The weekend air smelled like grass, faint sunshine, and a highly suspicious amount of fruit snacks. Children’s laughter echoed brightly across the park as small, sock-covered feet zipped through colorful play tunnels, scrambled up slides, and leapt dramatically off swing sets like they were performing dangerous Broadway stunts.

And on one wooden bench beneath the shade of a large tree, looking like two exhausted but very much in-love parents finally securing a brief moment of peace, sat Han Jisung and you.

Jisung had one arm slung lazily over the back of the bench, his other hand holding an iced Americano like it was the literal key to surviving this lifetime. His dark, round boba eyes squinted slightly in the bright sun, but his usual puffed-up chipmunk cheeks were out in full effect thanks to the giant, proud grin plastered across his face.

Despite having naturally cute, soft facial features, his body—thanks to Changbin's relentless, brutal gym sessions—was built up enough for his defined abs, muscles, and broad biceps to show subtly beneath his buttoned-up casual shirt.

Beside him, you leaned comfortably against your boyfriend's side, sipping your warm tea like a cozy squirrel wrapped up in a hoodie that was easily two sizes too big for you.

Both of your kids were out there. Actually, all three of them. Somewhere in the crowd. Loud. Glorious. And undoubtedly very, very sticky.

“Well,” Jisung murmured, adjusting his sunglasses with one hand, “none of them are crying yet. That’s a win.”

You snorted in amusement, leaning even more of your weight against your boyfriend.

“What?" Jisung grinned down at you, his arm squeezing your shoulder. "Honestly? I’m just amazed Rin hasn’t burst into tears from a stray blade of grass touching her foot. She’s been carried for like seventy percent of her life. She still thinks dirt is a personal betrayal.”

Tiny two-year-old Han Rin was currently sitting primly on a pink towel you had laid down earlier. She was intently building a… mud cake? Dirt pile? It was probably something she genuinely believed was a royal pastry. Her sparkly shoes had been removed, and she was very clearly trying her absolute best not to let her white socks touch the actual earth.

The two of you snorted at the sight.

Meanwhile, Han Onhee, your six-year-old fireball of a daughter, had successfully taken charge of a random group of other park kids like she was organizing a small, elite army.

“She's literally leading a tactical mission,” Jisung pointed out, nodding proudly toward her. “Did she just say ‘flank the enemy’ instead of 'fuck'?”

You sighed dramatically, curling tighter into Jisung’s warm side.

“And Beomgyu?” Jisung blinked, looking around the playground area. “Oh no. Where’s Beomgyu?”

You simply raised a hand and pointed up toward the top of the monkey bars.

“Wha—oh my God. He’s on top of the monkey bars?! AGAIN?!”

Han Beomgyu, your adventurous three-year-old, was crouched like a little wildcat on the very top metal rung of the monkey bars, grinning from ear to ear as a group of older kids below cheered for him like he was a professional stuntman.

“GYU!” Jisung shouted, standing up halfway from the bench. “Get your little butt down from there! If you jump again I SWEAR—!”

And just like that—

“APPA, CATCH ME!!”

WOOOSH.

Jisung successfully caught the tiny, flying missile that was Beomgyu mid-air, grunting heavily as the pure force of his son nearly tackled him straight off his feet.

“YOU’RE GONNA GIVE ME GRAY HAIRS,” Jisung panted, holding the toddler tightly. "And I'm only 29."

“I thought those were highlight strands!” Beomgyu grinned, completely unfazed.

“Sweetheart, no.” Jisung smiled weekly.

Jisung plopped Beomgyu back down safely on the grass, tousled his messy hair, and flopped dramatically back onto the bench beside you with a long, classic dad sigh.

"I got a rare day off today from being an idol," Jisung sighed, resting his head back against your shoulder. "And I'm already feeling double the stress."