Pain slashes through her abdomen, the tell-tale wetness between her thighs confirming the very thing she dreads. A wail of true pain, cut off by a broken pant as blood seeps through and pain stabs through to her groin.

She groans, a guttural, terrified sound, as she stands up, one hand cradling her belly as she staggers towards the door, the other braced against the wall. As another slice of pain cuts through her stomach, she winces, bent over, gasping. As she catches her breath, she feels something slide, sticky with blood –

Kyungmi starts awake, her hands immediately feeling for her belly. No pain. Still swollen. Still safe. The baby's foot thumps against her insides, and she breathes out a sigh of relief, settling back against the pillows.

Joonmyun wraps an arm around her, and silently, she curses. She didn't mean to wake him up. It can't be good for him, with her waking up every hour or so because of her night terrors, when he has to work. “Bad dream?” He murmurs, swallowing back a yawn.

She nods, resting her head against his shoulder. She breathes in his scent, letting it push away the lingering tendrils of the nightmare. “Yeah,” she confirms quietly, although, truly, she's not sure if it's a bad dream or a memory.

He smooths a sweaty lock of hair away from her face. “Maybe you should see someone,” he tells her gently, the suggestion familiar. “This isn't healthy,” his palm rests on the side of her belly, “for either of you.”

“There's no point,” she sighs, still lying against him. She moves his hand further down her stomach, where she can feel the baby churning. Typical. She wakes up from a nightmare, and he decides to as well. “I know why I'm having these dreams. Talking about it isn't going to make them go away.”

Joonmyun's lips set in a tight, frustrated line, but she knows he's not angry at her, just angry at his inability to do anything about her fears. He knows all the right things to say when she's scared that they're just heading for a fall, and that this baby – who already feels so real to them – will be lost to them as easily as their last was. But he can't eradicate that fear, and worst of all, he feels it too, deep down.

They stay quiet for a moment as the baby settles down inside of her, giving one last kick against his father's hand, as if reminding them both that he's alive and well. She shifts restlessly, wondering if she'll be able to go back to sleep after this.

She's really not enjoying this pregnancy-related insomnia. “I'm sorry, baby,” she mumbles, embarrassed. “Go back to sleep. I'll stay up and read for a bit, see if I can't drift off.” She moves to pull away, sit up against the headboard, but he snags her wrist before she can do so.

“Don't be sorry,” he tells her, the intensity in his eyes a reflection of his own sorrow, his own fears. “You can't help it.” He kisses her gently, nothing heated or particularly ual; just a reminder that he's here, and that he's not going anywhere. “Our baby will be fine,” he says fervently, with the passion of a true believer. “No,” he corrects, smiling as he pushes her hair behind her ear, “he'll be perfect.”

She snorts, but doesn't disagree. “I'm sure he'll be a handful,” she says instead, allowing herself for one fleeting moment to imagine what he'll be like. She shuts her eyes, and shakes her head to rid herself of the image after a moment, however. She doesn't want to tempt fate.

“Just sleep,” his voice is soothing, and after a second, she gives in and rolls back against him. “I'm right here,” he murmurs in her ear, arms loosely wrapped around her. “I love you.”

Slowly, she drifts off, clinging to Joonmyun's warmth.

***

When she wakes up, the bed is empty, but that doesn't surprise her. She may be on maternity leave, late in her pregnancy as she is, but he still has to work, especially if he wants his paternity leave.

However, she can smell food, and as she pushes herself upwards (a difficult manoeuvre when you're heavily pregnant), the door opens.

Joonmyun smiles when he sees that she's awake, balancing a breakfast tray in his hands as he wedges the door open with his bare foot. He's wearing jeans, she notices, his shirt half undone.

She doesn't have time to notice anything more, as her stomach grumbles loudly in response to the delicious smells emanating from the tray, and her attention is suddenly on the food. “You brought me breakfast in bed?” She asks, puzzled. “Why aren't you at work?”

He settles on the bed next to her, the tray next to her leg. He nudges her with his elbow. “Eat,” he says, and not needing any more encouragement than that, she dives in. “I called in sick to work,” he admits sheepishly, grinning ruefully. “I thought we could take the day off, relax in bed and, maybe, later,” – he gives her a nervous smile – “we could go and buy that crib you liked.”

She pauses her inhalation of the food he so thoughtfully provided for her, “Really? I mean, we still have weeks left to go, and it's not like we're in any rush – ”

He puts a finger against her lips. She resists the urge to bite it. “You need to do this,” he says firmly, “you need to do something to remind yourself this baby is real, and that everything is going great.” He leans in, pulling her close so that he can kiss her fiercely. As he pulls back, grinning, she catches her breath. “And maybe, we can get in some more of that before the kids come over.”

She places a hand against his cheek; he nuzzles into it, pretending to nip the fleshy part of her palm. “I love you,” she tells him, almost – but not completely – distracted from her food. “I really do.”

“I love you too,” he says immediately, nudging her again, “but get to eating. I want that baby to pop out fat and healthy.”

She rolls her eyes. “There'll be no 'popping' out,” she mutters darkly, shuddering, but picks up the half-eaten bagel anyway. She smiles. He got the good kind.

Now there's real love for you.