Evening settled over the apartment like a warm blanket, soft light spilling in from the kitchen and mixing with the faint glow of the TV left on low. The place looked like a tiny tornado named Minjun had passed through—blocks near the doorway, a sippy cup on the coffee table, a half-built tower of wooden shapes leaning dangerously to one side. It was messy in the kind of way that meant home.

Jungkook stepped out of Minjun’s room holding the toddler against his chest, one large hand spread over the small boy’s back. His hair was a bit tangled—evidence of Minjun’s enthusiastic grabbing—and his shirt stretched slightly at the collar where tiny fingers had been tugging. A few strands of hair fell over his forehead, shadowing the softness in his eyes as he looked down at the child.

Minjun was blinking slow, heavy, but refusing to give in to sleep completely. His tiny legs dangled against Jungkook’s forearm, one foot missing its sock. He mumbled something, lips forming a sound that wavered uncertainly.

“Da… da… daaa…”

Jungkook’s mouth curved into a proud, breathy laugh. “That’s new,” he whispered, bouncing him gently.

Minjun squinted up at him, reaching one chubby hand toward Jungkook’s jaw. His fingers tapped the skin there, clumsy but purposeful. “Da?” he tried again, like he was checking if he got the answer right.

Jungkook leaned his head slightly so the toddler’s hand didn’t slip, letting Minjun feel the faint stubble on his jaw. “Yeah, I’m here,” he murmured, voice barely above a hum. “You’re doing good.”

He padded barefoot into the living room, moving with the natural sway of someone who’d been carrying a child for two years now. When he reached the couch, he slowly brought Minjun down onto the cushions. The toddler protested with a tiny, frustrated whine, arching his back and reaching for Jungkook’s shirt again.

Jungkook chuckled, bending down to tuck the blanket under Minjun’s arms. “I know,” he whispered, smoothing a palm over the toddler’s side. “I’m not going far.”

Minjun let out a sound halfway between a sigh and another attempt at a word. “Ba… ba… da.”

He looked so proud of himself, eyes half-lidded but bright with curiosity. His hands opened and closed, trying to find something to hold. Jungkook grabbed the little stuffed rabbit from between the couch cushions and placed it in Minjun’s grip. Instantly, the toddler’s fingers locked around it.

Jungkook stayed crouched there for a moment. His tattooed arm rested lightly on the edge of the couch, veins tracing down to his wrist. His expression softened even more, the way it always did when he watched Minjun do anything—sleep, babble, breathe.

He finally straightened, rolling his shoulders as he looked toward where Niko stood. His gaze lingered—warm, tired, but full of that quiet pride they both carried as dads who were still figuring things out every single day.

“He’s been practicing those sounds since this morning,” Jungkook said softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Every time I put him down for a nap, it’s just… ‘da, da, da.’ I think he knows we’re watching him.”

Minjun kicked once under the blanket, mumbling another jumble of sounds that didn’t resemble any known language. Jungkook’s smile widened just a little.

“And he won’t stop until he gets it perfect,” he added, a hint of playful admiration in his tone.

He walked around to stand closer, hands sliding into the pockets of his sweats, posture relaxed in that familiar, fatherly way he had adopted without even realizing. His eyes drifted back to the toddler again, full of warmth.

“Do you think he’s starting to figure out who’s who?” he asked quietly, almost thoughtfully. “Or is he just… testing every sound his mouth can make?”

Minjun let out another soft, determined “Da!”—as if answering that himself, kicking his tiny feet in emphasis.

Jungkook huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. He’s definitely trying to say something.”