Chapter 249: Midnight

*Runze’s POV*

The pain doesn’t start as an ache. It starts as a sudden, hard twist low in my belly that tears me straight out of sleep.

I gasp, my eyes snapping open in the dark, my hands instinctively reaching down to clutch the underside of my bump. The breath locks tight in my throat as another sharp contraction ripples across my abdomen, radiating straight into the base of my spine.

Beside me, Bael is awake before I even manage to exhale.

The mattress shifts heavily under his weight, and then his hands are on me, one resting flat and firm over my knuckles where I’m clutching my stomach, the other coming behind my neck to support me as I instinctively try to curl around the pain.

"Runze." His voice is rough with sleep, but his grip is completely steady. "Breathe. Look at me."

I open my eyes, finding his dark outline in the dim nightlight. "It’s... *ah*—it’s sharp, Bael—"

"Lean into me," he says, his voice low and tight. "Slow down. Just breathe for me."

He pulls me slightly against his chest, taking my weight off the mattress. His large palm presses firm against the small of my back, applying steady, deep pressure right where the fire in my nerves is burning loudest. I bury my face in the curve of his neck, my fingers digging hard into his shoulder through his shirt, riding out the squeeze in my abdomen until, slowly, after thirty long seconds, the tension begins to ease.

The muscle uncoils, the sharp edge fades back into the familiar, dull ache of late pregnancy.

I let out a long, ragged exhale against his skin.

It’s only then, as the pain recedes and the room goes still again, that I notice the tension locked into his entire frame. His heart is hammering hard and fast against my cheek, and the palm pressed against my lower back is trembling, just a micro-shake in his fingers, the quiet leak of a panic he was trying so hard not to let me feel.

I lift my hand, covering his trembling fingers where they rest at my waist. I give them a small, grounding squeeze.

"Bael," I whisper, turning my face further into his chest. "It stopped."

He doesn’t answer immediately. He just lets out a slow, long breath against my hair, his arms drawing me a fraction tighter against him as his heartbeat gradually slows back down to its steady rhythm.

"Is the pain coming back?" he asks, his voice still low and tight against my temple. "Is it labor?"

"No," I murmur, my voice sounding raspy. "It’s not labor. Dr. Xi said the false contractions would get sharper this week." I shift slightly, wincing at the lingering sore pull in my pelvis. "Just... the baby dropping further down."

Bael exhales softly, adjusting the pillows behind my head so I can lean back comfortably against his chest without straining my back.

"You’re trembling," he says softly.

"I’m fine... It just startled me."

He doesn’t answer, but his arms wrap around me a little tighter, his scent—warm, heavy, and completely grounding—filling the dark room. We sit like that in the quiet for a long time, listening to the faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant rustle of the wind against the balcony glass.

I look at the digital clock on the nightstand.

*2:14 AM.*

The pain is gone, replaced by a strange, sudden emptiness in my stomach. A very specific, very sharp hunger that has nothing to do with Mrs. Wen’s wild yam porridge from earlier.

I shift my head back to look at Bael. He is watching me in the dark, his eyes dark and wide open, completely alert.

"Bael," I say quietly.

"Mm?"

"I’m hungry."

"I’ll call Mrs. Wen—" He reaches for his phone on the nightstand.

"No," I interrupt, catching his wrist. "Not Mrs. Wen. Not congee."

Bael pauses, his hand hovering over his phone. He looks down at me, his eyebrow lifting slightly. "What do you want?"

I press my lips together, suddenly feeling a little ridiculous saying it out loud at two in the morning. "Do you remember... when Ling Yue and I went to the studio for the first time? Last week?"

"I remember."

"On the way back, we stopped at that small, narrow alley two streets over from the studio frontage. There was a tiny stall with a red lantern out front. We got those sesame tang yuan." I look at him, my grip tightening on his wrist. "The ones in the sweet ginger broth. With the crushed peanuts on top."

Bael stares at me for a beat. "Runze. It’s two in the morning."

"I know..." I say, glancing down at my lap, suddenly embarrassed. "Forget it. It’s stupid. I’ll just drink some water—"

"Stay here," Bael says.

I look up. He is already swinging his legs off the bed, pulling a dark sweater over his head and reaching for his trousers.

"Bael, wait," I say, sitting up higher against the pillows. "You don’t actually have to go. It’s twenty minutes away, and they might not even be open—"

"They operate until three in the morning," Bael says calmly, pulling on his shoes. He steps back to the side of the bed, leaning down to press a firm kiss to my forehead. "I’ll be back in forty minutes. Do not try to get out of bed while I’m gone."

"Bael—"

"Stay in bed, Runze."

He adjusts the duvet over my chest, gives my shoulder one last squeeze, and turns to leave the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

I lie back against the headboard, staring at the closed door in the dark, a helpless, fond smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

***

He returns at 2:52 AM.

I know because I’ve been watching the digital clock on the nightstand the entire time, listening to the silence of the house.

The bedroom door opens softly, and the scent of cold night air enters the room, followed immediately by the rich, unmistakable aroma of warm sesame, sharp ginger, and toasted peanuts.

Bael steps inside, carrying a small, thermal takeaway container and two wooden spoons. His dark hair is slightly wind-tousled, his sweater smelling faintly of the crisp autumn night outside.

He sets the container on the nightstand, pulls the desk chair up beside the bed, and opens the lid.

Steam rises into the dim light of the bedroom. Inside, six round, pale tang yuan float in a deep golden ginger syrup, dusted lightly with crushed peanuts.

"They were still open," Bael says, taking a spoon and carefully scooping up one of the rice balls, making sure to catch plenty of the ginger syrup. He blows on it softly before holding it out toward my mouth. "Eat before it gets cold."

I look at the spoon, then up at his face.

There isn’t a trace of annoyance in his eyes, just that quiet, focused devotion he brings to everything when it comes to me. He drove across the city in the middle of the night without a second thought, simply because I said I was hungry.

A quiet tenderness swells in my chest.

I open my mouth and take the bite.

The chewy glutinous rice breaks open, releasing rich, hot black sesame paste that mixes perfectly with the spicy warmth of the ginger syrup. It is exact, perfect, and absurdly comforting.

I swallow and let out a soft sigh. "It’s so good."

"Eat another," he says, already scooping up the next one.

He feeds me slowly, one by one, watching with quiet satisfaction as I finish every single tang yuan and drink half of the sweet ginger broth straight from the bowl. By the time he sets the empty container back down on the nightstand, my stomach is settled, the lingering ache in my lower back feels manageable, and a profound, deep tiredness is finally settling back over my eyelids.

Bael moves the empty container to the small table by the door, strips off his sweater, and climbs back into bed beside me.

I shift immediately, turning onto my side and resting my head against his chest. His arm comes around me instantly, pulling me against his side, his hand settling over my stomach where the baby has finally gone still.

"Better?" he asks softly, his chin resting against the top of my head.

"Much better," I murmur, my eyes drifting shut. "Thank you."

The room settles back into complete stillness. Outside, the world is dark and sleeping, but inside the bed, Bael’s chest rises and falls beneath my cheek in a slow, steady rhythm.

"Runze," he says quietly into the dark.

"Mm?"

"I love you."

The words are spoken simply, without drama, without any grand occasion attached to them. Just a low, quiet truth offered in the middle of the night.

My eyes open in the dark.

I pull back just enough to look up at his face. His dark eyes are watching me, steady and clear, reflecting the dim amber light of the nightstand lamp.

It strikes me suddenly how long it has been since I heard him say it out loud like this. Not because he stopped. He never stopped carrying it in everything he does, in the quiet, absolute way he wraps himself around my life. But because we have been running for so long through scandals, families, and preparations that the words themselves had simply been living underneath everything else.

A soft, warm tightness gathers in my throat.

"I know," I whisper.

Bael’s thumb traces the edge of my jaw, his touch light and warm. "I promised I would tell you every day."

"You show me every day," I say gently, leaning up to press my lips against his jaw. "That’s better."

His hand slides behind my neck, his fingers tangling into my hair as he pulls me up into a deep, slow kiss. It isn’t hurried or heavy with heat, just warm, deep, and completely possessive, tasting faintly of sweet ginger and sesame.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his thumb stroking my cheek.

"I love you," he repeats softly, the words firm and unyielding against my skin. "Always."

I smile against his mouth, letting my eyes slip shut as I nestle back down into the crook of his shoulder, my hand resting over his on top of my stomach.

"I love you too, Bael," I murmur into his skin.

He tightens his grip around me, pressing one last kiss into my hair, and together, in the quiet dark of the estate, we finally drift off to sleep.