment their eyes met, it was over.

Mingyu stepped back, and Wonwoo stepped in—like always.

Like before.

The door shut behind them, and just like that, they were back in bed, tangled in the sheets, mouths crashing together in a kiss that tasted of need and regret.

Just one more time, Mingyu told himself. Just this once.

A lie.

Because it was never just once.

---

Morning came too soon.

Mingyu stirred awake, body aching, the scent of sex still heavy in the air. He wasn’t alone.

Wonwoo was still in his bed.

For the first time since this started, he hadn’t left before sunrise.

Mingyu stared at the ceiling, breath shallow. He should wake him up. He should say something.

Instead, he turned his head just enough to look at Wonwoo.

He was still asleep, face turned toward him, the faintest furrow in his brows. Even now, Wonwoo looked distant—like he was somewhere else, even as he lay beside him.

Jun.

Mingyu squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think about Jun.

About Minghao still orbiting him, trusting him.

About how he was betraying them both.

But the guilt was always there, lurking in the corners of his mind, waiting to sink its claws into him the moment the pleasure faded.

By the time Wonwoo finally left his bed, the apartment was already filled with the scent of coffee.

They didn’t speak.

Not when Mingyu shuffled into the kitchen. Not when Wonwoo handed him a mug without a word.

It was routine now.

One night in his bed. A few hours of silence in the morning. Then pretending it never happened.

Mingyu wished it didn’t feel so normal.

---

Later that afternoon, Minghao texted.

[Hao] : What are you up to?

[Mingyu] : Just home. You?

[Hao] : Thinking of coming over. I wanna see you.

Mingyu hesitated.

He could still hear Wonwoo moving around in his room. If Minghao came over now—

[Mingyu] : Yeah, come.

It didn’t matter.

He couldn’t keep avoiding Minghao just because he was drowning in guilt.

Mingyu took a quick shower, scrubbing at his skin until it burned.

As if he could scrub away his sins. As if guilt could be washed down the drain like sweat and soap.

By the time he stepped out, Minghao was already knocking at the door.

He stood in the doorway, all easy smiles and warmth, oblivious to the storm raging inside Mingyu.

Mingyu wondered if he would still smile like that if he knew.

“Jun and I have plans later,” Minghao said as he made himself comfortable on the couch. “We’re gonna have dinner,” then in an excited whisper, as if wary of letting the other occupant of the room from hearing them, "just the two of us."

Mingyu’s chest tightened.

Of course.

Jun.

Even after all these years, Minghao still clung to him, still smiled just a little softer when he spoke his name.

Mingyu wished he had something to say. Something that wouldn’t sound like hypocrisy coming from his mouth.

Instead, he nodded. “Sounds nice.”

Minghao stretched out on the couch, yawning. “You don’t mind if I crash here for a bit, do you?”

Mingyu shook his head. “Go ahead.”

Minghao curled up, closing his eyes.

And Mingyu sat there, watching him, guilt weighing heavy in his gut.

He remembered a night not too long ago. Minghao had come over after one of his dinners with Jun, hair still windblown from the cold, face lit up with something softer than usual.

“I’ve liked him since high school, you know,” Hao had said, almost casually, like it wasn’t a confession that could gut someone.

Mingyu had blinked, startled. “Jun?”

“Yeah.” Hao gave a soft, helpless laugh. “It’s pathetic, right? I’m probably the only idiot who’s been in love with the same person for this long without doing anything about it.”

Mingyu had felt the room shift around him. He’d always suspected—he wasn’t stupid—but hearing it out loud, hearing Hao say love , made his guilt turn bone-deep.

“You’ve never told him?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Hao had shaken his head, eyes slipping closed as he leaned back into the cushions. “No point. He’s always looking somewhere else.”

Mingyu sat there, watching him now—curled up on his couch like nothing had changed. 

But everything had. And he couldn’t pretend otherwise.

---

That night, after Minghao left, Mingyu told himself he wouldn’t open the door again.

That he would stop this.

That it had to end.

But when the knock came, soft and hesitant—

He still opened it.

And let Wonwoo in.

Again.

---

Mingyu felt off.

It started as exhaustion—something easy to brush off. Late nights, stolen moments tangled in sheets, the constant weight of guilt pressing against his chest. It made sense to be tired.

But then came the nausea.

The kind that curled in his gut the moment he woke up, that left him dry-heaving over the sink, shaking and breathless.

It didn’t make sense.

At first, he thought it was stress. The anxiety, the guilt of sneaking around with Wonwoo, of pretending everything was normal when Junhui smiled at him, oblivious. The way his body was wearing thin under the weight of it all.

But when his stomach twisted at the smell of coffee—his favorite thing in the world—Mingyu knew something was wrong.

The nausea wasn’t just in the mornings anymore. It clung to him, all day, an unwelcome shadow.

And deep down, he already knew what it was.

That was when the fear set in.

---

The pregnancy test lay on the counter, glaring up at him.

Two pink lines.

Positive.

Mingyu stared at it, his vision swimming. His hands trembled as he gripped the sink, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts.

He was pregnant.

With Wonwoo’s child.

The weight of it crushed him, suffocating, unbearable.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

They had been reckless—so fucking reckless—but some naive part of him had convinced himself it would be fine. That it wouldn’t come to this.

That he wouldn’t be stuck carrying Wonwoo’s child while Wonwoo is still committed to Junhui.

A sob clawed its way up his throat, but he swallowed it down, shaking.

What was he supposed to do now?

---

Wonwoo noticed something was wrong.

Mingyu could see it in the way he hesitated, in the way his eyes lingered longer than usual when they passed each other in the hallway.

It all came to a breaking point one night when Wonwoo slipped into his room as usual, expecting warmth, expecting Mingyu’s body to ease the tension coiling on his own.

Instead, he found Mingyu curled up, face pale, arms wrapped around himself as if trying to hold something in.

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo murmured, kneeling beside the bed.

Mingyu didn’t look at him.

“Are you sick?” Wonwoo asked, concern creeping into his voice. He reached out, pressing the back of his hand against Mingyu’s forehead. “You feel warm.”

Mingyu flinched.

He squeezed his eyes shut, fists clenching in the sheets. His heart pounded against his ribs, panic rising like a tidal wave.

He couldn’t tell him.

He shouldn’t tell him.

But the words came out anyway.

Mingyu swallowed hard, fingers digging into the sheets. His throat felt tight, raw.

And then, in a voice barely above a whisper—

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

The kind that stretched too long, heavy and suffocating.

Mingyu finally forced himself to look at Wonwoo, expecting horror, denial, anger— anything .

But all he saw was shock.

Wonwoo sat frozen, dark eyes wide, lips parted—stuck between words that refused to come.

The silence stretched, suffocating, unbearable.

Mingyu braced himself for rejection.

For anger. For disbelief. For anything.

For anything but what happened next.

Wonwoo moved.

Not away. Not out the door.

But toward him– toward Mingyu .

And in the next breath, Mingyu was on his back, Wonwoo hovering over him, hands sliding beneath his shirt, desperate and needy .

“Won—” Mingyu gasped as lips pressed against his throat, as Wonwoo’s weight settled between his legs.

“ Pregnant ,” Wonwoo breathed, like he was still trying to make sense of the word. His fingers tightened around Mingyu’s hips, reverent, desperate. “With… my child.”

Mingyu’s breath hitched.

Yes.

He was carrying Wonwoo’s child.

And yet—he didn’t know if that meant anything at all.

But instead of pulling away, instead of doing the right thing—

Wonwoo kissed him.

Hard.

Desperate.

Like knowing Mingyu was pregnant with his child only made him want him more.

Mingyu didn’t fight it.

Didn’t push him away.

He couldn’t .

Because as much as he wanted to hate Wonwoo, to hate himself—

His body needed him.

Maybe it was the hormones. Maybe it was the sheer loneliness, the fear, the overwhelming desire for something real.

But when Wonwoo pushed inside him, when he filled him up, whispering, Mine. You’re mine. —

Mingyu let himself believe it.

Even if it was just for tonight.

Chapter 4: The Weight of Secrets

Notes:

if you're new here, you don't have to do this; but if you've been reading this with every update, please, before you start this chapter, go back to the previous one because i added something there for this chapter to make sense 🙇‍♀️

anyway, gyuhao bff time~
confession time~
hao is an angel~~

Mingyu hadn’t planned on telling Minghao—not yet, maybe not ever. But as he sat across from his best friend, picking at the untouched food on his plate, the weight of it all pressed against his ribs like a vice.

"You’re not eating," Minghao noted, his chopsticks hovering in the air. His eyes, sharp but always full of warmth when they looked at Mingyu, narrowed slightly. "Are you sick?"

Mingyu let out a shaky breath. "Yeah."

Minghao frowned. "What kind of sick? Should we go to the doctor?"

Mingyu laughed bitterly, more at himself than anything. "I already did."

That made Minghao set his chopsticks down completely. "Mingyu—"

"I’m pregnant." Mingyu said softly, barely louder than a breath. 

The words settled between them like a bomb, loud even in the near-silent restaurant. Minghao’s expression didn’t shift at first, as if his brain refused to register what he’d just heard. But then his brows pulled together, lips parting slightly as if searching for the right thing to say.

Pregnant.

Minghao blinked, then shook his head, as if that would clear the absurdity of the situation. "I—what? Pregnant?" His voice lowered, as if speaking any louder would make it more real.

Mingyu gave a short, humorless nod. His fingers clenched under the table, nails digging into his palms. "Yeah."

Minghao stared, his eyes scanning Mingyu’s face like he was waiting for the punchline to a terrible joke. When no laughter came, no smirk, no teasing remark, the reality of it set in, and his expression twisted into something unreadable.

"How?" It was a stupid question, but he needed to say something—anything.

Mingyu swallowed hard, looking at his friend meaningfully. "How do you think?"

And then it hit him.

Minghao sat back, his entire posture rigid. "You mean—" His voice caught, and for a second, Mingyu could see the exact moment the truth landed in his chest like a boulder. His best friend, the person he trusted the most, had betrayed not just Junhui , but him .

"You’re pregnant with Wonwoo’s baby?"

Mingyu flinched, looking down at the table. "Yes."

Silence.

Minghao inhaled sharply, his fingers curling into fists against the table’s surface. "Since when?"

Mingyu hesitated. "A while."

"A while?" Minghao repeated, his voice rising in disbelief. "So this wasn’t just a one-time thing?"

Mingyu squeezed his eyes shut. "No."

Minghao let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. "Holy shit, Mingyu."

Mingyu had expected anger, maybe disgust. But what he wasn’t prepared for was the hurt in Minghao’s eyes, the sheer betrayal written across his face. Not because Mingyu had slept with someone he shouldn’t have, but because he had kept it from him .

"You knew," Minghao said, voice quieter now, but no less heavy. "You knew how I felt about Junhui."

Mingyu’s stomach twisted. " I know ."

"And you still—" Minghao exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers against his temple. "Do you have any idea what this means? What this is going to do to Junhui? To you ?"

Mingyu bit the inside of his cheek. "I didn’t mean for this to happen."

Minghao let out a humorless laugh. "No shit." He leaned forward, lowering his voice despite his obvious frustration. " Wonwoo has a boyfriend, Mingyu. And Junhui— " He cut himself off, shaking his head. " You should’ve told me. Before it got to this point. Before—"

Before a life was created.

Mingyu’s eyes burned. "I was scared."

"Of what?" Minghao demanded. "Of me judging you? Of Junhui finding out? Or of the fact that you don’t actually regret this as much as you say you do?"

Mingyu’s breath caught. "I—"

Minghao didn’t need him to finish. He already knew.

And that was the worst part.

Minghao exhaled harshly, leaning back in his seat. He wasn’t looking at Mingyu anymore, staring blankly at the table as if it could give him answers. "What are you going to do?"

Mingyu swallowed. "I don’t know."

Minghao scoffed. "You don’t know?" He shook his head in disbelief. "You’re pregnant, Mingyu. With Wonwoo’s baby. This isn’t just going to go away."

"I know that!" Mingyu snapped, his voice breaking. He immediately regretted it when he saw Minghao flinch. His shoulders slumped, guilt tightening around his throat. " I know , Hao. I think about it every day. Every time I wake up, every time I look at him, every time I—"

Minghao looked up sharply. " You’re still sleeping with him? "

Mingyu opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Minghao let out a bitter laugh. " Unbelievable ."

Mingyu dropped his head into his hands. "I don’t know how to stop."

Silence stretched between them again, but this time, it was heavier. Minghao studied him, his expression still tight with frustration, but there was something else now—something sad.

"You love him," Minghao said, not a question, but a realization.

Mingyu hesitated. Then, barely above a whisper: "Yes."

Minghao’s jaw clenched. " And what about Junhui? "

Mingyu’s chest ached. " I don’t know. "

Minghao closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. "I want to be angry with you."

Mingyu lifted his head slightly. "Aren’t you?"

Minghao sighed. "I am. But more than that, I just..." He shook his head. "I hate that you’re hurting."

Mingyu bit his lip, his hands trembling under the table. "I’m sorry."

Minghao finally looked at him, and though the disappointment was still there, so was the concern. " Does Wonwoo know? "

Mingyu hesitated before nodding. "Yeah."

Minghao’s brows furrowed. " And? "

Mingyu let out a shaky breath. "He still—he still comes to me."

Minghao’s lips pressed into a thin line. " Even after finding out? "

Mingyu looked away. " Especially after finding out."

Minghao exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. " This is so fucked up. "

Mingyu laughed weakly. "Tell me about it."

Minghao stared at him for a long moment before sighing. "I hate you right now."

Mingyu’s stomach twisted. "I know."

Minghao shook his head. "But I still love you."

Mingyu’s breath caught, his eyes tearing up. "Hao—"

"And that’s why I’m going to help you," Minghao said firmly. "Even if I think you’re an idiot. Even if you broke every possible rule of friendship."

Mingyu’s eyes burned, the weight in his chest loosening just slightly. "Thank you."

Minghao exhaled. "You better make this up to me for the rest of your life."

Mingyu gave a watery smile. "I will."

Notes:

not much work today so i did this instead lmao enjoy~~

Chapter 5: A Silent Apology

Notes:

happy birthday to my best boi, my bbg gyu 🥺
but sorry, this chapter focuses more on junhao, tho you still have some parts don't worry~~

Minghao wasn’t sure when it started—this quiet, gnawing need to be closer to Jun, to check in on him, to make sure he was okay. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was his way of making up for Mingyu’s sins, atoning for something he had no control over.

Or maybe, deep down, it had nothing to do with Mingyu at all.

Maybe, deep down, he just wanted to be near him.

It started with the little things. Extra food packed whenever they met up, a casual “ I made too much, thought you might want some. ” A text sent in passing—“ Did you eat yet? ” A cup of coffee left on Junhui’s desk when Minghao visited his office, still hot, just the way he liked it. An excuse to drop by his place with his favorite snacks.

Jun never questioned it. If anything, he welcomed it.

One evening, they sat on Junhui’s couch, the glow of the TV washing over them in flickering light. Junhui cradled a warm bowl of soup in his hands, fingers wrapped around it like he was savoring the comfort of the heat.

“You spoil me too much, Hao,” he said, smiling as he took the bowl and sipped carefully. 

His voice was light, teasing, but his eyes shone with something softer—something grateful.

Minghao shrugged, settling beside him on the couch, gaze on the screen. Pretending his heart didn’t skip a beat.

“Someone has to make sure you eat properly.”

Junhui chuckled, low and easy, warmth curling in Minghao’s chest. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were my wife.”

Minghao flinched.

His fingers curled slightly around the fabric of his sweater, grip tightening for just a second before he forced himself to laugh.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he said lightly, nudging Jun’s leg with his foot. “I’m just a good friend.”

Junhui grinned, bright and open. “The best.”

Minghao’s smile faltered, just for a second.

If only you knew.

Because sometimes, late at night, when he lay awake staring at the ceiling, he let himself imagine what it would be like—if Jun knew, if Jun wanted him back.

But that wasn’t his reality. It never could be.

So instead, he sat beside Junhui, pretending his heart wasn’t aching, pretending the weight in his chest wasn’t growing heavier with each passing day.

---

Minghao should have drawn a line somewhere.

It wasn’t as if Jun needed him. He was capable, independent, never the type to rely on anyone. But lately, things had shifted. It wasn’t just Minghao reaching out anymore.

The more time they spent together, the more Junhui seemed to seek him out.

It began with late-night texts—short messages at first.

[Junnie]: You up?
[Haohao]: Yeah. What’s wrong?
[Junnie]: Nothing. Just can’t sleep.

At first, Minghao kept his replies simple. “Try listening to some music” “Close your eyes. Deep breaths.” But the texts turned into calls, and the calls stretched into long, quiet conversations that bled into the early morning.

Minghao didn’t know if Jun noticed the way his voice softened when they spoke, or how he never ended the call first, always waiting until the other’s breathing evened out on the other end.

And then there were the touches. Lingering ones—a hand on his shoulder, a ruffle of his hair, an arm slung around him.

Jun had always been affectionate—an arm thrown over his shoulders, a casual ruffle of his hair. But lately, those touches lasted just a second too long. A warm palm resting on his knee during conversations. Fingers brushing against his when they walked side by side. The way Junhui pulled him in for hugs that felt like they were meant to last forever.

Minghao told himself it meant nothing. That Jun was just naturally warm, open, comfortable.

But then there were the moments that made his heart stutter.

Like the way Junhui’s gaze softened when he looked at him, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. The nights when he hugged Minghao just a little longer, his breath warm against his neck. The quiet, almost shy way he said “I sleep better after talking to you” —like it was a secret he wasn’t sure he should be sharing.

It was dangerous—this closeness.

It blurred lines that shouldn’t be blurred. It made Minghao wonder if there was something there, if he was allowed to hope .

But then he would remember.

Junhui still belonged to someone else.

And yet, despite the warnings screaming in his head, despite the ache in his chest—

Minghao couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

---

Across the city, Mingyu was drowning in a different kind of addiction.

He was losing control. He should have stopped. He should have told Wonwoo no.

But how could he? When every touch set his skin on fire? When every kiss left him breathless, wanting more?

He had always been the reckless type—too impulsive, too eager to chase after what he wanted. But this? This was different. This was need in its purest, most destructive form.

It wasn’t just the guilt that consumed him now—it was desire . Raw, overwhelming, impossible to ignore.

His body betrayed him, especially now.

Pregnancy had heightened everything. His senses, his emotions—his need . His body wasn’t just his own anymore, and yet, it demanded more than ever. His senses were heightened, emotions unpredictable, pleasure sharper. The heat of Wonwoo’s touch, the press of his lips, the way he whispered against his skin—it all sent Mingyu spiraling.

And Wonwoo? He fed into it. He was more than happy to indulge him.

They had never been good at stopping. Even before, when they knew it was wrong, when they swore it wouldn’t happen again. But now? Now, it felt inevitable.

Tonight was no different.

Mingyu barely had time to close the door before Wonwoo was on him, hands firm on his waist, pressing him back against the wall.

"You’re insatiable," Wonwoo murmured one night, voice rough with amusement and something darker, his hands splayed over Mingyu’s swollen belly.

Mingyu shivered under his touch, arching into him without hesitation. "Then take responsibility."

Wonwoo chuckled, low and indulgent, his lips brushing against Mingyu’s ear. "Oh, I plan to."

He kissed down Mingyu’s neck, his hands slid lower, palms warm against the curve of Mingyu’s stomach. His movements slowed, just for a moment—reverent, almost hesitant.

Mingyu sucked in a breath, watching as Wonwoo stared down at him, his expression unreadable.

Then, finally, a whisper.

"I still can’t believe I put a baby in here."

Mingyu’s breath hitched, a mix of arousal and something inside him twisted—something deep, something terrifying.

It wasn’t just arousal. It was something heavier, something dangerous.

" Our baby," he corrected, his voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo stilled for a moment, something flickering in his gaze. His fingers tightened slightly over Mingyu’s belly, like he was grounding himself in the reality of it. Like the weight of those words meant something.

But then he leaned in, capturing Mingyu’s lips in a deep, bruising kiss.

And just like that, the rest of the world disappeared.

---

Minghao wasn’t blind. He saw the shift in Junhui—the way he started looking for him more often, the way his fingers lingered a little too long when they brushed against Minghao’s skin.

But he also saw something else.

The loneliness. The cracks in his relationship with Wonwoo.

It wasn’t obvious—not yet. Jun never said anything outright, but Minghao could feel it. In the way he hesitated before answering texts, in the way his smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes sometimes. In the way he avoided talking about Wonwoo.

Minghao didn’t ask. He didn’t need to.

Because he knew.

The cracks were already forming.

Wonwoo and Junhui had always seemed perfect to everyone else—steady, unshakable. But Minghao had seen the truth long before anyone else. Maybe because he paid attention. Maybe because he had spent too many nights watching Junhui quietly fall apart, only to put himself back together with a smile that fooled everyone but him.

And that terrified him.

Because if those cracks kept growing—if Jun ever turned to him, if he ever asked —Minghao wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to say no.

And if that day came…

He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Not when Junhui’s presence had become his lifeline. Not when his laughter made the world a little softer, a little easier to bear. Not when, in his weakest moments, Minghao wondered what it would feel like if he was the one Junhui chose.

It was selfish. It was wrong .

But it was getting harder to ignore.

One evening, as they sat together on the couch, Junhui let out a sigh, rubbing his temples.

"Rough day?" Minghao asked, careful.

Jun hummed. "Something like that." He tilted his head, looking at him. "But I feel better now."

Minghao swallowed, throat tight. "Yeah?"

Junhui smiled. "Yeah. You’re good company, Hao."

Minghao’s heart stuttered.

He shouldn’t be happy about that. He shouldn’t let it get to him. But when Jun’s hand settled on his knee, warm and grounding, it did .

And for the first time, Minghao wondered—if he reached out, if he crossed the line —

Would Junhui let him?

Notes:

i am so so sorry if i keep on alternating between jun and junhui pls understand using pronouns to avoid repeating character names is rly hard in same gender dynamics. so, as a work around i tried this instead 😭 i myself am bothered by it so i ask for your forgiveness here 🙇‍♀️

Chapter 6: The Second Sin

Notes:

finally!! junhao's time to shine 🤩

It started as an innocent request.

"Just stay over," Minghao had said, handing Junhui another beer. "It’s late, and you’ve had too much to drink."

Junhui hesitated. He rarely stayed over at Minghao’s place. They were close—had been since childhood—but there had always been an unspoken line between them. It was easier that way. Jun was Wonwoo’s boyfriend. Minghao was just a friend. A childhood friend, even.

But tonight, something felt different.

Maybe it was the warmth of Minghao’s apartment, the easy comfort they had always shared. Maybe it was the way Minghao didn’t seem to expect anything from him, unlike Wonwoo, whose touch sometimes felt distant even when they were close. Or maybe it was just the alcohol dulling his common sense.

Either way, Junhui stayed.

They sat together on the couch, watching a movie neither of them really paid attention to. Junhui’s head felt heavy, his body sluggish. At some point, his head tipped onto Minghao’s shoulder, and the warmth there was soothing, grounding.

Minghao didn’t move away.

He should have.

But he didn’t.

---

Sometime in the night, Junhui woke up, disoriented. The apartment was dark, the TV screen black. The couch beside him was empty, Minghao nowhere in sight.

Rubbing his eyes, he stood and stretched before making his way to the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, dim light spilling from inside. He pushed it open without thinking.

And then he froze.

He didn’t mean to look.

Didn’t mean to see .

But there, under the dim glow of the bedside lamp, Minghao stood with his back to the door, his shirt already discarded, leaving his upper body bare. His sweatpants hung loosely on his hips, the waistband dipping dangerously low as he stretched his arms above his head. Junhui had only meant to grab the charger he had left behind, but as soon as he stepped into the room, his breath hitched.

Minghao hadn’t noticed him yet. He ran a hand through his damp hair, his back still to Junhui, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. And then—without a second thought—he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and shoved them down, intending to change into something more comfortable.

Junhui should’ve turned away. Should’ve closed the door and pretended he hadn’t seen.

But he didn’t.

His gaze dropped, trailing over the smooth curve of Minghao’s back, down to the gentle slope of his hips, and then—lower.

And that was when he saw it.

The unmistakable softness between Minghao’s thighs. The proof that Minghao wasn’t like other men.

Junhui’s heart pounded, his fingers twitching at his sides.

His breath caught in his throat. His heart slammed against his ribs.

Minghao had a pussy .

And for some reason, Junhui couldn’t look away.

The realization hit him like a lightning strike, burning through him with startling intensity.

“Minghao,” Junhui’s voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

Minghao finally noticed him then, startled, his body going rigid as he turned, quickly tugging his sweatpants back up, his eyes wide as he clutched at the fabric of his pants. "Jun—"

He didn’t get to finish. Junhui was already in front of him, hands reaching out, fingers brushing over Minghao’s bare stomach. The skin beneath his touch quivered.

Junhui’s gaze snapped up to Minghao’s face, but it was too late. He had already seen too much.

Minghao stepped back and grabbed his shirt from the bed, hurriedly pulling it over his head. His cheeks were flushed, his hands gripping the fabric tightly. “You should go back to sleep.”

Junhui didn’t move. His heart was pounding, his body tense. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” His voice came out rough, uneven.

Minghao hesitated. His fingers clenched tighter around the hem of his shirt. “Because it didn’t matter.”

But before he could react, Junhui was already moving.

He took a step forward, then another. Closing the distance between them. “It does matter.”

Minghao swallowed hard. “Why?”

Junhui couldn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t sure himself.

All he knew was that now that he had seen —now that he knew —he couldn’t ignore the way his body reacted, the way his blood roared in his veins.

---

Minghao barely had time to process before Junhui’s hands were on him, pinning him against the wall, his fingers trembling where they pressed into Minghao’s skin.

Minghao gasped as Junhui grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him closer. Their faces were mere inches apart now, and Junhui could feel the rapid rise and fall of Minghao’s chest, could see the conflict flickering in his dark eyes. But then Minghao exhaled shakily, his lips parting ever so slightly—and that was all it took. Their lips crashed against each other.

The moment their lips met, the dam broke.

Minghao made a soft sound—something caught between shock and surrender—before melting into him.

So he just kissed him harder, his hands roaming, exploring, claiming .

A desperate, feverish kiss. 

Minghao shifted uncomfortably. “Jun—”

Junhui reached for him before he could finish. Minghao swallowed hard, his lips parting as if wanting to protest more, but the words never came.

Junhui’s fingers traced lower, past the curve of Minghao’s stomach, stopping just above the waistband of his sweatpants. His touch was hesitant, but the heat pooling in his gut urged him forward.

Minghao’s breath hitched when Junhui’s fingers hooked into the waistband of Minghao’s sweatpants before pushing them down completely. The fabric pooled at Minghao’s ankles, leaving him fully exposed. His body trembled, his mind screaming that this was wrong—so, so wrong—but he didn’t stop it. He couldn’t.

A shiver wracked through Minghao’s body as Junhui cupped his waist, pulling him flush against him. Minghao trembled, his fingers gripping at Junhui’s arms, as if trying to ground himself.

But there was no stopping now.

Junhui lifted him easily, carrying him to the bed, pressing him down into the mattress.

Minghao looked up at him, wide-eyed, lips swollen from their kiss. “Jun—”

But Junhui was already tugging at Minghao’s shirt, peeling it off with ease. His fingers traced over smooth skin, over the soft curve of Minghao’s stomach, lower, lower—

Minghao shivered beneath him. “We shouldn’t—”

“I know.”

"This is wrong," Minghao whispered, but his arms curled around Junhui’s neck, his body arching into him.

Junhui hummed in agreement, his hands sliding further down, fingers ghosting over the soft, slick warmth between Minghao’s legs. “Probably.”

Junhui swallowed hard, eyes dark with something unreadable as he took in the sight before him. Minghao’s pussy was already glistening, an undeniable sign of his arousal. Junhui let out a shaky breath, his fingers ghosting over the sensitive flesh.

Minghao gasped, his thighs instinctively parting, granting Junhui silent permission.

And then he touched him—properly.

Minghao gasped, hands flying up to grip Junhui’s shoulders as fingers pressed against his entrance, rubbing slow, deliberate circles.

Junhui watched him closely, drinking in every tiny reaction. “You’re wet,” he murmured, voice thick with something dark.

Minghao whimpered. “Shut up.”

Junhui only smirked, fingers dipping between Minghao’s folds, gathering the slickness before pressing a single digit inside, feeling the way Minghao’s walls clenched around him immediately, soft and warm, pulling him in. He started slow, curling his fingers, stroking the delicate walls, watching the way Minghao’s legs trembled with every movement.

A low groan rumbled from Junhui’s chest as he continued moving his fingers in and out of Minghao’s wet cave. "Fuck," Junhui breathed out, mesmerized.

Minghao whimpered, his fingers curling into the sheets. "Jun, we—ah—" His words broke into a moan as Junhui pushed in deeper, adding another finger, stretching him open.

Junhui’s lips found Minghao’s neck, kissing, sucking, leaving marks as his fingers worked him open. His free hand roamed over Minghao’s body, memorizing every soft curve, every shiver beneath his touch.

Minghao felt like he was drowning, lost in the sensation of Junhui’s fingers curling inside him, brushing against the sensitive spot that made his legs tremble. His breath came in short, uneven gasps, his hips rolling into Junhui’s touch, chasing more.

Junhui pulled back just enough to take in the sight beneath him—Minghao’s flushed cheeks, parted lips, the way his chest rose and fell with every desperate breath. He couldn’t stop now. He didn’t want to.

Minghao bit his lip, face burning with shame. “I hate you,” he breathed.

“Yeah?” Junhui’s voice was teasing, but his eyes burned with something intense. He withdrew his fingers, bringing them up to his lips, licking away the wetness coating them. “Then why do you taste so sweet?”

Minghao’s knees nearly buckled.

He barely had a moment to process before Junhui was guiding him onto the bed, settling between his spread thighs. The older was already working his own clothes off, his own sweatpants were uncomfortably tight, his cock throbbing painfully. He shoved them down hastily, letting out a shaky breath as his length sprang free. His cock stood hard and leaking, the tip flushed deep red with need. A hand wrapped around his length, pumping himself slowly, coating his shaft in Minghao’s slick before lining himself up against Minghao’s entrance.

Minghao’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Junhui’s gaze. There was hesitation there, a silent question.

Junhui’s lips brushed against Minghao’s ear. “Last chance to stop this.”

Minghao exhaled shakily. “Just—just do it.”

And Junhui did, leaning down, pressing a lingering kiss against Minghao’s lips before pushing inside in one slow, deliberate thrust—burying himself to the hilt, stretching Minghao open around him, feeling the way he stretched around him, hot and tight and perfect—both of them shattered.

A groan ripped from Junhui’s throat as he bottomed out, buried deep inside the very thing he never knew he wanted until now.

Minghao cried out, back arching, his nails digging into Junhui’s shoulders as Junhui filled him completely, stretching him in a way that had his mind spinning.

"Shit, you’re so—" Junhui groaned, burying himself to the hilt, his hands gripping Minghao’s hips tightly.

Minghao whimpered, eyes squeezing shut, legs wrapping around Junhui’s waist, pulling him in deeper.

He felt full .

Felt alive .

Felt like he was losing himself entirely.

Minghao was tight , his warmth clenching around him, pulling him deeper.

Junhui was drowning, lost in the heat of Minghao’s body, in the way he gasped and whimpered beneath him. The weight of his guilt should have crushed him, but right now, all he could focus on was the way Minghao felt around him, the way he fit so perfectly.

And then Junhui began to move, slow at first, then faster, more desperate—gripping, gasping. He pulled back slightly before thrusting in again, slow and deep, savoring the way Minghao’s warmth enveloped him. His breathing was ragged, his fingers gripping Minghao’s hips tightly, as if grounding himself in this moment.

Minghao’s body trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by the feeling of being stretched so perfectly. His fingers curled into Junhui’s shoulders, nails pressing into his skin. “J-Jun…” His voice was breathless, barely more than a whimper.

Junhui let out a shaky moan at the way Minghao clenched around him, hot and wet and impossibly tight. “Fuck, Hao… You feel—” His words caught in his throat, drowning in pleasure as he pulled out almost completely before sinking back in, deeper this time.

Minghao gasped, his back arching. His thighs squeezed around Junhui’s waist, his body instinctively clinging to the man above him. He felt stretched, filled, every inch of Junhui pressing into places he hadn’t even known were so sensitive.

Junhui cursed under his breath, gripping Minghao’s hips tighter as he set a slow, deliberate pace. He watched the way Minghao’s body reacted to every movement—how his lips parted, how his breath hitched with each deep thrust.

“You take me so well,” Junhui murmured, his voice rough, filled with something dangerous—something possessive. He leaned down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along Minghao’s jaw, down to his neck. His tongue flicked against the flushed skin before he sucked lightly, drawing a sharp moan from Minghao.

Minghao’s fingers tangled in Junhui’s hair, his hips moving unconsciously to meet each thrust. “J-Jun… please—”

Junhui pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes dark with hunger. “Please what?” He punctuated his words with a deep roll of his hips, pulling another soft cry from Minghao’s lips.

Minghao didn’t answer—couldn’t. His thoughts were a mess, overwhelmed by the pleasure, by the heat of Junhui’s body against his, inside him.

Junhui’s hands slid from Minghao’s waist up to his chest, fingers brushing against soft, swollen flesh. His thumbs teased over Minghao’s sensitive nipples, drawing a sharp whimper. “You like that?” Junhui smirked, rubbing slow circles around the hardened buds before pinching gently.

Minghao gasped, his body arching into the touch, and Junhui’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. “So responsive,” he murmured, rolling his hips harder, deeper, angling to press against that sweet spot inside Minghao.

They moved together chasing a high neither of them could deny. Every thrust, every gasp, every whispered name sent them spiraling further into something neither of them could take back.

Minghao nearly sobbed, pleasure crashing over him in waves. His nails raked down Junhui’s back as he clenched around him. “J-Jun, I—”

Junhui silenced him with a kiss, swallowing every desperate sound. His thrusts quickened, his grip tightening as he chased the high that loomed so close. 

Minghao broke the kiss with a sharp gasp, his head falling back against the pillow as pleasure overtook him. His body tensed, legs trembling, and then he was unraveling—waves of ecstasy washing over him as he cried out Junhui’s name.

Junhui buried his face in the crook of Minghao’s neck, breathing him in, memorizing the way he felt, the way he sounded, the way he needed .

The sight, the sound, the way Minghao clenched around him—it was too much. Junhui cursed under his breath, his thrusts growing erratic as pleasure surged through him. With a final deep push, he buried himself fully inside Minghao, claiming Minghao in the most primal ways, spilling into him with a shuddering moan.

They stayed like that for a moment, bodies pressed together, the room filled with nothing but their heavy breathing.

Junhui finally lifted his head, looking down at Minghao’s flushed face, his half-lidded eyes still hazy with pleasure. Something twisted in his chest—something he wasn’t ready to name.

Junhui exhaled slowly, pulling out carefully, already missing the warmth of Minghao’s body around him. He rolled away silently, staring at the ceiling, breathless, realizing what they’d done.

“We should—” Junhui started, but stopped himself.

Minghao turned his head away, not meeting his gaze. “Just… don’t say anything,” he whispered.

Jun knew this was wrong—knew it would only complicate everything. And yet, as he lay beside Minghao, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, he also knew—

This wouldn’t be the last time.

---

Morning came too soon.

Minghao stirred awake to the sound of soft breathing. Junhui sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair, his face unreadable.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Minghao watched him, heart hammering, waiting for the inevitable.

Then Junhui sighed. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Minghao flinched. His chest tightened.

But he nodded, forcing a smile, hiding the sting of those words. “I won’t.”

Junhui exhaled, in relief. He stood, grabbing his discarded clothes, and dressed in silence.

Minghao watched him, his heart hammering in his chest, waiting for Junhui to say something.

Anything.

But when Junhui finally turned to face him, his expression was unreadable. “This—” He gestured between them. “ Last night —it was a mistake.”

Minghao swallowed back the lump in his throat then bit the inside of his cheek to keep from breaking. "I know."

Liar.

Junhui nodded once, then gave him one last glance before walking out the door without another word.

And Minghao?

He curled into himself, staring at the empty space beside him, the sheets still warm from Junhui’s body.

He told himself it was over.

That it wouldn’t happen again.

But he knew better.

Because the next time Junhui knocked on his door, breathless and wanting—

Minghao let him in.

And the cycle continued.

Chapter 7: A Cycle of Betrayal and Desire

Notes:

posting this now coz idk when i will be able to again
my laptop was drenched when it rained last time and i am waiting for it to dry before checking if it still works
here's to hoping that it does 🤞

Minghao knew he should stop this.

He should push Junhui away, tell him this was wrong, remind him of Wonwoo—the man he was supposed to love. But every time he opened his mouth, Junhui stole the words from him with another kiss, another touch.

Minghao should have known better.

Every time Junhui showed up at his door, every time his fingers brushed against his skin, every time their bodies tangled together in the dark—he told himself it would be the last time. But it never was.

Junhui kept coming back. And Minghao kept letting him in.

It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.

But Junhui touched him like he belonged to him, kissed him like he was something to be devoured. And Minghao let himself be consumed.

And tonight was no different.

Junhui had shown up at his door again, no words, just the weight of his stare. Minghao had stepped aside without thinking, letting him in, letting this happen again.

Now, he was pressed against his own mattress, Junhui’s body caging him in.

“Tell me to stop.” Junhui’s breath was warm against his skin, his lips tracing down the curve of his throat.

Minghao’s fingers curled against Junhui’s bare back. “You won’t.”

Junhui’s lips paused for a brief moment—like he was waiting for Minghao to say something else, to give him an excuse to stop. But Minghao didn’t. He couldn’t.

And Junhui didn’t stop.

Instead, his hands moved lower, slipping beneath the waistband of Minghao’s sweatpants. His fingers found damp heat, and a deep groan rumbled from his throat.

“Fuck,” Junhui muttered, dragging his fingers through the slick pooling between Minghao’s thighs. “You’re already wet for me?”

Minghao sucked in a breath, his face burning. “Jun—”

“Shhh.” Junhui silenced him with another kiss, his fingers teasing, rubbing, slipping inside with ease.

Minghao gasped, his back arching, thighs trembling around Junhui’s hand. “We shouldn’t—”

“I know.” Junhui’s voice was husky, his forehead pressing against Minghao’s. “But I can’t stop.”

His fingers curled inside Minghao, coaxing out another moan.

Neither of them spoke after that.

Not when Junhui peeled away the last of their clothing. Not when he pumped his cock, lining himself up against Minghao’s entrance. Not when he pushed inside, sinking into slick, welcoming heat.

And certainly not when Minghao wrapped his legs around Junhui’s waist and pulled him deeper, chasing the pleasure that only he could give him.

Because words would only ruin this.

And they weren’t ready to face the truth just yet.

---

 

On the other side of the city, Mingyu was facing his own endless cycle.

He stirred as the bed dipped behind him, a familiar warmth pressing against his back. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know who it was. The scent, the slow, steady breaths against his neck—it was always Wonwoo.

He never stayed away for long. Even as Mingyu’s belly rounded with the proof of their sins, Wonwoo kept coming to him—kept touching him, kissing him, fucking him.

And Mingyu let him.

At first, he told himself it was just the hormones, the overwhelming need clawing at his body. But he knew the truth.

He wanted Wonwoo too.

Especially now, when Wonwoo’s hands lingered on his swollen stomach, when his lips trailed over his sensitive, aching skin.

"You’re awake," Wonwoo murmured, his voice still thick with sleep as his fingers traced slow, lazy circles over the curve of Mingyu’s belly.

Mingyu sighed, eyes fluttering open. "You keep sneaking in," he mumbled, voice groggy. "What if Jun finds out?"

Wonwoo chuckled softly, his breath warm against Mingyu’s skin. "He won’t." His hand trailed up, fingers brushing over the soft flesh of Mingyu’s chest. "And even if he did… do you really want me to stop?"

Mingyu shivered at the touch, his body overly sensitive. His nipples ached under Wonwoo’s fingers, swollen from the changes in his body, and when Wonwoo rolled one between his fingertips, Mingyu let out a quiet gasp.

"Wonwoo," he breathed, but he didn’t pull away.

"You’re so soft," Wonwoo murmured, his lips grazing the shell of Mingyu’s ear. "So sensitive. Do you like it when I touch you here?"

Mingyu bit his lip, heat pooling low in his stomach. He hated how much he craved this, how pregnancy had only made his need worse. His body betrayed him, desperate for Wonwoo’s touch, and Wonwoo—he never denied him.

Mingyu should have hated him for this. For all of it.

But when Wonwoo latched onto his swollen nipple, groaning against his skin as he sucked greedily, all Mingyu could do was arch into his touch and moan.

“Fuck,” Wonwoo breathed, his voice rough as he licked over the bud, teasing it with his tongue before sucking hard again. His other hand kneaded the curve of Mingyu’s other breast, fingers rolling over the peaked nub, making Mingyu whimper. “You’re so full now. You know that?”

Mingyu swallowed thickly, his face burning. “Shut up.”

Wonwoo chuckled against his skin, his warm breath sending a shiver through Mingyu’s body. “You like it when I talk about it,” he murmured, his lips trailing lower, kissing down the soft swell of Mingyu’s stomach. He pressed his palm against it, feeling the slight hardness beneath his touch. “You’re carrying my baby.”

Mingyu’s breath hitched. He hated when Wonwoo said things like that. Hated how it made his heart stutter.

“Wonwoo,” he muttered, trying to push him away, but his body betrayed him, his hips shifting, thighs parting instinctively.

Wonwoo’s smirk was sinful as he settled between Mingyu’s legs, his fingers trailing down his inner thigh. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, pressing a kiss just above Mingyu’s belly. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

Mingyu clenched his fists against the sheets. He should. He should shove Wonwoo off, should tell him this was a mistake.

But when Wonwoo’s fingers finally dipped lower, teasing over his soaked folds, all rational thought left his mind.

Mingyu barely had time to respond before Wonwoo’s lips found his neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses down to his shoulder. His fingers moved with ease, finding exactly where Mingyu needed him most.

Mingyu gasped, his hips bucking up into Wonwoo’s touch. “Fuck—”

"You’re dripping. So fucking wet for me," Wonwoo whispered, his voice rough with desire, his eyes dark as he pressed his fingers deeper, spreading Mingyu open.

Mingyu’s breath hitched, his body arching into the touch. "Shut up," he muttered, but it lacked any real bite.

Wonwoo only smirked against his skin, his hand moving with purpose, fingers slipping inside, curling just right—

Mingyu gasped, gripping the sheets. "Wonwoo—"

"Shh," Wonwoo hushed, his lips brushing against Mingyu’s temple. "Just let me take care of you."

And as Mingyu melted under his touch, he did just that.

He bit his lip, his breath coming in short pants as Wonwoo worked him open, two fingers curling inside him, stroking that spot that made his toes curl.

Wonwoo’s lips found his swollen nipple again, his tongue laving over it as he fingered him, his other hand pressing against Mingyu’s belly. “You take me so well,” he murmured against his skin, sucking hard enough to make Mingyu cry out.

Mingyu was losing himself, drowning in the sensation of Wonwoo’s hands, his mouth, the heat pooling between his legs.

“Please,” he finally gasped, his back arching as Wonwoo pulled his fingers out, leaving him empty. “Wonwoo—”

Wonwoo didn’t make him wait long.

He stripped out of his clothes quickly, his cock heavy and flushed as he pressed the tip against Mingyu’s entrance, rubbing it against his slick folds.

“Gonna fill you up even more,” Wonwoo groaned, gripping Mingyu’s thighs as he pushed in slowly, stretching him open.

Mingyu’s breath hitched as he felt the thick head breach him, felt the slow, deliberate slide as Wonwoo sheathed himself fully inside.

And then there was nothing but heat, pressure, and the overwhelming pleasure of being completely filled.

Wonwoo didn’t give him time to adjust, already pulling back just enough before thrusting in again, deeper this time, stealing the breath from Mingyu’s lungs.

Mingyu could only cling to him, his nails digging into Wonwoo’s back, his body arching into every movement.

Because despite everything—despite the betrayal, despite the guilt—this was the only place that felt right.

With Wonwoo buried deep inside him, whispering his name like a prayer.

---

 

Late at night, Wonwoo lingered in Mingyu’s bed longer than usual. Normally, he left before the sun rose, slipping back to his own room before Junhui could call or drop by. But tonight, he just lay there, watching Mingyu sleep.

His hand trailed over Mingyu’s growing belly, fingers splayed across warm skin. He hadn’t meant for this to happen, hadn’t wanted to change anything.

But now, there was proof of what they’d done, proof of his sin that no one could erase.

Mingyu stirred, eyes fluttering open. “You’re still here?” His voice was thick with sleep.

Wonwoo didn’t move his hand. “Yeah.”

Mingyu blinked at him, then sighed, covering Wonwoo’s hand with his own. “You should go. Jun might—”

“I don’t care,” Wonwoo cut in. His voice was low, rough. “Not right now.”

Mingyu’s breath caught. He knew this was dangerous. Knew they couldn’t keep doing this. But as Wonwoo leaned in, lips brushing over his collarbone, he shivered and let himself be pulled under once more.

---

 

Minghao had too many secrets.

It was a miracle he hadn’t collapsed under the weight of them yet.

Between keeping Mingyu’s pregnancy hidden and his own affair with Junhui, he barely had room to breathe. Every day, he carried the guilt, plastered on a smile, and pretended everything was normal.

But it wasn’t.

And his body was starting to feel the effects.

Lately, he’d been exhausted—more than usual. His appetite was strange; some days, food tasted off, while others, he was starving at odd hours. And there were moments where he’d feel a sudden wave of nausea, only for it to disappear as quickly as it came.

It was probably just stress.

That’s what he told himself, at least.

Because the alternative was unthinkable.

He didn’t even realize he was spacing out until Junhui’s voice pulled him back.

“You okay?”

Minghao blinked, looking up from the food he had barely touched. Junhui was watching him from across the table, chopsticks in hand, his usual easygoing expression now tinged with concern.

“You’ve been zoning out a lot lately,” Junhui said, setting his chopsticks down. “And you barely eat anymore.”

Minghao forced a smile. “I eat.”

Jun raised a brow. “Really? Because that bowl is still full.”

Minghao glanced down. He hadn’t even noticed.

“I guess I’m just not hungry,” he muttered.

Junhui’s gaze lingered on him, sharp, searching. For a second, Minghao thought he’d press the issue, but instead, he just leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

“You stress too much,” Junhui said.

Minghao huffed out a quiet laugh. If only he knew.

—

Later that night, he met up with Mingyu.

They sat in Mingyu’s bedroom, doors locked, voices hushed.

Mingyu was curled up on his bed, one hand resting on the small swell of his stomach. It wasn’t that noticeable yet—not unless someone was really paying attention. But Minghao saw it.

And it scared him.

“I think it’s getting bigger,” Mingyu whispered, his fingers tracing circles over his belly. “What am I going to do, Hao?”

Minghao swallowed hard, pushing away his own fears. “You don’t have to decide anything right now. We’ll figure it out.”

Mingyu gave him a tired smile. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

Mingyu sighed, shifting slightly. “I’m so tired.”

Minghao hesitated before asking, “Have you been feeling sick?”

Mingyu nodded. “Yeah. Morning sickness is the worst. I can’t eat properly.”

Minghao’s stomach twisted. He’d been feeling the same things—nausea, loss of appetite—but it couldn’t be the same, right?

He wasn’t pregnant.

He couldn’t be.

“Maybe you should go to the doctor,” Minghao said quickly, trying to push the thought away.

Mingyu hummed. “Maybe…” Then, after a pause, “Have you been feeling okay?”

Minghao tensed. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

It was a lie.

But it was one he needed to believe.

Because if he let himself even consider the possibility…

He wouldn’t know what to do.

—

But Minghao continued feeling off even weeks later. The first few days, he thought it was just exhaustion—from the stress, from the guilt, from keeping too many secrets. But the nausea had started creeping in during the mornings, and he felt dizzy whenever he stood up too fast.

He didn’t want to think about what it could mean.

Now, sitting across from Mingyu in a café, he poked at his untouched pastry, resting his chin on one hand.

“You okay?” Mingyu asked, brow furrowing.

Minghao sighed, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Mingyu narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been ‘just tired’ for days now.”

“I’ve been busy,” Minghao lied easily. He took a sip of his tea to avoid Mingyu’s gaze.

Mingyu hummed, unconvinced. “You’re not eating. That’s not like you.”

Minghao shrugged. “Lost my appetite, I guess.”

Something in Mingyu’s expression shifted—concerned, searching. Then, softly, he said, “You’re not… sick, are you?”

Minghao froze for just a second. But he caught himself, shaking his head quickly. “No, nothing like that. It’s probably just stress.”

Mingyu didn’t look entirely convinced, but he let it go, taking a bite of his sandwich.

Minghao exhaled quietly, pressing a hand to his stomach beneath the table. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

---

 

Junhui wasn’t stupid. He knew when something was off.

Minghao had been acting strange lately—more distant one second, then oddly sweet the next. He’d always been affectionate, but lately, he seemed almost desperate in the way he lingered by Junhui’s side, the way he always brought him food, the way his hands trembled sometimes when they brushed against his.

One evening, after Minghao had brought over homemade soup, Junhui finally said, “You’re acting weird.”

Minghao stilled, gripping his spoon. “Weird how?”

Junhui tilted his head. “I don’t know. Like… you’re trying too hard, doing too much.”

Minghao forced a laugh. “Maybe I just like taking care of you.”

Junhui frowned. “I thought Mingyu was the one who liked mothering people.”

Minghao’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table.

Junhui sighed, leaning back. “Never mind. Just… don’t burn yourself out, okay?”

Minghao’s smile was small and tired. “Yeah. I won’t.”

But even as they ate, he felt the nausea creeping up again. And this time, it terrified him.

Chapter 8: The Unraveling

Notes:

tryna post when i can, where i can 🥹

Mingyu had never been one to obsess over his reflection. But lately, he couldn’t stop staring.

Standing in front of the mirror, he tugged his hoodie tighter around himself, as if the fabric could somehow erase the curve of his belly. It wasn’t obvious—not yet—but it was there.

He ran a hand over it hesitantly. His skin felt warm, stretched, foreign.

His body was changing.

And so was everything else.

 

-

Nowadays, he’s been very careful when planning his outfits–choosing loose clothing, avoiding unnecessary attention. But no amount of oversized hoodies could hide the slight roundness of his belly anymore.

Wonwoo noticed first. It started with small things. His gaze lingering longer than usual, his hands drifting to Mingyu’s stomach whenever they were together, thumb brushing over the growing swell with something that felt dangerously close to affection. At first, Mingyu thought he was imagining it.

But then there were the touches.

Soft, fleeting, as if Wonwoo wasn’t even aware of what he was doing. A hand splayed over his lower stomach when they kissed, his thumb brushing absentminded circles over the fabric of Mingyu’s hoodie.

Mingyu hated how much he liked it.

Hated how he leaned into the warmth, how he let himself pretend, just for a moment, that this wasn’t temporary.

“You’re showing,” Wonwoo murmured one night, his lips against Mingyu’s jaw. Mingyu tensed but didn’t pull away. He wanted to believe the tenderness was real. So he had noticed. 

Wonwoo’s hands slipped beneath his hoodie, pressing against his bare stomach. His fingers traced over the soft curve, exploring, memorizing.

Mingyu shivered. He should have pushed him away. Should have said something.

But all he could do was bite his lip as Wonwoo kissed down his neck, his breath hot against his skin.

But reality had a way of creeping in.

“You should be more careful,” Wonwoo said, sitting up, running a hand through his hair. The warmth was gone, replaced by something colder, heavier.

Mingyu clenched his fists.

If he had hoped—if even a small, stupid part of him had thought that Wonwoo touching him like that meant something—then he was an idiot.

Because Wonwoo wasn’t worried about him. He was worried about himself.

“Jun’s not stupid. If he notices—” Wonwoo started.

Mingyu swallowed back the lump in his throat. He knew what Wonwoo meant. If Jun found out, it wouldn’t just be Mingyu’s secret unraveling—it would be Wonwoo’s too.

“I get it,” Mingyu muttered, voice tight.

Wonwoo hesitated. For a second, it almost looked like he wanted to say something else.

But he didn’t.

He just ran a hand through his hair again, sighed, and got up to leave.

So Mingyu

Mingyu bit his tongue and watched him go. He pulled on another sweater, pressed a hand to his stomach and continued pretending nothing was wrong.

He wasn’t sure what hurt more—the fact that Wonwoo only cared about hiding their secret… or the fact that Mingyu was still hoping, despite everything.

---

 

Minghao had been exhausted lately.

His stomach churned at random moments, his head felt heavy, and worst of all, he found himself overly sensitive to scents.

“Maybe you’re coming down with something,” Mingyu suggested one afternoon, watching as Minghao barely touched his food.

“Probably just stress,” Minghao muttered, poking at his plate.
He didn’t need another problem to deal with. Not when he was already hiding two secrets.

He was lying about Junhui every day.
Pretending that nothing was happening between them.
Pretending he wasn’t sneaking around, letting Junhui touch him, kiss him, break him.

And then there was Mingyu’s secret—the one that weighed even heavier.

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?” Mingyu asked suddenly.

Minghao looked up, startled. For a second, he thought Mingyu had figured it out.

But then he saw the worry in his best friend’s eyes and realized—Mingyu wasn’t talking about him. He was asking if Minghao had noticed anything. If Junhui suspected. If the walls were closing in.

Minghao forced a smile, ignoring the way his stomach twisted in response.

“Of course,” he lied.

–

 

That night, Minghao sat at his desk, fingers pressing against his temples. His head was pounding.

It had been like this for weeks—the exhaustion, the dizziness, the waves of nausea that came and went at the worst times.

But it was just stress. It had to be.

Balancing everything—his secret with Jun, Mingyu’s pregnancy, the guilt, the lies—it was no wonder his body was reacting like this.

A deep sigh left his lips as he rested his forehead against his desk. He was just tired. He just needed to breathe, to get a grip.

He wasn’t—couldn’t be—pregnant.

---

 

Minghao wasn’t sleeping well.

At first, he thought it was stress. Between sneaking around with Jun, hiding Mingyu’s secret, and dealing with the weight of his own guilt, his body felt constantly exhausted. But no matter how much he rested, he woke up feeling drained.

The nausea was worse in the mornings, though it wasn’t as violent as Mingyu’s had been. He chalked it up to not eating properly. He had been skipping meals, avoiding heavy foods because his stomach felt off. And the dizziness? That was probably because he wasn’t drinking enough water.

It had to be stress.

The first real warning sign came with Jun noticing the changes in his body.

“You look different,” Jun had said one evening, his fingers tracing along Minghao’s waist as they lay tangled together in bed. Minghao was curled against him, his body fitting snugly beneath Jun’s arm, but the comment made his heart jump.

“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Jun hummed, his hand sliding lower, fingers pressing lightly over Minghao’s stomach. “I don’t know… You feel softer.”

Minghao tensed.

He felt it too—his body was different lately, his stomach less flat, his chest feeling strange, heavier. But he refused to acknowledge it.

He grabbed Jun’s wandering hand and moved it away. “You’re imagining things.”

Jun chuckled, clearly unfazed. “Maybe. But I like it.”

Minghao didn’t reply. He just curled up tighter against Jun’s chest, closing his eyes. If he ignored it long enough, it would go away.

Or so he thought.

–

 

The second real warning sign came when he nearly threw up in front of Jun.

They had been eating together, Jun rambling about something he saw online, when Minghao’s stomach lurched.

He slapped a hand over his mouth and shot up from his seat, barely making it to the sink before he gagged.

“Minghao?” Jun’s voice was laced with concern. He hurried over, placing a hand on Minghao’s back as he doubled over.

Minghao waved him off. “I’m fine.”

Jun frowned. “You don’t look fine.”

Minghao forced himself to straighten, rinsing his mouth quickly. “It’s nothing. Probably just something I ate.”

Lying came so easily now.

Jun didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. “You should rest more. You’ve been looking exhausted lately.”

Minghao let out a weak chuckle. If only he knew.

 

-

Mingyu was the first to call him out.

“Are you seriously not going to talk about it?”

Minghao barely looked up from his phone. “Talk about what?”

Mingyu scoffed, arms crossed. “The fact that you’ve been avoiding greasy food, that you nearly fainted yesterday, and that you look like you want to throw up every morning?”

Minghao took a gulp of his drink before spitting out, “I’m fine.”

“You’re pregnant,” Mingyu deadpanned one night, arms crossed over his chest.

Minghao choked on his spit. “What?”

Mingyu’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t act dumb. I see the way you rub your stomach when you think no one’s looking. The way you get dizzy out of nowhere. The way you’ve gotten so sensitive that you flinch when your shirt so much as brushes against your nipples.”

Minghao’s stomach twisted.

No. It wasn’t possible.

He was just imagining things, feeding into the paranoia, letting the stress get to him.

“I’m not pregnant,” he said firmly.

Mingyu raised a brow. “You sure about that?”

Minghao hesitated. Just for a second.

And that second was enough for doubt to creep in.

“You’re acting just like I did when I ignored it.” Mingyu’s voice was sharp, but there was concern behind it. “Just take a damn test, Hao.”

“I said I’m fine. I’m not sick. I’m not pregnant.”

Mingyu stared at him for a long moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know.”

Minghao’s stomach twisted.

He should have been angry, but fear crept into his chest instead.

Because what if Mingyu was right?

What if this wasn’t just stress?

What if—

No. He wasn’t like Mingyu. He wasn’t…

Without another word, he stood up and walked away, leaving Mingyu sighing behind him.

That night, as he lay awake staring at the ceiling, his hands subconsciously drifted to his stomach.

He didn’t want to know.

But he also couldn’t keep running from it.

---

 

Wonwoo knew he was a coward.

He knew every time he climbed into Mingyu’s bed when he should have been with Jun.

He knew every time he touched Mingyu like he was the only thing he wanted in this world.

He knew every time he whispered soft apologies against Mingyu’s skin, only to sin again the very next night.

Wonwoo knew he should let go. Mingyu was pregnant. Their affair should have ended the second he found out.

And yet, he couldn’t stay away.

He had never seen Mingyu like this before—rounder, softer, more sensitive to every little touch. His body was changing, preparing to bring life into the world, and Wonwoo should have been terrified of what that meant.

Every time he looked at him, so soft, so desperate for his touch, Wonwoo’s control slipped.

He became obsessed.

Obsessed with the way Mingyu shivered beneath him.

Obsessed with the way his swollen chest heaved with every breath.

Obsessed with the way his body responded so beautifully to his every touch.

“You need to stop looking at me like that,” Wonwoo muttered one night, backing Mingyu against the wall.

Mingyu’s eyes were dark, lips slightly parted. “Like what?”

Like I belong to you. Like you belong to me . Like you want me as much as I want you.

Instead of answering, Wonwoo crushed their mouths together, pushing everything else aside.

Wonwoo had always been good at control. But Mingyu made him reckless.

Mingyu should have hated him for this.

But he didn’t.

Because every time Wonwoo kissed him, every time he touched him, Mingyu welcomed it.

Like he needed it just as much.

Like he was just as helplessly lost in this as Wonwoo was.

And that was the cruelest part of it all.

Because if Mingyu had pushed him away, maybe Wonwoo would have had the strength to stop.

But instead, they kept breaking together.

Again.

And again.

And again.

---

 

Junhui wasn’t a good man.

Or at least, that was what he told himself every time he woke up with Minghao in his arms.

Every time he traced lazy patterns over Minghao’s bare skin, feeling the soft warmth of his body against his own.

Every time he kissed Minghao—long, slow kisses that he had no right to steal.

Because at the end of the day, he still belonged to Wonwoo.

Or did he?

The lines were so blurred now that Junhui didn’t even know if there was a ‘him and Wonwoo’ anymore. Their relationship felt like a ghost—something that had once been real but now lingered only as an echo.

And yet, he still hadn’t left.

He still hadn’t chosen.

Junhui wasn’t stupid. He knew something was wrong with Wonwoo.

But instead of confronting it, he buried himself in Minghao.

“You should go home,” Minghao whispered one night, even as his body curled into Junhui’s warmth.

“I don’t want to.” He didn’t say why. Didn’t say that when he was with Minghao, the rest of the world didn’t matter.

Because if he admitted that—he’d have to admit everything else.

Junhui had always been reliable. But Minghao made him weak.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what he was doing to Minghao wasn’t fair. Minghao wasn’t just some mindless affair, someone to fill the void of his unraveling relationship with Wonwoo. He was more than that.

So why couldn’t he stop?

Why did he keep coming back?

Why did it feel like he was suffocating whenever he wasn’t near Minghao?

Junhui groaned, rubbing his hands over his face as he sat on the edge of the bed. He could hear Minghao shifting behind him, could feel the warmth of his gaze even without turning around.

“Is it guilt again?” Minghao’s voice was quiet but not accusing.

Junhui swallowed. He didn’t answer.

A moment later, Minghao sighed and sat up, wrapping his arms around Junhui’s waist from behind. “You can talk to me.”

That was the problem.

Minghao always made it so easy to just let go.

Jun turned in Minghao’s hold, cupping his face, searching his expression for something—anything—that would make him stop this. But all he saw was understanding.

And so, instead of pushing him away, he kissed him.

And once again, he chose the betrayal.

Chapter 9: Interlude: The Growing Distance

It started with the silence.

Junhui noticed it first.

The way Wonwoo used to linger when he came over, taking off his shoes like he belonged there. The way he used to greet Jun with a soft, knowing smile before tossing his keys onto the counter. Like this place was supposed to be home.

But lately, Wonwoo barely stayed. And when he did, he never looked comfortable. Never settled in.

Like he was only there because it was what was expected of him.

Tonight was no different.

Junhui walked into his apartment, kicking off his shoes, expecting to be alone. But then he saw the dim light from the living room.

Wonwoo was sitting on the couch, an untouched glass of whiskey in his hand.

Junhui frowned. “Didn’t expect you to be here.”

Wonwoo didn’t look up. “Didn’t expect you to come home.”

Jun stilled. So he knew.

Or at least, he suspected.

He forced a chuckle, closing the door behind him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Wonwoo finally lifted his gaze, dark and unreadable. “You know exactly what it means.”

There it was.

The conversation they had both been avoiding.

Jun sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not tonight, Won. I’m too tired for this.”

Wonwoo let out a dry chuckle. “Of course, you are. You must’ve had a long night.”

It wasn’t just the words.

It was the way he said them.

Like a blade, slipping between Junhui’s ribs.

Jun’s grip on his keys tightened. “Are you accusing me of something?”

Wonwoo set his drink down with a soft clink. “Should I be?”

Jun laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I don’t know. Should I?”

Wonwoo’s jaw clenched. He was always good at hiding his emotions, but Jun knew him too well. Knew the anger simmering beneath his skin.

“What are we even doing, Jun?” Wonwoo finally asked.

Jun felt something in his chest tighten. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this.” Wonwoo gestured between them. “Us. Do you even care anymore? Or are you just staying because it’s easier than admitting we’re over?”

Junhui wanted to fight.

Wanted to tell him that he did care, that he still loved him.

But the words wouldn’t come.

Because deep down, he didn’t know if they were true.

And that silence—that hesitation—was all the answer Wonwoo needed.

Wonwoo scoffed, shaking his head as he stood up. “Right. That’s what I thought.”

Jun clenched his fists. “And what about you? You’re acting like you're some fucking saint, like you've never done anything wrong, like you’re innocent in all this.”

Wonwoo turned to him, his expression unreadable. “I never said I was.”

And with that, he grabbed his keys off the counter and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Junhui stood there for a long time, staring at the empty space where Wonwoo had been.

And for the first time, his apartment didn’t feel like home.

 

---

 

-

That night, Junhui didn’t stay at his place.

He couldn’t.

Not when Wonwoo’s words were still echoing in his head, making his chest feel tight, making his hands tremble.

So he found himself somewhere else.

Somewhere warm.

Somewhere familiar.

Somewhere he shouldn’t be.

Minghao opened the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Jun?”

Junhui didn’t answer.

Didn’t think.

He just pulled Minghao into his arms and kissed him.

And Minghao didn’t push him away .

 

-

Minghao barely had time to react when he opened the door.

Junhui was on him instantly, his lips crashing into his without warning, hands gripping his waist tightly as he pushed him backward into the apartment. Minghao stumbled, his back hitting the wall, and Jun's mouth didn’t waver—hot, desperate, and tinged with something raw.

He tasted like frustration.

His hands instinctively grabbed at Junhui’s jacket, fisting the material as Jun pressed him back against the door. Minghao could feel the tremble in Junhui’s body, the way his fingers tightened around his waist like he was afraid Minghao would push him away.

Minghao should have.

Instead, he melted.

Junhui’s lips moved with a bruising intensity, tongue sliding against his, coaxing him to respond. The taste of him—bitter from alcohol, desperate from longing—made Minghao’s resolve waver.

Minghao barely had the chance to breathe before Jun spoke against his lips, his voice hoarse.

“That bastard—” Jun muttered between kisses, his breath hot and heavy. “He actually—fuck, he actually had the nerve to accuse me.”

Minghao tensed under his touch. “Accuse you?”

Jun let out a sharp exhale, his grip tightening on Minghao’s waist. “Yeah. As if he’s got the moral high ground. As if he’s so fucking innocent.”

He kissed Minghao again, harder this time, as if trying to silence the storm raging inside him. But even as his lips trailed over Minghao’s jaw, down his neck, he couldn’t stop talking.

“You should’ve seen him,” Jun scoffed, fingers digging into Minghao’s hips. “Standing there like I was the one who fucked up—like I was the one sneaking around behind his back.”

Minghao sucked in a sharp breath as Jun bit down at the junction of his shoulder. “What did you say?”

Jun let out a bitter laugh against his skin. “I told him he acts like he’s some fucking saint, like he’s never done anything wrong.”

Minghao swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the fabric of Jun’s shirt. “And what did he say?”

Jun’s breath was uneven as he pulled back just slightly, eyes dark with something unreadable. His jaw clenched.

“He said he never claimed to be innocent.”

Minghao’s stomach twisted.

Of course, Wonwoo hadn’t denied it. He never would.

Jun groaned, pressing their bodies closer together, chasing distraction. “I should’ve walked away. Should’ve told him to go fuck himself.”

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathing heavily, Junhui rested his forehead against Minghao’s.

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore,” Junhui admitted, voice raw.

Minghao swallowed hard. He should tell Jun to leave. Tell him to go back to Wonwoo and stop whatever this was before it spiraled further.

But instead, his fingers traced Junhui’s jaw, feeling the slight stubble there, the way his breath hitched at the touch.

“Then stop thinking,” Minghao murmured, his voice softer than he intended. “Just… stay.”

Junhui exhaled, something like relief washing over his face. And then, just as quickly as before, his lips were on Minghao’s again—only this time, it wasn’t desperate. It was slow, searching, as if trying to memorize every inch of him.

Minghao gasped when Jun’s hands slid under his shirt, fingers pressing against his warm skin. He shivered, not just from the cold but from the way Jun touched him—like he was something precious, something he didn’t want to let go of.

“Not here,” Minghao managed to whisper, fumbling for the doorknob and locking it.

The second he finished, Jun pressed him against it, their bodies molding together like they were meant to fit. Junhui’s hands explored, fingers ghosting over his ribs, his stomach, lower—

Minghao groaned, letting his head fall back against the door.

“Jun…”

Junhui’s lips trailed down his neck, hands gripping his hips tight. “Tell me to stop.”

Minghao couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

Instead, he tugged at Junhui’s jacket, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

“Don’t,” Minghao whispered, and that was all Jun needed to hear.

Junhui didn’t wait.

As soon as Minghao whispered “Don’t,” his hands were on him—pulling, gripping, tearing away the barriers between them like they were an inconvenience rather than clothing.

Minghao barely had time to catch his breath before Jun was spinning him around, pressing him against the nearest surface—his couch. His sweatpants were gone in an instant, pooled at his ankles before he even registered how quickly Jun had stripped him bare.

“Fuck,” Junhui breathed against his shoulder, fingers digging into his waist. His body was tense, his breath uneven. Minghao could tell he was still thinking about his fight with Wonwoo, still burning with the frustration of it all.

And then he was pushing in.

Minghao gasped, his body arching as Junhui filled him in one deep, brutal stroke. There was no preparation, no gentle lead-in—just Jun shoving inside him, rough and unrelenting.

“Jun—” Minghao’s voice broke into a choked moan, his fingers clutching desperately at the cushions beneath him.

Junhui didn’t stop. He couldn’t. His mind was clouded, his emotions in turmoil, and the only thing grounding him was the heat of Minghao’s body, the tight, wet grip around him.

He pounded into him mercilessly, hands gripping his hips to keep him in place as he rutted deep, each thrust rougher than the last. Minghao could do nothing but take it, his body jolting with every movement, his cries echoing in the dimly lit apartment.

Jun didn’t even realize Minghao was crying until he finally came, shuddering as he emptied himself inside, his breath ragged. Only then, as his body stilled, did he notice the way Minghao trembled beneath him, his breath hitching with quiet, muffled sobs.

Jun’s stomach twisted.

He pulled out carefully, his roughness from before now replaced with something softer, almost hesitant. “Hao…?”

Minghao flinched slightly when Jun’s hands touched him again, but he didn’t move away. He just curled further into the couch, trying to hide his face from view.

Guilt settled heavily in Junhui’s chest.

Without thinking, he reached for Minghao, turning him over gently, pressing soft kisses to his damp cheeks, his forehead, his jaw. “Hey… talk to me.”

Minghao hiccupped, his body still trembling from the aftershocks. He was oversensitive, exhausted, his nipples swollen and aching against Junhui’s chest. The moment Jun’s lips trailed lower, closing around one of them, Minghao let out a soft sob.

“Shh,” Jun soothed, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud, suckling gently. His hands cradled Minghao’s waist, his touch featherlight now, as if making up for how harshly he’d handled him earlier. “I’m sorry,” he murmured against his skin. “Too rough?”

Minghao didn’t answer, only gasped when Jun’s fingers stroked his thighs, spreading them apart once more. This time, there was no urgency, no anger—just slow, deep kisses pressed along his stomach, up his chest, over the soft curve of his shoulder.

When Jun pressed back inside, it was different. He moved slower, gentler, his hands gripping Minghao’s hips with a reverence that wasn’t there before.

Minghao cried again, but this time, it wasn’t from pain.

Something inside him cracked, something fragile and vulnerable that he had tried so hard to suppress. He didn’t know why he felt this way, why the sudden shift in Junhui’s touch made his chest ache, why his emotions were so overwhelming.

Pregnancy , a small voice whispered in his mind, but he shoved the thought away.

Jun buried his face against Minghao’s shoulder, pressing soft kisses to his damp skin as he rocked into him. His hands smoothed over his stomach, his hips, cradling him as if afraid he would disappear.

They stayed like that even after it was over, tangled together on the couch. Jun wrapped himself around Minghao, holding him close, fingers idly tracing patterns over his skin. Minghao let himself relax into the warmth, let himself pretend—for just a little while—that this was something real.

That it was love, not just a cycle of betrayal and desire.

Jun pressed a final kiss to Minghao’s temple before they both drifted into an exhausted sleep, limbs intertwined.

As if Jun was trying to protect him from something.

From himself.

From both of them.

 

---

 

-

Jun blinked awake to the feeling of something warm and soft pressed against his chest. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains.

For a moment, he was disoriented. His body ached, his muscles heavy with exhaustion. The scent of sweat and sex clung to the sheets.

Sheets.

They had fallen asleep on the couch. He remembered that much. But now they were in Minghao’s bed.

His mind replayed the hazy moments in between—Minghao nudging him awake, murmuring something about moving. The way Jun had groggily followed, only to be pulled back into bed the moment his back hit the mattress.

The way Minghao had climbed on top of him, his body already slick and inviting, his voice a breathy whisper as he pleaded, “One more time, Jun.”

And Jun—weak, helpless against the pull of this boy who had already ruined him—had given in. Letting Minghao ride him as he takes a hold of the younger’s waist, guiding him as they move together, him thrusting up Minghao's tight and wet heat, and Hao dropping down on Jun’s hard length.

Again.

His arms tightened around Minghao’s smaller frame. The younger was curled against him, his breathing slow, peaceful. In sleep, he looked soft. Untouched by the weight of what they were doing.

But Jun knew better.

He shifted slightly, brushing a strand of hair away from Minghao’s face. His fingers grazed his temple, where faint tear stains lingered from earlier.

Guilt churned in his stomach.

Not because of what they had done—but because he had let his anger take over. Because Minghao had let him.

Because even now, lying in this bed that smelled of them, he still felt like he was burning.

Because even now, he still couldn’t stop thinking about Wonwoo.

What the fuck am I doing?

He should leave.

But he didn’t move.

Instead, he pressed a lingering kiss to Minghao’s temple, tightening his hold.

If he left now, he would have to face the truth.

And Jun wasn’t ready for that.

 

---

 

-

On the other side of the city, Wonwoo did the same.

When the fight replayed in his mind, when Jun’s silence cut him deeper than any words could, he found himself back at his and Mingyu's apartment, in front of his housemate’s room.

He wasn’t sure why he was there.

But then the door opened, and Mingyu was standing there—sleepy, flushed, wearing an oversized hoodie that barely covered his swollen stomach.

And suddenly, Wonwoo knew exactly why he came.

He was weak.

He was selfish.

He was a coward.

But when Mingyu pulled him inside and kissed him, whispering his name like a prayer, he didn’t care.

 

-

Mingyu didn’t expect to find someone outside his door that late at night.

But when he opened it, the sight before him made his breath hitch.

Wonwoo stood there, his head slightly bowed, shoulders trembling with silent cries. His dark eyes were wet, lips parted as if trying to say something but failing.

“Hyung?” Mingyu whispered, worry immediately settling in his chest.

He didn’t need to ask what was wrong. Whatever happened between Wonwoo and Jun had clearly wrecked him, leaving him frayed and desperate.

Before Wonwoo could say a word, Mingyu pulled him inside, hands firm but gentle as he guided him toward the bed.

Wonwoo didn’t hesitate—he latched onto Mingyu like a lifeline, fingers grasping at his hoodie as if afraid to let go. The younger barely had time to position himself before he found himself half-sitting, half-lying on the bed, his head resting against the headboard. Wonwoo climbed onto him, straddling his thighs and curling his body around Mingyu’s, his hands gripping at the fabric of his hoodie.

Mingyu felt the slow tug, the way Wonwoo bunched the hoodie up until his pregnant belly was exposed, warm skin meeting cool air. Then, Wonwoo pressed his lips against it.

A shaky breath left Mingyu’s lips as Wonwoo kissed over the swell of his stomach, his cries muffled against his skin.

“I hate him,” Wonwoo choked out, voice raw with frustration. “He makes me so—so fucking angry.” His grip on Mingyu tightened, his fingers digging into the younger’s sides. “He thinks he’s better than me. Thinks he’s the only one allowed to be mad.”

Mingyu stayed silent, letting him spill his anger and hurt.

Wonwoo kissed lower, pressing his lips over the underside of Mingyu’s stomach, his breath shuddering. “He accused me of sneaking around—of lying to him.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “Like he’s innocent.”

Mingyu frowned, fingers instinctively threading through Wonwoo’s hair, smoothing it back with gentle caresses. “You’re not lying,” he murmured, voice steady. “You’re just… lost.”

Wonwoo let out a hollow laugh. “Lost?” He tilted his head up, eyes dark and stormy as they met Mingyu’s. “Then what does that make you?”

Mingyu didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

Because whatever they were—whatever this had become—it was already beyond fixing.

Instead, he tightened his grip on Wonwoo’s hair, urging him back down, letting the older continue his quiet worship of his swollen stomach. The warmth of his lips, the gentle drag of his tongue over sensitive skin—it was soothing. A silent confession of something neither of them dared to name.

Mingyu felt his own eyes grow heavy, his body sinking into the mattress beneath him. His mind drifted in the haze of exhaustion, lulled by Wonwoo’s hands, his lips—

Until he felt something wet.

A slow, deliberate lick from his hole to his clit.

Mingyu gasped, his eyes snapping open.

“Hyung—?”

He barely got the words out before Wonwoo did it again, his tongue dragging over his sensitive flesh, his breath hot against his skin. Mingyu shivered, realizing only then that his sweatpants and boxers had somehow been stripped away without him noticing.

“Fuck,” Mingyu cursed, his hips jolting when Wonwoo’s mouth latched onto his clit, sucking greedily.

Wonwoo didn’t stop—not even as he sniffled, his breath still shaky from his earlier cries. He buried himself between Mingyu’s thighs, lapping at him with slow, languid strokes, collecting the slick that dripped from his entrance.

“So sweet,” Wonwoo murmured, voice husky, drunk on the taste of him. “You always taste so fucking good, baby.”

Mingyu trembled, thighs quivering as he fisted the sheets beneath him.

Wonwoo pressed a kiss to his hole before dipping his tongue inside, fucking into him with slow, teasing movements. Mingyu whined, his body arching off the bed.

“Wonwoo, please—”

Wonwoo groaned against him, the vibrations shooting straight through Mingyu’s core. He could feel himself unraveling, his body tightening with need, heat coiling low in his stomach—

Until it snapped.

Mingyu cried out as he came, his body jerking as a wave of pleasure crashed over him. He felt himself gush onto Wonwoo’s tongue, the wet sounds of his release echoing through the room.

But Wonwoo wasn’t done.

He swallowed everything Mingyu gave him, licking him clean before sitting up, his pupils blown wide with hunger. His hands found Mingyu’s hips, gripping them as he aligned himself, the head of his cock pressing against his entrance.

Mingyu barely had time to catch his breath before Wonwoo pushed inside.

A choked gasp left his lips as he felt himself stretch around the familiar girth, the delicious burn making his toes curl. Wonwoo groaned above him, his hands tightening their hold.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, voice rough. “You’re still so fucking tight.”

Mingyu moaned, wrapping his arms around Wonwoo’s neck, pulling him closer. “Move,” he pleaded, breathless.

Wonwoo didn’t hesitate.

He started thrusting, slow at first, his movements measured and controlled. But the longer he fucked into Mingyu, the faster he lost himself. His hips snapped forward, pounding into the younger with deep, precise strokes, always mindful of his swelling stomach but never holding back the force behind his thrusts.

Mingyu could barely think, the pleasure overwhelming. But when Wonwoo latched onto one of his nipples, sucking at the swollen bud like he was desperate for milk—

Mingyu sobbed.

Wonwoo groaned in response, teeth grazing sensitive flesh. “Can’t wait till you start leaking,” he whispered against his skin, voice laced with hunger. “Gonna be so fucking full for me, baby.”

Mingyu cried out, his body tightening around Wonwoo’s cock. The older groaned, burying himself to the hilt, grinding deep inside him.

It didn’t take long before Mingyu was coming again, his body convulsing with overstimulation.

But Wonwoo didn’t stop.

He kept moving, kept fucking him through every orgasm until Mingyu was nothing but a trembling mess in his arms. He held him close, whispering soft praises against his skin, his thrusts turning slow and languid as he chased his own release.

When he finally came, spilling deep inside him, he didn’t pull out.

Instead, he adjusted their position, lying down with Mingyu still wrapped around him, his cock buried inside. He nuzzled against the younger’s neck, his lips brushing over his skin.

“I’m staying like this,” Wonwoo muttered sleepily, his arms tightening around Mingyu’s waist. “Not letting you go.”

Mingyu was too exhausted to argue.

So he let Wonwoo hold him, let himself be tangled up in something he shouldn’t want but couldn’t resist.

Morning would come.

And with it, all the regrets.

But for now—

They could pretend.

 

---

 

-

Mingyu stirred at the steady warmth pressed against his back, the solid presence of Wonwoo still wrapped around him.

Even in sleep, Wonwoo hadn’t let go. His chest was flush against Mingyu’s back, his breath slow against the nape of his neck. One arm was tucked beneath Mingyu’s head, pillowing it, while the other rested over his belly, fingers splayed protectively across the slight swell.

Inside him, Wonwoo’s cock remained, softened but still filling him, keeping them connected even in unconsciousness.

Mingyu blinked, eyes adjusting to the dim glow of the room. He lay there staring at the wall.

At nothing.

His body was sore, remnants of the night’s passion still lingering in the ache between his thighs, the oversensitivity in his nipples, the dull throb of exhaustion. Wonwoo had taken him over and over, as if trying to chase away something neither of them could name.

Mingyu had let him.

Because he needed this, too.

But now, in the silence, the weight of it all was creeping back in.

He could feel Wonwoo’s breath against his skin, steady and warm. Could feel the way his fingers twitched slightly, even in sleep, as if they had memorized the curve of Mingyu’s belly, the child growing inside.

Mingyu swallowed.

He should tell him.

He should roll over, wake Wonwoo up, and whisper the truth against his lips—force him to see what was happening, force him to understand.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let his fingers brush over Wonwoo’s hand where it lay over his stomach, lacing them together.

And then he closed his eyes.

Pretending.

Just for a little while longer.

 

---

 

-

The lies were growing.

The guilt was consuming them.

They were both betraying the people who trusted them most.

 

But despite everything—despite the shame that curled in their chests, the fear of what they were becoming—none of them could stop.

 

Chapter 10: The Second Blow

Minghao had been trying to ignore the signs.

The fatigue, the nausea, the way his body felt too warm at times and unbearably cold at others. He blamed it on stress, on his awful sleeping schedule, on Jun showing up at his place in the middle of the night with kisses that stole his breath.

But now, staring at the tiny plastic stick on his bathroom counter, he couldn’t deny it any longer.

Two pink lines.

His breath hitched.

The test wasn’t wrong. He knew it wasn’t. Not when the pieces were starting to click into place—the sharp scent of coffee making his stomach churn, the dull ache in his lower back, the swelling in his chest that he had dismissed as weight gain.

Not when he remembered Mingyu, his best friend, gripping his arm just the other day and whispering, You’re burning up.

Not when he realized his symptoms had started aligning with Mingyu’s more and more.

A pregnancy.

His pregnancy.

Minghao’s hands curled over the edge of the counter as his vision blurred.

No.

Not now. Not like this.

His stomach was still flat, his body still familiar. He could pretend. He could brush it off, hide it—just like Mingyu had been trying to.

But for how long?

And worse—what was he supposed to do now ?

He felt like the ground beneath him had cracked open, threatening to swallow him whole.

Tears burned behind his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

He had to tell Junhui.

Even if it meant watching him walk away.

 

-

Minghao didn’t know how long he stood in the bathroom, gripping the sink with white-knuckled fingers.

He had spent the entire day going through the motions—cleaning his apartment, answering texts from Mingyu without mentioning a word about what he’d found out, avoiding Junhui’s calls. But avoiding Jun was never an option for long.

Because by nightfall, there was a knock at his door.

Minghao hesitated, fingers curling against his palm before he finally opened it.

Jun stood there, looking as tired as Minghao felt. His hair was slightly damp, his clothes thrown on in a way that told Minghao he had rushed here.

“I know you’ve been ignoring me.” Jun’s voice was quiet, but there was no accusation in it.

Minghao swallowed. “I needed time.”

Jun searched his face for a long moment before stepping inside, closing the door behind him. “Is it something I did?”

Minghao almost laughed at the irony.

“Sit down,” he murmured instead, nodding toward the couch.

Jun obeyed, but his posture was tense—like he was bracing himself for something.

Minghao sat beside him, hands clasped together to stop them from shaking. He had played out a thousand different ways this could go, but none of them made it easier to say.

“I’m pregnant.”

Jun’s breath hitched.

Minghao let the silence stretch between them, thick and suffocating, his hands unconsciously pressing against his stomach as if seeking comfort from the life growing inside him.

Minghao forced himself to look at him. “I took the test today. It’s not a guess. It’s real.”

Jun’s expression was unreadable. His lips parted, but no words came out. Not blinking. Not breathing. Just staring at him like Minghao had just confessed to murder instead of pregnancy.

Then, in a voice so quiet it barely felt real, Junhui whispered, “You’re pregnant?”

For a brief moment—just one fleeting second—Minghao thought Junhui might step forward and hold him. That he might smile, might say we’ll figure this out together , might give Minghao even the smallest sign that he wasn’t in this alone.

But then Jun laughed. 

It wasn’t a happy laugh. It wasn’t even bitter. It was just… hollow. Like the sound had escaped before he even realized it. A quiet, breathless, almost disbelieving laugh.

Minghao stiffened.

“Jun—”

"God, of course. Of course you are." He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he exhaled sharply. "This just keeps getting better."

“No, I just…” Jun ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “I mean, of course. Of course this would happen.”

And just like that, the illusion shattered.

His stomach twisted painfully. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Jun’s gaze snapped back to his.

“It means,” he said, voice low, “that everything is already so fucking messy, and now this?”

Minghao’s breath caught.

For a moment, he had allowed himself to hope. 

For a moment, he had let himself imagine Jun pulling him into his arms, pressing kisses into his hair, telling him we’ll figure this out together .

Instead, Jun’s words were like a slap to the face.

Minghao felt stupid for hoping. For wanting.

Minghao stood abruptly, anger curling in his chest. “If you don’t want this—if you don’t want me, us —then say it.”

Jun flinched.

Minghao scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s what I thought.”

He turned to leave, but Jun caught his wrist.

“Minghao, wait.” His voice was quieter now. Pleading. “I’m not—fuck, I’m not saying I don’t want this. I just—I don’t know how to want it yet.”

Minghao squeezed his eyes shut. He pulled his wrist free. “Get out, Jun.”

That wasn’t an answer.

It wasn’t rejection, but it wasn’t the reassurance he had wanted, either.

His fingers curled around his sleeves as he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Just… go.”

Jun’s brows furrowed, but Minghao didn’t meet his eyes.

Minghao didn’t see the way Jun hesitated. The way his hands twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.

Instead, Minghao just turned away, voice quieter now. “You didn’t even ask if I was okay.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He thought it had been a whisper, just something meant for himself, but as Jun stepped back and finally turned to leave—he hesitated.

But Minghao didn’t look up, didn’t see Jun’s back stiffen as the words sank in.

But Jun had heard him just fine.

Yet he didn’t argue.

He just watched Minghao for another long moment, something unreadable in his eyes—before he turned and left. And the guilt settled in his chest like lead as he walked away.

The door clicked shut.

Minghao pressed a hand to his stomach, exhaling shakily.

Alone again.

 

-

Minghao didn’t cry. Not when the door shut behind Jun. Not when the weight of everything settled onto his chest, pressing down until it was hard to breathe.

He just stood there, hands resting over his stomach, trying to convince himself that it was fine. That he was fine.

He wasn’t.

He had known Junhui wouldn’t take it well. He had prepared for it. But there was a difference between expecting something and actually living through it. And now, standing in the wreckage of what used to be his certainty, he felt… lost.

What now?

Would Jun ever come back? Would he care? Did he even want this baby?

Minghao pressed his lips together, inhaling shakily. He shouldn’t be thinking about Jun right now. He should be thinking about himself. About his child.

But no matter how much he tried to focus on that, his mind still drifted back to Jun. To the way he had left without looking back.

To the way it had felt like Minghao had been left alone in more ways than one.

---

 

Meanwhile, Jun was anything but fine.

He should have kept walking. Should have gone home, or to a bar, or anywhere that wasn’t here, standing motionless in the middle of an empty sidewalk with his thoughts running circles in his head.

Minghao is pregnant.

The words felt unreal. He had been so caught up in his own mess, his own guilt, that it hadn’t even crossed his mind that something like this could happen.

And now?

Now he had no idea what to do.

His first instinct had been to run. To push it away, pretend it wasn’t real. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t even sure if he was capable of being a father.

But.

Jun swallowed, closing his eyes. You didn’t even ask if I was okay.

The words hit him harder than he thought they would.

He had been so focused on his own shock, his own panic, that he hadn’t even thought about what Minghao was feeling.

And the guilt that had been simmering inside him all this time finally boiled over.

Jun exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. What the hell am I doing?

Because no matter how much he wanted to deny it, to escape it—Minghao was carrying his child.

And whether he was ready or not, he knew one thing for sure.

He couldn’t just walk away from this.

He couldn’t walk away from Minghao.

Chapter 11: The Breaking Point

Notes:

pls don't hate wonwoo too much, ik he's being an a**hole and projecting too much but my baby is just emotionally constipated, he'll make it up to them i promise 😭

Jun didn’t wait long after the fight.

He knew that if he waited, if he let himself sit with the emotions for too long, he might change his mind. He might fall back into the same cycle, the same tangled mess of guilt and resentment.

The weight of Minghao’s words—the underlying “ Don’t come back ”—sat heavy on his chest.

And so, before he could hesitate, he called Wonwoo.

“Come over,” Jun said, voice devoid of warmth.

A pause. Then, “…Okay.”

Twenty minutes later, Wonwoo stood in the doorway of Jun’s apartment. His arms were crossed, he looked wary but composed, his usual mask of indifference in place. He rang the doorbell once, then stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, shoulders stiff.

Jun let him in, stepping aside without a word. The door clicked shut behind them, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

The apartment was dimly lit, the weight of the impending conversation settling like a heavy fog around them. Wonwoo stood by the couch, glancing around as if searching for something familiar to ground him. But everything felt different.

Jun took a slow breath, his fingers tightening into fists at his sides. Just say it.

Then he exhaled. “This isn’t working anymore.”

Wonwoo’s expression barely changed. But the shift in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Jun—”

“We’re not the same,” Jun interrupted. “We’ve been holding on to something that’s already gone.”

Wonwoo frowned. “So that’s it?”

Jun let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “What else is there?”

Silence.

Wonwoo’s fingers curled into fists. “You don’t even want to try?”

“Try what ?” Jun shot back, voice sharp. “Pretend we don’t resent each other? Pretend I don’t feel like a fucking placeholder—”

Wonwoo flinched.

Jun inhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down. “It’s not just you,” he said, quieter now. “I’m at fault, too. I let it get to this point.”

Wonwoo's expression hardened. "We had a fight, Jun. Is that really enough to throw everything away?"

"This isn’t about one fight," Jun shot back. "This is about every fight, every moment we’ve spent walking on eggshells, every time we’ve avoided looking at each other because we know we don’t like what we’ll see."

Wonwoo's jaw clenched. "That’s not true."

"Isn’t it?" Jun exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. " God, Wonwoo—when was the last time we even felt like a couple? When was the last time we talked without one of us biting the other’s head off?"

Wonwoo didn’t answer.

Jun swallowed the lump in his throat. "We keep pretending, keep holding on to something that’s already gone. I can’t do it anymore."

Wonwoo scoffed. "And what? You think you’ll be happier without me?"

Jun didn’t reply right away. Instead, he met Wonwoo’s eyes, searching for the part of him that still cared, that still wanted to fight for them. But all he saw was exhaustion.

"You think I haven’t tried?" Jun whispered. His voice cracked despite himself. "You think I wanted it to end like this?"

Wonwoo’s fingers twitched at his sides. "Then why ?"

Jun inhaled deeply. Then—

"Because I don’t love you the way I used to."

It wasn’t the cruelest thing he could have said. But it was the most painful.

Wonwoo’s breath hitched, his entire body going rigid. He blinked, as if trying to process the words.

Jun felt something inside him splinter.

Maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe a part of him did still love Wonwoo, in the way that you love something familiar, something that was once a home.

But love alone wasn’t enough.

Not anymore.

Wonwoo’s throat bobbed. His voice was tight when he finally spoke. “…Is there someone else?”

Jun went still. He hesitated. Just for a second. But it was long enough.

For a second, he thought about lying. Thought about saying no and letting Wonwoo believe whatever he wanted.

But he didn’t.

“…Does it matter?”

Wonwoo let out a sharp breath, turning away. “Right.”

Jun swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. I don’t need your apology,” Wonwoo’s voice was tight, his hands clenching into fists.

Jun’s hands also curled into fists at his sides. “Then what do you need?”

Wonwoo didn’t answer.

"Wonwoo—," Jun took a step forward, instinctively reaching out, but Wonwoo was already turning away.

"Goodbye, Jun," he said, voice flat.

Instead, he grabbed his coat and walked out.

Jun stood there, staring at the closed door, the echo of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

It’s over.

So why did it feel like he had just lost a part of himself?

---

 

Wonwoo’s hands were shaking by the time he reached their apartment. 

The world outside had blurred into nothingness—he barely remembered how he got here, only that his feet had carried him home on autopilot. His mind was a tangled mess of memories, of Junhui’s voice, of the weight of his own mistakes pressing down on him like an iron chain.

It’s over.

It was over.

His fingers fumbled with the keys, slipping against the cold metal before the lock finally clicked open. He stepped inside quietly, the dim glow of the TV greeting him.

 

Mingyu was in the living room, curled up on the couch, a thick blanket draped over him, one hand resting over his stomach where their child grew. He looked half-asleep, his face peaceful in a way that made something in Wonwoo’s chest twist. He had always loved looking at Mingyu like this—soft, safe, his entire world wrapped in a warmth only he had been lucky enough to touch.

But he hadn’t looked at him like this in a long time.

Mingyu stirred at the sound of the door closing. His lashes fluttered, sleep-heavy eyes cracking open just enough to register Wonwoo standing there.

“…You’re back,” Mingyu murmured, voice thick with drowsiness.

Wonwoo didn’t respond. He just stared at Mingyu, at the soft way his lashes rested against his cheeks, at the way his sweater barely covered his swollen belly.

He looked safe. Warm. Like something Wonwoo shouldn’t touch.

And yet, he moved forward anyway, heart aching with something he couldn’t name.

Mingyu watched him approach, something wary flickering across his features. But Wonwoo didn’t notice. Couldn’t notice.

Mingyu sat up properly, watching him with wary eyes. “Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo didn’t speak. He just sat down beside him, sinking into the space like he belonged there, like nothing had changed. And then, before he could think better of it, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Mingyu’s shoulder.

Mingyu tensed. “What happened?”

“…It’s over,” Wonwoo whispered.

Mingyu’s breath hitched.

Wonwoo clung to him, fingers twisting into Mingyu’s hoodie, grasping at him like a lifeline. “I—” His voice broke. “I don’t know what to do.”

Mingyu exhaled slowly. “Wonwoo—”

“Don’t tell me I deserve this,” Wonwoo cut in, voice raw. “I already know.”

Mingyu sighed. He didn’t say anything. Just lifted a hand to Wonwoo’s hair, combing through it with slow, careful fingers.

And for the first time in a long time, Wonwoo let himself cry.

The tears came before he could stop them, silent but heavy, slipping down his cheeks as he pressed himself closer to Mingyu, seeking comfort, seeking warmth, seeking anything that could make this feeling go away.

Mingyu didn’t push him away.

But he didn’t hold him the way he used to, either.

Didn’t wrap him in his arms. Didn’t pull him closer.

His touch was there, soft and patient, but distant in a way Wonwoo didn’t notice—too caught up in his own grief to see the shift, to feel the space that had formed between them.

And Mingyu, lips pressing into a thin line, didn’t say anything to make him realize.

---

 

Jun had spent the night staring at his ceiling, replaying the look on Wonwoo’s face over and over again.

It should have been relieving. A clean break.

But instead, all he could think about was Minghao.

Junhui had been avoiding him.

Or at least, he thought he was.

He told himself he had cut ties cleanly. That he had walked away. That he had chosen to do the right thing—for once.

Then why was he here?

It was nearly dawn when he finally gave in, grabbing his keys and heading out the door.

He didn’t even think. He just drove.

His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight as he stared at Minghao’s apartment door. It wasn’t even that late—barely past nine—but the hallway was quiet, the air thick with something he couldn’t name.

He could leave. He should leave.

But then, as if pulled by an invisible force, he knocked.

When he knocked, it took a few minutes before the door opened.

A few beats of silence.

Then soft footsteps.

Then the door opened, and Minghao was standing there.

Junhui’s heart lurched.

Minghao stood there, wrapped in a blanket, hair messy from sleep. His eyes widened when he saw Jun.

“Jun?”

Jun’s throat tightened.

Minghao looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his hair damp like he’d just showered. He had a loose sweater hanging off his frame, his hands clutching the fabric at the hem like he needed something to hold onto.

He looked fragile.

Junhui hated that it made him want to touch him.

Minghao stared at him for a moment, unreadable. Then, finally, he sighed and stepped aside. “Come in.”

Junhui didn’t hesitate and quickly walked inside, finally letting himself breathe.

The moment the door shut behind him, the words tumbled out. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Minghao gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “I figured.”

Junhui swallowed. His chest felt tight, like something was pressing down on him.

He had left for a reason. He had walked away for a reason.

But now, standing here, watching Minghao avoid his gaze, all of those reasons felt weak.

Minghao turned, heading toward the couch. “You should probably just say whatever you need to say and go.”

Something about that made Junhui snap.

“Don’t do that,” he said, sharper than he intended.

Minghao stopped mid-step. “Do what?”

“Act like this doesn’t hurt you.”

Minghao stiffened. Then, slowly, he turned around.

His lips pressed into a thin line. “And what if it does?”

Junhui’s breath caught.

Minghao exhaled, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you want from me, Jun.”

Neither did he.

That was the worst part.

He had spent so much time pretending it was just sex. Pretending that the way he reached for Minghao in the middle of the night meant nothing. That the way he stayed after, tracing patterns on his skin, was just habit.

That the way he felt right now—like his entire chest was caving in—wasn’t love.

But it was, wasn’t it?

He didn’t realize he had moved until his hands were on Minghao’s waist, fingers pressing into soft fabric, into warm skin beneath it.

Minghao inhaled sharply, eyes flicking up to his.

Junhui’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You know what I want.”

Minghao swallowed.

Then, just as softly, “Then take it.”

It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t a surrender. It was an invitation.

And Junhui—despite everything—took it.

 

-

Junhui shouldn’t have come back.

He knew it the second he stepped through Minghao’s door, the air between them charged with something heavy—something that had nothing to do with desire, yet pushed them together anyway.

He told himself this was just another night. Just sex. A way to drown out everything else clawing at his mind.

Minghao didn’t protest. He never did.

So Junhui pushed him down onto the bed, let his hands roam familiar places, let his mouth trace over skin he’d kissed a thousand times before. If he could just lose himself in this—if he could just bury himself in the warmth of Minghao’s body—maybe he could prove it to himself. That this was all it was. That this was all it had ever been.

And Minghao… Minghao let him.

He lay there, pliant beneath Junhui, taking everything he gave without resistance, without a word, his eyes unreadable in the dim light.

Junhui didn’t notice at first. He was too caught up in the rhythm, in the way Minghao’s body molded to his, in the way slick heat welcomed him in so easily, wrapping around his cock like it belonged there.

But then, as the pleasure built—something felt off .

Minghao wasn’t making a sound.

Usually, he would. He’d moan, sigh, call Junhui’s name in that breathless way that made Jun lose his mind. But now—nothing. Just quiet, and the faintest hitch of breath every time Junhui thrust back in.

It unsettled him.

“Minghao,” he rasped, slowing down, peering down at him. “What’s wrong?”

Minghao blinked up at him, eyes dull. Then, as if realizing Junhui was waiting for something, he forced out a small, broken moan.

Junhui felt something twist inside him.

“…Hao?”

Minghao swallowed and turned his head to the side. “Just—keep going,” he whispered.

Junhui should have stopped.

Should have pulled away, asked what was wrong, demanded answers.

But he didn’t. Because some selfish, desperate part of him wanted to keep going, to prove this was just like before.

So he did.

He fucked Minghao through the night, filling him up again and again, watching his cum leak out of the younger man’s hole only to push it right back in. And Minghao let him, never once pulling away, never once rejecting him.

And yet—he wasn’t there .

When it was over, when they lay tangled in sweat and exhaustion, Junhui realized something.

Minghao always curled into him after sex. Always. Pressed his face against Jun’s chest, hooked an arm around his waist, tangled their legs together like he couldn’t bear any space between them.

But now—he was pulling away.

He turned onto his side, his back facing Junhui, his body stiff.

Junhui felt his chest tighten.

He reached out, hesitated—then rested his palm on Minghao’s back.

Minghao didn’t react.

That’s when Junhui felt it. The cold dread creeping up his spine, the sharp ache settling deep in his gut.

This wasn’t just sex. It had never been just sex.

And he had hurt Minghao.

His throat tightened. His vision blurred.

“…Hao,” he choked out, barely above a whisper.

Minghao didn’t move.

Junhui’s hands trembled. He sat up, shifting closer, gathering Minghao into his arms before the younger could protest.

Minghao was stiff at first, but Junhui held on, cradling him like he was fragile—like he was something Jun had already broken.

Tears burned his eyes as he pressed his face into Minghao’s hair, voice cracking as he whispered, “It’s not just sex. It’s never been just sex.”

Minghao finally stirred, tensing in his arms. But he still said nothing.

Junhui swallowed hard, his grip tightening. “You’ve always been important to me. I—I don’t know what this is yet, I don’t know what it means, but I do know I don’t want to lose you.”

He was sobbing now, voice thick with desperation. “Give me another chance. If you’re not ready to talk, that’s okay. We can talk tomorrow. Or next week. Or whenever you want. I’ll wait. Just—please, don’t push me away.”

Silence.

And then—softer, almost broken, “I’m sorry. For everything. For the way I reacted. For how I’ve treated you. For—just…” He swallowed, throat raw. “Are you okay?”

That’s what finally broke Minghao.

A shudder ran through him, and then—his breath hitched, a small, choked sob escaping before he could stop it.

And suddenly, the dam burst.

He turned in Junhui’s arms, burying his face in the older’s chest as he sobbed, letting out everything he had been holding back—his pain, his sorrow, his guilt.

Junhui held him through it all, his own tears falling freely as he wrapped himself around Minghao, shielding him from the weight of everything else—at least for tonight.

They didn’t have to talk now.

They didn’t have to figure everything out all at once.

But Junhui would be here.

And when Minghao was ready—he’d be waiting.

Notes:

i cried when i wrote this. and then again when editing it 🤘
next was supposed to be the last chapter but i dunno it was too long and i might break it down and then there were the extras but idk if you guys would want those since they're rly just self indulgent ones 🫠

P.S. oh gosh I keep replying that ww is trying his best bc I thought it was in this chapter that he makes it up to mg but it's all in the next chapter 😭 I'm so sorry I got confused because I already started editing the final chapter but haven't finished yet that's why it wasn't posted with the rest 🥺

Chapter 12: Rebuilding from Ruins

Wonwoo had never been good with words.

He knew this about himself—had known it for years. He was better at showing things in quiet, understated ways. The problem was, for too long, he had let Mingyu think there was nothing left to show.

So now, he tried. In the only way he knew how.

Mingyu didn’t make it easy.

He was polite. Cordial, even. But there was a distance between them now that hadn’t been there before. It was in the way Mingyu turned away slightly when Wonwoo sat next to him. In the way he rarely met his eyes. In the way his voice was softer, his words careful—like he was talking to a stranger instead of the man he claimed to love.

Wonwoo hated it.

But he knew he had no right to complain.

So instead, he showed Mingyu—with actions, not words.

The first time, Mingyu dismissed it.

Wonwoo had come home with a bag of fruit—Mingyu’s favorite, freshly cut and stored in the fridge. Mingyu stared at it for a long moment, then closed the fridge door without a word.

The second time, Mingyu looked at him warily.

Wonwoo had carefully laid out Mingyu’s vitamins and a glass of water on the table, just like he used to. Mingyu hesitated before taking them, murmuring a quiet, “Thanks,” without looking at him.

The third time, Mingyu’s eyes softened—just a little.

Wonwoo had cooked dinner. It wasn’t much, just a simple stew, but it was warm, filling. Something easy on Mingyu’s stomach.

Mingyu sat across from him at the table, slowly stirring his spoon through the broth.

“…You don’t have to do this, you know,” he finally said.

Wonwoo kept his eyes on his bowl. “I want to.”

Mingyu sighed. He took a bite, chewing slowly.

Then, after a long pause—

“…It’s good.”

It wasn’t forgiveness.

But it was something.

And for now, that was enough.

---

-

Mingyu didn’t know how to act around Wonwoo anymore.

It was easier when there had been a clear boundary between them—when Wonwoo belonged to someone else, when every touch, every stolen glance had been a sin. At least then, Mingyu had known where he stood.

But now?

Now, Wonwoo was free. And yet, Mingyu felt more uncertain than ever.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to believe Wonwoo loved him. He just didn’t know how.

Because the Wonwoo he had fallen in love with—the one he had given himself to night after night—had never whispered love into his skin. Never promised him anything beyond fleeting moments of heat and desperation.

Mingyu had learned to be content with that.

So why was Wonwoo acting like something had changed?

He noticed it in the smallest things. The way Wonwoo lingered around him, careful but present. The way he filled the apartment with quiet acts of care—laying out Mingyu’s vitamins, cooking his favorite meals, making sure he had everything he needed before he even thought to ask.

It should have been easy to ignore. But Mingyu wasn’t blind.

Still, he didn’t know what to do with any of it.

The first time, he didn’t say anything.

Wonwoo had left a glass of water and Mingyu’s prenatal vitamins on the kitchen counter before leaving for work. Mingyu stared at them for a long moment, then swallowed them down without a word.

The second time, he acknowledged it. Barely.

Wonwoo had left an extra pillow on the couch where Mingyu liked to nap, one of the softer ones from their bed. Mingyu hesitated, then pulled it onto his lap.

“…Thanks,” he murmured, more to himself than to Wonwoo.

The third time, he finally looked Wonwoo in the eyes.

It was during dinner—Wonwoo had made stew, the same one Mingyu always craved when he was sick. He ate in silence at first, hesitant but unable to stop himself from finishing the entire bowl.

When he set his spoon down, he sighed. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Wonwoo’s grip on his own spoon tightened. “I want to.”

Mingyu exhaled slowly. He searched Wonwoo’s face for something—anything—but the sincerity in his gaze was unfamiliar. Unnerving.

“…It’s good,” he admitted at last.

Wonwoo smiled—small, fleeting. But there.

Mingyu turned away before he could think too much about what it meant.

Because the truth was, he wasn’t ready for this.

Not yet.

 

-

Mingyu didn’t know when he had started expecting it.

Maybe it was when the glass of water and vitamins had started appearing on the counter every morning without fail. Or when he found his shoes neatly arranged by the door when he forgot to put them away. Or when he realized the fridge never ran out of the fresh fruit he craved at odd hours.

It was never anything grand. Just small things. Little moments.

But they chipped away at something inside him.

Because Wonwoo had never done this before.

Not when they were sneaking around, when every touch had been a risk, when Mingyu had learned to be quiet, to take what he could and never ask for more.

Back then, Wonwoo had never held him after. He had never kissed him for longer than necessary. Had never treated him like he was anything but a mistake waiting to be caught.

And yet, here he was—caring for Mingyu like he had never done before.

Mingyu hated how much he wanted to believe it.

Tonight was no different.

The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the heater. Mingyu was curled up on the couch, half-watching the muted TV screen when Wonwoo walked in with a cup of tea.

“Here,” Wonwoo murmured, setting it on the table beside him. “It’ll help you sleep.”

Mingyu glanced at the cup. He recognized the scent—it was the same tea Wonwoo used to make for Jun whenever he had trouble sleeping.

His fingers curled into the blanket draped over his lap.

Wonwoo hesitated. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.”

Mingyu exhaled. “…It’s not that.”

It was everything else. The tea. The quiet concern. The way Wonwoo looked at him now—like he wasn’t just something to be hidden away.

Wonwoo sat on the couch beside him, leaving enough space that it wasn’t suffocating, but not so much that it felt distant.

Mingyu stared at the cup. Then, slowly, he picked it up and took a sip.

It was warm. Comforting.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said again, softer this time.

Wonwoo’s fingers twitched against his lap. “I know.”

“Then why—”

“Because I want to.”

Mingyu went quiet.

Wonwoo sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know I was awful to you.” His voice was steady, but there was something fragile underneath it. “I know I don’t deserve anything from you after the way I treated you. I don’t expect you to forgive me just because I’m here now.”

Mingyu looked down at his tea.

“But I still want to try,” Wonwoo continued. “Even if all I can do is prove to you that I care. That I—” He cut himself off, inhaling sharply. “That I love you.”

Mingyu’s grip on the cup tightened.

He wanted to believe it.

God, he wanted to believe it so badly.

But he didn’t know if he could.

Not yet.

Not when all he could hear in his head were Wonwoo’s past warnings— “Be careful. We can’t let Jun find out.”

Not when all he could remember was how it felt to be second choice.

“…I’m tired, Wonwoo,” Mingyu murmured at last.

Wonwoo nodded, swallowing. “Okay.”

He stood, taking the empty cup from Mingyu’s hands and setting it on the table before walking away.

But not before Mingyu caught the way his fingers trembled.

And for the first time, something in Mingyu’s chest ached for him.

---

-

Minghao was already awake when Junhui stirred beside him, but he didn’t move, his body curled in on itself like he was trying to take up as little space as possible.

Minghao didn’t expect him to stay.

Not after last night. Not after everything.

He had let himself be held, let himself be whispered to, let himself cry for the first time since all of this started. But even then, a small, bitter part of him had been waiting for the moment Junhui would leave again.

He always did.

 

Junhui blinked against the morning light, eyes swollen from last night’s tears. The weight of everything they’d left unsaid still lingered between them, but for the first time, Junhui wasn’t afraid to face it.

He turned onto his side, propping himself up on one arm as he looked down at Minghao. The younger man lay still, gaze unfocused as he stared at the ceiling, lips pressed into a thin line like he was bracing himself for whatever Junhui was about to say.

Junhui exhaled. “Minghao.”

No reaction.

He tried again, softer this time. “Hao.”

Minghao swallowed, finally shifting his eyes to meet Junhui’s. His expression was unreadable, but there was an exhaustion in them that Junhui had never taken the time to notice before.

“I don’t want to say the same things I said last night,” Junhui admitted. “I meant all of it, but I don’t want this to just be about me and what I realized. I need to know where you stand.”

Minghao’s fingers twitched against the sheets. He hesitated before speaking, voice quiet. “Where I stand?”

“Yes.” Junhui reached out, but let his hand hover between them, waiting for permission. “I never really asked you before. Not properly. I don’t just mean about the pregnancy—I mean us . What do you want from this? From me?”

Minghao stared at him for a long moment, eyes searching, as if trying to find some kind of trick in Junhui’s words.

Finally, he let out a breath. “I don’t know.”

Junhui nodded like he expected that. “Okay. Then tell me what you do know.”

Minghao’s jaw tensed, but he answered anyway. “I know that I was stupid to let myself believe you would ever see me as more than just someone to fuck.”

Junhui winced. “Minghao—”

“I know ,” Minghao continued, cutting him off, “that I kept telling myself it was enough, even when it wasn’t. I know I let you use me because I thought… I thought it was better than not having you at all.” His voice wavered, but he pushed through. “And I know that I can’t keep doing this if it’s just going to hurt me in the end.”

Junhui’s chest ached. Fuck, I did that to him.

He finally moved his hand, laying it gently over Minghao’s. This time, Minghao didn’t pull away.

“I can’t take back everything I did,” Junhui said, voice low, “but I do see you now, Minghao. I don’t know why it took me so fucking long, but I do.”

Minghao’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “And what do you see?”

Junhui squeezed his hand. “Someone I don’t want to lose.” He swallowed hard. “Someone I should have never treated like an afterthought. Someone I—” He stopped himself, biting back the words that felt too soon, too fragile. “Someone I want to be with. For real. No more pretending it’s just sex. No more ignoring the way I feel.”

Minghao didn’t speak right away. He just watched Junhui, like he was trying to decide if he could really trust him this time.

Finally, he exhaled, his fingers tightening around Junhui’s. “…Then prove it.”

Junhui’s lips parted, but Minghao shook his head.

“I don’t mean just now,” he clarified. “Or just today. If you really mean all this, then prove it over time. Show me that you’re serious. Because I can’t do this again if you’re not.”

Junhui let out a shaky breath and nodded. “Okay.”

He brought Minghao’s hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to his knuckles. “I’ll prove it.”

Minghao didn’t smile. Didn’t cry.

But he didn’t let go, either.

 

-

The silence between them settled into something neither heavy nor light—just uncertain . Minghao didn’t pull his hand away from Junhui’s, but he didn’t relax into the touch either.

Junhui knew words alone wouldn’t be enough.

Minghao had heard plenty of words from him before. Empty reassurances. Weak justifications. Apologies that never meant as much as they should have. What Minghao needed now wasn’t another promise—he needed proof. Something real.

And Junhui was determined to give him that.

He shifted, hesitating before reaching out again. This time, he cupped Minghao’s face, thumbs tracing carefully over the dark circles under his eyes.

“You barely sleep, don’t you?” he murmured.

Minghao huffed softly. “Pregnancy does that to you.”

Junhui frowned. “You’re supposed to rest more.”

Minghao looked like he wanted to laugh, but there was no humor in his voice when he replied, “Hard to rest when you’re waiting for the person who got you pregnant to decide whether or not they actually want you.”

Junhui flinched, the guilt hitting him like a fresh wound reopening. “I deserved that.”

Minghao sighed, finally breaking eye contact. “…I don’t say this to make you feel bad. I just don’t know how to not say it.”

“You don’t have to hold back,” Junhui said, rubbing gentle circles against Minghao’s cheek. “Not anymore.”

Minghao still looked hesitant, but he let Junhui touch him. Let him see him, not just as the person he fucked on lonely nights, but as someone real. Someone who had been hurting for so long.

Junhui let out a breath. “Can I hold you?”

Minghao blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Junhui’s hands dropped to Minghao’s arms, rubbing slow, soothing patterns over his skin. “You always curled up against me after. I didn’t think much of it before, but… last night, you didn’t.” He swallowed, voice growing softer. “I miss it.”

Minghao’s lips parted slightly, his fingers twitching against the sheets. “That’s stupid.”

“Maybe,” Junhui admitted, “but it’s still true.”

Minghao didn’t say anything, but he didn’t resist when Junhui slowly pulled him in.

He let himself be gathered into Junhui’s arms, his forehead pressing against the older man’s collarbone. Junhui felt the way he tensed at first, like he wasn’t sure he should be allowing this—but then, after a long moment, he melted just a little, his fingers curling into Junhui’s shirt.

Junhui exhaled shakily, his grip tightening around Minghao’s frame. “I’m sorry,” he murmured against his hair.

Minghao didn’t reply, but Jun felt the way his breathing stuttered slightly, the way his shoulders tensed like he was holding back something heavy.

They stayed like that for a while. Neither speaking. Neither moving. Just existing in the space between what they had been and what they could become.

After what felt like forever, Minghao finally whispered, “You really want to try?”

Junhui pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, his hands cupping Minghao’s face again. “Yes.”

Minghao bit his lip. “And what if I can’t forgive you?”

Junhui’s throat bobbed. “Then I’ll wait,” he whispered.

Minghao inhaled shakily.

Minghao searched his expression, looking for any trace of hesitation, any sign that Junhui was just telling him what he wanted to hear.

But Junhui held his gaze, steady and certain.

Eventually, Minghao let out a slow breath and nodded. “…Okay.”

Junhui smiled—small, tentative, but real .

Because for the first time since all of this started—since the affair, since the fights, since the heartbreak—Junhui wasn’t running away.

And maybe, just maybe, neither was Minghao.

 

-

They had a long way to go. A lot of pain to work through. But for the first time, it felt like they were standing at the beginning of something real .

Notes:

this is the end everyone TT thank you for staying up to here and bearing with my writing 🤧
idk if this is the end you're all looking forward to but it's the end i found most fitting for our couples. FOR NOW.
i will still be posting the extras after this since there is at least one of you who wanted them (thank you TT), i think there will be about 3 or 4 extras? but yeah technically this fic is now complete :'))

i appreciate any and all kudos and comments, pls share your thoughts or shout at me idk 🥺🤲

(P.S. the acts of service that ww does for mingyu differ in each of their own povs, i wanted to write it like how different actions weigh for different people? So the 2 of them have different first and second but the third time is the most memorable and held the most weight for both ig you could say?, i hope it wasn’t confusing TT)

(P.P.S. i forgot to add, happy The8ofJun everyone 😌 )

Chapter 13: Extra 1. Clearing the air

Notes:

welcome back to whatever this is lmao as promised here's the first of the few extras for this fic :'))

Wonwoo didn’t expect forgiveness to come easily. He had spent months earning his place beside Mingyu again—not through grand gestures, but through quiet, persistent care.

He attended every doctor’s appointment, listening carefully as the doctors explained Mingyu’s progress. He learned how to massage Mingyu’s swollen feet, memorizing the exact amount of pressure to apply. He never let Mingyu lift a single grocery bag, never let him feel alone —not even for a second.

And slowly, bit by bit, Mingyu’s walls softened.

One evening, as Wonwoo carefully rubbed Mingyu’s back while they lay together on the couch, Mingyu murmured, “You don’t have to keep proving yourself, you know.”

Wonwoo tensed slightly. “I want to.”

Mingyu turned his head slightly, watching him. “And if I say you’ve already done enough?”

Wonwoo’s throat tightened. “Then… I’d say I’m not done yet.”

Mingyu sighed, but this time, it wasn’t exasperated—it was fond. He reached out, threading his fingers through Wonwoo’s, and squeezed.

“…I forgive you, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo’s breath caught. He had dreamed of hearing those words for so long that now, faced with them, he felt almost unworthy. His fingers trembled in Mingyu’s grasp, his eyes stinging as he swallowed hard.

“Do you mean it?” he whispered.

Mingyu turned fully, curling into Wonwoo’s warmth. “Yeah,” he said, voice steady. “I mean it.”

Wonwoo buried his face in Mingyu’s hair, arms tightening around him. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he breathed —truly, deeply.

Mingyu accepted him.
Mingyu loved him.
And this time, Wonwoo wouldn’t let go.

---

-

 

Minghao stood by the window of their new apartment, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. Behind him, Junhui was unpacking the last of their moving boxes, humming a soft tune under his breath.

It still felt surreal.

“Thinking too much again?” Junhui’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Minghao turned slightly, giving a small smile. “Just… adjusting.”

Junhui abandoned the boxes and came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Minghao’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “You still don’t believe this is real, do you?”

Minghao exhaled. “It’s not that. It’s just… we started from such a mess .”

Junhui pressed a kiss against his temple. “Yeah. And look at us now.”

Minghao leaned into him, closing his eyes. “…You won’t get tired of me, will you?”

Junhui tightened his hold. “Never.”

Minghao’s fingers curled around Junhui’s arms, holding him in place. And for the first time, he let himself believe it.

This was real.
This was home .

---

-

 

The four of them hadn’t gathered like this in a long time.

They sat around the dinner table of Jun and Hao’s new apartment, the tension between them lingering but not unbearable. They had all been through too much to pretend things could go back to how they once were—but that didn’t mean they couldn’t move forward .

Mingyu was the first to speak. “I think… we need to be honest with each other tonight.”

Wonwoo nodded. “No more pretending. No more brushing things aside.”

Minghao’s fingers curled around his water glass. “And what if honesty makes things worse?”

Junhui squeezed his thigh lightly under the table. “Then at least we’ll know we tried.”

Silence stretched between them, but then, slowly, the words began to flow.

Wonwoo turned to Junhui first. “I blamed you for a lot of things. I think I wanted to believe you were the villain so I wouldn’t have to look at myself.” He let out a breath. “But the truth is, I wasn’t any better.”

Junhui exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t innocent either. I didn’t treat you right towards the end. I should’ve left when I knew things weren’t working instead of…” He trailed off, eyes flicking briefly to Minghao before looking back at Wonwoo. “I just—I’m sorry.”

Mingyu shifted in his seat. “And I’m sorry, too.” His gaze landed on Junhui. “I may have resented you for being the one he loved. And that wasn’t fair.”

Junhui blinked, clearly surprised. “I didn’t… I never thought about it that way.”

“I did,” Minghao murmured, looking at Mingyu. “I think… I envied you.”

Mingyu turned to him, surprised. “ Me? ”

Minghao gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “You were always so sure of your feelings. Even when things were a mess, you never doubted how much you loved Wonwoo. I spent so long convincing myself I was fine with just being something Jun could use and discard. But I wasn’t . I wanted to be wanted the way you were.”

Junhui’s grip on his leg tightened. “And you are.”

Minghao’s throat bobbed as he looked at him.

Wonwoo took a deep breath. “I don’t know if we can ever erase what happened. But… I don’t want to lose what we had before it all went wrong.”

Mingyu nodded. “Neither do I.”

Minghao hesitated. “…I think it’ll take time. But I’d like that too.”

Junhui glanced between all of them before grinning. “Well. Guess that means we’re all still stuck with each other, huh?”

A quiet laugh rippled through the table, lightening the air just a little.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy.

But it was a start .

And for now, that was enough.

Notes:

does this feel rushed? i feel like it seems rushed but idk what else to fill in between to make it longer or draw out their reconciliation more, apologies m( _ _ )m

i might take even longer with posting the next extras because i cannot get past whatever cringe i have already written .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. will edit and re-edit until i'm satisfied with the outcome or i get sick of editing and we all just have to deal with whatever cringe i end up with (whichever comes first)

anyways, see you next time (｡ゝᴗ•) ᯓᡣ𐭩

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of boys love, boypussy, boy pregnancy