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The morning light crept lazily through the dorm’s curtains, golden streaks cutting across the floor where yesterday’s socks and crumpled practice hoodies lay abandoned. It should have been just another day in the chaotic but familiar routine of NCT Dream — the muffled snores, the quiet buzz of someone’s phone alarm forgotten on snooze, the sound of Renjun already grumbling at someone to get up.
But this morning, there was something different.
Something off.
It was Renjun who noticed first. Half-asleep, dragging his slippers across the floor, he stopped at Haechan’s bed and blinked hard. Once. Twice. He rubbed his eyes, convinced he was still dreaming. “What the—” he muttered under his breath, leaning closer.
The blankets were bunched up awkwardly, not in the messy way Haechan usually slept, but like something small was wriggling underneath. And sure enough, when the blanket slipped back, there wasn’t Haechan’s familiar messy head of brown hair. Instead… there was a baby.
Renjun’s voice shot through the dorm like an alarm.
“Yah! Everyone, get in here right now!”
From the other room came groggy shuffling and a groan that could only belong to Mark. “What’s happening? It’s too early, Renjun—” His complaint died halfway out of his mouth when he stumbled into the bedroom and saw what Renjun was pointing at. His eyes widened so far he almost looked comical. “Is… is that a baby? Why is there a baby in Hyuck’s bed?!”
The rest of the dorm exploded into motion. Jisung poked his head out of the bathroom, toothbrush hanging from his mouth, eyes wide with horror. Chenle came running in with his phone already recording like it was some variety show prank. Jaemin practically skipped in, face lighting up the second he caught sight of the bundle on the mattress. Jeno followed last, calm as ever, though his brows furrowed as if he were trying to piece the mystery together logically.
“Wait, where’s Hyuck then?” Jisung asked, voice muffled by toothpaste foam. He ducked behind Mark like the baby might bite him.
Renjun pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s the problem, Jisung. He’s not here. There’s just… that.”
The baby shifted under the blanket, tiny fists flailing as it let out a disgruntled whimper. Chenle zoomed in with his camera, giggling. “Oh my god, look at its face! It’s like — exactly like Haechan’s pout when we don’t let him pick the dinner spot.”
They all froze. Because Chenle was right. The pout, the faintly furrowed brows, and — most telling of all — the small moles on his cheek.
“...No way,” Mark breathed, dropping to a crouch beside the bed. “Don’t tell me—”
As if on cue, the baby’s eyes fluttered open. They were wide, dark, and unmistakably familiar. The second they landed on Mark, the baby let out a squeal and grabbed for the string of his hoodie with surprising determination.
“Oh my god,” Jaemin gasped, hands flying to his mouth. “It’s him. It’s Hyuck!”
Jeno finally spoke up, voice steady even though his eyes betrayed disbelief. “You’re telling me Haechan somehow turned into a baby overnight?”
Renjun threw his arms up. “Do you see another explanation? Because I don’t!”
Mark tried to gently tug the baby off his hoodie string, but the tiny hands refused to let go, clinging as if Mark was the only thing tethering him to the world. Baby Hyuck giggled, drooling, already threatening to stain the fabric.
Chenle was practically wheezing with laughter. “Leader hyung’s been promoted. Congrats, you’re a dad now.”
Jisung whimpered, crouching further behind Jeno. “What if he stays like this forever?”
But Jaemin wasn’t listening. He was already leaning over, cooing at the baby like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Aigoo, Hyuckie, look at you. You’re so cute like this! Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you, okay?” He poked the baby’s cheek, and baby Hyuck responded with a high-pitched laugh that filled the room with something warm and disarming.
For a long moment, the seven of them — well, six members and one inexplicable baby — stared at each other in silence. The reality of the situation pressed down, surreal and ridiculous and terrifying all at once.
Renjun finally broke it. “This is insane.”
Mark sighed, shifting the baby in his arms as the tiny boy clung even tighter to his hoodie. “Yeah,” he muttered, still staring into those familiar eyes. “But that’s definitely our Hyuck.”
₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.
Mark had dealt with a lot of strange situations since debut. Sudden wardrobe malfunctions. Alarms going off backstage. Even the time Chenle had gotten stuck in a hotel bathroom and nearly made them late for rehearsal. But never — not once in his life — had he imagined he would wake up one morning to find his best friend shrunk down into a giggling, hoodie-string-obsessed baby.
“Okay, okay… stop drooling on me, man — uh, kid — uh… Hyuck,” Mark stammered, shifting the tiny body in his arms. The baby squealed like it was the funniest thing in the world and immediately reached for the other string dangling from Mark’s hoodie. His little fists latched on tight, and Mark felt the fabric stretch ominously. “Oh, come on. Do you have to pull like that?”
Across the room, Renjun folded his arms, unimpressed. “He’s still Haechan. Of course he has to.”
Baby Hyuck squeaked and kicked his tiny feet, clearly delighted at the chaos he was causing. His laugh bubbled up, bright and unrestrained, and Mark felt his chest soften against his will. This was still Hyuck, he reminded himself. The same kid who teased him until he was red in the face. The same kid who never let him off easy as a leader. Except now, instead of snarky comments, there were toothless giggles and stubborn fists tangled in cotton strings.
“I should… I should call the manager,” Mark said, fumbling his phone out of his pocket with one hand while awkwardly bouncing Hyuck on his hip. Multitasking has never been so terrifying. “Maybe he’ll know what to do. Maybe there’s… like, a doctor? Or… or some magic reversal thing? I don’t know, man.”
“Magic reversal thing?” Jeno repeated, deadpan.
Mark shot him a desperate look. “Do you have a better idea?”
Chenle snickered from his spot on the floor, still holding his phone camera up like he was filming a documentary. “This is the best content we’ve ever had. NCT Dream: The Babysitter Edition.”
“Delete that!” Mark barked, but the effect was ruined when Hyuck chose that exact moment to let out a squeal and slobber all over the hoodie string clamped in his fist. Mark looked down and groaned. “Dude, I just washed this…”
“Not dude. Baby,” Jaemin corrected cheerfully, crouching closer to coo at Hyuck. “Look at him, he likes you the most. You’re his safe place.”
Mark felt his ears burn at the words, though he tried to brush it off. “He’s not supposed to like me the most, he’s supposed to be—” He cut himself off when Hyuck tugged harder, drool soaking the string completely. “Aw, no, no, no, don’t—ugh, this hoodie’s ruined.”
Renjun rolled his eyes. “Priorities, Mark. The guy’s been turned into a baby, and you’re worried about laundry?”
“I’m worried about everything!” Mark shot back, the panic finally cracking through. He jiggled the baby gently, trying to keep his voice steady. “We’ve got schedules, we’ve got fans waiting, and — and what do I even tell the manager? ‘Sorry, our main vocalist is six month old now, please excuse him from practice’?”
Silence fell for a beat. Then Chenle burst out laughing so hard he nearly dropped his phone. Jisung, wide-eyed in the corner, muttered, “What if they kick us out of the group?” and immediately earned a pillow to the face from Renjun.
Mark sank onto the edge of the bed, burying his face in one hand while Hyuck babbled nonsense against his chest. His tiny hands kneaded at the fabric like a kitten kneading a blanket, clinging with absolute trust. And despite the panic clawing at Mark’s ribs, he felt something warm uncurl in his chest. Hyuck wasn’t scared. Not even a little. Somehow, he believed Mark could handle this.
Mark sighed, letting his hand fall away from his face. He adjusted his hold, settling Hyuck more securely in his arms. “Alright, alright,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry.”
The baby gurgled, then rested his head against Mark’s shoulder, eyelids fluttering shut. The dorm quieted around them, the chaos ebbing into something gentler as the group watched. It struck Mark how small Hyuck was like this — barely the length of his forearm, warm and impossibly fragile. Yet still, unmistakably, their Hyuck.
Jaemin’s smile softened. “See? Hoodie Monster Hyuck. You’re his favorite.”
Mark swallowed hard, torn between panic and reluctant affection. He shifted slightly, lowering his voice as he whispered to the sleeping baby.
“Just… hurry up and turn back soon, okay? I don’t know if I can do this without you, man.”
₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.
By the second day, the dorm had already descended into organized chaos. Organized, because Jeno had created a baby duty schedule taped to the fridge. Chaos, because nobody actually followed it. Renjun, in particular, had made it very clear where he stood.
“I’m not doing it,” he declared at breakfast, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at the giggling bundle strapped into a borrowed stroller. “No way. Someone else can deal with him.”
Baby Hyuck responded by smacking his tiny palm against the tray, spattering mashed banana across the table. Chenle howled with laughter. Jisung gagged and shoved his plate away. Mark looked like he was one banana splat away from a breakdown.
“Renjun, please,” Mark begged, voice raw with exhaustion. “I haven’t slept more than four hours, and he won’t stop clinging to me. Just… watch him for, like, twenty minutes.”
Renjun sniffed. “You mean you want me to babysit Haechan. As if living with him full-size wasn’t enough.”
Mark gave him a look that was both pleading and threatening. Renjun held out for all of thirty seconds before groaning dramatically and pushing his chair back. “Fine. But if he drools on me, I’m charging you laundry fees.”
They swapped Hyuck over, Mark practically collapsing against the counter the moment the baby left his arms. Renjun perched stiffly on the couch, holding Hyuck out at arm’s length like he was a ticking bomb.
The ticking bomb squealed and promptly tried to grab his hair.
“Yah! Hands off!” Renjun ducked away, glaring down at the tiny boy now clapping like he’d won a game. “Unbelievable. You’re still annoying, even like this.”
Hyuck made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Renjun muttered, though his ears burned when Jaemin cooed from the kitchen, “Aww, he likes you!”
Renjun ignored them all. Or tried to. The longer he sat there, the more aware he became of the small weight shifting in his lap. Hyuck yawned, rubbed his eyes with chubby fists, and then — without warning — his mouth scrunched up. A sharp, thin wail split the room.
“Oh no, no, no, don’t you dare start crying—” Renjun’s panic spiked. He rocked awkwardly, patted Hyuck’s back, but the wails only got louder, piercing enough that even Chenle winced. “Why won’t you stop?!”
“Try singing,” Jeno suggested helpfully from the floor, where he was baby-proofing the sockets.
Renjun’s eyes narrowed. “Do I look like a lullaby machine to you?”
But Hyuck’s cries clawed at his chest in a way he couldn’t ignore. So, with a long-suffering sigh, he shifted the baby closer — close enough to feel the hiccupping sobs against his shoulder. He closed his eyes, pulled up the first melody that came to mind, and began to hum.
It was a tune his mother used to sing, soft and lilting in Mandarin, the kind of song that carried warmth even without words. The sound vibrated gently through his chest, and slowly, unbelievably, the cries ebbed. Hyuck’s little body sagged against him, breathing evening out as the tears dried on his cheeks.
When Renjun dared to glance down, Hyuck was staring up at him, eyes wide and glistening but calm. Tiny fingers reached up, curling into the fabric of Renjun’s sleeve.
Renjun froze, throat tightening unexpectedly.
From the kitchen came Jaemin’s hushed whisper, “Oh my god. He stopped crying. Look at them.”
Mark leaned in the doorway, dark circles under his eyes but a tired smile tugging at his lips. “Guess he just wanted you, huh?”
Renjun felt his face heat under the attention. “Don’t be ridiculous. He was just… tired.” He adjusted Hyuck carefully, as though any sudden move would undo the peace. “It’s not like he prefers me.”
But the way Hyuck nestled deeper against his chest, tiny sigh escaping like a satisfied kitten, told a different story. And Renjun — despite his muttering, despite the blush climbing his ears — couldn’t bring himself to push him away.
He kept humming, softer this time, letting the melody fill the quiet.
For the first time since the chaos began, the dorm felt still.
₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.
If Mark was the frazzled leader-dad and Renjun was the reluctant lullaby machine, then Jeno quickly became the dorm’s most reliable caretaker. Not because he volunteered, exactly, but because he was the only one who didn’t panic when baby Hyuck sneezed, or cried, or tried to put suspicious objects in his mouth.
By the third day, he’d already made two grocery runs and returned with an arsenal of formula, bibs, and baby food jars stacked like trophies on the counter. “We can’t just keep feeding him mashed bananas forever,” Jeno explained matter-of-factly, setting down yet another bag of supplies.
“You make it sound like he’s staying this way long-term,” Renjun muttered, though his eyes lingered on the jars of puréed carrots with something close to relief.
“Until we figure out how to change him back, we have to keep him healthy,” Jeno said simply, and that was that. No complaints, no dramatics. Just steady practicality.
Hyuck, strapped into a high chair that Jeno had somehow assembled overnight, banged the tray with both hands. His little legs kicked, his face lighting up when Jeno sat down with a tiny spoon in hand.
“Alright, Hyuck-ah,” Jeno said, opening one of the jars. His tone was the same calm register he used to explain choreography to the younger members. “You need to eat this, okay? Then you’ll grow strong.”
The baby’s eyes fixated on the spoon, mouth falling open like a baby bird. Jeno guided the first bite in without hesitation. Hyuck swallowed, blinked, then clapped his hands together in delight.
The others, crowded around like nosy neighbors, gawked.
“Why does he only behave for Jeno?” Jaemin demanded, scandalized.
“Because Jeno’s boring,” Chenle said through a laugh, ducking when Jeno reached over with the spoon like he might flick food at him.
But boring or not, Hyuck adored him. Every time Jeno leaned closer, that gummy giggle erupted, small hands reaching insistently for his face. It became a game: Hyuck’s tiny palms trying to grab at Jeno’s jaw, patting clumsily at his sharp cheekbones like they were the most fascinating toys in the world.
“Seriously?” Renjun deadpanned, watching the baby latch onto Jeno’s chin for the third time. “Is this his way of flirting even as a baby?”
Jeno only sighed, adjusting the baby’s grip gently. “Eat first, play later,” he murmured, as if Hyuck could actually understand him.
After the meal, Jeno wiped Hyuck’s messy face with a warm cloth, unbothered by the sticky smears of carrot and drool. He carried him to the couch, where Hyuck immediately nestled against his chest with the kind of trust that made the others go quiet.
The dorm was noisy, always — Jaemin teasing, Chenle cackling, Jisung tripping over himself — but in Jeno’s arms, baby Hyuck seemed to melt into calm. His little hands clutched the fabric of Jeno’s shirt, breaths evening into soft, steady puffs.
Jeno, ever practical, pulled a lyric notebook from the coffee table with his free hand. He balanced it against his knee, pen moving smoothly across the page as he murmured lines under his breath. His voice was low, steady, almost a vibration against Hyuck’s tiny body.
When the baby let out a small sigh and went completely limp in his hold, Jeno glanced down. A rare softness flickered in his eyes.
“Good job,” he whispered, brushing a stray tuft of hair off Hyuck’s forehead. “You did well today.”
From the hallway, Chenle peeked around the corner, phone in hand. His grin was wide, mischievous. “Caught in 4K. Jeno’s a softie.”
Jeno didn’t even look up. “Delete it.”
But his hand never stopped its gentle rhythm, patting Hyuck’s back as though the baby’s entire world depended on it.
And in a way, maybe it did.
₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.
If Jeno was steady and practical, Jaemin was the exact opposite. He didn’t approach baby Hyuck with caution or strategy; he swooped in headfirst, cooing like he had been waiting his whole life for this moment.
From the second he’d first seen Hyuck’s tiny fists and chubby cheeks, Jaemin declared, “He’s mine. My baby.” The others thought he was joking, but by the fourth day, there was no denying it. Baby Hyuck had been claimed.
“Say cheese!” Jaemin chirped, holding his phone up for yet another selfie. Hyuck sat propped in his lap, wearing a ridiculous pastel onesie Jaemin had insisted on buying during their emergency baby-shopping trip. The baby blinked at the camera, then broke into a toothless grin just as Jaemin pressed the shutter.
“Awwww,” Jaemin cooed, hugging him close. “You’re a natural. My little model.”
Renjun groaned from the couch. “Do you have to take a hundred pictures every hour?”
“One hundred and twelve,” Jaemin corrected smugly, scrolling through his growing gallery. “And counting.”
He’d already organized them into a dedicated album on his phone titled Baby Hyuck 🍼💚, complete with date stamps and little captions. First smile. First nap on my chest. First attempt at stealing Jeno’s jawline.
Hyuck, as if sensing the attention, reached up with his stubby hands and patted Jaemin’s cheek. Jaemin immediately melted into a puddle. “Do you love me? Hm? Do you know I’m your favorite?”
The baby babbled something incoherent, but when Jaemin gasped like he’d just heard the secrets of the universe, everyone else groaned.
“He definitely just said my name,” Jaemin insisted, bouncing Hyuck gently on his knee. “I heard it! He said ‘Jaem.’ Clear as day.”
Chenle collapsed onto the floor laughing. “You’re hallucinating. He drooled. That’s what he did.”
But Jaemin didn’t care. He was too busy showering Hyuck with kisses on the top of his head, oblivious to the shrieks of protest from Renjun and Jeno in the background.
The truth was, for all his dramatic antics, Jaemin’s affection was something quieter underneath. When Hyuck grew fussy at night, Jaemin would pace the dorm floor with him tucked against his chest, whispering nonsense in the softest tone. When Hyuck drifted into naps, Jaemin would stay frozen in place for as long as it took, terrified of waking him.
That evening, after dinner, the dorm had finally fallen into a rare lull. The others were scattered — Renjun sketching at the table, Jisung sprawled on the rug with a handheld console, Jeno cleaning bottles in the kitchen. Jaemin sat by the window, rocking Hyuck in his arms as the baby’s eyelids fluttered shut.
“Don’t worry, Hyuck-ah,” Jaemin whispered, stroking his fine hair. “We’ll take care of you until you’re back. Promise.”
It wasn’t meant for anyone else’s ears. But Mark, half-dozing on the couch nearby, cracked one eye open at the sound. He caught the way Jaemin pressed his cheek against Hyuck’s head, eyes soft in a way that almost ached.
For a moment, Mark thought he saw what Jaemin had been quietly carrying this whole time — not just his flair for dramatics, but a tenderness so deep it scared him.
Jaemin tilted his phone with one hand, snapping a final photo of the sleeping baby tucked under his chin. He smiled at the screen, then saved it to the album with the others.
Entry #113: Safe in my arms.
₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.
The dorm had developed a rhythm by the fifth day. Mark was perpetually tired, Jeno ran the logistics like an efficient single dad, Renjun pretended he wasn’t secretly attached, Jaemin treated Hyuck like a porcelain doll, and Jisung… well, Jisung mostly hid.
But Chenle? Chenle turned the entire situation into his personal variety show.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” Chenle announced one afternoon, standing in front of the couch like a MC on stage. “Welcome to Baby Talk with Lee Haechan! Today’s guest is a six-month-old vocalist who has a lot to say about the hardships of idol life.”
The “guest” in question sat propped up with pillows, a bib around his neck, holding one of Jaemin’s stuffed toys like a microphone. Baby Hyuck blinked at the circle of members watching, then babbled nonsense syllables into the plushie.
Chenle leaned in with exaggerated seriousness. “Wow, what insightful commentary! Can you repeat that for our audience?”
Hyuck squealed, kicked his legs, and smacked the plushie against Chenle’s arm. The sound effect sent Chenle into a fit of laughter so loud Jeno winced from across the room.
“Hyuck-ah,” Chenle said between giggles, “you just roasted Renjun-gege on live broadcast! Everyone clap!”
“Yah!” Renjun threw a cushion at him, which Chenle dodged expertly without breaking character.
It became a running bit. Chenle narrated everything Hyuck did like it was prime-time entertainment. If Hyuck reached for a cookie, Chenle declared it a shocking scandal. If Hyuck sneezed, Chenle called it the highlight of the week. The dorm rang with laughter, groans, and the occasional crash when props got out of hand.
And yet, for all the jokes, Chenle had a way of getting something out of Hyuck that no one else could. Laughter. Real, bubbling, endless laughter.
One evening, when the dorm felt heavy with exhaustion, Chenle sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Hyuck, who was grumpy and refusing to eat. Everyone had tried coaxing him — Mark with soft pleas, Jeno with firm patience, Jaemin with gentle bribes — but the baby’s lips stayed stubbornly sealed.
Then Chenle leaned in close, puffed out his cheeks, and let out the most ridiculous squeaky honk of a noise.
Hyuck blinked. Then giggled.
Encouraged, Chenle honked again, added a silly dance with flapping arms, and within seconds, Hyuck was laughing so hard he toppled sideways into Jaemin’s lap. The sound filled the room like sunlight breaking through clouds, pulling reluctant smiles onto every tired face.
“You’re ridiculous,” Jisung muttered from the corner, though his lips twitched upward.
“Ridiculously effective,” Chenle shot back proudly, scooping Hyuck up and twirling him around like they were the stars of their own show. The baby shrieked in delight, clutching at Chenle’s shirt with chubby fists.
Later that night, when the others had gone quiet and the dorm lights were dim, Chenle sat by Hyuck’s crib with his phone in hand. For once, there was no commentary, no over-the-top voice. Just a quiet hum as he scrolled through the day’s chaotic clips.
Hyuck, half-asleep, reached out a tiny hand that curled lazily around Chenle’s pinky. The contact stilled him. He stared at the baby’s face — peaceful, soft, trusting — and felt a pang he hadn’t expected.
“You know,” Chenle whispered, barely audible, “I think I’ll kinda miss this when you’re back.”
The baby stirred, sighing softly, but didn’t let go of his finger.
And Chenle, grinning faintly in the dim light, stayed right there until Hyuck drifted fully into dreams.
₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.
Jisung had been careful. Too careful, maybe.
All week, he had hovered at the edges of the chaos, tall frame tucked into corners, long legs folded awkwardly as he watched the others take turns with the baby. Mark cradling him against his chest. Renjun scowled even as he hummed. Jeno ferrying bottles and blankets like a practiced parent. Jaemin fussing, Chenle performing, the dorm alive with laughter and noise.
And Jisung — just watching.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hold him. He did. But every time he looked at the tiny curve of Hyuck’s hands, the wobbling crawl of his knees across the floor, a knot formed in his stomach. His own hands felt too big, too clumsy. His steps are too loud. He was the youngest — how could he possibly take care of one tinier than himself?
So he stayed back. Smiled a little, laughed when the others did, but never reached forward. Not once.
Until Hyuck made the choice for him.
It was late afternoon, sunlight spilling gold across the floor. The dorm was unusually calm — Mark napping with his face pressed into a cushion, Jeno quietly folding laundry, Renjun muttering into his phone, Jaemin sprawled on the rug with a photo album, Chenle giggling at something he was editing.
Hyuck, meanwhile, was crawling. Determined, wobbling, but with a strange sense of direction — as if he’d spotted something worth the effort.
Jisung didn’t realize he was the target until the baby reached him.
Hyuck paused by his knees, blinked up with wide eyes, and without hesitation began to climb. Tiny fingers hooked into Jisung’s sweatpants, chubby legs pushing against the floor until, somehow, impossibly, Hyuck was in his lap. Settled there like he belonged.
Jisung went rigid. His breath caught in his throat.
“He— he’s on me,” he stammered, voice breaking high.
Across the room, Renjun rolled his eyes. “We can see that.”
But nobody moved to take Hyuck away.
The baby shifted, squirming until his cheek pressed against Jisung’s chest. A tiny sigh puffed warm against his shirt. Then silence. Hyuck had closed his eyes, utterly content.
Jisung’s arms hovered in the air for a long, helpless second. His palms tingled with nerves, unsure where to land, how to hold, what to do. Finally — slowly, like lowering anchors — he brought one hand to support Hyuck’s back. The other cupped the baby’s legs, careful as if he were sculpted from glass.
The warmth startled him. The weight too. Small, but real.
Jisung stared down, wide-eyed, heart hammering so hard it shook through his ribs. Hyuck’s fist curled in the fabric of his shirt, gripping tight even in sleep. As though he trusted him. As though he wasn’t afraid.
Something inside Jisung softened. His shoulders, always hunched, began to loosen. His breaths slowed. And without thinking, his body swayed — just a gentle rock, back and forth, a rhythm he’d seen in passing but never tried himself.
Hyuck settled deeper against him. His mouth parted, breath evening out. The faintest sound — content, soft — escaped him.
And the room, all at once, grew still.
Mark stirred awake just enough to smile faintly. Jaemin set aside the photo album, watching with wide eyes. Chenle pressed a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggle, though his gaze was tender. Even Renjun’s voice dropped quiet as he turned away from the phone call.
None of them dared break the moment.
Jisung didn’t notice. He was caught somewhere between awe and terror and a fragile kind of joy. He had always been the youngest, the one protected, the one fumbling for confidence. But here, with Hyuck curled in his lap, he wasn’t the clumsy maknae anymore. He was… something else.
Needed.
The thought lodged in his chest, unexpected and heavy.
He stayed that way long after the others went back to their own rhythms, long after the light outside softened from gold to violet. The dorm hummed around him, but Jisung didn’t move. Not even when his legs began to ache, or when his arms trembled faintly from holding still too long. He simply adjusted his grip, steady and patient, unwilling to let go.
At some point, with only the sound of Renjun’s muffled voice and the rustle of laundry in the background, Jisung lowered his head and whispered into the quiet.
“You’re not scary, you know,” he said softly, barely audible. “Not like this. And… maybe I’m not either.”
The words dissolved into the dim, heard only by the baby whose fist still clung tight to his shirt.
And in that moment, Jisung allowed himself to believe it.
₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.
It began with silence.
For the first time all week, the dorm woke without Haechan’s babbling filling the air. No squeals, no insistent wails for attention. Just the faint rustle of blankets.
Jaemin was the first to notice. He padded into the bedroom with his usual cheer, ready to scoop up the baby and smother him in kisses. Instead, he froze at the sight. Hyuck lay curled in his crib, cheeks unnaturally pink, small body limp. When Jaemin leaned down and brushed his palm across the baby’s forehead, heat surged up against his skin.
His breath hitched. “Mark.”
Within seconds, the dorm erupted.
Mark staggered into the room, hair sticking up wildly, blinking as if the words wouldn’t form. Jeno appeared right behind him, already sharp-eyed, assessing. Renjun shoved his way forward, muttering under his breath in Mandarin as he pressed his hand against Hyuck’s cheek. Chenle ran in with his phone in hand, ready to document but paling when he realized something was wrong.
“He’s burning up,” Jaemin whispered, panic threading his voice. “He’s so hot—”
“Thermometer. Where’s the thermometer?” Mark demanded, rifling through drawers with trembling hands.
“I know where it is!” Renjun snapped, already darting to the bathroom cabinet. He returned with the small digital device, fumbling to switch it on. His fingers shook so badly he nearly dropped it.
Jeno was gone a moment later, heavy footsteps carrying him to the kitchen. The sound of water running echoed through the hall.
Chenle stood frozen, then sprang into action, blurting out remedies he’d half-read online. “Cool cloths! Onion slices! Do we have ginger tea?” His voice was too loud, his movements frantic, like a storm tearing through the room.
Jaemin clutched Hyuck tighter, rocking him against his chest. The baby stirred weakly, a thin whimper escaping his lips, and Jaemin’s heart clenched so hard it hurt.
“Don’t cry, baby. You’re okay. You’re okay,” he murmured, kissing the damp hair plastered to Hyuck’s forehead. His voice wavered, breaking on every syllable.
Mark hovered, pacing, barking questions nobody could answer. “What’s the number? Renjun, what’s it say? Is it dangerous? How bad is it?”
“Thirty-eight point five,” Renjun said, finally steadying the thermometer long enough to read it. His tone was sharp, clinical, but his eyes betrayed him — wide, frightened, too bright.
“That’s… that’s high,” Chenle gasped.
“It’s a fever,” Renjun bit out. “Not—” His voice cracked. He didn’t finish.
Jisung lingered at the doorway, pale and trembling, his height looming awkwardly in the dim light. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the small, flushed face buried in Jaemin’s shirt. His throat worked uselessly, words strangled. Finally, in a small, broken voice, he asked, “Is he… is he going to die?”
The room fell silent.
Then, in unison, five voices exploded: “NO!”
But even the denial didn’t ease the tension. The dorm was thick with it — the heat of worry, the frantic rush of too many hands, too many voices. Jeno returned with damp towels, pressing one gently to Hyuck’s forehead.
Renjun kept checking the thermometer every two minutes, as if the numbers might change if he glared hard enough. Chenle thrust remedies into anyone’s hands, demanding they try everything at once. Mark tried to corral the chaos, but his own hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
And Jaemin refused to let go.
“He needs me,” he insisted when Renjun tried to take Hyuck. His voice rose, sharp with desperation. “Don’t touch him, I’ve got him. He’s fine. He’ll be fine with me.”
“You’re crowding him!” Renjun argued, tugging at the towel.
“You’re both crowding him,” Jeno muttered, though his own hands lingered too long against the baby’s flushed skin.
“Everyone shut up,” Mark groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “You’re stressing him out more—”
But no one could stop. Every small cry from Hyuck set them off again, voices overlapping, commands and pleas tangled in the heavy air.
Until Jisung moved.
Quietly, awkwardly, he stepped forward, towering over them all. His hands shook as he stretched them out, palms open. His voice trembled, but it cut through the noise all the same.
“Let me,” he said. “Let me try.”
The room stilled.
Jaemin looked ready to refuse, but the conviction in Jisung’s gaze was something new — something steady. Slowly, reluctantly, Jaemin loosened his grip and passed the baby into Jisung’s arms.
Jisung held him as if he were made of spun glass. One large hand cupped the baby’s back, the other supported his legs, and he drew Hyuck close against his chest. His own heartbeat thundered, but his body moved on instinct. He swayed, gently, back and forth. Rocking. Steady.
Hyuck whimpered once, shifted, and then — miraculously — settled. His tiny fist found the fabric of Jisung’s shirt, curling tight. His breathing slowed. The fever still burned, but the tension eased from his small body, soothed by the rhythm of Jisung’s rocking.
The others stood frozen, watching in silence.
Jisung lowered his head, whispering so softly only Hyuck could hear. “It’s okay. Just sleep. We’ve got you.”
And, for the first time that day, the dorm exhaled.
The fever lingered through the afternoon, demanding constant attention — cool cloths replaced again and again, thermometer checked until the beeps haunted their ears. But the storm of panic dulled into something gentler. They moved around Jisung, quieter now, each taking turns tending to Hyuck without tearing him from the maknae’s arms.
By nightfall, the heat had subsided. Hyuck’s cheeks still glowed, but not with danger. His body was lighter in Jisung’s embrace, breaths evening out into deep sleep.
The relief was overwhelming. Mark laughed, shaky and exhausted. Renjun slumped into a chair, thermometer still clutched in his hand even as his eyes slipped closed. Chenle flopped onto the floor, groaning about how he deserved a medal. Jeno tidied every stray towel and bottle until the room was spotless. Jaemin kissed Hyuck’s temple one last time before curling up at Jisung’s side like a guard dog.
And Jisung — Jisung didn’t move. His arms ached, his legs numb, but he held Hyuck as if letting go might undo the fragile peace they’d won. In the dim hush of the dorm, he looked down at the baby sleeping against him, his small hand still gripping tightly to Jisung’s shirt.
“We’ve got you,” he whispered again, voice rough but certain.
₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.
The fever broke sometime before dawn.
Jisung hadn’t noticed the exact moment — it was hard to tell when he himself had drifted in and out of a light, restless doze. All he knew was that the warmth pressed against his chest had shifted from alarming heat to something softer, gentler.
When he stirred, stiff from sitting upright all night, Hyuck was still nestled in his arms. His cheeks were no longer flushed with fever, just warm with the faintest healthy pink. His breathing was steady, lips parted in the easy rhythm of deep sleep.
Jisung’s throat tightened. Relief flooded through him so suddenly it made his eyes sting.
He wasn’t the only one awake.
From the corner of the room, Mark rubbed at his face, dark circles etched beneath his eyes, though he managed a weary smile. Jaemin was curled on the floor like a cat, blankets draped around him, one arm stretched toward Hyuck’s crib as if keeping watch even in sleep.
Renjun dozed in a chair, head tilted at an awkward angle, thermometer still clutched stubbornly in his hand. Jeno was nowhere to be seen, but the faint clink of dishes from the kitchen gave him away. And Chenle… Chenle was sprawled half-off the couch, phone balanced precariously on his chest, a faint snore escaping him.
The dorm had survived the storm.
Jisung shifted carefully, easing the baby into the crib. For a moment, he lingered there, his large hand hovering above Hyuck’s tiny chest, just to feel the steady rise and fall. Then, exhausted, he sank back against the wall.
Morning came slow, sunlight spilling across the floor in pale ribbons. The dorm began to stir — groggy movements, muffled complaints, the shuffle of slippers.
And then came the sound that startled them all.
A voice. Bright, clear, distinctly not a baby’s.
“Ugh. My back is killing me. What did you guys do to me?”
The six of them jolted upright, spinning toward the crib.
Gone was the tiny bundle of blankets and soft fists. Sitting there instead was Haechan — full-sized, very much himself, hair sticking up in every direction, wearing the oversized shirt Jaemin had used as a makeshift baby nightgown. His brows were furrowed in irritation, but his eyes glittered with familiar mischief.
“Hyuck—” Mark’s voice cracked, caught between shock and relief.
Haechan blinked at them all, then grinned. “Morning, Dreamies. Miss me?”
Chaos erupted.
Jaemin launched himself forward first, tears brimming as he crushed Hyuck in a hug that nearly knocked him back into the crib. Renjun shoved Jaemin aside to inspect Haechan like a doctor, muttering curses under his breath. Jeno hovered protectively, one hand steady on Haechan’s shoulder. Mark tried to be calm, but his voice wavered as he scolded, “Do you have any idea how much you scared us?”
Chenle, of course, shrieked so loudly the neighbors probably heard — but this time he was laughing, phone already out and filming.
And then, in the middle of the commotion, Haechan froze. His gaze darted around the room.
The crib beside him. The bottles lined up on the dresser. The baby blanket draped over Jaemin’s lap. Jisung’s armful of rattles on the floor.
His eyes widened. “Uh… guys? Whose baby were you— Wait. Why does it look like you’ve been running a daycare in here?”
The others exchanged glances, a flicker of panic flashing between them.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Haechan pressed, suspicion rising. “What happened?”
Chenle cracked first. His grin spread wide, mischievous and unstoppable. “You might wanna see this.” With a few swipes on his phone, he held the screen up.
Haechan stared.
There he was — tiny, chubby-cheeked, flailing fists waving at the camera. Chenle had caught him mid-squeal, Mark’s hoodie sleeve in the corner of the frame.
“What the—” Haechan shot upright. “That’s not—! That’s me?”
As if to seal his fate, Jaemin wordlessly unlocked his phone and turned the screen. His wallpaper glowed bright: baby Hyuck curled against Jaemin’s chest, fast asleep, one fist tangled in Jaemin’s shirt.
The room went quiet.
Color drained from Haechan’s face. He looked from the crib, to the bottles, to the unmistakable images of himself. “No. No way. You’re telling me…” He trailed off, voice breaking between disbelief and horror. “I was a baby?”
The others tried — truly tried — to smother their laughter. Jisung pressed his fist against his mouth. Mark rubbed his temples like he was holding back a migraine. Jeno’s shoulders shook as he turned his face away. Renjun pinched the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh.
Chenle didn’t bother hiding his glee. He cackled, waving the phone like a victory flag. “Oh, you were more than a baby. You were our baby.”
For once, Haechan was speechless. His lips parted, closed, opened again. He buried his burning face in his hands, groaning loudly. “I can never show my face in public again.”
But when Jaemin tugged him close, resting his chin lightly on Haechan’s shoulder, and when Jisung whispered, barely audible, “We were really scared, Hyung,” Haechan lowered his hands.
His grin softened. His eyes flicked over them all, seeing their exhaustion, the traces of worry still etched in their faces.
Maybe he didn’t remember it all. But they did. And somehow, that felt enough.