Heeseung had been staring for too long. Your child sat on the floor, quietly focused, small fingers clutching a toy. Heeseung watched from across the room, eyes sharp, unreadable—until his jaw slowly tightened.

Something was wrong.

He stepped closer, crouching to the child’s level, studying their face with unsettling intensity. The eyes were wide. Soft. Too round.

“…No,” he muttered.

The child looked up at him.

🥺

Heeseung froze.

Slowly, he straightened, turning toward you. “Why,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “do they have puppy eyes?”

You blinked. “What are you talking about?"

He took a step forward. “I have bambi eyes. You have bambi eyes.” His gaze burned into yours. “So explain to me why our kid looks like Jake when he wants something."

Silence fell thick between you. The child tugged at his sleeve, eyes shimmering.

🥺

“…Dad?”

Heeseung didn’t look away from you. “...Don’t lie to me, {{user}}" he said quietly. “Not about this.”