Work Text:
The cursor blinked.
And blinked.
And blinked.
Jungwon squinted at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard but not typing. The deadline was in less than twenty-four hours, and he still hadn’t found the right lead. His coffee had cooled an hour ago, untouched since Haru's earlier tantrum.
From the other side of the apartment, a soft thud.
“Shh—guys, come on. Appa’s working,” Jay whispered, not quite quiet enough.
“I’m not even being loud!” Haerin protested.
“You just dropped a toy truck down the stairs,” Jay reminded her, his voice tight but calm.
Jungwon rubbed his temple, back arched over the makeshift desk in the guest room. He was on his third attempt to restructure the piece—something about culture and parenting and how identity stretched and frayed in modern domestic life—but the only thing fraying right now was his own patience.
Another sound—this time a high-pitched shriek of delight.
“Haru, not the marker—!”
Too late. The squeaky scribble of uncapped ink against the wall echoed through the hall.
Jay’s sigh came out like a deflating balloon. “Okay. That’s it. Color time’s over.”
Jungwon’s hands curled into fists on the tabletop, then slowly relaxed. He wasn’t mad. Not really. Just… overstimulated. The kind of stretched-thin that made his shoulders feel tight and his head floaty. The kind that made even love feel loud.
Jay appeared in the doorway, toddler Haru wriggling in one arm, holding the marker triumphantly in one tiny fist.
“False alarm,” Jay said, attempting levity. “It’s dry. Crisis averted.”
Jungwon turned to look at him. His smile was tight, grateful but tired.
“Sorry,” Jay added, voice dropping as he stepped closer. “I’m trying to keep them out of your way.”
“I know,” Jungwon said. He meant it. He did.
But even the effort of knowing felt exhausting.
Jay reached out, brushing Jungwon’s bangs away and letting his hand linger at the back of his neck, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Want me to take them to the park for a bit?”
Jungwon hesitated. The house would be quiet. He’d get an hour, maybe two. But he’d also miss them the second they walked out the door. That’s what made this so hard—he loved them too much to want space, and needed space too badly to ignore how burned out he felt.
Before he could answer, Haerin peeked around Jay’s legs. “Appa? You didn’t eat lunch.”
Jungwon blinked. Had he really skipped it?
“No,” he said quietly. “I didn’t.”
Jay gave his neck another soft squeeze. “I can heat up the soup from yesterday.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll… I’ll get it in a minute.”
Jay nodded. Before stepping away, he leaned down, tilting Jungwon’s head back gently with one hand on the nape of his neck, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. “You’ve got this,” he whispered, his thumb brushing lightly against Jungwon’s neck. “I’ll be right here when you need a break.” Then he hoisted Haru into his arms and took Haerin’s hand.
Jay didn’t push. He just nodded, hoisted Haru a little higher, and started to herd the kids back toward the playroom. “Let’s give Appa some quiet now. And no more running with crayons, okay?”
As their voices faded, Jungwon stared back at the screen. The words hadn’t changed.
But the house was softer now. Quieter. Only the low hum of the fridge and the scratch of wind against the window.
He exhaled. Rubbed his eyes.
Then opened the document again, trying not to flinch at the blank space where inspiration should’ve been.
In the background, Jay’s voice was low and melodic, reading a picture book to the kids. He’d switched to whispers, likely crouched on the carpet, one child in each arm.
Jungwon smiled faintly to himself, hands poised over the keyboard.
He could try again.
The next time Jungwon looked up from his laptop, the room had shifted. The sun had long disappeared behind the horizon, and the apartment glowed with warm, golden lamplight. His neck ached, his fingers hovered motionless over the keys, and his eyes were dry from staring too long.
He barely noticed the soft footsteps padding in behind him.
A gentle clink—ceramic against wood—made him blink.
Jay placed a tray on the table beside his laptop. A bowl of reheated soup. Rice. A few banchan on the side. Nothing fancy—but it was still warm, and smelled like home.
Jungwon blinked again.
“I—what time is it?”
Jay moved behind him, placing both hands on his shoulders. He didn’t speak right away—just kneaded gently at the tight knots at the base of Jungwon’s neck, rubbing slow circles with his thumbs.
“It’s almost nine,” he said eventually, voice low. “You didn’t notice?”
Jungwon startled. “Nine?”
“Mhm. You’ve been typing for over three hours straight. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Jay leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Jungwon’s head. “But you needed to eat. So here.”
Jungwon sat there a moment, heart full, gaze dropping to the tray.
“You already did everything?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah. Haerin fell asleep while I braided her hair. Haru knocked out after one picture book. We brushed, pj’d, teeth—everything. I just left their bedroom a little while ago.”
Jungwon sighed, the kind that deflated his whole chest. “I meant to do that. I just... didn’t notice the time.”
Jay pulled out the chair beside him and sat, stretching his legs under the table until they bumped Jungwon’s.
“I know,” he said. “It’s okay. You were in the zone.”
“I don’t even know what I wrote,” Jungwon mumbled.
“I bet it’s brilliant.”
Jungwon gave him a soft, crooked smile.
Jay nudged the soup bowl closer. “Eat.”
And Jungwon did—slowly at first, letting the warmth fill his chest the way Jay’s quiet presence always did. Jay didn’t say much, just sat with him in the soft domestic stillness, his elbow barely brushing Jungwon’s.
“I didn’t mean to disappear,” Jungwon said after a while.
“You didn’t,” Jay said. “You were just working. And I love watching you when you’re in your element—even if I’m on bedtime duty.”
“I owe you.”
Jay smiled. “You don’t. But I’ll take a kiss for interest.”
Jungwon chuckled. And gave him one.
On the cheek first, then softer, slower on the lips.
They stayed like that a little longer—Jungwon finishing his meal, Jay quietly refilling his water glass, the whole apartment wrapped in that rare hush only found at the end of a long day well-lived.