"hm?" you turn after sending off the last text, clicking your phone off. "what do you mean?"

"are you happy here?" he gestures vaguely to the room around you. it's your first vacation in a while, and one he'd gently pushed you to go for (whether you came here alone or with him). "it's was busier this morning than i thought it'd be. i know you like your space."

you do, but soonyoung's the kind of person who it doesn't feel like a drain on your social battery to engage with. at least most of the time--the exception is when he's with some of his more social friends, since that's when you're just along for the ride and watching him thrive, all while knowing he'll knock out the second the two of you get back to your bed at the end of the day. "i'm okay." you turn over, pressing a kiss against his temple. "were you worried?"

"it's your birthday," he says, arms coming to wrap around you. "i don't want you to be unhappy today."

he's so sweet, and it makes you smile hard enough that your nose wrinkles a little. "cute," you hum. "i'm happy. you make me happy."

his nose scrunches, too, when he smiles. "yeah?" he steals a kiss. "then happy birthday. you're my favorite person to be lazy with."

you just burst into giggles, and find refuge in his presence. the two of you will go back out in a bit to face the world again, to be social in that touristy way of talking about home and why you're traveling and where all you've been if someone prods for that information... but for now, soonyoung's arms are a place of peace.

late afternoon sun shone through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow across the adjacent living room walls. you laid on the couch, legs outstretched and covered with your favorite fleece blanket. it was a bit worn from many years of cuddling, but that made it more cozy.

too distracted by short-form cooking videos, you didn’t hear keys turning in the lock of the front door. only when the door slammed shut, were you startled from doomscrolling. you hear shuffling, presumably your boyfriend, jihoon, taking off his shoes and dropping off his bag in the entryway.

“i’m over here!” you call out. after shedding his shoes and jacket near the door, the next step in his routine was always to locate you. given that you shared a one-bedroom apartment, he typically was able to find you in under a minute.

you drop your phone to the side as he strides over to where you lay. cooking instructions continue to warble on muffled by the sofa cushions. as he's standing over you, hands stuffed into the pockets of black sweatpants, the familiar scent of him fills your nostrils—mostly sweat, any traces of his body soap or deodorant were long gone. he didn’t smell great, but it was a comfort all the same. after spending hours alone while jihoon worked, your favorite person was finally within arm's reach. "how long have you been laying here?"

"too long, probably," you admit with a shrug. “i sat down to watch a couple videos and now it’s-"

“after five in the evening,” he answers. jihoon knows on days that you don't work, you usually curl up with your phone and spend hours on the sofa. you then raise your arms, inviting him in for a hug. he leans down, placing a quick kiss to your lips. his long hair falls to the side of his face and tickles your cheeks. the warmth of your boyfriend’s plush, pink lips against your own makes your heart flutter—a sensation you've craved all day but is gone too quickly when he pulls back.

“wait, another one,” you protest before he has the chance to walk away. never denying you of affection, jihoon smiles and plants another kiss on your puckered lips. before the moment can end, you loop your arms around his neck, clasping your fingers. he stumbles, dropping his hands onto the couch on either side of your head.

“baby i’ll fall on you like this,” he lets out a raspy chuckle. his eyes trail over your face, noting the satisfaction--from your eyelashes brushing your cheeks to your closed-lipped smile.

“good,” you hum contentedly. in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to have your boyfriend as close to you as possible. his chest pressed to yours and his legs slotted between.

“but i’m sweaty from practice.” at his resistance, your eyelids flutter open and you're met with your favorite view. jihoon’s brown eyes gazing at you warmly, always accompanied a hint of a smirk, like he was charmed by your cuteness, by how much you wanted to be close.

“please, just a few minutes. i missed you today,” you pout, aware that he’s unable to resist your pouty lips and doe eyes. and what you’d said was true. though you'd been texting throughout the day, you missed the warmth and comfort of his physical presence.

“a few minutes,” jihoon relented. “then i have to shower.” the faint scent of your conditioner filled his nose as he snuggled further into your neck. though he would much rather be clean before holding you, jihoon couldn’t deny that he’d missed being in your arms like this as much as you did.

“yeah, you are kinda stinky,” you mumble and a laugh bubbles from your lips.

✎ᝰ.

(can you tell i miss woozi?)

if even one person enjoys this, then it was worth posting. thank you for reading ♡

jodi

The studio door clicks shut behind you hours earlier, leaving Lee Jihoon alone in his carefully controlled world.

Or at least what used to be controlled.

Now?

“Appa, Jiho took my pencil!”

“I didn’t! It rolled to me!”

Two identical voices, layered with outrage and laughter, echo through the room that’s seen chart-topping hits built in silence.

Jihoon exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he swivels his chair away from the mixing console. The screen in front of him glows with unfinished tracks, but his attention has long been stolen.

Across the studio floor, Jiho and Jihyo—the twins, both five—are sprawled out with paper, markers, and way too much energy for a place filled with expensive equipment.

“You’re both using the same box,” he says flatly, voice calm, measured “There are twenty pencils.”

Jihyo gasps like she’s been personally betrayed “But that one is my pink.”

Jihoon stares at her then at the identical shade of pink still sitting in the box.

“…There are three pinks.”

Jiho snickers. Jihyo huffs, crossing her arms dramatically before dissolving into giggles anyway.

And just like that, the “argument” is gone.

Jihoon leans back in his chair, watching them and something in his expression softens.

Because this? This is chaos. This is noise.

This is everything his life used to not be.

And he… loves it.

A small melody loops quietly in the background. something he’d been working on before the kids decided his studio was their playground. Jiho suddenly perks up, scrambling to his feet.

“Appa! That’s nice!”

Jihyo follows right behind him, both of them waddling over with the same wide-eyed curiosity

“Did you make that?” she asks, climbing onto the vacant seat beside him like she owns the place

“Yes”

“Is it for us?”

The question makes him pause. Jihoon glances at her and there’s something unreadable but gentle in his eyes

“…It can be.”

That’s all it takes the twins both erupt.

“YAY!”

Jihyo throws her arms around his neck without warning, nearly knocking his headphones off. Jiho climbs onto the other side, clinging just as tightly.

For a second, Jihoon freezes.

Not because he’s not used to this. 5 years being a father he realized afftection, touches, kisses, giggles and arguments are a permanent part of his days. He knows this side of his kids wasn’t from him.

That’s you. They got that from you. And silently he’s thankful they did.

Slowly, carefully, his hands come up one resting on Jiho’s back, the other steadying Jihyo so she doesn’t fall.

“…You’re going to break something,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it

“We won’t” Jiho says confidently, like it’s a fact

Across the room, his phone lights up on the desk. Your name.

He shifts slightly, reaching over and answering without untangling the kids from him.

“…Hello.”

“Hi, love!” your voice comes through, warm, bright just like them “How are my three favorite people?”

Jiho and Jihyo immediately perk up.

“EOMMA!”

Jihoon pulls the phone back a little as both of them shout into it at once, their words overlapping into pure chaos.

“We’re in Appa’s studio!” “He made a song for us!” “Jiho stole my pencil!” “I didn’t—!”

He closes his eyes briefly

“…They’re alive,” he says dryly once there’s a break in the noise

You laugh on the other end, soft and knowing “Sounds like it.”

There’s a pause, and his gaze drifts over the two small bodies leaning against him, still talking over each other, still full of life.

“…They’ve been good,” he adds, quieter this time

It’s a simple sentence but coming from him—it means everything.

“Of course they have,” you reply gently “They’re with you.”

“…Come home soon,” he says finally, voice lower, softer than he ever lets it be outside these walls

Jihyo gasps again “We’re ordering food, right?!”

Jiho adds, “And movie!”

Jihoon sighs. Then, almost imperceptibly “…Yes.”

Because no one else sees this version of Lee Jihoon.

The quiet producer. The perfectionist. The man who keeps the world at arm’s length.

But you? You see the one sitting in a studio full of noise, two laughing children clinging to him and not pushing them away.

If anything… holding them a little closer.

The studio settles into something softer. Not quiet—never quiet with your kids—but softer.

Jiho has drifted back to the floor, now fully invested in building something out of spare cables and a notebook, narrating to himself like he’s solving a very important problem. Every now and then he glances up, checking in, then goes right back to it.

Jihyo, though? She stays.

“Appa,” she hums, already halfway climbing onto him before he can respond.

Jihoon barely reacts anymore just shifts slightly, one arm coming up automatically to steady her as she settles sideways on his lap, small hands immediately reaching for the desk.

“You’re going to press something you shouldn’t”

“I won’t,” she says confidently. She absolutely will but he doesn’t stop her.

Instead, he adjusts the mouse closer to her reach, one hand still loosely around her waist so she doesn’t slip. The screen glows in front of them. layers of tracks, colored blocks, tiny moving lines that mean everything to him and probably nothing to anyone else.

Jihyo squints at it like she’s decoding something important.

“What’s this?”

“A track.”

“What’s a track?”

“A sound.”

She nods like that makes complete sense

“And that?”

“Another sound.”

“…Why so many?”

Jihoon pauses. He could simplify it. Brush it off. Give her something easy but she’s looking at it like it matters. So he answers properly.

“They all do different things,” he says, voice calm, measured as always “Some are drums. Some are instruments. Some are voices. When you put them together, they make a song.”

Jihyo’s eyes widen “Like puzzle?”

“…Yes.” That earns him the brightest grin.

“I like puzzle.”

“I know.”

She wiggles a little in his lap, then points decisively at the screen “Can I make one?”

Jihoon looks at her. At the tiny finger hovering over months of work. The same one that used to be no bigger than his thumb, the very one the used to grasp his out of instinct.

He’s never been good at saying no to them. So ofcourse, he agrees.

“…One,” he says

Her gasp is immediate “Really?!”

“Yes.”

Carefully he guides her hand to the mouse, his longer fingers resting over hers. The cursor moves clumsily at first, jerky and uncertain.

Jihyo giggles “It’s wiggly!”

“Because you’re moving it too much.”

“I’m not!”

“You are.”

She laughs again, completely unbothered, and somehow manages to click something. A sound plays. slightly off-beat now.

Jihoon notices immediately. He says nothing.

Jihyo freezes “…Did I break it?”

“No.”

He reaches over, adjusts one small thing, then leans back just enough to let her try again.

“You just moved it.”

“Oh.”

Pause. Then… “I like it better like that.”

“…You do?”

She nods enthusiastically “It’s funny.”

Funny. Not correct. Not polished. Not perfect.

Funny.

He glances at the screen. At the slightly misplaced beat.

Then back at her.

“…Then leave it.”

Her entire face lights up like he just handed her the world. She clicks again, adding something random completely off from what he intended and bursts into giggles when the sound stacks weirdly.

“Appa! Listen!”

“I am listening.”

“No, listen!” she insists, grabbing his sleeve

Jihoon lets the loop play.

It’s messy. Unbalanced. Technically wrong.

And yet Jihyo is bouncing in his lap, laughing like it’s the best thing she’s ever heard.

Jiho looks up from the floor “What is that noise?”

“It’s a song!” Jihyo shoots back proudly

“That’s not a song.”

“Is too!”

Jihoon watches her.

Watches the way she leans forward, completely absorbed, like the world exists inside that screen.

Watches how naturally she moves, how unafraid she is of messing things up.

Nothing like him. Everything like you. His hand shifts slightly at her side, a quiet, grounding presence as she keeps going.

“…Why do you like it?” he asks after a moment

Jihyo hums, thinking hard “…It feels happy.” Simple. Immediate. Certain.

Jihoon looks back at the screen again. At the uneven, imperfect arrangement she’s made. At the way it sounds different now.

He doesn’t fix it. Doesn’t correct a single thing. Instead, he reaches over, presses a key, and lets the loop keep playing.

Jihyo leans back against him, satisfied, still smiling

“Appa?”

“…Yes?”

“Can we make more?”

He doesn’t even hesitate this time “…Yes.”

“Do you like it?” he asks her again

Jihyo hums, still swaying a little to the messy loop she made, clearly pleased with herself.

Then she tilts her head up at him.

“…Do you like it, Appa?”

She doesn’t mean the sound. Jihoon knows that immediately.

He leans back slightly, one arm still secure around her so she doesn’t slip, eyes drifting for a second to the screen… then away.

“…Yes,” he says simply.

Jihyo studies his face like she’s making sure he’s telling the truth.

Satisfied, she nods.

Then, softer this time “What’s your favorite?”

That makes him pause. Not because he doesn’t have one.

But because he does. Too many, actually. Hundreds of tracks. Years of work. Songs that built his name, his reputation. Songs the world knows him for.

None of those come to mind.

Instead he remembers one very clearly. His gaze lowers slightly.

“…The one your eomma walked down the aisle to.”

Jihyo’s eyes widen. Jiho, from across the room, immediately looks up.

“The piano one?” he asks, already scrambling to his feet

Jihoon hums once.

They both know it. Of course they do.

You never stopped humming it. Softly around the house, absentmindedly while cooking, while folding laundry, even when you thought no one was listening. And before that… when they were still tucked safely inside you, he used to play it on the piano at home, late at night, quiet and careful.

It’s been part of them longer than they even realize.

“Play it!” Jihyo demands instantly, bouncing in his lap. Jiho is already halfway climbing up the chair beside them.

Jihoon exhales softly. Then reaches forward.

A few clicks.

The studio fills—not with layers, not with beats—

Just piano.

Clean.

Simple.

Familiar.

The first notes settle into the room like they belong there.

Jiho stills immediately and Jihyo goes quiet too, her small body relaxing back against him without even noticing.

Jihoon doesn’t look at them at first.

His gaze stays on the screen, but it’s distant now. Not really seeing it.

Because he remembers.

You at the end of the aisle. The way everything else blurred out. The way that song didn’t feel like something he made.

It felt like something that happened.

Jihyo hums softly along after a few seconds, almost instinctively.

Jiho leans closer, resting his arms on the desk, chin propped up as he listens.

“…I like this one,” he says quietly

Jihyo nods immediately “Me too.”

Jihoon finally glances down at them, at the way they’ve both gone still. At how something so simple holds them just as easily as it holds him.

“…Why?” he asks, voice low

Jiho shrugs, Jihyo tilts her head, thinking.

“…It feels like eomma.”

That makes something in his chest tighten. He doesn’t respond right away. Just looks back at the screen, listening as the melody continues, steady and unchanging.

Then, almost unconsciously, his hand comes up resting gently over Jihyo’s arm where it’s draped across him. Jiho shifts closer too, squeezing himself into the limited space of the chair until he’s pressed against Jihoon’s side.

Then Jihyo tilts her head back suddenly, eyes bright.

“Appa”

“…Yes”

“Do you like eomma?!”

Jiho immediately turns too, eyes wide like this is breaking news.

Jihoon blinks. Once. Twice.

Then he lets out a quiet laugh.

A real one. Low, unguarded, rare enough that both kids immediately notice.

“Yeah,” he says simply

Jiho squints at him. “How much?”

Jihyo gasps. “Yeah! How much?!”

Jihoon exhales through his nose, a faint smile still lingering as he leans back in his chair, both kids now fully focused on him like he’s under interrogation.

“…A normal amount.”

“That’s not an answer!” Jiho protests

Jihyo nods seriously “Say a number.”

“A number?” Jihoon repeats, eyebrow lifting slightly

“Yes.”

He considers it for a second just enough to play along.

“…A lot”

“How a lot?”

He looks at their matching stubborn expressions. At the way they’re both clearly not going to let this go.

And something about it—about them—pulls another quiet laugh out of him.

Sometimes, he really does think they’re funny.

Too funny. Too much like you.

“…Enough to make that,” he says, nodding slightly toward the screen where the piano track still plays.

Jihyo hums “That’s a big lot.”

“It is,” Jiho agrees. Satisfied.

He’s always been the serious one. Precise. Controlled. Straight to the point.

But you, you’ve always been the one who pulls something out of him he doesn’t show anyone else.

The one person who can make him laugh without trying.

And now there are two more.

He looks down as Jihyo absentmindedly starts humming again, slightly off-key but completely confident. Jiho taps lightly against the desk, trying to match the rhythm.

Jihoon leans back in his chair, letting the sound fill the room “…You’re both like her,” he says quietly.

=

The front door clicks softly behind you.

And the first thing you notice is the quiet. No giggles. No running footsteps. No overlapping voices calling eomma the second you step inside.

Just the faint sound of movement somewhere deeper in the house.

You slip your shoes off, stepping in slowly and that’s when you see him.

Jihoon, sleeves slightly pushed up, moving around the living room with quiet efficiency, picking up scattered papers, a stray marker, what looks like the remains of a very serious “cable project.”

He glances up the moment he hears you.

“…You’re back.”

You smile, putting your stuff down. He sets down what he’s holding, attention shifting fully to you now.

“How was your day?”

You hum, stretching slightly. “Good. Quiet. Peaceful. I remembered what silence sounds like.”

“…I don’t.”

You laugh “Rough day?”

He exhales softly, glancing around at the evidence “…They were energetic.”

“That sounds like them.”

You step further in, taking in the room, messy, but clearly halfway back to order because he’s been handling it.

Of course he has. He doesn’t work the way he does just to come home and not take care of you, of this.

“Where are they?” you ask, already looking around like they might pop out from somewhere. Jihoon nods toward the hallway.

“Asleep.”

That makes you blink.

“…Already?”

“They lasted until ten minutes ago.”

You huff a quiet laugh “That must’ve been a day.”

You don’t wait, already heading down the hallway, curiosity pulling you toward their room.

The door is slightly open. You push it gently.

And there they are.

Both of them, tangled together inside their little fabric tent, surrounded by pillows and blankets, limbs thrown in every direction like they simply ran out of energy mid-play.

Jiho’s arm is half over Jihyo.

Jihyo’s face is pressed into a stuffed toy.

Completely out.

You soften immediately, stepping in quietly, crouching just enough to brush Jiho’s hair back from his forehead, then adjusting the blanket over Jihyo.

“…They had a big day today,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything.

From the doorway behind you, Jihoon’s voice comescalm, even—

“Yeah.”

You glance back at him. He’s leaning lightly against the frame, watching the same scene, expression unreadable in the dim light.

“…They found out I like you.”

You blink.

“…Found out?” you repeat, a smile already threatening

He shrugs, like it’s nothing “They asked.”

“And?”

“I answered.”

You let out a quiet laugh, standing and walking toward him “And what exactly did you say?”

Jihoon looks at you like he always does when it’s just the two of you.

“…That I do.”

You stop right in front of him, arms folding loosely as you tilt your head “Just like?”

A small pause “…A lot.”

That pulls a proper smile out of you “Wow. Big confession day for you.”

He exhales quietly, gaze dropping for a second before coming back up.

“They already knew.”

“Of course they did.”

You step closer, reaching up to smooth down the slight crease between his brows without thinking.

“They see everything.”

Jihoon doesn’t move away.

Never does. His hand comes up almost automatically, resting lightly at your waist, grounding, familiar.

“They said it feels like you,” he adds after a moment

You blink “What does?”

“The song.”

That makes you soften.

“…You played it for them?”

He nods once.

“You’ve been playing that since before they were even here.”

“I know.”

Another pause.

You glance back toward the tent, where the two tiny figures are still completely knocked out then back at him.

“…Thank you,” you say softly “For today.”

He frowns slightly, like the thanks isn’t necessary.

“It’s normal.”

“It’s still a lot.”

He exhales but he doesn’t argue.

Because he knows what you mean aAnd you know what he doesn’t say.

Your hand slides down from his face, but you don’t step away.

“…You should rest,” he murmurs after a moment.

You smile “I just had a day off.”

“Then rest more” A small laugh escapes you.

“Bossy.”

“…Efficient.”

You shake your head, but you’re still smiling.

Night settles in fully after that. The house is ca;lm, washed in warm light and the kind of quiet that only comes after a long, full day.

But not for long because somehow, despite being completely knocked out earlier, the twins are awake again.

And now they’re wedged between the two of you on the bed.

“Appa, videos!”

“Yeah, the baby ones!”

Jihoon exhales softly, already knowing there’s no getting out of this.

For all his composed, serious presence he reaches for his phone without argument.

Because this? This is routine. His thumb moves with quiet familiarity, unlocking folders most people would never even know exist.

Years of them.

From the very beginning.

He doesn’t say anything as he opens one.

Just tilts the phone slightly so both kids can see.

The first video plays.

Two tiny babies, barely bigger than the blankets wrapped around them—facing each other, babbling in completely nonsensical sounds like they’re holding the most important conversation in the world.

“babababa—!”

“aguuu—!”

Jihyo bursts into giggles immediately

“That’s me!”

“That’s both of you,” you laugh

Jiho squints “What were we saying?”

Jihoon, without missing a beat—“…Nothing.”

“That’s not nothing!” Jihyo protests

“It is.”

You nudge him lightly “They were having a deep discussion, obviously.”

Jiho nods seriously “Yeah.”

Next video.

Baby Jihyo, chubby cheeks and wide eyes, staring at the camera then suddenly sticking her tongue out, blinking like she just discovered it exists.

Over. And over. And over again.

“Why was I doing that?!” she laughs

“You were fascinated,” you say

“She still does that,” Jiho laughs

“I do not!”

Another video.

Baby Jiho, propped up near the window, staring outside with the most intense, unblinking focus completely ignoring your voice in the background calling his name.

“Jiho? Jiho—hello? Baby?”

Nothing. Not even a flinch.

Present-day Jiho frowns “Why didn’t I answer?”

“You still don’t sometimes,” you tease

“I do!”

“You don’t,” Jihyo chimes in

Jiho turns to Jihoon like he’s seeking backup “Appa, I do, right?”

Jihoon glances at him “…Sometimes.”

Jihyo laughs so hard she nearly tips over, grabbing onto Jihoon’s arm for balance. He steadies her instantly, hand coming up without thinking.

The next video plays. This one quieter.

You—much younger, more tired—holding both of them, swaying gently while Jihoon’s piano plays softly in the background.

The same melody. The one from earlier. The room on screen feels smaller. Softer. New.

The twins go quiet.

Jihyo leans closer “…Eomma, you look sleepy.”

“I was,” you smile softly

Jiho tilts his head “We were loud even then?”

Jihoon answers this time “Yes.”

You laugh under your breath.

The video continues, tiny hands gripping your clothes, soft sounds, the gentle weight of them against you.

Jihyo snuggles deeper into your side, Jiho shifting closer into Jihoon’s.

“Again,” Jihyo murmurs.

Jiho nods. “Again.”

Jihoon doesn’t argue. Of course he doesn’t.

He scrolls, selecting another video.

Then another.

And another.

Each one a small piece of something he never shows the world.

Moments he kept. Organized. Protected.

Because while no one knows about this life. The one he holds onto the most.

Jihyo laughs again at something on screen, Jiho asking questions in between, both of them warm and heavy against you.

You glance at Jihoon “…You really kept everything.”

He doesn’t look at you.

Just keeps his eyes on the screen, thumb pausing briefly before the next clip. You smile.

Because for someone who says so little—

you just let out this hum, toying with his hair as you pull out one of looser little pigtails before redoing it. "you want me to put my hands on another man? even to do his hair?"

ah. you're evil today.

he cracks a smile though, and he leans back to look up at you, the top of his head bumping against your stomach. the gears are turning in his head for some kind of silly retort (you'd notice other men? doesn't feel like a good enough fit, but he'll keep it in his back pocket for another day). but all of it falls apart when you move so that you can dip down to kiss him twice: first on the tip of the nose, and the second on the lips.

"you're cute." you start to slowly remove the ties, fingers getting lost in his hair again, the way they always do when you're wordlessly stressing about something and just need to touch him in some way (to cling to his arm, to hug him tight, to squeeze his hand) to ground yourself again. he knows you well enough, though: if you need to talk about it, you will... once you've calmed down enough to think straight.

so jisung makes one move to stop you partially in your little calming ritual, taking one of your hands so that he can press a kiss against the side of it before letting go again. "i know." he teases you softly, but looks at your face one last time. "we match like that."

You follow his voice, dropping your bag in the couch as you pass it heading down the hallway leading towards your bedroom, "Where's-" and you stop right there at the doorway.

You almost missed it, blending with Seungcheol's own hoodie of the same colour. He's in your bed, and sitting in his lap there's a small bundle of soft, cozy white fabric.

"Look, baby. Mommy's home."

Your six month old son (practically a mini version of your husband, your genes clearly losing the battle.) squirms and flails his little arms, tiny fists closed around the front of Seungcheol's clothes, and squeals in delight once he spots you. He shakes his head a little, the hood of the onesie he's in falling over his eyes, a teeny bit too big. A bear onesie.

Seungcheol smiles wide at your surprise. You snap out of your initial struck and coo at your baby, rushing the rest of the way into the room and picking him up in your arms. "Oh my God. Hi, baby." You get his little happy babbles in response. "Why are you dressed so cute?" It's almost too much for your heart. You leave kisses all over his face on his round cheeks. "Cheol, when did you get him this?"

Now you really think you might combust right where you stand. While you fawned over your baby boy, Seungcheol pulled the hood of his own hoodie on. It's a matching one. You can't believe it. You take in the slight rosy tint on your husband's cheeks as he meets your starry eyes. "Where are my kisses?" Seungcheol says, getting up from the bed to stand beside you, one arm wrapping around you, his other hand placed behind your baby protectively.

"I am dying here." It's too much. Too adorable. You press a kiss to his puckered lips, and another, and another, until you can't no more with how much you're smiling.

"We're not having another one yet." You joke. It does come a little weaker than before, he notices.

Although he didn't plan this little surprise with the intention of triggering baby fever, he does want another one. Aaand maybe another one. And a baby girl just like you running around the house with her brothers to protect her, the princess of the castle you've built together. So if this gets you to cave a little sooner…, he thinks, fingers absentmindedly brushing over your belly.

Seungcheol shakes his head, chuckles, "I got you one too." and walks over to get it.

You stare after him, "No way." and automatically decline, though you know it'd most likely be useless. Once Seungcheol puts his mind into something, he won't give up until he gets it. You really like cute things like this even though you don't consider yourself a 'cutesy' person. It just doesn't fit you. Seungcheol wholeheartedly disagrees with that statement. It's like you don't know what you do to him.

 "You have to, baby. Please?" You try to avoid as he looks pleadingly at you once he walks back, holding the matching hoodie for you. He's cheating. He knows what those eyes do to you. You shake your head, focusing on your baby boy instead as his little hands rest on your face. "Just for me?" And you also know that's a lie, already picturing him with a proud smile saying how your families and friends would go crazy over it after taking photos of you three. "Baby wants you to do it."

Your baby continues to coo and babble in your arms at the sound of his daddy's voice, almost like he's trying to take part of the conversation and he understands what you two are talking about. Big, bright, brown eyes just like Seungcheol's stare up at you. They're definitely ganging up on you.

A small frown and a sigh. Seungcheol's smile slowly taking over his face triumphantly because he knows,

"Fine."

a/n: Et voilà. I'm not sure about this one. Part of me wants to take it down bc tbh I'm not sure abt any of my writing rn. Or about anything for that matter (I might've crashed out a couple days ago). But after coupsbear I was not okay so i had this little idea. Wasn't going to post it but here you go, for my 200 followers milestone. I tried a bit harder on the banner. Instead of doing one thing I truly went and did everything: flash get to know me post, face reveal (it went poof! in like 15 minutes lol so idk if anyone actually caught that) and a little story. If you got this far thank you and thank you for reading.

It shows when his friends tease him endlessly about his habit of stumbling over his words, and his only reaction is to roll his eyes at them. It shows when his sister makes him get up at 5AM to queue for a special edition bag, and he only grumbles out a total of three complaints. It shows when his boss gives him a too short of a notice about a weeklong business trip, and all he can do is pack his luggage like it’s a race.

That’s why he desperately wishes it would show now, as he sneaks a glance at you from across the dinner table while Seungcheol holds him by the shoulder—barraging him with things he missed due to said business trip.

Mingyu clinks his glass of soju against Seungcheol’s and downs it before his eyes find you again.

You, dressed in a top with delicate straps tied into even more delicate bows. You, with your hair in that effortless updo that he always liked. You, sipping your drink with your glossy lips in a soft rosy shade that drives him crazy.

Contrary to Seungcheol’s eager ramblings, the only thing Mingyu missed during his trip was you.

You and Mingyu—along with your other friends Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Seungkwan, and Jihyo—have known each other since your college days. However, things began to change a few months ago when you developed an interest in running—suddenly influenced by numerous tiktok videos. Mingyu had been excited when you first mentioned it in the group chat and deemed himself your new “running partner” since the two of you lived closest to each other.

Since then, your time together slowly extended into the day—turning from a simple morning exercise to getting brunch together afterwards to spending the night at each other’s apartment because “We’re gonna go on a run tomorrow morning anyways. Might as well sleep over to save time.”

On one of those sleepover nights, Mingyu decided he's had enough. Something had shifted since you started spending more time together—charged moments where gazes lingered longer than necessary and quiet nights that encouraged you to share a bigger piece of yourselves with each other.

Although you've been part of the same friend group for years, it was still uncommon for just the two of you to meet frequently like this. Despite everyone’s busy schedules, the group chat managed to stay active and always made time to meet up.

It was normal for Mingyu to see you once a week or so—sometimes in a dirty T-shirt and mismatched socks for movie night at Wonwoo's, sometimes in coordinating outfits with Jihyo for dinner. And sometimes, he’d even play wingman to help you get a cute bartender’s number.

It was, however, not normal to squeeze onto your small couch just so he could wake up to you in the mornings. It wasn’t normal for him to run backwards so he could see the glow in your smile as the early sunlight shined on you. And it definitely wasn’t normal for Mingyu’s heart to race whenever he caught his mind drifting to you at random times in the day.

So when he shows up to your place without his usual bag of running gear and dressed in loose sweats, you give him a questioning look. “Running in sweatpants is definitely new for you.”

“No, it's not that,” he inhales deeply, lingering by the door, “I wanted to tell you something.”

You freeze in your spot, nodding at him to continue.

"I really like you. I want to be more than a friend. I know this will change a lot of things for us but it was driving me crazy not being able to tell you how I feel," he says softly, inching closer to you. His eyes are rounded and full of affection as he takes your hands in his, "I love being with you and spending time with you. You feel it too, right?"

Your eyes well up with tears as your brain catches up with everything you just heard. If you were being honest, your newfound crush on Mingyu had been your biggest worry recently. Mingyu has always been a good friend, but being in close proximity to him and taken care of by him did stir all the butterflies in your stomach. You had spent countless nights staring at your ceiling, trying to make sense of your feelings, and gathering the courage to tell him.

You roll your lips between your teeth, attempting to hide your smile, "Was it because I kept staring at your chest and ass when we run?"

He throws his head back and lets out a hearty laugh, "Well, I can't lie and say I wasn't doing the same thing."

Your smile spreads wider across your face, "Okay, let's call it even then."

Mingyu tugs your body towards his and wraps you in a firm hug. You lean into him, taking the warmth of his body in as he pats your hair tenderly.

"So are we still going on our run tomorrow or what?," you mumble against his chest.

“You wouldn’t happen to have some of my running clothes lying around, would ya?”

As it turns out, you did have an extra set of his clothes by your dresser. He did spend the night. You did go on that run together. And like always, Mingyu did buy you brunch afterwards.

But before he could even celebrate his first 24 hours as your boyfriend, an email from his boss showed up—an emergency request for his presence at a conference being held across the country. He had left your apartment begrudgingly as you kissed him goodbye and promised to wait for his call when he landed.

It has been exactly one week since then.

As soon as he landed back home, he had rushed to the restaurant where you were currently having dinner with the rest of your friends. Much to his disappointment, you had been caught in conversation with Seungkwan and Jihyo when he arrived, allowing Seungcheol to drag Mingyu into the seat between him and Wonwoo.

And that was an hour ago.

So if you ask Mingyu, he’d like to think he’s been patient enough. Patiently waiting to see you again, to have a moment with you, to make up the long seven days without you.

The sudden surge of emotions makes him restless. He slumps lower into his chair and shakes his legs, feeling miffed at the entire situation. There's no way Seungcheol has that much to update him on, right? And why have Seungkwan and Jihyo been hogging your attention all night? The last time he checked, you're his girlfriend, not theirs.

“Kim Mingyu. Lighten up a little," Seungkwan chides, yanking him from his cloud of thoughts.

He scowls at Seungkwan then sighs, “I’m going to the restroom.”

Mingyu sends you a weak smile and mouths a discreet “meet me there” before he pulls away from Seungcheol and heads to the restroom, patting cold water onto his face and neck.

When he steps out, he sees you waiting for him in the corner of the small corridor that leads back out to the dining area, tucking your lip gloss and compact mirror back into your bag.

A smile blooms on your face when you notice him.

“Hi.”

Mingyu manages to rasp out a soft hey back before he presses his full weight into you, face buried in your hair and hands snaked around your waist.

You're surrounded by his body heat and the faint woody notes of cologne. You’ve been giddy all day thinking about seeing him again and the feeling of being in his hold after so long makes your stomach flip.

Mingyu finally pulls away to look at you. “Missed me?”

Your stomach does a second flip. He looks devastating. His hair is tousled against his forehead, eyes bright and glassy, small mole dotting his nose perfectly, and lips pulled into a slight pout.

Your hands tighten against his lower back as you interlock your fingers together and whisper against his lips, “So much.”

Mingyu instantly leans forward to close the distance, slotting his lips against yours. His kiss is filled with so much fervor, as if he couldn’t waste any more time not kissing you.

It takes you a second to react; you’ve only kissed Mingyu a handful of times between the night you confessed to each other and him leaving for his work trip—all of which have been short and sweet.

But this kiss is heavy and passionate, his lips moving over yours with intense focus. You’ve never seen him this worked up before but it’s a new side of him that makes your skin tingle with anticipation.

Once you get out of your initial shock, you kiss him back with equal force, hands moving to roam across the broad stretch of his back muscles. You nibble playfully at his bottom lip before giving it a particular harsh suck. He sighs into your mouth as you soothe your tongue over the seam of his lips.

Mingyu reluctantly pulls away first, “I missed you so bad. So so bad.”

You can feel his rough hands absentmindedly toy with the hem of your top, fingertips pressing into your skin.

Your chest heaves against his as you beam up at him, “I can tell.”

Mingyu swears your eyes twinkled when you smiled at him and he has to take a few deep breaths to steady himself. His eyes lazily trace the shape of your lips before coming back to hold your gaze.

“This lip gloss shade is killing me,” he says, tongue darting out to lightly lick at your lips.

Mingyu can only stare as you reach up to thumb away your smudged lipgloss by the corner of his lips and chin. His vision is a little hazy but he manages to focus on your lips. The rosy tint has lost most of its shine and color by now, replaced by a soft kiss-swollen hue (Mingyu has half a mind to boast about him being the cause of it) but it’s still pulling him in with the exact same force it did when he first arrived.

“Baby, please,” he swallows hard, but his voice comes out in a dry whisper, “Last one, I promise.”

He ducks his head to capture your lips in another heated kiss. His hands alternate between your waist and ass, only pausing to knead the plump flesh of your hips once in a while.

You pull away from him, trying to catch your breath. “How was your flight back?”

“You’re asking all the wrong questions.”

He leans in, attempting another kiss but you dodge his lips as your hand comes up to cover them.

Your smirk is playful as you say, “I thought you said that was the last one.”

"I take it back," he muffles into your hand before licking it, causing you to yelp and clutch his shirt.

He cups your face firmly and tilts your head towards him, “You’re so beautiful.” Then a wet kiss on your jaw.

"My pretty girl.” A gentle bite onto the side of your neck.

He trails light kisses down your throat and makes his way to the dip by your collarbone. You can’t help but let out soft moans at the sensation as Mingyu continues to suck slowly at the spot.

His lips travel to the curve of your shoulder, where his fingers start to fiddle with the thin ends of your tie straps.

He pulls at it teasingly before letting out a choked laugh, “How functional is this?”

“It’s cute,” you whine in defense.

You lightly pinch his sides to get his attention before you pull him into a kiss of your own, swiping your tongue against his. Your hands move in between your bodies, one pressed against his chest while the other cups his neck. This time, it’s your turn to suck and lick at it as he groans. You pick a spot right in the middle, just below his adam’s apple and continue to nip lightly.

“Baby,” he warns with low moan.

You hum a distracted response, pressing quick pecks all over his cheeks with a final kiss placed on top of his heart through his shirt.

He slumps against you, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. You can hear his breathing slowly move from a pant to a steady rhythm.

You gently card your fingers through his hair and press your nose into his temple. “You okay?”

His sigh turns into a dry laugh, “Babe. Whatever happens, let’s never do long distance. Look at what one week apart does to us.”

“That’s just because you’re clingy. I was fine.”

He shifts to narrow his eyes up at you, “I must've kissed you so good, your memories ended up getting jumbled.”

Your cheeks redden, as you giggle and lightly shove him away. “Whatever you say, loverboy. We should head back now.”

He grins as he follows you back to your table, in a much lighter mood than before. Wonwoo eyes him carefully as he settles back into his seat and nods at Seungcheol to take a look. Mingyu manages to stuff a piece of pork belly into his mouth before Seungcheol knocks his chopsticks out of his hands and grabs his collar to inspect his neck.

“Bro.”

Before Mingyu can even respond, the entire table's attention is drawn by Seungkwan who has his hands around your neck, as he shrieks, "What is that?!"

"i love you, too." he can't help but giggle a little bit more at how cute you are. "let's sleep in today," he presses a kiss against your forehead. "okay?"

"mm. sounds great." you squeeze him around the middle, pressing the tiniest little peck against whatever skin you can reach. "whatever you want for miiiiingoooooo day..."

it's so silly. but he bursts into louder giggles at how you draw that out, and only laughs more when he feels your shoulders shake as you crack up, too. the two of you are so, so deeply tired... but there's something infectious about your silly guy and how utterly, entirely endeared he is by you and your silly sleepiness. a matching pair yet again.

You notice his ogling and roll your eyes. "God, yes, I look unruly in the hottest way imaginable, and I'm in your bed and I'm your girlfriend of five years already. Thanks for noticing"

Mingyu pulls himself together, thankfully still sober enough to get his mind out of the gutter.

"Yeah, uh, take-out or we cook?"

You swivel your head back to the delivery app chiming on your phone, pretend to consider your decision, then eye the blinking clock with '11:23' glinting red.

"We were out the whole day, and it's eleven"

"So you're saying…?"

"I'm saying take-out is preferred," You pause. "the only option, in fact."

The bed creaks as he settles into it, crawling to his haven of warmth. Cold hands slither beneath the silk waistband of your shorts, eliciting a flit of squeaks and curses. Mingyu lugs himself up to ease on top you.

"Kim Mingyu, you are heavy" you groan.

Mingyu scours the line of options from nearby restaurants; rice cakes, fried chicken, stew, dumplings.

You hear him grumble as his lips purchases itself onto the expanse of skin beneath your ear, subtly suckling with his canines. You forestall whatever sin he's about to commit by tugging the tufts of his hair with your idle hand.

He grunts in repudiation, to which you feel a bubble of satisfaction threatening to burst.

"I can just cook f'you," Finally, he lifts his head, only to spare a precursory glance at the screen before burying his head back into your shoulder. "I cook just fine."

You snort, offhanded. "Right, but your girlfriend wants take-out right now."

"Well, my girlfriend should know that her lovely, charming, handsome boyfriend is a culinary savant and can cook her anything she wants"

You wait for a few seconds until he offers another tolerable response.

"Get the pizza."

You giggle and pinch his cheek until the skin flushes pink, cooing at his meek answer. "That's what I thought"

You punch a finger into the selected, nearest pizzeria and resume your scrolling across an array of pizza selections, some smeared in tomato, some battered with an ungodly amount of cheese, another dozen dotted with peppery meat.

"Get the pepperoni."

You press his share of choice.

"Or the mushroom, that one's good too… last time we got the pesto, though…"

You watch your boyfriend dwindle to a pool of his own grovelling.

"We'll get pepperoni"

"…Yeah, pepperoni. Classic's the best" He sighs in relief, seemingly grateful that you ripped him out from his twaddle of thoughts.

You run a last check on your order placement. You press the order button. The app redirects to the payment page.

"My card's on my wallet" He supplies.

You grin cheekily and rise from the bed, prying his body off you. Then you press a chaste kiss just shy of his lips. Sliding towards the side of the bed, you slide the drawer open and produce a wallet—his—to zip it open and pull out his card.

Mingyu holds his gaze on you not too far from where you slid off.

It's painfully noticeable.

Your skin prickles, admittedly.

"…While I pay... put a damn shirt on, then you can kiss me"

Mingyu lifts an eyebrow.

"Oh, you think I want to kiss you?"

You stall your answer. "Well, I'd assume you'd want to… judging from how you've been behaving"

He breathes a chuckle and glides towards where you're perched, letting his arms fall back to your waist.

"Mingyu."

"Yes, my love?"

"Put a shirt on."

He scowls.

"Why? You're gonna take it off anyway."

God, you wonder why you agreed on being his girlfriend.

Well, not that you're complaining.

You gingerly place his card back into his wallet and place your phone by the bedside table, though before you could turn to face him, his lips meet you halfway. Your hands hover at the nonexistent distance between you, hemming him in with your arms around his neck as his lips press gentle kisses against yours.

"I love you" he murmurs in-between kisses. You giggle shyly at the affection as he lays you down to the cushion of his pillow. "I love you, so, so, much"

He pecks your nose, earning a scrunch.

"Say it back."

A bulb in your brain tells you that you should taunt your boyfriend a little bit more.

"Yeah" you reply, noncommittally.

Much to your surprise, his lips pucker into a dangerously convincing pout.

"Oh, so you don't love me anymore? Just say it. I don't love you anymore, I don't love my boyfriend like how I used to for the past five years..."

He drags the term boyfriend pointedly with an annoyingly pinched tenor. Your face curls, sours in mock annoyance as he goes on with his histrionic rendition of a damsel in distress.

You knit his lips shut with a kiss. Then you pull back to see his bowled-over reaction.

"I love you, my dramatic, overly stubborn, painfully handsome boyfriend of five years. I love you more than anyone in this whole entire teeming-with-seven-billion-people world"

A dopey smile pleats his face as he leans forward to chase your lips to capture you into another round of kisses. So much for making a thirty year old cower.

Your phone chirps, alerting both of you that the pizza is on its way to your doorstep.

Both of you couldn't care less.

Not when he's kissing you so lovingly, making dogged attempts to tug at the buttons of your pyjamas. Not when you breathe out his name with that honeyed voice of yours, and definitely not when he slides his knee into the gorge of your thighs.

"Baby?"

You tilt your head to meet his eyes.

"Can you tell them that they can just leave the pizza at the doorstep?"

---

Two decades later, you’re at the mall, hands full of shopping bags, when a very large presence appears behind you. 

“Why are you struggling?” he asks, already peeling the bags out of your hands. 

“I was not struggling,” you lie, bottom lip jutted out, fingers numb. 

He raises one eyebrow and transfers every single bag to one veiny arm. Including the fluffy, hot pink, heart shaped purse you just bought. 

It dangles from his thick forearm like a hypnotic watch swinging back and forth. You think you might be drooling. You try not to stare at how unfairly built he is. Broad shoulders. Biceps that make sleeves fight for survival. And veins. Veins. VEINS. You try not to think about his veins. Thick veins were everywhere on his body. Everywhere. Like a map leading you to-

“Shua,” you say carefully. “You don’t have to carry that one.” He looks down at it. Then back at you. 

“And let you carry it? Absolutely not.”

“It’s pink.”

“And?”

“It literally says ‘Miss Bitch’ on it.”

He adjusts it higher on his bicep and strikes a pose, hand on hip. “Correct.”

You narrow your eyes. “People are staring.”

Joshua slowly turns his head and makes direct eye contact with a guy who’s been staring for slightly too long. The guy immediately looks away. Joshua turns back to you, smiling sweetly. Angelic. Doe eyed. “They can look.” Menace. 

But then, without breaking stride, he reaches over and fixes the straps of your cardigan where it slipped off your shoulder. 

“Cold?” he asks softly. 

You melt a little. “Maybe.”

He doesn’t hesitate, shrugs off his hoodie and drapes it over you. Now he’s walking through the mall in a compression tee, veins visible, holding six shopping bags and a glittery hot pink ‘Miss Bitch’ purse. Zero shame. All confidence. 

A group of girls whisper as he passes. One of them says, “I need that.” 

You smirk. “You’re causing a scene.”

“I merely exist,” he replies calmly. 

You bump your shoulder into him. “You’re not embarrassed at all?”

He looks genuinely confused. “Why would I be embarrassed?” 

You gesture dramatically at the purse. 

He shrugs. “You like it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“That quite literally is the point.”

And that’s the thing about Joshua, he doesn’t carry your bags to prove anything. He doesn’t puff his chest out or make a show of it. He just does it. Because he wants to. Like it’s always the bare minimum. Like it’s obvious. Like of course he’s going to take the weight from you. Like of course you cannot struggle a second of your life. 

When you reach the parking lot, he loads everything into the trunk in one trip. Of course he does. 

You watch him close it, muscles shifting deliciously under his tee, and suddenly you’re six again. Juice box. Missing teeth. Pigtails. Absolute conviction. 

“You know,” you say slowly. 

He looks at you immediately, soft. Always soft for you. “What?”

“When I was little,” you start, trying not to laugh, “I used to run around yelling…”

His eyes narrow. “Oh no…”

You lean closer, dropping your voice into your most aggressive lisp. 

“I’M GONNA MAWWY JOTHUA HOTH.”

He freezes. Then groans. “It was not that bad.”

“It was worse,” you assure him. 

He steps forward, hooks a finger through the strap of your ridiculous pink purse still looped around his arm, and gently pulls you into him. 

“You were missing teeth,” he mutters. 

“I had a vision.” 

He huffs a laugh, forehead resting against yours. 

“And you know what?” you whisper. 

“What?”

You glance down at the purse, at his hand still holding it without hesitation, at the way he automatically shifts closer to block the wind from you. 

“You’re still the one.”

His expression changes, teasing fading into something steady. Certain. Determined. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs. 

You smile, heart embarrassingly full. 

“Yeah.”

He kisses your forehead like it’s a promise already made. And somewhere deep inside, a tiny, gap-toothed version of you is pointing triumphantly at the universe, yelling at the top of her lungs:

“I’M GONNA MAWWY JOTHUA HOTH!”

a/n... I AM SO SO SORRY this was so late... i don't have a lisp, but i had a dream and two hours before i had to leave the house again, so i hope you like it!! HAPPY SUPER LATE VALENTINES LOVE (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) i scrapped a whole part of this that i wrote a couple weeks ago, so i had to start from basically scratch :( p.s if you were early enough to see the first published version i’m so sorry… i just went back and edited a ton :> whoopsies!!

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