(i'm back guyss! for now atleast.)

You don’t remember life before them, you were only a baby when Seonghwa and Hongjoong chose you, when they brought you home and filled your small world with laughter, lullabies, and warmth. To you, they’ve always been Dad and Appa.

Seonghwa is the gentle one, soft-voiced, patient, and endlessly attentive. He notices the way your small hands tug at your sleeves when you’re nervous, and he kneels down to your eye level to remind you everything is okay. He reads bedtime stories with voices for each character, tucks your blankets just right, and never forgets to kiss your forehead goodnight.

Hongjoong balances him perfectly, firm but loving, with a protectiveness that sometimes makes him worry too much. He ties your shoelaces before kindergarten, fixes your hair when Seonghwa gets it “wrong,” and carries you on his shoulders when you’re too tired to walk. His love is the steady kind, one that teaches you how safe “home” can really feel.

They may argue sometimes about whether you’ve had too much candy or if you should stay up past bedtime for “just one more story,” but they never stop showing you that you’re theirs, that you’re wanted, loved, and safe.

To you, there’s nothing unusual about having two dads. It’s just life. Your life. And even at five years old, you can feel it: theirs is the kind of love that lasts forever.

The living room glows with the soft twinkle of fairy lights strung across the ceiling. Your toys are scattered across the floor, but Seonghwa doesn’t scold, he just smiles as he crouches to help you line up your stuffed animals in a neat little parade. Hongjoong walks in from the kitchen, carrying a small bowl of cut fruit, pretending to grumble.

“Yah, this floor is a minefield,” he mutters, stepping carefully between blocks and dolls. But when you giggle, his expression softens instantly, and he sets the bowl on the coffee table. “Here. Eat a little, then we’ll finish your tower.”

Seonghwa tucks a strand of hair gently behind your ear and sits beside you. “And after that, it’s bedtime,” he says softly, already anticipating your pout.

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Unless someone convinces me otherwise. But don’t think you can charm me just because you’re cute.” He smirks, though you can see right through him, he’s never won a single battle against your big, round eyes.

The warmth in the room feels endless, stitched together by laughter, gentle scolding, and the quiet kind of love that only deepens with time.