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The house in Suwon was louder than Sunoo remembered.
It smelled like doenjang stew and laundry detergent and the faint sweetness of the strawberry candies his mother always kept in a glass jar by the TV. The moment they stepped in, relatives swarmed them—voices overlapping, hands cupping cheeks, someone already exclaiming over how tall the twins had gotten.
“Sunhwa, you got taller again!”
“Sunhwi, look at you, so pretty!"
Sunhwi beamed instantly, bowing politely before hiding half her face behind Sunoo’s sleeve. Sunhwa only gave a small nod, her hand still hooked loosely around Riki’s fingers.
Riki leaned down slightly. “You okay?”
Sunhwa shrugged. “It’s fine.”
Sunoo laughed softly. “She learned that from you.”
“I don’t say that.”
“You literally say that all the time.”
Riki clicked his tongue but didn’t argue.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
The twins disappeared into the playroom with their cousins after lunch. The adults migrated to the living room, voices mellow now, tea cups clinking. Sunoo was halfway through retelling an embarrassing childhood story when he realized it had gone a little too quiet down the hallway.
Riki noticed too.
He didn’t say anything. Just stood.
Sunoo followed him instinctively.
They didn’t enter the playroom. They stopped just outside, hidden by the slight crack in the door. Enough to see. Enough to hear.
Inside, a few older cousins were gathered around the toy shelf.
One of them picked up a pink tiara and held it out toward Sunhwi with a grin that wasn’t kind.
“You always pick pink stuff,” the cousin said. “That’s so babyish.”
Sunhwi froze.
“It’s not,” she said softly.
“It is. And you cry over everything too. You’re too sensitive.”
Sunoo’s hand tightened unconsciously around Riki’s sleeve.
Inside, Sunhwi’s fingers curled into the hem of her dress. Her voice got smaller.
“I don’t cry over everything.”
“You cried last time we came because the dog barked.”
“I was surprised,” she whispered.
The cousin laughed. “See? Crybaby.”
Sunoo inhaled sharply, ready to step in—
—but Sunhwa moved first.
She had been sitting quietly near the window, flipping through a comic book. Now she stood.
Slowly.
She walked over and positioned herself slightly in front of Sunhwi.
“Don’t call her that,” Sunhwa said.
Her voice wasn’t raised.
It was calm.
The cousin scoffed. “Why? It’s true.”
Sunhwa looked at him the way Riki did when someone cut him off in traffic.
Blank. Unimpressed.
“She cries because she feels things,” Sunhwa replied. “That’s not weak.”
The room shifted.
The cousin rolled his eyes. “You’re just saying that because she’s your twin.”
“I’m saying it because you’re being annoying.”
Sunhwi tugged lightly at her sister’s sleeve. “Sunhwa-unnie…”
But Sunhwa didn’t move.
“If you don’t like pink,” she continued evenly, “don’t wear it. If you don’t cry, then don’t cry. But don’t decide for her.”
The cousin’s cheeks flushed. “You’re so serious. You’re like—”
“Like my appa?” Sunhwa finished.
Silence.
And that was when Riki felt something in his chest twist.
Sunhwa crossed her arms—a small, perfect mirror of him.
“If you say it again,” she added, not threatening, just factual, “I won’t play with you.”Not really threatening, but her face with no sort of smile gave it away.
The cousin looked away first.
“Fine. Whatever.”
The tension dissolved awkwardly. Someone changed the topic. The toys resumed clattering.
Sunhwi looked up at her sister, eyes glossy but smiling.
“Thank you.”
Sunhwa looked slightly embarrassed now, scratching the back of her neck. “You’re too soft.”
“But you like that about me.”
Sunhwa huffed. “…Yeah.”
Outside the door, Sunoo pressed his fingers to his lips.
Riki stepped closer behind him.
Without a word, he wrapped his arms around Sunoo’s waist and pulled him back against his chest.
Sunoo leaned into him automatically.
“She takes a lot from you,” Riki murmured quietly, chin resting near Sunoo’s temple. “Sunhwi.”
Sunoo’s eyes stayed fixed on their daughters through the crack in the door. “She does.”
“She feels everything,” Riki continued. “Like you.”
There was no teasing in his tone. Genuinely something warm. Almost awed.
Sunoo nudged him lightly with his elbow. “Well, Sunhwa grew exactly like you. Tough. Protective. Scary when she wants to be.”
Riki snorted softly at that. “Scary?”
“She had your face just now,” Sunoo insisted, turning slightly in his arms. “That blank one. The ‘you’re wasting my time’ face.”
“I do not have that face.”
“You absolutely do.”
Riki’s lips twitched.
Inside the playroom, Sunhwi had looped her arm around Sunhwa’s, leaning into her shoulder affectionately. Sunhwa pretended to be annoyed but didn’t pull away.
“We made copies of us,” Sunoo whispered.
Riki’s arms tightened around him.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “We did.”
Sunoo’s voice wobbled just slightly. “I don’t want them to think being soft is something to be ashamed of.”
“They won’t,” Riki replied immediately.
There was no hesitation.
“Because she has Sunhwa,” he continued. “And Sunhwa won’t let anyone make her feel small.”
Sunoo swallowed.
“And Sunhwa?” he asked.
Riki watched their older twin carefully. The way she stayed just a little closer to her sister now. The way she subtly checked her expression.
“She has Sunhwi,” Riki said. “Someone who’ll remind her it’s okay to feel.”
Sunoo let out a shaky laugh. “When did you get so wise?”
“Don’t ruin it.”
Sunoo turned in his arms fully this time, wrapping his own arms around Riki’s neck.
“You’re a good dad,” he said softly.
Riki looked almost uncomfortable with the praise, but his hands settled securely at Sunoo’s waist.
“They’re good kids,” he answered instead.
From inside the room, Sunhwi’s laughter rang out—bright, unfiltered.
Sunhwa’s quieter chuckle followed.
Sunoo rested his forehead against Riki’s shoulder, heart unbearably full.
“They’re going to be okay,” he whispered.
Riki pressed a small kiss into Sunoo’s hair.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Because they’re ours.”
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
Dinner in Sunoo’s parents home was never quiet. It could never be, at this point.
The long table was stretched to its limit, extra chairs pulled from bedrooms, the lazy Susan spinning endlessly with plates of japchae, grilled fish, kimchi jjigae. Voices overlapped from every direction—uncles debating work, aunts asking about school, someone laughing too loudly at the far end.
Sunhwi sat to Sunoo’s right, practically glued to his side.
“Eomma,” she said softly, nudging his arm. “Too hot.”
Sunoo blew gently on a spoonful of rice, mixing it with egg and seaweed the way she liked. “Okay, princess. Small bite.”
She opened her mouth obediently, eyes smiling before the food even reached her.
Across from them, an aunt cooed. “Still feeding her? She’s getting big now.”
Sunoo laughed lightly. “Let me baby her while I can.”
Riki watched the exchange with a faint smile, chopsticks moving steadily as he picked at his food.
Sunhwa sat to his left.
She wasn’t saying much. She never did during crowded dinners. She ate neatly, back straight, hands steady. Every now and then, her eyes drifted.
To Sunhwi.
To the spoon.
To Sunoo’s soft voice.
Then back to her bowl.
She told herself it didn’t matter. She was older. She didn’t need that anymore. She wasn’t little.
Still—
Her chopsticks paused mid-air.
Just for a few seconds.
Then a few more.
Conversation swelled again at the other end of the table, loud enough that no one noticed the quiet shift beside Riki.
Except Riki.
He had noticed the first time her hand slowed.
The second time she swallowed without actually chewing.
The third time she just stared at her rice.
He didn’t say anything.
He just watched.
Sunhwa’s jaw tightened slightly before she lowered her gaze and resumed eating. Calm. Composed.
Too composed for a five year old.
Riki set his chopsticks down quietly.
The adults were arguing about which neighborhood in Suwon had changed the most. Someone passed another dish across the table. Laughter erupted again.
Underneath the noise, Riki scooped a small spoonful of rice. Added a big piece of tofu from the center dish—the soft braised one he knew Sunhwa loved.
Sunhwa blinked when she felt something brush her shoulder. She turned slightly. Riki was looking at her.
His expression was neutral to anyone else watching. Casual. Almost lazy.
But his eyes—
Soft.
He held the spoon near her mouth.
Sunhwa stared at it for a second too long.
Riki lifted his brows slightly. Small curves raised at the end of his mouth. She didn’t realize her eyes had filled until her vision blurred.
She opened her mouth.
Riki made a quiet, low airplane sound under his breath—barely audible, just for her.
It was ridiculous.
It was something he used to do years ago when she was small enough to sit in his lap.
She almost laughed.
Instead, a tear slipped down.
Riki didn’t react. Didn’t call attention to it.
He just fed her.
She chewed slowly.
Her free hand moved instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants, squeezing lightly at his thigh.
Riki adjusted his arm subtly, letting her lean closer without making it obvious.
Across the table, Sunoo was mid-sentence when he caught the corner of the scene.
He went quiet.
Sunhwi tugged his sleeve. “Eomma?”
Sunoo blinked, smiling softly. “Sorry, baby. One second.”
His gaze lingered on Sunhwa—on the way she was trying so hard not to cry openly. On the way Riki kept his posture relaxed, like this was the most normal thing in the world.
Riki scooped another spoonful.
“Chew properly, honey. Might get a tummy ache later if you dont," Riki murmured under his breath.
Sunhwa nodded.
Another bite.
She swallowed carefully.
“I’m not a baby, you know?” she whispered, voice small.
Riki’s lips twitched faintly. “Didn’t say you were.”
She tightened her grip on his lap.
“You paused for five minutes,” he added quietly. “That’s slower than usual.”
Her cheeks flushed.
“You notice too much.”
“Yeah.”
She sniffed lightly. “I’m okay.”
“I know.”
Another spoonful.
“You can still want things,” Riki said softly. “Even if you’re strong.”
That broke her a little.
She leaned her forehead briefly against his arm.
Across the table, no one noticed.
Except Sunoo.
And when Sunhwi finally finished her own bite and turned curiously—
“Appa?” she asked.
Riki glanced over, spoon still hovering near Sunhwa’s mouth.
“Hmm?”
“You’re feeding Sunhwa-unnie too?”
“Yeah,baby. Im gonna spoil her too just like you are.”
Sunhwi’s eyes sparkled. “Good.”
Sunhwa let out a watery huff.
Riki made one last quiet airplane noise before guiding the spoon forward again.
She opened her mouth willingly this time. Like it was the most natural thing.
Chewed. Swallowed.
And since that first bite, her hand never left Riki's lap.
The noise of the room continued—plates clinking, relatives laughing, stories flying across the table—but at that end, there was a different kind of quiet.
The kind that felt safe.
Sunoo reached across under the table and lightly squeezed Sunhwa’s knee.
She looked up.
He smiled at her the way he always did when she was small and unsure.
Soft. Proud. Entirely hers.
And Sunhwa realized—
She hadn’t grown out of being loved.
Not even a little.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
The crispy night air outside was way cooler than when they’d arrived.
Riki adjusted the rearview mirror as the engine hummed to life. The twins were already in the backseat—Sunhwi curled toward the window with her stuffed bunny tucked under her chin, Sunhwa sitting upright at first, arms crossed, trying very hard to look like she wasn’t exhausted.
The radio played softly. Some old ballad Sunoo used to loop in their first apartment years ago. Low enough to fill the silence, not loud enough to interrupt it.
Riki drove with one hand.
The other was threaded with Sunoo’s.
Sunoo’s fingers were pale and slim against his own, warm and familiar. Riki flexed his grip unconsciously, thumb brushing over his knuckles as he steered. He had to actively stop himself from lifting Sunoo’s hand and pressing his mouth against it.
Behind them, the twins were whispering.
“I think the dragon is actually the prince,” Sunhwi murmured sleepily.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Sunhwa replied, though her voice was slower than usual. “You weren’t paying attention.”
“I was too…”
“You fell asleep halfway.”
“I certainly did not.”
Riki smirked faintly.
Sunoo turned in his seat just slightly, watching them with fond eyes.
Within minutes, the murmuring thinned. Words slurred into soft hums. A small yawn. Then quiet. Sunhwi’s head tipped sideways first, mouth slightly parted. Sunhwa tried to keep talking for another thirty seconds before her sentence faded into nothing.
Silence.
Just the steady rhythm of the road.
Sunoo leaned back to check on them properly. The dim streetlights filtered through the windows, painting their daughters in warm gold and shadow.
Sunhwi’s cheek was squished against the car seat, lashes resting gently on her skin.
Sunhwa—who insisted she didn’t get tired—was slumped slightly to one side.
And faintly. Very faintly.
A tiny snore.
Sunoo clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
Riki glanced at him. “What?”
Sunoo shook his head, shoulders trembling.
“What?” Riki repeated, softer now.
“They’re out,” Sunoo whispered. “Both of them.”
Riki smiled faintly. “Long day. You didn't see how they all ran in the house chasing each other.”
“Sunhwa’s snoring,” Sunoo added.
Riki scoffed immediately. “No, she’s not.”
“She is.”
“She rarely snores.”
Sunoo leaned closer, lowering his voice dramatically. “Exactly like you.”
Riki’s jaw dropped in offended disbelief. “Excuse me, I don’t snore.”
“You absolutely do, baby.”
“I absolutely do not.”
“You do this little—” Sunoo demonstrated a soft exaggerated snoring sound. As much as Riki would like to stop his silly husband, he just scrunched his face in denial.
“That is totally a slander. You were just making things up, Sun.”
Sunoo grinned, eyes crinkling. “I’ve been married to you for years now. I have quite a number of evidence.”
Riki tightened his hold on Sunoo’s hand. “Well, I dare you to show it in my face.”
“Oh, I will.”
“You won’t.”
“I will record it next time.”
“You try and see what happens when i catch you.”
Sunoo laughed under his breath, delighted. The teasing felt easy. Effortless. Like they’d slipped back into being eighteen and reckless and completely obsessed with each other.
“You’re being oddly defensive,” Sunoo continued, nudging him lightly with his shoulder. “That means it’s true.”
Riki shook his head, but there was a pure smile creeping underneath that he couldn’t hide for the love of him.
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Of course I am,” Sunoo said, smug. “You’re always cute when you’re annoyed.”
“I’m not annoyed. Who says I am?”
“You are.”
“I’m driving.”
“Mm,” Sunoo hummed teasingly. “A driver who snores.”
Riki let out a breath that was half laugh, half surrender.
The banter drifted into softer quiet after that. The road stretched ahead, traffic thinning.
Sunoo’s thumb traced slow circles over the back of Riki’s hand.
He glanced back at the twins again.
Then forward.
Then at Riki.
His voice shifted.
“About dinner earlier,” he began quietly.
Riki’s grip around Sunoo's hands tightened slightly.
“What about it?”
Sunoo took a small breath. “You. With Sunhwa.”
Riki didn’t look at him just yet. He kept his eyes on the road. But his jaw visibly softened.
“She’s lucky,” Sunoo continued. “To have a dad like you.”
Riki didn’t respond immediately. He basked in the compliment and his heart soared because he felt like he just won a prize.
“She tries so hard to be tough,” Sunoo said. “Even when she doesn’t need to that sometimes I worry about that with her.”
His voice held something tender. Proud. A little pinch of ache beneath the layer of his tone.
“And you saw it. Without her do or say anything.”
The memory flickered between them—Sunhwa blinking back tears at the dinner table, Riki pretending to be casual while holding out the spoon.
“She wouldn’t have asked,” Sunoo added softly.
“I know,” Riki said.
“And you didn’t wait for her to.”
The car slowed as they approached an intersection. The traffic light was about to turn red from yellow in a few seconds.
Sunoo’s voice grew quieter.
“I really love that about you,” he admitted. “You’re quiet about it. But you notice everything.”
Riki swallowed once.
Sunoo stared ahead now, his reflection faintly visible in the windshield.
“You did that for me too,” he said. “Back then.”
Riki finally had the courage to give his husband a soft glance.
Sunoo’s smile was small. The whisker dimples were faintly visible from where Riki was looking.
“When things were hard,” he continued, “you never made a big show of being present. You just stood there. For me. You always include me in everything.”
His fingers squeezed Riki’s. Three times. I love you.
“I’m glad our kids get that too.”
The light ahead finally turned red. The car rolled to a stop.
Riki shifted into neutral.
He properly faced Sunoo fully now.
Really looked at him. He could drowned in Sunoo's loving ocean eyes gaze.
The streetlight outside cast a faint amber glow over their face—soft skin, tired eyes, lips still curved slightly from earlier laughter.
“I would never let anyone feel left behind,” Riki said quietly.
There was no bravado in it. That was one thing about Riki. When he truly felt like he could be honest with someone, everything that he say or do was genuinely from his heart. He would not lie about it because that was the only time for him to be vulnerable.
“Not you,” he added. “Not them. Not anyone I love.”
Sunoo’s breath caught just a little. Air got knocked up in his lungs. He was trying to calm himself down.
Before he could say anything—
Riki leaned over.
And kissed him.
It felt feverish. Demanding. Like he’d been holding it back since they left the house.
Sunoo gasped inaudibly against his mouth, fingers tightening in his shirt.
The kiss was warm and deep and overwhelming in the way only years of familiarity could make it—knowing exactly how to tilt, how to press, how to claim. Riki had a lot of time to practice, he could've given him credits where its due.
A car honked faintly behind them.
They broke apart, both breathless. Riki let out a soft giggle, letting it go unnoticed by his flustered husband.
The traffic light had turned green. For more than a few seconds, it seemed.
Riki rested his forehead briefly against Sunoo’s.
“We need to go home,” he muttered.
Sunoo laughed shakily, cheeks flushed. “We are going home, Riki"
“Faster.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Your fault. I just wanna pin you down on the bed as soon as we get home.”
Sunoo smiled—soft and luminous. The kind of smile he only reserved for Riki since they were eighteen.
As Riki continued driving again, one hand returning to the wheel, the other still tangled with Sunoo’s, the backseat remained quiet. He squeezed Sunoo's hands four times. I love you, too.
Two sleeping girls. Their beautiful, precious little guardian angels.
In that moment, Riki and Sunoo would do possibly anything for their girls to feel safe and loved unconditionally.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢