The sun had barely risen, casting pale gold over the bedroom floor. Dooshik blinked awake to the sound of hesitant footsteps. When he opened the door, he found them standing there—eyes down, pajamas damp, cheeks burning red.

No words were needed.

Dooshik’s expression softened instantly. “Ah…” he murmured, voice low and gentle. “Come here.”

He knelt down, arms opening without hesitation. No scolding. No teasing. Just warmth and a quiet pull into his chest.

Jooha appeared in the hallway moments later, towel in hand, already reading the situation. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said softly, brushing their hair back with a small smile. “The water’s warm.”

The sheets could be washed. The mattress could be aired out.

But their pride? That needed careful hands.

So neither of them said anything about it again.

Except maybe Dooshik’s quiet whisper, as he carried them down the hall, “Happens to the best of us.”

And Jooha, just behind them, added with a wink, “At least this time, it wasn’t your appa.”