Chapter Text
***
The clinic knew that he was pregnant before Minho had been sure himself. It was probably a side effect of the medication he had taken in order to be able to conceive easier. It had been easier in a way. If the client had wanted a donor egg or embryo, there would have been other processes to follow. But they hadn’t. The client had opted to use Minho’s instead, and had had no desire to select for sex. So beyond the medication helping make his body ready to make it take, that had been all Minho had had to do. Just lie there, let himself get knocked up by a little tube.
And then two weeks later, get his blood drawn, and get confirmation that it’d stuck.
He hadn’t had any anxiety up to then. There’d been no guarantee of anything, and the medical team had all said it could take several rounds. Well. It hadn’t.
They did another test two weeks later, to be sure things were still progressing. And they were. All the staff was beaming for him, like he was fulfilling some lifelong dream. He smiled, and blinked, and nodded. It was enough to begin the terms of the contract. He got the first lump sum, his fingers almost sticking to the check as he nodded at the coordinator giving him instructions. And they set up a time for him to meet the client.
He had nightmares the whole week. If the man was terrible. If he was condemning a child to something Minho couldn’t save them from. But he put it out of his mind when he woke. It was useless to worry about something he could no longer change.
***
There’d been a lot of secrecy ahead of the actual words on the paper saying he was pregnant. Minho had signed all the paperwork not knowing who the donor was, who the child was for. It was a single man who wanted a child. He was well off, and wanted to be involved in the appointments following the pregnancy confirmation.
He was also compensating Minho very well. It was beyond the standard contract. There were provisions for covering Minho’s rent, for paying for him to attend any type of exercise. Paying for every medical expense for the course of the pregnancy and for an entire year after. Allowances for food. A second allowance for clothing.
He felt like he was a science experiment in Jurassic Park, and the owner was assuring him that no expense had been spared. It was just that he didn’t know who the owner was. Not the owner of him, at least. But the owner of the cells dividing inside of him. At least the agency had arranged that first meeting. He’d half expected a coordinator to join them, moderate somehow. But they’d sent him down the hall with an assistant. The client’s wishes, Minho realized. And Minho knew he was sweating under his jacket as he was led to the private meeting room. It felt a bit like an interview, only Minho’s body had already passed the first test. He had no idea what he was expecting, if he was honest. Some rich, boring old man who wanted an heir.
Instead, the man’s hair was honey-brown, verging on gold in the highlights, and generously styled. He wore a trim, dark, pinstriped suit that screamed of money. He wore a watch, also money, and a signet ring on one little finger, and Minho knew that face. Bang Chan. He’d seen that face on TV, on billboards, on commercials in magazines. Charming. Effortless grins. Handsome.
Rich. That part wasn’t surprising. But there were no effortless grins that day. He looked serious and focused, standing as Minho was let into the room. And Minho felt ever so slightly like a rat in a trap, when the door closed behind him, and he was left there alone.
“Please, come sit,” he was told, like he was the guest, and the man in front of him the owner of the place.
It had Minho easing into a chair. There was a conference table, and Minho half wished for the security of it. Instead, he’d been gestured to one of a set of armchairs that were facing each other from several feet away. He sat, far too aware of his own limbs, and was relieved when it was both of them seated.
“This is going to sound ridiculous, but before I introduce myself… Do you know who I am?”
Minho blinked, almost letting out a tiny laugh. Did he?
“I do, Mr. Bang,” Minho said.
That got him blinks in return, and a waved hand.
“No. Chan, please. Mr. Bang is my father. I think we can be more comfortable between us. I’m sorry for all the secrecy leading up to this. As you can imagine, it’s a little difficult to arrange something without the media wanting to be involved.”
“It would be difficult,” Minho said.
“It’s probably part of why I haven’t married, and had children some other way. But I don’t want to wait. When they called me to tell me you were pregnant, I about broke my office chair by slamming into the wall when I stood up. I haven’t been so excited in years.” Chan stopped, chuckled, a nervous sound. “I’ll shut up about me. How are you feeling?”
“It’s early enough right now that I don’t feel much of anything,” Minho said. “I know that will change.
Chan nodded. “Yes. Of course. Like the provision in the contract, I’d like to be at as many future appointments as I can be. Don’t wait for me if it’s an emergency, but you’ll have the number of my assistant so I can adjust my schedule. Though if there is an emergency, please just let me know when you can.” Chan inhaled. “I’m not going to intrude on your family’s life. But the appointment part of things I’d like to be involved in. Food, nutritionists, anything you need. A new mattress? I can make it happen. Do you drive?”
“No,” Minho said. Not then. He couldn’t afford to.
“Okay. I could have leased a safer car for you if necessary. We can arrange transportation to the appointments. Some things aren’t in the contract, but I want to be sure you’re as safe and comfortable as you can be. If you need anything, even if you think it’s unreasonable, just call or text and ask. We can at least have a discussion and see how I can help.”
It was more request than demand, but there was an edge of desperation to it like Chan needed Minho to know. Somehow in the face of that, it calmed him. Muscles he hadn’t realized he’d been holding tight relaxing as he realized yes, it was just a man in front of him.
“I can do that. Thank you.”
Chan laughed a little, clasping his hands together. “You’re just. You’re giving me the greatest gift. It’s the least I can do. They gave you the packet? It has all the contact information. My assistant, or me. There’s a debit card in there. It has a balance loaded, but use it for food or essentials. Clothes. Anything. If you need over and above that, again, please let us know.”
“I will,” Minho said. And then, something he hadn’t thought to say when he came in, “Congratulations.”
That serious determination shifted into utter joy, Chan stuttering out a laugh before grinning.
“Thank you. I could say it all day. For the rest of my life, really. Thank you. Do you have any questions for me?”
Minho didn’t, and so it was with some relief almost on both sides it seemed that Chan let him go, so he could “rest.”
He didn’t feel like he needed rest. He felt like he needed to hike the length of the country to try and process his own thoughts. The surreal knowledge that he was pregnant. The additional mindfuck that it was Bang Chan’s child. No wonder. No wonder the contract had been set up how it had been. Chan’s use of “family” sank in only later when he was at home. Did Chan think he had a family of his own? Maybe he didn’t, and he just meant Minho’s family at large. Maybe they’d told Chan about his troubles. It hardly mattered. But having Chan’s assurances of help did put him some at ease.
His— The child inside of him was going to inherit Chan’s business empire. It would have his genetics, because Chan had taken up the offer of Minho’s own genes. The compensation had been greater, if he offered his own genetics as well as to carry the child. It had been an easy choice, as the leap up in money had been staggering. There were extensive conversations on if he was okay with not only carrying a child, but one that was partially his own. And he had been. But seeing the other half of the equation? Knowing what the two of them had made. Minho exhaled.
He didn’t know if it was nerves, or hormones, the vague sickness he felt thinking about all of it. He was carrying Bang Chan’s child. Bang Chan was going to raise a baby that Minho had carried, and half created. He couldn’t hardly wrap his mind around it.
Though. When he looked at the balance of the debit card, it crystalized at least part of his feelings. He knew why he’d done it, as he carefully withdrew an amount not for him, but for his parents. It was easier to frame that in his own mind than anything else.
***
Sickness had continued to wax and wane over the next few weeks. Not always in the morning. Sometimes in the afternoon, or smelling something when he was getting ready for dinner. If he hadn’t been aware he was pregnant, that might have clued him in. But he was aware. To the little aches. The soreness. The tiredness. The grimace just trying to exist. In a way he was grateful for them. The earlier inability to think had given way. He was back on even footing. As even as it could be. But it was also easier to keep settled in his own company.
Walking into the first real doctor’s appointment with Chan, entering the side entrance of a high end clinic, set him back a pace. Chan had sent a car to pick him up, and had been waiting there in a separate car when Minho arrived. All for privacy. Minho signed all the forms, consenting to Chan being privy to his records, to him being able to speak to the doctors. All of that. And he was there as Minho was looked over, as his blood pressure and other vitals taken. And as he was urged to lie back, so the first scan could be done.
It’d been half in Minho’s mind not to look. He’d read up on so many articles. It was inevitable to feel some connection. There was an almost zero chance of feeling no attachment to something that would grow for the better part of a year inside of him. The part he was focusing on was the end, when it would also be gone. There was nothing he could do about Chan being famous. The most he could hope for was that Chan was intensely private about his personal life until Minho’s feelings - whatever they would be - would normalize. Before having to see the child plastered on every surface. He didn’t know if he’d wonder or not. He felt in some way that he’d have to. How they were, what they were like. But it was the attempt at detachment. If he could remain steady as he had through the intake, the counseling, all of it, then he knew he had a chance at letting that be.
Right to the point where Chan seized his arm, staring at the monitor. He looked like he’d been struck by lightning, gaping before looking at Minho’s face.
“Do you see?”
Minho turned his head. And there, in stark reality, was what they’d made. The hazy curves of an embryo. Part of him. Part of Chan.
“I see,” Minho said, resting his head back.
“Like. I knew. But seeing it… That’s our baby.”
“Your baby,” Minho said.
At least to keep that little distance. At least to keep that. Chan acknowledged his mistake, nodding sharply, squeezing Minho’s arm, and taking his hand back. He conversed with the doctor a little before they were left alone. Minho could have talked to the doctor on his own, if he had any questions that didn’t involve Chan. But he hadn’t, not that time at least. Chan was there for the fun part, the interactive part. It didn’t necessitate him being involved in the granular details of Minho’s health.
Minho finished wiping the gel from his skin, getting his pants fastened again. A little tighter, but not bad. He’d likely need new ones by the time the next appointment happened. Chan walked out with him, taking a shot of the appointment card Minho had been handed just outside of the appointment room door.
“Sorry about that in there. I didn’t mean to make that awkward,” Chan said.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s technically true. And it’s the first time you’ve seen proof.”
“Yeah. That was…amazing. Thank you for letting me be there. You’re doing all right?”
“I am. Thank you.”
Chan nodded. “Just let me know, then. If you need anything. And I’ll see you in four weeks.”
“Sounds good,” Minho said. He got in the car waiting for him, leaving Chan to make his own way.
It’d been blissfully short. There were no complications. Everything looked good. He was healthy. Detachment didn’t mean denial. He was undeniably pregnant. But it was like cooking a meal for someone. It would be his labor, his ingredients. It was being made for a purpose, for someone else to eat. He’d always been glad of that aspect of it. Of giving something to someone that they desperately wanted. Chan’s dream. Made reality by Minho’s efforts.
***
Chan had made no stipulations on if he could work, so that at least made the time continue flowing as normal. The sickness began to ease somewhere around week ten, and it was also when he began to quietly let his friends know he was carrying a child for someone. There was hardly a chance he was going to get through it without anyone knowing, for one thing. His parents already knew. And both his parents and friends knew why. For his parents, he thought it was harder. As their only child, it was their first grandchild. Though, that was a fact only he knew. He kept back the fact that it was actually their grandchild, and he couldn’t have shown them an ultrasound picture since he didn’t have any himself. As far as they knew, he’d undergone IVF, was carrying some happy couple’s child.
His friends were concerned, of course. He played it up as something he was doing in the short term, something he would easily reach, and leave behind. Less than a year to financial solvency. Some believed him more than others. Jeongin was concerned, but accepting of his choice. Seungmin, there was naked, outright concern in his frown. But he only mentioned it once, and when Minho rejected the worry, it wasn’t brought up again, only that Minho could talk about it if he needed to They couldn’t reverse it, after all. Support or rejection were really the only options that anyone had.
Every time he regretted the choice, the money swiftly came back to remind him why. It was like selling his plasma. That was all. Plasma went to save lives. His egg was just creating one to make the lives of his family easier.
He felt more prepared for the second appointment. Nodding politely at Chan, following him into the clinic. Minho was a year or two younger than Chan, and healthy. He hadn’t had many complications to speak of, as he and the doctor chatted and Chan sat demurely by, not interjecting. He ignored Chan’s audible exhale, as Minho undid his pants for the ultrasound. His circumference was not enormously different than weeks before, but it was different. A visual, external change.
As was the shape on the screen. Instead of a strange form that almost looked like it had a tail, there was a head, and limbs. A miniaturized version of a baby. Chan, unable to help himself it seemed, had seized Minho’s forearm again. But there was none of the awkward correction of the appointment before.
Instead, Chan spoke to the doctor instead of to Minho, asking questions. Things any expecting parent would want to know. How long was the baby? How long until they’d know what sex it was? He’d taken an internal poll on if he himself had a preference. Or not a preference so much as a consideration of what would make him feel better or worse in the end. The answer had been a solid shrug. It hadn’t really mattered. But the wonder on Chan’s face seemed to indicate that it wouldn’t really matter to him, either. It’d be another two appointments, almost two months, before they’d likely know for sure.
Minho was expecting the leaving to happen much as the last time, to get in the car that he’d ridden in, and that Chan would leave as well. But Chan had nervous energy written all over him, as they walked toward the cars.
“How old are your children. Child? Sorry, I’m not sure how many you have,” Chan queried, as they walked out into the parking lot. “I feel like I should’ve asked before. Or maybe not, I don’t know.”
Minho looked over at him, blinking. And his answer came without thinking also. “What— I don’t have any children.”
Chan nearly stopped at that, jogging to get back in step with him. “I’m sorry? Not— You don’t. Not ever?”
“No. This is the first time I’ve ever been pregnant.” He could have, probably should have, lied.
Chan was staring at him with such strained disbelief, like he’d grown a second head, as Minho paused by the car waiting for him. “I don’t understand. Not you. I don’t— The agency stated surrogates had families of their own, and were offering their services.”
“Maybe that’s most of them. But not me.” Minho might have left it there, but Chan looked like his whole view on life had turned upside down. “I’m single. I live alone. I had cats, but my apartment won’t allow them, and my parents have them now. I signed up to be a surrogate, but whatever you were told in general doesn’t apply to me.”
“Why?” Chan asked. Curious then, not shocked. “Why sign up? Do you want children of your own?”
He trapped the moth-like flicker in the back of his head against a wall. “One day, maybe. The compensation is very good. It’s something that was needed. And this is something I could at least try to do.”
He wasn’t sure how to read Chan’s expression. If he was upset somehow that Minho didn’t have four other children and was renting out his body as an expression of love upon the world.
“It doesn’t change anything,” Minho said. “I’m just happy it’s been successful so far for you. Have a good evening.
“You, too,” Chan said, having finally found his voice.
It burned in him like stomach acid. Do you want children of your own? That hadn’t been a factor. Not then. Not alone. He didn’t have the resources Chan did, for one thing. He wasn’t able to hold multiple streams of life in one hand alone. But one day, sure. He was proving to himself that he could, at least. If he wasn’t traumatized out of it by birthing one, there could be others when the time was right.
By the time he’d gotten home, Chan had texted him.
I’m sorry if my questions made you feel awkward, or any other way. I was surprised, but that’s no excuse. Please reach out if you need anything at all, otherwise I’ll see you at the next appointment.
Minho exhaled. He thanked the driver, and made his way up to the apartment.
Thanks, but no apology is needed. It’s not a usual situation. Thanks for keeping your promises.
That’s something that you can always count on.
Almost painfully sincere, and apologetic. Someone, someday, was going to ask if he had children. And there was always going to be that small flicker. Where he would have to answer no with a smile. Or yes, but know the number he stated was one off from the truth. Someone was going to see him on the sidewalk, in the store, and ask him with delight how far along he was, what he was expecting. The latter he was more prepared for. The former, he’d have to get prepared. It would get easier over time. Almost everything did.
***
The 16 week appointment and scan were as unremarkable as the previous ones had been. The baby looked fine. Minho’s vitals were fine. Just days prior, Minho had really felt the baby move for the first time. He suspected he had before that, but as he’d been lying still and staring at the ceiling, and feeling the strangest flutter, he realized he knew. It wasn’t gas bubbles, or some sort of muscle spasm. It was the baby he’d see days later moving and living on the screen of the ultrasound. It was something they discussed during the appointment, Chan suitably impressed by it. It could still be weeks before it could be felt from the outside. The thought of Chan’s hands on his belly had Minho tugging his pants together quite firmly. It would happen, at some point. He would feel bad not offering, if at some point the baby was kicking and it could be felt. But one day wasn’t then.
“I’m so glad everything’s going all right,” Chan said, as they again walked together to the cars. “Is there anything you need?”
“To stop feeling so hungry. No, I’m eating fine,” Minho said, before Chan could open his mouth to ask. “I’m able to buy plenty of food with the card you gave. It just feels like it’s taking a lot of energy right now.”
Chan nodded. “I can. Well. I can only imagine. I just wish there was something else I could do. Offering help just feels a bit meaningless.”
“It’s not. It’s helping. Knowing where the food is coming from means I’m not having to stress about it. So, healthier me. Healthier baby.”
“Good, I’m glad. It’s just nice to talk to you, and the doctor, in general. I’ve told a few of my friends, but…some don’t really understand,” Chan said, laughing a bit awkwardly. “They’re in different places in their lives. Even the ones who are financially secure aren’t out looking to start families. So they are as supportive as they can be, but it’s just different. Talking about it makes it feel more real.”
“And those,” Minho said, gesturing to the ultrasound photos in the folder in Chan’s hand.
It was something Chan had never offered him. And something he was grateful for. Chan smiled, and nodded. And reached, skimming a hand down Minho’s arm.
“Absolutely. Have a good rest of the day. And just call or text if you need something.”
Minho acknowledged that, and did not acknowledge that he held that arm on the drive back to his apartment. On the news that night, he couldn’t escape Chan even then. It nearly made him take too big a bite of the apple he’d been eating. It was some kind of house tour Chan had done earlier for a new pool that had been installed. One of the segments showed Chan walking by it, a shirt open, swim trunks. Strong thighs. Toned chest, and stomach. Who knew all of that was under the staid suits. If he’d known before, he’d blocked it out.
Though he didn’t realize exactly how deep the appreciation was until he was waking up in the middle of the night. Chan, straddling him with those thighs, pulling Minho up against his body, making him gasp, making his neck arch as he clung to Chan’s shoulders.
“I want you,” Chan almost growled.
And there was Minho, alone in his bed, throbbing from a sex dream about his, frankly, employer. Chan was hot, sure. In a sort of contained, genial sort of way. He had a handsome face. Adding images of his body on top of the hormones apparently didn’t do him any great justice. Chan wasn’t going to pull him into that big pool and make out with him. Even the thought had him chuckling, and rolling over to quickly get off thinking about absolutely anything else. The hormones were Chan’s fault, too. So he could spread the blame around, he guessed.
***
It was like the news, or the dreams, or maybe the heat wave it fell in the beginning of, called it into being when Chan texted him both a picture of the pool and an invitation.
I had a pool installed that just got finished. If you need a private, clean space to exercise, just let me know when.
Minho exhaled. All I’d be able to do is walk around. I can’t swim.
Even if you just wanted to sit in the water, that’s fine with me. I can send a car for you this afternoon if you’d like.
It had been hot. Even with air conditioning, it had been hot. The thought of being in the cool water of a pool made his skin almost prickle. It wasn’t the dream that motivated him, but the trickle of sweat down his back.
I’ll be ready.
***
The car he rode in went through a private gate into Chan’s not enormous, but somewhat large estate. Chan was not dressed for a pool, in slacks and long-sleeved shirt, but he met Minho at the drive.
“I won’t be in your way at the pool, as I’m working, but I thought I’d introduce you to the area,” Chan said.
There were other staff, so it was Chan going out of his way. Somehow, the pool was even more beautiful than it had been on TV. The water, the plants planted around it, even more vibrant. And there were a number of accessories. Inflated pool rings. Some sort of floating chair. A floating cooler with drinks and ice already inside of it, as Chan flipped the lid up for him. Water, juices, soda. A sealable bag to put his phone in if he still wanted to use it.
“I won’t ever have to leave,” Minho said, and Chan grinned at him.
“Well, I hope it’s relaxing. Or exercise, or whatever you want it to be. I had the inflatable stuff brought, since you said you couldn’t swim. The chair might be nice for relaxing in, but the rings for stability. I’m not going to just hover or spy on you. There’s an emergency button though,” and Chan pointed to a necklace hanging. “If you want to wear it. It’ll sound inside letting one of us know you need help.”
Didn’t want to come out to find Minho drowned, then.
“You like to plan,” Minho observed.
“You could say that.”
Then Minho would let him plan.
“Then, I’ll tell you part of the reason I accepted today. The, ah. The air conditioner in my apartment hasn’t been working so great the last day or so. Yesterday it was fine, because it was cooler. But it’s only going to be getting warmer over the next day or two. I gave them time to see if they could fix it. I’m not entirely sure if they have. Or will. I know it’s a safety issue. I thought you’d want to know.”
Chan listened, nodded, serious. Almost grim with it. “I do. Can I get the address of your building? And if you feel comfortable giving it to me, your unit number. I’ll make some calls.”
A fire would be lit under someone’s butt. But Chan left him to make use of the very nice changing room, getting into a t-shirt and swim shorts that just very barely still fit because of incredible elasticity. The pool was in the shade, but even so, it was a nice temperature to his skin as he let himself down into it. He’d tossed in a ring, and the floating chair. And anchored the cooler to the chair. He’d been a good boy, and put on the alert necklace as well. For his own peace of mind, more than anything. Chan hadn’t demanded. He’d offered. Like he knew Minho might have bristled at a demand.
The first part of it, Minho wandered with the ring floating around him. The shallow end he could have traversed without problem. The bottom of the pool had a slight texture to it, making it less of an issue to slip. But as the water started rising up his body, the ring gave him some security. Floating a little deeper, even, and letting the water take his weight. Though, close enough then to grab the edge of the pool and pull himself to where he could get his feet back on the bottom. Hoisting himself into the chair afterward felt like relief. No more holding himself up, or trying to move. The ring floated off, and Minho let his neck relax back. Cool in the water, the faint lap of it. Lifting up his legs and letting his toes peek out for a moment before letting them float and relax again. There was no pool at his apartment building. And if there had been, it probably would’ve been crowded. He sipped water out of the cooler, fancy water, and felt like he was in some kind of alternate luxury land. Not something he’d get used to. Chan had just been prescient about Minho’s need for a cooling getaway. Just the act and resistance of being in the water was good for him, though. The public pool was no great option with people moving, and bumping, and swimming. Maybe there were exercise classes for pregnant people. Or, maybe for elderly people, as that seemed more his speed. He dozed on and off like he was in some kind of water bed, floating, pushing off the side of the pool when he got close until he drifted to another section of the pool.
By the time he’d drifted back to the shallow end, he’d had about enough. The cool was seeping into his limbs, making his fingers begin to shrivel. Hauling himself out of the pool made him feel like he weighed half again as much as he had before. No buoyancy from the water on land. It was a luxury in the changing room to take a hot shower, wash off the chemicals. There was even a hair dryer. He felt more human, back in his own clothes, feeling tired almost from the outing, even if he hadn’t done much.
Chan was waiting by the pool when he stepped back out. Wringing his hands a bit as he smiled sheepishly.
“I glanced out on my way to the kitchen and didn’t see you. And then really didn’t see you. I thought you were probably changing. How was it?”
“It’s great. A great pool,” Minho said.
Chan nodded, smiling. “Yeah. I’ve wanted one forever. It just takes a while, sometimes. Had to take someone’s fence down to get back here, and all that. Oh, and the air conditioning will be fixed before noon tomorrow, and if it’s not, the company will be setting up a portable unit for you until it is,” Chan said.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Chan said, and let him out the gate that surrounded the pool. Safety. For a child. “It’s much better than the thought of you melting. Are you hungry? I took the liberty of having a dinner made, whether you’d like to eat here, or take it with you.”
The sliding door opening let out the scent of cooking, browning, beef, and Minho stopped in his tracks, his stomach suddenly alive. Chan glanced back at him, curiously, as Minho swallowed around the saliva building up in his mouth.
“I could eat,” he said. There, or taking it with him? If he took it with him, he’d have been eating in the car.
An understatement, as they were seated informally at a little table by the pool deck. Being in the pool had apparently made him ravenous. The steak was cooked perfectly. Crispy, seasoned roasted potatoes. A side of carrots and broccoli. A side salad of his choice of dressing. A flute of some sort of sparkling juice. Apple and peach, he thought, as he sipped it. Manners half flew out of the window as he groaned at the first bite. And he acknowledged that Chan grinned at it, but didn’t entirely care.
“This is incredible,” he said, when he was several bites and more levels of sanity in.
“Good, I’m glad,” Chan said.
They spoke, quite generally, about Minho’s building. There were some subtle probes by Chan trying to be sure there was nothing else of danger imminent around Minho’s vicinity. Protective, but for the baby’s sake. Minho understood that part of things. And he felt twice pregnant by the time he got to the end of the meal. And then, a small chocolate cake was deposited in front of him.
“This is a kind of molten cake that has ganache in the center, instead of the batter being underbaked,” Chan said.
For safety. In case. Even that was incredible.
“If you want to come back— This seems like it’d be safer than some kinds of exercise. If you want to come back, you don’t have to ask. There’s always at least one person here, and they’ll let you back. I can’t do much, but I can fix your air conditioning, and let you have this.”
“What if you want to have guests? A party? Now that it’s done.”
Chan shook his head. “You’re more important. If I want to schedule something, I’ll let you know ahead of time.”
So that was settled. And Minho, in some kind of post-pool langquidity and food, fell asleep on the drive back. And in his apartment, one he could only imagine was cooler, stripped and slept the whole night curled in his bed, dreaming of the pool. And Chan. Most of those he didn’t remember. The ones he did, he pretended he didn’t.
***
The pool turned into a twice a week sort of thing. Floating on in the water chair began to feel almost like meditation, cooling the cascading thoughts and worries of his own life. He left the next visit after getting back into his clothes, never having seen Chan at all, but the next was persuaded to stay for dinner, and to relax and watch a movie in the little theater room Chan had set up. The air was crisp and cool, to where he’d had to snuggle with a light blanket that was over the arm of the recliner he’d ended up in with Chan in a different chair several feet away. It was companionable. Friendly. Dangerous. The more he knew about Chan, the more he liked. The more he knew, the more he knew Chan would be a good father. The kind of person Minho might have been persuaded to want to have a child, collaboratively, with. It was not a bad thing. To know the child would go to someone like Chan ought to have made him go into mental cartwheels. And yet, he couldn’t go to his friends. Or his family. And talk about Chan’s virtues, and get the validation that he was doing the right thing. He didn’t need it. He could speak quite broadly, of course. Tell them the “family” was great.
The glimpse he got into Chan’s life, they felt snatched away, ill-gotten. To learn about his childhood, his family. To learn about the yearning for a family of his own that had led him to the situation they were in. Chan spoke without reservation between them, as though speaking to a friend. Like they’d slipped their hands into the same glove, something intimate and unexpected. But what was between them was also unique. There were no other people who knew what it felt like to be in that same situation. No other two people as connected to the baby as they were.
It seemed like Chan’s capacity for hearing him ramble about the random feelings his body was going through was infinite. Not everything. Not things that were incredibly personal. But in a way he understood why Chan wanted to hear. Chan wasn’t the one who was pregnant, wasn’t feeling his own body move and change in unexpected, or unforeseen ways. His only real, deep connection to the child he was anticipating was through Minho somehow. Through the appointments, the scans, Minho’s anecdotes. And Chan, despite cautiously probing about Minho’s health, wellbeing, and all of that, didn’t try to abnormally insert himself. No strange, paternal lectures. Little external judgment. Not none. Chan did frown when Minho indicated he hadn’t eaten much for lunch, or this, or that. But it was more a frown of concern, and maybe a frown of wishing Minho would outright ask Chan to let him show up at the hospital months early to be pampered and monitored until the vaunted birth.
Chan’s house was already like his own personal spa. If he didn’t eat there, he was sent home with professionally prepared food. If Chan didn’t greet him, he was offered drinks, smoothies, snacks, by the staff. Some he declined. But the cook sent pointed looks at his belly with raised eyebrows as if to remind him who he was eating for. It made it harder to refuse, and the fact that the food was all good. It took someone’s labor, sure, but it was something Chan was not only paying for - well, if Minho’s own compensation was any clue - but also likely encouraging. A small detour from Chan being there beside him shoving a smoothie into his hand. Though Chan did that after the fact, too, one day when Minho had already settled with a bottle of water, only to look up at the gate opening, and Chan easing down into the water in a t-shirt and swim trunks, and with a large cup in his hand.
“I don’t remember hiring a personal butler,” Minho said.
Chan laughed, wading closer to him. “I know my place in the house, and if I’m told to take you a drink, I’ll take you a drink. She said it’s your favorite.”
It was mangoes, and strawberries, and orange. His mouth watered just taking the cold cup from Chan’s hand.
“It is great,” Minho said.
“Good. She can’t stop talking about “our” baby. I think she’s almost more excited than I am.”
“She’s been with you a while?”
“Since I was pretty small. I stole her from my parents. Though, I say that like she wouldn’t have come on her own anyway. I made sure the house had a private space for her. She takes good care of me, so I’m not surprised she wants to take good care of you. Any time I’m not here, she meets me when I get back like, ‘your Minho came today. He’s getting so cute and round.’”
Minho laughed, his ears going hot in an instant, as Chan mimicked the cook.
“She does understand who you are, by the way. You don’t have to worry about that,” Chan said. “I just find it cute how she wants to dote on you.”
“Considering I’m in your pool right now, she’s in good company,” Minho said.
Chan grinned, his dimple out up close and personal. “I hate to hate on the other pools in the world, but at least I know this one is clean, and safe for you. And if it makes you feel better, all the better. You’ve been all right?”
“I have been,” Minho agreed.
Chan took one glance at his belly, and nodded. “All right. I’ll let you get back to relaxing.”
“If you want to swim, you can. I’m not going to kick you out of your own pool.”
Chan grimaced, moving his hand in the water. “I’m worried it might jostle you around. And it’s probably not very relaxing.”
“It’ll be like surfing. Whee,” Minho said, though the sound was soulless in a way that had Chan bursting out laughing.
“Or like getting seasick on the ocean! I guess all we could do is try. Promise you’ll tell me if it bothers you?”
Chan held out a little finger, almost in challenge. Minho hooked his through it, clinching their deal.
Though, whatever Chan had been worried about hadn’t come to pass. There were no enormous waves caused by him swimming. He stopped after a couple of laps to check in, and was given a thumbs up. And Minho didn’t watch when he’d stripped out of his shirt. He just happened to be pointing in that direction. Just drifting along, happening to see. Strangely it was relaxing. Maybe a little more movement than if he’d been in the pool alone, but Chan was a rhythmic swimmer, making smooth, even laps. It wasn’t like he was cannonballing in every five seconds. It was almost like being in the same room as a friend while doing two different activities, a sort of companionable existence. And the knowledge that Chan wasn’t having to give up use of the pool because Minho seemed to only feel half human while in it made things better, too. There could’ve been a whole pack of Chans and Minho would have been unbothered.
He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he woke up to almost unnerving quiet and stillness. Chan was still there, but no longer in the pool. He had his shirt on again, a pity, and was mostly turned away from Minho, scrolling through something on his phone. The screen went black, and he sighed. And glanced back at Minho. And froze, when he realized Minho was staring back at him.
“You must’ve really been tired,” Chan said, twisting in the chair to face Minho. “I felt like I was sloshing like some kind of water monster when I got out of the pool, and you just kept sleeping through it.”
“It’s like being on a water bed, but better,” Minho said. Though, looking at the time, he grimaced. “I should get out of here, though. Before I turn into water.”
Even the thought made him want to pee, the smoothie having gotten through him. He made his usual maneuvers, drifting himself closer to the shallow edge, easing off the floating chair while braced to keep it and himself from flipping over. Chan had clearly never seen him do that, as he was hovering like Minho was a child toddling down the narrow top of a fence or something. As hot as the air was, it felt like his skin contracted, cold, as he gripped the railing and hauled himself up the stairs. He wanted to shake himself like a dog, and Chan finally breathed, with Minho on both feet, on dry land.
“I get around all day by myself,” Minho said, wry, and Chan nodded, putting a hand to his heart like he was apologizing for being a worrywart.
“There’s chicken tonight for dinner,” Chan said. “Peace offering.”
Bribe. Lure. If he wasn’t so weak. If his stomach didn’t rule him. If the hopeful smile on Chan’s face didn’t move something in him.
“I’ll get dressed, then,” Minho said.
Chan didn’t hover and escort him. Minho dressed, and blow dried his hair, and looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t look more rested. He felt, somehow, more tired. But that was what drew him to the food, to the bluster of the cook serving them, and rubbing Minho’s shoulder. Hearing about Chan’s day, pre-pool, and a project he was working on. The oranges that were served after the meal, with cookies, and chocolate, were succulent, and sweet. For the sake of the baby, he could endure quite a lot. As he ate the sweets, and felt the baby move. They didn’t talk about that, not much, not that night or any other. A reserve there, that Minho appreciated. Chan wasn’t showing him a nursery, if there was one, or little clothes. And yet, Minho still dreamed of little clothes. Of the outfits he’d accidentally passed while shopping for clothes for himself, a raw almost-pang of loss as he looked at the tiny onesie with the sleeping orange cat curled on the front of it. He’d wanted to touch it, and knew if he’d had he would have bought it. And for what? To give to Chan? It hadn’t been expensive cotton. Organic maybe. Nothing like the fancy stuff that Chan could buy. To give a cheap gift, to imagine tiny arms being tucked into it, tiny fingers curled against the cat.
Books. He’d decided on books. There was no obligation of him to give a gift, but he felt like he wanted to. Board books, ones he wasn’t familiar with. Something the baby could grow with that were impersonal, and cute. Something that wouldn’t haunt him in the night.
***
The baby grew irrespective of Minho’s misery in the heat. He was well-hydrated, and well-fed, and in some kind of strange limbo with the baby’s father. Chan was being a little more pointed in his invitations. Not just for dinner as they had been doing for a few weeks, but staying again for a movie. Making sure Minho had snacks, and settling close by not close enough to touch. If Minho glanced at his profile, half in idle appreciation for the view, half in wondering what the fuck was going on in his head, Chan didn’t seem to notice. It was cool enough in the house that Chan had retrieved a hoodie for him. Minho was slouched in it, stretched on the only two-seater chair in the room with Chan in an armchair not far away, when the baby began to move. Not just to move. It felt like percussive little bursts. Kicks. The baby was kicking. He put his own hand to his stomach, feeling for it. And inhaled, to feel the sensation on the outside, too.
“Chan. Come here.”
Chan, who’d been idly watching the movie, looked to him, standing up immediately.
“What? Is something wrong?”
“No. The baby’s kicking. Do you want to feel?”
Chan almost sank onto the edge of the couch beside him, letting Minho take his hand - taking the correct hand for the angle the second try unless Chan wanted to feel with the back of his fingers, or twist awkwardly. He was able to press Chan’s hand where his had been. And wait. For a moment, and Minho couldn’t feel anything from the inside either. But that little movement came again, and then stronger. He didn’t have to ask if Chan could feel it, because he could see the immediate marvel on Chan’s face as he stared down at Minho’s belly. There were so many things written all over Chan's expression. Surprise. Awe.
“Did they not like dinner?” Chan wondered.
“Or only got this much energy because of it. Makes sense. I got calories, and so did they.”
“It seems like time is going so slow, but they’re growing so fast. That first ultrasound, it was like a little unformed lizard. This— that’s legs, and feet, and— They feel strong.”
Minho nodded. “It’s been getting stronger, the feelings. It really does seem fast. You might find out what you’re having next time. Boy or girl.”
“Not both?” Chan asked slyly.
Minho chortled. “If they’ve missed twins up to this point, I’d be afraid for their other patients.”
“True. I’m happy with either. If I’d wanted to select, I had the money, but I just didn’t…care. I’ll love them regardless.”
There wasn’t anything he knew to say to that. Nothing seemed quite right, so all he could do was nod, and hum. It was good. Admirable. He was glad. It was all just something he had no desire to talk about. Not to Chan, or anyone else. He half regretted bringing the topic up. He thought Chan had meant it as what it was, reassurance. It both was, and wasn’t somehow, as the memory of Chan’s hand against him stayed with him. As the look of wonder on Chan’s face gnawed at him. A connection between two people he was facilitating. Something he didn’t regret. Something he repeated to himself, when other thoughts threatened him at times.
***
But Minho was right. They found out the sex of the baby at the next scan. It had been a relatively uncomplicated pregnancy, aside from morning sickness, aside from his ankles and feet beginning to lightly puff after the hottest days and if he sat a certain way and length of time at work. He could physically feel his center of gravity starting to adjust. Standing up with accommodations for the weight of his belly. Nearly at the point of halfway, wearing different clothes, getting startled at his reflection in a mirror. He nurtured that belly. He walked, and he had a stationary bike, and he ate, and he walked around Chan’s pool in the inflatable doughnut. But he tried not to think about it too much. It was an impermanent change. For one thing, he was glad it wasn’t permanent. But he didn’t need to be deep in the whys and whats for him to be doing the things he needed to do. He woke in the night with his hands cradling his stomach, like he’d felt the baby move in his sleep.
But that day, with Chan an anxious ball of nerves through a longer than normal scan as the baby was assessed, they found out for sure. Even Minho, who did not care in the end, was caught in the drama of it, and Chan who had said he didn’t care obviously was too. Then the tech turned the screen a little, having already been told Chan wanted to know. And looked beyond Minho, to Chan.
“See here? It’s a boy.”
Chan was gripping his own shirt with both hands, like he desperately needed to hold onto something. And doing his best, right then, to not make it awkward for Minho like he’d accidentally done before.
“It’s a boy. For sure?”
“I’m sure. You can see—”
Minho stopped listening, actively, as the tech explained what he was seeing. He just kept staring at Chan’s hands, so tight and white-knuckled on the fabric. Chan almost startled, when Minho touched one of them. Squirmed one finger into the clutch of Chan’s fist.
Chan latched on immediately, taking the silent offer of support, hissing in a breath, and cupping Minho’s hand between both of his. Gentle then. Not trying to strangle the life out of his innocent shirt. Like just touching someone had taken the worst of it out. Chan’s thumbs swept against his skin, as Minho relaxed. Tried to keep breathing. Moved when the tech requested it of him.
But the scans were clean. The doctor confirmed that for them. A healthy baby boy, growing just as he should be. He got to talk over how he was feeling, any concerns he had. But the doctor sent them off with assurances all was progressing well. And they walked out together in mostly silence, until they reached the car Minho had come in.
“Thank you for— For your support in there. I didn’t realize— I didn’t realize I was going to feel like someone was setting off a rocket in me,” Chan said.
“If you ripped your shirt off by accident, the little paper gowns aren’t very good to travel in,” Minho said.
Chan laughed at that, full on guffawed, stopping and leaning over, braced on his knees. “Wow. Wow. It’s just. It’s all gone so fast. And so slow? It feels like we’ve been here a hundred times, but we haven’t.”
“I know,” Minho said. “Congratulations again.”
“Thanks. Thank you. Thank you in every way,” Chan said.
And didn’t persist so much in that, as Minho nodded, waved it away, symbolically. He was being compensated, and all of that. Money, for a life. Money, as he felt the baby move both internally, and externally. Reading on his phone with a hand against his stomach, his dinner bubbling in a pot and almost ready. He felt a steady thump against his palm, and smiled. Someone else was hungry, too, maybe.
***
Had Minho had the choice, he would have gone back in time and chosen to be not pregnant in the height of summer. He wasn’t even as round as he would be, and he was already miserable with it. The only good thing was that when he did get bigger, there was a chance maybe that the worst of the heat and humidity would be gone. He felt hot, and sweaty, and sometimes flustered with himself. His body that he’d understood was reacting in strange ways. A call to the doctor indicated they didn’t see anything abnormal about it. It happened to a lot of people, swelling, and all of that. He’d stopped by to have his blood pressure checked in case, but that was fine. He was just pregnant, in the most uncomfortable way. And even in the air conditioning, he felt like he was achy, and bloated, and his boss sent him gladly off with a couple of hours left in the day. All he could think about was dangling his legs in the pool. Letting it suck some of the heat out of his body somehow.
Chan being in the pool when he arrived was an eventuality that was bound to happen, and yet as Minho hesitated by the gate, he’d been unprepared for it. There was no leaving without Chan knowing. There were likely multiple cameras, even if he hadn’t already been greeted by staff. He took his time changing, bringing a smoothie with him and dragging a cushion over to sit at the edge of the pool. Plunging his legs in almost up to his knees had him sighing in utter relief. It wasn’t quite how he’d envisioned it, but he didn’t want to barge into the pool and interrupt. It didn’t matter, though. He was still getting what he wanted as he let his legs float and dangle. He felt almost human again instead of a slightly sweaty blob with limbs. If Chan didn’t want him there when he realized, he’d leave. The chances of that happening, and it wasn’t just Minho hitting a button he knew he’d have success at, was near zero. Chan would ease off and leave him, if anything. As someone who couldn’t swim, it was interesting to watch the form of someone who obviously could. How he took breaths. How he pushed off to swim in the other direction. The time before, he hadn’t paid much attention, too tired to. And when Chan stopped, hand on the edge of the pool, and looked over, Minho waved as Chan blinked through the water in his eyes and realized Minho was there.
There was a tiny grin, before Chan ducked under the surface of the water to swim closer.
“Glad you weren’t a shark,” Chan said, bobbing next to the pool edge near Minho and swiping some of the water off his face. “It’s miserable out there. Totally a day for the pool.”
“I thought about it all morning. I got let out of work early. My feet were starting to swell from sitting. I just wanted to come and cool off.”
Talking kept his brain from doing more than thinking about the broad, pale shoulders in front of him.
“I’m glad you did. Is that…normal? I know you talked to the doctor about it a little.”
“I guess especially when it’s hot, and the further it gets. More volume or whatever. I checked again. Doctor says it’s okay for now.”
Chan nodded. “You’ve been okay otherwise? The air conditioning is still all right?”
“Aside from not sleeping well, yes. The air conditioning is working better than it ever has. My neighbors should be thanking you.”
That got an immediate grin from Chan. “No thanks required. You just need to know what corners to poke into. Is the sleeping a long term issue? Or recent.”
“More recent. It makes the work a little more challenging, though just whatever’s up with the hormones probably doesn’t help. It’ll ease. I hope. But I already feel better. I could’ve ran some cold water in the bathtub, but this is nicer. Based on your benevolence.”
Chan snorted. “You could tell me you were becoming the pool’s live-in merman and I wouldn’t bat an eye. Spend as much time as you want or need.”
“That would make work awkward,” Minho said.
“And that’s going okay?” Chan asked. Ventured, really, in a sort of gentle, tentative way.
“It’s fine. It’s okay, you don’t have to rescue me from my job.”
“As long as you let me know if it’s impeding your health. Not just the baby’s but yours, too. We have a written provision for me stepping in with compensation if you had to go on bed rest, but if you need to cut back hours, or— Just let me know,” Chan said.
“With that kind of generosity, how did you not have a dozen people lining up daily with offers to have your kids?”
“Maybe I did. And I turned them all away.”
“Whatever suits you,” Minho said.
Chan could feel the judgment, clearly, as he pouted. “I should get out of here. Let you relax.”
“You swimming was relaxing. You’re not bothering me. Finish up what you need to.”
“I was done when I stopped and saw you.”
“Land shark,” Minho said.
Chan chucked. “Want to come in the rest of the way?”
He held out an arm like he meant to help Minho down into the water. He was going to refuse. But he was also going to have to stand up at some point. It was going to be easier to climb the steps out of the pool than lever himself up off the pool deck. So he scooted forward instead, and Chan did help, steadying Minho as he sank in up to his ribs, the water rushing up under his shirt. Pebbling his skin as they stood close in the water. But Chan eased off as soon as he realized Minho was steady.
“Want the chair in?” Chan asked.
“Sure.”
He kept his eyes on where the chair was stored, not on the way Chan’s swim trunks formed to his ass and thighs as he got out of the pool to set in the chair, and a ring.
“Anything else?”
Minho and his smoothie waded over until he could wiggle into the chair, and feel mostly submersed in cool.
“No, I’m good. Thanks.”
Chan gave a cute half salute, and made himself scarce as Minho communed with the pool. He didn’t feel bad about it. He wasn’t kicking Chan out of his own back yard. Chan would’ve fretted about kicking Minho out, so the only fretting that needed to happen was Minho thinking about having to haul himself out to pee. But not right then. Not yet. All he had to do right then was float, and let the pool carry him.
***
Somehow his fondness for pudding made its way to Chan’s kitchen. He didn’t know if the little cup was glass or crystal, but there were many of them, holding soft, beautiful servings of pudding. And he was as able to resist it as the pudding was able to resist being dug into by a spoon. Had he been meant to savor it? He’d eaten the whole of one before he’d even gotten a toe in the water. And another when he’d gotten out. It was cool, and smooth, and sweet. He left the dishes where it was indicated. He cleaned up after himself in the changing room, and hosed down the pool floats. He tried to leave everything as he’d left it, so he wasn’t making work for anyone else. Some of his own burgeon was definitely caused by his visits to Chan’s house, though he was still well in line with expectations laid out by the doctor. Maybe it soothed Chan somehow, knowing Minho was getting fed. Taking care of the baby, at the very least, which was a good sign for things to come.
He would not see Chan with the baby, not on purpose, and he realized that. It moved through his dreams, sometimes, though. Chan murmuring to the baby as he slept, or to Minho’s belly. Sometimes so close in dreams that it felt like Chan was beside him in bed. He sighed, relaxing in a half sleep, tugging the blanket up around him more. Chan had the money, and the ability, and the time, to look after a baby. He’d have his own little room, and bed, and toys, and love. It was the most ideal situation that Minho could have envisioned. He didn’t have to like Chan. There was no demand that he had to be someone he was excited about handing over a baby to. It was always going to be more complicated than that anyway.
But the looking after was something he still was coming to terms with. He’d always been fairly independent, going his own way, asking for what he needed. He had a few good, close friends, and his own family. And letting Chan, and Chan’s staff, swirl around him, was not entirely out of that realm. The logic of why was easy to catch, and Chan was far from being shy about wanting to help in any way he could. Genuinely. Enthusiastically. If Minho had asked for a miniature horse to help him get through the rest of his pregnancy, Chan would’ve asked what color. So, accepting the occasional smoothie and pudding didn’t seem to be putting him out in contrast.
Chan also seemed to have no worry about playing errand boy. Wading into the pool to bring him a drink, fishing things out of the pool instead of having Minho do so. Fetching Minho’s dirty plate before Minho could even get out of his chair to try and take care of it himself. His dishes did not whisk themselves away at his apartment, though he had been having meals delivered for a little while in the heat. He knew he could still take care of himself, even if Chan did treat him like glass. The pool stairs were very easy to climb. The deck was not slick. And yet he could almost feel Chan’s exhale of relief when Minho hauled himself out of the bliss of the water. He could hear when Chan came out when he’d slipped out of the chair, and began to heave the floats out of the pool. And maybe he did need more help. It felt like once he’d passed the “halfway” point that everything got a little harder.
He had heartburn for the first time in his life for one thing, like the baby was fountaining stomach acid straight up out of his stomach with punches of his tiny feet. Or maybe his head, Minho wasn’t sure. But that was manageable, for the most part. He started eating smaller meals, but more frequently, and that had eased a lot of it. Most days he had some sort of a nap. He blinked at himself in the mirror in surprise every time. As he grew rounder, the baby having more than doubled in weight as of the last appointment, the Earth turned, and Minho had begun to wear a huge hat, and long sleeves to keep the sun off him in the pool. Until Chan had someone erect a big swath of shade cloth, so that Minho could float away his troubles without the danger of the sun.
Oh, he was spoiled. He still did his best to go in the afternoon, and no more than twice a week. No matter what Chan pronounced like he was making Minho king of the planet, he didn’t want to wear out his welcome. And sure, he was more ungainly getting into the floating chair. They’d gotten to see all kinds of things at the last appointment. Fingers, and toes, and the baby stretching. Minho had seen some of it, glancing from Chan’s enormous grin to the screen. Chan had at least been more relaxed. Something about hitting the 20 week point and getting beyond it, finding out the baby’s sex, and getting another almost five weeks beyond that had seemed to ease something. Maybe made it more real, Minho didn’t know. It was real for him, since the baby was knocking around inside like he was looking for the nearest exit at weird and random moments.
Chan had nearly cried laughing when Minho had told the doctor that. It was all normal, and good. And too little of it had begun making him worry, as he’d been told what to look out for, when to be concerned. But soon enough the baby would start up again, and let him continue breathing. The baby floated in him, and he floated in Chan’s pool sometimes. Not quite an even trade, but close.
He ignored the part of him that worried too much. He remembered that first, desperate grasp at detachment. It was not a concern for Chan’s feelings that had him smiling in relief to feel the baby kick against his pressing fingers. It was not a worry for Chan’s loss that made him monitor how the baby was doing. When had he last felt the baby move. Chan was not uninvolved in the situation in his head, but the occasional snap of near-panic had almost nothing to do with Chan. It was all for the baby. Rationalizing it away that he had to keep the baby safe for Chan, or telling the baby he needed to be safe for Chan, was the thinnest of excuses. Because it was not only Chan who would feel the loss. Even if he was not there to feel every moment, every step, at least when he walked away he knew the baby would be okay.
Somehow that comforted him. It wasn’t that he was overly attached, or thinking of it as some kind of transaction with nothing else involved. Even if he’d been building some inanimate object, a desk, a basket, he’d have felt something in its destruction, or in the giving away of it. No, the baby was very animated that day especially. Strange little bumps that made Minho wish he had x-ray vision. It was like a strange kind of background sensation as he moved through the week, and plotted his time so that he could take two hours early to go languish in luxury. Pudding, and smoothies. And Chan pulling out some ancient board game with ratty corners to get Minho to stay a little longer. He slept deeply those nights, tired from the exercise, and the company. Not that Chan was tiring, specifically. He just made Minho feel like some internal part of him always had to be active and wary. The on switch was on, the swatter activated to fend off whatever dimpled grin or thoughtful topic Chan handed out next.
He spent time and laughed with his friends, with his family. The state of his body was only a temporary state of being. His only limits were what the doctor recommended, and his own stamina. His life was as normally abnormal as he could make it. No one asked questions about the baby’s father any more. He wouldn’t break that privacy, not for anyone. The most he would say was that the baby would be going to a good home. And it wasn’t a lie.
***
But the weather drove him back to Chan. In big and small ways. The heat was almost oppressive, making him almost gasp in a first breath coming out of the air conditioning into the outside. The first plunge into the pool had him sinking in up to his neck, wetting his face and hair, and swearing steam had to be rising off of him. He’d have stayed in right to his earlobes except that he had to breathe. And once he was mostly cooled off, and in the shade, floating in the chair was more comfortable. He felt almost human instead of a lump of dough trying to overproof, when he tossed the floats out of the pool. Chan was there, coming off of the deck. Still so hot that the air felt like it was sucking the water straight off his skin, as Chan rounded the pool to help him put the chair and doughnut away.
“How was it?” Chan asked, as he turned on the sprayer, and used it as Minho turned the plastic for Chan to spray off.
“Great. Everyone should have a pool. We’d just need a planet a hundred or so times bigger.”
“That seems doable,” Chan joked. “I’m sure someone knows where to put the order in for that.”
Minho snorted, rolling his eyes a little as he eased around the pool and got closer to Chan. He’d have kept moving, like he’d done before. Gone right to the changing room, gotten ready to go, or at least ready to eat.
“Here,” Chan said, reaching for him. “You have—”
Something. Something on his face. Hair, apparently, as Chan nudged it away from where it had stuck by his eye, and seemed poised to make a joke. It was just that Chan stared almost in surprise, as though Minho had popped up out of the ground instead of Chan approaching him. They’d been close before, in the doctor’s office, outside of it. In the pool. But not quite like that.
“Feels like the pool got finished just in time,” Chan said, which didn’t seem at all what he’d been about to say.
“It’s helped a lot,” Minho agreed.
“I’m glad. It’s…really nice having you here,” Chan said.
They were in the shade, but heat rose to his face. It was something Chan probably couldn’t see, but Chan seemed to realize what he’d said at almost the same moment, and moved to let Minho by in the same direction that Minho moved to go by him. Even more of the air between them seemed to leave as their eyes met, a chuckle rising in Chan’s throat as he cupped one of Minho’s elbows to keep him steady at the pool’s edge. Warm, solid. And something that didn’t leave, as both of them stood as they were, just facing slightly different directions. It was no mystery how Chan’s face got near his. A movement by Chan. Another by him. The pause like they waited by some mutual consent for protest, or the changing of minds.
The kiss was not soft, not the softest he’d ever felt, but Chan’s mouth was. It invited him into the kiss, as Chan’s hand skimmed down from his elbow to his wrist. It’d been so long since he’d kissed someone, anyone. But he hadn’t forgotten. He knew that Chan kissing him was something different, something other. It made his fingers curl as he stepped, leaned forward for more.
And Chan inhaled, pulling back fractionally from the kiss. It took Minho a moment to parse why, as he felt the wet of his shirt - the wet shirt covering the curve of his stomach - pressing against Chan. Ah. Chan had remembered who he was kissing. The air had come back. The heat, the imaginary kind, had fled.
“Ah. Shit.”
“A bad choice,” Minho acknowledged.
“This has to be like. A top tier, top ten bad life decision,” Chan said softly, like he might scare someone. Like someone might hear him. Minho. Of himself.
“Yeah,” Minho agreed. “I can go.”
But Chan didn’t let him go. Didn’t hold him, didn’t force him to stay close. His hands didn’t loosen, though. His posture didn’t give. Like he was building strength. Or planning. Based on what he said next, probably the latter.
“I don’t want anything to change. This doesn’t change anything with how I’m helping you. I still want you to use the pool, but if you come and I happen to be nearby, I can leave you to it. Everything’s the same. This was just. Stubbing our toe on an unexpected ledge.”
Minho let out a tiny snort. “Is that an order?”
“Do I have to make it one?” Chan asked, though his tone was joking, too. And his eyes were seeking, when they met Minho’s. “Is that okay?”
Minho nodded. “Nothing changes.”
A nice fiction. A polite one. But Chan still nodded, stepped back. “Did you want to use the pool any more today?”
“No. I got what I was needing.” And more than that.
He changed, slowly, drying off, staring at himself in the mirror. He didn’t look kissed. They’d barely kissed. He was the same man as he’d been when he arrived. It made him exhale, and pack up his wet clothes. No matter how much Chan said he could leave them, that was a step too far. As it was right then, if he never went back, there was nothing of him left behind. The thought of giving up the pool wasn’t even something he could contemplate, though. Even if he’d just gotten out of it, he was tempted to sink right in again and float from his worries. They’d just work better around it. Like Chan said, it was a ledge. They’d maneuver.
It didn’t explain the awkward tug inside of him when he emerged with his things, to see Chan coming out of the house with a bag.
“Food,” Chan said. “A couple of different meals, one from last night, and then lunch. I thought there would be something made up for you in case.”
“Thank you,” Minho said.
And after he’d taken the handles of the bag, he made a sound, feeling for his stomach.
“Awake and kicking,” Minho said. “You want to…?”
When Chan hesitated, Minho held out a hand more insistently. Whatever fuckery they had stepped in had no bearing on their agreement. Chan wanted to be involved. And some of that meant physical contact. Being close. He glanced away, though, as a grin spread over Chan’s face as he felt the thumps of the baby moving. That should’ve been all it was. And for long moments, it was. It felt like he was next to a magnet, all the particles in his body aware and leaning toward Chan. Swaying despite himself, and tensing at Chan’s head leaning against his. They didn’t move, not either of them. Him holding Chan’s hand against him. Chan touching him. Chan breathing close to him.
“It’s not some kind of biological thing, is it?” Chan asked. “Well, obviously it’s biological, we’re alive. I mean. Compelling. Mental. I don’t know.”
“I don’t know,” Minho said.
“I’m a grown man. I’m in control of my own choices. I’m not sixteen any more,” Chan said, half to himself, half to the air around them. It made Minho snort, anyway.
“I haven’t been coming over for this,” Minho said.
“I know. You didn’t invite yourself. And I wasn’t inviting you over for this.”
“I know,” Minho said.
They both knew it. It’d just been one day, the wrong timing.
“Are you— Fuck I shouldn’t even ask that.”
Minho's hand clutched around Chan’s wrist, keeping him from being tempted to wheel back. “Am I what?”
“Seeing anyone. Dating anyone.”
“While pregnant with your baby? No.”
Chan exhaled. “Then are you getting... Anything. Hugs. Affection.”
“From my parents, when I see them. Whatever I can’t fend off from my friends. But not like this. I don’t kiss any of them.”
“I’m not either. Dating, seeing, kissing anyone. Not for any particular reason. I’m not pregnant.” And Chan grimaced when Minho inhaled in fake shock. “Not because of this, even. Maybe that’s it. We’re just a little starved for touch. And we have…a connection.”
The hand Chan still had pressed against him was a clear indication of what that was, if Minho hadn’t been largely aware.
“Sure, maybe that’s it,” Minho said.
“You’re humoring me,” Chan said, and sighed. “It’s not any less a bad idea than it was 30 minutes ago.”
“No.”
Chan eased his hand away from Minho’s stomach, his posture straightening. And for a moment, it felt like Minho could breathe again. And for another moment, like he couldn’t.
Chan’s hand, free again, cupped Minho’s face.
“Do you want me to stop?” Chan asked.
Asking questions that had stupid answers. He felt Chan’s soft little moan against his mouth as Minho closed the distance and kissed him. They both knew where they were that time. No wet clothes to shock them out of it. Chan was the opposite of the pool in many ways. Warm and solid. But the arm he’d cinched behind Minho’s back was as much if not more supportive than the water. It gave him space to think, to touch, to seek out more of Chan’s mouth. Of course he would kiss like that. Thick, warm honey melting over him. Like the slow grins, the goofy humor. Teasing him closer. The bag he was holding, with the meals, slipped from his fingers, settling with a thump on the ground. But it freed Minho’s hand to feel the strength of Chan’s arm, his shoulder. He swallowed the whimper at the slide of Chan’s tongue against his, but only just kept the strength in his knees as they clung together. Intensely intimate, but not an overture at sex. It was like Chan couldn’t endure not being that little bit closer to him. No, Chan was not a pool. He was the danger of the ocean. An undertow, threatening to sweep him away. But also the anchor keeping him safe.
Chan drew in a shuddering inhale, and kept their faces close even after the kissing ended.
“Why… Why did that feel like the best kiss I’ve ever had in my life?” Chan wondered, and made a sound of protest when Minho snorted. “Don’t laugh.”
“It wasn’t the only kiss?” Minho probed.
He could not see, but could feel the pout.
“Of course not. I’ve kissed other people before.”
Despite the teasing, Minho understood. Maybe because of the teasing. He understood too well was the problem.
“Stay for dinner? Real dinner,” Chan said. “I’ll take this food and put it in the fridge until you’re ready to go. It’ll be just like before.”
“That’s what you said the first time. Isn’t that a bad idea, too?”
“It’s not your fault. Maybe if we stack the bad ideas up high enough, we’ll pull an Uno reverse on them. That’s how it works in real life, right?”
Minho snorted again, but didn’t speak as Chan stroked against his cheek with a thumb, and then let Minho go.
“I hear there’s pudding,” Chan said. “I mean, there is in the bag, too, but—“
One charming, dick of a human being, smiling at him like he was an innocent person, when he knew Minho’s weaknesses. Chan dipped down, picking up the bag again, offering it. Giving Minho the choice. He could taste the pudding, in the crystal dessert cups.
“I’ll stay,” Minho conceded. And let Chan lead him into the house.
Chan was nothing but the congenial host afterward. No sign of the man who’d almost desperately kissed him by the side of the pool. Switching between the awareness of Chan as a man, and returning to his awareness of Chan as a host, and as the man paying Minho to have his child. That was a libido killer. Mostly.
He took the bagged food home, Chan handing it to him after he’d gotten in the car. Smiling at him. Nodding at him. Closing the door for him. Sending him home well-fed, and well cared for. What was the word Chan had used once. Doted on. Doted on by a man who’d demonstrated quite clearly that he had the potential of thinking of Minho as more than the incubator of a baby. That was maybe more dangerous than all the other things combined.
***