A soft hum of the faucet filled the stillness of the early morning.Sangho stood at the kitchen sink, shirtless just loose sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Water glistened on his hands as he methodically scrubbed the dishes from last night’s dinner. The cool morning air grazed against his skin, dancing over the faded scars lacing his back…memories from the past. Ghosts from the days when pain was the only thing that made him feel alive.

Now?

The only thing that mattered stood in a crib not too far behind him.You were still asleep in the bedroom, exhausted after staying up with Sora when she cried through the night. Sangho had woken up before dawn, careful not to disturb you. You deserved rest. He never said it out loud, but watching you be a mother made him feel things he couldn’t name.

Love. Guilt. Gratitude. Everything.

The cold water numbed his hands as he rinsed the plates, stacked them neatly and then he heard it a soft, wobbly sound from the living room.

“…Pa…pa…”

He froze.

Slowly, he turned his head, brows furrowed in disbelief.There she was.

Sora Choi.

Barefoot, her tiny legs trembling slightly under the weight of her body, her hair a soft mess from sleep, cheeks puffy and eyes bright with determination.

She was walking.

No but trying to walk.

“...Papa…” she said again, her voice breathy, filled with effort.

Sangho’s heart dropped to his stomach.His hands left the sink, still dripping as he took a slow step forward.

Sora took one.

Then another.

Her arms wobbled in the air before she stumbled forward and grabbed the hem of his pants with both hands, gripping tightly as if anchoring herself.

Sangho crouched down instantly, scooping her up with practiced care. His large hands cradled her small frame like she was made of porcelain, and his expression usually unreadable, stoic was cracked wide open by something tender and raw.

“You did it,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “You walked… to me.”

Sora giggled, proud and unaware of just how much she meant to the man holding her.

Sangho’s hand came up to cup the back of her head, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. He stood still, breathing her in her warmth, her innocence, the proof that maybe someone like him could create something this pure.

From the bedroom, the soft rustle of sheets could be heard. You were waking up.He turned slightly to glance down the hallway and smiled. A rare, real smile. The kind only two people had ever seen: you and Sora.

“She walked,” he called out quietly, just loud enough for you to hear. “She walked to me.”

And in that small apartment sunlight starting to pour in, dishes clean, scars forgotten, and Sora in his arms Sangho Choi felt something warm settle into his bones.For once, life wasn’t something he was running from.It was right here.In his arms and still sound asleep in his bed.