Archive of Our Own

Crushes. First love.

Children are bound to have them eventually. That gentle sort of feeling that comes with admiration, with affection—for someone close like a friend, or someone you want to get closer to, someone you want to know in a way that feels both thrilling and safe.

And now that the triplets are getting older—now in primary school—they’re bound to meet more people, bound to grow more curious with each passing day.

Of course, their fathers know all about that. Ricky, Gyuvin, and Gunwook’s story began in kindergarten, when the sky seemed impossibly blue, when laughter was the only thing floating in the air, and when young hearts collided with something too big for them to name, but too precious to ignore.

The feeling of being lost in each other’s presence, not wanting to be apart. And when apart, feeling that gentle pull back to one another. To be lost in the company of those you love, and to find that’s exactly where you’re meant to be.

So it wasn’t a surprise when, during one of their cozy Friday movie nights, the subject came up again—this time prompted by Hana.

“Oh, how romantic,” she sighed, clasping her hands as the animated couple on screen found their happily-ever-after. It was one of those children’s films that somehow managed to make love look exactly as it feels.

“Daddy,” Hana turned toward Ricky, eyes wide and sparkling, “didn’t you say you were each other’s first loves? Isn’t that so romantic?” Her voice had gone all dreamy, the way it always did when she thought about something beautiful.

Her brothers exchanged knowing grins—clearly just as eager to hear the story again.

“Yes, we were,” Ricky said gently, smiling at all three of them. “We were only five when we met—just little kids in kindergarten. It wasn’t like a strangers-to-lovers story. It was something that grew with time.”

“Your daddy Ricky was very, very quiet when we first met him,” Gyuvin teased, leaning forward just enough to nudge Ricky’s knee.

“Well, of course. It was the first day of school,” Ricky countered, feigning offense.

“And then we became friends,” Ricky continued, looking fondly from Gyuvin to Gunwook.

“The bestest of friends,” Gunwook added warmly. “Even though it was hard to see your daddy go home that first day.”

“Gunwook’s right,” Gyuvin said, grinning. “We were practically sobbing then.”

Ricky chuckled, leaning over to tuck the blankets snugly around the triplets, one by one. “As you can see, my lovelies, your fathers have always been dramatic,” he said, though his voice was full of affection. He settled his own blanket afterward, the corners of his lips curving in that familiar fondness.

On the TV, the story continued—a firefly declaring his love for a star, his greatest Evangeline. Even for an animated film, it carried a truth: not everyone’s love looks the same, but there is beauty in devotion, in showing your own version of care.

“I want to have my first love too,” Hana murmured dreamily, her gaze still fixed on the glowing screen.

“You already have one,” Harui blurted, unable to hide the smirk tugging at his mouth. “Jangmi.”

“That’s true!” Haneul added quickly, voice full of excitement. “Isn’t she your first love?”

“She’s my friend,” Hana replied firmly.

“Don’t you love her?” Haneul pressed, in the tone of a school guidance counselor trying to get to the bottom of things.

“I do. But as a friend,” Hana said, blinking as though unsure why her brothers were making such a big deal out of it. Instinctively, she turned toward Ricky, her little brow furrowed.

“Daddy, is it considered first love?” she asked.

“It might be,” Ricky said softly, careful not to make the world feel any more complicated than it needed to for his little flower. “You’re the only one who can truly know.”

Beside him, Gyuvin and Gunwook shared a quiet smile—one of those wordless exchanges that spoke of shared history and unshakable affection—as they listened to their husband and children.

Love was a tricky thing. But not something children this young needed to puzzle over. For now, they could love freely, without boundaries or definitions, letting it grow at its own pace.

On screen, the story reached its end. The characters—once frogs—were human again, the spell broken by an act of love: a kiss at their wedding. Predictably, the triplets squealed and covered their eyes, small fingers spread just enough to peek through the gaps.

Ricky chuckled quietly. They never changed. But someday, they would. Someday , inevitably.

For now, he was content with this—with the soft glow of the TV casting light on their faces, with the sound of tiny giggles, and with the steady, familiar warmth of Gyuvin’s arm around his shoulders and Gunwook’s hand resting on his knee.

The kind of warmth that stayed constant through every season. The kind of touch that felt like home, especially on cozy, chilly nights like this one.

It’s the same routine every school morning—packing lunch boxes and snacks, making sure the kids finish breakfast before anything else, and never forgetting goodbye kisses: one for each triplet, and one for Daddy, Appa, and Papa.

They always pack their school things the night before since classes start as early as 7 AM. Sure, it’s meant to teach early-bird habits, but there are mornings when someone might wonder if an early start should also mean an early end to the day. At least the schedule is only four hours, and in that time the kids seem to squeeze out enough energy to power the whole household anyway.

“Byeee!” the triplets chorused as they hopped out of the car. They had been chattering non-stop on the way there—when weren’t they?—and Ricky knew they’d come back with even more stories later.

It was a smooth arrangement: the kids rode with Ricky to school, then he headed to work, while Gyuvin or Gunwook handled pickup depending on who was free. No matter how busy things got, they always made time.

On the way to their classrooms, the morning chatter carried on.

“Why are you always making fun of me?” Hana demanded, her brows knitting together in mock annoyance.

“Why are you only asking me? Haneul does it too,” Harui shot back, defensive but grinning.

“We can see it,” Haneul said matter-of-factly. His voice was soft, as if the truth didn’t need to be loud when it was already obvious.

“Wha—” Hana started, but the blush creeping across her cheeks and up to her ears betrayed her.

“You’re just so fun to tease,” Harui said, laughing so hard he clutched his stomach.

“Well, if you two ever get crushes, I’m going to tease you big time. And I’m the eldest—why do I have to put up with this?” Hana huffed, marching ahead, her hair bouncing with each step, the pink ribbon tied neatly in place.

The matching blue ribbon with a little rose on her school bag swayed with her stride.

“We’re triplets,” Haneul said in that calm, logical tone that was just his way. “Even if you’re older by a few seconds, that argument’s invalid.”

“Let’s just go to class,” Hana muttered.

“Because you’re excited to see a certain someone, ” Harui teased, his grin stretching from ear to ear, eyes crinkling as if he couldn’t help himself.

“You’re going to regret this,” Hana said without looking back.

“Doubt it,” Harui replied, already laughing again.

And so, they walked, and walked… and walked a little more.

Good thing the elementary building for first graders was only a short hop from the gate—any farther and Hana’s bouncing steps might’ve launched her right off the ground.

By the time they reached the classroom, she was practically glowing, ribbon in hand, clearly ready to present it to her friend. Haneul and Harui just trailed behind, smirking and holding back laughter like they were watching the best morning drama unfold live.

“Valentine’s Day?” a classmate’s voice rose above the general pre-class chatter.

“Isn’t that next month?” another replied.

“Yes, February,” the first said with exaggerated patience. “And besides, next month is only a few weeks away. Time flies, you know.”

And so the conversation rippled through the room: whispers about chocolates, flowers, “special someones,” and all the syrupy ideas that came with the so-called day of love.

The triplets, as always, were in their own little circle—with Jangmi glued to Hana’s side like always. Or maybe it was Hana glued to her. Either way, the proximity was non-negotiable.

“You know, it’s kind of lucky for us,” Haneul said, “We get to celebrate Valentine’s Day twice —once in February, and then again for Daddy’s birthday.”

“We should take notes from them for Valentine’s,” Hana said thoughtfully.

“You mean you should,” Harui chimed in, giving Jangmi a pointed glance. “Our chocolates are for Daddy, Appa, and Papa… and for you, I guess.”

“You really have lovely parents, huh?” Jangmi said.

“They really are,” Hana answered instantly, eyes bright.

“What do you think they’re doing on Valentine’s?” Haneul mused aloud, already picturing scenes in his head. His face took on that faraway look that meant he was deep into imagining something elaborate.

Hana and Harui exchanged a glance, then—as if sharing the same brain cell—all three rested their chins in their hands and drifted off into synchronized daydreaming mode.

For the triplets, there was never a bad time to imagine things… but Valentine’s talk made it especially easy to get carried away.

Scenario 1: The Classic Restaurant Date

In the triplets’ minds, it’s easy to picture.

Their fathers sitting in the coziest corner of their favorite restaurant, a little tucked away from the rest of the noise. Daddy with his hands folded neatly over the menu, but not because he’s deciding—no, he already knows what he wants.

And of course, Appa and Papa don’t even need to ask. They’d just smile at the waiter, order exactly what Daddy’s craving, and maybe add a few extra dishes just in case. Because when Daddy says “maybe” to dessert, it really means yes .

In their heads, the triplets can see it: Appa leaning in, saying something that makes Daddy’s eyes crinkle in that soft, glowing way. Papa watching the two of them like they’re the only people in the room, a quiet little grin tugging at his lips.

Then Daddy’s laugh—light and gentle, but so full of warmth that Appa and Papa turn into absolute putty. That’s when the triplets start giggling in real life, because they know that smile. It’s the one that makes their fathers go a little weak, like they’d say yes to anything Daddy asks for right after.

And in this imagined dinner, the food isn’t even the main course—it’s just the backdrop. The real meal is the way they look at each other, passing little touches across the table like it’s second nature.

Scenario 2: The Skyscraper Date

The triplets imagine a glass-walled restaurant high above the city, where the whole skyline sprawls out beneath their fathers like a glittering map of stars. Only these stars hum with electricity instead of burning in the sky, but somehow, they’re just as magical.

They picture Appa resting a hand against the railing, Papa standing just close enough that their shoulders touch, and Daddy leaning between them with that curious sparkle in his eyes—the one that says he’s drinking in every light, every movement below.

Would they be scared, standing so high up? Maybe. The triplets wonder if their legs would feel like jelly just looking down. But their fathers wouldn’t be. They’d laugh at the idea of falling—not in a careless way, but in the way people do when they know they’re safe in each other’s company.

And then, in their minds, one of them—maybe Papa, maybe Appa—points far into the distance, to some tiny dot in the city’s patchwork glow. “We should go there next time,” he’d say.

And Daddy, oh Daddy, would turn his head with that same smile that always makes the triplets’ hearts feel full. He’d already start talking about what they’d do there, what food they’d try, what little shops they’d wander into.

It wouldn’t matter if the plan happened tomorrow or next year. It wouldn’t even matter if they went somewhere completely different. The point was, they’d be together. And together always meant fun. Always meant memories worth keeping.

And in both daydreams, the triplets know one thing for certain—their fathers would end up holding hands, walking home under the stars or streetlights, looking like the whole world had shrunk down to just the three of them.

Scenario 3: The Home Date

Or maybe… maybe Valentine’s Day wouldn’t be about fancy restaurants or sparkling city views at all.

Maybe their fathers would choose to stay home—no dressing up, no reservations, no schedules. Just them, the smell of something cooking in the kitchen, and the quiet hum of a day spent together. Because sometimes the more you go out, the more you realize that nothing beats the comfort of home.

In the triplets’ minds, it’s easy to picture the whole scene. The kitchen is warm from the oven, sunlight spilling through the window. Papa has his sleeves rolled up, Appa is stirring something in a mixing bowl, and Daddy is moving between them like a little beam of light, sneaking in tiny touches and quick kisses as if the baking is just an excuse to stay close.

The triplets would definitely be there too—“helping”—which really means getting flour in their hair and chocolate smudged on their cheeks. Maybe they’d be in charge of decorating strawberries, which would end up with more chocolate in their mouths than on the fruit. And mangoes. And maybe a few marshmallows “accidentally” eaten for quality testing.

Somewhere between the measuring cups and mixing spoons, Papa and Appa would start telling a story—about that one time they tried to bake together as part of an elaborate proposal attempt. The plan was to hide the ring in the cake itself, all romantic and dramatic, but somewhere along the way, they discovered each other’s secret. Turns out, both of them had planned to propose to Daddy.

They’d laugh, remembering how they just stood there in the middle of the kitchen, frosting on their fingers, realizing they’d both been out-romanced by each other. In the end, they decided not to go through with it that day—no ring in the cake, no dramatic surprise—and instead promised themselves to make a much more elaborate proposal in the future.

They’d all laugh as Daddy pretends to scold them for stealing spoonfuls of frosting before the cake is even baked, but secretly, he’d take a taste himself. And maybe that’s the best part—when things aren’t quite finished, but they’re already sweet.

Because sometimes, the not-quite-end product is better than the final one. Sometimes the journey—the mess, the laughter, the kitchen smelling like sugar and vanilla—is worth just as much, if not more, than the destination.

And in this daydream, when the baking is done, they’d all curl up in the living room under the same blanket, watching a movie they’ve already seen a hundred times. Maybe not even watching at all—just dozing, talking softly, or not talking at all. Just being. Because that’s the whole point, isn’t it? You don’t need to do anything to make a moment matter.

———

And then—

The teacher walks into the classroom, clapping their hands lightly as they greet the students. “What a great morning, everyone!” they say, cheerful and bright, breaking the spell of daydreams.

The triplets sit up a little straighter, blinking like they’ve just been woken from a dream, the echoes of chocolate, laughter, and home still lingering in their minds as the day officially begins.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*☁:･⋆.ೃ࿔*☘︎°

Growth is an inevitable part of life. It shows itself in so many ways—in the stretch of one’s height, in the layers of experience gathered, in the lessons learned through education, and in the steady climb of a career.

For Ricky, growth had brought him to a place he had dreamed of since he was young: owning his own gallery. It wasn’t just a milestone; it was the living, breathing shape of his lifelong passion, a fire that had never once dimmed. Over the years, his collection had grown just as he had—carefully curated, deeply personal, each piece chosen because it stirred something inside him.

This particular season, with Valentine’s Day approaching, his gallery was filled with works centered on love. Love in all its shades and forms. Paintings that spoke of longing, sculptures that caught the stillness of a moment between two people, photographs that froze a fleeting look that said more than words ever could.

The triplets often visited—sometimes under the noble guise of “wanting to learn,” but more often simply because they loved the way their Daddy’s gallery felt: full of pretty things, quiet enough for their thoughts to wander, and yet alive with color. And, of course, because every visit came with Ricky’s little lessons about art… and love.

One afternoon, they stood in front of a canvas that seemed almost too simple—just a single butterfly-shaped cloud floating in an endless blue sky. No flowers. No trees. No other details. Just the butterfly.

“It’s just a cloud,” Harui had said at first, squinting.

“Not just a cloud,” Ricky corrected gently, smiling the way he always did when he was about to tell them something they’d remember. “A butterfly can mean many things. A new beginning. A sign of eternity. Something so small, yet so meaningful, that it could hold an entire lifetime’s worth of feeling.”

Haneul tilted his head. “So… it’s like love?”

“Exactly,” Ricky said. “Love can be that way, too. It can start as something small. Just a glance. A single moment. But it can grow to feel infinite. Both a beginning and an end… and yet, somehow, never-ending.”

Hana reached for her Daddy’s hand, her eyes still on the cloud in the painting. “I think I like it,” she said softly.

Ricky gave her hand a squeeze. “That’s the beauty of art. And love. You get to see it in your own way, and it will still be true.”

And so, they stood there—three small hands in his, gazing at a cloud that wasn’t really a cloud at all.

Back at their house, the triplets sat at the dining table, each immersed in their own “battle” with homework. Hana was carefully writing out the multiplication table, her pencil tapping in thought. Beside her, Haneul mumbled quietly, testing the patterns in the numbers aloud like a little mathematician lost in discovery. Harui, however, seemed far more enchanted by the geometry of the diagrams on his paper than by any actual numbers, his pencil tracing lines with almost artistic precision.

From the kitchen came the scent of something rich and comforting—the kind of smell that instantly made you feel at home. Gunwook appeared, placing warm chocolate muffins in front of each child, the tops still soft and steaming. Alongside them, he set down glasses of warm milk, the pairing too perfect to resist.

“Wahh, it’s so yummy,” Hana sighed after the first bite, her eyes lighting up.

“Papa makes the best muffins,” Haneul declared with conviction.

“Makes the best chocolates,” Harui added between bites.

“Makes the best food,” Hana concluded, nodding solemnly as if sealing a pact.

It was one of those rare afternoons when Gunwook was able to work from home, free from the long trips his job sometimes demanded. These were his favorite days—simple, unhurried, filled with the sound of pencils scratching paper and little voices chatting over snacks.

“Papa, can you teach us to make chocolates? For Valentine’s. Please,” Hana asked, looking up with a sincerity that could melt even the hardest heart.

“Will you give some to your friends?” Gunwook asked, eyebrow raised in playful suspicion.

“Yes, Papa. Her ‘friend,’ ” Harui chimed in with exaggerated teasing.

“If you don’t stop…” Hana narrowed her eyes, finishing her milk and dramatically wiping her mouth like a duelist preparing for battle.

“Now, now,” Haneul said in his quiet, mediating voice. “Didn’t Papa say not to fight in front of food?”

Gunwook, halfway to stepping in, just smiled instead. How adorable they were. Siblings fought—that was natural. But in this house, quarrels were short-lived, dissolving almost as quickly as they began. They learned, they grew, they loved each other even in the middle of bickering.

“I can teach you on the weekend,” he promised. “When Daddy and Appa are home as well. But don’t get too overexcited just yet, alright?”

“Yay! Thank you, Papa!” they chorused, grinning wide, crumbs clinging to the corners of their mouths.

And so, when the weekend came, the kitchen became a small, sweet-smelling factory.

It didn’t matter that the chocolates were made from pre-made bars—to them, it still counted. Love wasn’t measured in how “from scratch” something was, but in the hands that made it and the laughter that filled the kitchen.

Haneul stood on his little stool, carefully melting the chocolate over gentle heat, the aroma growing richer with every slow stir. Harui was on the other side of the counter, crushing nuts and biscuits with deliberate focus, the rhythmic sound of his work mixing with the soft bubbling of chocolate. Hana, meanwhile, was already planning elaborate designs for their creations, tasting the chocolate every now and then “just to make sure” it was perfect.

“So,” Ricky said from where he was leaning against the counter, a playful smile tugging at his lips, “this is for Jangmi, my little Hana?”

The blush that bloomed on Hana’s cheeks was instant and impossible to miss. She really was her fathers’ child—unable to hide what was so plainly written on her face.

“Uhhh…” Hana fidgeted, eyes darting away as if searching for an escape. But when the truth was laid bare and she couldn’t deny it, she sighed in surrender. “Yes… it’s for Jangmi.”

“I’m sure she’ll love it,” Ricky said warmly. He dipped a piece of bread into the melted chocolate and held it up to her lips. Hana took a bite, her eyes closing at the taste.

“Mmm… so good,” she hummed in delight, cheeks still pink.

Then, leaning closer as if sharing a secret, Hana whispered, “It’s not really fair… Haneul doesn’t have a crush yet. Or Harui.”

Apparently, her “whisper” was not as quiet as she thought.

“That time will come,” Haneul said from across the counter, his voice calm and wise beyond his years—though the chocolate smeared on his cheek reminded everyone he was still very much a kid.

“I’m not planning on having a crush or a lover,” Harui declared firmly. “I love all of you just so much. Isn’t that enough?” He turned to Gyuvin. “And should I really have one, Appa?”

Gyuvin crouched down so he was eye-level with him. “Having someone you love can be wonderful,” he said gently. “But it’s never something you have to do. You can choose who you love, when you love them, or even if you want to at all.Your heart belongs to you.”

“I love many things enough,” Harui said, a quiet certainty in his smile. He began to count them on his fingers—slowly, reverently, as if each one was a bead on a string. “Sports, food, movies, games… Appa, Daddy, Papa, Hana, Haneul, Grandma, Grandpa…”

His list kept growing—every grandmother and grandfather, every uncle, every classmate, every friend who’d ever shared a laugh with him. “And Sol and Luna. I love everyone,” he finished, his voice soft but sure. “Even if I don’t find someone like Daddy is for Papa and Appa.”

The room softened.

Without a word, Gyuvin wrapped Harui in a warm, enveloping hug—the kind that said I understand you completely . Ricky soon joined in, then Gunwook, until Harui was surrounded by all three fathers. Hana and Haneul couldn’t resist joining, giggling as their chocolate-smeared hands left marks on sleeves and cheeks. 

It was the kind of hug that didn’t have an ending in mind. A hug that felt like the safest place in the world.The kind of hug where you could breathe deeply and know, without a shadow of doubt, I am loved exactly as I am.

And in that moment, surrounded by warmth and the smell of melting chocolate, they weren’t just making something sweet—they were sweetness itself.

“Happy Valentine’s,” Gyuvin murmured first, his voice still hushed with sleep, the words brushed across Ricky’s lips in a kiss. This was always how mornings felt with them—love not dimming over the years, but deepening, curling around them like a blanket that never lost its warmth. Their bodies stayed tangled beneath the covers, exchanging slow kisses, lingering touches, and quiet smiles that belonged to no one else but each other.

Gunwook was already awake, propped on an elbow, watching with that soft, steady gaze. He knew Ricky could happily sleep through half the morning if left alone—his night-owl heart always finding its rhythm when the world was dark and quiet. But mornings had their own kind of magic. Mornings meant a new day, and today… was Valentine’s Day.

So, of course, they tried to wake him the way they knew best.

“Wake up, our still-sleeping Ricky,” Gunwook coaxed, his voice warm and teasing. “You don’t want to miss a moment of today.” His words were wrapped in kisses—on his cheek, his hair, his shoulder—soft as petals, patient as sunlight. Gyuvin joined in, peppering his jaw with affection until Ricky groaned softly and finally opened his eyes, caught between laughter and surrender.

“Happy Valentine’s,” Ricky replied at last, voice a little raspy from sleep but laced with love. And in that moment, it was as if the morning itself leaned in to listen—the distant birds singing a tender harmony, the golden light spilling in like a blessing. None of them wanted to move. Their embrace felt like a promise: Let’s stay here, just like this, for as long as the world will let us.

They didn’t notice the soft patter of footsteps outside the door.

The triplets stood just beyond the threshold, each holding a chocolate rose tied with ribbon, and in their other hands, carefully folded letters. They’d decided this year they would give both—a gift to taste, and a gift to keep. Letters, they thought, could hold feelings in a way that let you return to them, like finding a pressed flower between the pages of a book.

They peeked into the room, unsure if they were supposed to intrude. Their parents looked so in love, curled together in a tangle of blankets and whispers, kisses still lingering between them. The children thought they could watch this forever—across worlds, across time, in every version of themselves.

So they waited. Patiently, sweetly, until Ricky’s eyes found theirs. His smile softened instantly, and that was all the invitation they needed. With a chorus of happy voices and the thud of little feet, they bounded toward the bed.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” they cried, each offering up their chocolate roses like treasures.

The fathers sat up, gathering their children close, kissing their hair, their foreheads, their cheeks—making sure no one left the circle of love empty-handed. In exchange for the roses, the children presented their heart-shaped letters, each envelope warm from being held too tightly in eager little hands.

The air was thick with the smell of chocolate, the rustle of paper, the warmth of bodies pressed close together. It was impossible to tell where one hug ended and another began.

And there, wrapped in blankets and each other, with chocolate roses and heart-shaped letters between them, they were surrounded by so much love it almost felt too big to fit in the room.

The thing about Valentine’s Day is that it’s impossible to escape the hearts . They seem to multiply overnight, filling every corner of the morning. So of course, it came as no surprise that breakfast would be heart-shaped too.

On the table sat a stack of golden pancakes, each one cut into a perfect heart, drizzled with glossy chocolate that pooled in the curves. Slices of strawberries fanned out like petals, mango slivers catching the morning light, making the plate look almost too pretty to eat. Almost.

“Limited-edition pancakes,” Ricky announced with mock seriousness, sliding plates in front of each child. “Only available today. You’ll have to wait another year for a refill.”

Haneul grinned. “I’m eating double, just in case.”

But pancakes weren’t the only ones in disguise. Even the sunny-side-up eggs had been coaxed into heart shapes, their yolks shining like tiny suns. For those wanting something savory, there were stacks of sausage, crispy bacon strips, and golden hash browns—because, really, who in their right mind would ever say no to potatoes?

By the time breakfast was over, the “heart saga” had no intention of stopping. As the triplets got ready for school, each received a delicate bracelet strung with little heart charms, their colors picked to match their personalities. The clink of them against tiny wrists made the morning feel just a bit more magical.

“Careful,” Gyuvin said playfully as he helped fasten Harui’s bracelet. “If you wear too many hearts, people might think you’re made entirely of love.”

Harui beamed. “But I am .”

Shoes were slipped on, bags were grabbed, and as always, the most important part came before stepping out the door: morning kisses. No one dared to miss them—not the parents, not the kids. A kiss to the forehead, a kiss to the cheek, one more just because, until everyone was thoroughly stocked up on love for the day ahead.

At the school gates, the triplets waved, bracelets catching the sunlight, hearts on their plates now replaced with hearts on their wrists—and hearts still warm in their chests.

It was obvious from the moment they stepped onto campus that it was the day of hearts. The air felt lighter, almost glittering with excitement, and the older students were already strolling around with arms full of chocolates and bouquets, the scent of roses trailing behind them.

Even just walking through the hallway, the triplets could hear the flutter of confessions—some whispered shyly in corners, others called out boldly for everyone to hear. Love seemed to spill into every conversation, every glance, every small gesture.

Some students slipped folded notes into lockers, their handwriting shaky with nervousness. Others placed little gifts on desks before the bell rang, hoping the recipient would know who it was from. A few brave souls handed their presents directly, grinning with pride. And then there were the “I-don’t-care-about-love” types—rushing to shove heart-shaped chocolates into someone’s hands before darting away, pretending it meant nothing at all.

“What a tsundere ,” Hana muttered with a little laugh, watching one such exchange.

“We really need to tone down watching TV,” Haneul said with a sigh.

“No,” Hana and Harui said in perfect unison, without missing a beat. If there was one thing the two of them would always agree on, it was that their love for dramas and anime was non-negotiable.

As they walked further, Haneul gave Hana’s back a reassuring pat, and Harui mirrored the gesture on the other side.

“Good luck,” Haneul murmured.

“Make sure she sees how much effort you put in,” Harui added. “We didn’t spend all that time making chocolate for nothing.”

When Hana finally spotted Jangmi, she tried to play it cool—too cool, in fact.

“Um, Jangmi, have some chocolate,” she said, like she was offering just another snack from her lunchbox.

Her brothers both stared at her, deadpan.

“Please, Hana,” Harui groaned. “ ‘I like you. Happy Valentine’s.’ Easy.” He pitched his voice high to mimic her.

“I hope Jangmi gets it,” Haneul whispered under his breath.

Jangmi looked down at the neatly wrapped chocolate in her hands, then back up at Hana. A smile bloomed across her face, soft and a little shy. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small box tied with a pale pink ribbon.

“This is for you,” she said quietly, holding it out. Inside was an assortment of chocolate flowers—each petal carefully molded and dusted with edible shimmer, just like her name, which meant flowers.

Hana blinked, caught completely off-guard. “F-for me?”

“Of course,” Jangmi said with a little laugh, cheeks tinting pink. “Happy Valentine’s, Hana.”

The moment the gift exchanged hands, Harui and Haneul looked at each other with wide-eyed shock, like they might explode if they didn’t comment on what they’d just witnessed.

Valentine’s Day: success.

Love really was in the air.

And the boys didn’t leave empty-handed either—each received chocolates from friends, as well as “obligatory” sweets from teachers, who announced there’d be no classes for the day. Instead, the children were free to enjoy themselves, run around, and exchange tokens of affection.

By the end of the day, the triplets’ bags were heavier, their hearts lighter, and the whole school seemed to hum with sweetness.

What a lovely day indeed.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*☁:･⋆.ೃ࿔*☘︎°

The flowers were in full bloom, their colors spilling across gardens like brushstrokes on a painter’s canvas. The air was scented with their fragrance, sweet and light, carried along by the playful spring breeze. Bees hummed in steady devotion to their work, flitting from bloom to bloom, while the wind, too, seemed eager to spread life and color everywhere.

Spring had arrived—and with it came a day that was etched deep in Ricky, Gyuvin, and Gunwook’s hearts. Seven years ago, on this very day, they had stood by the sea, the waves folding softly against the shore, and promised forever to one another. Their vows had been carried away on the salt-tinged wind, sealed with the rhythm of the ocean behind them.

It was the kind of memory that still felt alive—like if they closed their eyes, they could feel the warmth of that sun, hear the laughter of their friends, and taste the faint salt of the sea breeze.

But as for the triplets? The ocean had only been a distant story to them, something they’d heard about in bedtime tales or seen in picture books. In their six years of life, they hadn’t yet had the chance to enjoy it long enough to remember it.

They had been introduced to water, though—back when they were three years old, in a much smaller, safer setting. It was an indoor pool, bright and echoing with the gentle splashes of other children. That day, the goal wasn’t swimming, just floating—getting used to the feeling of water wrapping around their bodies.

Because that’s one of the quiet joys of water: the way it makes you weightless, lifts you, carries you where you want to go without the usual tug of gravity. The water felt like freedom, and Ricky, Gyuvin, and Gunwook wanted their children to know that feeling too.

The triplets had their own little floaters, each one a different color—Hana’s was cherry blossom pink, Haneul’s was sky blue, and Harui’s was bright red. They splashed at the surface with their small hands, squealing as drops landed on each other’s faces.

“Look at me!” Harui declared proudly, kicking his legs just enough to spin himself in a slow circle.

“You’re just going in circles,” Hana giggled, sending a playful wave of water his way.

Haneul tilted his head back until his ears were underwater, eyes wide at the muffled sound of the world. “It’s so quiet down here,” he said softly, like he’d discovered a secret.

From the poolside, Ricky watched them with a smile that could have rivaled the spring sunshine. Gyuvin sat cross-legged beside him, his phone in hand, snapping pictures of every delighted grin. Gunwook was in the water with the kids, slowly guiding each one by holding their floaters, his big hands steady and sure.

“Papa, I’m floating!” Hana called out proudly.

“You’re not just floating—you’re a natural,” Gunwook replied with a grin, giving her floater the lightest push so she drifted toward Ricky and Gyuvin.

They had all laughed so much that day—the kind of laughter that leaves your cheeks sore but your heart full. And even though the pool wasn’t the sea, and the air didn’t smell like salt and shells, it had been magical in its own way. It had been a start.

And now, on their anniversary, with spring in full bloom, it felt like the perfect time to give the triplets the real thing.

The ocean. The place where their parents had promised forever.

This time, the kids would remember it.

“Want to go to the beach?” Ricky asked one sunny morning, leaning casually against the kitchen counter.

“How about a picnic?” Gyuvin suggested almost instantly, a hint of longing in his voice. “We haven’t had the chance to have a real one with all six of us.”

Gunwook looked between the two of them and smiled. “What if we combine it?”

The triplets paused mid-bite of their breakfast, then erupted into joyful chatter.

“Yay! We get to see the sea!” Hana squealed, practically bouncing in her chair.

“The blue glittering like gems—no, like diamonds!” Haneul added, eyes wide with excitement.

“And we get to see the fish there too,” Harui chimed in, already picturing colorful fins darting through the water.

One of the greatest joys of parenting, Ricky thought, was seeing his children light up at the same things that made him feel alive. There was a quiet magic in sharing what you loved and watching them love it too.

“Well then,” Ricky said, clapping his hands lightly, “if we’re doing this, we have to do it right. Do you want to help with the preparation?”

“Yes!” the triplets chorused, their voices ringing with the certainty that helping was just as fun as the trip itself. They could never understand kids who didn’t want to help their parents—helping meant being part of the adventure from the very beginning.

“We’ll make the sandwiches!” Hana volunteered boldly, puffing out her chest a little as if claiming an important mission.

“Neko-san shaped!!!” Harui declared, thrusting his fist in the air.

Ricky chuckled. “Cat-shaped sandwiches, huh? You three really know how to make a picnic special.”

“I’ll be in charge of the fruit,” Haneul said seriously, as though cutting watermelon into perfect heart shapes was a matter of great national importance.

“That’s my boy,” Gyuvin said, giving his hair a fond ruffle. “Just don’t eat it all before we leave.”

“No promises,” Haneul muttered with a grin.

Gunwook clapped his hands together. “Alright, team. Here’s the plan—we’ll make sandwiches, pack fruits, bring drinks, and don’t forget snacks for the road. Then we’ll load up the car, play your favorite road trip songs, and when we get there…?”

“We run to the water!” the triplets finished together, laughter spilling into the room.

The parents exchanged glances—three smiles that held seven years of shared life and love. Planning the day already felt like a celebration in itself.

Going to the beach with children is a whole different adventure compared to going with just adults. Yes, there’s more to remember—clothes, towels, emergency snacks, hats, sunscreen, extra sunscreen (because someone will forget they already have some on), water bottles, sand toys, and that mysterious “equipment” that only makes sense once you get there. But the truth is, the extra effort is worth it.

Because the magic of going somewhere with children is that they don’t actually need much to be happy. Give them each other, a bit of imagination, and a few stories to tell, and they’ll entertain themselves for hours. Every experience—whether it’s a cow in the distance or the way the sunlight hits the car window—is something worth sharing.

Of course, long road trips also mean long games.

“I spy with my little eye… something green,” Haneul announced from the backseat, looking very pleased with himself.

“The grass,” Hana guessed immediately.

“Or the trees,” Harui added.

“Isn’t that the same thing? They’re both leaves,” Haneul said, frowning at his own logic.

“Oh yeah… What else is green? It’s just full of cows and sky here,” Hana replied, scanning the horizon.

“Nothing else is green,” Harui concluded. “Why green though, Haneul?”

“Because the road is literally just grass and cows,” Haneul said with exaggerated seriousness.

“…Let’s just stop the game,” Hana decided. “What else do you want to play?”

They tossed around a few ideas, but nothing stuck. In the end, they abandoned games altogether in favor of singing along to the car’s playlist. And oh, did they sing.

They began with nursery rhymes and the cheerful songs they’d learned at school, filling the car with sweet, slightly chaotic harmony. Then a song they all loved came on—"Feel the Pop"—and they practically shouted the pop, pop, pop, pop! part with so much enthusiasm that Ricky had to laugh out loud.

“They’re going to have this stuck in their heads for days,” he said, shaking his head fondly.

Eventually, the high energy burned out. One by one, the voices faded, replaced by the soft hum of the car engine and the occasional sleepy sigh. The triplets were sprawled across the backseat, cheeks pink from all the singing, breaths deep and even. It was the kind of scene that begged to be photographed—not because it was grand or dramatic, but because it was pure.

“They’re so cute. How can they be so cute?” Ricky whispered, already taking a picture. His voice carried that unshakable awe of a parent who still couldn’t believe these little humans were his.

“Now we can talk about more adult stuff,” Gyuvin said, smirking.

“Even if they’re asleep, they might still hear us,” Gunwook warned, eyes flicking to the backseat.

“What adult stuff exactly?” Ricky asked, playing along.

“Work,” Gyuvin replied far too quickly, like it was the most scandalous topic of all.

That set all three of them laughing—softly, so as not to wake the triplets in the backseat.

“This is a trip. No talks about work, please,” Ricky scolded lightly, though he couldn’t help himself. “Anyway… I’ve been thinking about my next gallery collection—”

Gunwook let out a playful, overdramatic groan. “I thought you said no work?”

“This is different,” Ricky replied, his smile blooming brighter. “When your work is also the thing you love most, it hardly feels like work at all.”

Gyuvin, seated beside the children, rested his chin on the seat in front of him. “Go on then. We’re listening.”

And they did—Gunwook, keeping his eyes on the winding road, stealing quick glances toward Ricky at his side; Gyuvin, looking far too pleased with himself that he could watch Ricky talk without having to worry about traffic.

As always, Ricky’s words were colored with excitement, hands moving just enough to hint at the shapes of his ideas. But inevitably, the conversation wandered away from his gallery plans, as it always did.

They slipped into stories from their work—not the heavy, exhausting parts, but the ridiculous and heartwarming ones. Gyuvin shared how, at the clinic, a patient with a knee injury had been told to “take baby steps,” and instead of walking slowly, he’d literally started waddling like a toddler.

“And it worked?” Ricky asked, laughing so hard he had to press a hand to his chest.

“Somehow,” Gyuvin said, shaking his head. “Not my department, but I swear that man left with more confidence than anyone else that day.”

From there, the topics drifted in that strange, delightful way that only happened when the three of them were together. They mused about how, at this rate, they’d been to the sea so many times they might as well become creatures of it.

“Mermen, obviously,” Ricky said without missing a beat.

“Rick, you’d have the sparkliest tail,” Gyuvin teased.

“Yes,” Gunwook agreed, his voice warm with quiet amusement. “And pearls decorating it. Maybe even a crown made of shells.”

“And these days,” Ricky added, “the triplets have watched every version of The Little Mermaid there is. I’m pretty sure they think they could actually talk to fish now.”

“Knowing them, they’ll try,” Gunwook said.

Their laughter bubbled up again, easy and familiar. This was how their conversations always went—no fixed destination, full of playful detours and inside jokes that would make no sense to anyone else. But that was fine. It didn’t have to make sense to the world. It only had to make sense to them.

The first hint of the sea came before they even saw it—salt on the breeze, cool and crisp against their faces, mingling with the faint cry of distant gulls. A few steps closer, and the low, steady hush of waves rolling against the shore reached their ears.

And then it was there.

The beach stretched before them, dazzling under the sun as though someone had spilled a jar of glitter across the water just to keep it sparkling. The sand gleamed soft white, shifting warmly beneath their feet.

“Sea!!!” the triplets shouted in unison, their voices carrying over the surf.

They kicked off their sandals without a second thought, toes digging into the sand as they ran ahead, leaving their fathers behind to wrangle bags, towels, and picnic baskets. Still, none of them minded. Watching the children rush toward the waves with that unrestrained joy was endearing.

The waves reached for the shore, lapping at the triplets’ ankles even before they fully stepped in. Little shrieks of delight filled the air.

“Can we swim now?” Hana called, already bouncing in place.

“We should make sandcastles,” Haneul suggested.

“Or swim and then make sandcastles,” Harui countered, clearly thinking he’d cracked the code.

“I want to play mermaids,” Hana decided, her big eyes finding Ricky. “Daddy, please play mermaids with Hana.”

Ricky’s face softened into a smile, one hand brushing her damp hair from her forehead. “We’ll play mermaids,” he promised, his voice full of warmth. He couldn’t help it—seeing their children this excited made his own heart feel lighter, as though he were their age again, running toward the same glittering horizon.

And so, they did it all.

First, they played mermaids—but before they could even step into the water, their little flower had a very important request.

“Daddy, can you put glitters on Hana’s face and make her pretty like last time?” she asked, voice soft but determined. Then she turned to add, “You too, Daddy. Put some glitters. We will make pretty mermaids.”

Ricky smiled, already rummaging through his beach bag. He pulled out a small glittering makeup palette, the kind with shimmering shades he always kept on hand for moments like this. “Pretty mermaids, huh? Well, I can’t say no to that.”

Daddy looked good in everything, but the new palette they’d packed for this trip was perfect on him. Soon, peppermint shimmer caught the light in his eyes—the same green-blue the sea wore that morning—making him look like he’d stepped straight out of a fairytale. Maybe Ricky really was made to be a mermaid after all, a beautiful one who happened to have two husbands practically cheering in the background.

“That’s my girl,” Gyuvin called, grinning wide. “You’ve got an eye for style!”

“Best idea you’ve ever had,” Gunwook added, holding up his phone to capture the moment. “Our mermaid king.”

With glittered cheeks and sparkles winking in the sun, Ricky scooped Hana into his arms, and together they waded into the shallows. She clung to him, giggling every time a wave pushed against them. Floaties were firmly refused—“Mermaids don’t need them, Daddy!”—and though Ricky stayed right by her side, she swam with all the determination in the world.

“This is real mermaid water,” she declared. “Saltwater. Pool mermaids are just practicing, but this is where the true ones live.”

It was then they spotted a school of tiny fish, darting through the clear water not too far from shore. Hana squealed, kicking her legs in excitement. “If we go there, they’ll tickle us!”

Ricky laughed. “Maybe they’ll mistake us for mermaids and come say hello.”

She dunked herself under, coming up with red-tinged eyes and a sniffle. “It stings,” she admitted, “but that’s okay. Mermaids are brave.”

Soon, all of them joined in the water. Hana kicked her feet as they played: she was a mermaid princess, and somewhere in this sea, Ariel herself was taking care of her daughter Melody, too busy today to visit. But maybe—just maybe—Flounder or Sebastian would appear if they swam far enough.

“And my tail is pink,” she told them seriously, “with pearls on the fins, and it shines like magic .”

She demonstrated her “mermaid swim” with a practiced grace that had clearly been honed in every pool they’d ever visited. “See? Perfect!” she said proudly.

Her brothers tried to copy her but ended up wriggling awkwardly, more like stranded worms than graceful sea royalty.

“That’s not mermaids!” Hana giggled, splashing them mercilessly.

Which, of course, sparked the inevitable splash war—because being in the water always called for one. There was no start signal, no rules, no direction—just shrieks of laughter and arcs of water flying from every side. One splash led to another, then another, until the game dissolved into pure, happy chaos. Ricky tried to shield himself, hands half-covering his face as if that could possibly protect him, laughter spilling out bright and unguarded. The kids were merciless, teaming up with Gyuvin and Gunwook to soak him, all of them grinning like this might be the best part of the day—because joy was rolling off them in waves that had nothing to do with the sea.

The sea carried their joy, waves rolling in and out like it wanted to join the game.

Eventually, the splash war burned itself out—not because anyone surrendered, but because the salty breeze and the soft pull of the shore became too tempting to resist. One by one, they retreated from the waves, damp hair clinging to their foreheads, glitter still clinging to their cheeks like tiny stars.

They flopped onto the warm sand, catching their breath while the sea murmured in the background. Ricky stretched out with Hana sprawled on his chest. Gunwook sat behind them, absently running his fingers through the fine grains, and Gyuvin leaned back on his hands, smiling at the sight of them all.

It wasn’t long before the lure of the sand itself pulled them into a new game.

Playing with sand was its own kind of fun—you could shape it into anything, pour saltwater over it to give it strength, and watch it hold together like it was made for castles. They took turns running to the sea with buckets, scooping up shimmering water and pouring it into the sand, mixing and patting it down until it was perfect for building.

The castle began simple, but with each handful of shells and pebbles they collected, it grew grander. They made towers, smoothed walls, and even carved a little archway for an entrance.

And then—like it had been summoned—something small and brown scuttled across the sand and into their carefully crafted gateway.

“A crab!” Haneul yelped.

The triplets screamed, then froze in awe as the creature paused, tiny claws raised as if to greet them.

“It’s Sebastian,” Hana whispered reverently, eyes wide.

“Not as red as the movie,” Gyuvin noted with a chuckle.

“And he doesn’t talk,” Harui added, squatting low to watch it.

But still—it was Sebastian to them, and of finding him made the whole trip feel instantly worth it.

There was something precious about the sand itself, Ricky thought as he watched the kids. It stayed in your hands if you cupped it carefully… but it could slip away just as easily. Like moments. Like summers.

Soon, Hana had a new request: “Make me a mermaid again!”

They had her lie down, arms tucked close, while they gently piled damp sand over her legs, shaping it into a wide, graceful tail. Shells lined the edges, and Gunwook smoothed the curves until it looked almost real.

“It’s cool on my legs,” Hana said with a happy sigh.

“Good for circulation,” Gyuvin said in his mock-expert voice, earning a laugh from Ricky.

When it started to feel a bit too heavy for her, they splashed water over it, the tail dissolving back into the beach.

They’d done so much already—mermaids, fish-spotting, a splash war, sandcastles, and crabs—but there were still hours ahead. The picnic could wait. For now, the only plan was to follow the sun, the sea, and each other’s laughter.

But eventually, it had to happen—the telltale rumble of their stomachs breaking through the laughter and splashing.

Food. Finally.

They carried their things to a spot just off the beach, close enough to still hear the waves but far enough that the sand wouldn’t invade every bite. The picnic mat unfurled easily, flattening under careful hands, and soon the little feast was laid out: soft bread, neat rolls of gimbap, skewered meatballs that paired perfectly with both, and thick, glistening slices of watermelon for dessert.

It wasn’t fancy, but after a morning in the sea, it tasted like the best meal in the world. Maybe it was because they’d earned it, maybe because it was shared.

“If we could grill here, it would be even better,” Gyuvin mused, already imagining skewers sizzling over open coals. “Grilled pork, hotdogs—oh, grilled squid—”

“Stop, you’re making me hungrier,” Gunwook chuckled, taking another bite of bread stacked with meatballs.

“Yes, yes, but nothing’s beating this right now,” Ricky said, passing a plate to Hana before turning to Harui, who had an entire smudge of sauce decorating his cheek. “Hold still.” He gently wiped it away with a napkin, smiling at the boy’s sheepish grin.

“After eating, we’re going to swim again,” Harui declared with complete certainty.

“Yes, yes, dear. But not too eager now,” Ricky teased, tapping his nose. “We don’t want anyone getting sick.”

So they wrapped towels snugly around the kids as they ate, the fathers taking turns making sure hair was rubbed dry, hands were warmed, and little feet stayed tucked away from the breeze. Between bites, the children leaned into them, talking with their mouths full, sharing ideas for what games they’d play once they returned to the water.

It was simple—just a meal on a mat—but in the soft shade, with the sea air brushing their skin and their children safe, warm, and happy, it felt like the most perfect break in the world.

Stargazing.

They had done almost everything they’d always done by the sea—swimming until their limbs were pleasantly heavy, or playing games that had no winners or losers—yet somehow, this moment felt different. 

The beach had gone quiet, the day’s chatter and footsteps washed away by the tide. The children sat bundled in soft blankets. The waves no longer roared; instead, they breathed, slow and steady against the shore.

Above them, the night stretched vast and deep, a velvet canvas dusted with stars—so many stars it felt almost unreal. They glittered like someone had thrown a fistful of silver dust across the heavens just for them, each one pulsing faintly as if alive. A thin curve of moon hung above the water, its light rippling across the surface like a path meant only for dreamers.

The children traced shapes in the sky with their fingertips, connecting invisible lines. Hana whispered to Harui, pointing at a cluster that looked like a fish; Harui countered with one that looked like a crown. They were trying—truly trying—to understand what those constellations meant.

But the stars—the stars meant a lot to Ricky, Gyuvin, and Gunwook.

The sea had always been theirs. The sky, too.

But the stars felt personal, silent witnesses to every laugh, every tear, every quiet promise whispered when no one else was listening.

“If the stars are always our witness,” Ricky murmured, his voice barely above the hush of the waves, “then I think we’re going to be okay.”

Gyuvin’s hand found his, squeezing gently. “We’re more than okay.”

Beside them, Hana tilted her head back, eyes wide. “Daddy, look! That one looks like it’s sparkling extra tonight.”

“That’s because you’re looking at it,” Ricky smiled. “Everything you look at turns prettier.”

Hana giggled. “If I reach out my hands, can I grab it?”

“Believe me, it doesn’t work,” Gyuvin chuckled, shaking his head. “We tried once, remember?”

“You tried to gift me a star,” Ricky said, the memory tugging at the corners of his smile.

“We did gift you a star,” Gunwook corrected. “High school, your birthday. Registered and everything. Still out there with your name on it.”

“It makes sense,” Gyuvin said softly, voice carrying that steady warmth that always found Ricky, no matter how far the years had taken them. “You’ve always been one. The star. The sun. The moon. Every bright thing we’ve ever had.”

For a moment, Ricky just sat there, the words resting in his chest like a tide that didn’t want to go out. He could feel them in his ribs, in his throat, in the way his hands curled slightly—like they needed to hold something precious.

Then, slowly, he rose to his feet, brushing off the blanket sand as if steadying himself. “Happy 7th Anniversary,” he said. Not with ceremony or grand declarations—just the kind of truth that fills a space more than volume ever could. His voice caught a little on the number, the way seven years sounded both impossibly long and far too short.

He reached for them, and they moved as though they’d been waiting for that signal all evening. Gyuvin’s palms found his face first, warm and certain, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones as though memorizing him all over again. Gunwook’s hands followed, large and careful, cradling him from the other side—solid and grounding, like the shore keeping the sea from drifting too far.

For a heartbeat, the three of them just looked at each other.

Ricky’s laugh came quiet and shaky, breaking like sunlight through water, his eyes wet but glimmering. “You’re ridiculous,” he whispered, and they both grinned because they knew he meant you’re perfect .

The children, of course, already knew the drill. Harui and Haneul pressed palms to their faces, giggling through their fingers. Hana peeked through one eye, whispering something to her brothers that made them both snicker, but they didn’t turn away completely. They liked seeing this—maybe even more than they let on.

Gunwook leaned forward, pressing a slow kiss to Ricky’s temple. “Seven years,” he murmured.

Gyuvin’s forehead touched Ricky’s, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. “And every one of them worth it.”

The stars above seemed impossibly bright now, as if leaning closer just to watch. The sea kept its rhythm behind them, soft and endless.

They stayed like that far longer than they probably realised—hands clasped, foreheads brushing, the kind of closeness that made time irrelevant. Every shared laugh, every argument survived, every morning they’d woken up still choosing each other… it all lived here in this moment.

Seven years.

And the promise of every year after.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*☁:･⋆.ೃ࿔*☘︎°

Puberty is never easy.

Not for the ones experiencing it, and certainly not for the people around them. But then again, not every puberty comes with tantrums or emotional explosions. Sometimes, it sneaks up quietly, reshaping everything without a sound.

The main thing to notice, though, is how these little children somehow became adolescents in the blink of an eye. Now in high school, they were learning to live more freely—though “freely” meant something different for each of them. One moment, they were barely up to their parents’ knees; the next, they were reaching shoulders. Growth wasn’t just physical—it was everything: voice cracks, new passions, bursts of stubborn independence.

It’s the kind of change you notice mostly when you step back, when you see them after a week, a month, a year. Like the last time they went to the escape room together—Ricky and the others couldn’t help teasing Jiwoong the entire time.

“Look at you, old man!” Yujin shouted, pointing at Jiwoong with mock horror. “Do you need a walking stick for this puzzle?”

“Careful, careful!” Taerae laughed, joining in. “You’re going to strain something, hyung!”

Jiwoong shook his head, smiling even as they poked fun at him. “I’m perfectly fine,” he insisted, though his grin betrayed how much he was enjoying the chaos.

And of course, they beat the record together, taking a victory photo to commemorate their teamwork—and their playful teasing. The room was full of laughter, shouts, and happy chaos.

———

Puberty sometimes brings an emo phase—maybe. For Harui, it did. Nightcore playlists blaring in the dark of the night, singing songs with a slightly shaky voice, the eyeliner drawn sharp and precise. His guitar, decorated with colorful stickers from years ago, sat in his lap as he strummed songs that were supposed to be electric and fierce, not sweet and silly. Gyuvin couldn’t help but watch from the doorway, amused.

“You look silly, you know that?” Gyuvin called softly.

Harui just shot him a glare over his dark fringe. “I’m expressing my darkness, Appa.”

“Sure,” Gyuvin said, grinning. “But with stickers?”

The emo phase didn’t last long. After a few months of nighttime angst and melodrama, Harui returned to the colorful, chaotic kid he was—still thoughtful, still dramatic, but lighter, brighter. And with that came another love: online games.

He was just like his Appa, obsessively competitive, ready to laugh, scream, and groan all at once as he battled friends online. Nights that should have been quiet were full of shared giggles and groans. Sometimes, they had to muffle their screams, careful not to wake those already sleeping, but that only made it more fun.

“No, why did that assassin sneak in?!” Harui asked, then looked at his father’s screen and just looked at it with dead eyes, “Appa, why are you dead too?”

“I’m just a support, why would they kill poor me.” Gyuvin said in mock sadness.

And that’s what puberty looked like for Harui. As for his siblings, their experiences were… a different story altogether.

For Hana, navigating the swirl of emotions that came with growing up was like walking on a sea that could shift from calm to storm in an instant. Sometimes, she didn’t even know why her moods changed—was it that time of the month, or just the weight of feelings she couldn’t name? Some days, joy seemed to bubble up so freely that the world felt impossibly bright. Other days, tears came unbidden, prickling at the corners of her eyes even when nothing “bad” had happened.

On those heavy nights, when the world seemed too large and her heart too small, she would quietly slip from her room and find her way to Ricky. She never needed to explain, never needed a reason; she simply needed him.

“Daddy… can I stay by your side?” she would whisper, voice trembling as though speaking too loudly might make her feelings vanish—or worse, make them real.

Ricky would simply nod, offering that gentle, unwavering smile that always made everything feel safe. “Of course, sweetheart,” he’d say softly, opening his arms. And she would melt into him, burying her face against his chest, inhaling the warmth and calm that radiated from him like a quiet sun. His heartbeat was steady beneath her ear, his hands holding her as if he could absorb all the heaviness with a touch.

He never rushed her, never told her to stop or to “cheer up.” Sometimes he hummed softly, a song she didn’t know but that felt like it was just for her, or he simply held her, letting the silence stretch between them like a blanket. “It’s okay to feel this way,” he would murmur. “I’ve felt it too. Everyone has storms inside.”

And somehow, in that quiet, she felt understood. Even when the tears ran freely down her cheeks, or when sobs wracked her frame, she felt anchored. With her Daddy’s warmth, his steady presence, his gentle voice, the storm inside her became a little more bearable, a little less frightening.

In those moments, she realized how lucky she was—to have someone who could hold her like that, someone whose love didn’t judge the tides of her heart, someone who reminded her that even in the wildest of feelings, she wasn’t alone. Ricky’s embrace, soft and constant, became her safe harbor. And in the middle of the confusion that was growing up, that felt like the most profound kind of love imaginable.

Puberty, they said, was about exploration. For Haneul, apparently, it was about exploring the ways of his heart. He didn’t really understand the push and pull—or rather, the lack thereof—between Hana and Jangmi, insisting they were far too young for all that, even as his own cheeks turned crimson at the mere thought of… well, anything romantic.

High school meant new beginnings: new classrooms, new teachers, new friends, and most dangerously, new faces. 

And then he saw her. Eve. Lovely, luminous Eve. The kind of girl whose smile made the world seem as if it had been quietly rearranged just for her. Every time Haneul looked at her, it was like tasting a forbidden fruit he could neither resist nor return, and every thought of her made his heart stutter in ways that were both thrilling and terrifying.

Love, he realized, drove people to strange and wonderfully irrational things. Despite all the stories his parents had told him—about Daddy, Appa, and Papa’s endless, chaotic romance—he still felt like every new flutter in his chest was uncharted territory. And perhaps that was the point: every heart had to learn its own lessons.

One evening, Haneul found himself pacing in the kitchen, stomach full of leftover fried rice but mind spinning faster than a whirlpool. “Appa… Papa…” he began, voice hesitant, “how do you… you know… tell someone you like them without… making it weird?”

Gyuvin leaned back, smiling gently, a hint of softness in his eyes. “Haneul,” he said, “just notice her. Watch how she laughs, how she moves, the little things. That’s usually enough to know what your heart’s really saying.” He paused, glancing at Ricky for a brief moment, and then back at Haneul. “And… don’t forget to be yourself. That’s important too.”

Gunwook added, more matter-of-fact but with a faint twinkle in his gaze, “Yeah. And, well… you’ll know it when it feels right. If your heart races a bit, that’s normal. Don’t be afraid of it.”

Haneul tilted his head, catching the way both of them looked at Ricky just briefly before returning their attention to him. There was a softness, a warmth, a quiet, steady adoration that spilled from every glance. Not too much, not overwhelming—just enough to make him understand why they had fallen so utterly, undeniably in love.

“And… if you ever feel like you’re overthinking it?” Gyuvin murmured, leaning closer, “just remember that some things are meant to be messy. And the messy parts can be the best parts.”

Gunwook nodded, smiling. “Exactly. And, just… you know, take your time. You’ll find your way.”

Haneul couldn’t help but grin. Even in their quiet, subtle ways, their affection for Ricky seeped into the air, comforting and funny all at once. He felt a little braver, a little lighter, knowing they had given him not just advice, but the gentle confidence that came from seeing love lived every day.

So, summoning a surge of courage, he decided he would speak to Eve. Just like that. Not grandly, not perfectly—but honestly. He practiced little sentences in his head as he ate, talking to Sol, explaining his “love emergency,” pointing out how radiant she was, how he hoped one day to share time and laughter with her. Sol wagged his tail in encouragement, as if saying, Go on, Haneul. You’ve got this.

And somehow, with the support of his Appa and Papa in the background, and Sol by his side, Haneul felt that maybe, love wasn’t as terrifying as it seemed. Maybe it was about the willingness to let his heart do the talking.

Even after all the whirlwind adventures that puberty brought, growing up also meant learning responsibility. And for Hana, Haneul, and Harui, responsibility wasn’t just about schoolwork or chores—it was about taking care of themselves so that their parents could have time together, just the three of them alone.

Just like that one dinner date—they insisted they could handle everything themselves, from cooking to tidying up, so their fathers could go out somewhere special. Somewhere far, somewhere that boasted the best California rolls in the city. And of course, a movie afterward was mandatory.

The evening began with soft chatter and giggles at the cinema. Popcorn was essential—what was a movie night without it? But this time, they had added something special: smoothies in their favorite flavors. Strawberry for Ricky, mango for Gyuvin, and chocolate for Gunwook, because if there was one thing the three were obsessed with, it was sticking to their favorites.

Before the lights dimmed, they whispered to each other, soft teasing and jokes floating between them. Ricky leaned to say something to Gunwook, only for Gyuvin to sneak a few pieces of popcorn into Ricky’s mouth. Ricky didn’t even protest, chewing happily with a playful smile, eyes sparkling like the gem he always was.

And then the movie started. It was a drama, a bittersweet romance set on a cruise. The characters spent the evening sipping wine, chatting with fellow passengers, and sharing quiet, tender moments that seemed to stretch forever. The night shimmered with beauty and promise… until the ending, which was heartbreakingly tragic. Ricky couldn’t hold back—tears slid down his cheeks, glimmering in the dim cinema light.

It wasn’t about suppressing emotions anymore. In years past, he might have tucked them away, hidden them behind a quick smile or a distracted look. But now, the tears came freely, spilling just as they were meant to. And beside him, Gunwook and Gyuvin weren’t immune either. Soon, the three of them were a mess of tissues, sniffling, and quiet laughter at themselves.

“That was beautiful,” Ricky said softly, wiping a tear from his cheek.

They all looked at one another, sharing a fleeting, tender smile before a fresh stream of tears reminded them of the movie’s sorrow. It was that kind of feeling that always felt silly, yet perfect—being touched by the same thing in the same way, feeling the same ache and beauty with the people you loved most.

“It’s already 11 PM,” Gunwook said thoughtfully, glancing at his watch.

“Last showing of the night,” Ricky replied, his voice soft but steady, “and it was worth every single second.”

Gyuvin grinned and nudged Ricky gently. “We can get cake on the way home to cheer us up. Strawberry?”

“Yes!” Ricky answered immediately, the smile bright even through the lingering tears. Some things didn’t need a question, but it was still fun to ask anyway.

“And we must hurry,” Gyuvin added, playful and teasing, “before our mother scolds us for being out this late.”

They all laughed at that, imagining Hana’s mock sternness. And sure enough, when the door clicked open, she was waiting. Hana stood by the couch, hands on her hips, eyes trained on the clock. The strict posture was there, yes—but there was also the sparkle of amusement in her gaze.

“Daddy, Appa, Papa! You stayed out too late again,” she said, trying to sound strict but failing slightly as her lips twitched. “It’s already past midnight! And you said it was a dinner date!”

Ricky grinned and stepped closer, teasing just enough. “Yes, Mama … but we brought cake. That should make up for it, right?” He held up the small box like a little treasure.

Gunwook leaned closer to Hana, smiling. “See? Cake fixes everything.”

Gyuvin draped an arm casually around Ricky and Gunwook, chuckling. “And we had the best time. You’d want us happy, wouldn’t you?”

Hana shook her head, her voice gentle, softening as she let go of her strict act. “Fine,” she said, a small, warm smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll wake up Haneul and Harui… see if they want some too.”

She padded over to them, and wrapped them in a hug. Ricky leaned down first, brushing a soft kiss against her cheek, tender and playful, like a child greeting their mother after a long day.

“Welcome home,” Hana murmured softly, her eyes sparkling.

“Thank you, our Hana. You’ve done so well,” Ricky replied, ruffling her hair with affection. Gunwook and Gyuvin joined in, pressing gentle kisses to her other cheek and the top of her head, the warmth of their love enveloping her from every side.

As she finally pulled back and left the room to wake her brothers, the three of them exchanged quiet, gleeful glances. Their little girl—always so tender, so soft—was impossibly adorable like that.

The family moved to the kitchen, warm light spilling over the countertops. Ricky carefully sliced the cake, preparing enough pieces while they waited for the triplets to join them. Once everyone was there, the slices were distributed, and they began to share bites quietly with each other—Ricky offering a forkful here, Gyuvin leaning over to taste a crumb there, and Gunwook passing tiny pieces to their children.

The soft clinking of forks and gentle laughter filled the room. Midnight snacks had always felt special, but tonight it felt even more so: sweet, warm, and unhurried. They ate slowly, savoring not just the cake, but the closeness, and their time with each other.

In that simple, glowing kitchen, the family felt at peace. Midnight curfews, the day’s rush, responsibilities—all of it could wait, because tonight, even the cake tasted a little sweeter.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*☁:･⋆.ೃ࿔*☘︎°

What does it mean for your kids to date?

Because apparently, for Ricky, Gyuvin, and Gunwook, nothing really happened in the traditional sense where you pass through all the polite, necessary steps before dating. They didn’t go through weeks of uncertainty, nervous confessions, or carefully staged “first dates.” They just knew they loved each other—said it out loud without hesitation—and then, one random trip later, decided they should be boyfriends.

How lovely is that?

So with their children trying their best to follow the proper way of dating someone, well… it was an entirely different kind of story. More interesting, in its own way.

Who was the first to step into a real dating phase, you ask? Surprisingly, not Hana, but Haneul. By then, their university years were hovering just beyond the horizon.

Haneul had been relentless in his courting, all determination and no wasted time. He wasn’t the type to let something good slip away. And then, on graduation day, Eve finally said yes.

When he brought Eve to the house, he had this unmistakable smugness in his expression. Not an arrogant sort of smugness, but the kind that said, I moved fast, and I won. A little glint in his eyes, as if to say, Not like certain people in this house who’ve known their best friend their entire life and still won’t progress the relationship.

Okay, yes—it was aimed mostly at Hana. But unfortunately for him, that description also applied perfectly to his Daddy, Appa, and Papa, who all looked mildly offended, like someone had just lobbed a pebble right into their chests.

Harui, of course, was laughing in the background, thoroughly enjoying the scene. Talks about love didn’t shake him—he’d already decided relationships weren’t for him. To him, they were messy things. Beautiful, yes—especially with the right people. He’d seen that first-hand, after all. But still a jarring concept. He liked being on the sidelines, listening to other people’s stories, and he thought that, in its own way, was a form of love too.

When Eve arrived, she greeted each of them politely at the door. Her voice was warm but steady, and it didn’t take long before they were exchanging small pleasantries. The kind that feels comfortable even in a first meeting.

And then, she was guided to the dining table.

A feast waited for her there—not just a meal, but something prepared with care. Some of her favorite dishes, which Haneul had remembered and made sure to include. He’d even helped prepare them the day before.

The sisig sizzled on its hot plate, sending up rich, savory steam. Bowls of sinigang were still warm enough to fog the air above them, the tangy aroma curling around the table. Other plates—colorful, bright—filled in the spaces.

Haneul pulled out the chair for her, settling in beside her with the quiet confidence of someone who’d been planning this for weeks. He slid the rice toward her, saying softly, “Try them all—you’ll like it.”

Eve’s lips curved into a smile, and across the table, Ricky caught Gyuvin’s and Gunwook’s eyes. They both smirked in unison, as if silently saying, Guess he really is ours.

And while they were eating, the questions came—gently, of course. Everyone knew just how much Haneul liked Eve, and none of them wanted to scare her off with too much teasing. Still, curiosity was inevitable.

“Are you both happy?” Ricky asked after the two had just finished their appetizers, his voice warm but intent. Both Eve and Haneul immediately flushed at the question, glancing at each other before looking back at him with shy smiles.

Eve’s fingers fiddled with her spoon. “Yes,” she said softly, but with certainty.

“That’s good to hear,” Gyuvin chimed in, leaning his chin on his hand as if evaluating her answer but clearly just enjoying her bashfulness. “He’s been talking about you so much, I was starting to think you were just a fictional character he made up to brag about.”

Eve laughed, and Haneul groaned. “Appa!”

Gunwook joined in, his voice playfully serious. “The important question is—does he treat you well? If not, you let us know.” The slight squint in his eyes was all show, but it made Eve giggle even more.

“I promise, he does,” she said, glancing toward Haneul with a look that softened everything about her face.

The meal went on, laughter weaving easily between bites. By the time the plates were cleared, the atmosphere was even lighter than before.

That was when Hana seized her chance. The moment Haneul drifted to the kitchen to talk to their Papa, she slipped an arm through Eve’s and steered her toward the couch, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

“Okay,” she said, leaning in with a serious yet teasing expression. “Are you sure about my brother? Do you really want to spend your forever with him?”

Eve blinked, surprised, then laughed at the intensity of the question. “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

Hana crossed her arms, pretending to study her. “I’m just making sure you know what you’re signing up for. He can be… a lot.”

But Eve only shook her head, a tender smile tugging at her lips. “He’s kind. It’s like he’s everything I’ve ever wanted and needed. And I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel more… understood.”

Hana felt something in her chest loosen at that. Haneul, with his quiet composure and bursts of excitement—seeing Eve love him so effortlessly was almost enough to make her tear up.

“You’re like an angel,” Hana murmured, smiling brightly. “An angel who decided to fly across the sky and rest in the clouds when you get tired. That’s what you are for him.”

Eve laughed, a little bashful, but her eyes shone.

“And you’re so cute together,” Hana added with a squeal, squeezing her hand.

Right on cue, Haneul appeared, raising a brow. “What’s going on over here? Plotting against me?”

“We’re just talking,” Hana said innocently, though the smug grin on her face betrayed her.

“Hmph. Not including me in the conversation,” Haneul said, puffing his cheeks out like a sulky child before dropping onto the couch beside Eve.

And then, as if summoned by the scent of drama, Harui plopped down on Hana’s other side. “What’s this? A secret meeting without me? I feel deeply betrayed.”

“This isn’t about you,” Hana said, shoving him lightly.

“Doesn’t matter,” Harui replied, crossing his legs and leaning forward like an investigative journalist. “If there’s sibling gossip, I’m in . Now, Eve—on a scale of one to ten, how annoying is he when he’s in love?”

Eve giggled, glancing between the siblings. “About… a twelve.”

“Ha!” Harui leaned back in victory. “I knew it.”

Haneul groaned, throwing his head back. “Why is this turning into a roast session?”

“Because you’re dating someone and Hana’s jealous,” Harui shot back instantly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Hana let out an offended screech that could probably be heard from the kitchen. “I’m not !”

“Yes, you are!” Harui teased even more, earning himself another shove.

And Eve just laughed, warm, watching the two siblings bicker like it was a finely choreographed routine they’d been practicing their whole lives.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Ricky, Gyuvin, and Gunwook were indeed sipping tea—literally—and quietly enjoying the chaos from afar. None of them made a move to step in; they knew better than to disrupt the natural habitat of their children.

After what felt like forever, Hana had a ring.

A ring.

On her ring finger .

And yet—she and her fiancé were still in university, still studying, still with their whole futures stretched out ahead of them. But apparently, somewhere between lectures, coffee dates, and stolen weekends, the leap had been made.

It happened during one of their trips, at a park high enough that the city sprawled beneath them like a blanket of blinking lights. The air had been cool, the kind that made you tuck yourself closer to the person beside you. And then Hana, who had been fidgeting with her hand for the past ten minutes, finally thrust it into the glow of the city, the silver band catching the light.

“I’m engaged!” she blurted, as if she’d been holding it in all week. “To my lovely Jangmi,” she said, absolutely gone.

The effect was instant—every head turned toward her at once. The reactions ranged from stunned blinking to wide-eyed stares. Because as far as anyone in the family knew… there hadn’t even been official confirmation that she was dating anyone. Now here she was, not only confirming it, but skipping straight to engaged .

“How—what—Hana!” Gyuvin sputtered, looking halfway between proud and deeply confused.

Hana, cheeks pink but grinning ear to ear, tried to explain. “You know that one thing people always say—that if you’re in your thirties and still haven’t found the right person, you should just marry your friend?”

Haneul leaned forward, smirking. “That wouldn’t work for you. You’ve basically been together this whole time.”

“Exactly!” Hana said, throwing her hands up. “I was just… so shy.”

“Oh please,” Harui teased, “the whole world knew except you.”

“Hey—!” Hana tried to swat him, but she was too happy for her mock indignation to stick.

“So…” Gyuvin drawled, leaning back like he was bracing for chaos. “When’s the wedding?”

For a moment, it was like history looping back—because years ago, the exact same question had been thrown at them by their parents. The echo made Ricky choke on his citrus tea, and Gunwook just grinned knowingly.

“Soon!” Hana said brightly. Then, with a little shrug, “Well… soon-ish. Maybe three years? Or… whenever we feel like it.”

"Guess we should start writing our speeches now, then," Harui replied.

“You still would have written them the night before,” Hana shot back, narrowing her eyes at him.

“True,” Harui admitted without shame.

Ricky, who had been quietly watching the banter unfold, leaned forward with a warm smile. “Congrats, Hana.”

It was simple, sincere—and for some reason, it hit Hana right in the chest. She suddenly burst into tears, half laughing, half sobbing, and all but threw herself into Ricky’s arms.

“Daddy is the only one who loves me in this household,” she mumbled dramatically into his shirt.

“We love your Daddy too,” Gyuvin chimed in from the side, lips quirking in amusement.

Gunwook, sitting beside him, nodded as if they’d just made an official proclamation. “We really do.” Both of them were hopelessly in love with their husband, and they weren’t even pretending otherwise.

“Appa…” Harui started.

“Papa…” Haneul followed, like they couldn’t believe their dads had really chosen this moment to be absolutely whipped.

Their fathers only laughed, unbothered, holding on to the moment as the city lights shimmered behind them.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*☁:･⋆.ೃ࿔*☘︎°

And the said wedding was so soon. Discussions about marriage happened just like that—like flipping a page in a book and finding the ending waiting for you. You never quite realize how fast time passes until it’s slipping right through your fingers. One moment, she was small enough to fit in your arms, crawling toward you with tiny hands and wobbly feet. The next, she was talking about how she wanted to spend her forever with someone.

At first, there was the debate—the inevitable sibling argument—over who would get to marry first.

“We can’t really be married the same year,” Haneul reasoned with the calm of someone who thought they were being reasonable. “So we’ll get married next year. And since your engagement happened now, you can get married this year.”

He grinned. “We’ll make the first months of next year our wedding.”

Hana, unfazed, simply beamed. “I want all Daddy, Appa, and Papa to walk me down the aisle.”

And of course, all three fathers agreed instantly—because how could they say no when their lovely, lovely daughter was being so sweet?

The wedding planning went… well, as smoothly as wedding planning ever goes—which is to say, not smoothly at all. The smallest details ballooned into complicated affairs. Something as “simple” as the guest list became an hours-long debate over seating charts, distant cousins, and plus-ones. The venue? Another battlefield, though thankfully one with a clear vision from Hana herself:

It had to be flowers. Pretty flowers, always in bloom. And flowers meant an outdoor wedding. No enclosed halls, no stuffy ceilings—just open sky, sunshine, and petals dancing in the breeze. Rain or shine, they would marry beneath the blooms.

And then came the dress. Oh, the dress.

It was to be floral, but not in the usual printed-fabric sense. This dress would have real flowers stitched into it, woven delicately along the skirt and bodice so each step would release a faint breath of sweetness into the air.

One evening, Hana appeared in the living room with a sparkle in her eyes. She slid into the seat beside Ricky, leaning on his arm.

“Daddy… do you want to design my dress for me? Please, please, please?” She blinked up at him with the kind of dramatic pleading that was almost comical, but there was an earnestness underneath.

Ricky’s lips curved into the fondest smile. “Do I want to? Hana, you don’t even have to ask. Of course I’m designing your dress.”

Gyuvin, overhearing from across the room, put a hand to his chest. “And what about us? We can’t design?”

“You can pick the food for the reception, Appa.” Hana said sweetly.

Gunwook burst out laughing. “That’s a dangerous amount of power to give him.”

Ricky shook his head, still smiling, already picturing the dress in his mind. “It’ll be perfect,” he promised.

And Hana believed him without question.

Because the days spent preparing were always so busy, there was never really a chance to pause and absorb the moment. Every morning blurred into lists and fittings, every evening ended with tired smiles and scattered to-do notes. But when the day of the wedding drew near—so close you could count it in hours instead of weeks—that was when they truly felt it.

How fast time had gone.

How slippery it really was.

Who even invented time? And why did it have to rush like this?

Now, in the quiet privacy of their room, they stood in front of the mirror, fixing their suits.

“You’re getting better at tying a tie,” Gyuvin said from behind, his reflection grinning back.

“I did have to set a good example, didn’t I?” Ricky replied, focusing on the knot, hands steady but deliberate.

Gyuvin stepped closer, a glint in his eye. “And yet…” He reached out, brushing Ricky’s hands away with gentle insistence, “I still do it better.”

Ricky chuckled. He’d had to actually learn how to tie a tie years ago, just so his children would see him as a capable, composed father. He remembered that evening before a school event when the triplets had crowded around, watching with wide-eyed curiosity. That day had imprinted itself in his memory: if the children were watching, you set a good example—always.

It wasn’t like back in high school, when the uniform required a tie and he could get away with letting Gyuvin or Gunwook fix it for him.

But Gyuvin still loved to swoop in, take over, and pull the knot into perfect symmetry like muscle memory.

From the side, Gunwook leaned against the doorframe, his own tie already loosened. “You know,” he said in that soft, amused voice, “it’s easier to just take it off.”

“That is true,” Ricky admitted with a small smirk, trying not to encourage the mischief brewing in his husbands’ eyes. “But, Gunwook-ssi, please fix yourself too.”

Gunwook stepped forward, only to have Ricky reach up and ruffle his hair, messing it up even more. Somehow, it only made him look better—effortless, warm, and so infuriatingly handsome.

And then—because closeness was always their undoing—their playful banter slipped into something warmer. Gyuvin was still close enough from fixing the tie, his fingers lingering just under Ricky’s collar. Gunwook stepped nearer to “help” with the lapel, but really just so they could all stand within arm’s reach.

The first kiss was quick, almost accidental—just a brush of lips as Gyuvin murmured, “Perfect,” into Ricky’s tie knot. The second lingered, Gyuvin’s palm sliding to Ricky’s jaw as Gunwook leaned in from the other side, the heat of his presence like a gravitational pull.

By the third kiss, it wasn’t about fixing anything anymore. Gunwook’s hand was at the small of Ricky’s back, drawing him forward as Gyuvin deepened the kiss from the front. Ricky could feel the faint taste of cherry blossom lip tint—he’d chosen it on purpose for today, and it made the kiss feel like spring itself had bloomed between them.

It was slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that didn’t need urgency because it carried years’ worth of love in it. Every shared breath said we’ve always loved like this, and we always will.

When they finally parted, Ricky’s lips were just slightly reddened, his smile so soft it could melt glass. “Alright,” he said, smoothing his jacket as if that would hide the fact his heart was still beating too fast, “suits on, ties perfect, watches set… let’s not waste a second of today.”

“Not before one more,” Gyuvin teased, stealing another kiss—quick this time, but still enough to make Ricky laugh.

And so, with ties straightened, hair perfect (or charmingly ruffled), and love practically humming in the air around them, they stepped out of the room to greet their guests.

Not before Gunwook leaned in and pressed one last kiss to Ricky’s temple—full of love, like it had always been forever.

And then Ricky made his way toward where his Hana was waiting, the bride-to-be, ready for her own moment in the light.

Ricky paused at the doorway before stepping in, just for a moment, to take her in. His little girl—except she wasn’t little anymore. She was sitting by the window, the soft light pouring over her dress like the world itself was holding its breath.

“You look absolutely beautiful,” Ricky said as he crossed the room, his voice gentle but certain. “Are you ready, sweetheart?” He reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering to cradle her cheek for just a second before he leaned down to press a kiss to her head—soft, caring, the way he’d always done since she was small.

The scent of her perfume was new, grown-up, but beneath it he swore he could still smell the faint memory of the baby shampoo she’d used when she was five.

“Daddy, I take after you. Of course, I’m pretty,” Hana teased with a small grin, but it wavered just slightly, like she was holding something back.

She drew in a steadying breath, and when she let it out, her tone was quieter. “I am.” She meant ready.

They stood before the mirror together—Ricky and Hana—and their reflections stared back at them, older, changed, yet still the same in ways that mattered. In the glass, Ricky saw her first steps, her first school uniform, her first love. She was still all those versions of herself, even now in lace and flowers.

“Daddy,” she said suddenly, eyes glimmering though she fought to keep her mascara intact, “can I ask you back? Are you ready?”

Ricky swallowed, because the lump in his throat came quick. He held her gaze in the mirror, then turned to take her hand, squeezing it as though maybe he could slow the clock that way.

“My Hana,” he murmured, his voice breaking just enough for her to hear it, “you know I can never be ready.”

And it was true. You can’t be ready for the moment when someone who’s been part of your every single day suddenly steps into a forever that doesn’t center around you. You know it will happen. You think you’ve prepared. But when it’s here—when it’s real —no part of you wants to let go.

The clock chimed softly from somewhere in the hallway. 2 P.M.

It was time.

When they stepped out of the room, Ricky’s arm was hooked through hers. They moved in sync, the familiar ease of countless father-daughter walks down the street, except this time every step carried the weight of goodbye and the beauty of a beginning.

Just outside the doorway, Gyuvin and Gunwook were waiting, both in perfectly cut suits and smiles that trembled at the edges. Their eyes were bright—not from the camera flashes that would come later, but from the emotion they were still holding back.

There was a rule today: no full-on crying yet. Not until she reached the end of the aisle. Pictures first, tears later.

But standing there, the four of them together, Ricky knew they were already breaking that rule on the inside.

The music began—low, steady, the first gentle notes spilling into the air like a whisper that this was it .

Hana felt her arms linked with all three of them—Daddy to her left, Appa on her right, Papa at her far side—and for just a second she thought, This is the safest I have ever been . Their steps matched, an unspoken rhythm they had always somehow shared, even back when she was still small and learning to walk between them, her little hands swallowed up in theirs.

Walking down the aisle was surreal. The world outside narrowed into this moment—the path of white petals, the golden sunlight filtering through the open tent, the soft smiles of friends and family standing as she passed.

Whether or not you were the bride, or the bride’s father, this was the kind of moment that rearranged your heart. Every guest’s face was lit with joy; some clapped softly, not wanting to break the music, others dabbed at their eyes before the tears could fall. Cameras clicked in a quiet staccato, freezing the way her dress moved like a blooming flower, the way her fathers’ proud, tender gazes stayed fixed on her.

And then came the part she had been dreading—the part they had all been dreading.

The aisle ended. The altar waited.

Her three fathers stopped with her, their hands tightening on her arms as though they might keep her there just a second longer. She could feel their breaths hitch—all at once, like they shared one heartbeat between them.

She turned to each of them, pressing a kiss to their cheeks—one, two, three—before they let her go.

Her rose was waiting for her at the end of the aisle, smiling with the kind of love that made her chest feel like it would burst.

The vows came, and with them, the first break in their resolve. When Hana’s voice caught halfway through speaking her own, Ricky’s jaw trembled, Gyuvin’s lashes blinked too quickly, and Gunwook’s smile tilted like he was holding something in.

It was real now. No dream, no rehearsal. The words, the rings, the trembling hands—all of it happening before their very eyes.

And then—“I now pronounce you wives.”

The crowd erupted into cheers, clapping loud enough to rival the music, the joy spreading like sunlight over water. Outside, a pair of birds swooped past the open window, their wings catching the light. And in that moment, watching her smile with her whole heart, the three of them knew—really knew—it was going to be fine.

The speeches had all been said.

The teasing ones came first—courtesy of Haneul and Harui, who managed to make everyone laugh through tears—followed by the soft, steady ones from friends and family, voices carrying love like lanterns in the dark. And, of course, the most tender words had come from her fathers, their message threaded with the quiet kind of love that doesn’t end, only changes shape.

And then, the music shifted.

It was time for the dance.

The lights softened as Ricky took Hana’s hand. His touch was careful, like he was afraid this moment might break if he wasn’t gentle enough. The song was slow, the kind that felt like breathing.

“You still love to dance, my dear,” Ricky murmured, his hand brushing her shoulder.

“Yes, very much so. I learn proper dance now,” Hana teased softly, though her voice carried a tremor.

“That, you do,” Ricky smiled.

They moved together in small, swaying steps—not so much a dance as a memory in motion. Ricky’s gaze kept flicking to her face, still catching glimpses of the little girl who once danced like she needed to be carried, the same girl who twirled in circles with Haneul, Harui, and Hiro in the living room, giggling until she fell over.

When the music shifted again, he pressed his lips to her cheek and whispered, “Be happy, my Hana.” Then, he let her go.

Next came Gyuvin, grinning even though the redness around his eyes betrayed him. Their fathers—always so emotional.

He pulled her into a playful spin, slow and warm, because even now the moment wouldn’t allow anything else. “Did you learn from me?” he asked, meaning the dancing.

“I only learn from the best,” she replied, her smile bright enough to pull a laugh from him.

Their dance was lighter, full of easy spins and exaggerated steps. Every so often, Gyuvin would lift her just slightly off the ground, the way he used to when she was small and wanted to “fly.”

“You’ll always be my little girl,” he said, even as he set her down and gave a playful bow before passing her hand to the last father.

Gunwook didn’t spin her or lift her. He simply pulled her close—the kind of hug-in-motion that felt like safety itself. His hand rested steady at her back, his steps calm, as though the world could slow down if they just moved like this long enough.

He couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, and tears, after all, were contagious.

“Still our loveliest star,” he murmured, his voice thick.

“Always,” she promised.

The rest of the room faded away for that dance—no laughter, no teasing, just the quiet hum of music and the heartbeat of this moment.

The song softened again, shifting into something even more intimate. All three fathers stepped forward, their hands meeting hers for just a breath longer. And then, slowly, she turned—slipping her hands from theirs into Jangmi’s waiting ones.

The three of them lingered, watching as Hana and Jangmi began to dance under the shimmer of the reception lights. Joy swelled in their chests, but so did that familiar ache—the one that comes when you love someone enough to let them go.

The lights above glittered softly, as though the whole room understood what it meant.

After a while, the three fathers sat at their table, leaning into each other in that quiet, instinctive way they always have. Their smiles were tired but true, softened by the glow in their eyes as they watched their daughter’s happiness unfold just a few feet away.

From beyond the glass windows, the moon hung bright and patient in the sky. It felt almost as if the heavens themselves were leaning close to watch—as if this night, this love, was a gift too precious to keep to themselves.

Without speaking, they each glanced down—and their eyes met on the same detail. Their own hands, resting side by side on the table. Their own rings. Silver bands, warm from their skin, catching both moonlight and the room’s light. Not perfect, but worn into perfection by the years, edges smoothed by time and love. Intertwined like they were the day they first promised forever.

The rings were quiet proof that love changes, yes—but it doesn’t end. It bends, it grows, it lets go when it has to… and yet, it always keeps something.

Growing up was hard, harder still to accept. But that is just how life moves—like the tide pulling sand back into the sea, like the way you can hold someone close one moment, and the next, they’re walking forward on their own. The wind itself seemed to whisper that it was fine to let go.

But some things… some things you never let go of.

They knew, without having to say it, that they would never release each other’s hands. The strings that tied them together were knotted deep—through every joy, every grief, every small miracle—and now those strings reached across the floor to where Hana stood with Jangmi, tying them all in the same, unbreakable circle.

Three fathers, three rings, one heart.

And the moon and the stars shall forever bear witness.

♡