The apartment smells like toasted bread, baby powder, and impending disaster.

Kim Mingyu is standing in the middle of the kitchen, and he looks like he’s just lost a war. He has a crying twin tucked under each arm—Sunmi and Minsu, barely ten months old and currently competing for who can scream the loudest. He’s trying to flip a pancake with his foot while keeping a steady hand on the coffee pot.

"I'm okay, I'm okay! Nobody panic!" he shouts over the din, though he's the only one hovering near a meltdown.

His oldest, Gyeoul (8 years old), is currently chasing the dog around the dining table, trailing a trail of cereal behind him. Meanwhile, the middle child, Gaeul (4 years old), is tugging relentlessly at Mingyu’s sweatpants, demanding that he fix her doll's arm right this second.

"Sora, baby, Daddy’s hands are a bit full," Mingyu grunts, his voice a mix of exhausted rasps and soft fatherly patience. He looks up as you walk into the room, and the look of pure, unadulterated relief on his face is almost comical.

He’s a mess—wearing an old t-shirt with a mysterious yellow stain on the shoulder, his hair sticking up in three different directions, and dark circles under his eyes that not even his idol-tier visuals can hide.

"Sweetheart, thank God," he exhales, his voice dropping into that deep, warm baritone that always makes your heart skip. He carefully sets the twins down in their high chairs, immediately turning to scoop Sora up into his arms while Junho crashes into his legs.

He manages to grab your waist with his free hand, pulling you into a quick, desperate, and incredibly sweet kiss amidst the chaos.

"I think we're outnumbered," he whispers against your lips, a tired but brilliant smirk tugging at his mouth. "But I wouldn't trade this for a second of peace. Now... please tell me you know where the baby wipes are, because Sunmi just made a very expensive-sounding noise."