Stuck With You || Kim Taehyung

Part 65

The car ride back from the hospital was silent at first — not an awkward silence, but one heavy with everything unspoken. The city lights glided past the window, scattering gold across Y/N's pale face. Her head rested lightly on Taehyung's shoulder, his hand never leaving hers for even a second.

The radio played something faint, almost inaudible, while Taehyung's thumb brushed over her knuckles in slow, rhythmic circles. He could feel her exhaustion, her fragility — yet even now, her strength radiated quietly beside him.

He turned slightly, voice low and tender.
"Does it hurt anywhere?"

Y/N shook her head, eyes still half-lidded. "Just... tired."

Taehyung hummed softly, leaning closer until his breath brushed against her temple. "You scared the hell out of me, love."

A faint smile curved her lips. "You worry too much."

"Because you make me," he whispered. "I swear, when I saw you lying there— I thought..." His voice cracked before he could finish.

Y/N slowly intertwined her fingers with his. "But I'm here. And they're here too," she said, placing his hand gently on her belly.

Taehyung looked down at the curve beneath her dress — the round swell that held his entire world. He rubbed it softly with his palm, feeling a faint movement beneath his touch. "Hey," he murmured, lips twitching into a weak smile, "take it easy on your mom, okay? She's already got me half-dead in worry."

Y/N chuckled quietly, the sound small but warm. The tension in the air began to melt 

They came home to a house that smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and the faint trace of jasmine from Y/N's perfume—small comforts that made the world feel like it still belonged to them. Taehyung carried her over the threshold the way he'd joked about doing since their first nervous dates, and she laughed against his chest, breath warm and steady, as if the sound itself could stitch the frayed edges of the last few days back together.

He set her down gently in the living room and watched her as she sank into the couch, fingers coming instinctively to her belly. For a long moment they just looked at each other, the kind of quiet that held a thousand apologies, a thousand thanks, and all the relief in between. Taehyung brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear and then—without thinking too much about how bold it was—leaned in and kissed her. It was soft at first, a question and an answer at once, then deeper when she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. The rest of the world narrowed to the press of lips and the familiar heat of him: solid, grounding, honest.

They moved together without plan: a kiss by the kitchen counter as he pretended to make tea and she pretended to scold him for burning the water; a long, languid embrace on the couch where he tucked her head under his chin while he scrolled through his phone, reading messages with one hand and stroking her hair with the other. He hummed ridiculous melodies under his breath; she curled into him like a person who'd been lost and finally found home.

When he made her sit properly at the table, insisting she drink something warm, she teased him playfully—"You make it sound like I'm a hundred years old"—and he grinned, the fatigue in his face folding into something softer. He fussed over the blanket he tucked at her feet, adjusted the pillows, and at one point, when she flinched with a phantom cramp, he dropped everything and held her until the breath returned to her lungs. There was an intimacy in those caretaking gestures that had nothing to do with grandeur and everything to do with staying: the slow pour of tea, the gentle check of a forehead, the way his thumb mapped circles on her palm.

Later, with the house dim and the baby monitor silent on the dresser because there were no babies yet to watch, they stayed in the bedroom. Taehyung sat on the edge of the bed as she changed into something comfortable, and when she turned, the way he looked at her took her breath away—like she was both the calm center and the most dangerous storm. She walked over and kissed him, and he responded as if he'd been starving: urgent, worshipful. Their kisses were long enough to feel like an apology and an oath, and when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers.