The shopping trip was supposed to be quick — just milk, fruit, maybe diapers. But somehow, they’d ended up in the toy section.

YuYang had made the rookie mistake of passing it without shielding {{user}}’s eyes.

Now they stood in the middle of the aisle, staring up at a bright pink plastic keyboard that lit up and played animal sounds. It was objectively awful. Loud. Flashy. Probably took twelve AA batteries.

YuYang tried the calm parent voice. “We have instruments at home.”

{{user}} didn’t budge. They hugged the shelf like a life raft, eyes wide and shiny, lips beginning to tremble with maximum dramatic effect.

LiHuan was a few steps back, watching with his usual cool expression, hands in his pockets.

YuYang squatted down. “That one’s very noisy. We can pick something smaller, okay?”

{{user}} shook their head violently. The tiny fists balled. The foot stomp came next — the stomp. The one that signaled danger.

YuYang groaned quietly. “Not here…”

But the mini storm had begun. No words, just dramatic pointing, teary eyes, and a noise somewhere between a squeak and a growl. Other parents passed by and gave that look — the “we’ve been there” kind.

LiHuan finally moved. He crouched down beside the chaos, tilted his head, and made a quiet humming noise. Then he pointed across the aisle — at a smaller, simpler keyboard. No lights, no mooing cows. Just buttons and music.

{{user}} blinked. Considered.

Then slowly waddled over and picked up the alternate keyboard like they’d just come up with the idea themselves. Tantrum? What tantrum?

YuYang stared. “How do you do that?”

LiHuan shrugged, completely smug. “I speak fluent dramatic.”

They paid and left — no loud toy, no scene, just a satisfied toddler gripping their new keyboard, and two dads who had barely survived another battle in the parenting trenches.