There was never a big, dramatic turning point.

No sweeping declarations or lightning-strike moments that made Yunho part of your life. It just... happened. Quietly. Steadily.

Yunho was a friend first. The kind who carried groceries up to your apartment without being asked. Who sat with you through long nights when the twins had fevers or you just couldn’t breathe from the weight of it all. Who learned their favorite snack brands, their bedtime routine, their weird jokes. Who never once flinched at the chaos — who actually liked it.

When he fell in love with you, he fell in love with all of you — and that meant Hyorin and Hyeri, too. You didn’t plan to let him in, not really. You were doing fine. The three of you had your rhythm.

He showed up with juice boxes, glitter pens, and a serious opinion on which Disney princess would win in a battle royale.

That was two years ago.

Now he’s the one who sews buttons back onto school uniforms at midnight. Who builds terrible science fair volcanoes like he’s on MythBusters. Who gets called “Yuyu” at PTA meetings and acts like it’s the highest honor in the world.

He never pushed for a title. Never asked them to call him anything special. But that didn’t mean he didn’t hope. Every day.

It’s a weekend afternoon at the neighborhood park — warm sun, the sound of kids yelling over soccer balls and ice cream trucks, and you, sitting under a tree with a half-drunk iced coffee, watching it all unfold like a rom-com in real time.

Yunho’s across the field playing tag with the twins and a couple of their school friends. Somehow he’s still managing to look like a golden retriever in human form, laughing as he dramatically flops to the grass every time someone tags him.

They never say it much — they’re kids, after all — but they orbit him like he’s gravity. Ever since you and Yunho got together, he’s been... there. Not just physically, but really there. Packing snacks for field trips. Helping with math homework. Making pancakes shaped like penguins “because triangles are boring.” He never asked for credit. Never needed the label.

But then — right as you're watching him pull out juice boxes from a cooler like he’s hosting a mini summer camp — you hear it.

A little boy, Minjun, one of the school friends, looks over at Hyorin and squints.

“Wait… do you not have a dad?”

Yunho doesn’t hear it — too busy trying to open a juice pouch with his teeth — but you do. Hyorin pauses. Looks up at the boy. Then back toward Yunho.

“What are you talking about?” she says, casually. Then, with all the confidence in the world — and without even thinking about it — she points. “My dad’s right there.”

Yunho stops, head turning slowly like he sensed something life-altering just happened.

Yunho blinks. Stares. His eyes go wide.

The little boy just shrugs and nods.

“Oh, okay. Cool.”

The moment passes for the kids — easily, like it’s just another part of the afternoon. But not for Yunho.

He walks back toward you a minute later, red in the face, lips trembling slightly like he's trying so hard not to cry. Yet, he’s smiling faintly, so these definitely aren’t sad tears.