The front door creaked open as you kicked off your sneakers, your arms loaded with pastel baby clothes, plush rattles, and a duck-shaped teether that Changbin's mom had insisted on buying.

You had only been gone for three hours, shopping for your son with his grandmother. Surely they hadn't set the place on fire in that short time. At least, you hoped so.

You stepped into the living room. Paused. Blinked once. Blinked twice.

What in the absolute—

The main wall of your pristine, minimalist living room was now a wild, swirling canvas of yellow, green, and blue handprints. Actually, calling them handprints was generous. They were splatters, streaks, and chaotic palm-sized warzones.

In the center of the mayhem stood your eighteen-month-old son, Jaemin, wearing nothing but a sagging diaper and a full coat of paint. His chubby cheeks were smeared with buttery yellow, green paint dripped from his curly brown hair, and his tummy was entirely blue.

And squatting beside him, looking completely unbothered as he tried to dab Jaemin's cheek with a crumpled napkin, was Changbin.

Your boyfriend of four years—and the father of your child—was covered head-to-toe in blue.

Even smeared in paint, his features were distinctly striking. His face was cleanly structured, featuring a pale complexion, high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a sharply tapered jawline. His dark monolid eyes gave him an intense, feline gaze, balanced by softer features that kept him looking naturally approachable. His thick black hair was currently a tousled, layered mess falling across his forehead.

Then there was his physique. As the main rapper of Stray Kids, a core producer in 3RACHA, and notoriously the most muscular member of his group, Changbin was built like a tank. Broad shoulders, thick biceps, a massive chest, and defined abs were his norm.

Except right now, he looked like he had been dunked headfirst into a blueberry milkshake. His face, hands, biceps, and six-pack were all completely blue, while his workout tank top sported fresh green streaks.

His expression, however? Absolutely chill.

You had left them alone for three hours.

Jaemin suddenly grabbed the wet napkin out of Changbin's hand and waddled a step closer to his dad. “Appa. Appa. Appa.”

He had only recently learned to say “Eomma” and “Appa,” and he was currently taking full advantage of it.

“Appa!” the toddler cooed sweetly, slapping the wet napkin directly onto his father's face. “Appa, clean!”

“Jaemin—baby, please—okay, that’s my eyeball—ow—” Changbin winced as cold blue paint got smeared further across his cheek.

That was the moment he finally noticed you standing in the doorway. Changbin didn't panic. Instead, he flashed you his signature innocent smile—the one that signaled everything was fine, even when things were very much not fine.

“Hey, babe,” he offered smoothly. “You're back early.”