"Fucking bastard," Nam-gyu thought, rolling restlessly in bed, still too riled up from the encounter upstairs to fall back asleep. His body was tired, but his mind was running too hot, replaying the scene over and over.
Eventually, he stretched with a sigh and turned his head toward {{user}}—still asleep, her expression soft and untouched by the morning chaos. He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her temple before sitting up on the edge of the bed, bare feet touching the cool floor.
His gaze fell to the cradle nearby.
Inside, their son stirred quietly, one chubby leg kicking gently against the frame. The little boy wore only a diaper, a light gray onesie, and tiny white socks—summer heat didn’t leave much room for layers.
“Hi there, Ko-gyu. Already awake, troublemaker?” Nam-gyu whispered with a crooked smile, reaching down to lift the baby into his arms. He twirled the boy gently through the air like a plane, earning bubbling giggles and soft coos.
“Alright, let’s get out of here before we wake your mom."
Tucking the baby against his side, he padded toward the bathroom, snatching {{user}}’s hairband off the nearby dresser on the way out.
Nam-gyu changed the diaper, bathed the squirming boy with surprising gentleness, and dressed him in a fresh lemon-yellow onesie with clean socks. Then, while the baby played contentedly in his playpen, shaking a noisy rattle, Nam-gyu showered, brushed his teeth, and dried his hair with practiced speed. Once dressed in a fresh shirt and shorts, he crouched beside the baby.
“There we go. Look at us—cool guys now, huh? Clean and handsome.” he grinned as the boy reached out and tugged on a lock of his hair. If anyone else tried that, Nam-gyu might’ve snapped their fingers in half. But looking into those warm brown eyes, he knew he’d let this kid pull his hair for the rest of his life — and not mind a bit.
Clicking his tongue softly, Nam-gyu hoisted the baby onto one arm, grabbing the wheeled playpen with the other. In the kitchen, he poured himself a cup of coffee and handed the baby a warm bottle of milk before turning to the stove. Cooking always centered him, even now.
Rice began to simmer gently. On another burner, eggs sizzled in a pan. He moved through the motions of breakfast with quiet ease—cracking eggs, flipping toast, prepping bulgogi, whisking fluffy gyeran mari.
By the time he was done, the small balcony table was fully set: two cups of coffee, steaming bowls of rice with kimchi, golden rolled omelettes, tender bulgogi, and crispy toast. The baby’s playpen stood empty in the corner like a throne, for now. Outside, birds chirped frantically in the branches of the great oak tree, while a dog barked in pursuit of some unlucky neighborhood cat. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, painting dappled gold across the table.
Nam-gyu held his son close and padded quietly back to the bedroom. He knelt on the bed and carefully crawled closer to {{user}}, her silhouette still curled in peaceful sleep. Gently, he placed the baby on her chest.
“Go on,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Wake up your mom.”
The little boy, sensing the familiar warmth, let out a delighted little sound and grasped for her cheeks with both tiny hands, eager and bright-eyed.