#partypartyeah

requested by @partypartyyeah

Jungwon never thought a box of hair dye could break his heart.

He’d stood in the bathroom last night, towel draped around his shoulders, watching the blonde swirl down the drain. The black that replaced it felt grounding—him. He’d smiled at his reflection, excited to see how his daughter would grab at it in the morning like she always did, little fists pulling at his strands until he laughed.

But the moment she saw him, her face crumpled.

“Bug, it’s me,” Jungwon had whispered, reaching out. But instead of the gummy grin she usually gave, she scrambled away from him in her playpen, pressing herself against the mesh wall like he was a stranger.

The sound of her wail has been echoing in his chest ever since.

The first day is full of false hope. Every time he speaks, she perks up, recognizing his voice. But the second she looks at him, she sees him—dark hair, sharper features without the warmth of gold—and she cries until you scoop her up.

And suddenly, the Velcro baby clinging to his hoodie strings won’t touch him.

The second day, Jungwon doesn’t even try as much. He lingers in doorways while you carry her on your hip, his arms twitching with the urge to reach for her, but held back by the memory of her tears. He still does the quiet dad things—sterilizes bottles, folds tiny laundry, warms up her purees—but the silence in the house feels wrong without her squeals whenever he crouches down to play.

That night, you find him in the nursery long after she’s asleep, leaning over the crib with his hand hovering above her back but not quite touching.

“She really doesn’t want me,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Do you think she… forgot me?”

You shake your head instantly, sliding your arms around his waist. “She knows you. She needs to adjust. You’re her whole world, Won. One box of dye isn’t going to change that forever.”

He nods, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

By the third day, he’s convinced he broke something. He sits on the living room rug, toy blocks scattered in front of him. He doesn’t notice how his daughter crawls toward him at first—slowly, cautiously, like she’s studying him again.

When he finally looks up, their eyes meet.

“Hey, bug,” he breathes, not daring to move.

She freezes. Jungwon holds still, too, afraid of scaring her back into your arms. Then, with the tiniest whimper, she pushes herself across the rug and climbs clumsily into his lap.

It’s shaky at first—like she isn’t sure she’s making the right choice—but when his hands cup her gently and she hears his heartbeat under his hoodie, she sighs. Her little fingers tug at his black strands, testing them.

And for the first time in three days, she doesn’t cry.

Jungwon lets out a shaky laugh that’s half a sob, pressing kisses all over her cheeks while she squirms against him.

“There you are,” he whispers, eyes stinging. “Dada’s right here. I’ve been here the whole time.”

From across the room, you smile, heart aching and soft. Because she’s his Velcro baby again, glued to him, black hair or not.

It just took her a little longer to believe it.

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