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Seungcheol was dreaming about silence.
Blessed, golden silence. No shouting. No sticky fingers. No Lego blocks underfoot. Just him, a quiet room, and the sweet embrace of uninterrupted—
YANK.
"WAKE UP GRUMPUS!"
Pain. Screaming. Chaos.
Seungcheol's eyes snapped open just in time to see a bunch of frizzy brown hair, a violently determined toddler face and one tiny hand locked in a death grip on his scalp.
"Seungkwan," he groaned. "You're ripping my soul out through my hairline."
"WAKE UP!" Seungkwan screamed again. This time bouncing on Seungcheol's stomach. "It's Thursday! You said we get pancakes today!"
"I said that last Thursday" Seungcheol sighed, already defeated. "You can't hold me accountable for something I said in my sleep deprived state."
"I CAN. I WILL."
Of course he could. This child came out of Jeonghan. He was built to argue.
With a long, pain consumed growling groan, Seungcheol rolled out of bed, barely catching himself from face-planting, only to find Seungkwan now latched to his leg like a determined koala.
"I'm not letting go of you until you make me my pancakes!" he said. "You belong to me now!"
"Fantastic."
He shuffled toward the kitchen, dragging thirty pounds of tiny tyrant on one leg, hair sticking up in five directions, and a look in his eyes that said I have made every mistake that led me here, and I regret them all.
And then he heard it.
The sound of hell.
"My life is an eeeeegg~ my life is an EGG~ my my my my MY MY—"
Seungcheol turned the corner of the room and found his husband. The love of his life.
He was in the kitchen wearing duck-print pajama pants, an apron that said "Kiss the Cook (He's Hot)" , and nothing else. Hair fluffy. Skin glowing. Stirring pancake batter like he wasn't absolutely butchering an imaginary K-pop track.
And Seungcheol? Despite the toddler dragging behind him and the mental exhaustion of fatherhood etched into his soul?
He smiled. Because damn it! Jeonghan somehow looked good every damn day.
"You're glowing." Seungcheol muttered stepping forward, sleep still clinging to his voice. "How are you glowing at—" he glanced at the clock, "—7:12 a.m.?"
"I'm powered by love, carbs, and pure delusion," Jeonghan chirped spinning with a wink. "Also, Chan said he's marrying me today, so I need to look good for my groom."
"Excuse me?" Seungcheol blinked.
As if summoned, a blur of movement darted into view. Chan, tiny and determined, launched his two year old self between them and SLAPPED Seungcheol's thigh with his chubby little hand.
"Mine," he said, deadly serious, pointing at Jeonghan.
Seungcheol stared. "Did you just slap me?"
Chan slapped him again. Harder this time. "Mine!"
"Oh god" Seungcheol groaned low, "you have got to be kidding me."
Jeonghan burst into laughter. "He's very possessive. He proposed to me with a gummy bear this morning."
"You ate it," Chan accused, betrayal plastered across his baby face.
"I was hungry, sweetheart," Jeonghan cooed, ruffling his hair.
Seungcheol narrowed his eyes at the tiny devil. "He's two. He doesn't even know how taxes work. How is he trying to steal my spouse?"
Chan stuck out his tongue and hit him again for good measure.
"I'm being abused," Seungcheol deadpanned. "By my own offspring."
Jeonghan only hummed as he poured pancake batter into the pan. He then leaned up to press a short sweet kiss to Seungcheol's cheek. "There, your daily affection. Now go start your laptop before your boss murders you."
Chan immediately started sobbing.
Seungcheol sighed, unsurprised. "What now?"
"He saw the kiss," Jeonghan said sympathetically, flipping a pancake. "He's grieving."
"Mamaaa," Chan wailed flopping to the floor like a sluggish worm. "No kiss Appa! Only kiss meeeeeee!"
Before Seungcheol could try and explain polyamory is not toddler-friendly, Seungkwan—still attached to his leg—suddenly cleared his throat and spoke in a terrifyingly familiar tone.
"Cheollie, when are you getting your life together? You didn't even shower this morning. Do you want to die alone?"
Seungcheol froze. "Are you... are you impersonating my mother?"
Jeonghan snorted.
"She says it a lot," Seungkwan said proudly.
Seungcheol turned to the stove, watching the love of his life sing off-key about eggs while their youngest plotted to replace him and the eldest role-played emotional trauma.
He rubbed his eyes and sighed.
"This is going to be a long day."
—
For a brief, glittering moment in time—roughly 46 minutes—Seungcheol remembered what it felt like to be a functioning adult.
Jeonghan had mercifully taken both children out ("I'm going to 'mysterious errands,' don't wait up," he'd said, kissing Seungcheol's forehead like a soldier heading off to war), and the apartment fell into something almost sacred:
Silence.
Seungcheol sipped his coffee hot, logged into his meeting on time, and even finished a whole report without anyone slapping him, crying, or singing songs about egg-based existentialism.
He leaned back in his chair and sighed, the corners of his mouth tugging up slightly.
"Peace," he whispered to himself, like it was a lover he hadn't seen in years. "Glorious, beautiful—"
BANG.
The front door slammed open like they were being raided by chaos itself.
In walked Jeonghan.
Wearing a sparkly pink tiara and oversized black sunglasses like some kind of delusional pop star on a grocery run.
In one arm, he held Chan, dead asleep, drooling slightly, cradled like a precious handbag. In the other hand, he was dragging a tiny glitter-covered shopping bag that said 'WORLD'S BEST MOM WHO FIGHTS' in comic sans.
Trailing behind him?
Seungkwan.
Wearing a superhero cape and currently rolling into the house like he'd been trained by professional stuntmen. He did one dramatic barrel roll, popped up on his feet, threw his arms in the air, and screamed, "I'M ALIVE!!!"
Seungcheol didn't move. Didn't blink.
He just stared.
"Care to explain?" he asked slowly, like he already regretted it.
Jeonghan didn't even pause. "Nope." he said cheerfully, walking right past him and tossing his tiara onto the couch. "It's better if you don't know."
Seungcheol's eye twitched. "Jeonghan—"
But Jeonghan had already disappeared into the kitchen, singing a new song.
Seungcheol looked down as Seungkwan began dumping glittery stickers onto the floor.
He let out a long, tired sigh.
There was one universal truth Seungcheol had learned the moment Seungkwan was born—possibly even before the kid took his first breath:
Jeonghan is not a normal mom.
Jeonghan is a psycho.
A loveable, terrifying, tiara-wearing psycho who somehow had infinite energy, chaos immunity, and the ability to create warzones in broad daylight with nothing but sugar and sass.
Seungcheol pinched the bridge of his nose.
Peace was dead.
Buried. Cremated. Tossed into the ocean.
And in its place stood his glitter-covered family, ready to ruin his schedule and possibly set something on fire before lunch.
"Goodbye, peace," he muttered to himself.
"Did you say something Cheollie?" Jeonghan called from the kitchen.
"Nope." Seungcheol said flatly, slumping into his chair. "Just updating my will."
By the time the sun dipped behind the horizon, Seungcheol was... done.
Just done.
Not in the dramatic, ‘I need a vacation’ way. More like the quiet, ‘I am being held together by caffeine and the will of God’ kind of done.
His once-pristine silk shirt? Now branded with a blue crayon sketch of what Seungkwan proudly claimed was "a majestic unicorn daddy, with stinky breath."
Chan had spent the entire day glued to Jeonghan's hip like an obsessive little duckling. Every time Seungcheol so much as stepped too close, Chan would burst into tears like his father was trying to kidnap his husband.
And Jeonghan? Jeonghan was—unsurprisingly—thriving.
Bouncing around the house. Dancing in the kitchen. Singing a horrifyingly catchy tune called "My Socks Are Sentient (And They Know My Secrets)." Somehow still managing to cook, clean, play tea party, and look like a damn vision while doing it.
Seungcheol had long since stopped questioning it.
Now, it was bedtime.
Which meant emotional vulnerability was peaking, the kids were buzzing on leftover pancake energy, and Jeonghan was currently perched on their bed, wearing a ridiculous fluffy robe and holding the boys hostage with a bedtime story.
"—and then the beautiful, brave, emotionally complex princess," Jeonghan said, dramatically flipping invisible hair over his shoulder, "escaped the tower using nothing but glitter glue, a spatula, and sheer bisexual rage!"
Seungkwan gasped. "WHAT HAPPENED TO THE DRAGON?!"
Jeonghan grinned. "Oh, the Grumpus Dragon Prince? He tried to stop her. He grumbled. He folded laundry aggressively. He had one emotional breakdown in the bathtub—"
"I did not," Seungcheol muttered from the doorway.
"—but then he realized he loved the princess more than he hated morning people. So he gave her a piggyback ride to freedom, and they kissed at the top of the hill while their tiny dragon kids chanted 'KISS KISS KISS.'"
Seungcheol watched the chaos unfold with a soft, tired smile.
The kids were howling with laughter, curled into Jeonghan's sides like sleepy little kittens. Chan was drooling on Jeonghan's thigh. Seungkwan was still trying to physically re-enact the story, nearly kicking his own face.
And Jeonghan?
God.
That man. With his fluffy robe and ridiculous bedtime tales. Laughing softly, cheeks glowing, hair a mess from being tugged at all day.
Seungcheol felt it hit him like a truck.
God, I'm lucky.
He moved toward the bed, quietly—carefully. By the time he reached them, both kids were asleep on top of Jeonghan, a soft little pile of limbs and snores.
Jeonghan's head was drooping, eyelids fluttering shut.
Seungcheol knelt beside the bed and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. "You did well today," he murmured.
Jeonghan cracked one eye open and gave him a drowsy smile. "You too, Grumpus."
He leaned in, kissed Seungcheol's cheek, then let his head fall back with a sigh.
Within seconds, they were all asleep—two babies snoring, Jeonghan mumbling nonsense, the room finally quiet.
Seungcheol slid into bed beside them, heart full, brain fried, soul content.
Everything was chaos.
And everything was perfect.
Every day was a new day. Every day was beautiful in its own completely unhinged, sugar-fueled way.
Except...
Except, somewhere around 3:00 a.m., Seungcheol was jolted awake by the sound of Jeonghan turning over and muttering softly in his sleep:
"...my life is an egg... egg egg egg..."
Seungcheol stared at the ceiling.
"Oh my god," he whispered.
His life is an egg.
And it's cooked.