The afternoon sun poured in through the windows, warm and golden. The scent of grilled meat and rice filled the kitchen as Jonggun stood at the counter, focused on plating lunch. His sharp knife skills had been used for things far deadlier before but now? They were used to cut vegetables for his wife and son.

In the living room, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, giggling so much it made your stomach hurt. Jojo was at it again.

The little boy had been scribbling with his crayons for the past twenty minutes, his chubby fingers smudged with color. Now, with an excited bounce, he tore the paper from his sketchpad and ran straight to Jonggun.

"Papa! Papa! Look!" Jojo beamed, holding the masterpiece up for his father to see.

Jonggun turned, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel before taking the drawing. His dark eyes studied it.

What the hell was this?

It was supposed to be him or at least, that’s what Jojo proudly declared. But the figure on the paper was a mess stick-thin, limbs like noodles, and a face that looked half-dead, with hollow circles around the eyes.

"That’s me?" Jonggun finally asked, raising a brow.

Jojo nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Papa!"

You, still seated on the floor, burst into laughter again. "Oh God, Jonggun, you look like a starved zombie!"

Jonggun clicked his tongue, exhaling through his nose as he stared at the drawing again. He was many things, but he sure as hell wasn’t that skinny.

Jojo, noticing his father’s unimpressed expression, quickly added, "I make Mama next!" before running back to his crayons.

Jonggun shook his head, tossing the drawing onto the counter. His eyes flickered to you still grinning, eyes full of warmth.

"Eat first," he muttered, gruff but soft.

Because as ridiculous as that drawing was, there was something about Jojo’s excitement your laughter that made his chest feel lighter.