Work Text:
Seungmin noticed it while standing near the doorway, mug of coffee forgotten in his hand.
The house was loud.
Not loud in the obvious way. No screaming, no things crashing to the floor, no panicked footsteps that usually meant Yongbok had discovered a new way to almost hurt herself.
“Papa,” Yongbok's voice came clear. “I already said I don’t want the blue one.” There was a pause. A very long one. “I want the yellow one,” she added, slower now, like she was explaining something deeply obvious to someone who simply wasn’t keeping up.
Seungmin blinked once.
He leaned slightly against the wall, peeking around the corner just enough to see her. Yongbok was sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by crayons she had definitely been told not to scatter everywhere. Her hair was half-tied, half-free, and she was holding a crayon between her fingers.
Minhee, meanwhile, was in the backyard, entirely uninterested in intervening.
Seungmin took a sip of his coffee, eyes still on his daughter. Yongbok huffe, complete with a tiny shoulder shrug, and leaned back dramatically, palms flat on the floor behind her.
“I guess I’ll just do it myself,” she muttered, loud enough to be heard, quiet enough to feel pointed.
Seungmin felt something tug at the back of his brain.
That tone.
That pause before speaking again, as if waiting for the world to apologize first.
He frowned slightly, watching as Yongbok selected the yellow crayon with exaggerated care, holding it up, inspecting it, then nodding to herself in approval. She started coloring again, tongue poking out in concentration, completely satisfied now that things were going her way.
Seungmin shifted his weight.
This wasn’t new. Yongbok had always been expressive, always confident in a way that both impressed and concerned him.
But iately it felt sharper. More familiar.
Seungmin glanced toward the window, then back at Yongbok. She had just started narrating her drawing now.
“This is Bokkie's house,” she explained to absolutely no one, “and this is me. And this...” she paused, tapping the paper thoughtfully, “this is Papa, but he’s tall, so I had to make him like this.”
She drew a long line for the body. Seungmin snorted before he could stop himself. Yongbok’s head snapped up immediately.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Seungmin said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “Just… keep drawing.”
She squinted at him for a second longer than necessary, clearly deciding whether he was worth addressing further. Then, satisfied, she nodded once and went back to her masterpiece.
Seungmin watched her for a long moment.
The confidence.
The dramatics.
The way she filled the space without even trying.
A strange thought settled in his chest, slow and inevitable. He took another sip of his coffee, eyes softening.
Since when did the little witch start sounding exactly like her mommy? Even when Minhee wasn’t in the room?
He didn’t say it out loud.
Not yet.
But the realization was already beginning to form, quiet and amused and just a little bit doomed.
And somewhere in the backyard, Minhee laughed softly to herself, like she already knew.
Seungmin was sitting on the couch, laptop open, trying to read through an email when Yongbok climbed up beside him without asking, planted herself dangerously close to his arm, and leaned over to peer at the screen.
She squinted. “Papa,” she said slowly, “why are the words so boring?”
Seungmin didn’t even look away. “Because they’re for work.”
She nodded, like that explained everything wrong with the universe. Then she sighed. A long, exaggerated sigh that came from deep in her tiny chest, full of disappointment and judgment.
“Well,” the little girl said, patting his arm reassuringly, “you chose this life.”
Seungmin’s fingers froze over the keyboard. He turned his head. Slowly. “Huh?”
Yongbok shrugged. A perfect shrug. Casual. “I didn’t,” she added helpfully. “I chose coloring.”
Seungmin stared at her. From the kitchen, Minhee laughed, while the man felt a chill crawl down his spine.
Yongbok had already moved on, sliding off the couch and padding toward the coffee table. She climbed onto the chair like she owned it, dragged her paper closer, and began arranging her crayons again.
“These don’t match,” she muttered, pushing two colors apart. “They’ll fight.”
Seungmin closed his laptop. “What do you mean they’ll fight?” he asked carefully.
Yongbok looked at him like he was the one being silly. “Red is loud,” she explained. “Green is already tired. You can’t put them together.” She paused, then added, softer, “They’ll get annoyed.”
Seungmin rubbed his face with both hands. This... this was not just normal toddler logic. This was… selective emotional categorization. This was aesthetic judgment. This was...
He glanced toward the kitchen again. Minhee was leaning against the counter, scrolling on her phone, expression calm and faintly amused, like she had absolutely no intention of stepping in. Like this was simply how things were.
Yongbok stood suddenly, hands on her hips. “I need water,” she announced.
Seungmin instinctively stood too. “I’ll-”
“No,” she said immediately, one finger up. “I’ll do it myself.”
She marched toward the kitchen with purpose. “Mommy, warm water.”
Minhee finally looked up from her phone. “Warm water?” she repeated.
Yongbok nodded solemnly. “Yes. Thank you.”
Minhee didn’t argue. She just filled a glass with slightly warm water and handed it over. Yongbok accepted it with both hands, took a tiny sip, and hummed in approval.
Seungmin felt something in his soul crack open.
He watched his daughter drink water like a tiny queen who knew exactly what she deserved, then carefully place the glass down and wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. Slow, calm, satisfied.
That movement.
That exact movement.
Seungmin’s eyes flicked back to Minhee.
She was smiling now. Soft. Knowing. And suddenly, the thought hit him, clearer than before, unavoidable now.
This wasn’t random. This wasn’t coincidence.
This was Minhee.
Her energy. Her confidence. Her unshakable belief that the world should adjust accordingly.
Seungmin sank back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. “I’m in trouble,” he muttered.
From the floor, Yongbok looked up at him, eyes bright. “Yes,” she agreed cheerfully.
The house had that quiet hum it always did before dinner, soft clinks from the kitchen, the window cracked open for air, Yongbok sprawled dramatically on the living room rug with her drawing abandoned halfway.
Seungmin was chopping vegetables when he heard it.
A huff.
He turned just in time to see Yongbok sit up, hair messy, face scrunched in deep offense. “This day,” she announced to no one in particular, “is not going how I imagined.”
Minhee glanced over her shoulder. “Oh?”
“Yes,” Yongbok said firmly. “I planned to draw a cat. But the cat doesn’t understand me.”
Seungmin paused mid-chop.
Yongbok nodded. “It refuses to look cute.” She crossed her arms. Properly. Tightly.
Minhee hummed. “Hah! That’s frustrating.”
Seungmin watched the exchange like he was witnessing a ritual he had somehow missed learning.
“I think,” Yongbok continued, pacing a little now, “I need a break. I’ve been very patient.”
Very. Patient.
Seungmin swallowed.
Yongbok climbed onto the couch, curled herself into the corner, and stared dramatically at the wall. Silent. Still. Like she was giving the universe time to apologize.
And that...
That snapped something open in his memory.
Suddenly he wasn’t in the living room anymore.
He was years back, standing in his girlfriend's old apartment bedroom, Minhee sitting on the bed behind him, arms crossed, staring at the wall with that exact same posture. The same silence. The same energy.
He’d asked, “Are you mad?”
She’d said, “No.” Then, after a pause, “I’m disappointed. I want to change my entire interior. Come sit with me, let's plan.”
The memory flooded into his mind. Seungmin’s knife clattered softly against the cutting board.
Minhee looked up. “You okay?”
He didn’t answer.
Because it was all lining up now, the commentary, the confidence, the emotional boundaries, the dramatic pauses.
Yongbok wasn’t copying Minhee.
She was Minhee.
Condensed, and miniature. Less tall. But louder feelings.
Yongbok sighed from the couch. “No one is asking me what I want,” she said quietly.
Seungmin reacted on instinct. “What do you want, baby?”
She turned slowly. Her eyes were shiny but calm, already secure in the fact that she’d be listened to. “I want Papa to sit with me,” she said. “No talk. Just sit.”
Seungmin walked over immediately and sat beside her. She leaned into his side, satisfied, resting her head against his arm like this had always been the plan.
Seungmin stared straight ahead, realization fully settled now.
He had not raised a child.
He had raised a sequel.
And judging by the way Yongbok shifted closer, utterly content, he was only just beginning to understand the consequences.
Seungmin tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed.
That this wasn’t just a pattern, that this wasn't just a coincidence, that his daughter was not, in fact, a carbon copy of his wife with smaller feet and louder opinions.
He tried.
Breakfast was chaos in its usual, Yongbok sat on her chair swinging her legs, humming dramatically while Minhee poured juice.
Seungmin placed a bowl of cereal in front of Yongbok.
“Eat,” he said gently.
Yongbok looked at the bowl. Then at him. Then back at the bowl. She didn’t touch it.
Seungmin waited. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
Yongbok pushed the bowl a millimeter away from herself. “I am not in the mood for cereal,” she said calmly.
Minhee froze mid-sip. Seungmin blinked. “You asked for cereal.”
“Yes,” Yongbok agreed. “Yesterday.”
Seungmin opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “So what do you want now?”
Yongbok leaned back in her chair, folded her hands neatly on her stomach. “I don’t know. But I will know when I see it.”
Seungmin slowly turned his head toward Minhee. Minhee was already watching him.
“That’s not-” Seungmin stopped himself, lowered his voice. “She learned that from you.”
Minhee raised a brow. “Excuse me?”
“You do that,” he said, pointing vaguely between Yongbok and Minhee. “The vague dissatisfaction.”
Minhee scoffed. “I communicate my feelings very clearly.”
Yongbok nodded. “Mommy is very clear.”
Seungmin stared at his daughter. “You two are ganging up on me.”
Minhee leaned down and kissed Yongbok’s head. “We don’t gang up. We align.”
Yongbok beamed.
“Our daughter,” he said slowly, “is you.”
“Oh?” she said sweetly.
“She reacts like you. She speaks like you. She sighs like you. She emotionally negotiates like you.”
Minhee’s smile grew.
“She even does the pause,” he added weakly. “The pause before saying something devastating.”
Minhee laughed.
“You’re surprised now?” she asked. “Min, she’s been like this since she learned how to talk.”
“She told me she needs ‘space’ yesterday.”
“Healthy boundaries.”
“She’s just five.”
“Doesn't matter.”
Seungmin exhaled, defeated.
“Are you two done talking about me?” Yongbok asked politely.
Seungmin shook his head, resigned. He hadn’t married chaos. He’d married a legacy.
And it had learned how to talk.
That night settled softly over the house.
Seungmin lay on the couche, half-reclined, one arm thrown over his eyes. Yongbok was sprawled on his chest like she owned the place, while Minhee sat on the floor beside them, leaning against the couche, back warm against his leg as she flipped through her phone.
The TV played something animated and loud, but none of them were really watching.
Yongbok shifted slightly, then sighed.
A very specific sigh. Seungmin stiffened.
“Why did you sigh like that?” he asked.
Yongbok didn’t open her eyes. “I’m happy,” she said. “It's a happy breath.”
Minhee snorted. Seungmin stared at the ceiling. “You did that exact sigh last week.”
Minhee didn’t deny it. “It’s a good sigh.”
Yongbok nodded. “Mommy taught me.”
Of course she did.
Yongbok suddenly sat up, placed her tiny hand on Seungmin’s chest.
“Papa.”
“Yes, love?”
“When I grow up, I will be like Mommy.”
Minhee finally looked up.
Seungmin swallowed. “You will?”
“Yes,” Yongbok said confidently. “Because Mommy is cool. Mommy knows things. And when she doesn’t, she pretends until she does.”
Minhee gasped, and Seungmin laughed. It bubbled out of him before he could stop it, warm and fond and a little helpless. He reached up and pulled Yongbok into a hug, pressing a kiss into her hair.
“You know what,” he said, staring at the ceiling, voice light, “maybe next time… we’ll get one that’s like me.”
Minhee hummed. Dangerous sound. “Like you... how?”
“Calm. Rational. Emotionally stable,” he said, counting on his fingers. “A mini Seungmin.”
Minhee scoffed so hard it startled Yongbok who was starting to fall asleep.
“Try a hundred times,” she said flatly. “All our kids will still be ninety-nine percent me.”
Seungmin turned his head slowly. “That is scientifically impossible.”
Minhee smiled sweetly. “Watch me.”
He sat up a little. “Excuse you, I contribute DNA too.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “For good looks. Vocals. Maybe eyesight. But personality?” She waved her hand. “Mine.”
Seungmin gasped. “So you’re saying I’m irrelevant?”
“I’m saying,” Minhee said, leaning back against him, “you’re the emotional support husband.”
Yongbok mumbled in her sleep, rolling over. “Mommy’s right…”
Seungmin froze. Minhee burst out laughing. “Oh wow,” she teased. “Even your little witch agrees.”
Seungmin shook his head, but there was a smile tugging at his mouth. He wrapped an arm around Minhee, helped her get up and pulled her close.
“One day,” he said softly, stubborn but affectionate, “there will be a mini me.”
Minhee tilted her head up, eyes warm. “And I will love them,” she said, then added, “right after I teach them chaos.”
He laughed, pressing a kiss into her hair. “Fine,” he murmured. “I’ll just keep surviving you all.”
Minhee smiled, eyes bright. “Aww... I know you love us.”
He reached down, lacing his fingers with hers. “Unfortunately,” he said, “with my whole heart.”
Yongbok yawned, long and dramatic, then curled back against him, already half asleep. Minhee shifted closer, resting her head against his chest.
Seungmin looked at them, his wife, his daughter, two identical storms wrapped in warmth and love, and finally, fully gave up.
There was no escaping it.
He hadn’t just married Minhee.
He was raising her too.
And honestly?
He wouldn’t trade it for the world.