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The day had just started, and the dorm was already drifting by with the kind of lazy rhythm they almost never got to enjoy. The dorm was scattered with the usual mess — snack bags on the coffee table, half-folded laundry slumped in a corner, game controllers tangled like vines across the floor. Mark was tinkering with his guitar, humming absentmindedly.
Jisung had both eyes glued to his game, mouth open in concentration. Chenle was dramatically narrating the way his wrapper tower swayed every time someone walked past. Jaemin was scrolling on his phone in his own world, while Jeno and Renjun bickered softly about whether the AC was set too high. It was ordinary, quiet, and peaceful. Too peaceful.
The knock on the door shattered it.
It wasn’t the polite, patient kind. It was hurried, clipped, urgent — the kind of knock that carried a problem behind it. Mark was closest, and when he pulled the door open, their manager all but fell into the entryway. His shirt was rumpled, tie half-loosened, eyes flicking desperately between them.
“Boys,” he started, his voice pitched strangely high, “I need a huge favor. A life-saving favor.”
All seven of them stiffened. Favors from him were never good.
“My wife got called into work, the babysitter canceled, and I’ve got an emergency meeting at the company in fifteen minutes.” The words tumbled out of his mouth like marbles spilling across a floor. “Can you— just for a few hours— watch him?”
He stepped aside.
Peeking out from behind his legs was a boy no older than four. His hair stuck up like he’d fought a losing battle with a pillow, cheeks flushed with a healthy pink. He clutched a toy dinosaur with one small fist and a sippy cup in the other, his wide eyes darting nervously between the seven tall strangers staring down at him. His sneakers squeaked softly as he shifted his weight, unsure whether to run or to stay.
The silence stretched for a full heartbeat.
Then Jaemin’s entire face lit up like fireworks. “Oh my god, he’s so cute!” He dropped to his knees instantly, hands extended like he was presenting a gift. “Hyung, don’t worry! We’ll take care of him, we’ll be amazing! Right, guys?”
Renjun’s mouth opened in protest, but before he could even speak, Mark was already smiling sheepishly at their manager. “Yeah, don’t worry. You can count on us. We’ve got it.”
The door shut firmly behind him.
For a moment, none of them breathed.
Renjun was the first to break the silence, rubbing his forehead with both hands. “We’re doomed.”
The boy shuffled a step forward into the living room, clutching his dinosaur to his chest. The seven of them stared back, unsure who was supposed to move first. It was like watching a staring contest with a very small, very fragile creature who might burst into tears at any second.
Jaemin took the plunge. His smile was so wide it was almost blinding as he crawled forward, voice pitched high and soft. “Hi there! What’s your name? Do you want a hug? I give the best hugs.” His arms opened invitingly, radiating warmth.
The boy stared at him for three long seconds. Then he turned, walked right past Jaemin, and climbed wordlessly into Haechan’s lap.
The room erupted.
Chenle’s laugh was so loud it rattled the table. Jisung fell sideways onto the couch cushions with a strangled squeak of disbelief. Jeno’s lips twitched despite his best effort to stay neutral, while even Renjun let out a wheeze. Mark’s eyebrows shot so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline.
Jaemin froze in place, arms still stretched wide, expression horrified. “What— what do you mean? I was right here! Open arms! Love and comfort!”
Haechan smirked down at the boy, who had already settled comfortably against his hoodie. “Sorry, Jaem. Guess the kid just has good taste.”
“Good taste?” Renjun scoffed, shaking his head. “You? You can’t even water the plants on time.”
“Maybe so,” Haechan said smoothly, patting the boy’s back like he’d been doing it for years, “but apparently I’m irresistible to toddlers. Must be my natural maternal charisma.”
The boy giggled into his chest, muffled but clear, and Haechan’s smirk widened until it was unbearable.
The next half hour was a blur of trial and error. Everyone tried too hard. Mark pulled out his guitar, strumming bright little riffs like he was auditioning for a children’s show. Chenle built towering block castles only for the boy to demolish them with gleeful abandon.
Jisung awkwardly tried to share his game controller, letting the boy mash random buttons that sent his character spinning into walls. Jaemin pulled out his entire charm arsenal — funny faces, dramatic voices, even pretending to be the boy’s toy dinosaur — but to his horror, the boy barely gave him a glance.
And through it all, the boy stayed close to one person. His little hand tugged at Haechan’s sleeve whenever he wandered too far. His eyes followed him across the room, as if tethered by invisible string. Whenever Haechan sat down, the boy climbed right back into his lap like it was his rightful seat.
By the time the boy yawned and curled sleepily against his shoulder, the rest of the members were watching with a mix of disbelief and betrayal.
“He didn’t even look at me,” Jaemin muttered darkly, slumped against the couch.
“He played my game,” Jisung said indignantly, pointing at his controller. “And then he left me. Just like that.”
Chenle was still laughing, pointing at Haechan like he’d just discovered the funniest punchline of the year. “You— Hyuck— you’re like his mom! Look at you! He won’t let go!”
Renjun raised a brow, smirking. “What, do we have to start calling you eomma now?”
Haechan rolled his eyes, shifting the boy carefully so his little head rested more comfortably against his chest. “Shut up. I’m not anyone’s mom.”
But just then, half-asleep and mumbling softly, the boy whispered the words that made every jaw in the room drop:
“Hyuck hyung is my favorite.”
The dorm went dead silent.
Then all at once, laughter, groans, and shouts exploded around him. Mark nearly fell off the couch laughing. Jaemin clutched his chest like he’d been stabbed. Jeno shook his head, lips twitching. Renjun muttered something about “unfair favoritism,” while Chenle was already chanting the phrase over and over like a victory cheer.
Haechan sat frozen, ears burning red, trying desperately to keep his face neutral. But as the boy burrowed closer against him, clinging tight even in his sleep, there was no denying it anymore.
In the boy’s little world, ‘Hyuck hyung’ had already won.
⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°
The morning sunlight spilled through the dorm windows, warm and golden, as though it had been sent specifically to mock them. Because while the world outside looked peaceful, inside the dorm chaos was already brewing.
“Hyung, he’s bored,” Jisung whispered urgently, peeking around the corner like a soldier reporting from the frontlines. The boy was sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by blocks, crayons, and stuffed animals, but his little face was pinched into a frown. His toy dinosaur lay forgotten at his side, and he was absently tugging at Haechan’s sleeve in wordless complaint.
“He was fine an hour ago,” Mark said, looking nervous as if boredom were an illness they had somehow failed to prevent.
“That’s the problem with kids,” Renjun muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “They change moods faster than Jaemin changes hair colors.”
“Hey!” Jaemin protested, then turned his brightest smile toward the boy. “Don’t worry, Jaemin hyung knows what to do. We need to get him some fresh air!”
The idea took root almost instantly. Within fifteen minutes, shoes were being shoved on, hats adjusted, and an oversized hoodie pulled over the boy’s head. They moved as a chaotic unit down the block until the bright colors of the neighborhood playground came into view — swings creaking, kids shrieking with laughter, slides gleaming in the sun.
The boy’s eyes lit up instantly.
The moment they set him down inside the gates, he bolted toward the sandbox with the kind of focus only a four-year-old could muster. The Dream members trailed behind like a very obvious, very out-of-place security detail. Parents lounging on benches raised their eyebrows at the sight of seven tall boys hovering anxiously around one toddler.
“He’s fine,” Renjun muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. “We don’t have to hover.”
“He’s so tiny,” Mark whispered back, chewing his lip. “What if he falls? What if he eats sand?”
“Then he eats sand,” Haechan said flatly, dropping onto a bench with zero urgency. “That’s part of the playground experience.”
Jaemin gasped. “You can’t just let him eat sand!”
But any further debate was cut off by the first crisis of the morning.
Two other toddlers had noticed the boy’s toy dinosaur. Their approach was slow but determined, eyes locked onto the prize. One reached for it without hesitation. The boy yanked it back, eyes wide, and then both sides froze — a standoff in the middle of the sandbox.
“Oh no,” Chenle breathed, eyes sparkling like he was watching a live drama. “It’s about to go down.”
Mark hovered nervously at the edge. “Should we— should we step in?”
Renjun shook his head. “Let them figure it out.”
“Are you insane?” Jaemin hissed. “That’s his favorite toy! He’s going to cry!”
But before any of them could intervene, Haechan stood, hands shoved casually into his hoodie pocket. He strode into the sandbox, crouched down beside the boy, and leveled him with a look that was neither soft nor particularly comforting.
“Listen, kid,” he said bluntly, just loud enough for the boy to hear. “That dinosaur? It’s yours. You don’t have to give it up. But—” He gestured to the two rival toddlers, who were still staring expectantly. “If you scream and cry about it, you’ll just look weak. You don’t want that, do you?”
The boy sniffled, shaking his head furiously.
“Good. So here’s what you do. You hold it tight. You say, ‘It’s mine, but we can play together if you want.’ Clear, simple. If they say no, then whatever, you win. If they say yes, then you’re the boss anyway because it’s your toy. Got it?”
The boy blinked at him, absorbing every word. Then, gripping the dinosaur with both hands, he turned to the rival toddlers and repeated carefully: “It’s mine… but we can play together if you want.”
The other kids exchanged a glance, then nodded. Just like that, the tension dissolved into giggles and shared digging in the sand.
The Dream members were frozen on the sidelines, mouths hanging open.
“…What the hell,” Renjun whispered.
Jaemin clutched his chest like he’d just witnessed a crime. “Hyuck, you can’t talk to a four-year-old like that!”
“Why not?” Haechan said easily, dusting sand off his knees. “It worked.”
Mark was still staring at the sandbox, bewildered. “He actually… listened to you.”
“He respected me,” Haechan corrected, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Big difference.”
Chenle collapsed onto the bench beside Jeno, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “You’re not raising him, you’re coaching him like he’s training for war!”
But when the boy glanced up from the sandbox, beaming with pride, his small voice rang out loud and clear: “Hyuck hyung told me what to do!”
Every other member groaned in unison.
And Haechan — basking in the glow of victory — only smirked wider.
⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°
By late afternoon, the dorm had settled into a deceptive calm. The boy sat cross-legged on the carpet, his toy dinosaur marching triumphantly across the battlefield of block towers Chenle had built for him. Jaemin was sprawled across the floor, holding up different crayons and dramatically announcing each color like he was hosting a game show.
Mark had pulled out his notebook, jotting down fragments of lyrics between bursts of laughter at Jisung’s hopeless attempts to keep up with the boy’s endless energy. For the first time since this babysitting saga began, it almost felt manageable.
Almost.
Because then came the juice.
The boy’s sippy cup, filled to the brim with bright orange liquid, slipped from his grasp mid-roar of dinosaur victory. Time slowed as it tumbled, bounced once against the rug, and spilled its contents in a sticky, spreading pool of citrus disaster.
There was a pause — a single heartbeat where nobody moved, nobody breathed.
And then the boy’s face crumpled.
The wail that tore out of him was sharp enough to rattle the windows. His little fists clenched, his cheeks turned blotchy, and tears streamed down as though the loss of juice was the single greatest tragedy the universe had ever witnessed.
Panic detonated instantly.
Mark shot up from the couch, hands flailing helplessly. “No, no, no— don’t cry! It’s fine, we’ll get more juice!”
Jaemin darted toward the kitchen. “I’ll clean it! Don’t be sad, okay? Please don’t cry!”
Chenle waved a stuffed animal frantically in front of the boy’s face. “Look, look! Dino’s fine! Dino didn’t spill!”
Jisung crouched low, patting the boy’s head with the awkwardness of someone handling a fragile bomb. “Uh— there, there? Please don’t explode?”
Jeno grabbed paper towels with military precision, blotting at the carpet like the juice was a mortal enemy. Renjun pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath about how this was a “nightmare waiting to happen.”
But the wails only grew louder, piercing and unrelenting.
Through the chaos, Haechan hadn’t moved. He sat where he was, legs stretched out, watching the pandemonium with an expression halfway between disbelief and disdain. His arms crossed over his chest, lips pressed thin in the kind of unimpressed line that said: pathetic.
Finally, he sighed, rose to his feet, and cut straight through the mess like a knife. “You guys are useless.”
In two steps, he scooped the boy into his arms. The child squirmed, little fists pounding against his chest, but Haechan adjusted easily, holding him firm. His voice came low and sharp, but carried a softness beneath it that slid straight past the tantrum.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Juice on the floor. Absolute tragedy.” He tilted his head, one brow arched. “Should we hold a funeral for it? Maybe invite the president?”
The boy hiccupped mid-wail, confusion flickering in his tear-swollen eyes.
“You think screaming’s gonna bring it back?” Haechan continued dryly. “Hate to break it to you, kid, but all you’re doing right now is making your nose gross. Do you like being snotty?”
The sobs faltered.
“That’s what I thought.” Haechan adjusted the boy higher on his hip, his hand rubbing absent circles across his small back. His tone softened, threading warmth through the sarcasm. “Listen. Juice can be refilled. Rugs can be cleaned. But if you keep crying, you’ll give yourself a headache. And then what? You’ll miss cartoons. That’s a bad deal.”
The boy’s hiccups slowed. He sniffled, blinking up at Haechan with watery eyes.
“There we go,” Haechan murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Better. Tell you what — calm down, and maybe I’ll let you steal one of my gummies later. Deal?”
The boy nodded solemnly, thumb finding its way into his mouth as he slumped against Haechan’s shoulder, worn out from the storm.
The dorm was silent.
Six heads turned slowly toward Haechan, expressions ranging from awe to utter disbelief.
“…That’s it?” Renjun said finally, voice flat. “That’s all it took?”
Chenle collapsed backward onto the couch, cackling so hard he nearly slid off. “Hyuck hyung— the child whisperer!”
Jaemin pointed an accusatory finger, outrage dripping from his voice. “You—! You’re not even trying! I begged, I cleaned, I danced, and he— he listens to you?!”
“Because I speak his language,” Haechan replied smugly, rocking the boy gently even as he smirked at the others. “Toddlers respect honesty. Try it sometime.”
But just as the room filled with groans, the boy mumbled into Haechan’s hoodie, voice soft and sticky with sleep:
“Hyuckie hyung… you’d make the best mom.”
Time froze.
Then came the eruption — laughter, shouts, groans echoing off the walls. Mark nearly doubled over, tears in his eyes. Jisung flailed dramatically onto the carpet. Jeno shook his head with a resigned smile, while Renjun muttered something that sounded suspicious.
Jaemin clutched his chest, wounded. “He’s mine! He was supposed to be mine!”
Through it all, Haechan’s ears burned red, but he lifted his chin, masking the flush with practiced arrogance. “Shut up,” he barked over their noise, though the way his hand smoothed instinctively over the boy’s hair betrayed him. “I’m not your mom.”
But the boy’s steady breathing against his shoulder, the way he clung even in sleep, told a different story.
And the others — groaning, laughing, arguing among themselves — knew it too.
⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°
By the time lunch was over, the dorm looked like a war zone. Crumbs scattered across the table, juice stains barely scrubbed from the carpet, toys forming a minefield across the living room floor. The boy was at the center of it all — cheeks still flushed from earlier tears, hair sticking up in every direction, eyes sparkling with the kind of dangerous energy only a four-year-old possessed.
“Okay,” Mark said firmly, clapping his hands like a teacher trying to summon order. “Nap time. Let’s do this.”
The words were met with immediate resistance.
“No!” The boy shouted with such conviction that the walls seemed to rattle. He hugged his dinosaur to his chest and shook his head so violently his hair flopped into his eyes. “No nap!”
“Uh oh,” Jaemin whispered, eyes widening like someone had just pulled the pin from a grenade.
“Don’t worry, I got this,” Jisung said with misplaced confidence. He crouched low, his voice syrupy sweet. “Come on, naps are fun! You get to dream of— uh— flying and candy and, um… puppies?”
The boy scowled. “No nap!”
Jisung retreated instantly, hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay! Sheesh.”
Jaemin was next, striding in with the kind of optimism that should have been illegal. He scooped the boy up and rocked him like a baby, singing softly, “Twinkle, twinkle, little—”
“Stop!” The boy squirmed so hard Jaemin nearly dropped him. “Don’t like it!”
Renjun groaned into his hands. “This is going to take forever.”
Chenle tried bribery. “Nap first, gummy later!” he offered brightly, shaking a bag in the boy’s line of sight.
“No nap!” the boy roared, turning his face away.
Mark tried to reason. “You’ll be cranky if you don’t rest. Trust me, it’s better for everyone—”
“No nap!”
The chorus was relentless, each attempt failing harder than the last. Even Jeno, usually calm and collected, found himself pacing the room with frustration. The boy was a fortress, an immovable wall of stubbornness.
And through it all, Haechan sat sprawled in the armchair, arms folded, watching the chaos like someone who had front-row tickets to the world’s dumbest play.
Finally, he pushed himself up with a dramatic sigh. “You guys are embarrassing.”
Mark’s head snapped up. “You think you can do better?”
“I know I can do better,” Haechan drawled. He sauntered over, crouching so he was eye-level with the boy. His tone wasn’t coaxing or sugary, just plain blunt. “Alright, listen. Nobody’s forcing you to nap.”
The boy blinked up at him suspiciously. “…Really?”
“Really,” Haechan said with a shrug. “If you don’t want to sleep, don’t. Just lie down, close your eyes, and stare at the ceiling until you get bored. That’s it.”
Silence.
The boy narrowed his eyes, considering this strange proposal. Then, with a little nod, he clutched his dinosaur and flopped onto the couch. He stretched out, blinking stubbornly at the ceiling as if determined to prove he wouldn’t fall asleep.
The room held its breath.
Five minutes passed. The boy blinked slower. His fists unclenched. The dinosaur slipped from his grip. By the ten-minute mark, his breathing had evened out, soft and steady, lashes resting gently on his cheeks. Out cold.
The dorm exploded.
“No way,” Chenle whispered, staring.
“Are you kidding me?” Jaemin shrieked, nearly tearing at his hair. “That worked?!”
Renjun flopped backward onto the couch with a groan. “I hate him. I hate him so much.”
Mark was pacing, muttering like a man whose worldview had just crumbled. “That… that shouldn’t have worked. That’s not how naps work.”
Even Jeno cracked a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “He’s actually asleep.”
Haechan stretched, smirk tugging at his lips as he strolled back to his armchair. “What can I say? Kids respect freedom. You give them the illusion of control, and they’ll do exactly what you wanted in the first place.” He kicked his feet up, utterly self-satisfied. “Textbook psychology.”
But when the boy shifted in his sleep, snuggling deeper into the pillow, his tiny voice mumbled drowsily: “Hyuckie hyung…”
Every head turned to Haechan.
His smirk faltered, just a little, before he rolled his eyes and buried half his face in a cushion. “Tch. Whatever. Don’t make it weird.”
But his ears burned red, and the others weren’t about to let it go.
⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°
By early evening, the dorm smelled faintly of crayons, chicken nuggets, and exhaustion. The boy had woken from his nap recharged, like someone had plugged him into an invisible battery. Now he was zooming in endless loops around the living room, dinosaur in one hand, blanket trailing like a cape behind him.
“He needs a bath,” Renjun announced flatly, watching a trail of cracker crumbs fall in the boy’s wake. “Immediately.”
“No, he’s fine,” Jaemin said quickly, already scooping the boy up and swinging him in a circle. “He smells like sunshine!”
“He smells like ketchup and floor,” Renjun deadpanned.
Mark sniffed the air, winced, and admitted, “Yeah… it’s pretty bad.”
That was all it took. Suddenly the group was gathered outside the bathroom like soldiers prepping for a mission, the boy squirming in Jaemin’s arms.
“Bath time!” Chenle declared triumphantly.
“No bath!” the boy shouted back, voice carrying the same thunderous conviction he’d used earlier for nap time.
And so began the battle.
The first attempt was Mark’s idea: gentle persuasion. He knelt down, speaking softly, “Hey buddy, you’ll feel fresh and clean after. We’ll even give you extra bubbles.”
“No bath!” the boy shrieked, twisting like an eel.
Second attempt: Jaemin’s theatrics. “Bath time is like a swimming pool!” he announced, splashing his hands in an imaginary ocean. “You get to be a shark! Roar!”
The boy roared back — then bolted straight down the hall. Jaemin nearly face-planted chasing after him.
Third attempt: Chenle, armed with bribery once again. “Bath now, gummies later!”
“Gummies now, no bath later!” the boy countered, crossing his arms with the smugness of a tiny lawyer.
“Unbelievable,” Renjun muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
By the fourth failed attempt, Jisung was soaked head to toe — the boy had somehow grabbed the showerhead and unleashed it like a water cannon in his direction. Jisung stood dripping in the doorway, eyes glazed in defeat. “He’s… too powerful,” he whispered.
Chaos echoed through the dorm: wet floors, slippery tiles, half-empty shampoo bottles rolling across the ground. The boy was wild-eyed and victorious, shrieking with laughter as he dodged every attempt to capture him.
And then, at the height of the madness, Haechan appeared in the doorway.
He leaned against the frame, arms folded, looking every bit like he’d walked into a scene from a disaster movie. His tone was sharp, unimpressed. “What are you idiots doing? Flooding the dorm?”
Renjun gestured helplessly. “He won’t get in the tub!”
“I noticed,” Haechan said dryly. He stepped forward, crouching to the boy’s eye level. The child, still clutching his dinosaur, glared back defiantly.
“You hate baths?” Haechan asked.
The boy nodded hard. “Hate!”
“Too bad,” Haechan replied coolly. “You stink.”
The boy blinked, startled. “Do not!”
“You do. Ketchup, crayons, and defeat.” Haechan wrinkled his nose theatrically. “My plants smell better than you.”
The boy gasped, scandalized.
Haechan leaned closer, lowering his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “You really want your dinosaur to smell gross too?”
The boy’s eyes widened. He looked down at his toy, sniffed it suspiciously, then wrinkled his tiny nose. “…No.”
“Then he needs a bath,” Haechan said simply, standing and gesturing toward the tub. “And so do you. Teamwork.”
For a moment, the dorm held its breath.
Then, to everyone’s shock, the boy shuffled forward, clutching his dinosaur like a soldier heading to battle. He climbed into the tub without another word.
The room erupted.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Mark groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
Jaemin clutched the counter dramatically. “All that work! And you— he— what— HOW?!”
Chenle pointed accusingly. “Child whisperer! He’s the child whisperer again!”
Haechan smirked, rolling up his sleeves as he grabbed the bubble bath. “Someone has to be.”
Ten minutes later, the boy was sitting happily in a sea of bubbles, dinosaur perched on the edge of the tub, both of them scrubbed and shining. The other members crowded around the doorway in disbelief, watching as Haechan hummed under his breath, rinsing suds from the boy’s hair with practiced care.
“Unfair,” Renjun muttered. “Completely unfair.”
The boy giggled, splashing water at Haechan. “Hyuck hyung makes the bubbles fun.”
Everyone groaned in unison.
And though Haechan rolled his eyes, a faint, unshakable smile tugged at his lips as he flicked a handful of bubbles right back at the boy.
⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°
The request came on a Saturday morning, far too early for the dorm’s collective liking. Manager hyung stood in the doorway with the boy clinging to his leg, his voice apologetic but firm. “I need you guys again. Just for the afternoon. It’s his cousin’s birthday party, and I can’t make it in time. He’ll only go if he has company he trusts.”
The seven of them blinked back at him, bleary-eyed and pajama-clad.
“A birthday party?” Mark repeated, rubbing sleep from his face.
“With other kids?” Jaemin asked, already wincing as though the thought of wrangling multiple toddlers gave him a migraine.
“Exactly.” Manager hyung gave a sheepish bow. “Please, just… keep him happy until I can come pick him up.”
By the time the door closed, the dorm was buzzing with nervous energy. The boy, bouncing on his heels, clutched his wrapped gift and announced proudly, “Party!”
Renjun groaned. “We are not prepared for this.”
“We’ll be fine,” Jaemin said quickly, puffing up with bravado. “It’s just kids. How hard can it be?”
That confidence carried them through the cab ride, through the front gates of a brightly decorated house, and even into the backyard where balloons bobbed in the breeze and a long table sagged under the weight of cake, chips, and neon-colored drinks. Laughter and squeals filled the air — a dozen children darting across the lawn, faces painted, hands sticky with sugar.
The moment the boy spotted them, he bolted into the fray, leaving the Dream members standing awkwardly at the edge of the chaos.
“Okay,” Mark said, clapping his hands like a drill sergeant, “let’s just… blend in, supervise, and not panic.”
They lasted less than twenty minutes.
The first disaster struck during the piñata. Jisung volunteered to hold the string, thinking it would be simple. But when the blindfolded birthday girl swung too high, the bat smacked his arm instead. He yelped, nearly dropping the piñata, and chaos erupted as candy rained down and children dove like soldiers storming a beach.
The second disaster came at the craft table, where Chenle had been tasked with supervising glitter glue. He looked away for ten seconds — ten — and returned to find three children painting their arms gold, one trying to eat a glue stick, and another attempting to bedazzle the dog.
By the time Jaemin got caught in a heated argument between two toddlers about who owned the last cupcake, he looked seconds away from collapsing.
Mark tried valiantly to keep order, jogging from one meltdown to another like a firefighter with no water hose. Renjun, meanwhile, had retreated to a corner, muttering under his breath in Mandarin about “birth control” and “never again.” Jeno kept picking frosting out of his hair after a rogue cake smash left him a casualty.
And through it all, Haechan sat at the edge of the picnic blanket, sipping from a juice box with one hand and scrolling on his phone with the other. He hadn’t moved an inch since they arrived.
Finally, Jaemin stormed over, frosting on his shirt, glitter in his hair, voice pitched with desperation. “Okay. Fine. I admit it. We can’t do this without you.”
Renjun appeared beside him, equally disheveled. “Please. I’m begging. Fix this.”
Haechan glanced up slowly, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, so now you want the child whisperer?”
“Yes!” Jaemin snapped. “Yes, I want the child whisperer! I’ll call you whatever you want—just help.”
With exaggerated nonchalance, Haechan set his phone aside and pushed himself up. He strolled into the chaos, hands in his pockets, and surveyed the battlefield. Kids crying, glitter explosions, cupcake wars — it was a mess.
He crouched beside one boy, who was in the middle of a heated standoff with another child over a toy truck. Haechan’s tone was flat, unimpressed. “You want the truck?”
The boy nodded furiously.
“You want the truck?” he asked the other child.
Another furious nod.
“Cool,” Haechan said. “You both can want it. But neither of you is getting it until you figure out how to share without screaming like banshees.” He plucked the truck from their hands and set it on the table behind him. “Cry all you want. Doesn’t bother me. I’ll wait.”
Both children froze, jaws dropped.
And then, astonishingly, they shuffled closer, whispering in hurried negotiations. Thirty seconds later, they returned, announcing: “We’ll take turns.”
“Good,” Haechan said simply, handing the truck back. “Ten minutes each. Don’t test me.”
The two kids nodded solemnly and scampered off.
Behind him, the other members gaped like they had just witnessed a miracle.
From there, the tide turned.
Haechan organized a game of “Simon Says,” instantly gathering a circle of kids around him, barking out commands with the authority of a drill instructor. The kids adored it — dropping, spinning, freezing in place, all shrieking with laughter.
He diffused another argument at the craft table by bluntly declaring, “Glitter belongs to no one. It’s chaos dust. Use it or don’t.” He even got the birthday girl, who had been sulking after her cake collapsed, to giggle again by plopping a frosting crown onto her head with a deadpan ceremony: “All hail Queen Frosting.”
By the time Manager hyung arrived, the backyard was calm, kids clustered happily around Haechan like ducklings, the other Dream members slumped on chairs looking like survivors of a storm.
Manager’s eyes widened. “Everything went well?”
Renjun let out a broken laugh. “Define well.”
The boy tugged on his manager’s sleeve, pointing proudly to Haechan. “Hyuck hyung made the party fun!”
The others groaned in unison, but Haechan just smirked, brushing stray frosting from his sleeve like it was nothing. “What can I say? Some people have talent, others don’t.”
“Unbelievable,” Jaemin muttered.
“Shameless,” Renjun hissed.
But when the boy hugged him tight before leaving — murmuring, “Hyuck hyung’s my favorite” again — the whole group erupted into outrage, shouting protests as Haechan only grinned wider, basking in his victory.
⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°
The next chaos began before sunset. Manager hyung stood in the dorm entryway, clutching a small overnight bag and looking entirely too apologetic.
“Just one night,” he promised, eyes darting between the exhausted faces of the Dream members. “My schedule’s insane tomorrow morning, and he really wanted to stay with you.”
The boy peeked out from behind his manager’s legs, clutching his dinosaur and grinning. “Sleepover!”
The dorm collectively groaned.
“Do we look like a daycare?” Renjun muttered under his breath.
“Yes,” the manager said bluntly. He set the bag down, bowed, and left before anyone could argue further.
Panic set in immediately.
“Does he need a bedtime story?” Mark asked, pacing the living room like he was preparing for trial.
“Or lullabies?” Jaemin suggested, flipping through his phone for soft playlists.
“We don’t even know if he has pajamas,” Chenle gasped, rifling through the overnight bag like it was a mystery box.
“He needs to brush his teeth first,” Jeno said, producing a spare toothbrush with military precision. “Kids can’t skip dental hygiene.”
Within minutes, the dorm descended into chaos: Mark reading bedtime stories too dramatically (“And the dragon roared—!”), Jaemin trying to sing soft ballads only to be shushed by Renjun for being too loud, Chenle tearing apart the bag in search of pajamas, and Jeno hovering in the bathroom, toothbrush in hand, waiting for a child who refused to open his mouth.
The boy, of course, found all of this wildly entertaining. He darted from one member to another, giggling, shaking his head, clinging to his dinosaur.
“This is impossible,” Renjun groaned, sinking onto the armrest like a man awaiting execution.
The boy was now marching in circles with his dinosaur held aloft, chanting, “No toothbrush! No pajamas! No bed!” like a tiny protester. The dorm looked less like a sleepover and more like a hostage situation.
And through it all, Haechan yawned. Actually yawned. He stretched out on the couch, scrolling lazily through his phone until the noise reached a fever pitch. Then, without looking up, he drawled, “Are you all seriously losing to someone who still can’t tie his own shoelaces?”
Heads whipped toward him, glares sharp, pride wounded.
“Then fix it, genius,” Jaemin snapped, frazzled.
Haechan finally lowered his phone, one eyebrow cocked, lips curving into that insufferable smirk. “Don’t mind if I do.” He crooked a finger at the boy. “Come here, troublemaker.”
To the horror of everyone present, the boy dropped his dinosaur mid-protest and ran straight into his arms.
“Brush your teeth,” Haechan said, handing him the toothbrush Jeno had been brandishing all evening.
The boy blinked. “…Okay.” He hopped off, trotted to the bathroom, and returned two minutes later with minty breath.
The others stared like they’d just witnessed divine intervention.
“Pajamas,” Haechan continued, pulling the soft set Chenle had tossed aside.
The boy obediently wriggled into them.
Finally, Haechan leaned back, pulling the boy gently onto his lap. “Now lie still. Sleep’ll come when it wants. Don’t force it.”
The boy curled against him, dinosaur squished between them, eyelids drooping almost instantly. Within minutes, his breathing was slow, steady, and deep.
And just like that, victory was his. The dorm fell into stunned silence.
Jaemin whispered, horrified, “Did he just…?”
“Like it was nothing,” Jisung said faintly.
Renjun glared daggers at Haechan. “I refuse to live in a world where he’s this good at everything.”
Mark pressed a hand to his chest. “This feels… unfair.”
But the boy stirred slightly, mumbling in his sleep, and the group immediately froze, terrified of waking him. They watched in envy as he snuggled even closer into Haechan’s chest, tiny fingers curling into his shirt.
Chenle finally broke the silence, whispering, “He looks like a mom.”
That did it. The dam burst.
The others crept closer, crouching around the couch, hurling hushed accusations.
“Why does he get all the affection?”
“It’s rigged!”
“I read three stories! Three!”
“I almost lost my voice singing ballads!”
“It should’ve been me.”
Haechan cracked one eye open, smirk tugging at his lips as he whispered, “Too bad.” Then he shifted slightly, resting his cheek against the boy’s hair in mock triumph.
The others groaned in unison, collapsing back onto the floor in a pile of defeated babysitters.
And in the quiet that followed — with the dorm dim, the child asleep, and the group sulking like jealous siblings — it was impossible to deny: Haechan had won again.
⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°
The next time it happened, it started at a rehearsal break.
The studio floor was still echoing with bass, the boys gulping down water and stretching sore muscles when a staff member’s daughter peeked around the doorway. She was small, shy, hiding behind her mother’s leg with wide curious eyes.
Before anyone could react, Haechan crouched down, offering her the gentlest smile. “Hi there. You like music?”
Her face lit up. She nodded. And that was it. She wandered into the room, bypassing every other member to stand right in front of him.
“Wow,” Jaemin muttered under his breath. “One minute on the clock and he’s already stolen her.”
Renjun scowled. “He didn’t even try.”
By the next day, it had gotten worse.
At a photo shoot, one of the stylists brought her son to visit. The boy was restless, running circles around the set until his gaze landed on Haechan. In an instant, he skidded to a stop, beelined across the room, and plopped himself on Haechan’s lap as though he’d claimed his rightful throne.
“I— what— hello?” Haechan stammered, looking both baffled and cornered as the child tucked himself in comfortably against his chest.
The stylist was mortified, apologizing over and over, but her son refused to budge.
“Unbelievable,” Jeno muttered as he watched Haechan awkwardly balance the boy while flipping through the script. “It’s like watching pigeons find bread.”
Mark nearly choked on his water. “He’s the bread?”
“No,” Renjun said darkly. “He’s the entire bakery.”
By the time they reached a broadcast taping that weekend, it was no longer a coincidence — it was a crisis.
Three children were waiting near the makeup room: the MC’s niece, a junior idol’s little brother, and the same stylist’s son again. The moment Haechan walked in, all three of them turned in unison like predators scenting prey.
“Oh no,” Jaemin whispered. “Not again.”
“Oh yes,” Chenle corrected, pointing as the kids launched themselves across the room. Within seconds, Haechan was buried under a pile of tiny limbs, all of them clamoring for his attention, tugging at his sleeves, demanding piggyback rides and silly faces.
“Hyuck hyung! Tell us a story!”
“Oppa! Look at my toy!”
“Hyung, sit with me!”
Haechan threw his head back, groaning at the ceiling, but his arms instinctively adjusted, securing the smallest child so he wouldn’t fall. “Why me?” he muttered, though his hand was already rubbing soothing circles on one boy’s back.
The rest of Dream stood in the doorway, slack-jawed.
“Why him?” Jaemin demanded, as though the universe owed him an explanation.
“This is sorcery,” Jisung whispered, wide-eyed.
“More like a curse,” Renjun said.
Chenle snorted. “A curse for us. For him, it’s clearly destiny.”
The staff were delighted. “He’s so good with kids,” one of the stylists cooed. “They adore him.”
“That’s not a good thing!” Jaemin protested. “He doesn’t even like kids!”
But no one believed him — not with the evidence right in front of them. Haechan was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, one child perched on his shoulders, another braiding his hair, and the third leaning against him in utter contentment.
When everyone returned to drag the kids away, they wailed in unison, clutching at him like he was leaving for war.
“Hyuckie oppa, don’t go!”
“Hyuck hyung, promise to come back!”
The door finally shut, the echoes of tiny voices fading down the hall.
For a long moment, silence hung in the room.
Then Jaemin flopped backward on the couch with a groan. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Renjun pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ve lost. The children of the world have chosen their leader.”
Mark laughed weakly, shaking his head. “The worst part is— he didn’t even want this fanclub.”
And in the corner, Haechan slumped against the wall, eyes closed, muttering to himself in despair. “I didn’t sign up for this.”
But the others knew the truth, even if he refused to admit it out loud: like it or not, he had become Kid Magnet #1.
⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°
The festival was already madness.
Noise and light pressed in from every angle — vendors shouting, games buzzing, rides whirring, children darting like sparks from fireworks. The Dream members had their hands full, each juggling one or two of the kids who had somehow become permanent fixtures around them these days: the stylist’s son, the MC’s niece, the rookie idol’s little brother, and of course Manager-hyung’s toddler, Minho.
“Stick together,” Jeno commanded grimly, gripping two small hands in each of his. “No wandering.”
“Do not let go,” Renjun snapped, scanning the crowd like a military general.
“Who thought this was a good idea?” Jaemin muttered, already breaking into a sweat.
It was loud, messy, exhausting — but they were managing. At least, until the worst happened.
“Wait—” Chenle’s voice cracked. “Where’s Minho?”
The group froze.
In their struggle to corral everyone toward the snack stalls, one small hand had slipped away. The dinosaur-clutching toddler was gone.
Panic detonated instantly.
The other kids reacted first — the stylist’s son burst into tears, the niece clutched at Renjun’s shirt in fear, and the little brother started shouting Minho’s name into the crowd.
The Dream members scattered, trying to calm them while scanning the sea of strangers.
“Stay here! Don’t move!” Jisung pleaded, kneeling to hold onto the two crying kids even as his own voice shook.
“I’ll go left!” Jeno barked, already plowing through the throng.
“Minho!” Mark yelled, his voice hoarse.
And in the middle of it all, Haechan’s expression dropped every trace of laziness. His bottle of lemonade hit the ground as he shoved through the crowd with a force none of them had ever seen, his sharp voice cutting through the chaos.
“MINHO!”
The other kids’ cries followed him, but he tuned them out, eyes darting, heart hammering. For once, he wasn’t sarcastic, wasn’t smug — he was razor-focused, calling the boy’s name again and again until—
There.
Near a cotton candy stall, small shoulders hunched, cheeks blotchy, dinosaur dangling weakly from his hand. Minho stood frozen in the crush of strangers, lip trembling.
“MINHO!” Haechan’s voice cracked with relief.
The boy’s head snapped up. “Hyuck hyung!”
Haechan scooped him up without breaking stride, clutching him so tightly the boy squeaked, then buried his face in Haechan’s neck, sobbing.
“You can’t do that,” Haechan whispered fiercely, breath shaking. “You can’t just run off. You scared me. You hear me? Don’t ever— ever— do that again.”
The boy clung tighter, nodding through hiccups.
When the others finally caught up, breathless and wild-eyed, they froze at the sight.
Haechan stood in the middle of the crowd, Minho locked in his arms like he was the most precious thing in the world. There was no smug grin, no cutting remark — only raw, unfiltered relief written across his face. His cheek pressed against the boy’s hair, his shoulders tight, his hand rubbing steady, protective circles on the small back that still shook with frightened sobs.
Around them, the other kids were still sniffling and clutching tightly to whoever had grabbed them in the chaos — the stylist’s son buried against Jeno’s chest, the MC’s niece clinging to Renjun’s hand like it was a lifeline, the rookie idol’s little brother latched onto Jaemin’s sleeve with wide, frightened eyes. But even through their tears, every one of them stared at Haechan as if sensing where safety truly lived.
Then, as if on cue, the moment Minho’s sobs began to soften, the others broke free of their older caretakers. Tiny footsteps pattered across the pavement, little arms flung wide, and suddenly Haechan was surrounded. The stylist’s son pressed against his leg, the niece wrapped her arms around his side, the younger boy wedged himself in wherever he could reach — all of them piling into him like he was the only anchor they trusted in the storm.
Renjun’s throat bobbed. “He… really cares.”
Mark exhaled shakily, the panic finally draining out of him. “Yeah.”
Chenle whispered, almost in awe, “He’s not just good with them… he loves them.”
And it was true. They’d teased him for being a “child whisperer,” for his endless smug victories, but this was different. This wasn't a performance. This was Haechan stripped bare — a sharp-tongued boy with a heart so soft it ached, clinging as tightly to the children as they clung to him.
None of them dared interrupt. They just stood there, silent, watching as Haechan rocked Minho gently with one arm, his other hand resting on a smaller shoulder at his side, while two more pressed close against him. His murmured reassurances spilled over all of them until their sobs dwindled into soft hiccups, until their fists loosened only because they knew they were safe again.
And for the first time, the members saw the truth as clearly as the children had all along: beneath every smirk and jab, Haechan was the safest place any of them could ever run to.
⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°
The dorm felt unnaturally still.
For days, it had been filled with the chaos of small feet thudding against the floors, toys clattering in every corner, and a chorus of high-pitched voices competing with the boys’ own. Now, with the kids finally gone, the silence pressed in heavy and strange, as though the air itself hadn’t figured out how to settle.
“Is this what peace sounds like?” Jaemin muttered, sprawled flat across the couch cushions like he’d been run over. “Because I don’t trust it.”
“Feels cursed,” Jisung said, hugging his knees. “Like they’ll pop out of the closet any second with water guns.”
Chenle snorted. “Don’t tempt fate. They’d actually do it.”
Jeno dragged a hand down his face, chuckling despite himself. “Honestly, we survived a war zone. Playground fights, juice tsunamis, bath time wrestling matches—”
“Nap time negotiations,” Mark cut in, his laugh still tinged with disbelief. “I’ll never forget that.”
“And the birthday party,” Renjun added dryly. “Thank God it wasn’t in our dorms or we'll be finding frosting on the carpet for months.”
For a moment, the room fell quiet again — until the memory of the festival scare crept in, unspoken but heavy. Everyone shifted slightly, as if the weight of it still pressed against their chests.
Almost instinctively, they all turned toward the corner of the couch, where Haechan sat hugging a cushion like a shield, eyes flicking up to meet theirs. “Why are you all staring at me like that?” he asked suspiciously.
Mark leaned back with a small smile. “Because you’re the only reason we didn’t completely fall apart.”
Renjun nodded. “You’re the glue. Like it or not.”
Chenle grinned, teeth flashing. “More like the net. Kids fall, they bounce straight into you.”
“Congratulations,” Jeno deadpanned, “you’ve been officially promoted to dorm mom.”
Haechan groaned, burying his face in the pillow. “You guys need new material. I’m not a mom. I’m just— better than you, apparently.”
That earned a round of laughter, though softer this time, laced with affection instead of the usual teasing. Because they all knew, and so did he: it wasn’t just skill or luck. It was heart.
Then Jaemin pushed himself upright, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Call it whatever you want, but honestly? If you keep this up, someone’s gonna snatch you up. You’re basically wife material.”
The reaction was instant — Chenle howled, Jisung collapsed sideways in hysterics, even Mark covered his mouth with his sleeve to hide his grin. Renjun smirked, twisting the knife, “Wouldn’t be the worst idea. He already has the patience of a saint and the cooking instincts of a grandma.”
Before Haechan could recover from their commentary, Jaemin flung himself forward with dramatic flair, knocking over a cushion for extra effect. “I declare,” he announced, arms wide, voice booming like a Broadway star, “that you, Lee Haechan, are officially mine. Hyuck… will you marry me?”
Jisung immediately dropped to one knee, arms outstretched, voice quivering in mock passion. “No! I am the rightful groom! I have loved you since nap time negotiations!”
Mark vaulted onto the arm of the couch, pointing to Haechan like a hero in a telenovela. “Back off, maknae. He’s mine. Hyuck, marry me instead!”
Jeno, sitting calmly on the edge of the couch, raised one eyebrow and said softly, “Or… you could just marry me. I promise I won’t make a scene.” His tone was casual, almost conspiratorial, but the smirk tugging at his lips made it clear he was joining the madness in his own understated way.
The room exploded. Chenle nearly fell off his chair cackling, Jisung dramatically collapsed sideways in mock despair, Jaemin flailed his arms like a wounded swan, and Mark pretended to swoon onto the floor.
Haechan froze, clutching his pillow like it was a shield. His eyes darted around the room. “WHAT. IS. THIS?! Are you all insane?!”
Chenle dramatically clutched his chest, collapsing backward onto the floor with a faintly staged groan. “I cannot live in a world where Haechan is married to anyone but me! I am undone!”
Even Renjun, who had been leaning against the wall calmly, threw himself forward on one knee for extra emphasis. “You have my loyalty, your sharp tongue, and your coffee-making skills. Say yes!”
The room erupted into chaos — laughter, shrieks, exaggerated swoons, and nearly everyone flailing theatrically in the general direction of Haechan.
Haechan sat bolt upright, scandalized, his face burning as he clutched the pillow like a weapon. “WHAT is wrong with you people?! Do you hear yourselves right now?!”
But their laughter only grew louder, the dorm echoing with the sound until Haechan’s protests melted into flustered muttering, then reluctant chuckles.
Because no amount of bickering could hide the truth that pulsed underneath: somewhere between playground skirmishes and late-night lullabies, they had become more than a team. They were a messy, mismatched, chaotic little family. And Haechan — sharp-tongued, soft-hearted, endlessly loved — was right at the center of it.
Maybe, he thought, ducking his head as the laughter swelled again, that wasn’t such a bad place to be.