Chapter 35: The Bond Deepens
The door clicked shut behind Donghwa, who had Jisung, now asleep on his shoulder, in tow. Hyukjae’s mother had left last, after extracting two more promises to call with any update, her perfume lingering like a ghost in the sterile air.
Silence, thick and textured, rushed in to fill the space. It was just the two of them now, and the twins sleeping in their clear-sided bassinets by the wall. The machines hummed. A distant intercom echoed.
Donghae let his head sink deeper into the pillow, the adrenaline finally, completely spent. A deep, throbbing ache had settled in his lower abdomen, a persistent echo of the violence his body had endured. He was hollowed out and impossibly full at the same time.
Hyukjae stood by the window for a long moment, his back to the room, shoulders squared against the dying night. Then he turned. The calm, in-control alpha who had driven the car, commanded the nurses, reassured his son, was gone. What was left was raw. His eyes were red-rimmed, dark pools of spent terror. He looked at Donghae as if seeing him for the first time, really seeing the pale exhaustion, the wince of pain he tried to hide.
He moved to the side of the bed. He didn’t speak. Instead, he slowly, carefully, went down on one knee. The vinyl floor must have been cold and hard. He didn’t seem to feel it.
He took both of Donghae’s hands in his. They were cool. Hyukjae brought them to his own chest, pressing Donghae’s palms flat over his heart. The beat was a frantic, hammering thing against Donghae’s skin.
“Feel that?” Hyukjae’s voice was wrecked, a scrape of sound. “It hasn’t slowed down since you gasped in bed. I think it might never slow down again.”
Donghae could only watch, his throat too tight for words.
Hyukjae leaned forward. He kept Donghae’s hands trapped against him as he bent, pressing his lips to the thin hospital blanket draped over Donghae’s middle. His kiss was a firm, lingering pressure right over the hidden incision, the sutured proof of their children’s passage.
“I would trade places with you,” he murmured, the words muffled by the fabric. His shoulders trembled. “In a heartbeat. Every ache, every tear, every damn stitch. I’d bear it all. Watching you… knowing you were in that pain and I could only hold your hand…” He shook his head, his forehead resting now against Donghae’s belly.
A hot tear splashed onto the blanket, then another. Hyukjae was crying again, but this was different from the joyful tears earlier. This was something darker, a release of a fear so profound it had bones.
“You are my everything,” he said, the declaration ripped from somewhere deep and unprotected. He looked up, his face streaked and open, all his sharp alpha edges blunted by vulnerability. “My heart doesn’t just beat. It beats for you. For them. It has no other purpose. Do you understand that?”
Donghae finally found his voice, a fragile whisper. “I’m right here. We’re all right here.”
“I know.” Hyukjae sucked in a ragged breath. “And it almost broke me. The thought of not being enough to keep you here. Any of you.”
He let go of Donghae’s hands only to brace his own on the edge of the mattress. In one fluid, cautious motion, he climbed onto the narrow bed. He was too big for it, but he curled his body around Donghae’s side with practiced care, avoiding the tender wound, slotting himself against the rail. He wrapped an arm over Donghae’s waist, his hand splaying possessively over his hip. He buried his face in the junction of Donghae’s neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply, seeking his scent beneath the hospital soap.
Donghae felt the tension bleed out of the long body pressed against him. A shuddering sigh warmed his skin. He turned his head, his lips finding Hyukjae’s temple, salty with dried tears. He kissed the soft skin there.
“We did this together,” Donghae whispered into his hair. “You carried me. You carried us all. And we’ll keep doing everything together. The scary parts, the messy parts, all of it.”
A pulse, not physical but deeply felt, passed between them. It was a current of pure, undiluted emotion—relief so potent it was dizzying, awe that shimmered like heat haze, and a fierce, sprawling love that felt territorial and gentle all at once. It was Hyukjae, his mental walls gone, letting Donghae feel the unvarnished truth of him. The bond, usually a quiet hum in the background, thickened, solidified into a tether you could almost see.
Hyukjae nuzzled closer. “I was so scared, Hae.”
“I know.”
“Don’t do that again.”
“The twins part? I think that ship has sailed.”
A weak, damp chuckle vibrated against Donghae’s neck. “The almost-dying part. The terrifying me part.”
“I’ll try to schedule my next major life event for your convenience.”
Hyukjae pinched his hip, gently. “Smartass.”
They lay there, breathing in sync. The ache in Donghae’s belly was still there, but it was wrapped in a warmth that made it tolerable. Haru made a soft, snuffling sound in her bassinet. Jeno remained stubbornly asleep.
“They’ll take them to the NICU soon,” Hyukjae said, his voice low. “For observation. Just because they’re early. The doctor said it’s standard.”
Donghae’s heart clenched. “For how long?”
“A few days. Maybe a week. They said they’re strong. They just need help with the little things. Keeping warm. Eating maybe.”
“I want to see them. Before they go.”
“Of course.”
They fell quiet again. The night shift nurse would be in soon for vitals. This pocket of peace was stolen, precious.
“Jeno and Haru,” Hyukjae said, testing the names again in the quiet dark. “Our kids.”
“Our kids,” Donghae echoed, the words a sweet, heavy stone settling in his soul. He laced his fingers with Hyukjae’s where they rested on his hip. “Jisung was… amazing.”
“He’s been practicing being a big brother for months. Talking to your belly. Planning lessons.” Hyukjae’s thumb stroked his skin. “He loves you. You know that, right? It’s not just me.”
Donghae swallowed. He knew. But hearing it, here in the aftermath, with the man he loved wrapped around him and their newborns sighing softly nearby, it unlocked a final, secret chamber in his heart. He was loved. He was a part of this. It was permanent.
The door handle clicked. Hyukjae didn’t move away, just tightened his arm a fraction.
The night nurse, a beta woman with a kind, tired face, peeked in. She took in the scene—the alpha wrapped protectively around the omega in the narrow hospital bed—and smiled. “Time to check on our stars,” she said softly, nodding toward the bassinets. “And then, Dad, I’m afraid you’ll have to get back to the chair. Hospital policy.”
Hyukjae gave a single, slow nod against Donghae’s neck. He didn’t let go yet.
They had a few more minutes. A few more breaths in this sacred, aching dark. The world with all its rules and rotations was waiting, but here, in this sliver of time, they were anchored. They were whole. The journey ahead was vast and unknown, but the tether between them was forged now, in relief and fear and gratitude. It felt unbreakable.
Hyukjae finally lifted his head. He pressed one more kiss to Donghae’s lips, soft and lingering. “Together,” he whispered, a vow.
“Together,” Donghae breathed back.
Then, slowly, Hyukjae untangled himself and slid from the bed, his hand lingering on Donghae’s until the last possible second. He stood tall, rolling his shoulders back, the alpha mantle settling onto him once more—but it fit differently now. It was lighter. He walked over to the bassinets, ready to follow their children wherever they needed to go next.
He watched the nurse’s careful hands check Jeno’s temperature, then Haru’s, his own body humming with a need to intervene. He didn’t. He just stood, a silent sentinel, as they were wheeled out to the NICU for their mandatory observation. The room felt cavernous without their small sounds.
Donghae was already asleep when he returned, his breathing a shallow rhythm against the propped-up pillows. The brutal exhaustion had finally won. Hyukjae dragged the stiff recliner close, its vinyl sighing in protest. He sank into it, his own bones feeling liquid with fatigue.
He found Donghae’s hand resting on the blanket. He took it, lacing their fingers together, his thumb skating over the knuckles. The monitor lights painted Donghae’s face in soft blues and greens. Hyukjae watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, a metronome calming his own frantic pulse. He didn’t remember closing his eyes.
A soft touch on his shoulder startled him awake. The room was dark, save for a slant of hall light from the cracked door. The night nurse, a different one now, gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry to wake you. It’s time to try a feeding. It’ll help their sugars and stimulate your omega’s milk.”
Hyukjae blinked, his mind sticky with sleep. He looked at Donghae, who was stirring, his warm brown eyes confused and hazy. “Right now?” Hyukjae’s voice was gravel.
“Best time,” the nurse said cheerfully. She was already maneuvering a bassinet into the room. Then another. Jeno and Haru, swaddled tight, were brought in. “Let’s get them skin-to-skin with Appa. It’s good for everyone.”
Donghae pushed himself up with a wince, the movement awkward around his tender middle. Hyukjae was there instantly, adjusting his pillows, his hand a firm support on his back. The nurse helped untie the wretched gown, exposing Donghae’s chest and the flat, vulnerable plane of his stomach above the bandages.
She placed Haru first, the tiny girl rooting instinctively the moment her cheek touched Donghae’s skin. A sharp, shockedn gasp escaped Donghae. His eyes went wide, fixed on the perfect head nuzzling against him. “Oh,” he breathed, a sound of pure instinct. “Oh, that’s…”
“Let her find her way,” the nurse encouraged softly.
It was messy. It was clumsy. Haru fussed, her little mouth opening and closing. Donghae’s fingers trembled as he tried to guide her. Then, with a soft, determined snuffle, she latched on. Donghae cried out, a short, pained sound that made Hyukjae flinch.
“That’s it,” the nurse nodded. “It’s a strong sensation. It’ll ease.”
A flood of emotions ripped through Hyukjae—awe, a strange territorial pride, and a sharp, undeniable spike of something raw and wanting. He watched the intimate pull of the baby’s mouth, the profound concentration on Donghae’s face. He felt utterly peripheral.
Then Jeno, impatient, began to squall. The nurse lifted him, settling him on Donghae’s other side. The omega shifted, his face pale but set with determination, offering himself to his son. Jeno latched with less fuss but equal vigor.
Donghae was pinned, sustaining both of them, his body working on a deep, ancient programming. Sweat beaded at his temples. He looked utterly overwhelmed, magnificent, and drained.
Hyukjae knelt by the bed, his forehead resting against the rail. He watched the rhythmic feeding, the tiny hands kneading against Donghae’s skin. The visceral, mammalian truth of it was breathtaking. And it excluded him. Completely.
The nurse finished charting and headed for the door. “Twenty minutes each side. You’re doing beautifully.”
The door clicked shut. In the quiet, broken only by the soft, sucking sounds, Hyukjae’s control slipped. His voice came out thick, roughened by fatigue and emotion. “Two babies.” He stared at the scene, his gut tight. “Nothing for Appa.”
Donghae’s gaze, which had been locked on Haru, shifted to him. He saw the raw ache in Hyukjae’s eyes, the unvarnished want. A tired, knowing smile touched his lips. His free hand, the one not supporting Jeno’s head, lifted slowly. His fingers were trembling, but they found Hyukjae’s hair, pushing through the messy strands.
“Everything,” Donghae corrected, his voice thin but clear. “This is all because of you. They are because of you.” His thumb stroked Hyukjae’s temple. “You are the ground.”
Hyukjae turned his face into Donghae’s palm, kissing it. He stayed there, kneeling, anchored by that touch while his omega nourished their children. The jealous ache softened, transmuted into a deeper, more humbling gratitude. He was the ground. It was enough. It was everything.
When the twins were sated and drowsy, the nurse returned to collect them. Donghae slumped back, utterly spent, his eyes already closing. Hyukjae rearranged the gown, tucked the blankets, his movements automatic. He didn’t return to the chair.
Instead, he carefully, so carefully, slid onto the very edge of the mattress, his back against the railing. He stretched his leg out alongside Donghae’s, a line of solid heat. He reclaimed his omega’s hand, holding it against his own sternum where his heart, finally, beat a slower, steady rhythm.
Donghae murmured something incoherent and turned his face toward Hyukjae’s shoulder. Their breaths intertwined. In the hall, a cart rattled. Somewhere, a baby cried. They didn’t hear it. They were already gone, sinking into a sleep so deep and shared it felt like a single, sheltered breath.