Chapter Text
"We’re having a pup!”
The words burst out of Wooyoung mid-laugh, so sudden, bright, and out of sync with the rest of the conversation that for a second everyone thought they’d misheard.
Then he said it again. Softer this time, his smile trembling on the edges like he’d been dying to get it out.
“San and I… we’re having a pup.”
Music still pulsed faintly from the speaker, the bassline looping over and over, absurdly cheerful for the way time had just stopped.
San stood beside Wooyoung, hands shoved in his pockets, red-faced and shy but clearly proud, like he’d been holding this in too long too. He slipped a hand around Wooyoung’s waist and didn’t let go.
It was Seonghwa who moved first, dropping to his knees right there on the polished floor and throwing his arms around Wooyoung’s middle. “You’re what?” he half-laughed, half-cried. “Oh my god, Woo— seriously?”
“Seriously.” Wooyoung nodded, eyes shiny now, voice wobbling from the weight of it. “We found out last week. We were going to wait until after tour but— I couldn’t— I had to tell you guys.”
Hongjoong looked like someone had just pulled the power cord out of his brain. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said, pacing toward them, tablet forgotten on the floor. “You’re pregnant. You’re pregnant and we’re about to start a world tour— do you know what this does to my schedule?”
Wooyoung only grinned, tears spilling over now. “It gives you a baby to spoil, hyung.”
The room erupted after that with laughter, noise, disbelief, and most of all, joy. San’s face turned crimson as Jongho whooped and hugged him hard enough to lift him off the ground.
Yunho stood frozen near the speaker, pretending to fuss with the volume, trying to hide the dazed look on his face.
All he could think of was Mingi.
He watched San hold Wooyoung, joy spilling out of him and all he could think of was Mingi.
Mingi’s hands holding him by his waist. Mingi, whispering comfort into his hair and cooing over a bump, Mingi’s body against his, heavy and protective. A family.
It hit him like a fever, terrifying and warming all at once.
He wanted that.
Hongjoong clapped his hands to gather them again. “All right, everyone, congrats to the happy couple, but can we please finish rehearsal before we start a daycare?”
The group laughed. The music started again.
But Yunho barely heard it.
He tried to shake it off, glancing over to Mingi out of reflex.
Their eyes met in the mirror’s reflection and both of them smiled.
—
A few days later and Yunho felt the weight of the world bearing down on him.
So, he decided to take Wooyoung out to lunch.
He chose the café because it was quiet and because it felt like the kind of place where life could slow down for a moment. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, catching dust motes in the air, warming the wood tables and the backs of the chairs.
Wooyoung slid into the booth across from him with the easy confidence of someone whose world had already shifted and somehow centered around someone who wasn’t even here yet. He kicked his shoes off, folded one leg under himself, and grinned wide enough to show teeth.
“So,” Wooyoung said, eyes sparkling. “This is a date, right? Because if it’s a date, I’m ordering whatever I want.”
Yunho smiled, soft and automatic. “Order whatever you want anyway. This one’s on me.”
Wooyoung’s grin turned fond. He rested a hand on his stomach without thinking, even though he wasn’t showing much yet. The gesture didn’t escape Yunho’s notice. It never did. Ever since rehearsal, his eyes kept finding that hand, that place, as if drawn by gravity.
They ordered. Wooyoung chatted easily, joked about cravings and spice tolerance, radiating a kind of unselfconscious joy that made the whole room feel brighter. Yunho watched him, listened, nodded in the right places, but there was a quietness clinging to him, something inward and heavy.
By the time the food arrived, Wooyoung was studying him over the rim of his drink, head tilted. “Okay,” he said finally. “You’ve been weird all day.”
Yunho blinked. “Weird how?”
“Quiet-weird,” Wooyoung said. “Just… like your brain is somewhere else.”
He wasn’t wrong. Yunho’s mind had been looping the same images for days now. His hands on a stomach that wasn’t flat anymore, a future that suddenly felt tangible instead of abstract. The thought of a tiny being half himself and half—
He picked up his fork, then set it down again.
“I just wanted to take you out,” Yunho said. “To celebrate.”
Wooyoung’s expression softened instantly. “You don’t have to justify that,” he said. “I like being celebrated.”
“I know.” Yunho hesitated, gaze dropping to the table. “You deserve it.”
They ate for a moment in comfortable silence. Wooyoung hummed happily between bites. Yunho barely tasted his food.
Wooyoung wiped his mouth with a napkin, then leaned forward slightly. “You know,” he said, gentle now, “you didn’t react like I expected when we told everyone.”
Yunho stiffened, just a little.
“You weren’t upset,” Wooyoung continued. “Or unhappy. You just looked… far away. Are you alright?”
Yunho exhaled slowly. He hadn’t meant to say anything today. He hadn’t planned to. But Wooyoung had always had a way of peeling truth out of people without even trying.
“I was thinking,” Yunho said carefully, “about how fast everything can change.”
Wooyoung nodded. “Yeah. That part’s terrifying.”
“And kind of amazing,” Yunho added. His voice was quieter now. “You and San…you’re building something. A whole life.”
Wooyoung watched him closely, eyes soft, understanding blooming there before Yunho ever said the words.
“I want a baby,” Yunho said. “Someday. Soon. I don’t know.” A small, almost embarrassed smile tugged at his mouth. “Seeing you… it just flipped something on.”
Wooyoung’s eyes shone, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I don’t even know how to talk about it,” Yunho went on. “It feels… big. Bigger than me.” He laughed softly, a little breathless. “And stupid, maybe. We’re about to go on tour, I’m not even in a relationship, it’s not a good time—“
Wooyoung reached across the table, interrupted him and squeezed his hand. “It’s not stupid,” he said firmly. “It’s human.”
Yunho looked up at him then, surprised by the sudden sting behind his eyes.
Wooyoung smiled, warm and knowing. “Babies have a way of doing that,” he said. “They make people realize things they’ve been avoiding.”
Yunho laughed quietly, nodding.
“Well,” Wooyoung added, squeezing Yunho’s hand again, “You want a baby, who says you can’t have one?”
Yunho huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “A lot of things,” he said. “Logic. Timing. Reality.”
Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “Well I’m having one, so what does it matter?”
Yunho looked down at their joined hands, thumb brushing unconsciously over Wooyoung’s knuckles.
“I mean,” Yunho said slowly, choosing each word like he might drop it, “I don’t even know how I’d… start. It’s not like you wake up one day and just—decide.”
Wooyoung smiled at him in that infuriating way that said he already knew the answer. “You kind of do, actually.”
Yunho glanced up. “Woo.”
“I’m serious,” Wooyoung said, leaning back in his seat, still holding Yunho’s hand. “Okay. Practical question.” His tone softened, but his eyes stayed sharp. “If you were going to have a baby… who would you want one with?”
Yunho froze and his mind betrayed him instantly, supplying an image he’d been carefully not thinking too hard about: Mingi’s smile, Mingi’s moles, Mingi’s stupid big tooth. All of it wrapped up into a little baby in his arms.
Yunho didn’t answer.
Wooyoung followed his gaze, watched the way Yunho’s eyes drifted unfocused toward the window, the way his mouth pressed into a thin line. Understanding clicked into place with startling ease.
“Oh,” Wooyoung said gently. Then, a beat later, “*Oh.”
Yunho groaned softly and dropped his forehead toward the table. “Please don’t.”
Wooyoung laughed, warm and delighted, squeezing his hand again. “Yunho. Come on. You didn’t even have to say his name.”
Yunho peeked up at him, mortified. “It’s not— it’s not like that.”
Wooyoung tilted his head. “You’re friends.”
“Yes.”
“You sleep together.”
“…Yes.”
“You look at him like he hung the moon and personally invented gravity.”
Yunho sighed. “Okay, that one feels unfair.”
Wooyoung grinned. “It’s extremely fair, and true.” Then he softened, voice quieter. “You and Mingi have been doing this friends-with-benefits thing for how long now?”
Yunho hesitated. “A while.”
“And you’ve never once talked about feelings,” Wooyoung continued. “Or the future. Or babies. Or anything scary.”
Yunho nodded miserably. “We’re bad at that.”
“I know,” Wooyoung said, not unkindly. “That’s why I’m saying it.”
Silence stretched between them, thick but not uncomfortable. Yunho stared at the tabletop, at the tiny chip in the varnish near his thumb, at anything except the truth sitting right there.
“I don’t know if he wants that,” Yunho said finally. “A baby. Or… me. Like that.”
Wooyoung squeezed his hand again, firmer this time. “Yunho,” he said softly, “Why wouldn’t he?”
Yunho opened his mouth, then closed it. His mind scrambled for reasons, practical ones, reasonable ones. Because they’d never defined anything. Because it was safer to assume less than to hope for more.
But none of those felt solid enough to say out loud.
“He’s… Mingi,” Yunho said instead, helplessly. “He doesn’t think about things like that. He lives in the moment. He jokes. He avoids serious conversations about…us…like they’ll bite him.”
Wooyoung hummed, unconvinced.
“And yet,” Wooyoung continued, eyes warm but sharp, “he keeps coming back to you. He makes space for you. He lets you see him when he’s tired, when he’s insecure, when he’s not performing for anyone.” He smiled faintly. “That doesn’t sound like someone who doesn’t care.”
Yunho’s throat tightened. He thought of Mingi asleep on his couch, hoodie bunched under his cheek. Of the way Mingi always reached for him in the dark, half-asleep, like it was instinct. Of how natural it felt to imagine something more permanent.
“I just…” Yunho rubbed his thumb over the table edge. “If I ask and he says no—if I scare him off—”
“You lose what you have now,” Wooyoung finished gently.
Yunho nodded.
Wooyoung leaned back, studying him. “Okay,” he said. “Then don’t ask.”
Yunho blinked. “What?”
“I’m not saying lie,” Wooyoung clarified quickly. “I’m saying… you don’t have to start with a big, terrifying confession. You’re already close. You already trust each other. You already sleep together.” He tilted his head. “You already act like a couple who just forgot to label it.”
Yunho let out a weak laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”
Wooyoung smiled, then shrugged, casual in a way that felt deliberate. “And babies don’t always come from perfect plans or perfectly timed conversations.”
Something in Yunho’s brain shifted at that.
It wasn’t a full thought yet. More like a spark. It was small, reckless, and immediately followed by a rush of warmth. The idea slid into place quietly, almost politely, as if it had been waiting for permission.
You don’t have to convince him.
You don’t have to ask the scary question first.
You could just… let it happen.
Yunho’s pulse picked up. He stared at Wooyoung, who was watching him now with an expression that said oh no.
“Yunho,” Wooyoung said carefully. “Whatever you’re thinking—”
“I wouldn’t,” Yunho said quickly. Then, slower, more honestly, “I mean. I wouldn’t hurt him. I’d never trap him into something he didn’t want.”
Wooyoung nodded. “I know.”
“But if it happened,” Yunho went on, voice barely above a breath, “if it just… happened… I don’t think he’d run. I think he’d stay. I think he’d try.”
The thought felt dangerous. It felt hopeful. It felt like standing at the edge of something irreversible and realizing you weren’t afraid of the fall.
Wooyoung studied him for a long moment. Then he smiled, slow and knowing. “You’re already halfway gone, huh.”
Yunho swallowed, heat creeping up his neck. “I just want something real,” he said. “Something that lasts.”
Wooyoung reached across the table and squeezed his hand one last time. “Do you think doing that would make something that lasts?”
Yes, Yunho thought. He’d never leave that way.
“No,” Yunho said. “You know I wouldn’t do that.”
Wooyoung searched his face for a long second, then nodded, accepting the answer even if he didn’t fully believe it. “I know,” he said softly. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”
The moment passed. Lunch ended. Life moved on.
—
Yunho sat cross-legged on his bed, hair still damp from a rushed shower. The city outside glowed through the curtains in blurred streaks of white and gold, distant and unreal.
His phone rested in his hands.
The history under his search bar blinked at him mockingly.
how likely is pregnancy first time…
Average conception rates per cycle…
Factors that increase fertility…
Timing and ovulation windows during heats…
He frowned, adjusted his position, and searched again, more specific this time.
how to increase chances of getting pregnant fast
fertile window explained simply
He followed links. Opened tabs. Took screenshots without really realizing it.
He scooted back against the headboard, knees drawn up, phone hovering inches from his face as he scrolled.
Does stress affect fertility?
Best positions for conception—
He stopped, cheeks heating, and quickly backed out of that one, tapping on a different article instead.
“Trying to Conceive Quickly? Evidence-Based Ways to Increase Your Chances.”
The article broke things down step by step, like a plan anyone could follow if they were patient enough.
Timing is key.
Conception rates highest when intercourse occurs 1–2 days before ovulation.
There was a diagram. A cycle mapped out in calm blues and grays. Yunho found himself counting days automatically, mental math clicking into place without him quite realizing when he’d started.
Up to five days.
Peak fertility window.
His thumb hovered, then scrolled again.
Lifestyle factors that support faster conception:
Adequate sleep.
Reduced stress.
Regular nutrition.
Yunho huffed out a quiet, almost humorless laugh, but kept reading anyway.
He followed a link embedded halfway down the page.
“What Doctors Wish You Knew About Getting Pregnant Faster.”
Another scroll. Another list.
The more he read, the more determined he felt.
Like he’d slipped into a familiar headspace, the same one he got into before learning choreography or tightening a routine. Break it down. Learn the timing. Execute cleanly.
Yunho adjusted his grip on the phone, unaware of how long it had been since he last blinked.
He was quietly masterminding a plan he knew he had no business making when a knock came suddenly, loud in the quiet room.
Yunho flinched hard, phone slipping in his hands before he caught it. His heart lurched, adrenaline sharp and immediate, like he’d been caught doing something criminal.
Another knock, closer together this time.
“Yunho?” a familiar voice called through the door. “You in there?”
“Yeah—yeah,” he called, voice pitching a little too high.
He fumbled, sitting up too fast. The phone slid against the sheets; he caught it on instinct and immediately locked the screen, thumb pressing harder than necessary, as if that could erase the last twenty minutes from existence.
He shoved the phone face-down into the pillow, then thought better of it and grabbed it again, slipping it into his pocket.
Another knock.
“Yunho?” Mingi again, closer now, unmistakably right outside. “You up?”
“I’m coming,” Yunho said quickly.
He scrambled out of bed, feet tangling briefly in the sheets. He smoothed a hand through his hair, then abandoned that and tugged his hoodie straighter instead, as if looking presentable could somehow realign his thoughts.
He crossed the room in long strides and paused in front of the door, hand hovering over the handle.
Get it together, he told himself. You were just on your phone. People are allowed to be on their phones.
He inhaled, then opened the door.
Mingi stood there in the hallway light, hair slightly damp, expression soft with that familiar mix of concern and casual affection. He leaned back on his heels, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.
“Hey,” Mingi said, eyes flicking over Yunho’s face. “Sorry if I woke you.”
Yunho swallowed. “No. I wasn’t asleep.”
Mingi smiled. “Yeah, I figured.”
Yunho stepped aside without thinking, the motion automatic. “Come in.”
As Mingi crossed the threshold, the room felt smaller somehow.
The door shut behind him with a familiar click, sealing them into a space that already knew both of them too well.
“Did Sangie see you?” Yunho mumbled, watching Mingi with wide eyes.
Mingi huffed a quiet laugh, shucking off his hoodie and laying over the back of Yunho’s desk chair. “No,” he said easily. “He’s not home, at least I don’t think he is.”
Yunho let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Okay.”
Mingi turned back to him. “You nervous about getting caught?” he asked, tone teasing but not unkind.
“Not like they don’t know…I just didn’t know if he was still here,” Yunho shrugged, eyes dropping for a second before flicking back up. “...Is…that why you’re here? You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
Mingi tilted his head, studying Yunho for a moment longer than the question seemed to require. The teasing curve of his mouth softened into something more thoughtful.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he said finally, casual but honest. “ Figured I’d see what you were up to.”
Yunho nodded, even though that didn’t really answer the question. His fingers worried at the hem of his hoodie, a small, unconscious tell. “You could’ve texted.”
“Yeah,” Mingi said, stepping closer, voice low. “But then you might’ve said no.”
That earned a quiet huff of a laugh from Yunho. “I don’t say no to you.”
“I know,” Mingi replied, more serious than usual.
Mingi closed the distance fully now, stopping just short of Yunho’s space, eyes searching his face like he was looking for permission or reassurance.
“You okay?” Mingi asked again. “You seem… wound up.”
Yunho hesitated. There were a dozen answers he could give, all of them safer than the truth. He settled on the simplest one. “Just had a long day.”
Mingi nodded, accepting it the way he always did, even if he didn’t fully believe it. He reached out, thumb brushing Yunho’s wrist. “Then let me distract you,” he said lightly.
“Min…” Yunho began.
Mingi paused immediately. His thumb stilled against Yunho’s wrist, pressure easing but not disappearing, like he was giving Yunho space without pulling away completely. “Hey,” he said quietly. “We don’t have to. I’m not—” He shrugged one shoulder. “I just thought maybe you wanted company. We haven’t really had any time to–”
“Blow off steam?” Yunho offered.
“Yeah,” Mingi replied, growing a little flustered. “It’s okay if you don’t want to–”
“I do,” Yunho said, a little too quickly. Then he corrected himself, voice softer. “I mean… yeah. I want you here.”
Mingi smiled, relief flickering across his face. “Okay.”
He stepped closer only when Yunho didn’t pull back, hands settling at Yunho’s waist.
“You sure?” Mingi asked again, one last check, forehead nearly brushing Yunho’s.
Yunho nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Mingi leaned in, slow enough that Yunho could stop him if he wanted to. When Yunho didn’t, Mingi pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek instead of his mouth, lingering there.
“Come sit,” Mingi murmured. “You look like you need to stop thinking for a minute.”
Yunho nodded again, silently letting Mingi pull him away.
He was so caring that it annoyed him, just a little.
Why couldn’t he have this Mingi all the time?
It was so easy to coddle him when they were together as a group, hell even the fans expected him to dote on Mingi, which he loved to do.
But sometimes Yunho wanted to be babied, he wanted to be cute and small and doted on. The worst part was he had that, he had that Mingi in the quiet of a dark dorm or the steam of a shared shower for ‘conservation’s sake’
If he were pregnant…
People would slow down for him.
Everyone would dote on him.
He’d have this Mingi all the time
He’d doted on openly. Proudly.
God…this was such a bad idea.
Mingi would never forgive him.
Well….He would, he could never stay mad for long.
“Mingi,” Yunho said softly, reaching out and tugging on Mingi’s hoodie strings.
“Yeah?” Mingi answered immediately, eyes dropping to Yunho’s, concern sharpening again.
Yunho gave a small, almost shy tug this time, guiding him closer until they were falling back into his bed.
The bed dipped softly beneath his weight, familiar springs creaking in a way that felt almost conspiratorial.
Yunho’s breath left him in a slow rush as his back hit the sheets. He loosened his grip just long enough to guide Mingi with him, one knee shifting instinctively, opening space without really thinking about it, muscle memory more than anything.
Mingi followed, bracing himself above Yunho, careful even now, eyes searching his face again like he was checking for cracks.
Yunho watched, throat tight, gaze flicking briefly to the ceiling before returning to Mingi.
Being like this. Looked down at, hovered over, considered.
It all sent another dangerous thought curling warm in his chest.
This, he thought. This is how it would be.
Mingi’s expression shifted, something tender settling in. “You’re really in your head tonight,” he murmured, not accusing. Just observant in the way only he could be about Yunho.. “You want me to take care of you?”
Yunho let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, though there was nothing funny about the way his chest ached. “Yeah,” he said, honest in a way that scared him. “Just… for a little.”
Mingi nodded like that made perfect sense. He lowered himself carefully, weight distributed, an arm sliding under Yunho’s shoulders so he could tuck him in closer instead of pinning him down.
Yunho’s eyes fluttered shut.
“You can relax,” Mingi said quietly. “I’ve got you.”
That was it.
Jeong Yunho was going to make the biggest mistake of his life over a few gentle words and soft touches.
–