Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Yeosang wiped his teary eyes with a quiet huff as he picked up yet another untouched dinner his husband had left behind. The food was still fresh, barely touched, just as it had been when Yeosang prepared it earlier that evening.

He pressed his lips together as he carried the plate toward the trash can, trying not to let his expression crumble any further. He tipped the food into the bin, watching it fall onto the discarded scraps beneath it.

It would have gone to waste eventually anyway.

At least, that was what he told himself.

Yeosang stood there for a moment, staring down at the perfectly good food sitting on top of the garbage. Something about seeing it there, something he had taken the time to prepare now reduced to something neither of them wanted anymore, made his chest ache. He shook his head and finally turned away, wiping at his eyes again as though he could erase the tears before they had a chance to fall.

When did things go so wrong?

They had been friends for more than half their lives. They had spent twenty years loving each other, and five of those years as husband and husband. There had been so much time between them—so many memories, so many ordinary days, so many moments they had once believed would last forever.

So when had all of that become this?

When had the person Yeosang had known for most of his life become someone who could barely look at him anymore? When had their home become a place where untouched dinners piled up, where silence lingered longer than conversation, and where Yeosang had started crying over things as small as throwing away his husband’s food?

When did something that had once felt so safe become this ugly?

Before he could spiral into the same old thoughts, a cry echoed from somewhere down the hallway, immediately pulling his attention away from the mess inside his head.

With a heavy sigh, Yeosang pressed the heels of his palms against his aching eyes and slowly exhaled through his mouth. He stood there for another second, gathering whatever strength he had left before letting his hands fall to his sides.

It was fine.

He could keep doing this.

He could keep getting through the days, keep cleaning up the untouched dinners, keep swallowing the hurt before it could spill over. He could keep pretending that none of it was wearing him down as long as he had to.

Then he felt the familiar spark of frustration flare in his chest, and he immediately scolded himself for it.

No.

His lovely baby boy had no fault in any of this.

Yunho hadn’t done anything wrong. He was just a little boy who needed his father, who didn’t understand why his home suddenly felt so different or why the people he loved were hurting. Yeosang had no right—no audacity whatsoever—to let his own misery spill onto his helpless little boy.

Whatever was happening between him and his husband, Yunho deserved better than to become collateral damage.

So Yeosang swallowed the lump in his throat, wiped the last of his tears from his cheeks, and turned toward the sound of his son’s cries.

Yeosang hurried down the hallway toward the room, pushing the slightly ajar door all the way open as he looked toward his restless baby.

His pretty Yunho. He was barely twelve months old, yet somehow possessed the boundless energy of a child twice his age. Even now, after everything that had happened that day, he was wide awake and squirming restlessly beneath his blankets.

A soft coo escaped Yeosang when those tiny, glistening eyes finally found him.

“Hi, baby.” He crouched down beside the bed, his lips pulling into a little pout as he looked at his son. “What in this world happened to have you crying, huh?”

He reached over, gently pushing the few wispy strands of hair that had grown long enough to fall across Yunho’s forehead. His touch earned him a small, restless sound, but before Yeosang could soothe him any further, Yunho’s attention shifted toward the open doorway.

His little hands reached out, fingers opening and closing desperately toward the empty hallway, as though he were asking for someone who wasn’t there.

Yeosang’s lips trembled.

He knew.

Of course he knew who Yunho was trying to reach for.

The realization pressed painfully against his chest, but Yeosang forced himself to smile anyway. He let out a small, cheerful giggle and deliberately shifted Yunho’s body toward himself, trying to draw his son’s attention away from the doorway.

“I’m right here,” he said, frowning playfully at him.

Yunho sniffled, but he didn’t refuse the familiar warmth of his papa. Instead, he rolled closer to the edge of the mattress and pushed himself upright onto his little bottom, apparently deciding that sitting still was no longer an option.

Yeosang sighed, reaching out to gently guide him back down before he could get too close to the edge.

“Nuh-uh.” He shook his head, trying to keep his voice light despite the exhaustion weighing heavily on him. “It’s bedtime, Yunho.”

Yunho immediately protested, his little face scrunching up as his tantrum grew louder.

Yeosang rubbed at his temple, closing his eyes for a brief second as another headache began to throb behind them.

The boy only thrashed in his hold for a moment before bursting into even louder cries.

“I know,” Yeosang gulped, feeling his eyes sting anew. “But I just put you to bed, Yunnie. Please.” He huffed softly, lowering himself until his forehead rested against the younger boy’s pillow.

“Papaaa be…” Yunho blinked at him through his tears, his tiny lips pulling into an exaggerated, miserable downturn.

“No, Yunho.” Yeosang frowned, trying desperately to keep his voice gentle. “You just learned to sleep separately.”

The words came out strained, carrying both frustration and guilt. He hated saying no to him. Hated seeing that little face crumble when all Yunho wanted was the comfort he had grown accustomed to. But Yeosang was already so tired, so emotionally drained, and he simply couldn’t bring himself to start over tonight.

Yunho frowned back at him, his little eyebrows drawing closer together as he clearly decided that Papa’s answer was unacceptable. He wriggled away, sliding all the way toward the end of the bed before throwing his little body onto the carpeted floor with a dramatic thump.

Yeosang clicked his tongue, momentarily ignoring him as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to calm himself down. He took a slow breath, then another, desperately trying to push the frustration back down before it could turn into something he would regret.

“Not today, Yunnie,” he whispered, his voice cracking despite his efforts to steady it. “Not you too.”

He begged the words silently as his fingers tightened around the fluffy blanket in his hand, twisting the soft fabric between them while he fought to keep himself together.

Just then, footsteps echoed from outside the room.

Yeosang didn’t even turn to look. Yunho, however, immediately perked up, letting out an excited shriek as he crawled halfway across the floor toward the doorway.

San appeared a moment later, and the second he spotted their son, his face softened.

“Hey, big guy,” he cooed, scooping Yunho up without hesitation before nuzzling their noses together.

“Hey, love.” He reached over to pat Yeosang’s head once, his touch gentle and familiar.

“What’s wrong with him?” San asked, cupping one of Yunho’s cheeks before pressing a kiss to his tiny cheekbone.

Yunho squeaked happily, immediately patting at San’s jaw with both hands as though he had completely forgotten about his earlier tantrum.

Yeosang arched an eyebrow at the sight but still didn’t lift his head to look properly at his husband.

“He doesn’t want to sleep alone,” he said, shaking his head as he finally straightened to his feet.

“Is that so, little guy?” San laughed softly.

He carried Yunho out of the room, already seeming to have a solution in mind.

“Then we could sleep together—”

Yeosang froze.

His hand remained suspended in the air, the bedsheet pinched between his fingers as he stared at nothing.

For a second, he simply stood there.

Then he turned on his heel and stormed after them.

“No, he won’t,” Yeosang sighed, planting one hand firmly on his hip as he finally faced his husband with a deeply disapproving look.

“Why?” San lifted both eyebrows in confusion.

He had already carried Yunho into their bedroom and tucked him neatly into the middle of their king-sized bed, apparently seeing absolutely nothing wrong with the arrangement.

Yeosang pinched the bridge of his nose.

His jaw tightened as he fought the urge to say exactly what he was thinking.

“Come on, baby,” Yeosang beckoned, bending over the bed. “We said no.”

He reached down and pulled Yunho into his arms, but the moment the boy realized what was happening, his little face crumpled and another cry broke from his throat.

“Hey, hey.” San immediately sat down on the edge of the bed, opening his arms when Yunho reached for him. He accepted the hug without hesitation, rubbing his son’s back as the little boy buried his face against his chest.

“Is Papa being mean to you?” San pouted sympathetically, trying to coax a smile out of him.

Yeosang threw both hands up in disbelief.

“No, San! I’m not being mean!” His voice came out louder than he intended, his cheeks flushing as he struggled to keep himself composed. “Have you any idea how many sleepless nights I’ve had just so he could learn to sleep alone?!”

“It should be fine for one night.” San merely shrugged, his tone so casual that Yeosang almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Yeosang’s eyes locked onto his husband.

There was no anger in them anymore.

No frustration, no disbelief.

Just an empty, stunned stare.

“Fine?” he repeated with a humorless laugh, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

His chest tightened.

“Fine?!” The second repetition came out sharper, thick with exasperation.

Before San could answer, Yeosang took a step toward him, lifting one hand as though he needed to physically emphasize every word for his husband to understand.

“Do you know how many nights he has successfully slept alone?” He tilted his head, staring at San.

San fell silent.

He seemed to actually think about it, his eyes briefly drifting upward as he tried to remember. But when he looked back at Yeosang, he still didn’t have an answer.

“Two nights, San!” Yeosang hissed, holding up two fingers between them.

“Two.”

San’s attention dropped to Yunho instead. His expression softened as he looked down at their son, who was already calmer in his arms, wide doe eyes staring back up at him.

“Did you do that, my boy?” San cooed, smiling as he gently patted the back of Yunho’s head.

Then he looked back at Yeosang.

His smile slowly disappeared.

Yeosang wasn’t smiling back.

He wasn’t even looking at him anymore.

“Why are you so upset, love?” San frowned, genuinely confused. “Let’s just sleep all three together, hmm? It’ll do both of you good.”

“Yeah, right.”

Yeosang rolled his eyes, turning away before San could see the tears gathering in them.

He didn’t wait for another response.

He simply walked out of the room, leaving as quickly as he could before the tears finally spilled over.

It was an hour later when the door to Yunho’s bedroom finally opened.

Yeosang only glanced up for a split second from where he was straightening the covers on his son’s bed before returning his attention to the rumpled sheets.

“Yeosang.” San walked slowly toward him, his voice hesitant as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to approach him.

“What?”

San sighed before reaching for Yeosang’s wrists and gently pulling him upright. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, locking eyes with him.

Yeosang barely managed to hold his gaze for two seconds before looking away.

“What do you mean?” He shut his eyes for a few seconds, forcing himself to breathe.

“You’re angry, and you’re being strict with Yunho.”

Yeosang gasped, violently pulling his hands from San’s hold.

“You!” His voice rose before he could stop it. “You of all people can’t say that!”

San frowned, taking a step closer. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Yeosang clicked his tongue and turned his head away, refusing to look into San’s eyes.

“I don’t know, San.” He lifted both arms helplessly before letting them fall lifelessly back to his sides. “You tell me.”

His voice was quieter now, but somehow that made the words sting even more.

“Because if you can’t see what this fucking means—” Yeosang pressed his lips together, fighting to get his emotions back under control. His chest rose and fell heavily as he swallowed.

“If you can’t see it yourself, then this conversation has no point.”

San huffed through his puffed cheeks before stepping closer, both hands settling gently on Yeosang’s shoulders.

“Look, maybe this isn’t your best day, and I understand that.” His voice softened as he looked at him. “But I hate fighting with you, okay?”

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Yeosang’s forehead, lingering for only a moment before pulling back.

“And I have early meetings tomorrow, so why don’t we just sleep? We can talk about it tomorrow, hm?” San offered him a small, tired smile. “Yunnie is already out.”

Yeosang’s eyebrows lifted for a brief second.

Then he nodded.

“Yeah, whatever.” He took a step back, creating a small distance between them.

Like all the other times you said that.

Despite every part of him screaming that he didn’t want to share a bed with San at that moment, Yeosang eventually crawled beneath the covers. The room was quiet now, the earlier chaos reduced to the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional sleepy sound coming from Yunho.

He carefully pulled his son’s small body into his arms, instinctively adjusting him until Yunho settled comfortably against his chest. The little boy barely stirred, already too deep in sleep to protest the sudden affection.

Yeosang lowered his face into the soft brown hair at the top of Yunho’s head, burying his nose against it as he took a slow, shaky breath.

That familiar scent immediately filled his senses.

Cotton-soft hair, baby shampoo, and something that was simply Yunho.

It was a scent Yeosang had come to associate with safety. With home. With the countless nights he’d spent rocking this tiny boy back to sleep, whispering nonsense into his hair and promising him that Papa was right there.

For a few seconds, he allowed himself to simply breathe it in.

His arms tightened around Yunho as his throat constricted again. He gulped down the lump lodged there, swallowing against the sting behind his eyes before a shaky sigh escaped his lips.

He hated this.

He hated feeling angry. He hated feeling hurt. Most of all, he hated that somewhere between San’s words and his own exhaustion, he’d started wondering whether maybe San was right.

Yeosang stared into the darkness, his fingers absentmindedly stroking the soft fabric of Yunho’s pajamas.

Was I really bad to you today?

The question settled heavily in his chest.

Had he really been too strict? Had he been unfair? Maybe he had sounded angry. Maybe he had been too frustrated. Maybe he should have been more patient with Yunho.

But he’d only wanted his baby to sleep.

He’d only wanted to do something right.

Yeosang squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face back into Yunho’s hair as another shaky breath left him.

“I’m sorry if I really was bad.” he whispered so quietly that the sleeping boy couldn’t possibly hear him.

And somehow, asking his son felt easier than asking San.

All the exhaustion of the day finally caught up with Yeosang, dragging him into sleep despite the uncomfortable knot that still sat somewhere in his chest.

He barely had time to register the warmth of Yunho curled against him before consciousness slowly began creeping back in.

Approximately three hours later, he felt his son wiggle restlessly in his arms.

Yeosang remained half-asleep for a few seconds, instinctively tightening his hold around the little body as he tried to settle him without fully waking himself.

Then came the first whine.

His brow furrowed.

Then came the first cry.

Yeosang’s eyes immediately snapped open, burning painfully from the lack of sleep. He blinked several times, struggling to focus through the heavy fog clouding his mind before instinctively turning toward his son.

“What’s wrong, my love?” he whined, his voice hoarse with sleep.

He leaned forward until his forehead knocked gently against Yunho’s, hoping the familiar touch would soothe him.

“Is it the teeth again?”

His heart sank when Yunho only cried harder.

“Oh, baby…”

Yeosang’s own eyes began to sting, and for a horrible second he felt like he might cry right alongside him. His entire body felt heavy, every muscle begging to sink back into the mattress, but his baby was upset, and that was enough to drag him fully awake.

He bounced Yunho gently in his arms, rubbing his back and whispering soft nonsense between tired breaths, trying one soothing method after another.

Nothing seemed to work.

Eventually, Yeosang’s exhausted gaze drifted toward the other side of the bed.

San was still completely out.

Yeosang stared at him for a moment before rolling his eyes at the sight.

Of course.

That was one of the things that drove him absolutely mad.

San could somehow wake up before his alarm even went off when he had an early meeting. Somehow, the smallest change in the time of day was enough to drag him out of sleep when work demanded it.

But Yunho crying practically beside his ears?

Nothing.

Not a twitch.

Not even a fucking stir.

Yeosang clenched his jaw as another cry escaped Yunho, his frustration flaring through the exhaustion.

He looked down at his son again and immediately softened, pressing a kiss to his damp little forehead.

“Shh, Papa’s here,” he whispered, gathering him closer.

Because apparently, no matter how exhausted he was, no matter how badly he needed sleep himself, Papa was always awake.

Yeosang finally reached out with his foot, nudging San’s leg beneath the covers.

“San,” he grunted, giving him another push with his foot when the older man didn’t immediately react.

Still nothing.

Yeosang let out an exhausted sigh before reaching over and shaking his shoulder this time, a little harder than necessary.

The movement finally managed to drag San into consciousness. His eyelids fluttered open, droopy and unfocused as he blinked at Yeosang, clearly struggling to understand what was happening.

“Huh?”

His voice was thick with sleep as he reached out blindly, one hand stretching toward both Yeosang and Yunho as though he could somehow gather them both into his arms without even being fully awake.

“Keep an eye on him,” Yeosang huffed.

He was already pushing himself out of bed before San could properly respond, his feet finding the cold floor as he stood.

“Where are you going?” San squinted at him in confusion, still looking as though he could fall asleep again at any second.

“To bring him his teether.”

Yeosang didn’t wait for an answer.

He turned toward the door, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand as he walked away, leaving San blinking sleepily after him while Yunho continued to fuss in his arms.

From the other room, Yeosang could hear San trying to shush Yunho, his sleepy voice murmuring soft reassurances as he attempted to calm their son down.

It wasn’t working.

Yunho’s cries only grew louder, his little voice breaking between sobs as he called for his papa.

Yeosang froze.

He didn’t even think.

The second he heard those cries, he turned around and hurried back toward the bedroom, his exhausted body somehow finding enough energy to carry him at a near sprint.

He pushed through the doorway, immediately searching for his son.

The moment Yunho spotted him, his tiny arms reached out as far as they could, little fingers stretching desperately in Yeosang’s direction.

“Papa!”

Yeosang’s heart clenched.

“I’m here, baby.”

He rushed toward him, already reaching out to take him back into his arms.

“Here,” Yeosang breathed, lifting the chewing toy he’d clutched in his hand during his hurried trip back to the room.

He immediately moved toward Yunho, gently coaxing his little jaw open before slipping the familiar teether between his gums. Yunho instinctively latched onto it, his cries gradually dying down as he realized what was pressed between his sore gums.

Yeosang let out a small, relieved breath, brushing his fingers over his son’s cheek.

“There we go,” he whispered. “That’s better, baby.”

For a brief moment, the room fell quiet again.

But Yeosang knew better.

He looked down at Yunho, watching those wide eyes remain stubbornly open despite the late hour. There was no sleepy haze left in them, no sign that his son intended to surrender to sleep anytime soon.

The crying might have stopped, but one thing was certain.

Yunho was fully awake.

“No, no, no.”

Yeosang let his head fall back against the headboard with a soft thud, eyes fluttering shut as he tried to gather whatever scraps of patience he had left.

“Yunnie, this is an ungodly hour,” he complained, his voice thick with exhaustion. He frowned at his son, though there wasn’t a trace of genuine irritation in his expression. He was simply tired—bone-deep, desperately tired. “Let Mama sleep, please.”

Yunho stared at him for a moment, teether still tucked between his gums.

Then his entire face brightened.

A huge, gummy smile spread across his little face, his wide eyes practically sparkling despite the redness around them. His little gums were completely on display as he looked up at his papa like he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world.

Yeosang tried to maintain his frown.

He really did.

But the sight was too adorable, and a tired laugh escaped him before he could stop it. Yunho immediately giggled along with him, apparently delighted that his plan had worked.

“Yeah, yeah.” Yeosang shook his head, reaching over to gently pinch his son’s cheek. “You win.”

He sighed dramatically, settling back against the headboard while keeping Yunho safely tucked against him.

“Who needs sleep anyway when the king is awake?”

Yunho answered with another happy giggle.

Yeosang couldn’t help but smile back, even as his heavy eyelids begged him to reconsider every decision that had led him to this moment.

Yeosang tried to catch a break, but the moment his little tyrant noticed his eyes beginning to settle, Yunho would either wiggle restlessly against him or let out a loud enough whine to snap him right back to attention.

It was almost as if the little boy had made it his personal mission to make sure Papa didn’t get another second of sleep.

“Jesus, Yunnie.” Yeosang let his head fall back against the headboard again, staring up at the ceiling in defeat. “Just wait until you’re old enough. I’m taking revenge on you.”

He huffed dramatically, finally giving up on the idea of sleeping altogether.

There was no point.

Apparently, sleep was no longer an option when the king had decided he was ready to start his day.

“Your father is going to wake up soon anyway,” Yeosang muttered, glancing over at the clock.

The thought should have irritated him, considering how much resentment he was still carrying toward San. Instead, he found himself looking back down at Yunho, who was staring up at him with those wide, curious eyes.

“Cook with me?” Yeosang asked, exaggerating every part of his expression as he tilted his head dramatically from side to side.

Yunho blinked.

Yeosang widened his eyes.

Yunho’s little mouth curled into a grin.

“There it is,” Yeosang whispered, unable to stop his own smile from appearing.

He pulled another ridiculous face, puffing out his cheeks and crossing his eyes just enough to make his son squeal with laughter.

The sound immediately made all the exhaustion feel a little less unbearable.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh at Papa,” Yeosang murmured, gently bouncing him against his chest. “You think this is funny, huh?”

Yunho only laughed harder, tiny hands reaching toward Yeosang’s face.

And despite the dark circles beneath his eyes and the ache spreading through his exhausted body, Yeosang laughed with him.

Yeosang lifted Yunho securely into his arms and carried him out of the bedroom, heading toward the kitchen with his son nestled comfortably against his chest.

He settled Yunho into his high chair, fastening the straps securely before looking around for something to keep him occupied. His eyes landed on a forgotten plushie nearby, and he placed it on the tray in front of him for good measure.

“There.” He gave the plushie a little pat before turning his attention back to his son. “What should I feed you both today?”

He murmured the question as though Yunho were genuinely going to offer his opinion, despite knowing perfectly well that his audience wasn’t exactly capable of participating in the conversation yet.

“You’re easy.” Yeosang smiled, reaching for the ingredients. “I wish your dad required mashed vegetables too.”

He laughed quietly to himself as he gathered everything he needed.

“Broccoli with potatoes is what you’re eating today.”

He turned toward Yunho and held up the ingredients one by one, giving him ample opportunity to inspect them as though he were presenting the day’s menu at a fancy restaurant.

“Yeah?” Yeosang nodded along with a soft coo, bending slightly so they were closer to eye level. “Does it look good?”

Yunho stared back at him with wide, curious eyes.

Yeosang waited.

Nothing.

Not even a particularly enthusiastic blink.

He didn’t mind.

“Well, you don’t have any choice,” he declared with a laugh, watching Yunho’s stunned expression as though the boy had just received the most horrifying news of his life.

Yunho continued staring at him, his eyes growing even wider.

“Yes, Mommy’s evil. I know.”

Yeosang grinned, reaching over to boop his little nose before turning back toward the counter.

“Now let Mommy make you something delicious.”

While he waited for the vegetables to boil and the rice to finish cooking, Yeosang inevitably found his attention wandering back toward his son.

He leaned against the kitchen counter for a moment, watching Yunho fiddle with the forgotten plushie on his tray before an idea crossed his mind.

“Let me see your teeth,” he mumbled, stepping closer.

Yunho looked up at him, seemingly suspicious of whatever Papa was about to do.

“Come on, baby.”

Yeosang gently coaxed his little jaw open, tilting his head slightly as he inspected the tiny teeth that had begun pushing their way through.

“Oh.” His expression immediately softened. “You’re doing great, aren’t you?”

He smiled proudly, carefully running the pad of his finger along the edge of Yunho’s gums, feeling the fragile little ridges where new teeth were still coming in.

“My big boy.”

Yunho squirmed slightly, but Yeosang was far too fascinated to let him go just yet.

“Maybe I can give you some sausages?” he suddenly gasped, his face lighting up as though he’d just made an incredible discovery.

“That’s right! You have some teeth now.”

He nodded enthusiastically, already imagining the possibilities, only to look back at Yunho and find that his son had barely spared him a glance.

Yeosang’s mouth fell open in exaggerated offense.

“You’re not even listening to me?”

Yunho remained completely absorbed in whatever had caught his attention on the tray.

Yeosang snorted.

“Tough audience.”

He shook his head, chuckling quietly to himself as he returned to the stove, still wearing a fond smile.

A few minutes later, just as Yeosang finished grilling San’s fish, he heard footsteps approaching from the hallway.

San appeared in the kitchen freshly showered, his hair still damp and slightly tousled from the water.

“What are my two favorite people doing?” he asked cheerfully, stretching his arms above his head as he walked toward them.

He stopped beside Yeosang first, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his messy hair before turning his attention to Yunho.

San clapped his hands together a few times to catch the baby’s attention.

Yunho immediately squealed in delight, enthusiastically clapping his own little hands in response.

San laughed.

Yeosang watched the exchange from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable. He swallowed dryly, forcing himself to take a slow breath before finally turning to face his husband.

He needed to talk to him.

He needed to tell him—

His eyes suddenly caught on something near the hallway.

A small duffel bag rested on the floor, tucked beside the wall as though it had been placed there in preparation for someone to leave.

Yeosang froze.

His gaze lingered on it for a few seconds before he looked back at San, who had already scooped Yunho into his arms.

“What’s that?” he asked, frowning as he pointed toward the bag.

He took a few steps closer, his attention fixed on it now.

“Are you going somewhere?”

San grimaced almost apologetically before giving a small nod.

“Yeah. Just a mini work trip—”

“What?”

Yeosang’s head snapped toward him so quickly that San visibly paused.

“What?” Yeosang repeated, his voice rising as disbelief spread across his face.

“San, tomorrow is Yunho’s birthday!”

His eyes narrowed as he stared at his husband, the shock quickly turning into accusation.

“We said we’d take him somewhere nice!” Yeosang reminded him, gesturing toward the duffel bag by the hallway as though its very existence offended him. “We talked about this. We planned it.”

“I know, baby. I know.” San immediately raised his hands, trying to placate him. “I promise I’ll be back before six in the afternoon. It’s just go and come back. It’s nothing time-consuming.”

“Six?”

Yeosang repeated the time incredulously, almost laughing at how absurd it sounded to him.

“Six, San?”

He shook his head, his expression tightening.

“San, he’s a baby. He falls asleep at seven!”

His voice carried through the kitchen, sharper than he’d intended. He glanced instinctively toward Yunho, who was sitting in his high chair, happily occupied with his plushie and completely oblivious to the argument happening around him.

“He’s going to be awake all day waiting for us to do something with him, and you’re telling me you’re going to get back an hour before his bedtime?”

Yeosang looked back at San, his frustration mounting.

“That’s not what we agreed on.”

San frowned, seemingly unable to understand why Yeosang was getting so worked up.

“And what am I supposed to do, Yeosang?” he asked, his voice beginning to carry its own frustration. “I don’t know if you remember, but that job is the reason you have all of this.”

He gestured vaguely around the kitchen and the home surrounding them, as though the answer should have been obvious.

“The house. Everything Yunho needs. Everything you need.” San shook his head. “It’s because I’m working that there’s nothing either of you have to miss!”

Yeosang stared at him.

Then he laughed.

It wasn’t a happy sound. It was sharp and humorless, bordering on disbelief as he dragged both hands through his hair and tugged at the strands in frustration.

“I don’t give a fuck, San!”

His voice cracked through the kitchen.

“I don’t care about the house. I don’t care about any of this if the price is that you keep missing your own son’s life!”

He gestured toward Yunho, his breathing growing heavier as everything he’d been holding back threatened to spill out at once.

“All I care about is that my baby’s father is going to be absent from his life—again.”

His voice dropped on the last word, but somehow it carried more weight than the shout.

“Again, San.”

Yeosang swallowed hard, his eyes burning as he looked directly at his husband.

“And now you’re going to miss his birthday too?”

His voice trembled despite his efforts to keep it steady.

“His first birthday.”

The words hung between them.

“This isn’t about whether you can afford to give him everything, San. It’s about whether you’re actually going to be there to give it to him.”

San recoiled slightly, scoffing under his breath.

“I think you’re just being sour now,” he said, frowning.

Yeosang saw the hurt that immediately flashed across his husband’s face.

He saw it.

He understood it.

And under different circumstances, maybe he would have softened. Maybe he would have swallowed his own hurt just to make sure San didn’t feel rejected, even while they were arguing.

But not now.

Not when Yunho was on the line.

“Sour, San?”

Yeosang sniffled, and when his eyes accidentally met San’s, whatever fragile composure he had left finally shattered.

“That’s what you see?” His voice trembled. “You think I’m just being sour?”

He wiped uselessly at his cheeks, but the tears kept falling.

“Yunho is about to turn one, San.” His voice rose again, thick with emotion. “He’s about to celebrate the very first year he’s been alive, and you dare call this just being sour?”

His breath hitched.

“He’s only going to have his first birthday once.”

The tears slipped freely down his cheeks now, and Yeosang didn’t even bother hiding them anymore. He was too tired to care about looking composed, too hurt to care about whether San thought he was overreacting.

San opened his mouth, clearly ready to retort.

But the words died before they could leave him.

The sight of Yeosang crying made his chest squeeze painfully.

“Baby—”

“Don’t.”

Yeosang immediately shook his head.

He turned away from San, grabbed the plate he’d prepared for him, and dropped it onto the table with enough force to send the food sliding askew.

“Just—”

His voice cracked.

Yeosang swallowed, staring down at the mess he’d made of the breakfast.

“I’m tired, San.”

The admission came out barely above a rasp.

“I’m just… tired.”

He didn’t have the strength to argue anymore. He didn’t have the energy to explain the same feelings in another dozen different ways and hope that one of them would finally reach his husband.

“Do whatever you want,” he whispered.

Yeosang pulled out a stool and sat down in front of Yunho’s high chair, turning his entire body toward their son.

“I’m gonna take him out myself.”

He reached for Yunho’s little hand, gently rubbing his thumb over the tiny fingers.

His back remained firmly turned toward San.

It was clear enough.

For the moment, he didn’t want to see his husband.

He didn’t want to argue.

He didn’t want to explain.

He just wanted to be with his baby.

San sighed, pressing his lips together as he brought both hands over his face.

He rubbed them slowly down his features, trying to collect himself before looking back at Yeosang.

“I promise I’ll be there as fast as possible,” he whispered. “I won’t miss it.”

His hands trembled faintly at his sides, every instinct in him screaming to reach for his husband, to pull him close and wipe away the tears that were still clinging to his cheeks.

But he knew better.

Yeosang didn’t want to be touched right now.

If San tried to comfort him, it would only backfire. It would turn another conversation into another argument, and San wasn’t sure he had any words left that could actually make this better.

“Yeah?”

Yeosang scoffed quietly.

He didn’t even turn around.

Instead, he reached for another spoonful of food and brought it toward Yunho, who thankfully opened his mouth without protest.

“Like the time we were supposed to take him to the doctor?”

His voice was deceptively calm.

Yunho swallowed, and Yeosang waited patiently before preparing another bite.

“Or the time we were supposed to take him to your parents?”

He paused, his eyes fixed on their son.

“Because if I remember correctly…”

His fingers tightened slightly around the spoon.

“I did both of those alone.”

San’s expression fell.

Yeosang finally glanced over his shoulder, just enough for their eyes to meet.

“I remember waiting for you,” he continued quietly. “I remember thinking you’d show up eventually.”

His gaze dropped back to Yunho.

“And then I stopped waiting.”

The words weren’t shouted.

They didn’t need to be.

They landed between them with the weight of every occasion Yeosang had swallowed his disappointment and carried on anyway.

“Yeo—”

“Just eat and go to work, San,” Yeosang hissed, his voice sharp enough that Yunho startled in his high chair.

The sight of his son flinching immediately softened something in him.

Yeosang turned toward Yunho at once, offering him a small, apologetic smile as though silently promising that the anger hadn’t been meant for him. He reached over to brush his fingers gently along Yunho’s cheek, his expression warming despite the ache still sitting heavily in his chest.

“Sorry, baby,” he murmured, his voice considerably softer. “Mama’s just tired.”

Yunho stared up at him with wide, curious eyes, seemingly satisfied by the reassurance, and Yeosang turned back toward the table.

He didn’t look at San again.

“Just eat,” he repeated more quietly. “And go to work.”

There was no invitation to argue this time.

No room for San to explain himself.

Yeosang simply picked up another spoonful of food for Yunho, focusing on the little mouth opening obediently for him rather than on the man sitting behind him.

Because right now, Yunho needed his mama.

And Yeosang didn’t have anything left for anyone else.

➿

Yeosang woke up feeling almost suspiciously refreshed the next morning.

For the first time in what felt like forever, his body didn’t ache with exhaustion, his eyes weren’t burning from lack of sleep, and his head didn’t feel like it had been stuffed with cotton. Somehow, Yunho hadn’t woken even once during the night—not even when Yeosang had gotten up to change his diaper twice.

And San was away.

But, most importantly, it was Yunho’s special day.

His baby was turning one.

Yeosang slipped out of bed and made his way toward the nursery, moving on quiet feet as though even the slightest sound might break whatever miracle had taken place overnight.

He tiptoed into the room and immediately looked toward Yunho’s bed.

Then he stopped.

Yeosang stared at his son with an expression of complete disbelief.

Yunho was still soundlessly asleep, his little body curled comfortably beneath the covers, completely oblivious to the world around him. His face was peaceful, his breathing soft and even, and there wasn’t so much as a twitch from him.

Yeosang blinked.

Once.

Twice.

He almost expected Yunho to wake up just because he’d been caught sleeping so peacefully.

But nothing.

A slow, incredulous smile spread across Yeosang’s face.

“God does do miracles,” he whispered.

He grabbed the tiny tuxedo he’d bought with Yunho the other day and quickly slipped out of the room, just in case his little angel decided to stop being an angel the moment Yeosang looked away.

He carried the outfit to the living room and carefully laid it out before reaching for the iron.

Then, with the concentration of a surgeon performing a life-or-death procedure, he began ironing every tiny crease from the fabric.

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he worked.

Yunho was going to look ridiculous.

Ridiculously adorable, of course.

Yeosang was already picturing his little boy dressed up for his first birthday, and for a few precious moments, there was nothing else in his mind. No arguments. No missed moments. No resentment sitting like a weight behind his ribs.

Just Yunho.

Just his baby turning one.

But then the thought came.

Maybe this is what I need.

His hand slowed over the tiny jacket.

Just me and Yunho.

The smile on his face gradually disappeared.

Maybe, just maybe, they could have a peaceful life like this.

No waiting for someone who might not come home on time. No rearranging plans around meetings. No promises that would eventually be pushed aside by work. No disappointment hanging over every special occasion.

Just him and Yunho.

Maybe that could be enough.

Yeosang’s hand jerked back so quickly that the iron nearly caught his wrist.

“Ah—fuck!”

He stumbled a step away from it, shaking his hand as he stared at the iron in disbelief.

But the sting on his wrist was nothing compared to the discomfort settling in his chest.

He shook his head firmly.

No.

San was…

Difficult.

God, was he difficult.

But Yeosang knew him. Knew him better than almost anyone in the world.

There was love in there somewhere.

Buried beneath the long hours, the missed moments, the constant ignorance of just how much Yeosang was carrying.

It was there.

It had to be.

San loved them.

Yeosang had never truly doubted that.

And maybe that was what made everything so much harder.

“Paaaaaaa.”

Yeosang flinched so hard his shoulders nearly hit his ears.

For a second, he simply stood there, one hand still hovering above the tiny tuxedo, his heart hammering from the sheer surprise of hearing that little voice.

Then he laughed at himself under his breath, shaking his head.

“God, I’m jumpy today.”

He set the iron safely aside before turning toward the doorway.

“In here!” he called, his voice immediately brightening.

But then he paused.

There it was.

The soft, uneven patter of tiny feet against the floor.

Yeosang’s smile widened as he listened to Yunho wobble his way toward him, each little step accompanied by the faint slap of his feet against the floor.

He didn’t rush to meet him.

He simply waited, listening as his baby made his way toward him with all the determination his little body could muster.

Yunho was so tiny that, from where Yeosang was crouched behind the sofa, the only thing visible above the edge was the very tip of his disheveled hair.

Yeosang’s lips twitched.

Then a giggle escaped him.

“Oh, there you are.”

The moment Yunho’s little head finally came into view, Yeosang couldn’t resist.

He sprang to his feet and hurried toward him, scooping his son up before Yunho could wobble any farther. He lifted him high into the air, laughing as Yunho’s legs kicked excitedly beneath him.

“Who’s one year old today?!”

Yunho squealed, his tiny face breaking into the brightest smile.

“You are!” Yeosang laughed, bringing him back down against his chest before peppering his cheeks with kisses. “You are! My baby is one!”

He hugged him tightly, practically squeezing the little birthday boy into his chest.

“One whole year,” he murmured, his voice softening as he looked at him.

Yunho only giggled again, apparently far more interested in grabbing at Yeosang’s hair than contemplating the gravity of his first birthday.

Yeosang laughed through the sudden tug.

“Okay, okay! Mama gets it.”

Yeosang carried Yunho into the kitchen and carefully settled him into his high chair, securing him before stepping back with an excited little smile.

“I made you your favorite today,” he chirped, practically bouncing on his feet.

Yunho stared up at him.

“And!” Yeosang clapped his hands together, slipping into an exaggeratedly sweet, cooing tone. “A cake!”

With a dramatic flourish, he slid to the side and gestured toward the tiny cake sitting nearby, both hands presenting it as though he’d prepared a five-tier masterpiece.

Yunho blinked at it.

Then, completely uninterested in his mother’s grand reveal, he let out a tiny burp.

Yeosang’s mouth fell open.

He stared at his son for a beat before his expression twisted into an exaggerated pout.

He clicked his tongue, crossing his arms.

“Thanks. Nice input,” he scoffed.

Yunho simply stared back at him.

Yeosang held the fake sulk for another second before the corners of his mouth betrayed him.

“You’re very welcome, birthday boy.”

Yeosang placed the biscuit pudding he’d made the night before in front of Yunho before waving a hand toward it with an encouraging little smile.

“Dig in. Make all the mess you need.”

He winked, already turning around to grab his ringing phone.

The moment he saw the screen, his movements slowed.

San.

A video call.

Yeosang hesitated for only a second before accepting it. He was already lifting the phone, preparing to turn the camera toward Yunho, when San’s sleepy voice stopped him.

“Wait, baby…” San mumbled.

Yeosang’s hand stilled.

After everything they’d said to each other the night before, he didn’t have the heart to simply ignore him.

“What?” he sighed, turning the camera back toward his own face.

San appeared on the screen, looking tired but familiar enough to make something in Yeosang’s chest ache.

“Can we talk about—”

“Not now, San.”

Yeosang’s voice wasn’t sharp this time. Just firm.

“I won’t spend Yunho’s day angry or sad.” He blew a soft raspberry, arching an eyebrow at his husband. “You wanna talk? Then come back home.”

San opened his mouth, seemingly ready to argue, but stopped himself.

For a moment, he simply looked at Yeosang through the screen.

Then he gave a small nod.

“Yeah.” His voice softened. “You’re right.”

He swallowed before offering him a tentative smile.

“Anyway, happy birthday to our treasure, Yeo.”

Yeosang’s expression immediately softened.

He knew San had probably been half-expecting another cold shoulder, especially after the night they’d had. But there was no way Yeosang could stay distant when San mentioned their baby like that.

A bright smile spread across his face.

“Yeah,” he cooed, his eyes crinkling. “Happy birthday.”

He turned the phone around.

“Look at your son.”

The camera landed on Yunho, who had apparently wasted no time getting acquainted with his birthday breakfast.

Both little arms were buried in the biscuit pudding, his hands and forearms already covered in the mess.

Yeosang snorted.

“Yunho!”

San’s laugh came through the phone.

And just like that, for a moment, there was no argument.

No work trip.

No missed moments.

Just their baby, turning one.

“Are you taking him to your parents today?” San asked.

Yeosang slowly turned the phone back toward himself.

The unimpressed look he gave his husband could have curdled milk.

“By myself?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting. “And have them remind me of all the reasons they were against me marrying you?”

The pointed look he gave San made the question rhetorical.

San’s lips pressed into a thin line.

He nodded again, his expression falling slightly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Yeosang ignored that too.

“I’m taking him to Seonghwa,” he said instead, shifting his attention back toward Yunho. “Figured Hongjoong would be on the trip too.”

He shrugged, keeping his tone casual.

“Maybe we’ll take him to the toddlers’ indoor park.”

A smile returned to his face as he looked down at their baby, who was still happily attacking his pudding with both hands.

San watched the expression soften Yeosang’s features, and something in his own face changed.

“That’s amazing,” he said quietly. “I’ll do my best to find you there.”

Yeosang’s smile faltered.

He looked back at the screen.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Stop promising stuff, San.”

San went still.

Yeosang didn’t elaborate.

He didn’t have to.

They both knew exactly what he meant.

“Yeah, okay,” San sighed, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

There was a brief silence between them, the weight of everything they’d said still sitting quietly in the space between their voices.

Yeosang glanced toward Yunho and immediately snorted.

“Anyway, tell him bye because I have to wash him. Extensively.”

As if on cue, Yunho dropped the silicone spoon from his sticky little hand.

It landed on the carpet with a soft thud.

Yeosang stared at it.

Then at Yunho.

Then back at the spoon.

“I’ll act as if that didn’t happen,” he whispered, shaking his head.

San heard him anyway.

A laugh slipped through the phone before he could stop it.

Yeosang’s lips twitched despite himself.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

The atmosphere between them was still heavy, the argument from the night before far from forgotten.

But San was smiling.

And Yeosang was trying very hard not to smile back.

Meanwhile, Yunho simply reached for the spoon again, completely unaware that he’d just managed to ease the tension between his parents without even trying.

➿

“Oh my goodness!”

Seonghwa’s delighted coo came from behind the door before it had even fully opened.

A second later, he appeared, and the moment his eyes landed on Yunho, his entire face lit up.

“There’s my baby!”

He barely gave Yeosang enough time to step forward before reaching out and stealing Yunho straight from his arms.

“My favorite little businessman!”

Seonghwa lifted him against his chest, immediately nuzzling their noses together with an exaggerated smile.

Yunho responded by grabbing at his face before leaning forward and enthusiastically gumming Seonghwa’s chin.

“Ah!” Seonghwa laughed, scrunching his face. “Already trying to eat me?”

Yeosang snorted.

“Well, best friend,” he said pointedly, shifting the diaper bag higher on his shoulder. “Nice to see you too.”

Seonghwa barely glanced at him.

Yeosang stared.

“Am I allowed to enter,” he asked, deadpan, “or is this visit only for Yunho?”

Seonghwa finally looked at him, grinning.

“You’re fine.”

“Oh, good.”

Yeosang stepped inside.

“Glad to know I made the guest list.”

Seonghwa laughed, shaking his head at Yeosang’s offended expression.

But as he turned back toward the entrance, his eyes briefly flicked toward the hallway behind Yeosang.

He looked again.

Almost as though he were expecting another pair of footsteps to follow.

Another familiar face to appear through the doorway.

There was no one.

The brightness in Seonghwa’s smile faded almost imperceptibly.

“Oh.”

His eyes returned to Yeosang.

He didn’t ask.

He didn’t need to.

Yeosang simply gave him a small shrug before dropping the diaper bag onto the floor.

“Well,” he said lightly, forcing a casualness into his voice, “good ol’ news.”

Seonghwa’s brows lifted slightly.

Yeosang smiled.

Or at least, he tried to.

“Anyway,” he added, reaching toward Yunho. “Give me my child before you decide to adopt him.”

Seonghwa giggled at Yeosang’s protest before turning away with Yunho securely tucked in his arms.

“No,” he stretched the word out, walking toward the kitchen as though the matter had already been decided.

Yeosang watched them go, a smile spreading across his face despite himself.

He followed a few seconds later.

“So, what’s the plan?” Seonghwa asked, carrying Yunho into the kitchen.

He lowered him carefully into the high chair he’d bought specifically for him, the little seat practically reserved for Yunho whenever he visited.

“Indoor park,” Yeosang answered, dropping his weight onto one of the chairs.

Then his eyes widened.

“Ah!”

He immediately jumped back to his feet and rushed toward the front door.

Seonghwa blinked after him.

“What?”

Yeosang disappeared for a moment before returning with a plastic bag in his hand.

“I baked him a cake,” he announced proudly, chuckling as he placed the box carefully on the counter.

Seonghwa stared at him for a beat.

Then he laughed.

“Of course Mr. Boulanger would make his own cake.”

Yeosang rolled his eyes, though the proud smile remained firmly on his face.

“It’s his first birthday.”

“As if anyone expected anything less from you.”

Yeosang glanced toward Yunho, who was happily kicking his feet in the high chair.

“Well, he deserves it.”

Seonghwa hummed in acknowledgment, turning his attention back toward Yunho.

The little boy’s energy was already beginning to fade. His eyelids drooped heavily, and his tiny mouth opened into a wide, sleepy yawn.

“Ah,” Seonghwa gasped, clutching a hand dramatically over his chest. “He’s sleepy.”

“Yeah,” Yeosang replied flatly, rolling his eyes. “Humans do that.”

Seonghwa ignored the sarcasm completely, still watching Yunho with an almost offended amount of concern.

“Well, go put him down in the crib for a moment. It’s still twelve.”

He motioned casually toward the hallway.

Yeosang slowly turned his head toward him.

One eyebrow rose.

“What crib?”

Seonghwa froze.

His lips pressed together.

For a moment, he looked toward the hallway as though perhaps a magical crib might materialize if he stared hard enough.

Then he looked back at Yeosang.

A helpless smile slowly appeared on his face.

“Well…”

He smacked his lips, clearly buying himself time.

Yeosang narrowed his eyes.

“Seonghwa.”

“I might have… forgotten something.”

“What exactly did you forget?”

Seonghwa’s smile widened sheepishly.

“The fact that your child has apparently grown up since the last time I babysat him.”

Yeosang scoffed, shaking his head as he looked at his best friend.

“Yeah, maybe,” he replied, the mocking smile on his lips only becoming more obvious as his eyelids lowered into an exaggerated squint.

Seonghwa immediately mirrored the expression.

For a second, the two of them simply stared at each other, silently competing to see who could look more offended.

Then Seonghwa burst into loud laughter.

“Well, put him in our bed for now,” he said once he’d recovered. “I’ll buy him a bed soon—”

“You don’t have to.”

Yeosang dragged a hand down his face, already exhausted by the mere thought.

Seonghwa gasped.

Actually gasped.

“Excuse you?”

Yeosang peeked at him through his fingers.

Seonghwa placed a hand against his chest, looking genuinely scandalized.

“That’s for me to decide.”

“Seonghwa…”

“No.” He shook his head firmly. “You brought the birthday boy. I provide the birthday-boy accommodations.”

Yeosang stared at him.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re welcome.”

By the time Yunho had finally fallen asleep, Seonghwa had already made them both a cup of coffee.

He sat patiently at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone while he waited, his own coffee slowly cooling beside him.

Yeosang returned a few minutes later, carefully pulling the door closed behind him.

“Hey, he’s gone.”

He glanced toward the clock and laughed softly when he realized he’d barely been gone for seven minutes.

“Yeah, nice,” Seonghwa replied without looking up. “Sit down.”

He reached over and patted the chair beside Yeosang’s coffee.

Yeosang’s smile lingered for another second.

Then it slowly disappeared.

He dropped into the chair, wrapping his hands around the warm cup without drinking from it.

Seonghwa finally put his phone down.

He looked at his best friend for a moment before spreading one hand between them.

“So?”

Yeosang stared into his coffee.

He knew exactly what Seonghwa was asking.

“So, San is working.”

Yeosang shook his head slowly, as though even saying it aloud made the whole thing more ridiculous.

He took a sip of his coffee, holding it there for a moment before swallowing.

Then he lowered the cup.

“Can you believe him, Seonghwa?” he hissed.

His eyebrows drew together, disbelief written all over his face.

“Today!”

He gestured sharply with his free hand.

“Of all the days!”

Another shake of his head.

“Today!”

The frustration he’d been holding in all morning finally spilled out, his voice rising with every repetition.

“His own son is turning one today, and he has to work today?”

Seonghwa watched him quietly, letting him get it out.

Yeosang scoffed, staring down at his coffee as though it had personally offended him too.

“Like… seriously, Seonghwa. Today?”

Yeosang rubbed hurriedly at his wetting eyes, trying to blink the tears away before they could fall.

“And when I confronted him about it, you know what he said, basically?”

Seonghwa’s expression softened.

“What?”

Yeosang gave a humorless little laugh, shaking his head as though he still couldn’t believe the words had actually come out of San’s mouth.

“He said I should be happy.”

Seonghwa’s eyebrows knitted together.

“Happy?”

“Yeah.” Yeosang nodded, his eyes widening with bewilderment. “Happy that his job is providing everything for us. Like that’s supposed to make me feel better.”

He stared down at his coffee, his fingers tightening around the cup.

“But I couldn’t care less about that, Seonghwa.”

His voice cracked.

“I don’t.”

Seonghwa leaned forward, resting his forearms against the table.

“Yeo…”

“I would be happy if he worked half the time he does,” Yeosang continued, his voice becoming increasingly unsteady. “Half, Seonghwa. Do you understand? He doesn’t have to give us everything.”

The first tear finally slipped down his cheek.

“I don’t need all of this.”

Another followed.

“I’d be happy if he worked half the time he does and it meant we only had the necessities. A smaller house. Less expensive things. I don’t care.”

He wiped at his cheek, but the tears were already coming faster now.

“I just want him home.”

Seonghwa’s face fell.

Yeosang looked at him, his eyes red and shining.

“I want Yunho to know his dad because his dad is actually there. I want San to see him wake up in the morning. I want him to see him take his first steps, hear him laugh, feed him, put him to bed…”

His voice broke completely.

“I want him to be here for things.”

Seonghwa reached across the table and gently closed his hand over Yeosang’s.

“I know.”

Yeosang shook his head.

“No, I don’t think he does.”

Seonghwa squeezed his fingers.

“Maybe not.”

That answer seemed to catch Yeosang off guard.

Seonghwa sighed softly.

“San’s always been like that. When he loves someone, he wants to make sure they’re taken care of. He sees a problem, he fixes it. He thinks if you have everything you need, then he’s doing what he’s supposed to do.”

“I don’t need him to fix anything,” Yeosang whispered.

“I know.”

“I need my husband.”

Seonghwa’s thumb brushed slowly over the back of his hand.

“And I think that’s what he’s failing to understand.”

Yeosang’s tears continued to roll down his cheeks.

“He keeps giving me things I never asked for.”

His voice dropped to barely a whisper.

“And the one thing I actually want from him is the thing he keeps giving me the least.”

Yeosang sniffled, lowering his gaze to the coffee between his hands.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then his expression shifted.

It was as though another thought had just occurred to him, one that somehow managed to make everything he’d already said hurt even more.

“And when he’s home?”

He let out a bitter little laugh.

“When he’s actually home, Seonghwa, he’s already missed half of what we’ve been doing with Yunho.”

Seonghwa’s brows pulled together.

Yeosang’s frustration began bubbling up again, his words coming faster.

“He misses something, and then when I tell him about it, he just brushes it off. Like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t matter.”

He put his coffee down before his trembling hands could spill it.

“I spent days trying to get Yunho to sleep on his own.”

His breathing was becoming uneven now.

“Days, Seonghwa. I finally got him to do it. I finally got him comfortable enough to sleep by himself, and then San comes home once—once, at a completely normal hour—and what does he do?”

He threw his hands up helplessly.

“He takes him right back into our bed!”

Seonghwa winced.

“Yeo…”

“I know!” Yeosang snapped, immediately softening when he saw Seonghwa’s expression. “I know I sound insane. I know I’m angry, but…”

He dragged both hands over his face.

“I’m doing all of this every day.”

His voice cracked.

“I’m the one who’s there when he wakes up. I’m the one figuring out what he can eat, what makes him laugh, when he’s tired, when he’s teething, when something is wrong. I’m the one seeing every tiny thing he learns to do.”

Seonghwa nodded quietly.

“And I don’t even need San to do everything I do,” Yeosang continued. “I just need him to understand that these things matter.”

His eyes filled again.

“That we matter.”

Seonghwa reached for his hand once more.

Yeosang looked down at their intertwined fingers.

“I love him.”

The words came out suddenly, almost defensively.

“God, I do.”

He gave a shaky laugh, wiping beneath his eyes.

“I’ve always loved him.”

Seonghwa’s expression softened.

“I know you have.”

Yeosang inhaled deeply.

But when he exhaled, all the energy seemed to leave his body with it.

“Today…”

He paused.

His eyes dropped to the table.

“Today, you know what happened, Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa waited.

Yeosang swallowed.

“It was the first time I questioned myself…”

His voice became painfully quiet.

“…if I actually want to be alone.”

Seonghwa went completely still.

He didn’t rush to answer.

Didn’t tell him he was overreacting.

Didn’t tell him to calm down.

He simply looked at his best friend, taking in the tears, the exhaustion, and the sheer vulnerability behind those words.

Then he squeezed Yeosang’s hand.

“That’s not something I think you should ignore, Yeo.”

Yeosang’s lips trembled.

“I don’t want to stop loving him.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“I don’t want to leave him.”

“I know.”

Yeosang finally looked at him.

“I just…”

His voice broke.

“I don’t want to feel alone while I’m married to him.”

Seonghwa’s eyes softened with something close to sadness.

“Then that’s the part you need to tell him.”

Yeosang looked down again, tears slipping silently down his cheeks.

“I’m scared he won’t understand.”

Seonghwa gave his hand another gentle squeeze.

“Then make him understand.”

Yeosang shook his head slowly, tears already spilling over again.

“If I knew how to get to him…”

His voice cracked.

“If I knew how to get through to him, I wouldn’t have to beg for his attention.”

He covered his face with both hands, his shoulders beginning to shake.

“I wouldn’t have to beg for his time, Seonghwa…”

The words dissolved into a sob.

Seonghwa’s chest tightened.

He didn’t hesitate.

He pushed his chair back, rounded the table, and crouched beside Yeosang before wrapping both arms around him.

Yeosang folded almost immediately.

He leaned into Seonghwa’s chest, burying his face against his shoulder as another sob tore through him.

Seonghwa held him tightly, one hand settling against the back of his head while the other rubbed slow circles between his shoulder blades.

“I know,” he murmured.

Yeosang shook his head against him.

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“You don’t have to figure it out right now.”

“But what if—”

“No.” Seonghwa tightened his arms around him. “Not right now.”

Yeosang’s breathing hitched.

“Just cry.”

And for once, Yeosang didn’t try to hold himself together.

He let himself be held.

“He was begging me to live together,” Yeosang sobbed against Seonghwa’s shoulder, his words tumbling out between uneven breaths. “Then he was begging me to marry him.”

His fingers curled into the fabric of Seonghwa’s shirt.

“He promised me we’d do everything together.”

His voice cracked, but he kept going.

“He promised, Seonghwa. He kept telling me that we’d build a life together, that we’d have time for each other, that we’d be there for everything.”

Seonghwa held him tighter, his hand moving slowly through Yeosang’s hair.

“But ever since our first wedding anniversary…”

Yeosang swallowed hard.

“He’s been starting to work more.”

A shaky breath.

“More and more and more.”

His voice rose with each repetition, the frustration he’d been carrying for years finally spilling through the cracks.

“And don’t get me wrong,” he continued, pulling back just enough to wipe desperately at his cheeks. “I’m happy he wants to give us everything.”

Seonghwa watched him quietly.

“I am.”

Yeosang’s eyes filled again.

“But he doesn’t understand.”

His voice dropped.

“He takes himself from us the more he tries to give us.”

Seonghwa’s arms tightened around him.

Yeosang stared somewhere over his shoulder, tears still running freely down his face.

“I don’t need another thing from him.”

He shook his head.

“I just need the person who was supposed to be here to enjoy it with us.”

Seonghwa exhaled heavily, the sound carrying its own quiet frustration.

There wasn’t a perfect thing he could say.

No sentence that could undo years of missed moments. No piece of advice that could magically make San understand what Yeosang had been trying to tell him.

So he pulled back just enough to look at his best friend properly.

With gentle fingers, he wiped the tears from Yeosang’s cheeks, catching them one after another as they continued to fall.

“I’m sorry you’ve been through so much pain, Yeo…”

His lips pulled into a small pout, his eyes soft with sympathy.

Yeosang looked at him through wet lashes.

Seonghwa wished there were more he could do.

He knew, deep down, that everything he’d said so far couldn’t fix this.

But maybe Yeosang didn’t need him to fix it.

Maybe, for now, he just needed someone who would stay.

Yeosang managed a small smile, shaking his head as he sniffled and tried to steady his breathing.

“It’s fine, Hwa.”

He wiped beneath his eyes with the heel of his palm, taking a shaky breath through his nose.

“It has to be fine.”

Seonghwa’s expression immediately hardened.

“No.”

Yeosang looked at him.

Seonghwa frowned, shaking his head.

“Don’t do that, Yeo.”

He recoiled slightly, as though the words themselves had frustrated him.

“Don’t.”

Yeosang’s smile faltered.

Seonghwa reached for his hands, gently pulling them away from his face.

“You’ve forgotten how to put yourself first.”

Yeosang blinked.

“Seonghwa—”

“No.” Seonghwa shook his head again, softer this time but no less firm. “You keep saying it’s fine because you love him. You keep saying it’s fine because you love Yunho. You keep finding a reason why you can take another hit, swallow another disappointment, wait another time.”

His thumb brushed over Yeosang’s knuckles.

“But you’re allowed to be hurt, Yeo.”

Yeosang’s eyes immediately began to sting again.

“You’re allowed to be angry.”

His voice softened.

“And you’re allowed to admit that something isn’t fine just because you love the person who caused it.”

Yeosang swallowed, his gaze dropping to their hands.

Seonghwa squeezed them gently.

“Putting yourself first doesn’t mean you love San any less.”

Yeosang’s lips trembled.

“It just means you remember that you’re someone worth taking care of, too.”

Yunho’s cry suddenly broke through the heavy silence, snapping both of them out of their heated eye contact.

Yeosang blinked, drawing in a shaky breath.

Seonghwa exhaled heavily as well, his shoulders dropping as the tension finally loosened between them.

Another small cry came from down the hallway.

“Put yourself together for a moment,” Seonghwa said gently, giving Yeosang’s hands one last squeeze. “I got him.”

He offered him an encouraging smile before turning toward the hallway.

Yeosang watched him go for a second, still trying to steady the uneven rhythm of his breathing.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

Seonghwa glanced back and gave him a small nod.

“Always.”

➿. (2)

“Are you having fun, my baby?”

Yeosang blinked happily at Yunho, his smile widening as he watched him from the other side of the protective fence beside their table.

The indoor park was packed, filled with the sound of children’s laughter, squeaky toys, and parents calling after their little ones.

Yet somehow, Yunho had managed to claim an entire collection of blocks for himself.

He sat among them for a few moments, turning one over in his tiny hands before suddenly seeming to remember that his mama was right there.

Yunho pushed himself upright.

His little legs wobbled beneath him as he took one uncertain step, then another, arms held slightly out for balance.

Yeosang immediately leaned closer to the fence.

“There you go…”

Yunho toddled toward him, completely determined despite the occasional wobble.

Apparently, all the toys in the park couldn’t compete with his mama.

Yeosang giggled when Yunho finally reached the fence and stretched his tiny arms toward him.

“You came all the way back to me?”

He crouched down, offering his hands through the gaps.

Seonghwa, meanwhile, gasped.

“Oh my God.”

He immediately reached for his phone.

“Look at him!”

He unlocked the camera and began recording, his smile practically glowing as he captured Yunho’s determined little toddle.

“Come here, birthday boy,” Yeosang cooed.

Yunho squealed happily at the sound of his voice, bouncing on his feet.

Seonghwa zoomed in.

“This is going straight into my favorites.”

Yeosang laughed.

“You say that about every video.”

“Because every video deserves to be in my favorites.”

And behind the fence, Yunho beamed up at his mama as though he wholeheartedly agreed.

Yeosang glanced down at his wristwatch.

His smile faded.

Half past four.

His heart sank as he looked around the busy indoor park almost instinctively, as though San might somehow appear if he looked hard enough.

But he was nowhere to be found.

Yeosang had intentionally waited.

He’d wanted to give San the chance to make it for the cake, even if it meant pushing the celebration later than he’d originally planned.

But Yunho’s eyes were already growing heavy, the brightness from earlier slowly being replaced by the unmistakable sleepiness of a long day.

Of course he was tired.

Yeosang had taken him out first thing that morning, determined to make sure his baby had the birthday he deserved regardless of who showed up.

They had played all day.

They had laughed, explored, eaten, made a mess, and enjoyed every little thing Yeosang could think of.

Yunho hadn’t been deprived of anything simply because his father had been uncooperative.

None of this was his fault.

Yeosang refused to let it become his burden.

“Hwa…”

His voice came out quieter than before.

“Let’s get the cake ready.”

Seonghwa stopped the video he was recording so abruptly that the screen went dark.

He lowered his phone and turned toward Yeosang.

“Are you sure?”

Yeosang nodded.

“Positive.”

He glanced toward Yunho again, watching his little head bob slightly as he fought off another yawn.

“He’ll start getting restless in about fifty minutes.”

Seonghwa followed his gaze.

Then he nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

He slipped his phone into his pocket and stood.

“Then let’s give this birthday boy his cake.”

Yeosang smiled faintly.

“Yeah.”

He reached for Yunho through the fence.

“Before he falls asleep on us.”

They quickly set the cake on the table, carefully placing the single candle right in the middle before bringing Yunho over.

The sudden flurry of movement caught his attention immediately.

Yunho’s tired eyes widened as he looked between the cake, the candle, and the two adults suddenly fussing around him.

“It’s something new, isn’t it?” Seonghwa cooed, leaning down to bump his nose against Yunho’s chubby cheek.

Yunho frowned.

Then promptly pushed Seonghwa’s face away with one tiny hand.

Seonghwa froze.

Yeosang snorted.

“Okay.”

He shook his head, trying not to laugh.

“I might have been very optimistic with my calculations.”

He waved Seonghwa over, who was already holding his phone because, naturally, he’d been assigned cameraman duty for the occasion.

“Come here. Take a photo of the cake.”

Yeosang gestured proudly toward the tiny cake, looking far too pleased with his creation.

Seonghwa stopped halfway through an exaggerated eye roll.

“Duh.”

He raised his phone anyway.

“You think I’m letting you bake a birthday cake and not take approximately eight hundred pictures of it?”

Yeosang smiled.

“Maybe ten.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Twenty?”

“Yeosang.”

“Fine. Fifteen.”

Seonghwa sighed dramatically before lifting the phone.

“Hold still, Mr. Boulanger.”

They lit the candle, keeping their voices deliberately quiet as they began singing the birthday song.

Neither of them wanted to startle anyone around them, and especially not Yunho, who was already staring at the tiny flame with wide, fascinated eyes.

“Careful, baby,” Yeosang giggled, gently catching one of his wandering hands.

Yunho immediately tried to reach for the candle again.

“Yunho!”

Seonghwa laughed, quickly moving his hand in front of the little boy’s curious fingers.

“He really likes it.”

“Apparently more than the cake.”

The two of them carefully kept Yunho’s hands occupied while finishing the song, though Yunho seemed far more interested in the flickering flame than in either of them.

Then came the part they had been waiting for.

“Blow it, Yunnie!” Yeosang encouraged excitedly.

“Blow, baby!” Seonghwa joined in.

Yunho blinked at them.

He stared at the candle.

Then at the two adults.

Then back at the candle.

Yeosang giggled.

“Okay, he has absolutely no idea what we’re saying.”

Seonghwa snorted.

“Not even a little.”

They tried again, demonstrating exaggeratedly by blowing toward the flame.

Yunho only watched them with an expression of complete confusion.

Eventually, Yeosang laughed and shook his head.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

He leaned closer, closing his eyes for just a moment.

“Make a wish, baby,” he whispered, quietly making the wish for his son before taking a breath.

Then he blew.

The tiny flame flickered once before disappearing.

Yeosang immediately smiled.

“Happy birthday, my baby.”

Yeosang immediately leaned toward the cake, his eyes lighting up as he looked at the little smear of cream left along its edge.

Without a second thought, he swiped his finger through it, gathering a generous dollop before turning toward Seonghwa with an excited grin.

“Keep recording!”

He motioned toward Yunho with his eyes, making sure Seonghwa understood exactly what he wanted captured.

Seonghwa adjusted his phone immediately, keeping the camera trained on the birthday boy.

Yeosang glanced back at Yunho, who was watching him with growing curiosity from his high chair.

“It’s his first time trying anything sweet,” he explained, practically glowing with anticipation.

He brought his cream-covered finger toward Yunho, pausing just in front of his little mouth.

“Look, Yunnie.”

Yunho’s eyes followed the movement.

His tiny nose wrinkled as he inspected the unfamiliar white cream, seemingly trying to figure out what exactly his mama was offering him.

Yeosang giggled.

“Come on, baby. Just a little.”

He gently touched the cream to Yunho’s lips.

Yunho immediately opened his mouth, tasting it cautiously.

Yeosang’s entire face lit up.

“Oh!”

He looked toward Seonghwa, barely containing his excitement.

“Did you get that?”

Seonghwa laughed from behind the phone.

“I got it.”

Yeosang turned back to his son, watching closely for his reaction.

Yunho smacked his lips, seemingly processing the strange new taste.

Then his eyebrows lifted.

Yeosang gasped dramatically.

“He likes it!”

Seonghwa burst out laughing.

“Yeo, it’s cream.”

“I don’t care!” Yeosang grinned. “It’s his first sweet!”

He leaned closer to Yunho, his smile impossibly soft.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

Yunho reached toward the cake with both hands.

Yeosang immediately laughed.

“Oh, no, no. You don’t get the whole thing.”

➿

It was barely five when Yunho finally dozed off.

He had fought Yeosang every step of the way, refusing to accept that the cake was finished and repeatedly reaching his little hands toward it whenever Yeosang tried to move it out of sight.

“No more, baby,” Yeosang had told him for what felt like the hundredth time, gently moving his hands away. “Your tummy is tiny.”

Yunho had not appreciated that explanation.

His protests eventually turned into tired little cries, and Yeosang quickly realized that he’d been pushing himself far past the point of exhaustion.

“Oh, baby…”

He gathered Yunho against his chest, rocking him gently as the little boy’s cries became quieter and quieter.

It didn’t take long.

Yunho’s body finally gave up the fight.

His head fell heavily against Yeosang’s chest, his little fingers relaxing against his shirt as he slipped into sleep.

Yeosang looked down at him with a tired smile.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “You were tired, huh?”

Seonghwa leaned forward, quietly gathering the remnants of the cake and packing them away. He collected Yunho’s things one by one—the little belongings they’d scattered around during the day—before stuffing everything back into the diaper bag.

Once he was satisfied that they hadn’t left anything behind, he stood and swung the bag over his shoulder.

“Let’s go,” he whispered, tilting his head toward the exit.

Yeosang carefully adjusted Yunho in his arms before rising.

“Hwa, we gotta pay.”

Seonghwa shook his head.

“No, we don’t,” he sing-songed.

Yeosang stopped.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

He clicked his tongue.

“You did not.”

“I did.”

Seonghwa blew him a raspberry, already walking toward the exit.

Yeosang stared after him.

“Seonghwa!”

Seonghwa only giggled, his shoulders shaking with victorious laughter as he continued toward the door.

Yeosang shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips as he followed.

They were only a few steps from the exit when the door suddenly burst open.

Both men froze.

A familiar figure stood in the doorway.

San.

His chest was heaving, his breathing ragged as though he’d practically run the last stretch just to get there. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his face was flushed from the effort.

For a second, nobody moved.

Yeosang stared at him.

All the frustration he’d managed to push aside for the sake of Yunho’s birthday came rushing back with almost insulting ease.

His jaw tightened.

He exhaled slowly.

Then he simply adjusted Yunho more securely against his chest and walked straight past his husband.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t look at him.

Didn’t even slow down.

San remained frozen in the doorway for a moment before turning his head to watch Yeosang disappear past him.

Seonghwa followed close behind.

And for once, he didn’t make a joke.

San only realized Yeosang had walked straight past their car when he was already several steps behind them.

His eyes widened.

“Wait—”

He immediately hurried after them, the sound of his footsteps quickening against the pavement.

“Babe. Yeo…”

His voice was breathless, his chest still rising and falling heavily from the run.

Yeosang didn’t stop.

San caught up quickly, falling into step beside him before carefully lowering his voice.

“Babe…”

His brows furrowed as he looked at Yunho, fast asleep against Yeosang’s chest.

He hesitated.

He clearly wanted to reach for Yeosang, to stop him, to make him look at him—but Yunho’s head was resting so peacefully against his husband that San didn’t dare do anything that might wake him.

“Yeo, wait.”

Yeosang continued walking.

San swallowed, trying to catch his breath while keeping his voice barely above a whisper.

“I came.”

Yeosang’s expression didn’t change.

San looked at him, searching his face.

“I told you I’d try to get here.”

Still nothing.

His brows drew together further.

“Please, baby.”

He slowed slightly, walking carefully beside him.

“Just… let me explain.”

Yeosang stopped.

The movement was so sudden that San nearly walked straight into him.

Slowly, Yeosang turned around.

His eyes were wet, glistening in the fading afternoon light, and his lashes clung together from the tears he’d been fighting back for most of the day.

“Explain what, San?”

His voice was barely above a whisper, but it trembled badly.

San opened his mouth.

Yeosang blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision before the tears could spill over again.

“That you could’ve asked to be exempted from this one trip?”

San’s expression faltered.

“Because it was your son’s first birthday?”

Yeosang swallowed hard.

“You could’ve asked.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

“You could’ve told them, I can’t go this time. My son is turning one.”

He shook his head, a humorless little laugh escaping him.

“But you didn’t.”

San’s lips parted.

“Yeo, I—”

“You didn’t.”

Yeosang’s eyes filled again.

“And that’s what I’m supposed to understand?”

He looked at San for a long moment, hurt written plainly across his face.

“That you were trying to get here as fast as possible after choosing to go in the first place?”

San’s shoulders dropped.

Yeosang wiped beneath one eye with his free hand, careful not to jostle Yunho, who remained peacefully asleep against his chest.

“I waited for you.”

His voice softened.

“I waited until four-thirty.”

San stared at him.

“I kept thinking you’d show up.”

Yeosang’s mouth trembled.

“And you didn’t.”

He looked down at Yunho, brushing a finger gently over his sleeping cheek.

“So I stopped waiting.”

San swallowed, his eyes dropping to their son.

Yeosang didn’t need to raise his voice.

The disappointment in his quiet words hurt far more than shouting ever could.

“Please,” San said quietly. “Let’s go home and we can talk.”

His eyes moved from Yeosang to Seonghwa, almost as though he were silently asking him not to make the situation any worse.

Seonghwa remained quiet.

He knew better than to insert himself into an argument between a married couple.

But his expression gave him away.

His jaw was tight, his brows drawn together, and despite his best effort to keep his face neutral, his eyes still glared at San.

San noticed.

He looked away.

Yeosang shook his head slowly, disbelief settling over his features once again.

Then he turned toward Seonghwa.

“Hwa…”

Seonghwa’s expression immediately softened.

Yeosang adjusted Yunho carefully in his arms before stepping closer.

“I’ll go with him.”

His voice was quiet.

Then, after a small pause, he added, “Thank you for today…”

His eyes glistened again.

“For everything.”

Seonghwa’s face softened completely.

“Always, Yeo.”

Yeosang leaned toward him, and Seonghwa wrapped him in a loose hug, careful not to disturb the sleeping baby between them.

For a moment, Yeosang simply stood there.

He breathed in slowly.

The hug was brief, but it carried everything he couldn’t put into words.

Thank you for listening.

Thank you for staying.

Thank you for making today feel like Yunho’s birthday even when it hadn’t gone the way it was supposed to.

Seonghwa gave his back a gentle pat before pulling away.

“Go,” he murmured. “We’ll talk later.”

Yeosang nodded.

He turned back toward San.

And just like that, the warmth of Seonghwa’s embrace was gone, replaced by the complicated silence waiting between husband and husband.

“Let’s strap him in.”

San cleared his throat, opening the back door and crouching beside Yunho’s car seat.

Yeosang didn’t say anything.

He carefully transferred Yunho into the seat, making sure his head remained supported as he fastened the straps around his tiny body.

Once he was secure, Yeosang lingered for a moment.

His fingers feathered gently along the side of Yunho’s little face, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his forehead.

“Sleep well, birthday boy,” he whispered.

Yunho didn’t stir.

Yeosang finally pulled his hand away, and San closed the door.

The drive home was awkward.

Painfully so.

Neither of them spoke.

The only sounds filling the car were the quiet hum of the engine, the occasional turn signal, and Yunho’s soft breathing from the back seat.

Yeosang stared out the window.

He’d spent the entire day talking to Yunho, laughing with him, answering his little noises, pointing things out to him, keeping him entertained.

Now there was nothing.

Just silence.

He found himself wishing he’d been allowed to keep holding Yunho.

At least then he’d have something to occupy his hands.

Something to look at.

Something to focus on besides the man sitting beside him.

His gaze drifted toward the back seat.

Then he remembered.

The diaper bag.

Seonghwa had taken it.

Yeosang sighed quietly.

Maybe tomorrow they’d go get it.

It wasn’t as though that would be difficult. He and Yunho spent plenty of time at Seonghwa’s anyway.

The thought should have been nothing more than a practical consideration.

Instead, something about it made his chest ache.

Because when they got home, there wasn’t anyone waiting for them.

No one expecting them.

No warm welcome.

No little routine waiting at the door.

Just the two of them returning to a house that felt strangely empty.

Yeosang turned his face back toward the window.

He didn’t know when home had started feeling like that.