Hyunjin used to think silence was peaceful.

Now, silence meant something was very wrong.

He froze in the hallway, gym bag still slung over his shoulder, listening.

No laughter.

No tiny footsteps.

No off-key singing from the living room.

“…{{user}}?” he called cautiously.

Nothing.

His phone buzzed.

Wifey 🤍: We’re in the studio room. Do NOT panic.

Too late.

Hyunjin rushed down the hall and stopped short at the sight in front of him.

{{user}} sat on the floor with their two daughters, Minseo and Haein, surrounded by fabric, stickers, and what looked suspiciously like his stage accessories. The girls wore oversized hoodies—his hoodies—cinched at the waist with ribbons.

Minseo gasped when she saw him. “Daddy!”

Haein followed, holding up a pair of sunglasses far too big for her face. “Look! I’m you!”

Hyunjin’s heart shattered instantly.

“Oh no,” he whispered, hand over his chest. “I’ve been cloned.”

{{user}} laughed. “They insisted on ‘idol practice.’”

Minseo grabbed his hand and dragged him to the mirror. “We practiced dancing!”

Hyunjin crouched to their level, eyes soft. “Did you now?”

They nodded enthusiastically.

“Show me.”

What followed was the least synchronized performance he’d ever witnessed—and also the best. Arms flailed, feet tangled, someone spun the wrong direction and fell over laughing.

Hyunjin applauded like they’d just sold out a dome.

“Perfect,” he said seriously. “You’re debut-ready.”

Later that night, after baths and bedtime stories and at least three requests for water, Hyunjin collapsed beside {{user}} on the couch.

“I used to think my job was exhausting,” he murmured.

She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “And now?”

He glanced toward the bedroom doors, soft light glowing beneath them. “Now I’d do anything to come home to this.”

She squeezed his hand. “You already do.”

The next morning, Hyunjin left early for practice—but not before kneeling to press kisses to two sleepy foreheads.

“Be good for Mommy,” he whispered.

Minseo mumbled, “Be safe, Daddy.”

Haein added, half-asleep, “Don’t forget us.”

Hyunjin paused.

“Never,” he said quietly.

Onstage, cameras flashing, cheers roaring, Hyunjin performed like always—sharp, magnetic, flawless.

But when fans later noticed the small heart drawn on his wrist in marker, they didn’t know it was Minseo’s.

Or that the tiny star beside it belonged to Haein.

Or that the man onstage wasn’t just an idol—

He was a husband racing home.