#dad!minho

And even if camping was her idea this time, a rare occurrence that made him stare at her as if she had grown two extra heads, he had ultimately taken charge over everything. 

Except for the little surprise, of course. This time, he had no idea about it.

The last time camping was this exciting was when he proposed. 

Two years ago, when she still despised the idea of camping. Of coming out here amidst the gravel, the dirt and the bugs. The little critters that made her shriek and refuse to come out until he stopped laughing at her, promising the path was clear.

This time, however, the rain changed things. The only thing that made her yelp in surprise was the sight of a snail or a worm squirming next to her chair. 

But the day he proposed had been different. A beautiful spring morning, full of warmth and a question she hadn’t seen coming, not then at least.

The warm breeze had made it more bearable, or maybe the sight of her then-boyfriend putting together the portable table, arms flexed in his t-shirt, had helped ease whatever animosity she had against camping. 

She didn’t expect him to propose. 

Surprised, stunned, shocked, and every other word that could describe her wide eyes as she stared at Minho, his lips thinned into that small, gentle smile she caught glimpses of when he gazed at her fondly. 

She stared at the ring, the simple thing that she expected he would pick out for her, perfectly reflecting her taste in jewelry. 

A part of her swore she had known he was going to propose soon. She had caught the hints.

Like when she was getting ready for that one party and he was adamant about choosing the ring for her from her ring box, his eyes lingering a little too long, taking mental notes. Or when his friend, Felix had called and asked if she was more of a silver jewelry kind of girl or if she preferred gold.

And she would never forget when Hyunjin sat her down to take a quiz about her dream engagement ring. “Some silly thing he found but got curious about” he claimed, she thought otherwise.

Still, then, amidst the greenery, the tents, the portable camping gear, her boyfriend still managed to surprise her. 

Maybe he knew that she caught on, facepalming when Han had all but confessed that he planned to propose. He had to compromise. Proposing here in a place she least expected, would give him the surprised reaction he had hoped for. 

The one he definitely got. When her eyes welled in tears and she instantly leaped into his embrace, feeling the arms she had been shamelessly ogling, wrap around her tightly.

Camping had become a more tolerable activity after that. She went along a few times, whenever she thought he truly wanted her there instead of his friends.

But this time, when she asked, he eyed her suspiciously. Even during the ride up, he kept glancing around, as if wary of something unknown. Carrying the gear, his hand in hers, he fell into deep thought, wondering if he should ask. She had to suppress a laugh at the expression that crossed his face.

Y/N was aware he had caught on. Of course, when she, of all people, had asked to go camping, knowing she was one of the least likely people in his life to do so. But she was content in knowing he would never figure it out.

The rain, however, was something she hadn’t expected.

Looking back on the day he proposed, she realized he had planned it more carefully than she had thought. He had checked the forecast before bringing her out here, something she hadn’t done.

But still it felt romantic in its own way. The two of them, sitting under the shelter of the camper she rented this time, watching the drops hit the ground. Minho had eyed her a few times before he finally sighed, conceding to her.

   “Okay what is it? I can’t think of anything else.” 

His mind had been spinning ever since she made these plans earlier in the week. While he silently worked, unloading and unpacking, his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

She couldn’t help but laugh this time, leaning in to brush her lips against his, a small kiss that confused him slightly.

   “Am I forgetting something?” He muttered to himself, falling back into his thoughts. 

She was acting weird, she had been for some time now and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by her ever-observant husband.

   “I wanted to surprise you.” She finally confessed, turning her body to fully face him.

   “Yeah, I figured.” He couldn’t help but let out a small, breathy laugh.

Her smile widened, his anticipating gaze locked on her.

Y/N turned to the bag behind her, rummaging through it. When she found the surprise, she hid it behind her back.

   “Close your eyes. Palms out.” She ordered cheekily.

   “C’me on, baby…” He retorted through another chuckle, yet still followed her instructions. 

His hands hovered between them, eyes closed, as Y/N’s gaze lingered on her beautiful husband’s waiting face.

   “Okay open.” She bit back, placing the gift in his hands.

His eyes opened, and Y/N inhaled deeply, her heart hammering nervously in her chest.

Instantly, Minho’s eyes shot up to meet hers, flicking between her nervous expression and the positive pregnancy test in his hands. His eyes widened, lips parted slightly. He blinked, processing, then looked intently at the test again.

He should have suspected it. Y/N had felt unwell last week, which had worried him. But those feelings had faded once she seemed to feel better, radiating more than usual. He had forgotten all about it.

   “Yo-you’re serious?” His voice was a slight whisper, as if it were some secret. 

An expression she hadn’t seen before painted his face. Or maybe she had seen it, the day they got married. His glossy eyes, his smile that stretched on his face.

Minho leaned over, his arms wrapping around her to pull her into his chest, the loud beating of his heart instantly hitting her ears, making her melt. Making her wipe at the tears she didn’t realize had escaped her, face muffling into him.

   “I’m so happy. Thank you. Thank you.” He mumbled into her hair, his lips kissing atop.

Y/N’s husband wasn’t a man of many words in situations like this. Maybe overwhelmed by the excitement that bubbled within him, unable to formulate into sentences without stumbling over them. So he showed her his feelings.

His toothy grin, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the tears that pricked at his lids. The way his lips kissed every part of her face he could reach. His arms tugging, pulling her closer, whispered “thank yous” and “I love yous” escaping his mouth, endless in the air.

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Her husband wasn’t a man of many words. Yet the shock on his face when he found out that he wasn’t going to be a father of just one child but two, elicited a loud “What!?” from his lips, translated his feeling across very well.

She had gotten back from an appointment, one he unfortunately couldn’t make it to. Cursing his boss, his job, his friends, co-workers, the damn capitalist system that made him miss out on being there with his wife. Y/N still laughed at the curse littered text messages he sent when he was on his way to work.

When Minho had walked through the door after returning, slipping off his shoes, patting at the cats that always pounced on him after he entered, he found her lounging on the couch.

   “What did she say?” Was the first question that he asked.

He was referring to her doctor. Still in his work clothes, his slightly worried, definitely curious eyes awaiting her answer.

Once again she was nervous. Fingers patting at one of their furry babies that curled at her side, to ease the tension.

   “Do you like having three cats?” She counter-questioned instead, blinking up at her now confused husband.

   “Yeah…?—Wait, do we have to get rid of the cats?” His words followed, slightly exasperated.

She couldn’t help but grin at his response, shaking her head.

   “Raising three cats is a handful, but fun right?” She continued, maybe even trying to convince herself of those words.

   “Y/N.” His tone had become slightly stern.

   “Are we having three kids?” She caught the slight panic in his eyes as he asked, similar to the look she probably had when her doctor had giddily announced it to her. 

   “We’ll. Not three. But…twins.” 

A loud “What?!” Escaped him before he could truly process what she had said. 

He fell silent immediately, blinking at her, then slowly started nodding. Much calmer than his initial response.

   “Okay, okay. Definitely less shocking than three.” He almost sighed out in relief, muttering moreso to himself than to her.

Y/N sat up, startling the cat on her lap, the animal letting out a sound which she could only translate as annoyed, before leaping out of her grasp.

   “Are you happy…?” Her voice had dropped, slightly worried, a little afraid even.

It’s how she had felt ever since she found out. She used humor as a way to ease her own anxiety.

Minho exhaled loudly, shuffling closer to her. He crouched down to his knees in front of her, his hands easily finding hers.

   “I’m happy. Slightly surprised, but definitely happy.” He kissed her knuckles, a reassuring smile spread across his face.

And her husband was happy. 

Following after her as she picked out baby stuff. His eyes shorted around the shop for things that caught his eyes. He wanted the best items, the prettiest clothes. Holding up matching shoes with the widest grin on his lips as he asked for her opinion.

He was overprotective. 

Tugging her out of bed for light exercises and strolls around the neighborhood, Minho made sure to keep her active, even when she felt sluggish. When she felt like hurling the next thing she could find at him. He researched and whipped up nutritious recipes that were safe for her to consume, especially after the bouts of morning sickness that plagued her during the first few months.

When she started to feel the weight of her very pregnant belly, making her uncomfortable, Minho would stand behind her, his arm slipping around her waist to help lift the weight and relieve her for a moment. Simple actions, ones he had read about, but still enough to make her swoon. She found herself falling for him all over again.

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And after what felt like a billion hours of labor, they had finally welcomed their sons into the world. The emotions that coursed through them created a bubble of their own, just her, her husband, and their twins, a perfect little family.

Although after the medication and exhaustion from pushing out not one, but two babies had caught up with her, she had drifted into a much-needed sleep, she awoke to silence. A serene silence, the kind that often welcomed her when she woke up before her husband those days the two of them had nowhere to be. Staring down at his figure that slept soundly.

Except now she was just staring at her husband who gazed down at his newborns. The soft expression on his face, making her heart melt, easing the aching pains of afterbirth that coursed through her body. 

Her husband was a father, and looked down at his sons with the eyes of one.

Except what came out his mouth was anything but fatherly. Or perhaps exactly things a father would say.

   “Why does he look like an alien.” Minho pointed at “baby A”, the one wearing green socks.

   “And this one is so pruney, like a raisin.” He chuckled, as he glanced away from “baby B”, catching Y/N’s unamused glare.

   “How can you diss your children Minho, they’re literally like an hour old.” She countered with a sigh, but couldn’t help but let out a little laugh at his words.

   “It’s the harsh reality of the world.” He slightly exaggerated, but all Y/N could picture was him crying as she pushed, so she couldn’t take anything he said seriously right now.

He sauntered over to her, slowly sitting by her side. His fingers reach out to delicately grip her ivy-pricked hand, gently rubbing at the skin.

   “You did so well, love.” He mumbled, his eyes gleaming with nothing but affection, knowing she was still in pain, and there was nothing he could do but offer his support.

She was still emotional. From everything that happened in the course of two days, her eyes welling in tears that easily slipped down her cheeks. Tears her husband kissed away, his fingers cradling her face in his palms as he pressed a tender kiss to her lips.

   “I love you.”

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She had always imagined that Minho would be the calmer parent between the two of them. 

He was the type of man who didn’t waste many words, the kind who only got riled up when the situation truly called for it. His natural approach usually tackles things with a steady, calm demeanor. 

But now, with a set of rascals who seemed to have inherited his menacing personality, although easily riled up when excited, and their mother’s clumsiness, falling and crashing through most hours of the day, Minho was always on the edge of his seat. Ready to leap into action at a moment’s notice to prevent their sons from getting hurt.

Being a first-time father to one child was nerve-wracking enough. But to be a first-time father to two at once? That was a whole new level of chaos.

But chaos center seemed to become the name of their house, especially on days Minho decided to join in on the fun.

Y/N always had her hands full. The cats, the kids, and the husband who acted like both when he felt like being extra clingy that day, she seemed to be everywhere all at once. But despite the madness, there was something about it all.

The noise, the laughter, the clattering of toys. All that made her sigh with contentment.  

The feeling of being complete, of being happy, washed over her with a warmth that enveloped her when her head hit the pillow at the end of the day.

The door creaked open some minutes later, and Minho trudged inside, shutting it with a soft clink behind him. A groan escaped his lips as he shifted under the sheets, his arms already reaching out to pull her into him. He inhaled deeply, always muttering about how good her shampoo smelled, even though it had been the same one she’d been using for years.

   “Those two will kill me one day.” He muttered to her, recalling the mess he made them clean up earlier in the evening.

Y/N stifled a laugh, shifting just enough to catch a glimpse of his expression. He had played the bad cop, disciplining their twins for doing the wrong things, but as always, guilt ate away at him. Now, he spent the last hour trying to make himself look better in their eyes.

Their twins were polite toddlers, raised by a father who took manners quite seriously. But of course, there were moments when they got a little too excited, creating chaos that made her head spin. It was harder with two, but Minho always seemed to have it under control in these moments, just like he did earlier.

   “They want to go camping.” He broke the comfortable silence that settled between the two of them. 

Y/N groaned into his chest, not ready to deal with it.

   “I can’t believe they like camping.” She mumbled, still slightly annoyed that neither of them had inherited her distaste for the activity.

She could already picture Minjae chasing after the dragonflies that terrified her every single time they fluttered too close. And don’t even get her started on Minjoon, who was obsessed with lying on the gravelly ground to bask in the sun, his pockets always full of tiny rocks and pebbles.

And yet, despite the complaints, she was always the first out the door the day of the trip. Ready to make memories with her twins and her husband.

The husband who, at this moment, let out shallow breathes against her, drifting into his slumber. Hopefully dreaming of her and not his camping gear, a thought that made her smile to herself.

She shifted to get comfortable in his embrace, and as she did, her gaze faltered. Lingering on his sleeping face. The one she could never get tired of staring at. Y/N leaned in to press a soft kiss to his jaw, sighing contentedly as she settled once more.

Minho groaned, clearly not fully asleep, and tightened his arms around her even more.

   “Do it properly.” He muttered, a playful but commanding edge dripping from his voice.

You’re not sure what wakes you first: the crack of thunder or the resulting cry.

Your entire body jolts, the room painted in a flash of white that disappears just as quickly as it came. The weather report had stated that there would be a storm, however ones this bad were uncommon, especially in Seoul.

Another cry. It crackles through the baby monitor on the nightstand at the same time it echoes off of the walls of the other room. You move to kick the covers off when an arm stops you, warm and heavy where it’s thrown over your waist. You instantly relax into the touch, sighing when the tip of a nose brushes against the shell of your ear.

“I got her,” Minho mumbles, his voice raspy with sleep.

“It’s okay. You have an early morning, I can do it.” You argue, but make no move to get up.

Minho doesn’t respond, instead he knocks a kiss to your temple and tightens the blanket around you once he’s out of bed. You hear the soft pads of his feet against the floor and crack one eye open just in time to see him slip out of the room, his voice floating into the hallway, ‘Uh oh, what happened to the princess?’

The way the crying stops almost immediately is proof enough that it was a good thing Minho went in place of you. Seola is a fussy baby; she cries loud and wants incessantly—more than the usual ten month old. She can’t go anywhere without her elephant binky and hates wearing hats, if she doesn’t like a food she’ll snap her lips shut and turn her head until her face is pressed into the back of the high chair, when she’s angry she shakes a tiny fist in your direction and pounds it against your arm. But perhaps the most difficult thing, the one that has you wanting to pull your hair out most of the time, is that sometimes the only way to calm her down is if Minho is the one to do it.

A part of you always knew that your baby would favor Minho, as funny as it sounds. When you first got pregnant, one of the things the two of you were most excited for was being able to feel the baby kicking. Minho sang to your belly every night after you first broke the news, even as you laughed and told him that he or she didn’t have ears yet.

“So?” he questioned, glaring at you from where he had his head pressed against the bare skin of your stomach.

“You also know you don’t have to lift my shirt up, right?”

“Yeah? Well then I can’t do this,” he’d said before blowing a raspberry straight onto your belly button. His laughter then quickly turned into a string of apologies as he came to the realization that the sound might have been too loud, his hand rubbing soothing circles along the lower part of your stomach while you watched with fond eyes.

Minho never missed a night. He made sure that he was always home before you went to bed when he could be, oftentimes fighting with his manager to be let out early or skip practice entirely, promising to show up early the next day and put in the work on his own time. On the nights where he couldn’t make it or the two of you were separated by distance that made him want to give it all up, he called and made you press the speaker into your gradually hardening baby bump.

You and Minho found out that you were having a girl on the day of the first snow. The two of you watched with tear-filled eyes as the ultrasound technician pointed to the monitor in excitement, her smile detectable even beneath the mask she had covering her face.

“Congratulations! It’s a girl!”

Minho called his mom first. Her shouts of joy were so loud that he had to hold the phone away from his ear, his smile the brightest that you’d ever seen. Pride. He was so proud of his little family that he thought his heart might burst.

You called your parents next, and Minho held the phone up so that the two of you could give them the news through the camera, his free hand squeezing yours tightly as you cried and told them that you couldn’t wait for them to come visit once the baby came.

The members were last, all seven of them piled on top of one another on the couch in the practice room, Hyunjin and Changbin fighting over the fact that ‘I can’t see, asshole!’ and ‘You’re tall enough just stand in the back!’

Finding out the gender of the baby made everything more real. Bows and dresses and frilly socks—every time Minho came back to the apartment he had a shopping bag hanging from his arm. He spent most of the time on his phone looking at baby things and stuff that was completely unnecessary.

“What about this?” he asked, pointing his phone down to where your head was resting in his lap.

“Minho,” you scolded, glancing up at him with furrowed eyebrows, “I am not buying a booger straw for the baby.”

“It’s not a booger straw—”

“That is one hundred percent a booger straw. You literally have to suck the boogers out of their nose. Can’t we just buy a nasal suction like normal people?”

“What if it’s not efficient enough? I hate when my nose is stuffy, what more our baby? She won’t even be able to communicate with us, I feel so bad for her.”

“Oh God,” you groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over your face as Minho continued to explain in thorough detail why a booger straw was a necessity in that very moment, even though your due date was still months away.

As time passed and your stomach grew, so did the nerves Minho had about not being present enough. With the nature of his career, it was hard for him to not feel like he wasn’t excessively absent most of the time. Stress took a toll on him, mentally and physically. It wore him thin until the circles under his eyes were the worst you’d ever seen and his mornings couldn’t start without a mandatory dosage of ibuprofen to dull the headache he had the minute he woke up.

Minho was doubtful. He had dreams that his daughter wouldn’t know who he was and that his moments with her would be spent through a phone call rather than with his arms wrapped around her tiny body. He felt like he had already failed a million times without ever even having the chance to prove himself.

On the night the baby kicked for the first time, Minho came home late.

Pregnancy fatigue had taken its toll on you that day. You’d remained in bed, too nauseated to move and aching throughout the entire expanse of your back. Minho worried the moment he woke up, but you’d urged him that you were okay and sent him on his way to the company, practically begging him to leave rather than to deal with another earful from his manager about absences. Luckily for you, his mom was able to come over, and you let her dote on you as well as cook and clean as much as she pleased.

You’d fallen asleep early, your stomach full of homemade food and blankets freshly washed, leaving Minho in a frazzled state because you hadn’t picked up his calls for his nightly belly-singing session. To top it all off, dance practice ran late because of a last minute formation change that needed to be perfected before the next day’s performance.

When he finally made it home, Minho booked it to the bedroom, dropping to his knees next to the bed to place his hands on your stomach as you slept peacefully on your side, your head tucked into the crook of your elbow.

Sometimes, unbeknownst to you, Minho would wake in the middle of the night and talk to your stomach, talk to the baby. It was a little self-indulgent, some alone time for him to speak all of his worries, fears, hopes, and dreams out into the world. That night, it was just them again. Just Minho and the baby.

“I’m home,” he’d said quietly, rubbing soft circles into the material of your shirt, “Daddy’s sorry he’s late. It’s snowing outside, so I couldn't drive too fast.” He waited a few seconds before starting to sing, his voice soft, quiet enough that he wouldn’t wake you up:

펄, 펄, 눈이 옵니다

peol, peol, the snow is falling

하늘에서 눈이 옵니다

the snow is falling from the sky

하늘 나라 선녀님들이

the heavenly seonyeos

송이 송이 하얀 솜을

the white cotton

자꾸 자꾸 뿌려 줍니다

it keeps sprinkling

Minho had moved forward once he was done, resting his cheek against your stomach as gently as possible. He let his eyes focus on the snow falling outside the window, the city covered in a thin blanket of white.

“You’re gonna need a name soon, huh?” he asked, lightly drumming his fingers against your belly. “We found out you were a girl on the first snow, did you know that? My little snow girl. My—wait. Seola means snow girl. That’s pretty, right? Do you like that?”

Minho, not expecting a response, nearly screamed when he felt the softest of thumps against the skin of your stomach, just beneath the palm of his hand.

“What—” Kick.

“B-Babe.” He said, louder this time, sitting up straight to stare at your stomach with wide eyes. You stirred awake, shifting slightly to crack an eye open.

“Minho? You’re home? What are you—”

“Has she been kicking?”

You shook your head, pushing yourself up to rest your back against the headboard. “No, of course not, I would’ve told you if she did. Why? Did something—” You were cut off by the strongest kick yet, your hand flying to your stomach.

“Seola.” Minho had said again, his voice cracking halfway through when another kick came before he could even finish speaking.

From that moment on, Minho knew in his heart that your daughter’s name was always meant to be Seola. He’d talk endlessly about how he would always treat the first snow of the year like a second birthday, and he’d always make it a point to say her name whenever he was talking or singing to your belly.

Much like now, with his back turned to you, Minho’s voice is still as gentle as ever.

“Sometimes when the air is angry it makes electricity,” he says, swaying back and forth as Seola rests her cheek against his shoulder. Her eyes are droopy, heavy with sleep as Minho talks to soothe her back to bed. “And then the lightning makes the air really really hot, and it goes boom.” He pats her back a few times, shushing her when she brings a fist up to her face to rub it angrily. He hums a soft melody, something nonsensical, quiet enough to lull her to sleep but also loud enough to overpower the sound of heavy rain hitting the window.

You watch as he lays her back in her crib, black hair fanned out around her head as he places a warm hand on her stomach to keep some added weight on her body until he’s certain she’s sleeping deeply.

“Oh look,” you say from the doorway, making him jump, “You bored her back to sleep.”

Minho laughs, light and airy, walking over to wrap his arms around you and rest his cheek against your head.

“Jealous that she likes my voice more?”

Minho’s voice, still deep with sleep, rumbles beneath his chest, right where you have your face pressed into it. You take a deep breath, inhaling him as best as you can, his cologne mixing with the smell of baby powder and Seola’s soap.

“No, I just wish you would come back to bed now and bore me to sleep too.”

A hand runs up and down your back, Minho’s adam's apple bobs when he swallows too hard. “I wouldn’t have to if you stayed there like I told you to.”

“I just wanted to check on you,” you sigh, “Also it’s nice to see the two of you together. I don’t get to see it a lot, y’know?”

Minho stills on his feet, and you pull back in time to catch the ghost of a frown on his face.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, “I know. I’m—fuck, I have to be gone tomorrow too.” He runs a hand through his hair, and you can practically see the guilt worming its way into his head.

Determined to stop the inevitable self-loathing, you bring your hands up to cup his face, your thumbs running gently along the corners of his mouth. He melts into the touch immediately, closing his eyes and exhaling out of his nose.

“That’s not what I meant. I just like to cherish the time we have when all three of us are together, that’s all. This isn’t a ‘you versus me’ thing, okay? This is me and you making do with what we have.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “Yeah I know. Me and you.”

“Always.” You smile, leaning up to press your lips together.

With the thunder no longer rumbling overhead and the rain lighter than it had been earlier, you and Minho deem it safe enough to retreat into your bedroom without running the risk of Seola being woken up again.

“Do you want me to explain the force of gravity?” He whispers, playful but weak where his fatigue is starting to seep into his bones.

You laugh and tuck your face into his neck, his arms tightening around you on instinct. When you don’t answer, he knows that he doesn’t have to speak for you to drift off to sleep; knows that no matter what you’ll always be at home tucked into his side, and eventually lets sleep overtake him too.

When morning hits the sky is cloudy and the room is painted in a pale gray. The spot next to you is cold, sheets still tousled from sleep where Minho had been. You frown, glancing at the baby monitor on the nightstand that’s oddly quiet. It’s not normal for you to wake without the sounds of Seola beating your internal clock to it.

Your confusion only grows when you step into the hallway, the sounds of light snoring drifting out from the nursery. When you breach the doorway, you stop short, your heart doubling in size at the sight before you.

Minho is there, slumped against the side of the crib, his head leaning on one of the slats of wood and his arm shoved through the gap, Seola’s hand wrapped tightly around his finger. He must’ve gotten worried at some point in the night, scared that the rain would wake her again.

You inch forward to kneel beside him, running a hand through his hair and smiling when the touch makes his nose twitch. Seola’s own does the same when she sleeps, a little mole on the tip of her right nostril, just like her dad has on his left nostril. A direct reflection of one another; of love in its purest form.

On the floor beside him, Minho’s phone lays open:

To: Chan [2:45a.m.]

I won’t be in later

Find a way to manage without me

- minho would occasionally buy matching pajamas for the twins, even if their preferences were not exactly the same. minho would find a way to compromise, even if one of the twins preferred dinosaurs and the other preferred princesses. minho would smile, feeling like the luckiest parent in the world, while the twins fought over who would sit next to him on the couch.

- when the twins are energetic and bouncing off the walls, minho will suggest a "family nap." he’d lie down on the couch, with the twins joining him in a large snuggle pile, and after some laughter and wiggling, they'd fall asleep on him. his expression softened as he rested his head against theirs, appreciating the silence, even for a short while.

- minho always makes a family car trip or a quick trip to the grocery store fun. he’ll start an impromptu game of "i spy" or a car karaoke game in which everyone must sing along to their favorite songs (the twins usually include their own made-up lyrics). you both wind up laughing, especially when minho transforms into a character on the radio, exaggerating his voice to match the music.

- on lazy sundays, minho and you would let the twins sleep a little later. you’d all stay in your pajamas, cuddled up under blankets, and watch cartoons together. minho may fall asleep while the twins are watching television, only to be awakened by a small foot on his chest and two little voices saying, "daddy, daddy! you missed it!"

- minho and you would take turns packing the twins' lunches; when it was his turn, he liked to include little surprises like a note from him, a favorite snack, or a tiny toy for them to play with during their break. the twins would eagerly open their lunch boxes at school, beaming when they discovered a goofy picture or a heart-shaped sandwich.

- the bedtime routine runs smoothly. you take care of the bathing, while minho takes charge of getting the twins into their pajamas. he always reads them a story before bedtime, often improvising and coming up with the most silly but amusing endings. you’re always near, helping with brushing teeth or getting water cups, but there's a mutual understanding during these quiet moments of care. minho will tuck them in, whispering a few loving words into each of their ears, and you will kiss them goodnight, knowing that this routine will keep everyone grounded.

- some days would be particularly difficult, especially when the twins are sick or upset. you’d both be exhausted, but minho is always a calming presence. after a long day of trying to comfort them, you'd settle on the couch, arms around each other, just breathing. sometimes he'll lean over and murmur, "I don't know how you do it, but you're incredible," and you'll stare at him tiredly, feeling that deep, silent admiration for how well you balance each other.

//

After their castle was deemed sufficiently dragon-guarded, Minjun tugs at Minho’s hand, leading him to the ice cream stand nestled at the corner of the park. The line is short, and soon Minjun is proudly holding a cone much too big for him, dripping chocolate down his arm.

“Look, Daddy! It’s melting!” Minjun giggles, licking his arm in an attempt to catch the runaway ice cream.

Minho pulls out some napkins, cleaning up the sticky mess with a practiced hand. He watches Minjun attack the cone with a grin, chocolate smearing over his cheeks and nose.

“Is it good?” Minho asks, giggling, his heart swelling at the sight of such simple happiness.

“So good!” Minjun announces, offering Minho a taste. The ice cream is sweet, and the rich chocolate flavor is a perfect end to their day out.

They find a bench nearby. Minho listens as Minjun rambles on about the adventures of Flame and Spark, his imagination running wild. The park begins to empty as families head home for dinner, the sky painted in strokes of orange and pink. “Dumpling?” Minho asks softly, and his son looks up at him with big, brown eyes. “Daddy needs to work tomorrow again.”

“Daddy, why?” Minjun’s question comes softly, almost lost in the breeze.

Minho’s heart clenches. It is a question he dreads, knowing his answers might never fully satisfy the curiosity of a three-year-old. He pulls Minjun closer, holding him in a gentle embrace. “You know how Daddy dances and sings for many people?” Minho starts, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. Minjun nods, his eyes wide. “Well, sometimes Daddy has to go places so all those people can see him perform. But I always come back. Do you know why?” Minjun shakes his head, his eyes searching Minho’s. “Because you are my most important audience. And I promise, no matter where I go, I will always come back to you,” Minho says, his words heavy with the truth of his emotions.

Minjun seems to try and comprehend this for a moment, then smiles, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “Promise?” he holds up his pinky.

“Promise,” Minho links his pinky with Minjun’s, sealing the vow. “Let's go home?”

“Home,” he nods satisfied.

Minho would've never had a child this young in this industry if he would've known what would happen. He and his wife got married rather young as well, soon deciding they'd like to have a kid. Mainly because she didn't want to be alone so much with him gone for work often. Everything seemed fine until it turned out they'd be having a boy and not a girl. His wife had wished for a girl dearly and seemed disappointed. Maybe he ignored how much because once their little wonder was there, his wife soon distanced herself from both of them. They were already in the process of getting a divorce when Minho had accidentally listened in to a phone call from her saying she'd probably give up their son for adoption.

Minho knew he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't risk his sweet baby ending up in a family that maybe wouldn't treat him well, so he had long talks with his friends, who promised to support him. Chan made sure to back him when they talked to their boss, making sure that Minjun could stay at the company or on tour. They all knew Minho would be able to focus on his work more, knowing he was within reach when his little boy needed him. The only issue at hand was how much Minjun dreaded being separated from Minho, barely trusting his friends to take care of him for a while.

That was until you came along. Somehow, you found a way to the little boy's heart that made him trust you. You were the only one besides Minho who could calm him down and keep him occupied. Initially, you've simply been Minho's assistant, helping him keep track of his schedule and everything. But being with Minho meant being with Minjun.

Through this, you grew rather close with all of them, becoming a vital part of their group. Minho was thankful to have you around, and you two worked well together. You love taking care of the little one and you would've never expected to get so close to them, especially Minho, seeing him during his rawest moments.

-

Minho is up early, as usual, feeling the quiet anticipation that always comes with a new day. Today, he'd take Minjun with him to dance practice.

The morning was a rush of activity. Minho prepared a quick breakfast, all the while keeping one eye on Minjun, who seemed happy about accompanying him to work.

"Are you ready, baby?" Minho asked, slipping on Minjun's small backpack filled with snacks, a change of clothes, and, of course, his favorite bunny plushie. Jisung had bought it for Minjun's second birthday and he hasn't left the house without it ever since.

"Yes, Daddy!" Minjun chirps, practically bouncing on his toes. His enthusiasm is infectious, and Minho can't help but laugh as he scoops up his son and heads out the door.

The drive to the studio is filled with Minjun's questions about everything he saw. Each question is punctuated with wide-eyed wonder, making Minho smile. He explains as much as he can, from the tallest buildings brushing the sky to the bustling morning crowds. Upon arriving at the studio, Minho sets Minjun down, taking his hand as they walk inside. The building was already buzzing with activity, music faintly echoing from the practice rooms.

"Guys, look who I brought!" Minho announces as they enter the main dance studio. The music stops abruptly, and the boys turn around, their faces lighting up at the sight of Minjun.

"Minjunnie!" Chan exclaims, his voice full of warmth. He crouches down to Minjun's level, greeting him with a gentle high-five. "Look how much you've grown already again!"

The other members crowd around, each taking turns to say hello. Felix shows Minjun a quick magic trick, pulling a coin from behind his ear, which delighted Minjun to no end. Hyunjin hands him a small package of his favorite gummy bears, and Innie helps open it.

“Y/nnie should be here soon,” Jisung tells them, glancing up from his phone.

Minjun peeks up at the sound of your name, bouncing excitedly. “Y/nnie?” he asks with wide eyes, turning to Minho.

“Yeah, Y/nnie will play with you,” he laughs at his son’s excitement.

“Gosh, he really loves him,” Seungmin laughs.

“As he should, Y/n is taking such good care of him,” Changbin chuckles, and Minho hums agreeingly.

Minho sets up a small, cozy corner for Minjun with some toys and a soft blanket. "You can play here while Daddy practices, okay? I'll check on you all the time."

Minjun nods, already distracted by the toys, but his eyes keep straying to the center of the room where the dance practice will take place.

You join them soon after, greeting them all with a wave. “Hi, buddy,” you greet Minjun cheerfully and sit down on his blanket next to him.

“Hi,” he smiles at you happily, handing you his fire truck. “Play?”

As the practice kicks off, Minho joins the rest of the group in the center. The music pounds through the speakers, a rhythmic base that fills the room with vibrant energy. Minho was in his element, his body moving with precision and grace, a testimony to years of practice and passion.

Minjun watches, wide-eyed, from his corner. The sight of his dad and the others dancing seemed to fascinate him. His little feet tap along to the beat, and it isn't long before he stands up, mimicking the moves in his own adorable way. He stumbles and lands on his butt, giggling at himself as you help him back up again.

“You're okay, dear?” you chuckle, and he nods.

Seeing this from the corner of his eye, Minho felt a surge of pride. During a brief water break, he walks over to you. "Do you want to try dancing with us for a bit?" he asks.

Minjun's enthusiastic "Yes!" was all the answer Minho needed. He leads Minjun to the center of the room, the members clearing some space for them. Minho shows him a simple move, a gentle sway combined with a clap. Minjun follows eagerly, his small body moving in sync with Minho's.

The room is soon filled with cheers and claps from the other members and you, encouraging Minjun, who beams under the attention. Chan turns down the music and suggests, "Let's do a little dance circle. Minjun can start!"

What followed was Minjun at the center, trying his best to keep up, his movements more enthusiastic than rhythmic. Each member joined in, adding their own moves, making it a fun, chaotic dance party that had Minjun laughing uncontrollably. You laugh watching them, seeing how much fun they have with the little boy.

After the dance circle wound down, Minho takes Minjun back to his corner, both panting slightly from the exertion. "You're amazing," Minho praises him softly.

“Takes after his Daddy as it seems,” you chuckle, and Minho smirks.

“My little dancer,” he smiles fondly, poking his son's cheek. Minjun's proud little smile is worth more than any applause Minho had ever received on stage.

You hand him the juice box Minho packed for him and help him with the straw. “Drink something,” you tell him gently, and Minjun does eagerly. You bite back a laugh at him, kicking his feet happily.

As the practice resumes, Minjun's energy eventually fades. He plays with you quietly with his toys, occasionally glancing up to watch his dad. The day passes in a blur of music, laughter, and dance. By the time practice wrapped up, Minjun was dozing off in his little corner, exhausted by the day's adventures. His head resting on your leg, breathing peacefully amidst the chaos. Minho carefully picks him up, his heart full as he feels Minjun's steady breath against his neck. “Thank you,” he smiles at you as you pack up everything for him and hand him the backpack.

“Of course,” you mirror his smile. “Tomorrow, we'll meet at the studio.”

“Yeah,” Minho nods. “When was it again?”

“At ten,” you tell him. “Do you need me to keep an eye on Minjun?”

“That would be great,” he nods gently.

“Okay, I'll be there,” you assure him, grabbing your jacket.

“Thank you,” he nods quickly.

“Mr. Lee - Minho,” you quickly correct yourself, sometimes still falling back into old habits. “You don't have to thank me all the time. It's fine.”

“Still,” Minho shakes his head. “It's a lot easier thanks to you…Do you need a ride home?”

“I'll be fine, thank you,” you assure him kindly. “You should get the little superstar to bed,” you say fondly, making Minho chuckle. You exchange your goodbyes before you both leave.

"Did you have fun today?" Minho whispers as he carries Minjun to the car.

"Mhm... best day," Minjun mumbles sleepily, his words slurring together.

Minho smiles, his eyes soft as he settles Minjun into the car seat. "Me too, buddy. Me too."

-

Minho's day starts early again, but this time there's a tangible buzz of excitement that courses through him. Today isn't just about dance practice; he's scheduled to record a new track with Chan, and he's bringing Minjun along to the studio once more. As they prepare to leave, Minho checks that he has everything Minjun might need—snacks, toys, and a little book of stories, just in case the session stretches longer than expected.

Minjun, now familiar with their routine, waddles around excitedly, chattering about seeing “uncle Channie” and the "music room."

The drive to the studio is filled with Minjun's usual observations, his voice a constant, cheerful hum in the background. Minho answers each question with patience, his mind simultaneously running through the lyrics and melodies he'll soon be recording.

Upon arrival, the studio feels like a second home. The familiar faces of the staff greet them warmly, and the scent of coffee mingles with the underlying electrical buzz of equipment. Chan is already there, headphones on, nodding along to some beat only he can hear. He lifts his head as Minho and Minjun enter, his face breaking into a wide grin.

"Look who's here! Hey, Minjun, high five!" Chan calls out, and Minjun rushes over, slapping his palm against Chan's outstretched hand. “How's my little Jiho?” he asks fondly and Minho smiles at the nickname Hyunjin had come up with, which stuck.

“Good,” the little boy nods happily.

Minho sets up Minjun's little corner, not far from the recording booth, where you're already waiting, having arrived a few minutes earlier. You have brought a new set of coloring pencils for Minjun, and he dives right into them with delight.

"Ready for a big day, Minjun?" you ask, helping him spread out his coloring sheets.

"Yes! Daddy sings, I draw!" Minjun declares, his focus intense as he selects a green pencil and starts scribbling. You chuckle softly, busying yourself as well by planning Minho's upcoming week.

Minho and Chan discuss the session with the producer, going over the song's structure and the tone they aim to capture.

As they start recording, Minho slips into the booth, the microphone in front of him a familiar friend. Outside the booth, you keep Minjun engaged, but his eyes often drift to his father, watching through the glass as Minho sings.

During playback, Minho steps out to listen, standing beside you and Minjun. He watches for Minjun's reaction, hoping to see a sign of approval. Minjun looks up, his eyes wide, and claps his small hands together.

"Daddy's song!" he exclaims, and Minho laughs, bending down to ruffle his hair.

"That's right, dumpling. Did you like it?" Minho asks.

"Love it, Daddy! You and uncle Channie sing nice!" Minjun responds, and Chan, overhearing, chuckles, giving Minho a pat on the back.

"It's a hit then, we have our toughest critic's approval," Chan jokes, making you all giggle.

The session continues, with Minho going back into the booth several times to refine his parts. Between takes, he checks on Minjun, always making sure he's happy and occupied. You seamlessly take care of Minjun, ensuring he's entertained but also quiet whenever the recording light is on.

As the afternoon goes on, the final parts of the track are recorded. With the professional part of his day winding down, Minho's attention fully returns to Minjun, who by now has created an impressive array of colorful drawings. "What do you say we show these to uncle Channie, huh?" Minho suggests, and Minjun nods enthusiastically, gathering his artwork.

Chan admires each drawing, making a big deal out of Minjun's artistic skills, which makes Minjun beam with pride. "We've got a future artist on our hands, Minho," Chan says, ruffling Minjun's hair.

"Maybe, but no matter what, I just want him to be happy," Minho replies, his voice soft, filled with love.

As the day comes to an end, you help pack up Minjun's things while Minho prepares to leave. He thanks you again, gratitude evident in his eyes. "Really, Y/n, I don't know what I'd do without your help," he admits.

"It's always a pleasure, Minho. Plus, I get to spend the day with this little guy," you say, tickling Minjun gently, pulling a giggle from him.

"Did you have fun today, Minjun?" he asks his son fondly.

"Yes, Daddy! Sing with uncle Channie again?" Minjun asks, his voice sleepy but happy.

"Absolutely, buddy. We'll come back soon," Minho promises, a smile crossing his face as he focuses back on the road.

One month later

Minho sits on the edge of the sofa, his tour outfit half-on, the rest laid out meticulously across the sofa. Minjun, sitting cross-legged with his blanket clutched tightly to his chest, watches his father with large, worried eyes. The tension between wanting to be there for his fans and needing to comfort his son gnaws at Minho, creating a knot of anxiety that settles heavily in his stomach.

“Buddy, you know Daddy has to go sing for all the people who came to see us tonight, right?” Minho’s voice is soft but carries an underlying note of apology. The stage was calling him, but his heart was anchored right there.

Minjun’s lips quiver as he shakes his head vehemently. “No, Daddy! Stay, please. Don’t go!” His voice breaks as he begins to sob, tears streaming down his cheeks. The sight tears through Minho’s heart like a dagger.

Kneeling in front of his son, Minho wipes away the tears with a gentle thumb, his own eyes misting over. “Oh, my little boy, I wish I could stay... But remember how we talked about Daddy’s job? How there are so many people waiting to hear our songs?” He tries to infuse some enthusiasm into his voice, hoping to sway his son’s mood.

But Minjun was unyielding. His small body trembles with sobs, each cry slicing through Minho’s resolve. “I want Daddy... no songs... stay... please…” His words are punctuated by hiccupping sobs, each plea making Minho’s heart sink more firmly to the ground.

“Minjun, I need you to be strong for Daddy now, yeah?” he asks, but his son shakes his head with a weak sound. Minho quickly finishes dressing, he could hear the distant echo of the others warming up. The show was imminent, his cue to leave fast approaching. He merely has an hour left.

“You'll join us for a last talk?” Jeongin asks, and Minho nods, scooping Minjun up and following him outside.

Chan talks them through the process once more, glancing at Minho, who's rocking his crying son in his arms. He can tell Minho is starting to get worried and stressed out by his son's discomfort. Which is bad because they need him tonight. It's the final concert of their tour, and this is important.

Minjun wails pathetically in his arms, and Minho closes his eyes in defeat for a moment, shaking his head. “Sorry, you guys keep talking,” he says, quickly leaving the room, not wanting to disturb them any longer.

Jisung watches them worriedly and glances at Chan. “You think Jiho will be okay before we start?” he asks.

“I doubt it. Min said he's having a rough day,” he shakes his head.

“Shit,” Seungmin breathes out. “We need him tonight, Channie hyung.”

“I know,” Chan nods. “We can't help much, we know how needy his baby boy gets sometimes. We can only make sure we're all ready.”

-

Minho paces through the room, gently rocking his little boy in his arms as he talks soothingly to him. His son seemed to have realized he wouldn't see him for the next two hours, which must've caused the sudden mood swings. Minho is starting to feel stressed, glancing at the clock up at the wall and realizing he'd have to be on stage in ten minutes. He should be preparing himself mentally right now, getting a moment of peace before their intense evening. But he isn't relaxed or calm at all. The sound of his son wailing in his arms is cutting through him like knives, knowing he'd have to leave him here in a bit. He knows his friends loved their little boy, but not when he was fussing around before a show, which is why he left their room a while ago. “Shh, dumpling, please,” he tries, soothingly rubbing his back. “It's okay, yeah?”

Minjun responds with another sob, his little hand clinging to his shirt. Minho's sure his stage outfit will be stained with drool and tears later, and he feels his throat tighten as his exhaustion and frustration take over for a moment. His body will be exhausted before performing after pacing for almost an hour, carrying his son, who's only growing heavier. “Please,” he whines, knowing his own distress isn't exactly calming his baby boy.

The door opens, and Changbin shoots him an apologizing look. “Min, we should leave.”

“I know, I'll be right there,” he tells him, flashing him a stressed, weak smile.

“Two minutes,” he reminds him and leaves again.

“Please stop crying, Minjun, please,” he begs, feeling tears burn in his eyes.

The two minutes are over way too soon, and Chan opens the door this time. “Min, I'm sorry. We should go,” he tells him.

“I know, okay?!” he snaps at him, his emotions getting the better of him. “I didn't choose this, Chan, but I can't just leave him here either! I can't leave him at the hotel for that long, he's too young!”

Chan lifts his hands in an attempt to show him he's not here to pick a fight. “Min, I know, I know it's shit,” he tells him soothingly. “We can start five minutes later, but you need to get ready,” he says gently, stepping closer. “Let me take him for a moment, yeah? You should change your shirt and let someone fix your hair real quick. Come here, Jiho, hm?” Minho reluctantly lets go of him and flinches heavily as the cries of his son grow louder. He looks at Chan with tears in his eyes, who gently rocks the little one in his arms. “It's okay, Minnie, go on,” he tells him kindly. “He'll be okay.”

Minho fights with himself for a moment before leaving the room. His friends look at him compassionately as he passes them, and Felix follows him into their dressing room. He takes over for their stylist, helping Minho change his shirt and gently smoothing out his hair. “Take a deep breath, yeah?” he says gently, and Minho nods, doing as he's told. “Y/n will be here in a few minutes.”

Minho frowns at him. “No, Yongbokie, it's his day off,” he shakes his head.

“He's the only one your son accepts besides you. Chan called him a bit ago,” Felix tells him and soothingly rubs his shoulders.

Chan joins them with an apologizing look and a screaming Minjun. “He started kicking,” he tells him, and Minho closes his eyes in defeat, taking him again.

“I'm sorry,” Minho says, voice quivering as it all gets a little too much to handle. “I'm so sorry. I didn't want this, not like that.”

“We know,” Chan assures him kindly. “But we also know why you decided to pull through with this.”

Minho fights back tears, shakily rubbing his temple with one hand. He's starting to get a headache, and honestly, he just wants to go back home. “But-I know it's all getting too much,” he says shakily. “He's so clingy I can't go anywhere, and he's crying as soon as I'm gone. I know how annoying it is for you all, even if you try to hide it,” he says.

“That's your own worries speaking, hyung,” Felix assures him. “We love him, and yes, days like today are rough, but we know why you do it, and we promised to support you with it.”

“It's okay, I promise,” Chan adds gently.

You rip the door open, a little out of breath from rushing up the stairs. “I'm here, sorry, there was so much traffic!” you apologize and quickly make your way over. “You guys should go,” you urge them and gently ease Minjun out of Minho's arms. “Hiii, baby,” you say softly, smiling as the little one tiredly buries his face in your neck, hiccuping your name between broken little cries. You soothingly sway from side to side, rubbing his back and talking to him calmly. Your own calm demeanor does wonders for the little boy who grows still in your arms, little hand gripping your sweater as his body's shaking. You look up and notice Chan and Felix have left, but Minho's still here, staring at the two of you in wonder. You can spot the tears in his eyes and flash him an encouraging smile. “Go on, I got him.”

“Are you sure?” he asks nervously. “I know it's your day off.”

“I like taking care of him, it doesn't feel like work,” you assure him before glancing down at the sniffling boy in your arms. “We'll have so much fun, yeah? Your daddy has to work now, but I'm here,” you tell him and gently pat his back. “You want your plushie?” you ask and earn a weak little nod. “Go,” you whisper toward Minho, who gives himself a push. “Oh, look, here it is,” you say, handing Minjun his favorite plushie.

The boy pulls the fluffy bunny to his chest and cuddles into you. As the stage door clicks shut behind Minho, leaving the bustling sounds of the backstage crew prepping for the night's performance, the room he exits from fades to a quieter atmosphere.

The walk to the stage is the longest walk of his life. Each step echoes with Minjun’s sobs, and each beat of his heart synchronizes with the distant thumps of the bass drum from the stage. Behind the curtains, the crowd's roar is deafening, a stark contrast to the quiet, tearful goodbye he had just endured. Minho takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to gather his thoughts. Jisung gently takes his hand, Chan squeezes his shoulder, and Felix straightens his jacket. Minho's eyes flutter back open as the music starts, and he tries to push everything else away. He needs to focus.

You hold Minjun closer, feeling his little heart beating against your own. His sobs begin to subside, his breath evening out as he clutches his bunny tightly. The stuffed toy seems to offer him the comfort he seeks, his tiny fingers threading through its soft fur.

You rock gently, humming a tune that you've noticed often calms him down. The melody is simple yet soothing, and as you continue, Minjun's grip relaxes. His eyes, puffy and red from crying, start to close. It’s moments like these, where the world slows down, that remind you why you cherish your role so much—not just as a caregiver but as a steady presence in this little one's life. You would've never thought you'd enjoy looking after a kid this much.

Around you, the room is scattered with signs of Minho and his friends' hurried exit. Costumes hang on racks, makeup kits are left open, and a few sheets of music flutter slightly from a nearby air vent. It's a world of glamour and chaos mixed with those quiet moments you share with Minjun.

Minho’s life, a blend of public performances and private moments like these, paints a vivid picture of the sacrifices and joys of his career. As you adjust Minjun in your arms, preparing to sit down with him until he falls asleep, you think about the pressure Minho faces. It's not just about being a performer but also being a father and a friend—balancing each role under the watchful eyes of the public and his friends.

Outside, you hear the faint sound of the crowd, a rumbling wave of excitement for the show about to start. It's a sound you've grown accustomed to, down to the lights, music, and energy that Minho will soon be enveloped in. Yet here, in the quiet room with Minjun finally drifting to sleep, the noise seems worlds away.

Your thoughts drift to Minho and the stress practically dripping off his body. You understand his dilemma. Being a parent is challenging enough without the added pressures of a demanding career. Minho's struggle to maintain a semblance of normalcy for Minjun while meeting the expectations of his career is a tightrope walk that few can comprehend fully.

As Minjun's breaths deepen, indicating he's fallen asleep, you carefully adjust him on your chest. You ensure his favorite bunny is tucked beside him and gently pull a small blanket over his little body to keep him warm.

This tranquility is what you hope to provide for Minho as well—a sense of peace amidst the storm of his responsibilities. As the caregiver, your role extends beyond just watching over Minjun. It's about offering both father and son the assurance that they are not alone in this journey, and you can tell Minho needs it more with every passing day.

With Minjun settled, you step out of the room to catch a glimpse of the show on a monitor in the hallway. Minho is on stage now, his presence magnetic, pulling the audience into his performance. The contrast between the father you saw earlier and the performer now captivating the crowd is stark. Yet, it's this duality that defines him.

As you watch, you feel a sense of pride in Minho’s resilience and determination. It reinforces your commitment to support him in any way you can. When the show ends, you know he'll return, exhausted but fulfilled, eager to hear that Minjun was fine, that in his absence, everything was okay.

This is your world as much as it is theirs—a world of late nights and lullabies, of cheers and tears. It's a delicate balance. As the crowd’s applause echoes down the hallway, blending with the soft sounds of Minjun's peaceful sleep, you smile to yourself, ready for when Minho returns, ready to reassure him that everything is indeed fine.

Minho is the first one to return, a relieved smile covering his lips as he sees his son peacefully asleep on your chest. “You're an angel,” he breathes out, collapsing on the sofa next to you and gently fondling his son’s hair. “He didn't stop crying for an hour, I was about not to perform tonight.”

“All he needed was some peace and his favorite plushie,” you chuckle softly. “Also, he was very tired from all the crying, so that probably did the trick.”

Minho laughs weakly and shakes his head. “You handle him so much better than I do.”

“It's basically my job now,” you tell him. “Also, you were stressed and freaking out. He can sense that and it probably didn't help him calm down,” you say softly. “Not that it's your fault, everyone would have been.”

Minho hums gently and studies your face for a moment. He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to express how much it means to him to be able to trust someone with his little boy. “You know what he calls his favorite plushie?”

“He didn't tell me yet,” you shake your head, frowning at him curiously.

“He calls him Y/nnie,” he says with a tired smile, watching your expression change to one of surprise and joy. “You mean a lot to him, so I'm glad you don't mind taking care of him.”

“Oh,” you nod in surprise. “That's sweet.”

“I thought you'd like to know that,” Minho hums before pushing himself up. “I should go and take a shower. I'll come get him after.”

“No rush,” you assure him kindly.

The others are quiet whenever they have to get something in the room and leave quickly. Chan quietly thanks you for getting here on such short notice and saving the day, which you wave off with a gentle smile.

Minho shuffles back inside a little later, wearing a comfy sweater and matching sweatpants. His fluffy hair falls freely around his face. He grabs his bag from a chair and fumbles for his phone to call one of their drivers.

“I can take you back, I'm driving there anyway,” you tell him, and he drops his phone back into the bag with a thankful smile. “You got everything?” you ask, and Minho nods, grabbing his glasses from the table. He puts them on, running his hand through his hair tiredly, and makes his way back over to you.

Minho reaches for Minjun, craving to hold his little boy again, and gently lifts him up. Minjun stirs in his sleep, and Minho quickly nestles him against his chest, soothingly fondling his hair.

“Daddy,” he mumbles drowsily, little hand curling up against his neck.

“I'm here, baby,” he says softly and kisses his head. “Go back to sleep.”

The sight of Minho like this, looking so soft and vulnerable with his sweet boy resting against his chest stirs something in you you can't really explain. A sudden urge to take care of both of them overwhelms you, and your eyes trace Minho's features. You know he's pretty, he's a visual for a reason and still, you're stunned by how beautiful he gets in moments like these.

The door opens, and Minho turns a little, meeting Chan's caring expression with a tired smile. “Everything alright?” he checks in, making sure Minho is okay after this rough night.

“Yeah,” Minho assures him gently. “We're okay.”

“You did well today, Min,” Chan tells him warmly and gently squeezes his shoulder.

“Thanks, hyung,” he says genuinely.

“Thank you again, Y/n, I wouldn't have called if there had been another way,” Chan apologizes again.

“I know,” you assure him. “I didn't mind, if you need me, I'm here,” you tell them and get up.

“You should get some rest. Do you need a driver?” Chan asks, and Minho gently shakes his head.

“Y/nnie said he'd take us,” he tells him, and Chan hums agreeingly.

“Alright then,” Chan nods before grabbing his own things and waving goodbye.

Minho exhales softly and shifts on his feet, feeling the intensity of the concert creeping up on him. His legs hurt, and his arms are tired, but he doesn't want to let go of him yet. If someone asked him to go to sleep right here he could without a second thought. He carefully tilts his head and his neck cracks at the movement. For a second, pain tints his features, and you frown at him.

“You're okay?” you ask gently, already grabbing your stuff and his bag.

“Mhm,” he hums, gently swaying from side to side to keep Minjun asleep. “Just exhausted…and everything hurts.”

“You definitely need some rest,” you respond gently, adjusting his bag on your shoulder. “Let’s get you both home.”

Minho nods gratefully, his gaze lingering on Minjun’s peaceful face as they follow you out of the room. The walk to the car is quiet, with only the occasional whisper of wind and the distant sound of the city at night. Once Minho settles Minjun into the car seat, he collapses into the passenger seat with a sigh of relief.

The drive is smooth and uneventful. You keep the radio off, allowing the silence to settle comfortably around you, broken only by Minjun's gentle breathing in the backseat. Minho’s head leans against the window, eyes closed, but you can tell he isn’t really asleep; he is just resting, processing the day.

“Y/nnie,” Minho finally speaks, his voice quiet in the dark car. “I really can’t thank you enough. Not just for tonight, but for everything. You’ve become… a lot more than just an assistant to us.”

Your heart warms at his words, and you glance at him briefly before focusing back on the road. “I’m glad to be here, Minho. You and Minjun mean a lot to me, too.”

A small smile tugs at Minho’s lips. “I'm lucky to have you,” he murmurs, his voice laced with fatigue. You can't help the warmth spreading through you at his words. If there's one thing you've learned in the years of working for him, then it's that he’s completely honest when he's tired.

As you reach the hotel, you help him gather everything and support him as he carefully lifts Minjun, who mumbles sleepily but doesn’t wake. Minho leans against the wall of the elevator, eyes closed as he fights falling asleep on the spot. He readjusts his grip around Minjun, burying his nose in his hair, and breathes calmly.

You search for Minho's keycard for the room and gently guide him down the hallway, opening the door for him. You stop there, and Minho turns around inside, flashing you a tired smile. “Come in for a moment?” he asks gently.

“It's fine, really,” you assure him.

“Let me at least make you some tea, please?” he asks, and you can tell he's trying to give you something back for today. You can't deny him that.

“Okay,” you nod and step inside, pulling the door closed. You follow Minho inside, and he tells you to drop his bag somewhere next to the bed.

Minho carefully puts Minjun down, tucking him in. He smooths his hair back and plants a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Goodnight, baby,” he whispers.

Minho quickly makes you both some tea and hands you a cup. “You should get some sleep too,” you suggest as you walk towards the small living room area, where Minho has slumped onto the couch.

“Just a few minutes,” Minho says, his eyes already closing. “I’m too tired to move.”

You sit down next to him and gently ease the cup from his hands, not wanting him to burn himself by accident. “Min,” you say gently as he tilts to the side, body growing heavy against you. “You should really get some sleep.”

“Thanks for tonight, Y/nnie,” Minho whispers as you give up the fight and let him rest his head on your shoulder.

“It’s no problem, really,” you reassure him. You pause, considering your next words. “Minho, you’re doing an amazing job with him. I hope you know that.”

Minho smiles weakly. “I’m trying. It’s hard to know if I’m doing enough, you know?”

“You are. More than enough,” you tell him kindly.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation... or maybe it’s more of an apology for tonight,” Minho mumbles sleepily.

“There's no need, I promise,” you tell him, but Minho shakes his head.

“I hate that my work pulls me away from Minjun,” he starts, his voice tinged with frustration. “And nights like tonight make it all feel ten times heavier. I worry about the effect it’s having on him.”

“You’re doing the best you can,” you reassure him. “And it’s clear to everyone, especially Minjun, how much you love him. He knows, Minho, how much you care.”

Minho nods, taking a deep breath. “Thanks, Y/nnie. I... sometimes I just need to hear that. It gets a bit overwhelming trying to balance everything. And tonight, seeing him so upset, I felt like I was failing him.”

“You’re not failing him,” you say firmly. “Every single time he looks at you, he does so with so much love. That’s not failure.”

Minho pulls back his head and looks at you drowsily, a sincere smile breaking through his exhaustion. “I’m really glad you’re here. Not just for Minjun, but for me too.”

“I told you the first day we met I'm here to make your life easier,” you tell him gently. “It doesn't matter if that's by planning your week or taking care of the little one.”

“He really loves you, I hope you know that,” he tells you and swallows at the joy in your eyes. “I… never mind,” he shakes his head and rubs his face tiredly, taking off his glasses. “I should get some sleep before I keep on rambling and keep you up.”

“You should,” you giggle. “I'll let myself out.”

“Goodnight, Y/nnie,” he says softly.

“Goodnight, Minho,” you say and decide it's your time to leave.

Minho drags himself to bed, crawling under the covers and joining his baby. He smiles as Minjun wakes up and crawls on his chest, getting comfortable there.

“Missed you, daddy,” he says softly.

“Missed you too, dumpling,” he says fondly and kisses his head. “Let's sleep now, yeah?” he asks, already drifting off to sleep.

“Y/nnie?” he asks.

“Y/nnie's in his room,” Minho answers and squints at him as his son shuffles off him and searches the bed. “Minjunnie,” he groans softly and turns onto his side.

His son makes a succeeding noise and shoves his little bunny into Minho's face. “Y/nnie!”

“Oh, I should've known that,” he laughs at himself before pulling him into a hug. “Come here now, yeah? Daddy's tired, baby.”

“Story?” he asks and Minho closes his eyes in defeat at the soft, tiny voice of his son.

“There once was a little boy. He was really tired, and his daddy was also very tired. They went to bed. The little boy fell asleep. The end,” he says and Minjun makes a protesting little noise.

“Stupid, daddy,” he laughs.

“Yeah, stupid,” he giggles and plants a few kisses all over his son's adorable little face.

“Story, please?” he giggles, scrunching his little nose at his father's sudden love attack.

Minho smiles, his exhaustion seeping away slightly in the joy of the moment. "Alright, my love, one story, but then it's really time to sleep," he says, adjusting himself so Minjun is comfortably nestled against his side, their heads sharing a pillow.

"Okay, daddy," Minjun agrees eagerly, his eyes wide with the anticipation of a bedtime story.

"Once upon a time," Minho begins, his voice soft and melodious, perfect for a bedtime tale, "in a faraway land, there was a brave little knight named Minjun."

"Like me!" Minjun interrupts with a giggle, his small fingers playing with Minho's hand.

"Yes, just like you," Minho confirms with a grin. "Minjun was the bravest knight in all the lands, and he had a magical friend, a dragon named Sparky."

"Dragon!" Minjun exclaims, delighted. "Does he breathe fire?"

"He does," Minho nods, "but Sparky only breathes fire when he needs to protect the kingdom. Most of the time, he's very gentle and loves to play."

Minjun listens intently, his imagination painting the scenes as his father describes them. "One day," Minho continues, "the kingdom faced great danger. A mysterious fog covered the land, making everyone feel very sleepy and lazy."

“What's fog, daddy?” he asks, his voice sounding a little sleepy by now.

“You know when it's cold, or it rains, and the air is all gray and heavy?” he asks, and Minjun nods.

“Fog is stupid,” he declares, making Minho bite back a laugh.

"So no one wanted to play or work," Minho adds, noticing Minjun's concerned frown. "Minjun and Sparky had to find the cause of the fog and save the kingdom."

"How did they do it?" Minjun asks, his voice filled with worry for the characters.

"Well," Minho says, drawing out the suspense, "they went on a grand adventure. They traveled through the Enchanted Forest, across the Silver Mountains, and finally to Crystal Lake, where the fog was thickest. They found out that the fog came from a sleeping spell by a lonely wizard who just wanted some friends," Minho explains. "Minjun offered to be the wizard's friend if he would lift the spell."

"Did he do it?" Minjun's eyes are hopeful, his small body tense with excitement.

"Yes, he did," Minho smiles. "The wizard was so happy to have a friend that he not only lifted the spell but also promised to use his magic for good. Together, they returned to the kingdom, heroes who had saved the day."

Minjun yawns, snuggling closer to his father, his eyelids heavy. "I like Minjun. He's nice," he mumbles sleepily.

"He is," Minho agrees, his voice a whisper now. "Just like you, my brave little boy."

As Minjun's breaths even out into the steady rhythm of sleep, Minho continues to hold him close. The story's end morphs into a quiet night. He lies there in the darkness, feeling the weight of his son's trust and love, anchoring him more firmly than anything else could.

In the silence of the room, with Minjun's soft snores as the only sound, Minho reflects on the day. The responsibilities of his career, the bright lights of the stage, and the cheers of the crowd—all of it fades into the background when contrasted with the peaceful, sleeping form of his son. Here, in the dim glow of the nightlight, Minho finds his truest joy.

He whispers a promise into the darkness, a vow to always return to this, to Minjun, no matter where his life takes him. "Always back to you," he murmurs, gently kissing Minjun's forehead. With that promise cradling his heart, Minho allows himself to drift off to sleep.

PART TWO

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

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When you get into bed that night, you don’t face him. Rolling over to stare out the window instead.

He really didn’t think that you’d be this mad about it. More than anything, Minho thought it was a silly joke. Like ha ha ha, Seungmin weaseled his way into dressing his daughter as a dog. Did he do that with Jisung’s daughter, too? Changbin’s boys? It’s so in character that it was easy to just believe it.

But he can tell with how you’ve acted with him since he got home — only really talking to your daughter, insisting on doing bath and bed by yourself — it was a stupid thought that he shouldn’t have ran with.

“Hey.” He rolls on his side towards you, a hand on your shoulder. “Come on, talk to me.”

“I’m tired, Minho.” It’s a lie — the bed is shaking with how jittery your legs are.

“I’m not going to drop it.” Minho says plainly. “You know that.”

With a sigh, you sit up, knees to your chest. Not really looking at him and instead fiddling with your sweatshirt. “Fine. It made me mad that you reacted like that to her costume.”

Minho smiles sadly, reaching for your hand. If you keep playing with that thread, you’ll ruin that shirt, and he knows it’s your favorite thing to sleep in as the weather turns. Though reluctant, you let him take your hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated it like a joke—“

“She looked really cute and I thought you would really like it.” There’s a cry catching in your throat, one that you’re desperately trying to swallow down. Minho’s heart shatters when he hears how much it upset you.

Bringing your hand to his lips, he slowly presses his lips to your palm. Peppering them around the hand; the tops, the wrist, over your wedding ring. “She did look very cute.”

“She always looks cute.”

The way you say it, with such a pout, makes Minho giggle a little. He shuffles in the bed, lying his head on your knees to get a better look at you. “It’s because she looks like you.”

Ah, there you go. The corners of your lips peeking up before you remember why you’re so upset. “Stop with that cheesy bullshit—“

“It’s true! If she looked like me…sheesh.”

You move too quick for him to catch, grabbing the pillow you’re propped up on and hitting him with it. Minho tries to pull it from your hands, ready for revenge, but you won’t give.

“Say that again and I’ll hit you HARDER next time.”

“Oooooh, so scary. So big and tough with your pillow, huh?”

Minho gives up on trying to take your pillow.

And grabs one of his own.

///

It’s your turn to walk into a surprise. Less than a week left until Halloween, and there’s your daughter. Sitting in the high chair as her father, your husband, delicately traces lines from her nose.

“What is this?”

While Minho is still, it makes Jisung jump. The baby in his lap crying from the sudden movement. “Sheesh, knock next time.”

Your brows raise. “It’s my? Home? What’s going on here?”

Jisung looks from you to Minho, spinning the baby is his lap around so you can see. A pretty little heart painted on the tip of her nose, teeny whiskers across her face. The costume she’s wearing identical to the one your daughter has on, only a few sizes smaller.

“Doesn’t she look so CUTE?” Jisung is so giddy, cooing as he bounces the baby on his knee. “We wanted her to be a pumpkin, but then Minho came over and said he got her something—“

“We haven’t decided on a costume.” You say sternly, looking at your husband.

“Yet.” Minho’s eyes flick up to you. “You haven’t seen her as a cat yet.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Nothing is going to steer me away from—“

Your heart leaps from your body. Never have you seen something so precious, so tiny. Her nose is pink, the whiskers twisting out to just about her mid cheek. Her eyes light up when she sees you, babbling on and on as she reaches out for you.

“Oh, look at you.” You coo, quickly gathering her in your arms. She giggles, snuggling into your shoulder. Her little headband brushes softly against your neck. Oh, you could cry.

Minho looks a little too smug for your liking. “So what were you saying about not steering you—“

“Shut up.”

///

“You really liked the cat costume—“

“But, Min, the dog—“

“She just looks so cute as a cat. Come on, baby, you have to see it.”

“And she doesn’t look cute as a dog?”

“Of course she does! I’m just saying—“

Jisung is in his office, windows shut, and he can still hear the two of your bickering from the other side of the fence. There’s no hard feelings there, just the two of you are too stubborn to give up. Cat, dog. Dog, cat. Over and over and over—

Sighing, he pushes himself up from his computer chair. Grabbing the car keys from his bag and leaving with a quick goodbye kiss to his partner and daughter. Just a teeny little errand.

You answer the door, Minho meowing obnoxiously somewhere inside the house. “Hey, Jisung—“

“It’s my turn to pick.” He forces a plastic bag in your hand before turning around and leaving. Even after you call after him, your voice fading as he walks the short distance back to your house.

You open the bag, the costume still perfectly in its wrapper. Soft, tan fur decorates the onesie. A hood to cover her teeny little head and keep her warm.

You throw it to the side. A lion, really? What a silly choice, so basic. It’s her first halloween, you’re not going to waste it on something like this.

///

She went as a lion.