Yura woke up before the sun did.
Not because she wanted to.
Because the baby decided her bladder was a punching bag and her ribs were a ladder.
She lay there for a moment, eyes open in the dark, listening to the soft, even rhythm of Joon-ho's breathing beside her. The apartment was quiet in the way it only got when the world outside hadn't started demanding things yet.
Her hand drifted down automatically to her belly, fingers spreading over the curve. The skin felt warm and stretched, like it belonged to someone else, and also like it had always belonged to her. Under her palm, there was a slow, stubborn pressure.
"Are you awake?" she whispered.
Joon-ho didn't answer. He only shifted, half-asleep, and his arm tightened around her waist like his body refused to let her go even while his brain was offline.
Yura smiled into the dark.
Then the baby kicked, sharp and sudden, like a tiny complaint.
Yura hissed softly. "Okay. Okay. I heard you."
