Archive of Our Own

Their home felt different now.

Not just because of the soft clutter that had colonized every surface—burp cloths draped like forgotten scarves over the couch, pacifiers nested inside old mug holders, diapers stuffed in drawers that used to hold chargers and tangled headphones. It wasn’t the mess, really. It was the stillness beneath the noise. Like the entire apartment had exhaled, shifting its bones to make room for something new. Something small. Something sacred.

Two weeks.

It had only been two weeks since they brought Jongsoo home, but time had unraveled in strange and beautiful ways. The clocks didn’t tick in minutes anymore—they ticked in cries, in coos, in half-hour naps and bottle feedings, in lullabies that blurred at the edges because they were too tired to remember the second verse. And yet, the world felt fuller than it ever had.

Hyunjin, the self-declared chaos child turned master of spreadsheets, had always clung to structure like a lifeline. Calendars, alarms, meal preps color-coded within an inch of their lives—he needed the illusion of control to breathe. But parenthood had laughed in his face. Jongsoo didn’t care about his alarms. Jongsoo pooped on his schedule. Jongsoo cried when he was five minutes into a shower, when the milk was only halfway warmed, when Hyunjin had just sat down to answer emails. And yet—there was joy. A quiet, golden kind of joy. The kind that made him tear up watching his baby sleep with his little arms raised like he was surrendering to a dream. The kind that made every chaotic day worth it. He had never loved this hard. Or this wholly. And it showed in the way his tired hands cupped Jongsoo’s head. In the softness that bled into his voice when he whispered, “Hi, baby,” like it was still a miracle every single time.

Changbin, on the other hand, had always been the grounding force. Steady. Constant. The type to double-check the locks at night, to keep snacks in every bag, to be everyone’s first emergency call. But fatherhood split him wide open. It made him feel fragile in ways he didn’t know how to articulate. Folding onesies left him misty-eyed. The smell of baby shampoo got caught in his throat. And once—just once—he spilled a bottle of formula and cried so hard he scared himself. Not because of the cleanup. But because in that moment, it felt like failure. Like he’d fumbled something precious. It wasn’t even rational, but that’s what made it real. Hyunjin had come to him then, wrapped him up in a sleepy hug and whispered, “We’re figuring it out. Together.” And it was enough. More than enough. They didn’t need to be perfect. They just needed to show up. To try. To love with everything they had—and they did. Oh, they did.

They took two weeks for themselves. Two weeks of blur and bloom. Of sleepless nights and quiet dawns. Of forehead kisses exchanged over warm bottles and gentle coos in the dark. Of learning how to be fathers not from books, not from classes, but from the way Jongsoo clutched their fingers like lifelines and blinked up at them like they were his entire universe.

Now, they weren’t perfect. Not even close. They still cried sometimes from exhaustion. Still forgot where they put things. Still had moments of doubt that curled up in their chests when the baby wouldn’t stop crying and Google offered more panic than solutions. But they were steady. Steadier. And brave. Brave enough to open their door.

It was time to introduce Jongsoo to the people who already loved him from afar—their family, their ride-or-dies, the loudest, messiest, most painfully wonderful group of people either of them had ever known.

And heaven help them… because chaos? Chaos is coming.

They began with family.

It felt right. Before the friend group chaos, before the screams and squeals and overly dramatic uncles barged through their doors—this part was sacred. A soft prelude to the storm. And so, one rainy morning, Jongsoo tucked safely in Hyunjin’s arms and swaddled in his duck-print blanket, they opened the laptop and made the first call.

Hyunjin’s parents were the first to pick up—grainy connection, dim lighting, and all. But none of it mattered. Because the moment his mother’s face appeared onscreen, her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. His father tried to play it cool, nodding once as if greeting a business associate, but his Adam’s apple bobbed too hard to ignore.

And then Hyunjin adjusted the camera. Tilted it down just enough for them to see the tiniest peek of their grandson—flushed cheeks, wrinkled hands, little sock-covered feet peeking out from his bundled nest.

His mother gasped, hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my god,” she whispered, already crying. “Is this… is this really our grandson?”

Hyunjin blinked through his own tears, nodding softly. “This is Jongsoo.”

His father let out a startled, wet laugh. “We’re flying back the first chance we get. I want to hold him before he starts school!”

Changbin laughed from beside him, reaching up to quickly wipe his eyes before passing the laptop to his side. “You’ll meet him soon. He’s already got that sleepy stare, though—you’ll have to fight for his attention.”

They switched calls after a while.

Changbin’s parents answered a beat later—his mom already looking suspicious, like she could sense something was about to shatter her heart in the best way. And it did. Because the second she saw her son holding a baby, she gasped and burst into sobs. Loud, happy sobs, the kind that made Jongsoo’s eyes flutter open in mild alarm. Changbin’s dad kept clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses, muttering about the screen being blurry—but even through the pixels, his watery smile gave him away.

Then came the last call of the morning—Chaemin, Changbin’s older sister. She picked up on the first ring. And, as if on cue, Jongsoo sneezed. A dainty, squeaky kind of sneeze that barely moved his head but seemed to shake the world.

“OH MY GOD, IS THAT HIM?!” she shrieked, voice peaking through the speakers like a banshee of joy. “BABY JONGSOO!! Oh my god—oh my god—he sneezed like a plushie—”

In the background, her husband yelled congratulations!, while their daughter Sua—still in a cartoon onesie with wild bedhead—bolted into view and screamed with her whole chest, “I’M A BIG SISTER NOW!!”

Hyunjin tried to gently correct her, voice warm and amused quite teasing, “Technically, sweetie, cousins aren’t—”

“Whatever, I’m still claiming him!” Sua declared, arms crossed and proud. “He’s ours now!”

The screen was chaos. But it was the kind of chaos that made something deep in Changbin and Hyunjin’s chests unfurl. Their families—who had loved them both through every chapter—now loved this new chapter just as fiercely. They sent promises to visit, to send blankets and bibs and care packages and letters for when Jongsoo grew older. Every pixel of the screen pulsed with warmth. With joy. With something real.

And when the calls ended, when the last farewell echoed and the laptop finally closed with a soft click, Hyunjin looked over at Changbin with a teary smile.

“They love him,” he said.

Changbin reached for his hand and squeezed. “He’s already so loved.”

It felt like a blessing. A benediction. A reminder that even in this new, trembling version of life—where nothing was certain except diapers and sleepless nights—they weren’t alone.

Their son wasn’t just theirs.

He was already part of something bigger.

And now… it was time to let the rest of the circus in.

Later that night—armed with two cups of lukewarm coffee, one still-damp burp cloth over Changbin’s shoulder, and a carefully swaddled Jongsoo snuggled against Hyunjin’s chest—they braced themselves for the next wave.

Not of diapers or feeding.

But of absolute, unrelenting emotional warfare.

A video call with their best friends.

Hyunjin barely had time to center the screen before Felix’s face exploded onto the monitor, lighting up the entire room with pixelated chaos with Chan looking like an excited overgrown puppy beside him. “LET ME SEE MY NEPHEW RIGHT NOW!” he screeched, the pitch high enough to startle the kitchen lights into flickering.

Jeongin and Jisung’s camera was sideways—displaying mostly their ceiling and one frantic elbow—but Jisung’s sobbing was unmistakable. Loud. Wet. Unhinged. “HYUNJINIEEEE—YOU—YOU HAVE A WHOLE BABY,” he wailed. “I’M GONNA VOMIT FROM JOY.”

“Your camera’s upside down,” Hyunjin tried to say, but he was already doubled over in laughter, clutching Jongsoo’s head like a human shock absorber.

Meanwhile, Seungmin peered through the screen with an expression somewhere between confused duck and secret agent. “I’m taking notes,” he said grimly. “I need to know what kind of genes produced that baby.”

Chan—dear, composed, legendary Bang Chan—was already crying. Not soft sniffles. No, he had full-on waterfalls on his cheeks before the call even fully connected. “I didn’t even see his face yet!” he sobbed. “Why is my chest warm? Why is everything glowing? Is this… is this what fatherhood feels like?”

Changbin nearly dropped the laptop. “Hyung, we’re the ones who had the baby—get it together!”

“MOVE CLOSER TO THE CAMERA—HE NEEDS VIRTUAL KISSES!” Jisung screamed again, aggressively mashing at his screen like he could reach through the glass. “LET ME LOVE HIM.”

“Lower the volume before they wake him up,” Changbin hissed, waving one hand toward the monitor like that would reduce the decibel level. “Why are they all screaming—this is worse than Chaemin-noona's delivery.”

“Because you have a baby,” Minho deadpanned half-way lodged behind Seungmin, arms crossed like a disapproving auntie. But even he looked suspiciously glassy-eyed, blinking too much for someone who wasn’t feeling things.

Hyunjin patted Jongsoo’s back rhythmically, amused and already exhausted. And somehow—miraculously—the baby slept through the whole thing. Completely unbothered. The picture of serenity in the face of millennial breakdown.

“He’s so handsome already,” Chan choked, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Hyunjin, Changbin—you’re doing amazing. Seriously. Don’t rush anything. Take your time. We’ll meet him when it’s right.”

Then, Jisung again—because of course it was Jisung—screeched, “OKAY BUT JUST BRING HIM CLOSER I NEED TO BLOW KISSES AT HIS FOREHEAD OR I’LL PERISH.”

Hyunjin, fighting laughter and tears and sleep deprivation all at once, gently shifted Jongsoo toward the camera. The chaos that followed was instant.

Felix started making dramatic finger hearts so fast it looked like he was casting a spell. Jeongin whispered something about promising him a frog-shaped xylophone. Seungmin gave a two-second salute then turned pink and pretended to look away. Jisung kissed the screen with such intensity that his phone nearly fell over. Even Minho—stoic, sarcasm-powered Minho—cleared his throat and solemnly tapped two fingers to his temple before pressing them to the monitor, as if bestowing a psychic blessing.

Hyunjin’s laugh cracked in the middle. Changbin pressed his palm to his mouth.

And in that brief stillness, amidst all the cooing and finger hearts and blown kisses and aggressively unhinged joy, the two new fathers just looked at each other.

A glance full of wonder. Of exhaustion. Of a quiet, stunned kind of bliss.

And underneath it all—the overwhelming, thunderous knowledge that this baby… was theirs.

When the call ended (after six failed goodbyes, a crashed signal, and Jisung screaming “YOU CAN’T HANG UP UNTIL HE GURGLES AT ME”), the apartment returned to its nighttime hum. Plants swayed gently in the window breeze. The soft glow of the laptop screen faded. Jongsoo snuggled deeper into Hyunjin’s chest, the quiet puff of his breathing like the beat of a lullaby.

Hyunjin looked down at him with a smile so tender it almost trembled.

“Jongsoo-yah,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over his cheek, “Did you hear all of that? That was your village.”

Changbin stepped behind him and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. “And they’re already wrapped around your tiny, majestic finger.”

And under that dim apartment light—laced with the residue of laughter and joyful tears and the kind of love that echoed from a hundred kilometers away—it felt like something had been stitched into place.

Their home.

Their son.

Their village.

And just maybe, the beginning of everything.

It started with pictures. Then videos. Then short, tearful calls that often ended with someone forgetting to press "end" because they just wanted to watch Jongsoo blink at the camera for a little longer. But now—now it was real. Two months in, Jongsoo already had an entire fandom and they were finally allowed to see him in person.

But Hyunjin and Changbin didn’t just open the doors right away. There were rules. There was planning. There were disinfectant kits and briefing sessions and—much to Jisung’s horror—a required vaccine update.

“Noona,” Changbin had said nervously when he Facetimed his sister one afternoon, pacing a careful circle around the living room with a list in hand. “I just—there’s a lot of microbes going around, and he’s so small, and we’re not trying to be overly strict, I swear, but we just want to be safe, and—”

“Yah,” Chaemin interrupted gently, already knowing where this was going. “Binnie. Relax.”

He paused. He always did when she used that tone—the calm, elder-sibling one that made him feel like he was five again with a scraped knee and a broken toy in hand.

“Your baby, your rules,” she said simply. “We follow. No questions.”

The quiet weight of her words caught in his throat. He swallowed hard, blinking fast. “Really?”

“Of course, really. Are you forgetting I'm a nurse? Do you think I’d risk my nephew’s health just because I want to squish his cheeks faster? Please. We’ll get everything done. All the clearances, checkups, shots. I'll be the one to compile the list of needed clearances and vaccines, then send it out to everyone.”

She paused trying to suppress her laughter. Changbin was trying so hard to keep his face straight but Chaemin could see his mouth forming his trademark pout and his nose is starting to pinken—a tell-tale sign (she mastered it of course, being his sister and all) that her brother is about to cry. Then her grin slid into her voice, teasing and warm. “Although... you sound like you’re about to cry again.”

“I’m not!” Changbin yelped immediately, even as Hyunjin snorted loudly from where he was burping Jongsoo in the background.

“Yeobo, you literally cried this morning because he held his pacifier longer than ten seconds,” Hyunjin called out.

“That was an achievement!” Changbin yelled back, scandalized. “He gripped it with purpose!”

Chaemin laughed—warm and full-bodied and entirely too fond. “You’re still such a crybaby, huh? I swear, Binnie, you sob louder than Jongsoo these days. Does he even stand a chance with you as his competition?”

Changbin’s face scrunched, torn between indignation and sheepishness. “Why is everyone ganging up on me today? I’m fragile!”

Hyunjin grinned, walking over with the baby still tucked against his shoulder. “Because it’s fun. And because you’re soft. It’s cute.”

“It’s emotional fortitude,” Changbin muttered, trying and failing to look tough as he rubbed at his eyes.

But even through the banter, something tender pulsed beneath it—something only siblings could understand. Chaemin didn’t just see her little brother as a dad now. She saw him as someone who had grown into his heart, who carried it in his arms every night, who lost sleep and gained love in the same breath. And Changbin… well, he saw in her the same fierce protector he’d always had. Someone who would rally beside him, no matter how weird or difficult or overwhelming life got.

That kind of bond didn’t dim with time. It deepened. Rooted.

So when Chaemin finally cooed a loud, dramatic “I love you, Jongsoo-yah~! Tell your daddy to stop crying and let you shine!” through the phone and blew an obnoxiously loud air kiss, Changbin didn’t even argue. He laughed, eyes wet, heart fuller than he knew what to do with.

They were still snickering when Hyunjin’s phone buzzed again—his parents, of course, calling for their nightly dose of digital baby serotonin. It had become routine at this point: a quick peek at Jongsoo, a few giddy questions, and promises of gifts in the mail. Tonight was no different. Except this time, his parents came with news—they’d booked flights to Korea. They’d be arriving next month, just in time for Thanksgiving.

“They want to stay for a few weeks,” Hyunjin explained after the call, eyes wide with a mix of joy and nervousness. “My dad said he’s bringing his guitar. I don’t know what that means.”

“It means we need more snacks,” Changbin deadpanned, already mentally preparing the grocery list.

“And patience,” Hyunjin added. “So much patience.”

But they were smiling. Both of them. Smiling because this—this was what they had been hoping for. Not just safe visits or updated checkups, but moments. The kind that stitched family into daily life. The kind that turned video calls into real hugs and online updates into shared meals. Changbin’s parents and Chaemin’s family had confirmed they’d be flying in too—just after the holiday break.

One by one, the missing pieces were falling into place.

Their village was coming home.

But first: the friends.

Which was to say—the storm.

Because the moment Hyunjin so much as uttered the words, “Okay, you can start visiting soon—” their weekly group video call exploded like a confetti cannon of noise, shrieks, and camera tremors. It was like Stray Kids announced a grand comeback, gay marriage legalization, and unlimited samgyeopsal promos all at once.

Felix screeched so loud his camera blurred. “YOU MEAN IT? IS THIS A PRANK? ARE YOU JOKING? DON’T JOKE ABOUT THESE THINGS, SEO HYUNJIN.”

Jisung banged a pot for dramatic effect. “CHAN-HYUNG, YOU’RE UP FIRST. GO PACK. RIGHT NOW.”

“Wait, why am I first?” Chan asked, voice perfectly calm despite the chaos. “You guys bullied me into this.”

“Don’t lie, hyung,” Jeongin deadpanned. “You’ve had a ‘baby’s first plushie’ gift bag prepared since the second trimester.”

“…It’s embroidered,” Chan muttered, caught in 4K. “But it’s tasteful!”

“WAIT,” Seungmin said loudly, holding up what looked like a bullet journal styled like a CIA operations manual. “Can we all shut up for five seconds? I’ve prepared a chart.”

The call hushed. Which was a miracle.

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes. “What kind of chart.”

Seungmin adjusted imaginary glasses, flipping to a color-coded page. “A visitation schedule. Ordered by date of medical clearance, exposure risk ranking, and proximity to recent childcare training hours logged. I also did allergy screening in case anyone tries to bring snacks.”

Changbin blinked trying to process what Seungmin just said. “I... don’t even know how to respond to that.”

“Wait I made a chart too!” Jisung chimed in, yanking out a spiral notebook—except his was covered in doodles and had the word “Operation BABY 101” written across the top in sparkly gel pen (which he probably stole from Jeongin's stash for his students). “I took notes on everything. Diaper folds. Nap cycles. Baby talk translations. There’s a legend.”

Hyunjin choked on air. Han Jisung and research do not belong in the same sentence. They've been best friends since college and he's seen Jisung almost open up Tartarus because of his term paper. “You... researched?!”

“I’ve evolved,” Jisung said proudly. “This is my final form.”

“We even started routine sanitation of ourselves and even our entire houses,” Felix said brightly. “Like I Swiffered the walls. Jeongin Lysol-ed the air just in case particles escaped through the call.”

“I WENT TO MEDICAL CLEARANCE A DAY AFTER MY COLD ENDED,” Jeongin whined. “WHY AM I LAST?!”

“Because we’re not letting you breathe on our child yet,” Minho snapped. “There's still remnants of bacteria in you so this will give you ample amount of time to fully recover and restrengthen your immune system. Some of us don’t have immune systems built from cockroach DNA.”

“Rude,” Jeongin pouted. “I coughed twice!”

“In the same sentence.”

“So it’s settled,” Seungmin concluded, flipping the page with ominous precision. “The visitation schedule goes: Chan-hyung, me, Minho-hyung, Jisung, Felix, Jeongin.”

“Felix is fine with being second to the last,” Chan teased. “He’s already bribing Jongsoo with personalized lullabies.”

“IT’S CALLED EMOTIONAL INVESTMENT,” Felix screamed. “And I already picked out his aesthetic. He’s a soft cottagecore baby. No arguments.”

Hyunjin laughed so hard he had to mute himself. Changbin was just holding his head in his hands, half in awe, half on the brink of tears.

Chan eventually raised both hands to call for silence—not that anyone obeyed immediately.(I mean—they always do, it's Chan. He's THE dad of the group. They don't make the rules.)

“Listen. We’ll come one at a time. We don’t want to overwhelm him—or you two. You’re parents now. You need rest, too.”

“You’ve all gone above and beyond,” Hyunjin said quietly, voice soft but cracking around the edges. “You didn’t have to... and you did. I—God, we don’t deserve you guys.”

“You do,” Chan said, no hesitation. “You deserve all of this. All the care. All the celebration. All the love. So does Jongsoo.”

There was a beat of silence. The good kind. The kind that sat like warmth in the ribs. Then—

“Also I’m calling dibs on holding him first,” Jisung announced. “And I will cry on him. That’s non-negotiable.”

Felix raised a finger. “I will kiss his forehead. Then apologize profusely. Then kiss it again.”

Jeongin muttered, “I’m going to teach him frog facts.”

And amidst the chaos, the cross-talk, and the increasingly specific “uncle privileges” war, Hyunjin and Changbin just watched. Their laughter had softened. Their eyes were glossy. Because this—this—was their village.

This was what love looked like when it wore mismatched pajamas, waved gel pens in the air, created research files for baby cuddles, and sanitized homes on the off-chance that love could be airborne.

Later that night, after the call ended and Jongsoo babbled sleepily against Hyunjin’s chest, the apartment fell back into its warm hush.

Hyunjin pressed his cheek to Jongsoo’s soft hair. “Did you hear all that, baby? Your uncles love you like their lives depend on it.”

Changbin curled up beside them, pressing his forehead to Hyunjin’s shoulder with a breathless, wet laugh. “And we’re so, so ready.”

Ready for the next wave of chaos.

Ready for the hugs, the coos, the jokes, the spilled juice boxes, and maybe even the group crying sessions they were definitely not emotionally equipped for.

Love, it turned out, didn’t just fill a home.

Sometimes, it showed up with spreadsheets, unsolicited frog trivias, and an army of idiots ready to rearrange their lives around one tiny boy.

And somehow, that made it perfect.

Chan was scheduled to drop by on Tuesday—the official First Visit™ according to Seungmin’s military-grade visitation chart. Naturally, Chan had texted the night before with an onslaught of emojis, several gifs of baby animals, and a photo of an overflowing grocery basket labeled: “Potential Baby-Safe Snack Options (Opinions?)” only to be met with Changbin’s immediate, all-caps reply:

IF YOU BRING SUGAR WITHIN 3KM OF OUR CHILD I WILL PERSONALLY END YOU.

To which Chan replied with a single 😇 and a carefully redacted grocery list.

Of course, Felix demanded proof-of-life footage.

“Set up a camera. I want everything,” he messaged Hyunjin, followed by: “I NEED to see how my fiancé short-circuits at first contact. I’m manifesting tears. I want snot. I want emotional carnage”

And so, like the dramatic theater gremlins they all were deep down, Hyunjin and Changbin prepped the living room like they were shooting a Netflix documentary. The cushions were fluffed to maximum bounce. Natural light was timed to golden hour glow. The phone camera was stealthily positioned at the best angle to capture what Felix had so accurately dubbed: The Chan Meltdown Arc™.

Jongsoo, of course, was blissfully unaware of the cinematic pressure being placed on his debut. He was still napping in the nursery—dreaming, perhaps, of milk, chaos, and his inevitable reign as the most beloved baby in their circle.

Hyunjin peeked out the window just in time to see Chan’s car zip down the street, pausing at every red light like it was personally offending him. He could practically see the anticipation radiating off Chan like a microwave. By the time the car parked, Chan was already halfway out the door before the engine had fully shut off—bounding toward the house like an overgrown golden retriever that had sniffed out love and would not be denied entry.

He barely gave Hyunjin time to open the door before he was crushing him in a bone-rattling hug, arms tight and unrelenting. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness—just raw affection, loud and unfiltered, the way only Chan could deliver it.

“You have the parenting glow,” Chan whispered, pulling back with wide eyes, like Hyunjin had just ascended into saintdom.

Hyunjin raised a brow, too sleep-deprived to play along. “Just say I look like crap, hyung. I’m too tired for metaphors.”

Chan gasped, scandalized. “EXCUSE ME. Yes, the bags under your eyes could carry a week’s groceries, but your skin? Radiant. Like—newly unlocked DLC character radiant.”

Hyunjin burst out laughing, eyes crinkling fondly despite himself. “Whatever, Christopher. Go wash up before you infect our child with your golden retriever energy.”

Chan didn’t argue. He all but saluted and marched to the kitchen sink, rolling up his sleeves like he was prepping for surgery. And then—because of course he did—he started singing the entire chorus of Stray Kids' God’s Menu under his breath, complete with hand choreo and dramatic wrist flicks, scrubbing like the fate of the universe depended on it.

Leaning against the doorframe, Hyunjin just watched—arms folded, heart soft. Because this was so Chan. The way he did everything with ten times the heart, the way his love overflowed from the smallest moments—through overdone snack lists and over-the-top handwashing and soft jokes disguised as absurdity. He was ridiculous. Endearing. Someone who loved like breathing and made it seem effortless.

When Chan finally emerged with hospital-level clean hands and a sheepish smile, they made their way to the living room. Chan sat on the pouf but with a stiffness that made Hyunjin squint.

“You okay?” Hyunjin asked, sliding onto the couch.

“I—I’m fine,” Chan replied too quickly. “Just sitting. Like normal people. On furniture.”

Then came a sniffle. Small. But not small enough.

“Hyung,” Hyunjin deadpanned. “Jongsoo isn’t even here yet.”

“I KNOW,” Chan wailed, already wiping at his eyes. “I can’t help it, okay?! I’m emotionally compromised!”

“You’re acting like you’re about to watch the finale of Until We Meet Again.”

“He’s your baby,” Chan whispered, voice cracking. “That’s basically the same thing.”

Hyunjin was still catching his breath from laughing when Changbin appeared at the doorway, holding Jongsoo in his arms. Their son was freshly awake from his nap, his tiny fists curled at his sides, cheeks flushed and full, blinking up at the world like he already had a thousand thoughts and zero tolerance for nonsense.

Chan froze.

It was like the entire room stilled with him. He didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

Changbin smiled gently and stepped forward. “Aegi, look. Uncle Chan’s here.”

He carefully passed Jongsoo into Chan’s waiting arms, and in that instant—Chan melted. All of him. From the inside out.

A tremble ran through his whole body the second Jongsoo was nestled into his lap. The baby peered up at him, wide and unblinking, like he already knew. And maybe he did. Maybe he felt the gravitational pull of Chan’s affection—the kind that crashed in like a tidal wave and left nothing untouched. A beat passed. Then another. And then—

“I—he’s so p-perfect,” Chan stammered, voice pitched somewhere between a sob and a prayer. “Jongsoo-yah, look at you. Look at you.”

And just like that, the dam burst. Chan cried. Full-on cartoon tears. Snot and everything. It was glorious.

Felix would have combusted on the spot. He absolutely would.

Changbin chuckled and sat beside them, resting his chin on Chan’s shoulder. “I can already hear Felix screaming through the walls of time.”

Hyunjin, filming from the couch, grinned wide. “Oh, he’s not just screaming. He’s plotting. This is going to be his wedding toast speech.”

Chan, now red-eyed and sniffling, nuzzled Jongsoo’s head like he was imprinting on a duckling. “I’m never letting go. I’ll raise him myself. Goodbye.”

“You’ll what?” Changbin blinked.

“Nothing,” Chan sniffled. “Anyway. He’s mine now.”

Jongsoo burbled something in agreement—possibly an incantation, possibly gas.

The room settled into softness then. Into that rare kind of hush that felt like a secret being shared. Chan rocked Jongsoo gently on his knee, murmuring praise like he was the only thing that mattered. And for a while, he was.

Until Chan suddenly gasped. “OH. I almost forgot! I brought him a gift. It’s in the trunk. Binnie, catch!”

He lobbed the keys at Changbin, who caught them with reflexes honed by years of parenting chaos—but not without suspicion. “I swear to god Bang Chan—this better not be worth an entire estate, I will commit violence.”

"It's nothing big, I promise!"

But what Changbin returned with was... not 'nothing big'.

It was a massive box—taller than the coffee table, shaped like it had been delivered by military aircraft. Hyunjin’s jaw dropped.

“IS THAT—” he wheezed, inspecting the box. “It’s a robo-rocker?!”

“With Bluetooth,” Chan chirped. “And a sleep app!”

“WHY does it have an app?!” Hyunjin gawked.

Chan just shrugged, bouncing Jongsoo with pride. “What can I say? He’s my first nephew. He gets the deluxe treatment.”

“Deluxe?” Changbin screeched. “This thing costs more than our fridge and Smart TV combined!”

“Jongsoo’s worth it,” Chan said simply, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

And in that moment—when their baby let out a delighted little hiccup, Chan laughed like sunshine, and the unopened robo-rocker sat like a trophy to his over-the-top affection—Hyunjin and Changbin exchanged a glance.

They were wrecked. In the best way.

Because this? This wasn’t just friendship. This was devotion. This was found family in its most chaotic, sincere form.

And as they watched Chan cradle Jongsoo like he was made of starlight, something else settled between them—quiet, certain, unshakeable.

Chan would make a phenomenal dad someday.

It wasn’t even a question. It was just truth.

He already had the instincts, the gentleness, the impossible softness under all that chaos. Their entire friend group had basically been his trial run—his practice children. Every late-night check-in, every care package, every forehead kiss given without asking. And he had done it all without hesitation, without keeping score. Just Chan, loving too much and never thinking that was a bad thing.

And with Felix by his side—Felix with a heart just as expansive, just as achingly kind—they both knew: any child raised by those two would never lack love. Never lack comfort. Never doubt their worth.

Their kid would be so blessed. Spoiled in the best ways. Protected like a dragon hoards gold. Raised in warmth, in laughter, in the kind of love that pours from the seams.

"See that, Jongsoo-yah? Uncle Chan better be your favorite uncle because he's ballin'!" All three of them ended up in laughter while Jongsoo lay comfortably in Chan's hold, as if he's a safe haven (re: he is)

And in the quiet corners of their hearts, Hyunjin and Changbin knew: if this was only the beginning, they couldn’t wait for what came next.

Later that night, their apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the bathroom fan and the faint sound of Chan brushing his teeth like a man who had just run an emotional marathon. His hair was damp from a quick shower, clinging to his forehead in loose curls, and his pajama shirt was wrinkled, half-tucked in that effortless way that screamed exhausted. His eyes were already half-lidded as he mumbled to himself in between toothbrush strokes, something about needing to buy Jongsoo a drum set “so he can start early, you know, rhythm development” even though the baby was only barely six months old.

He didn’t hear Felix at first.

Felix, barefoot and in the softest oversized hoodie, leaned against the bathroom doorway with an iPad in hand, a grin stretching across his freckled face like the cat who caught the canary. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes—the kind that Chan usually recognized instantly but tonight, in his sleepy haze, completely missed.

“Babe,” Felix said sweetly. Too sweetly. It was the tone of someone who was absolutely up to no good.

Chan glanced up at him in the mirror, cheeks puffed out with toothpaste foam. “Mm?”

“Want to watch something before bed?”

Chan nodded, spitting into the sink. “Mmm, yeah, sure. What show?”

“Not a show,” Felix replied, casual as anything while unlocking the iPad with one swipe.

Chan squinted, grabbing a towel to wipe his mouth. “...A movie?”

Felix’s grin widened into something almost diabolical. “Not exactly.”

Chan froze mid-wipe. “Felix. What did you do?”

Felix didn’t answer. He just tapped play.

And suddenly, the bathroom speakers were filled with the sound of Chan’s own voice—warbled, tear-clogged, painfully sincere—saying: “He’s so p-perfect! Oh Jongsoo-yah—ohhh—look at you…”

“OH MY GOD, LIXIE—TURN IT OFF!” Chan choked, lunging for the iPad with toothpaste still foaming on his chin. His hands were damp, his reflexes dulled by sleep, and he looked like a panicked koala trying to wrestle a tree.

Felix, agile as a fox, danced backward out of his reach, laughing so hard his shoulders shook.

“Nooo~ Babe! This is gold! This is cinema! Do you see your face? You were sobbing like you watched 'Miracle in Cell no. 7' on loop!”

“I WAS EMOTIONAL! HE’S A BABY!” Chan yelled, hair sticking up as he tried to vault over the bathroom counter.

“You CRIED before you even saw him!” Felix wheezed, stumbling into the bedroom with the iPad held high over his head. “You were like, ‘I can’t control it!’—babe, you literally said that. I almost fell off my chair laughing.”

Chan barreled after him, voice pitching higher. “I’m sensitive! I’m nurturing! Why are you like this?!”

Felix was now full-on cackling, bouncing onto their bed and curling up with the iPad like it was a precious artifact. “I’m like this because now I have evidence,” he said, tears in his eyes from laughing. “This is going in the wedding montage. It’s going into the cloud. It’s going on a backup hard drive. Cry harder, baby.”

“Felix Lee, you are evil,” Chan groaned, collapsing face-first into the pillow beside him in absolute defeat. His voice came out muffled. “I hate it here.”

Felix giggled and reached out, dragging him closer by the back of his shirt until they were pressed side to side. He set the iPad down on the nightstand and tilted his head so his lips could brush against the crown of Chan’s hair. “You,” he murmured fondly, “are the softest uncle in the universe.”

Chan peeked up at him, face flushed, still embarrassed. “Even if I cry like a mess?”

“Especially because of it,” Felix said without hesitation. His voice softened further. “You love big, Channie. That’s why I love you. And one day, when we have our own, they’re gonna be so lucky.”

Chan blinked at him, warmth blooming so quickly in his chest it was almost dizzying. “…I’m never showing emotions again.”

“Sure, babe,” Felix teased, tugging the blanket over both of them. “I’ll just replay this video every night until you admit defeat.”

Chan groaned and buried his face into Felix’s neck with a muttered, “Evil,” while Felix smirked, labeling the file on his iPad: Bang Chan Breakdown.mp4 🍼💔👶🏻.

And as Felix turned off the lights, his heart still light from the sight of Chan holding Jongsoo earlier, he thought: Jongsoo’s reign of adorable destruction had officially begun.

One uncle down. Five to go.

Fridays, for teachers, were sacred. Not peaceful—not quite—but a half-day exhale between chaos and the next storm. That’s why Seungmin chose Friday. If anyone asked, it was about schedule and practicality. If you knew him, though, you’d know it was because Friday gave him enough time to plan the whole day down to the minute—Lee Seungmin was nothing if not methodical.

Changbin picked him up at the curb and the man got in the car like he was arriving for a performance review, not a casual baby visit. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle on his shirt. He had a folded garment bag on his lap, a surgical mask on, and a tote with him that looked suspiciously heavy.

“I brought a change of clothes,” was the first thing out of his mouth. No hello. No how are you. Just that.

Changbin blinked at him. “Do you want me to Lysol you too?”

“Already done it,” Seungmin said, deadpan, adjusting his glasses. “Twice. I also did a full scrub down before I left campus.”

By the time they got to the apartment, it was like watching a medical drama scrubbing in montage. Shoes off. Hand sanitizer. Change of clothes. He disappeared into the bathroom and emerged in soft neutral lounge clothes like he was scrubbing in for surgery. Then he pulled out a toothbrush.

“Seungmin,” Changbin started, watching in muted awe as the man flossed for what had to be the third time. “You’re brushing your teeth. AGAIN.”

Seungmin spat into the sink, rinsed, and said matter-of-factly, “Did you know that the mouth is the dirtiest part of the body?”

Changbin opened his mouth, already smirking.

“Don’t,” Seungmin warned immediately, pointing the floss pick at him like a tiny sword. “If you’re about to say something nasty, shut it. Jongsoo doesn’t need to be corrupted this early.”

Changbin just laughed, hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay! Damn, you’re scarier than Minho-hyung.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes, finished his routine with one last gargle, and muttered, “Good. Now he won’t catch anything from me.”

Ten minutes later—one wardrobe change, an extensive handwashing routine, and a thorough dental detour later—he finally stepped out into the living room, drying his hands with the kind of calm finality only he could manage. “I am ready,” he said simply.

Changbin muttered under his breath, “Our friends are absolutely unhinged.”

But the muttering stopped when Hyunjin stepped into the room, camera discreetly perched on the shelf, Jongsoo cradled against his chest.

Seungmin sat straighter. His shoulders squared. His back straightened like someone had just yelled posture! in his ear. There was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he wanted to smile but wasn’t ready to crack yet. He cleared his throat and, with the tone of someone trying to sound casual, said, “Camera angle’s good?”

Hyunjin smiled knowingly. “Perfect.”

And then he passed Jongsoo over.

Seungmin took the baby with a slow, deliberate care that made both parents soften. Where Chan’s meeting had been waterworks and chaos, Seungmin was something else entirely. No fanfare. No theatrics. Just this quiet reverence, like he’d been entrusted with something fragile and irreplaceable.

For a moment, the man who once told Jisung to “cry quieter, some of us are trying to suffer in peace” was gone. All that remained was someone looking down at Jongsoo like the universe had just handed him something he didn’t know he wanted.

It helped that Jongsoo looked impossibly tiny in his arms. Seungmin’s shoulders were broad, his arms strong, and the baby was this little bundle nestled against that frame like he belonged there. Hyunjin had to bite his lip to keep from giggling while snapping photo after photo.

“This,” Changbin whispered from behind the camera, “is emotional blackmail material for Minho-hyung.”

“No,” Hyunjin whispered back, grinning. “This is art.”

Jongsoo blinked up at his new uncle for a moment, sizing him up with those serious, ancient baby eyes. Then—slowly but surely—he started cooing. It was like approval in sound form.

Seungmin’s lips twitched upward. Then, like a curtain lifting, there it was: a soft, unguarded smile. The rare puppy version of Seungmin. Hyunjin nearly sobbed. Changbin had to look away like he was physically in pain.

Seungmin, ever calm, adjusted Jongsoo easily, supporting his neck like a pro. “He’s heavier than I thought,” he murmured.

“He’s a growing boy,” Hyunjin said, chest swelling with pride.

“Already built like Changbin-hyung,” Seungmin added. “This baby’s gonna have biceps before we know it.”

Jongsoo, as if agreeing, kicked a tiny foot.

Not ten minutes later, the baby was asleep. Just like that. Knocked out cold in Seungmin’s arms, tiny fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt. No fuss. No crying. Just out.

“You’re a magician,” Changbin whispered, equal parts awed and annoyed.

Seungmin shrugged. “I teach high schoolers. This is bliss compared to them.”

They transferred Jongsoo to the robo-rocker (which Seungmin inspected with raised eyebrows). “Of course this is from Chan-hyung. What does it do—sing lullabies in six languages and warm bottles with Wi-Fi?” He crouched down to peer at the app panel. “Does it also pay taxes?”

Then, as if remembering, he pulled out his bag. “I brought gifts,” he said, setting a tote on the table. Inside were several items with little sticky notes on each.
• Fragrance-free wipes (Huggies Natural Care): “Doctors recommend them, and parents recommend them, so I’m not reinventing the wheel.”
• Diaper rash cream (Boudreaux’s Butt Paste): “Because the name made me laugh. Also, it’s the best.”
• Baby-safe electric nail trimmer: “Babies and pets. Same chaos, different grooming.”
• Rectal thermometer: “The most accurate. Don’t argue.”
• Nasal aspirator shaped like an elephant: “The normal ones look like torture devices from 1800s. This one’s cute.”
• Black-and-white board books: “Visual development. And because the covers don’t hurt my eyes.”
• Vitamin D drops: “Babies need them. Science.”
• Onesies in multiple sizes: “Babies grow fast. I did the math.”

Hyunjin clutched his chest, genuinely emotional. “You’re so… so Seungmin.”

“I try,” Seungmin said with a shrug trying to be nonchalant, though his ears betrayed a faint pink.

And just when they thought he was done, he looked down at the sleeping Jongsoo and said softly—so soft it was almost to himself, “I want a baby.”

Changbin choked so violently on his coffee he almost inhaled it and spit it out though his nose. Hyunjin burst out laughing, clutching his stomach.

“You… tell Minho-hyung that,” Hyunjin managed through the giggles.

Seungmin’s lips curled upward, that rare soft smile still on his face. “…Maybe I will.”

And in that moment, Hyunjin and Changbin shared a glance. They’d always known their snarky friend had a soft side, but seeing him hold Jongsoo like that—with such steady care—it just confirmed it: under the sarcasm, Seungmin was a soft-hearted baby himself.

Later that evening, after Seungmin left with the same level of efficiency he arrived with—binder under one arm, tote bag slung over his shoulder, promising he’d be back “next Friday, same time”—Hyunjin sat on the couch scrolling through the video footage they’d taken.

There it was. The moment. The line delivered so casually that it felt like someone had just lobbed a grenade into the middle of their living room.

I want a baby.

Hyunjin grinned. Slowly. Diabolically.

“Yeobo,” he called, and Changbin didn’t even look up from rinsing bottles. “I know what I’m doing tonight.”

“Hyunjin, no,” Changbin said without turning around.

“Hyunjin, yes,” Hyunjin replied, already selecting the perfect 12-second clip. “They should thank me later.”

He trimmed the video, making sure to leave in the shot of Seungmin’s ridiculously soft gaze on Jongsoo before he uttered the words that were about to derail someone’s evening. Then he hit send.

Minho’s response came within thirty seconds.

First: no text. Just the little “Read” notification. Then a series of dots as if he was trying—and failing—to find words.

And then, Hyunjin’s phone buzzed with a video call request.

Hyunjin accepted it, already cackling, and Minho’s face filled the screen: mid-bite of a salad, eyes wide like he’d just been hit by a truck.

“Explain,” Minho said flatly, voice hoarse, lettuce still in his mouth.

“There’s nothing to explain, hyung,” Hyunjin said, far too smug for his own good. “Just thought you’d want to know your betrothed left here saying he wants a baby.”

Minho blinked. Once. Twice. Then started coughing violently as he choked on the salad.

“Hyung, don’t die on me,” Hyunjin teased, leaning back on the couch like he was watching the best rom-com ever. “You’re going to need that air for later.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Minho snapped once he managed to clear his throat, his ears already turning red.

“Just…” Hyunjin grinned like the devil himself. “Good luck tonight.”

He ended the call before Minho could retaliate.

And across the city, Minho sat there frozen, salad fork in hand, trying to remember how to breathe.

Seungmin had never said those words before. Not like that. And now they were stuck in his head on repeat, mingling with the memory of that soft, sleepy smile as he held Jongsoo.

By the time Seungmin came home an hour later, Minho was leaning against the doorframe like someone had knocked the wind out of him.

Seungmin raised a brow, slipping off his jacket. “What’s wrong with you?”

Minho opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“You…” His voice cracked embarrassingly. He cleared his throat. “You want a baby?”

Seungmin froze mid-step, eyes narrowing. “Hyunjin sent you the clip, didn’t he?”

“Answer the question,” Minho said, stepping closer now, something heated and unsteady in his tone.

Seungmin tilted his head, smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe I do. So what?”

There was a beat.

And then Minho—stoic, sarcastic Minho—lost all composure. He stepped forward, grabbed Seungmin by the waist, and kissed him like the answer had set something loose in his chest.

When they finally came up for air, Seungmin laughed softly, brushing a thumb across Minho’s jaw. “Hyung,” he murmured, teasing but warm. “If you want a baby, you have to sleep first.”

Minho groaned, forehead dropping to his shoulder. “You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered.

Seungmin’s grin softened into something fond, almost shy, as he kissed him again—slower this time. “I know. Now sleep, you're opening the café tomorrow. And maybe… think about it.”

Later, Hyunjin’s phone buzzed again with a single text from Minho:
You’re evil.

Hyunjin just sent back a string of heart emojis.

The moment Monday rolled around, everything fell into place like a perfectly timed choreography—because of course, Lee Minho wouldn’t dare show up without military-grade precision. Owning a café-restaurant with Felix had made him used to chaos: suppliers coming late, oven temperatures going rogue, a hundred things catching fire at once (sometimes literally). But not today.

Today, Minho made sure there were no kitchen emergencies, no last-minute menu changes, no stray macarons needing rescuing.

Hyunjin had texted him the night before: “Uncle duties tomorrow 👶✨ Don’t be late, tsundere king 😘”.

Minho, in true Minho fashion, had only replied, “If I’m late, bury me.”

He wasn’t late.

At exactly 10:00AM—sharp, not a minute more, not a second less—he rang the bell once. When Hyunjin opened the door, there he was: neutral-toned pullover, perfectly pressed trousers, sleek black tote on one arm, and a massive eco bag on the other that clinked with the sound of containers. His hair was neatly styled, his face calm and unreadable, but his hands were already reaching for the alcohol spray clipped to his belt bag.

“Oh look, Mr. Prompt and Perfect,” Hyunjin teased, leaning against the doorframe. “Are you on a secret mission or something?”

Minho raised a brow, stepping inside with his usual grace. “No. I’m here to visit the only Seo in this household who isn’t a walking disaster.”

“What? Are you going to put me in the airfryer again? 120 degrees, 20 minutes?” Hyunjin shot back, grinning.

Without missing a beat, Minho deadpanned, “A crispy ferret actually sounds tempting today.”

Classic Minho. Affection disguised as a threat. Hyunjin just laughed, shaking his head as he stepped aside, watching Minho execute a sanitation routine that rivaled Seungmin’s: a full change of clothes, a thorough hand-washing that involved surgical-level scrubbing, brushing his teeth (yes, he also brought his own toothbrush, tongue scraper, mouthwash, floss, and even mouth wipes), and one last spritz of baby-safe sanitizer. He even bent down to check the soles of his indoor slippers like he was preparing for a Michelin inspection.

Changbin, watching from the kitchen, muttered, “If you would tell me to define soulmates, I'd say Kim Seungmin and Lee Minho—truly a perfect match in Cupid's records.”

Minho ignored him, walking in like he owned the place, and set the enormous eco bag on the counter.

And then he started unloading.

Kimchi Jjigae, Beef Bulgogi, Dak Galbi, some grilled vegetables, a tub of kimchi that looked like it could feed a small army, a smaller bag of perfectly washed fruit. Each container was labeled (including when it was cooked and for how long it can be eaten), stacked, and portioned like he was doing a meal-prep shoot for a magazine.

“I brought food for you two,” Minho said matter-of-factly, already rearranging their fridge without being asked. “Because, no offense, you both look like warmed-up leftovers. If I don’t feed you, you’ll both collapse.”

Hyunjin blinked, genuinely touched. “You… made us food?”

Minho glanced at him like it was obvious. “Did you think I was going to come here, look at those eyebags, and not intervene? Eat. All of it—and don’t forget the fruit. Both of you need fiber. This whole parenting thing has been a whole new world for the both of you. You can't take care of your child if you're both unwell, can't you? I want these containers squeaky clean, down to the last crumb. Do not cheat me on this, I would know—”

Changbin and Hyunjin watch Minho with twin and touched smiles as he moved around their kitchen with finesse while also going on with his tirade. It was such a Minho thing to do—caring so hard he disguised it as an insult—that both husbands felt a pang in their chest.

“Okay, promise hyung.” Hyunjin whispered softly, smiling in that crooked way that made Minho’s own lips twitch before he forced them back down.

The main event followed shortly after.

Minho was settled in the living room, in the same pouf chair Seungmin and Chan had occupied. The camera was rolling, per Felix’s unrelenting request. It was Changbin’s turn to bring Jongsoo out, and the second the little boy entered the room—plump cheeks, hair sticking up like a baby chick, dressed in a tiger-print onesie—Minho went still.

Dead still.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

Jongsoo, as if sensing the challenge, locked eyes with him and then—out of nowhere—gave him a grin. A wide, gurgly grin, complete with a tiny peek of teeth.

Something inside Minho cracked. Loudly.

Internally: No. No. Nope. Not happening. I am NOT getting attached to this drooly goblin—OH MY GOD HE’S PERFECT.

Externally: Minho blinked. Blinked again. And then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the sharp lines of his face softened into the gentlest smile.

It was so disarming that Hyunjin grabbed his phone and started snapping photos like a man possessed. Changbin had to clap a hand over his own mouth to keep from squealing (and from Minho killing him).

“We’re printing this,” Hyunjin whispered. “Framing it. Sending one to Seungmin. Maybe on a mug.”

Changbin snorted. “Limited-edition merch: The Day Minho Smiled.”

Jongsoo was gently placed into Minho’s arms, and the chef held him like he was cradling a delicate sugar sculpture straight from Felix’s patisserie. At first, Minho was tense, all careful angles and guarded precision. But as Jongsoo wriggled closer, tiny fingers curling into Minho’s shirt, his entire body seemed to exhale. He adjusted, more comfortable now, bouncing the baby gently as the grin lingered stubbornly on his face.

“You really do smell like milk and rainbows,” Minho murmured under his breath.

Changbin blinked. “What?”

Minho’s eyes snapped up. “Nothing. Shut up.”

Hyunjin, gleeful, sing-songed, “Did you just say—”

“I SAID NOTHING,” Minho barked, but Jongsoo giggled like he’d already tattled.

For a long while, the world shrank to the rhythm of Minho’s soft rocking. He gazed down at Jongsoo with something quiet in his expression—something unspoken but undeniable. Hyunjin leaned into Changbin’s shoulder, whispering, “Look at him. He’s gone. We’ve lost him.”

And when Minho finally looked up, he said it without hesitation: “He’s my favorite now. Just so we’re clear.”

Then, true to form, he pulled a final surprise from his tote bag: a neatly folded piece of paper, handwritten in Minho’s impeccable calligraphy.

A babysitting voucher.

“One full day,” Minho said simply, handing it over. “No expiration date. I’ll come over, take care of him, and you two can sleep for 24 hours if you want. Or go out. Whatever. No arguments.”

Hyunjin’s voice wobbled as he said, “You didn’t have to—”

“Don’t make it weird,” Minho interrupted quickly, though his ears were pink. “Just… raise him well, okay?”

Hyunjin wiped an imaginary tear. “You’re the weird one.”

Minho ignored him, glancing back down at Jongsoo with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like fondness. “You better grow up smarter than your dads, okay?” he whispered.

And Jongsoo, already leaning against his chest, made a noise that sounded suspiciously like agreement.

Minho padded out of the bathroom, still damp from his shower, hair curling slightly at the ends. His fluffy black robe was cinched haphazardly around his waist, and there was a faint scent of cedar shampoo trailing behind him. All he wanted was to collapse into bed after a long day—maybe scroll through his phone, maybe just pass out with Seungmin in his arms.

Instead, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Seungmin was sitting cross-legged on their bed. Smirking. Dangerous.

There was a glint in his eyes Minho knew all too well. Mischief. Malice. Love. A terrible combination.

“What,” Minho said slowly, narrowing his eyes.

Seungmin just smiled wider and held up his phone like it was holy scripture. “Look what the Seos sent me,” he said, voice bright with a kind of delight that promised imminent disaster.

Minho’s eyes immediately narrowed into slits. “No. Whatever that is—no.”

Seungmin didn’t even give him time to argue. He pressed play.

Minho’s own voice, low and soft and terribly incriminating, filled the quiet bedroom: “You smell like milk and rainbows.”

Minho froze. His entire body seemed to glitch. And then he lunged forward like an uncoordinated cat. “DELETE THAT!”

Seungmin fell back onto the pillows, laughing so hard he almost dropped his phone. “Nope. This is going in the cloud. This is eternal.”

“Seungmin—!” Minho was climbing onto the bed now, trying to snatch the phone while keeping his robe closed. “I swear, if you show anyone—”

“I’m definitely showing Jisung.”

Minho’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Seungmin grinned wickedly. “Oh, I would. And you know what? I’m going to set it as your ringtone. ‘Milk and Rainbows, featuring Whipped Minho.’”

“SEUNGMIN!” Minho whined, actually whined, as he collapsed on top of him in defeat. “I WASN’T—THAT’S TAKEN OUT OF CONTEXT!”

Seungmin, still giggling, cradled his husband’s face between his hands. “There was no context, darling. You just… said it. Like a poet. Like the softest, sappiest man alive.”

Minho groaned, dropping his forehead to Seungmin’s shoulder. “Why did I marry a menace. Why do I even love you.”

“Because you just do and I’m right,” Seungmin said smugly, leaning up to kiss the tip of Minho’s nose. Then softer, teasing but fond: “You were beautiful today, you know. You’ll be an amazing dad someday, Mr. Milk and Rainbows.”

Minho’s ears burned instantly. “I will yeet you into the airfryer after Hyunjin,” he muttered weakly, even as his arms wrapped tighter around him.

“Sure you will,” Seungmin murmured, already yawning as he curled into Minho’s side like a smug, lazy cat. “Just don’t forget to sleep first, okay? You can commit husband murder in the morning.”

Minho stared down at him, pout still in place, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him by curving upward. “You’re awfully brave tonight Lee Seungmin,” he muttered, voice low.

One of Seungmin’s eyes cracked open, glinting with wicked amusement. “What are you gonna do, husband dearest? Spank me to death?”

Minho’s hand—which had been resting harmlessly on Seungmin’s hip—tightened. “Don’t tempt me.”

Seungmin smirked, tilting his chin up just enough that his breath brushed Minho’s lips. “Tempting you is my favorite hobby.”

Something shifted in the air—lazy teasing melting into something hotter, hungrier. Minho bent down, close enough to brush his mouth against Seungmin’s ear. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

“Make me,” Seungmin whispered.

Minho didn’t need to be told twice. In a blur, he rolled them so Seungmin was flat on the mattress, his black robe falling open just enough to make Seungmin’s grin sharpen.

“Oh?” Seungmin teased, voice husky with sleep and challenge. “I thought you were tired.”

“I was,” Minho said, lips ghosting over his jaw, “until you opened your mouth.”

And whatever Minho planned to do about that very mouth—well, the rest of the apartment didn’t need to know. The soft, breathless noises that followed, however, were proof enough that Mr. Milk and Rainbows knew exactly how to make good on his threats.

Sleep? Definitely postponed.

It was a crisp Thursday when Jisung made his way to the Hwang-Seo residence—less than twenty-four hours after Minho’s infamous meltdown over Jongsoo, and exactly one day after Jeongin had packed his bag for him. Because of course he did.

After taking a half-day off from producing duties at the studio (Chan had grumbled like a storm cloud but still waved him off with fondness), Jisung went straight home to prep. There, waiting for him, was a scene so absurdly domestic it made his heart squeeze: a perfectly neat layout on their bed. Folded shirt. Spare pants. Crisp Cardigan. Baby-safe wipes. His own sanitizer. Even his glasses polished. And sitting on top of it all—a bright yellow sticky note with Jeongin’s handwriting in bubbly loops:

I know you’ll forget stuff so I prepared everything you need :P Send kisses to Jongsoo for me. – Jeongin 🦊💛

Jisung didn’t even realize how hard he was smiling until he caught himself in the mirror. That wide, foolish grin—the kind that made him look hopelessly, helplessly in love. With slow, careful fingers, he folded the note and tucked it inside his keepsake box, next to old ticket stubs and anniversary photos. His boyfriend really was the cutest human being alive.

He took his time getting ready after that, slipping into the outfit Jeongin had laid out: a neatly ironed dress shirt tucked into slacks, cardigan over his shoulders, and yes—a tie. Because apparently, Han Jisung had decided today was the day he needed to dress like he was interviewing for Jongsoo’s approval.

When he rang the bell, it was Changbin who answered. His hair stuck up in the way only sleepless 4 a.m. parents could manage, eyes red-rimmed and vaguely feral. Behind him, Hyunjin shuffled into view, holding what was very clearly his fourth cup of coffee. Both stared at Jisung’s outfit in disbelief.

“Have you both slept?” Jisung asked cautiously, adjusting his tie.

“I haven’t heard that word in weeks, Sungie,” Hyunjin said, voice flat but eyes sparkling with humor.

“I brought a gift!” Jisung declared quickly, shoving the bag into Changbin’s hands like a peace offering.

Changbin peeked inside. “…Is this a Bluetooth speaker shaped like a giant duck?”

“It plays white noise and womb sounds!” Jisung announced proudly, puffing up. “And it glows like a nightlight, has an auto shut-off—multi-purpose, bro!”

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes, giving Jisung a once over. “Han Jisung… are you… wearing a suit?”

“I NEED TO MAKE A GOOD IMPRESSION, OKAY?!” Jisung flailed, clutching the lapels of his cardigan like a man on trial. “First impressions matter! What if he grows up and remembers Uncle Jisung looked like a hobo?!”

Changbin was too tired to argue—he shouldn't even question anything Han Jisung spews anymore. He just patted him on the shoulder to let him be. “Sure. Why not. Come in, your royal highness.”

He dutifully went through the now-familiar sanitation routine (and yes, he performed his own 2-minute remix called “Scrub the Germies Away,” in the tune of Thunderous complete with beatboxing, which made Hyunjin snort coffee out his nose). Finally, Jisung sat on the designated Uncle Pouf™, visibly vibrating but—for once—quiet. Almost reverent. Like he was about to meet the Pope.

When Changbin returned, Jongsoo nestled in his arms, Jisung gasped like someone had punched the air out of him.

“He’s so small,” he whispered, voice catching on the edges.

The moment their baby was placed into his arms, Han Jisung was gone. All defenses down. All noise stripped away. Just him and this tiny human who blinked up at him like he was something worth looking at. And then—just like that—Jongsoo giggled. A soft, delighted little laugh.

“He laughed! He laughed for me!” Jisung’s eyes went wide as saucers. Then came the routine: silly faces, ridiculous cooing, sound effects that ranged from fart noises to laser blasts to something suspiciously like a dolphin. Jongsoo loved all of it. Every. Single. Second.

Hyunjin and Changbin stood to the side, watching with fond amusement. Hyunjin covered his mouth, shoulders shaking as he tried to hold back his laughter. But for Changbin, the laughter stuck somewhere in his chest, tangled up with something heavier. Warmer. More complicated.

Because watching Jisung like this—completely soft and unguarded—did something to him.

It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d seen Jisung care about something with his whole heart. He’d seen him pour everything he had into music, into the studio, into the smallest details no one else noticed. He’d seen him work himself to the bone to make sure no one could ever write him off as just “the youngest.” But this was different. This was Jisung with no shield, no deflection, no need to prove anything. Just pure instinct—holding a baby like the world would stop spinning if he let go, eyes wide with wonder and reverence.

And something in Changbin’s chest ached.

Because for all their chaos in the studio, for all the ways Jisung had driven him insane over the years, there had always been this undercurrent—this quiet, unspoken thing—between them. Jisung wasn’t his younger brother, not really. Changbin never treated him like one. He respected him too much for that. But there was something fiercely protective about the way he felt toward him. Maybe because he saw a little of himself in Jisung: the fire, the stubbornness, the need to keep up even when the world told you to slow down.

He remembered the first time they worked together, how frustrated Jisung had been when Changbin had scrapped a draft, and how, instead of yelling back, he’d just… stayed. Stayed with him through the night, scribbling ideas on paper until Jisung stopped glaring and started laughing. They’d built something that night—mutual trust born out of exhaustion and stubborn pride. And now, years later, standing here in his living room, watching that same boy coo over his son like he’d been doing this all his life—God, it was surreal.

He’d seen Jisung achieve so much. He’d seen him grow into someone brilliant and independent and brave. But he had never—never—seen him like this. Not quiet. Not still. Not with his entire heart sitting there in his hands, wearing a tie like it might make him worthy of this tiny little person.

And Changbin, already running on very little sleep and a lot of love, felt his throat tighten. This was his maknae in their little trio. His teammate. His partner in chaos. And now… now, this was someone Jongsoo was already laughing for. Someone who, in the span of a few seconds, had made a six-month-old feel safe enough to giggle.

He blinked a few times, willing the sting in his eyes to go away. But it didn’t.

He would never say it out loud—not now, maybe not ever—but the truth was simple and undeniable: Jisung was family. Not just to him. To Hyunjin. To Jongsoo. Always had been. Always would be.

“You’re so gone,” Hyunjin whispered, nudging him.

“Shut up,” Changbin sniffed, swiping at a nonexistent tear. "Like you're any better."

Hyunjin’s gaze softened as he leaned against him, and for a moment, the memories flickered—back to the days when he and Jisung couldn’t stand each other, sharp words and clashing tempers. And then, how they’d somehow broken through it. They’d learned, painfully and hilariously, that they were more alike than different. When the 'rivalry' burned out, it left behind something steadier. Friendship. Then brotherhood. Now? Now, Jisung was one of the few people who could make Hyunjin laugh until his ribs hurt, who could match his chaos beat for beat, who had become one of his pillars.

“Look at him,” Hyunjin murmured, watching as Jongsoo grabbed a fistful of Jisung’s shirt. “I’ve never seen him this quiet.”

“Yeah,” Changbin said softly, unable to stop staring at the two of them. “And I’ve never been prouder.”

It was true. For all of Jisung’s dramatics, this was who he was at his core—someone with a heart so big it could disarm even a baby. And in that moment, it felt like their little family had grown just a little bit bigger.

Eventually, the whirlwind of dolphin noises and laser sound effects slowed to a more manageable breeze, and Jisung—still cradling Jongsoo like he was some kind of living, breathing, limited-edition plushie—leaned back with a smug little tilt to his chin. “So,” he began, drawing the syllable out like a dramatic reveal, “does this mean I’m the favorite uncle now?” His gaze flicked between Hyunjin and Changbin, eyes gleaming with self-satisfaction. “Was it the suit? I knew it. Class always wins.”

Changbin snorted into his coffee. “He laughed because you look like a cartoon character."

Jisung gasped in mock offense, tightening his hold on Jongsoo as if shielding him from slander.

“Still counts!” he shot back, nose wrinkling in defiance. “A laugh is a laugh, and I earned it.” He glanced down at the baby, who gurgled contentedly in his arms. “See? He agrees.”

Hyunjin, lounging on the arm of the couch, smirked. “Right. Keep telling yourself that, Mr. Interview-for-a-baby’s-approval.” He reached over to smooth Jongsoo’s hair, then added, “We’re not telling you where you actually rank, by the way.”

The truth—unspoken but hanging between them—was that Minho’s soft smile probably still held the crown. But neither of them had the heart to shatter Jisung’s delusion. His puffed-up confidence was its own brand of adorable, and watching him bask in it was… entertaining. And, admittedly, a little heartwarming.

The rest of the afternoon saw Jisung doubling down on his campaign for “favorite uncle” status. He told Jongsoo elaborate, entirely improvised stories about “Uncle Pouf’s heroic adventures” (featuring himself as a fearless knight who once rescued a princess from a dragon made of spaghetti). He rocked the baby gently, humming lullabies that were very clearly off-key but somehow soothing anyway. Every so often, he’d lean down to nuzzle Jongsoo’s cheek, murmuring nonsense that made the baby squeal in delight.

Changbin and Hyunjin exchanged glances from the sidelines—Changbin with that faint, reluctant smile that came from being just a little too proud, and Hyunjin with the kind of fond amusement only best friends could afford each other. At one point, Hyunjin discreetly angled his phone, snapping photos at a speed that could rival paparazzi. By the time Jisung got to the part of his story where he slayed the Great Sock Monster of 2021, Hyunjin had already sent Jeongin a dozen pictures with captions like “your man is auditioning for the role of Disney dad” and “he’s literally glowing rn”.

Meanwhile, a few miles away, Jeongin was busy melting on the other end—because of course he was.

He’d been halfway through reviewing his notes for the next day’s lecture when his phone lit up with the first Hyunjin photo. He opened it without thinking—and immediately forgot what subject he was even studying. There was Jisung, sleeves rolled up, cardigan perfectly slouched, looking like a domestic dream as he held Jongsoo close. In the next photo, he was mid-laugh, eyes crinkled, cheeks flushed, with the baby reaching for his tie like it was the most fascinating object in existence.

By the fifth photo, Jeongin had already slumped back in his chair, hand over his mouth, a helpless grin breaking across his face. “Oh my God…” he muttered to no one, because there was no one else in the apartment to witness him dissolving into a puddle.

Then came Hyunjin’s captions:
“your man is auditioning for the role of Disney dad”
"he’s literally glowing rn”
“we should get him a BabyBjörn”

Jeongin bit back a laugh, typing at lightning speed.

Jeongin: STOP SENDING ME THESE
Jeongin:: actually no don’t stop
Jeongin: HE LOOKS SO GOOD??
Jeongin: also who let him wear a tie??? I didn't prepare one for him????

Hyunjin replied instantly with a selfie of him smirking and Changbin photobombing in the background, captioned: “you’re welcome.”

Jeongin groaned, shoving his face into his pillow for a good five seconds before rolling over and saving every single photo into a private album titled “For Science”.

And if he spent the next fifteen minutes daydreaming about Jisung holding their kid one day—well, no one needed to know that.

Jeongin groaned into his pillow, kicking his feet like a teenager with a crush. It was unfair—illegal, even—how Jisung could look so effortlessly good holding a baby. He looked comfortable, natural, like he’d been doing it for years. Like…he could be a dad tomorrow and somehow ace it.

That thought alone had Jeongin’s brain short-circuiting. Because suddenly, the picture wasn’t Jongsoo in Jisung’s arms anymore—it was a tiny, squishy, fox-eyed baby with Jisung’s grin and his own dimples. Maybe their hair would be fluffy like Jisung’s, maybe their nose would scrunch the same way when they laughed. Jeongin could see it, could feel the warm, heavy weight of that hypothetical baby in his own arms while Jisung fussed about swaddling techniques or sang lullabies slightly off-key in the kitchen.

He buried his face deeper in the pillow to hide the stupid, lovesick smile that refused to leave his face. His chest felt tight, but in the best possible way—like every beat of his heart was spelling out mine mine mine.

Hyunjin’s next photo came through, this one catching Jisung mid-laugh, head thrown back, Jongsoo giggling along like they’d been sharing inside jokes for years. The caption read:“he’s one more giggle away from asking Changbin if he can keep him.”

Jeongin nearly screamed. Because honestly? If Jisung came home tonight, knelt in front of him, and said, “Let’s start a family,” he would probably just say yes on the spot and figure the rest out later.

Hyunjin lowered his phone slowly, lips twitching as he glanced at Changbin.

“He’s probably gone—you broke him Jinnie.”

Changbin didn’t even look away from the living room, where Jisung was still rocking Jongsoo with all the tenderness of a man protecting the crown jewels. “He’s also been gone. This is just…further proof.”

Hyunjin smirked. “Think Jeongin’s surviving this?”

“Nope,” Changbin replied, popping the ‘p’ like it was a fact of life. “That boy’s already drafting their wedding invitations in his head.”

From the couch, Jisung made a ridiculous spaceship noise that had Jongsoo squealing, and both older men instinctively whipped out their phones. Because if Jeongin was going to combust, they were going to make sure it was with evidence.

Felix had been counting down the days all week. Even Chan noticed how often he’d stop mid-prepping at the café, lean against the counter, and grin at nothing in particular—because in his head, he was picturing Jongsoo. So when Saturday finally rolled around, Felix didn’t even pretend to work a full shift.

The plan had been to close up early with Minho’s blessing. The said older arrived at their café looking well-rested and in a suspiciously good mood. Felix saw his chance.

“Hyuuung,” Felix sing-songed, sliding him a latte across the counter like he was bribing him.

Minho narrowed his eyes. “No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish—”

“No,” Minho repeated, sipping his coffee.

Felix leaned forward over the counter, unleashing the full force of his wide-eyed, dimpled puppy gaze. “Please? I want to see Jongsoo. I’m gonna forget what his little face looks like. I'll ask Channie to cover for me.”

At the mention of Jongsoo, Minho instantly folded—that's how down bad he was for Jongsoo (and for Felix too, all of them can't just say no to him).

Minho sighed the kind of sigh that said I am the last barrier between this man and complete chaos, but his shoulders slumped in defeat. Because this was Felix—and much as Minho would die before admitting it aloud, he’d been soft on him from the moment he joined their circle.

“Fine,” Minho muttered, waving a hand. “Go. But if your fiancé burns the café down, I’m blaming you.”

Felix’s answering smile could’ve powered the entire block. “You’re the best, hyung.”

Which was how, an hour later, he arrived at the Seo household breathless from bounding up the stairs two at a time, cheeks pink from the autumn chill. When Hyunjin opened the door, he was nearly tackled by Felix’s exuberant hug—arms wrapped around him so tightly that for a second, Hyunjin just laughed into his shoulder.

“You smell like butter and cinnamon,” Hyunjin teased when they pulled back.

“That’s because I clocked out early for this! I made Chan handle the rest of my job by himself.” Felix grinned, unrepentant. “Family first, croissants later.”

He stepped inside like he’d lived there forever, dropping his bags with a flourish. One was brimming with pastries—“for you, obviously”—and the other held a neatly wrapped gift basket decorated with yellow paper daisies.

“For Jongsoo,” he added with a wink. “I may have gone overboard.”

Hyunjin just shook his head, smiling, as Felix practically danced into the kitchen to wash up, humming one of his baking playlist songs under his breath while scrubbing his hands. There was something about Felix—like sunshine with legs—turning their quiet house into a tiny festival just by existing.

When Felix finished, he turned with wet hands still dripping, eyes bright. “Where’s my little star?”

Changbin emerged from the hallway with Jongsoo nestled securely in his arms. The baby was more awake than usual—eyes wide, tiny fists batting at the edge of his sleep suit. Felix froze for a beat. His breath caught like it physically stopped in his chest.

Then he dropped to his knees right on the living room rug, hands out, palms up. “Hey there, little bean,” Felix whispered, voice dipped so low and sweet that Changbin actually felt his throat tighten. “Can Uncle Lix hold you?”

Jongsoo stared at him, blinking slowly with his impossibly round eyes, then let out a curious chirp—like a tiny question. That was enough. Changbin carefully passed him over, and Felix took him like he was something spun from moonlight. His arms fit perfectly beneath Jongsoo’s little body, one hand automatically cradling the back of his head.

“Oh my god,” Felix breathed. His freckles seemed to glow. “You’re so much lighter than a sack of flour. And infinitely more precious.”

Hyunjin sank into the couch next to Changbin, both of them watching with that quiet, aching fondness that had become second nature. Felix swayed without realizing it, bouncing Jongsoo gently, nose brushing against soft baby hair.

“You’re gonna come bake with me one day,” Felix whispered. “We’ll make cookies shaped like suns. I promise to let you eat the raw dough even though your daddies will kill me.”

Changbin groaned, Hyunjin laughed—and Jongsoo, wide-eyed and utterly calm, just kept staring at Felix like he’d known him his whole life.

Jongsoo let out a happy gurgle, tiny hands smacking against Felix’s chest in clumsy enthusiasm, and that was it—Felix broke into a full-bodied giggle. The sound burst out of him like sunlight through open curtains, light and airy and unrestrained, the kind of laugh that pulled people in without trying. Even Jongsoo seemed delighted by it, kicking his little legs like he understood the joke.

“He’ll be a great dad too, someday soon,” Hyunjin murmured, voice softer than the blanket draped over the arm of the couch. There was no teasing in it, no casual throwaway tone—just quiet certainty, like it was a truth he’d known for years but only now spoke aloud.

Changbin didn’t even hesitate. His arm brushed Hyunjin’s as he leaned back into the cushions, a small, private smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” he said, low and sure. “Chan-hyung would be over the moon to see this. Honestly, they might just skip the wedding and jump straight into kids.”

And it was true—watching Felix now, with Jongsoo cradled so naturally in his arms, felt like watching someone step into a role they were born for. Felix had always been a nurturer in his own way—feeding everyone until they couldn’t move, remembering the smallest preferences, loving people out loud and without apology. But this? This was something else entirely. There was a tenderness here that ran deeper than habit, something instinctive in the way he swayed without thinking, or pressed a kiss to Jongsoo’s temple like he couldn’t help himself.

As if on cue, Felix looked up, catching their fond stares. His grin went crooked and cheeky. “Speaking of, I’m telling Chan I’m ready for babies.”

Hyunjin nearly choked on nothing. Changbin sputtered.

“FELIX—!”

“What?!” Felix’s laughter bubbled up again, eyes sparkling with pure mischief. “I’ve got this parenting aura now. Can’t waste it!”

Hyunjin covered his face with one hand, shaking his head while Changbin muttered something about “absolute menace” under his breath. But neither of them could stop smiling, because underneath the ridiculousness, the thought of Felix as a dad wasn’t just plausible—it was inevitable. They could picture it so clearly. Felix, with his boundless warmth, his stubborn patience, his joy in the smallest things…he’d be the kind of parent who made life feel safe just by being in the room. And Chan—steady, grounded Chan—would build the kind of home that could hold all of that love.

Later, when the apartment had gone quiet and the late afternoon light stretched gold across the floor, Jongsoo dozed off right on Felix’s chest. The tiny face tucked perfectly into the crook of his neck, the soft rhythm of baby breaths warming Felix’s collarbone. Felix rocked him absently, his thumb tracing idle shapes along the back of Jongsoo’s head as if memorizing every strand of hair.

“I’ve loved him since he was just a story you two told,” Felix murmured after a long moment, voice low enough to feel like a confession. His smile was small but dazzling, the kind that curled gently at the corners instead of flashing bright. “And now he’s here. With you. With all of us. He’s going to grow up knowing nothing but warmth.”

The words landed heavy and soft all at once. Hyunjin reached over without thinking, squeezing Felix’s wrist in a quiet we hear you, we feel the same. Beside him, Changbin blinked rapidly and swiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand, muttering something about dust. But deep down, both of them knew it wasn’t dust at all—it was gratitude, and love, and the unshakable joy of knowing their son would always have people like Felix in his corner.

Hours later—after Felix had finally pried himself away from Jongsoo with a thousand blown kisses, a dozen forehead pecks, and at least three dramatic bows in the doorway—Changbin and Hyunjin stood there in the quiet, exchanging a look that said did we just host a small festival or a person? The apartment smelled faintly of butter and cinnamon, like Felix had left a bit of himself behind, and on the coffee table sat a half-empty basket of pastries that Jongsoo would never be old enough to remember but would probably somehow be nostalgic for anyway.

Changbin, still riding the warm afterglow of the visit, did what any self-respecting friend-slash-agent-of-chaos would do: he went through his phone and compiled the absolute best clips and photos from the day. Felix with that ridiculously soft smile, the kind that made you forget the world was loud. Felix nuzzling Jongsoo’s head like the baby was spun sugar. Felix bouncing just slightly on his heels like his joy physically couldn’t stay still. It was enough to make even the coldest heart melt.

He sent the folder to Chan without thinking, thumb tapping send like he’d just lobbed a grenade.

The reply came almost instantly.

[3RACHA]

Chan
Why would you do this to me I’m at the studio.
Hang on I need a sec—

Two minutes later, Jisung chimed in:

Jisung
bro why is our fearless leader SOBBING INTO HIS KEYBOARD
[Jisung sent a video]

The clip was pure gold—Chan hunched over his desk, head in his hands, shoulders shaking, while Jisung cackled mercilessly behind the camera.

Chan
I can’t wait to marry him
😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Changbin turned the screen toward Hyunjin, who took one look at the video and promptly folded in half, collapsing face-first into the couch cushions with a high-pitched squeal that could’ve cracked glass.

“Too cute,” he groaned into the fabric, kicking his legs like a teenager on a phone call. “They’re all too cute. I can’t stand it. My heart’s gonna file a lawsuit.”

Changbin laughed, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Can you imagine when they actually have a kid? The world’s supply of serotonin is just gonna be… gone. All of it. Concentrated in that one house.”

Hyunjin peeled his face off the cushion just enough to smirk. “We’ll all have to schedule visits in shifts so no one goes into cardiac arrest from too much sweetness.”

And that was Felix—

A walking sunrise, a future heartstopper of a dad, the kind of person who could derail a whole studio session just by existing on camera. And, apparently, the reason why every home video of Jongsoo’s early days came with background laughter from someone who didn’t even live there…but loved them like he did.

By the time Sunday afternoon rolled in—soft light spilling across the apartment like a warm blanket—Hyunjin had just finished fluffing the couch cushions when the doorbell rang. He barely got the latch open before a very distinct, very Jeongin-shaped blur appeared in the doorway, practically vibrating with nervous energy.

“Why do you look like you just ran here?” Hyunjin asked, but then he noticed the envelope clutched in Jeongin’s hand. A real, sealed envelope. “What’s this?” Hyunjin blinked, accepting it gingerly, like it might detonate.

“My medical clearance!” Jeongin announced with the gravitas of someone presenting the nuclear launch codes. His grin was so wide his eyes practically disappeared. “I went to the clinic again. For a full checkup. They drew blood, checked my lungs, swabbed my throat—you name it. I am—” he puffed out his chest dramatically—“certified baby-safe.”

For a second, Hyunjin just stared at him before bursting out laughing so hard he had to grab the doorframe for support. “Oh my god, you’re insane.”

“Responsible!” Jeongin corrected immediately, jabbing a finger at him. “I am the epitome of responsible uncle. The gold standard. The blueprint.”

From the hallway, Changbin’s head popped into view, eyebrows arched high. “Did you…actually go through all that?”

Jeongin’s hair flipped dramatically over one shoulder, his expression pure smugness. “Yes. And it wasn’t cheap, so you’re going to have to feed me.”

Changbin didn’t even bother arguing—just snorted and waved him inside. “You’re lucky I like you, kid.”

As always, Jeongin didn’t show up empty-handed. But his gifts…well, they were peak Jeongin. First, an intricately carved wooden music box shaped like a tiny train; when he wound the key, it played a soft, tinkling lullaby that instantly made the room feel cozier. Then, a miniature set of plush instruments—a drum, a tiny violin, a squeaky trumpet—that rattled or squeaked when squeezed.

“For his auditory development,” Jeongin said proudly, setting them out like treasures on display. A beat later, his face twisted. “Oh god. I sound like Seungmin-hyung. Ew.”

Hyunjin chuckled and shook his head, catching the way Jeongin’s ears turned pink when Changbin muttered, “That’s not a bad thing.”

The laughter that followed wasn’t the loud, sharp kind—it was warm and rounded at the edges, the kind that stayed in your chest for a while. Like sunlight you could taste.

Hyunjin was the one to retrieve Jongsoo from the bedroom, moving carefully as if afraid to disrupt the fragile quiet they had built. The baby had been fussy all morning, still worn from a rough night that left all three of them bleary-eyed and slow-moving. His little face was blotchy from earlier tears, his tiny fists still balled in protest. Hyunjin murmured soothing nonsense against his son’s hair as he crossed the living room, but when Jeongin’s arms lifted—hesitant yet certain—he passed Jongsoo over.

The transfer was cautious, a little clumsy, and for a heartbeat Hyunjin thought maybe Jongsoo would protest again. And he did—squirming, wriggling, his small mouth twisting into a fresh pout.

“Oh no…” Changbin’s voice carried the weariness of someone who’d spent hours rocking the baby already. He hovered nearby, biting his lip, half-preparing to swoop in and rescue Jeongin before the meltdown escalated.

But Jeongin didn’t falter. He only shifted his grip, instinctively curling his arms tighter, the angle of his shoulders softening, his body folding protectively around the baby in a way that made it clear he hadn’t needed a clearance slip—he’d already been waiting his whole life for this.

“Hey there, little one,” he whispered, voice so low it seemed to reshape the room. “Are you having a tough day? Want me to sing you something?”

The words weren’t grand or rehearsed; they spilled out in that clumsy Jeongin way—sincere, unpolished, utterly him. And then, right there in the middle of the living room, he began to hum.

It was a tune Hyunjin recognized immediately—one of those songs Jeongin always monopolized during karaoke nights, belting it half-seriously, half like a joke. But now…it was transformed. The edges of the melody were rounded, tender. His voice, usually so quick to spark laughter, slipped into something gentler—careful notes weaving into a lullaby that wasn’t written as one but somehow became one in his hands.

And then the most magical thing happened.

Jongsoo stilled. Slowly, the tension left his tiny body. His lashes fluttered, his breaths evened out, and when he blinked up, it was with a look so startlingly clear that it rooted everyone to the spot. Wide, dark eyes stared up at Jeongin with something far too big for a baby to hold—wonder, maybe, or the wordless recognition of finding comfort in the unfamiliar. His fists unfurled, little fingers stretching open as though reaching for the sound itself.

Changbin let out a disbelieving laugh under his breath, raking a hand through his hair like he wasn’t sure what he’d just witnessed. Hyunjin’s throat tightened, his chest aching at the sight—his son gazing at their little brother like he was the most fascinating, safest thing in the world. And Jeongin, for all his dramatics, didn’t even realize the gravity of it. He just smiled down at Jongsoo, nose scrunching a little when the baby’s expression softened, as if they were sharing some secret only the two of them could understand.

It was ridiculous, really, the way Jeongin could walk into a room and rewrite its gravity without meaning to.

Changbin made a strangled noise. Actually choked on his own breath, coughing like he’d just inhaled a lungful of confetti.

“Oh my god, heavens above” Hyunjin whispered, hand coming up to his mouth as if that could contain the tidal wave of emotion threatening to spill out. Jeongin, of course, had the audacity to look bashful. He peeked up at them over Jongsoo’s downy head, cheeks pink, lips tugging into the smallest smile as he kept singing under his breath.

“See? You just needed a bit of music, didn’t you, tiny bean?” His voice softened on the words, almost reverent, like he was afraid to break the spell he’d cast.

Changbin was openly weeping now—no restraint, no shame, tears streaking hot and fast. Hyunjin slipped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close, though his own eyes shimmered dangerously. His throat tightened as he whispered, voice breaking, “Why are we like this?”

“That’s our baby—holding our other baby,” Changbin hiccupped, clinging to Hyunjin’s sleeve like it was a lifeline. “I can’t—fuck—I can’t handle this.”

Jeongin barely seemed to hear them. He was too lost in the tiny miracle in his arms, staring down at Jongsoo with a look so full of awe it made Hyunjin’s chest ache. The same Jeongin who once stumbled into their lives with a backpack too heavy for his frame and a smile that was more bravado than belief—now standing steady, arms sure, voice gentle, as if he’d been made for this moment.

“I’m your Uncle Jeongin, okay?” he murmured, brushing his thumb lightly over Jongsoo’s fist. “The cool one. The one who’ll teach you how to hit the high notes and sneak extra cookies. But you didn’t hear that last part.”

And somehow—because the universe was clearly out to destroy them—Jongsoo cooed. A tiny, approving sound that made it seem like he understood every word, that he agreed entirely.

Hyunjin’s chest felt too tight. He and Changbin (all of them) had doted on Jeongin for years, practically raised him since his family was in Busan and he had to grow up a little too fast. He was the youngest of their friend group, their not-so-secret soft spot, the one they teased endlessly but also watched over like hawks. And now, watching him cradle their son like this, they realized something bone-deep and bittersweet: Jeongin wasn’t their baby anymore. He had grown into a man before their eyes—steady, kind, gentle, and so full of love he didn’t even realize how much of it he carried. Pride and ache tangled in Hyunjin’s chest so tightly he could barely breathe.

Of course, the moment Jeongin left to grab a glass of water, Changbin—eyes still swollen from crying—snatched his phone, shoved the video onto their chaotic group chat, and hit send. The clip captured everything: Jongsoo gazing up at Jeongin like he was the moon, Jeongin’s voice threading soft and low, the baby’s eyelids drooping until he fell asleep safe in his arms.

The meltdown was immediate.

[Chaos Central]

Felix
😭😭😭 i can’t even spell i’m so soft help

Seungmin
that is DISGUSTINGLY cute.
also his technique was perfect, breath control 10/10

Minho
i hate this. i hate how that made my chest physically hurt.
(also someone please screen record this for when he claims he doesn’t want kids)

Chan
i’m literally CRYING IN THE STUDIO
jisung keeps throwing me tissues
when we have ours with lix i want this
i want ALL OF THIS

Jisung
i can confirm he’s been wiping his face with the mixing rag it’s gross
also yeah my boyfriend is the best 🥺💗

Seungmin
my GOD he looks like a dad already i’m actually shaking

Felix
he’s supposed to be OUR baby. how dare he go around looking like this

Chan
Our baby holding a baby huhudsfsdfkjhkj
I wasn't prepared for this

Changbin read through the flood of chaos and wordlessly handed the phone to Hyunjin, who immediately collapsed against his shoulder, wheezing through laughter and tears all at once.

“Can you believe this life?” Hyunjin whispered, voice raw from crying but colored with awe.

Changbin shook his head, burying his lips into Hyunjin’s hair, arms tightening around him as if grounding himself. “No. But fuck, I’m so glad it’s ours.”

Later that night, when the apartment finally quieted and Jongsoo was tucked in with his soft breathing carrying through the baby monitor, the three of them lingered in the living room. Jeongin was sprawled across the couch, one leg dangling off the armrest, while Hyunjin and Changbin sat opposite him like two parents about to interrogate a suitor.

“You do realize,” Hyunjin started, voice deliberately casual as he elbowed Changbin, “that you’ve basically become Jongsoo’s personal radio, right?”

Changbin snorted, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Not even just a radio—a whole damn concert. Kid won’t sleep unless it’s Uncle Jeongin’s Deluxe Live Edition.”

Jeongin groaned, dragging a cushion over his face. His ears were bright red even under the shadow of the pillow. “Stop. You’re making it sound like he’ll get tired of me in a week.”

“He won’t,” Hyunjin said immediately. Softer. Certain.

And there was something in the way he said it that made Jeongin peek out from under the pillow. Because Hyunjin wasn’t joking anymore—his gaze was warm, heavy, the same look he used to give Jeongin after late-night practice runs when he was just seventeen, too thin and too determined for his own good.

Jeongin blinked, sat up straighter, pretending to stretch. “I should head out before I pass out here,” he muttered. Then, after a beat, he added with a crooked grin, “You… you might have a baby now, but I’m still your baby, right?”

It was meant as a joke—lighthearted, cheeky—they know that. But Hyunjin and Changbin had been emotionally steamrolled all day, cracked wide open by lullabies and the sight of Jeongin cradling their son like he was something precious. So instead of laughing, they answered together, voices tangled but certain:

“You will always be our baby, Jeongin-ah.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was full, charged, a little wobbly at the edges. Jeongin’s grin faltered into something soft, something almost shy. He ducked his head, suddenly busy tying his shoelaces.

And as Hyunjin watched him, a memory rose sharp and clear—

It was when they were in their group hideout in one of the abandoned rooftops near their dorms. They celebrated Chan's birthday and the rest of them were in food coma after their ramen party. Jeongin at fifteen, clutching the straps of his backpack so hard his knuckles were white. He's the latest addition to their group and is still adjusting. His voice barely audible when he’d asked, “You’ll look out for me, right?”

He had looked so small back then, shoulders hunched like he was bracing to be told no. Hyunjin remembered how his own throat had closed, how it was Felix that had slung an arm around Jeongin without hesitation. “Of course we will. You’re ours now.”

And Jeongin—bright-eyed, trembling—had smiled genuinely for the first time that day.

Now, years later, the echo of that promise hummed in the living room, alive again in Jeongin’s joke. Except it wasn’t just a joke. Not really.

Hyunjin blinked back the burn in his eyes, forcing a crooked smile. Changbin cleared his throat like he wasn’t seconds away from breaking.

“God, you guys are so cheesy,” he mumbled, voice betraying him with a crack. He stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder, but when he hugged them both before leaving, he lingered a beat too long, fingers curling in the back of Changbin’s hoodie like he didn’t want to let go.

They walked him to the front door like they always did. Jeongin slipped on his sneakers, waved them off with an easy grin, and stepped onto the porch. The night air was cool, cicadas humming in the distance, streetlamps painting soft pools of light down the quiet lane.

Hyunjin leaned against the doorframe, Changbin warm at his side. They watched Jeongin walk down the path, his figure framed by the halo glow of the lamppost.

Hyunjin exhaled, shaking his head with a laugh. “We’re doomed,” he whispered, voice caught somewhere between fondness and tears.

Changbin wrapped an arm around his waist, pressing a kiss to his temple. “We’ve all been doomed since Busan shipped him to us,” he said, chuckling.

Hyunjin snorted, but his eyes were still glossy. “You remember? Those first months, when he barely ate unless one of us sat with him? When he’d crawl into the studio you, Chan-hyung, Sungie rents just to nap on the couch so he wouldn’t be alone?”

And Hyunjin’s chest tightened at the memory—Jeongin’s first day, clutching his backpack straps with both hands, wide-eyed and awkward. He had looked so small back then, like he wasn’t sure he deserved to stand beside them. And yet, even then, Hyunjin had known: this kid was theirs to protect.

“Of course I remember.” Changbin’s chest tightened as he spoke. “He was still a kid, but he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. We promised ourselves we’d help him carry it, even just a little.”

Hyunjin’s lips curved into a wobbly smile. “And now he’s carrying our kid to sleep.”

Changbin exhaled, laughter and disbelief tangled together. “Yeah,” he said, tugging Hyunjin closer. “And somehow, he’s still ours too.”

It wasn’t meant for anyone but Hyunjin. But Jeongin—pausing at the gate to fiddle with his earphones—heard it.

His breath hitched, just a little. He didn’t turn around, didn’t let them see the sudden tightness in his throat. Instead, he slipped the earphones in, gave them a quick, exaggerated salute over his shoulder, and jogged down the street like nothing had happened.

But inside, everything was happening.

The words clung to him, wrapped around him like a too-big sweater he didn’t want to take off. "... And somehow, he’s still ours too.". It was the kind of thing he used to dream about hearing, back when he’d convinced himself that growing up meant standing alone. Back when it felt like family was something other people got to keep.

Now here he was, twenty-something, pretending to roll his eyes at their sap while secretly swallowing it whole. They're all building their own lives now—he's going steady with Jisung, his Minho-hyung and Seungmin-hyung are married, Chan-hyung and Felix-hyung are going to be married soon too, then Hyunjin and Changbin are married and had Jongsoo now, they all had their own little worlds orbiting around them—and still, they found space for him. Still, they said the words like they meant them.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, blinking hard against the sting in his eyes. The night air was cool, the streetlights humming overhead, and somewhere in the distance a neighbor’s dog barked. Ordinary things. But Jeongin felt anything but ordinary.

He loved them. God, he loved them all so much it scared him sometimes. His ridiculous, cheesy, insufferably soft hyungs who had become anchors without him even noticing. Maybe he didn’t say it enough—maybe he didn’t say it at all—but they’d know. They had to know.

Because even if the world kept changing, even if they all grew busier, older, stretched in a hundred different directions, one thing would stay true: Hyunjin and Changbin might have a baby now and the others soon will too—he might have one too in mere future. But one thing's for sure—he’d always be theirs too, their first.

And that was more than enough.

The day all the uncles finally descended at once felt almost like a holiday. The apartment was filled to bursting—voices overlapping, shoes abandoned by the door in a colorful pile, the faint aroma of Chan’s takeout mixed with Felix’s latest baking experiment sneaking from the kitchen. It was chaos—of course it was—but softened around the edges. Like everyone collectively decided to dial it back by 30% because there was a baby involved. They spoke in slightly gentler tones, moved a little slower, even if their excitement still made the walls vibrate.

Hyunjin lingered by the entryway, Jongsoo perched snugly on his hip. The baby’s tiny fingers had found their way into the folds of Hyunjin’s shirt, gripping like he knew instinctively this was his anchor amidst the noise. Hyunjin’s gaze swept over the scene, his chest tightening in a way that was both overwhelming and grounding. Jeongin and Jisung were bickering across the couch, waving an empty pack of wipes at each other as if it were a piece of evidence in court. Seungmin had migrated to the coffee table, disinfectant spray in hand, muttering under his breath about unsanitary bachelors as he wiped the same spot twice. In the kitchen, Chan and Felix leaned shoulder to shoulder, arranging baby-friendly snacks with the kind of hushed giggles that betrayed how badly they were trying not to eat half of them first. Even Minho—stoic, unreadable Minho—hovered near the hall with his hands in his pockets, surveying the entire operation with the smug air of a cat who knew exactly which strings he pulled to keep order intact.

“This feels so right,” Hyunjin whispered, almost to himself, though his words were carried on the warmth already crowding the space.

Changbin slipped in close behind him, his arm sliding around Hyunjin’s waist like it belonged there, steadying without needing to. He pressed his chin against Hyunjin’s shoulder, his smile a quiet mirror of the one Hyunjin wore. “Our family,” he murmured back, his voice low, reverent—like a vow he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in his chest until now.

Hyunjin swallowed past the sudden tightness in his throat, letting his cheek rest lightly against Changbin’s temple. Their eyes, as if drawn by instinct, fell together to the baby between them. Jongsoo was nestled into Hyunjin’s side, wide-eyed and transfixed by the sight of so many beloved voices moving around him. His mouth formed little O’s of wonder, tiny fists flinching whenever someone laughed too loudly, then relaxing again as Hyunjin’s hand gently rubbed circles along his back.

For a moment, time stretched—no longer just a blur of footsteps, chatter, and clinking dishes, but a vivid tableau etched into the air. Jeongin’s laughter ringing clear, Jisung’s dramatic whining, Seungmin’s grumbling counterpoint, the bursts of giggles from the kitchen, Minho’s quiet huffs of disapproval-turned-affection. And at the center of it, the three of them, grounded by the weight of Jongsoo’s soft body and the realization that their home was no longer just theirs.

Hyunjin’s chest ached, but in the good way—the kind that came from fullness, from recognizing something precious as it unfolded right in front of you. He tightened his hold on Jongsoo instinctively, as if to say: Look, baby. This is who you belong to. This is who belongs to you.

And Jongsoo, oblivious to everything but the colors and sounds around him, blinked slowly and cooed, his lips curving as though he already understood.

The sound made Hyunjin laugh under his breath, but it also made him notice the way Jeongin and Jisung had frozen mid-bicker, both caught glancing over with sheepish grins when they realized they’d been observed.

“Don’t mind us,” Jeongin said, holding the empty wipe packet aloft like a white flag. “We’re just… uh, enriching his vocabulary early.”

“Yeah,” Jisung added, though his grin was crooked. “Gotta expose him to all forms of debate. Even the dramatic ones.”

Hyunjin arched a brow, bouncing Jongsoo lightly on his hip as if the baby might weigh in on the matter. “Mm. Just make sure his first words aren’t because of you two,” he teased, his tone warm even as it carried that familiar Hwang sharpness.

That earned a ripple of laughter—Changbin’s deep chuckle pressed against Hyunjin’s shoulder, Minho’s quiet huff that almost passed as amusement, and even Jeongin and Jisung breaking into guilty snickers. Jongsoo gurgled right on cue, tiny fists curling like he’d joined the joke, and the sound filled every corner of the apartment until the walls seemed to hum with it.

And for a fleeting second, with everyone’s laughter mingling like that, Hyunjin thought—this is it. This is home.

Eventually, they all migrated to the living room, a sprawl of bodies crammed into too little space—legs draped over armrests, knees knocking into coffee cups, cushions stolen and re-stolen as if comfort was a competitive sport. Felix ended up perched cross-legged on the coffee table like some chaotic Buddha, clapping his hands whenever Jongsoo was passed to the next uncle as if the baby was a sacred artifact in the middle of a ceremony.

Each time Jongsoo was handed over, there came a flurry of whispered promises—Jeongin pledging he’d one day sneak him free milk tea, Chan murmuring something about teaching him guitar, Jisung promising to let him play all the loudest, most annoying instruments first. The baby, solemn as a judge, blinked at them with wide eyes as if memorizing every ridiculous vow.

And then Jisung, predictably, decided it wasn’t chaotic enough. He shot up straighter, raising a hand like he was about to veto a new law. “Okay, okay. Important question time.” His voice dripped with fake gravitas, earning instant side-eyes. “Jongsoo-yah, who’s your favorite uncle?”

The room collectively gasped. Felix slapped his cheeks in mock horror. “OH NO, DON’T MAKE HIM CHOOSE—he’s too young for this kind of pressure!”

“YES, MAKE HIM CHOOSE,” Jeongin countered immediately, practically falling off his cushion to lean closer. His grin was feral.

Hyunjin and Changbin exchanged one look—shared a grin so evil it could power a small city—and then doubled down. Hyunjin lifted Jongsoo higher, bouncing him gently as if this was a royal decree. “Hmm, aegi, who’s your favorite, huh? Who do you want to go to?” His voice was sweet, but his eyes glinted like a game show host stirring drama.

Changbin wagged his brows, leaning into the performance. “Go on, baby. Choose wisely. Show them you’ve got taste.”

What followed could only be described as a warped pageant. Chan was whispering encouragement under his breath like a coach trying to sway an athlete. Felix, vibrating with barely contained anticipation, actually looked like he might combust if he wasn’t picked. Jeongin and Jisung sat shoulder-to-shoulder with identical puppy-dog eyes, the desperation radiating off them like heat waves. Seungmin, of course, leaned back against the couch, arms crossed, one brow arched.

“Don’t look at me, kid,” he muttered dryly. “I’m not bribing you. Not worth my dignity.”

And then Jongsoo, in all his baby wisdom, surveyed the circle with wide, thoughtful eyes—until his gaze landed on Minho.

Who was doing absolutely nothing. No cooing, no bribery, no eyebrow waggling. Just sitting there with his hands clasped loosely between his knees, his face arranged in that carefully neutral expression that screamed I refuse to participate in this circus, but also, fine, I’ll babysit you all when it blows up. He looked, frankly, resigned.

That, apparently, was all the decision Jongsoo needed.

The baby’s arms shot forward. Chubby little fingers stretched toward Minho with startling conviction, a small whine bubbling up in his throat as if demanding, That one. Now.

For half a beat, the room froze. The silence was deafening.

And then—chaos.

“WHAT?!” Jisung screeched, flailing backward so dramatically he toppled into Jeongin’s lap. “NOOOOO. THIS IS BETRAYAL!”

“Unbelievable,” Felix whispered, clutching Chan’s arm with the intensity of someone watching the finale of a K-drama. “I—did he just—? This is corruption. Rigged. RIGGED!”

Even Seungmin cracked—his lips twitching upward, fighting to suppress the smugness seeping through.

Minho blinked once. Twice. His ears went pink. He let out a long, long-suffering sigh, but when he leaned forward to take Jongsoo from Hyunjin, his hands were so gentle, so instinctively careful, it undid every ounce of aloofness he tried to maintain. The baby giggled immediately, burying his face against Minho’s chest like he’d won the grand prize.

“Traitor,” Jisung groaned, pointing an accusatory finger at Jongsoo, who rewarded him with another squeaky laugh.

“Shut up, he’s got good taste,” Seungmin shot back smoothly, sliding an arm around Jisung’s shoulders and dragging him upright. He threaded his fingers through Jisung’s hair in absentminded comfort, though the little grin tugging at his lips gave him away.

Across the room, Hyunjin tilted his head, watching the way Minho—stoic, sharp-tongued, eternally difficult Minho—held Jongsoo like he’d been doing it his whole life. His partner’s laugh was soft in his ear, Changbin murmuring, “Didn’t even have to try. Classic.”

And though Minho rolled his eyes at the uproar, though he muttered something about everyone being dramatic, the faint flush on his ears never faded. Because the truth was simple, and far too obvious: the baby had chosen him.

And it felt… nice.

The noise level spiked instantly, like someone had announced free concert tickets. Jisung was wailing in exaggerated betrayal, draping himself over Seungmin’s lap like a fainting starlet. “MY NEPHEW, MY OWN FLESH AND BLOOD—”

“Jisung, he’s not your flesh and blood,” Seungmin cut in, though the corner of his mouth was twitching upward. “Also, stop yelling in his ear. He made his choice.”

Felix, meanwhile, clutched at Chan’s sleeve with the intensity of a soap opera heroine. “Did you see that? Did you SEE that? This is history. We’re living through HISTORY.”

Chan patted his back, valiantly holding back laughter. “You mean the history of Minho actually winning something without lifting a finger?”

“BLASPHEMY,” Jeongin declared, pointing dramatically at Jongsoo like the baby had personally stabbed him in the heart. “I thought we had something special, Jongsoo-yah. I babysat. I bought the wipes! AND THIS IS MY THANKS?”

“You forgot the wipes,” Hyunjin reminded him sweetly, earning himself a glare.

Through it all, Minho just sat there, stoic as ever—though anyone with functioning eyesight could see the faint pink crawling up his cheeks. Jongsoo had tucked himself against Minho’s chest with all the stubborn certainty of a cat picking its favorite human, tiny fingers clutching at his shirt collar like he belonged there.

And for once, Minho didn’t push back against the attention. His hand came up, slow and careful, to cup Jongsoo’s back. The baby gave a happy little hum, eyes fluttering shut like Minho’s heartbeat was the only lullaby he needed.

The teasing didn’t stop, of course—if anything, it got worse. “Look at him,” Hyunjin cooed in mock tears, clutching at Changbin’s sleeve. “Our grumpy cat is a baby whisperer. He’s a mother.”

“I’m writing this down in my diary,” Jisung sniffled dramatically. “Dear Diary, today I lost my nephew to Minho. RIP my legacy.”

“Legacy of what? Being loud?” Seungmin deadpanned, making Jisung gasp like he’d been shot.

But none of their antics seemed to touch Minho. For all his usual snark and sharp elbows, he was…quiet. Almost reverent. He looked down at Jongsoo, lips pressing into the faintest of smiles—soft, crooked, unguarded. The kind of smile that never lasted long, but always meant something when it appeared.

Hyunjin and Changbin caught it immediately. They shared a glance over his shoulder, smug and fond in equal measure, before Changbin leaned in with a low murmur meant just for Minho.

“Told you he’d love you.”

Minho rolled his eyes, but the way his thumb kept brushing gentle circles against Jongsoo’s back betrayed him completely.

It didn’t take long for the noise to climb right back up, even if Jongsoo remained happily perched in Minho’s lap like he’d found his personal throne. Every few seconds another uncle drifted closer, trying some new gimmick to win him over—Felix wiggling his eyebrows like a cartoon villain, Jisung producing increasingly unhinged animal noises, Chan dramatically pretending to faint if Jongsoo so much as glanced his way.

And Jongsoo, bless him, entertained them in bursts. He gave Chan a gummy slap across the cheek that sent the room howling, let Felix plant a noisy kiss on the tip of his nose, and even giggled when Jisung barked like a seal. But each time the crowd pressed in too close, his tiny fists clutched at Minho’s shirt again, pulling himself back into the safety of that broad chest. Minho’s hands adjusted instinctively, one steady on Jongsoo’s back, the other cradling the baby’s thigh—possessive, protective, as if daring anyone to argue with Jongsoo’s choice.

Hyunjin caught sight of it from across the room, his own chest tightening. He felt Changbin bump his shoulder, grounding him. “Look at them,” Changbin whispered, voice rough at the edges like he was holding back too much at once. “Our kid. With our idiots.”

Hyunjin’s smile stretched so wide it looked like it might split his face. His eyes shone, glistening with the kind of pride that burned brighter than any spotlight. “Yeah,” he breathed, almost reverent. “He’s so loved, isn’t he?”

“The most loved,” Changbin agreed, squeezing his hand.

On the couch, Minho—forever prickly Minho, who once barked at anyone who dared call him soft—was sitting uncharacteristically still, like the baby on his lap had rooted him to the earth. Jongsoo was babbling nonsense, smacking his chubby palms against Minho’s chest in delight. Minho didn’t complain. He just leaned down, eyes softening, and pressed his forehead gently against Jongsoo’s, letting the baby tug at his collar like he owned him. For once, he didn’t fight the attention, didn’t roll his eyes at the cameras aimed his way. His lips curved into a small, lopsided smile—barely there, but so unguarded it made everyone fall quiet for half a second.

Everyone except Jisung, who promptly launched himself face-down onto the carpet. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME. Minho-hyung just smiled. That’s it, game over. Cancel Christmas. I’ve been dethroned.”

Laughter erupted. Felix screamed into a throw pillow, Chan nearly dropped his juice box from laughing too hard, and Hyunjin had to muffle his giggles in Changbin’s shoulder. Seungmin, however, didn’t join the chaos right away. He stayed seated a little apart, arms crossed loosely over his chest, gaze locked on his husband. He knew this Minho—the one who was gentler than he let on, the one who carried his affection in touches and silences rather than words—but seeing him now, with a baby cradled against his chest and the tiniest smile on his lips? It tugged at something deep in Seungmin’s heart. Fondness, yes. Pride, too. But mostly, a soft awe that even after all these years, Minho could still surprise him.

Later, after the storm of laughter and baby coos finally calmed, after everyone had eaten too much and left shoes scattered like breadcrumbs by the door, the apartment seemed impossibly still. Toys littered the rug, the fridge was overstuffed with leftover takeout, and the faint scent of Felix’s cookies still clung to the air.

Hyunjin curled into Changbin’s side on the couch, hair mussed, cheeks aching from smiling all day. Jongsoo slept soundly in his bassinet nearby, his little chest rising and falling in even breaths. Changbin pressed a kiss to his temple. “Best day yet?” he asked softly, rubbing his thumb over Hyunjin’s knuckles.

“Best day yet,” Hyunjin murmured back, eyelids fluttering shut.

And it wasn’t just words. It was the truth—because somehow, in this messy, noisy, wonderful life they had built, every single day managed to feel like the best one yet.

The apartment had finally settled into silence, the kind that only comes after a day overflowing with laughter and too many bodies crammed into one space. The remnants of joy lingered everywhere—couch cushions slouched in defeat, coffee mugs balancing on precarious edges, the faint trace of someone’s perfume clinging to the curtains. On the windowsill, a half-eaten pastry box had been abandoned, the flaky crumbs dusting the sill like confetti. It looked less like a mess and more like evidence—that tonight had been full, alive, and theirs.

Hyunjin didn’t reach for any of it. Not tonight. His hands, so used to cleaning paintbrushes and straightening canvases, remained folded on the crib rail. He leaned forward, chin propped on his wrists, his body curved protectively toward the little world inside the crib and there lay Jongsoo—sprawled on his back, one tiny fist curled near his cheek, lips parted around the softest sighs. Every breath was a whisper of peace. His eyelashes fluttered in the glow of the nightlight, delicate crowns on skin so impossibly small. He radiated that pure trust only babies could give, the kind that said I am safe because you are here. Hyunjin’s throat tightened at the weight of it, the enormity of being someone’s haven.

The quiet footsteps were familiar, and he didn’t need to turn to know it was Changbin. A moment later, warmth wrapped around his waist, solid arms tugging him gently back until Changbin’s chest pressed into his spine, cheek finding its place against Hyunjin’s shoulder. They fit like a puzzle well-worn from being held too often, each curve and angle molded over years of choosing each other. Hyunjin leaned back into it instinctively, exhaling like he’d been waiting all day just for this exact hold.

Neither spoke at first. They didn’t need to. The lull of Jongsoo’s breathing filled the space, steady and fragile, and the city hummed faintly in the distance, as though even the world outside had lowered its voice for them. Hyunjin let his eyes trace every inch of Jongsoo’s tiny form, drinking it in like a painting he wanted to memorize, every stroke and shade locked into memory.

“You’re staring again,” Changbin murmured, amusement tucked into his voice.

“Can you blame me?” Hyunjin whispered, eyes still fixed on Jongsoo. “Look at him. He’s perfect.”

Changbin’s chest rose against his back, a laugh low and helpless. “He’s definitely got your pout.”

Hyunjin turned his head just enough to glare, though it melted instantly into a smile. “Don’t pretend you’re not proud about it. You love that pout.”

“I love everything about you,” Changbin shot back without hesitation, voice suddenly serious, reverent. He kissed the edge of Hyunjin’s jaw softly, almost apologetically. “Even when you drive me insane. Especially then.”

Hyunjin’s heart stuttered. He gripped the rail tighter, like he needed to anchor himself. “You’re disgustingly adorable,” he muttered, but his ears burned pink, his throat thick. “You say things like that and then what—expect me to just survive it?”

“Yes,” Changbin teased, but his arms tightened, his lips brushed Hyunjin’s temple. “Because you don’t just survive it. You glow. Like right now. Do you know how beautiful you look when you’re looking at him? Like…like every wish I’ve ever made came true at once.”

Hyunjin made a strangled sound, half laugh, half choked sob, and covered his face with one hand. “Stop. Oh my god, you’re insufferable. Who even says things like that?”

“Me,” Changbin said simply, smug and soft all at once. He pulled Hyunjin’s hand away from his face just to kiss his palm. “Because it’s true. And because I’m allowed to be disgustingly in love with my husband.”

Hyunjin blinked rapidly, tears prickling, laughter shaking through him. He twisted in Changbin’s arms, cupped his husband’s cheeks with both hands, and kissed him—quick, messy, desperate. When they pulled apart, their noses brushed, breaths mingling.

“I can’t wait for all his firsts,” Hyunjin whispered finally, his voice so soft it sounded like it could break. His eyes stayed fixed on Jongsoo, but his hand crept over Changbin’s, threading their fingers together, squeezing as though anchoring himself.

Changbin’s lips curved against his shoulder. “Yeah? Like what?” His voice was warm, edged with curiosity but mellowed by exhaustion, the kind of tone that belonged in dimly lit rooms and late-night confessions.

Hyunjin’s lips twitched upward, eyes still fixed on their son. “His first word. His first step. The first time he tries to run away from you because you won’t let him eat dirt.”

Why am I the mean parent in this story?” Changbin protested, playful, nipping lightly at his neck. “Maybe you’re the one who won’t let him live a little.”

Hyunjin let out a soft laugh, the sound breaking on a breath. “Please. You’ll be worse. He’ll look at you with those big puppy eyes and you’ll cave. You’ll give him three cookies before dinner just because he blinks at you.”

“...Okay, fair,” Changbin admitted with a chuckle that was equal parts embarrassed and helpless. Because he knew Hyunjin was right. He’d already fallen for those eyes. He buried his face briefly into the curve of Hyunjin’s neck, teeth grazing his skin in a mock bite. The warmth of his breath, the small nip, the ridiculousness of it—it made Hyunjin laugh under his breath, that low melodic sound that always unraveled Changbin from the inside out.

Silence folded over them again, but this time it wasn’t empty—it was swaying, moving with the rhythm of their breath. Hyunjin's thumb brushed slow circles over Changbin's knuckles calloused by years of effort, grounding himself in the reality that this—this weight, this warmth—was not a dream.

Hyunjin turned his head slightly, enough to brush his nose against Changbin’s temple, voice dipping lower, gentler. “You’re ridiculous. But you’re also the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you. So much it makes me dizzy.”

Changbin stilled against him for a moment, as if the words had pierced straight through him. Then, slowly, deliberately, he pressed a kiss just behind Hyunjin’s ear, lingering long enough to make it feel like an answer carved into skin. “Good,” he whispered against him, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile Hyunjin could feel. “’Cause you’re stuck with me. And with him. Let’s make a thousand more moments just like this. Until forever isn’t enough.”

Hyunjin laughed wetly, forehead pressed to his. “You’re actually going to kill me.”

“Good,” Changbin whispered against his lips, smiling like he’d just won the world. “If I get to love you until your last breath, then good.”

Hyunjin’s heart stuttered, then soared. He turned fully into Changbin once more, forehead pressing to his, the world narrowing to the warmth of his husband’s breath and the steady beat of his heart. He smiled through the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. “Forever doesn’t sound long enough.”

Changbin’s answering grin was lopsided, shaky, and so full of love it was almost unbearable. He kissed him again but this time—slow, tender, reverent—like he was kissing a prayer he didn’t know how to speak out loud. When they pulled apart, both of them a little breathless, Hyunjin looked back down at Jongsoo, at their son asleep in a crib that used to be just furniture but was now their universe.

“Lucky me,” Hyunjin whispered, his voice catching on the edges of something bigger than words.

“No,” Changbin corrected softly, tightening his arms around him. “Lucky us.”

And in that small room, bathed in the glow of the nightlight, with the hush of Jongsoo’s dreams wrapping around them, they stayed. Holding each other, holding everything, hearts tangled so tightly that forever didn’t feel like a long time at all—it felt like just the beginning.