How to hold a bird without crushing it

by vacation_town

Summary:

Accidental baby acquisition definitely wasn't in the roommate manual. But right now, there's a baby on their couch.

Notes:

Yes, it's "And if I glued myself shut, you would find your way in" rewrite.
Except there's a little twist—this version takes a more serious approach, so It won't be just shits and giggles. I can't promise I'll execute it as perfectly as I have it in my head, as I'm an artist in the first place, not a writer. I'm doing my best tho ( ಥ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠ಥ )

I'll update as often as I can, but my uni schedule is pretty hectic right now, so please bear with me lol.

Enjoy?

Chapter 1: The delivery

Tuesday nights had a specific taste to it in the apartment 4B, when the frantic energy of Monday was gone, and the week’s end was still a distant promise.

Kim Dokja was lost in editing for the last three hours. The glow of the laptop illuminated his pale face, deepening the dark bags under his eyes. A crooked tower of pages was stacked on the edge of the breakfast bar. The occasional, gruff sigh came from the couch across the room, where Yoo Joonghyuk was demolishing digital enemies with scary intensity.

10:03 PM. 

Dokja rubbed his eyes, making his glasses slide up. The blue light of the screen left ghosts on his retinas, and his lower back ached from hunching without a break for so long. A half-empty mug of cold coffee sat beside a carefully arranged bowl of apple bunnies. He hadn’t asked for it. An hour ago, Joonghyuk had just gotten up, made a brief trip to the kitchen counter, and then set it down without a word before resuming his game. Dokja ate a slice, chuckling to himself at its silly shape.

Crisp and sweet.

They had been living together for twelve years, ever since a random university dorm assignment threw them together. After graduation, getting an apartment together just made sense. It was cheaper, and neither of them knew how to break that strange, but comfortable rhythm they'd fallen into over the years. So they didn’t. They just…stayed.

It wasn't something they talked about. It just was. Joonghyuk cooked and Dokja did the bills, because Joonghyuk considered them an abstract nuisance. They bickered over chores, argued about laundry and grocery brands and had silent treatments that never lasted longer than a day.

One wall of the living room was lined with Joonghyuk’s tournament awards, trophies and framed certificates. All the remaining shelves were stuffed with Dokja’s books and manuscripts piled on top of them. The open kitchen was spotless—Joonghyuk’s domain, and everything that Dokja’s Hand-Of-Midas-Chaos-Edition touched, became an organized cataclysm.

They were a closed ecosystem. Companions, if you will. It was a fact, just like that worn spot on the rug between the couch and the kitchen, or the specific way the fridge door stuck unless you lifted it slightly. They didn’t talk about what they were. The question felt out of place. You don't ask a lung why it shares space with a heart. 

Joonghyuk’s fingers danced on the controller, and on the TV screen his character executed a flawless, twenty-seven-hit combo. Dokja glanced over from his work, then back down.

 A normal night.

 

***

 

The knock on the door was so faint they both thought they’d imagined it.

Joonghyuk’s fingers stilled over the buttons and his character on screen froze mid-attack. Dokja’s typing stuttered. They didn’t get visitors. Not at 10:47 PM on a Tuesday.

“You expecting someone?” Joonghyuk’s voice was a bit raspy. He’d been commentating his stream earlier, and his vocal cords were taking an evening off.

Dokja pushed his glasses up his nose, blinking away the strain of the screen. “It’s probably the ahjumma from next door. She keeps locking herself out.” He sighed and unfolded himself from his chair with a series of apologetic pops and cracks.

Dokja padded to the door in his socks, already rehearsing a polite smile. He pulled it open.

There was no one.

A cold draft snaked into the warm apartment. Then there was a tiny sound at his feet that made him look down.

A car seat sat directly on their welcome mat, like food delivery. Inside was a child so still and quiet she seemed like a prop. She was swaddled in a thin, pink blanket, and her little face was very pale. A round, fluffy white plush was clutched in her tiny hands. Her wide eyes were fixed on him, unblinking. They weren't filled with tears, just that eerie stillness.

Dokja’s breath caught in his throat. His mind, that could usually spin a dozen plausible scenarios out of thin air, went completely blank. A staticky silence filled his head.

“Joonghyuk-ah,” his voice came out shaky and high-pitched. He didn't recognize it.

The thud of Joonghyuk’s footsteps was immediate. In less than three seconds he was a warm presence at Dokja’s back, his frame casting a long shadow into the hall. He looked over Dokja's head, and the shorter man felt the moment Joonghyuk saw it—a subtle tensing of his chest against his shoulder blades.

“...What the hell?” Joonghyuk’s rough voice turned into a stunned whisper.

He pushed past frozen Dokja with uncharacteristic hesitation, caution even. He knelt, the fabric of the pants stretching tight over his thighs. For a long moment, he just stared. Then, with a carefulness Dokja had only seen him use on very expensive gaming equipment, he reached out. A single, calloused finger gently touched the baby’s cheek. It was cold. 

The child flinched in a tiny, bird-like movement, and her lower lip trembled. That small sign of life broke the spell.

“She’s real,” Dokja breathed.

Joonghyuk’s head snapped up and his eyes scanned the empty corridor like a security camera. Nothing. No retreating footsteps, no anything. Just the normal hum of the half-asleep building. He picked up the entire carrier, which looked absurdly small in his grasp. He turned and walked into the apartment, placing it carefully in the center of their soft, grey living room rug. Here, it looked like an alien artifact.

Dokja followed, shutting and locking the door after him first. The loud click of the deadbolt made goosebumps marathon through his legs and forearms. Such a weird feeling it was.

He stood over the carrier with his arms hanging uselessly at his sides. He didn't know where to put them. The child’s huge, dark eyes had followed Joonghyuk, but now tracked back to him. Her unsettling stare made Dokja shudder. The quiet of their apartment felt no longer comfortable.

“We have to call the police,” Joonghyuk said, his voice flat. He was already pulling his phone from his pocket.

“I know,” Dokja whispered. He didn’t move. He just couldn't, for some reason.

Joonghyuk’s thumb hovered over the screen. He looked from Dokja’s pale, shell-shocked face to the silent baby on their rug. Something in her stillness and the complete lack of sound seemed to bother him. He quickly shoved the phone back into his pocket.

“First, we check. See if she’s hurt. Or hungry.”

He turned and walked to the kitchen. Dokja couldn't take his eyes off the child, but he heard the fridge open, and the clink of glass. Milk. They didn’t have baby formula, why would they? What did they even have? Nothing meant for this.

Dokja finally snapped out of it and sank to his knees, the wool scratchy against his pajama pants. Up close, she was even smaller than she looked in the hallway. He could see the fine, almost invisible hairs on her temples, and the tiny half-moons of her nails. During his attentive examination, he noticed a folded piece of paper pinned under the plush. A note. His fingers, which navigated a hundred thousand words a day, fumbled with the simple safety pin.

He unfolded the note.

Her name is Biyoo. Please, give her a good home. I can’t.

The handwriting was neat, but the pen had pressed down too hard on the last word, leaving a tear in the paper. I can’t.

…Biyoo. He looked at the round, white plush. 

Joonghyuk came back holding a small glass bottle with a narrow, squeezable nozzle, which Dokja recognized as the bottle used for sauces or fancy oils. Joonghyuk had filled it with warm milk. He shook a few drops onto the inside of his wrist, frowned, and adjusted the temperature under the tap. Dokja had only ever seen that in movies before. 

“It’s not right,” he muttered, more to himself than to Dokja. “But it’s something.” He held the bottle out. “You try.” 

Dokja’s hands were shaking as he took the bottle. It was warm. Too warm, maybe? He didn't know. An old, cold feeling twisted in his gut—the instinct to pull away from something so fragile and easily broken. He forced himself to ignore it.

He touched the silicone nozzle to Biyoo's lips. At first nothing, and then her mouth opened in a little reflexive gape, and she latched on. The sound she made was soft and hungry. Somehow, it was the loudest thing Dokja had ever heard.

Next to him, Yoo Joonghyuk let out a slow, contained breath. They stayed there, two grown men kneeling on their living room floor, watching as the milk in the bottle went down. The child's eyes drifted shut, focused entirely on drinking and nothing else.

When the bottle was empty after what felt like forever, Dokja pulled it away. Biyoo’s face scrunched up, ready to cry. Dokja was about to enter the mime execution of a panic attack, but no sound came. She opened her eyes, looked at them with that weird expression that seemed far too old for her face, and then her head tipped to the side, asleep. 

Joonghyuk reached over and adjusted the blanket around her, tucking the edges neatly. His hands looked too big next to her, but he was extremely careful. 

“We’ll call in the morning,” he grumbled. “It’s too late now. They’d just stick her in some system for the night.”

Kim Dokja nodded. It was a flimsy excuse, and they both knew it. The police station was open twenty-four hours. But the idea of handing her over to a stranger in uniform made something unusual and protective clench tight in his chest.

No more words were needed. Joonghyuk stood up with a quiet grunt and walked down the hall, disappearing in his bedroom. In a minute he came back with two pillows and the thickest and fluffiest blanket he owned. Dokja watched him arranging it into something like a nest on the couch, making sure the blanket mass formed solid edges that would prevent the child from falling over. Then, slowly, he lifted Biyoo in her carrier and all, and placed in the middle of it. She didn’t even stir.

“You watch her,” Joonghyuk mumbled. It wasn’t a suggestion. 

“...Where are you going?”

“To figure out what the hell we’re supposed to do next. I don't find babies on my doorstep every day, Kim Dokja.”

Yoo Joonghyuk went to Dokja's computer and woke the monitor up from the sleeping mode. When the blue light lit up his face, he started typing, fast and focused.

He was just across the room and could be easily seen, since their kitchen and living room were joined. But Dokja suddenly felt completely alone.
He sat on the floor beside the couch, propping his back against it, listening to Biyoo’s breathing. A tiny bellows keeping a tiny flame alive.

Then it really hit him.

A child. A real, living child was asleep on their couch. They had no diapers, no clothes that would fit her, no baby food, no idea what came next. They didn’t know how old she was, what she ate, when she’d wake up screaming.

His breathing stuttered and got shallow, and that cold, empty feeling began to spread in his chest. What are we doing? We can’t do this. I can’t do this. He looked at his hands. They felt strange. He spread his fingers and then clenched them into fists on his thighs.

…They were just hands. They’d held books, helped him pay the bills, poked Yoo Joonghyuk when he got bored, and once, a long time ago, they’d done something he tried not to remember. Now they were supposed to hold…this?

His throat tightened. The room felt like it was closing in. There was not enough air and he almost couldn't breathe. He was suddenly, viscerally aware of every sound. The hum of the fridge, the tap of the keyboard, the soft rain starting outside. And underneath it all, he heard the quiet rhythm of a child breathing.

This wasn't a paragraph he could edit or some plot hole he could fix. This was a life. And he was more than certain that he was the worst possible person to be entrusted with it. He knew it in his bones. His fingernails dug into his palms with just enough pain to make him pull in a shaky breath. 
 
On the kitchen's breakfast bar, Joonghyuk was still typing. His expression was unreadable, and it made him look calm, reassuringly so. But Dokja saw how tense his shoulders were, the tight line of his lips, and the specific way he furrowed his brows when he was very stressed. He wasn’t calm at all. He was just doing what he always did: tackling a problem head-on, because someone had to. 

Kim Dokja closed his eyes and made a deep inhale. He tried to breathe slowly, to match the tiny rhythm beside him. In. Out.

It didn’t really help.

But he stayed there, on the floor, listening. The rain tapped against the window. Joonghyuk clicked a mouse. Biyoo slept. 

The digital clock on the microwave ticked over to 12:17 AM. Wednesday.

…He needs to finish these apple bunnies. 

Notes:

The sauce bottle as baby bottle still makes me cackle, but I think it was a pretty clever solution. Also kinda funny to picture.

Thanks for reading~🍂

Chapter 2: Groundwork

Notes:

Idk I thought the first chapter was quite boring if you're not my friend who knows all the details because I tend to talk his ears off about all the lore in my aus. So here you go. Had to bully myself into speedrunning another one. (⁠・⁠–⁠・⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ

Enjoy?

The problem with reality, Kim Dokja decided somewhere around 2:17 AM, was its complete lack of narrative mercy. In a story, the heroes would have a montage. A training sequence. A wise elder to give them advice that solves all their problems. In reality, he was sitting on his living room floor watching The World’s Most Intimidating Pro-gamer, cool as a cucumber, assemble a makeshift diaper out of a sponge, clean hand towel and safety pins that he’d produced from a kitchen drawer like a damn magician.

Biyoo had woken up twenty minutes ago. Not crying or fussing. Just boom, eyes open in the dark, staring at the ceiling, awake. It was way creepier than screaming.

“She’s just lying there,” Dokja had whispered, peeking from the hallway.

From the couch nest, Yoo Joonghyuk had grunted, already sitting up. His movements were smooth, but his clothes and hair were all messed up from his nap. “She’s probably wet. Or hungry again. Likely both.”

The next ten minutes were a silent, clumsy ballet of failure. The makeshift bottle was brutally rejected and the warm milk was spit out. With grim focus, Joonghyuk grabbed a clean, soft hand towel. Then he folded it into a thick pad and secured it around the child with a quick motion. It wasn’t pretty, but it was pretty functional. Biyoo, now in her fresh improvised diaper, regarded him with a look of mild, wet disapproval. 

Which brings us here. 

Joonghyuk sat cross-legged before the baby, who was propped on her bar stool throne and stared him down. He’d swapped the sponges and towels for one of his own black cotton shirts. It was less of a diaper and more of an ultra absorbent loincloth, but at least Biyoo seemed marginally less offended.

“...We need real supplies,” Joonghyuk sighed, not looking at Dokja as he gently lifted her up. “Formula. Diapers. Wipes. A proper bottle.”

“The mart on the corner is twenty-four-hour,” Dokja said, still leaning against the wall, arms wrapped around himself. The adrenaline from the first few hours had drained completely, and that cold, hollow feeling from earlier was seeping into his bones again. This was real. This was continuing.

Joonghyuk nodded. He stood in one smooth motion, holding Biyoo securely against his chest with one arm. “You stay. I’ll go.”

“What if she—?”

“If she cries, pick her up. Don’t jostle her. Support her head. If she’s hungry, try the milk again. If she’s wet, there are more shirts in my bottom drawer. Feel free to get creative.” He was already pulling on a hoodie and pocketing his wallet and keys. “I won't be long.”

“You’re just…leaving me with her?” Kim Dokja asked, and the question sounded pathetic even to him.

Joonghyuk paused at the door, turning to look at him. His expression was almost neutral, but Dokja noticed the hint of a silent apology there. “You’ll be fine, Dokja. She’s just a baby.”

“Easy for you to say, you bastard,” Dokja muttered, but there was no bite in it. It was more like an automatic response. “Just…hurry up, yeah?”

A slight nod was all he got before the door clicked shut. The keys jingled loudly as he locked them inside.

The silence Yoo Joonghyuk left him in was different. It was vast, and it was Dokja’s to fill.

He inched toward the couch. Biyoo’s head turned, those enormous dark eyes locking onto him. He felt pinned, like a butterfly to a wall.

“Hey,” he whispered, sinking to the floor. “It’s just you and me now, kid.”

She blinked slowly.

“Our…our Hyuk-ah will be back soon. With…stuff.” He reached out a hesitant finger, not to touch her, but to brush the edge of the white plush tucked beside her. Bee-yoo. “We’re not…we’re not what you ordered, probably. Sorry.”

She made a small sound. Something that sounded like a questioning “eh?”

Dokja felt a ridiculous lump form in his throat. What the hell am I doing, talking to a baby? But the words kept coming, clumsy and uneven. He didn’t know if he was talking to her or to himself. “It’s okay. We’ll…we’ll figure it out. Somehow. I think.”

He didn’t decide to care. He just realized, with that terrifying clarity, that he already was.

By the time Joonghyuk returned, a reusable mart bag in each hand, the scene in the living room had shifted. Dokja was slumped on the floor beside the couch with his upper body collapsed onto the cushion, deeply asleep. One of his arms was stretched out, his hand curled loosely around the edge of Biyoo’s carrier where she also slept, one tiny hand splayed on Dokja’s sleeve.

Joonghyuk stood in the doorway for a couple of minutes, just watching. A complicated feeling stirred in his chest—something between responsibility, a strange warmth, and a faint pang of guilt for leaving Dokja to drown in his anxiety alone.

He put the bags down as silently as he could, wincing at the glass bottles clinking together. First, he checked Biyoo. Still breathing, still asleep. Good. Then, with careful hands, he started to move Dokja. This skinny fool was heavier than he looked, thanks to his never-ending nagging about meals. Joonghyuk hauled him up and maneuvered him onto the other side of the couch, making sure his neck wasn’t bent at a weird angle. He’d complain endlessly about a stiff back otherwise.

From the blanket fort nest, Joonghyuk pulled the fluffy comforter and draped it over Dokja. His companion mumbled something unintelligible and curled into the warmth.

Joonghyuk’s thoughtful gaze lingered. He’d seen that pale, shell-shocked look on Dokja’s face before—rarely, and never for a reason like this. Something was rattled loose in him. Joonghyuk didn’t know what, but he recognized the shape of it. 

He shook his head, pushing the thought aside. There was work he needed to do. 

 

***

 

Bright and merciless sunlight eventually forced its way through the blinds. Wednesday.

The rest of the night had passed in a blur of messy firsts. A real bottle, successfully consumed. A real diaper, successfully—if clumsily—fastened. From the second try, but still. A few hours of fitful sleep for the adults, taken in shifts.

Now, in the harsh light of morning, there were no more excuses.

Joonghyuk made the call. His voice was collected and clean. “I’d like to report a found infant.”

Forty minutes later, their apartment was full of strangers.

Two uniformed police officers, one young and trying to look stern but failing miserably, one older with tired eyes. Another one was a paramedic with a kind smile and a large kit. While the officers took notes, the paramedic, a woman named Sooji, gently examined Biyoo on their cleared breakfast bar.

“She’s a little underweight, but otherwise pretty healthy,” Sooji announced, wrapping her back up. “No signs of abuse or neglect…Except for abandonment, of course.”

The older officer, Officer Park, shifted his attention from Biyoo to them. “And you two found her at your door? No note?”

“There was a note,” Dokja said, handing over the folded paper. His hand was steady. The weird feeling was still there, but it had solidified into a kind of numb acceptance. “Her name is Biyoo.”

Officer Park read it, and the corner of his top lip twitched. He’d seen this before. “We’ll need you to come to the station to give formal statements. And she,” he nodded at Biyoo, now quietly observing the room from Joonghyuk’s arms, “needs to go to Seoul Metropolitan Children’s Hospital for a full check-up. Standard procedure.”

“Can we go with her?” The question left Dokja’s mouth before he could think.

Officer Park and the paramedic exchanged looks. “You can follow in your own car,” Sooji said softly. “As the finders, it’s helpful if you’re there to answer any questions from the doctors.”

It was just a logistical allowance, but they clung to it.

The hospital wait was long. Plastic chairs, smell of antiseptic, fluorescent lights, the distant, tinny echo of a PA system. They sat in a corner of the pediatric ward while doctors in pastel scrubs examined Biyoo behind a curtain.

Dokja was running on maybe two hours of fractured sleep. He didn't get enough sleep the night before either, so all this sleep deprivation super combo made his thoughts swim. His elbow was propped on the chair’s arm with his chin in his hand, but the drowsyness made him slip. His head slowly fell to the side, meeting with Joonghyuk's shoulder. 

Yoo Joonghyuk’s only reaction was a slight, unconscious adjustment of his own posture, settling so Dokja’s neck wasn’t craned at an awkward angle. 

Dokja’s breathing evened out as he fell into shallow, exhausted sleep. Joonghyuk stared straight ahead at the blank, cream-colored wall, feeling the warm weight against his side. It took him a second of consideration, before his cheek met with the top of Dokja's head. He didn’t move after that. 

The social worker arrived as the doctors were finishing. When she approached and asked to speak to them separately, Joonghyuk gave Kim Dokja’s knee a light nudge to wake him. Dokja jerked awake, blinking rapidly. A line from the seam of Joonghyuk’s hoodie was imprinted on his cheek. When Joonghyuk pointedly lifted an eyebrow at him and gestured to his own cheek, Dokja sighed and straightened up, scrubbing a hand over his face.

The CPS worker's name was Ms. Kang. She was a woman in her fifties, with attentive, sharp eyes, and a demeanor that was both weary and kind. She interviewed them separately in a small, beige family room.

“Why do you want to take her in, Mr. Yoo? This is a massive responsibility for anyone, let alone two single men.”

“The system is overloaded. I know what it’s like to be in it,” he said, the admission leaving his lips in a quiet exhale. “and if we can keep one child from having to learn that, we should.” He paused. “We can provide stability. A safe home. She was left with us. It's a responsibility we’ve already assumed.” His answers were short, but factual. 

“Mr. Kim, are you emotionally prepared for this? This could become a permanent situation. It’s not like fostering a pet.”

Dokja looked at his hands, clenched in his lap.  “I…can’t explain it logically. I just know that If she goes into the system now,” he said, his voice rough with lack of sleep, “I’ll never stop wondering where she is. If she's safe. I can’t…I can’t be the one who lets her get lost in it.”

Ms. Kang studied him for a long moment, then recalled the way Joonghyuk’s eyes kept drifting to the bassinet where Biyoo slept during his interview. She hummed and made a note on her clipboard.

Later, with Biyoo—cleaned, fed, and deemed medically fine—sleeping in a clear hospital bassinet, Ms. Kang laid out the reality. “The emergency shelters are at capacity. The process to find any family, if it exists, will take time. Formal foster parent licensing takes months.”

She looked at them, then at the baby. “Given the circumstances, and your apparent…stability, I can place her with you temporarily as emergency kinship caregivers. This is highly unusual. It is not adoption. It is a temporary guardianship pending a full home study, background checks, and the family search. If you fail the home study, or if a relative is found, she will be removed. Do you understand?”

The choice wasn’t “Do you want a baby?”, It was “Can you bear to walk away right now, knowing where she’ll go?”

They signed the papers. The whole temporary guardianship agreement was three pages of dense legality. Dokja’s signature was a messy, tired scrawl, Joonghyuk’s was firm and precise.

The ride home was silent. Joonghyuk drove, while Dokja was dazed off in the backseat with Biyoo in her new, properly secured car seat. She also slept, exhausted by the world.

Back in Apartment 4B, they were met only by the silence. The police were gone, the social worker was also gone. It was just them again, but their home felt different now. A diaper bag by the door. A can of formula on the counter. A baby asleep in a carrier in the middle of their living room, now with the full, terrifying official permission of the state.

Yoo Joonghyuk shuffled to a large, flat delivery box that stood against the wall. It was a delivery that had arrived while they were at the hospital. He slit it open with a box cutter and began pulling out pieces of pale, unfinished wood. It was a crib. 

Dokja stood by the breakfast bar with the temporary guardianship papers under his hand. They were just paper, but somehow they felt like lead.

The measured sound of Joonghyuk assembling the crib filled the apartment. A screwdriver turning, wood gently knocking together.

He finally spoke, his voice quiet and barely audible over the noise. “...What are we doing, Joonghyuk-ah?” 

Joonghyuk didn’t even think of pausing his work as he slotted a side panel into place. He tightened a bolt, his shoulders a firm, straight line under his shirt.

“What we have to.”

Notes:

Me 🤝 Kim Dokja

running on
two hours of sleep
 

 

Thanks for reading~🍂

Chapter 3: Manageable

Notes:

A very slice of life chapter, and the shortest one so far

 

Enjoy?

It was Day Three. Friday. 

Kim Dokja’s skull felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He’d managed maybe six hours of sleep in the last forty-eight, and they were the wrong six hours. He had a manuscript of a very fussy fantasy author sitting open on his laptop, but with every blurry read-through the plot holes only seemed to multiply. The deadline was a ticking bomb in the back of his brain.

Down the hall, behind the closed door of the soundproofed studio, Yoo Joonghyuk was recording. There was some high-stakes guide for a new game expansion, under a brutal deadline from his sponsors. He’d stated it plainly that morning: “I need three uninterrupted hours. You know what it means.”

Biyoo, who had been mercifully asleep in her new crib for roughly an hour, chose that moment to wake up. It started as a low whimper, but then escalated into a steady, distressed cry in less than fifteen seconds.

Dokja’s shoulders crept up to his ears. He pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes, sighing. Not now. Please, not now.

He checked her diaper. Dry. He tried a bottle, but she turned her head away, crying harder. He picked her up, shushing, and started bouncing on his heels the way he’d seen Joonghyuk do. Her cries were loud and sharp, and felt like nails getting hammered into his head. Why couldn't he do even this one simple thing?

He glanced down the hall. The door to the studio stayed shut and the red light was on.

The crying continued. The words on his screen melted into nonsense, and sleep deprivation driven panic began to cut through his fatigue. He couldn’t work and he couldn’t soothe her. He was failing on all fronts.

After fifteen minutes, something in him simply broke. He didn't know what else to do. There was nothing else he could do. So he stopped before the studio door. He didn’t knock, he just stood there, holding the wailing Biyoo, staring at the red light. 

Two minutes later, the light went out, and the door opened.

Joonghyuk materialized in the doorway with an unreadable expression, his headphones around his neck. He looked from Dokja’s pale, strained face to the crying baby.

“I can’t—” Dokja started, his voice desperate and tight, but Joonghyuk was already moving.

He reached out and took Biyoo, gently but too quickly. He didn’t say anything and didn’t grant Dokja a look again. He just turned away from him and closed the door, slamming it just a little louder than necessary. The lock click made Dokja grimace. The red light flicked back on.

Now it was completely silent, and Dokja thought that somehow, it was worse than the crying.

He stood there for a full minute. He hadn’t been yelled at. He hadn’t been argued with. It made him confused, and he had no idea what to cling to in this particular situation. 

Dokja staggered back to the breakfast bar and sank into the chair, dropping his head in his hands. He didn’t try to work. He just listened to the dead silence, kinda wishing for the ground to swallow him whole. Maybe this way he could escape his own incompetence.

Roughly an hour later, the red light winked out. The studio door opened, revealing a tired, but composed Yoo Joonghyuk. Biyoo was asleep in his arms, with her little head tucked under his chin. Her tiny hand clutched her white fluffy plush. 

He didn’t acknowledge Dokja, as if he just didn't exist. He walked to the couch and sat down carefully, arranging himself so Biyoo could keep sleeping on his chest. Then he reached for his phone and began scrolling with an impassive face. 

Kim Dokja watched him from the kitchen. The apology was stuck in his throat. I’m sorry felt inadequate, but I failed felt too humiliating to say.

After a few minutes of self-loathing, he got up. He dragged himself to the linen closet and pulled out a big blanket. It had a stupid pattern with squids and sunfishes, and honestly, Dokja had no idea where they even got it from. He didn't say anything when he walked over to them, just unfolded the blanket and draped it carefully over Joonghyuk and the sleeping Biyoo.

Joonghyuk’s scrolling paused. He didn’t look up, but gave him a slight nod. Not forgiveness, but at least ceasefire. Kim Dokja gladly took it.

He went back to his silently assigned zone in the kitchen. He knew he pretty much fucked up, and although the fight hadn't been loud and left no visible mess to clean up, there was that awkward chill between them that would take some time to melt.

 

***

 

That evening, Dokja decided Biyoo needed a bath. He did a brief research which left him quite confident. How hard could it be? He filled the kitchen sink with a few inches of warm water, assembled baby soap and a towel, and went to retrieve her.

…It was a catastrophe.

Biyoo, slippery as a fish, passionately hated every second of it. She squirmed and kicked, sending splashes of water over the counter and onto the floor. She even tried to bite him with her almost toothless mouth. Dokja, doing his best to support her head with one hand and wash with the other while simultaneously trying not to slip, was soaked and flustered within thirty seconds.

“Come on Biyoo, hold still, I’m trying to—”

The big kitchen light flicked on. Yoo Joonghyuk stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, observing the flood zone. He didn’t sigh or throw a stingy comment in Dokja's direction, although he could've. Or maybe even should've. He just walked to the sink, rolled up his sleeves past his elbows, and placed a steadying hand under Biyoo’s head and shoulders, taking over the support.

“You wash,” he said, his voice neutral. “I’ll hold.”

Dokja, too relieved to be prideful, grabbed the soap. With Joonghyuk’s firm, sure grip keeping Biyoo stable, the task became manageable. He gently washed the soft, fine hair, the tiny folds of her neck, her chubby arms. Their hands brushed under the warm, soapy water.

Biyoo, no longer fighting for balance and presumably her life, stopped crying. She stared up at the two faces above her, blinking water droplets from her lashes.

When she was clean, Joonghyuk lifted her out like a precious offering, cradling her against his chest while Dokja fumbled with the towel. They bundled her up together in a clumsy, four-handed operation.

Wrapped snugly and smelling of clean baby, Biyoo let out a soft, contented sigh.

Kim Dokja, wiping his own wet face with the back of his hand, caught Joonghyuk’s stare. “Show-off,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes lightly.

The corner of Joonghyuk’s mouth twitched slightly. 

Clean and dry, they settled on the living room floor with Biyoo on a soft blanket. The tension from the day had dissipated by then. It's always been like this—a quiet resolution. 

Dokja sat cross-legged beside Biyoo and was trying to make her smile. She was a pretty creepy baby in his humble opinion, and he was curious to see something besides her unsettling stare or her crying face. He pulled different kinds of dumb faces and made various mouth sounds. Biyoo just watched him with serious, dark eyes, visibly unimpressed. 

Yoo Joonghyuk sat a few feet away, methodically organizing a stack of clean baby clothes into neat squares. He wasn’t really looking at them, but he was definitely listening.

“Come on,” Dokja coaxed, leaning closer. And apparently, his trigeminal nerve had better comedic potential than he did. The sudden ticklish sensation made him scrunch his nose and let out an unreasonably loud, ridiculous sneeze.

Biyoo’s face froze for a moment, her little brows furrowed. Then her expression changed, and she broke into a soft, bubbly giggle that gradually turned into joyful, somewhat hysterical laughter. 

The world stopped.

Kim Dokja stiffened mid-sneeze with his eyes almost popping out of his head. He looked from Biyoo’s laughing face to Yoo Joonghyuk.

Meanwhile, Joonghyuk had stopped folding. He was staring at Biyoo, so distracted by the abrupt shift that a onesie slipped out of his hands. His usual neutral go-to expression was gone, and he looked like he’d just witnessed the birth of the eighth wonder of the world. 

Dokja let out a nervous chuckle. “She…she just laughed.” He felt very stupid reacting to a simple baby laugh like this. But he was the one who caused it, which made it feel kind of special. 

Joonghyuk didn’t say anything. He just kept looking at Biyoo, who was now kicking her feet happily with a big smile on her face. The awe in his eyes slowly softened into something calmer but warmer.

It was their first reward. Small, fleeting, but it was enough to make the sleepless nights and the flooded kitchen feel worth it.

Later, the apartment was dark. Biyoo was asleep in her crib, breathing softly into the baby monitor.

Dokja and Joonghyuk were on opposite ends of the couch, with TV playing something neither of them was watching. The silence had returned, but it was the good kind. Like a deep breath held for too long was finally released.

Dokja threw his head back onto the couch cushions and stared at the ceiling. “She laughed,” he said again, almost whispering.

From the other end of the couch, a low rumble replied. “…She did.”

A pause. The fake, exaggerated voices from the random TV show filtered through.

“Sounded like you,” Joonghyuk added flatly.

Dokja snorted, trying to sound offended. “Shut up.”
 
He was expecting a retort, but all he got was the faint rustle of fabric as Joonghyuk shifted, getting more comfortable.

Kim Dokja closed his eyes. What do we have here? He was super exhausted. He was dreadfully behind on work. Not to mention he was in way over his head.

...Honestly, nothing new. 
 
A commercial for something useless came on, too bright and cheerful. The remote clicked softly as Joonghyuk turned the TV off and sighed, settling deeper into the couch.

Dozing off, Dokja's last thought was that they were doing pretty good. They were managing. 

Of course, no one said it was enough. But for tonight, no one had to.

 

Notes:

Thanks for reading, feedback is always appreciated ~🍂

Chapter 4: Stage directions

Notes:

The way it's slice of life story about caring for a child which is just routine mostly, so it's supposed to be boring 80% of the time, but I still feel ashamed for writing it boring.....

 

Enjoy?

A home study required you to be a coherent person at a specific time. Currently, Kim Dokja was not coherent at all.

It was 9:14 AM on Sunday, and the concept of time had long dissolved into a heavy granular mass somewhere behind his eyes. He was slumped at the breakfast bar, a cold cup of coffee next to his laptop.

Sixteen different browser tabs on his screen bled into…well, definitely something. ‘CPS Home Study Checklist 20**,’ ‘Minimum square footage per child Seoul,’ ‘Is it normal for a toddler to stare at empty walls?’. He couldn't remember when exactly he googled the depressing ‘Legal implications of accidental manslaughter statute of limitations.’

Meanwhile Yoo Joonghyuk was in the silent Destruction-For-The-Greater-Good mode. Some furniture had already fallen as his victims: the rug was rolled and shoved against the balcony door, and the coffee table was turned upside down with its two legs fitted with silicone corner guards. A hardware store bag on the floor was spilling its contents of plastic locks and outlet covers. It was already half-empty. 

He worked with a focus of a man defusing a bomb, and Dokja would never say it out loud, but that particular state of his has always scared him a little.  

It was a relatively peaceful morning. The silence was broken only by the sounds of Joonghyuk's bustle and the occasional thump of Biyoo’s plush being yeeted from her high chair. She was absolutely ecstatic after discovering she could make the editor fetch for her. 

Dokja reached to wipe a smear of banana from her cheek while she got distracted by Joonghyuk’s furniture violation. He was glad he finally got a breather, but the child was so immersed in her staring that Dokja got worried. Did she know she was alive and needed to breathe…?

Babies get fascinated by the weirdest things ever, he thought.

While Biyoo had fun in her own way, Dokja felt miserable. He was watching a YouTube video where a woman demonstrated how to secure a bookshelf to a wall. The woman was cheerful. Dokja wanted to throw his laptop across the room.

“This is insane,” he announced to everyone and no one at the same time. “We’re fortifying the apartment against a one-year-old. She’s not a siege engine." He side-eyed the baby on his left suspiciously.

Joonghyuk refused to get distracted from where he was pressure-testing a cabinet latch. “The checklist says ‘anchor tall furniture to wall.’ That bookshelf is tall. It’s furniture.”

“That bookshelf has survived earthquakes, three moves, and your sister’s punk phase. It’s not toppling over because Biyoo looks at it funny.”

“It’s not about her,” Joonghyuk said, finally turning his head in his direction. There was a smudge of something on his jaw. Dokja squinted. What the fuck was it, marker? “It’s about the report, Kim Dokja. The report needs to see the anchors.”

So that was it. They weren’t just childproofing. They were building a little performance set.

He felt a hysterical laugh bubble up, but he forced himself to swallow it. He took a sip of the gross, cold coffee, and made a face.

“Right. The report. Do you think the report will have an opinion on the existential dread of performing competent adulthood for a stranger?”

Joonghyuk’s only response was to pick up a drill. The whirring noise was, somehow, an answer.

Biyoo provided the backup soundtrack whenever Joonghyuk's instruments went silent. She fussed around, experimentally banging her silicone spoon against the tray, and then made her disgruntled eh! when her plush fell or rolled out of reach, occasionally throwing it for Dokja to retrieve. At some point there was sudden, suspicious silence. Dokja’s head snapped to the side so quickly it hurt, only to see her trying to fit her entire fist into her mouth. He exhaled.

While Joonghyuk took over the physical additions to the apartment, Dokja’s contribution to the situation was what he deemed as ‘actually useful logistical strikes’. And honestly, it was hard to argue. He ordered a baby gate for the hallway leading to their offices and bedrooms, choosing one with reviews that mentioned ‘easy for adults, impossible for escape-artist toddlers.’ He found a pediatrician with weekend hours and spotless reviews, and booked an appointment for the following week. He compiled a list of local kindergartens with their ratings, tuition fees, and enrollment deadlines—a document came out so thorough it bordered on the pathological.

His masterstroke, however, was The Binder.

Yesterday morning it was just a folder on his desk, but by now it had metastasized. It had tabs and color-coded sections, even printed diagrams of the apartment with evacuation routes highlighted in yellow. Joonghyuk was expecting it to grow legs next and run away. 

“Section Four,” Kim Dokja muttered, squinting at the screen. “Daily Routine and Developmental Activities. Should I include a proposed meal plan?...That feels like overkill.”

“It is overkill,” Yoo Joonghyuk grunted from under the kitchen sink. He was installing a child-safety lock on the cleaning supplies cabinet. “She eats what we eat, but mashed.”

“But the report, Joonghyuk-ah,” Dokja parroted back in mocking tone. “The report wants to see forethought! Nourishment schedules! It wants to see that we’ve considered the strategic importance of pureed carrots!”

Joonghyuk emerged to fix Dokja with a deadpan look. “The report will see food in her mouth and no poison under the sink. That’s forethought.”

It was their old dance, just on a new stage. Dokja planning for hypothetical futures, Joonghyuk securing the present ground. That's just how their minds worked. 

When Dokja’s phone died, he wordlessly held it out while typing one-handed. Joonghyuk took it on his way, plugged it in, and placed it back within reach, before returning to the bookshelf Dokja had maligned. When Biyoo began the pre-cry lip tremble, Joonghyuk already had a bottle warming up. Dokja, seeing the moment, abandoned his flowchart to lift the baby from the high chair, bouncing her gently on his hip. He was learning fast.

“See, kid?” Dokja said, his nose almost touching hers. “Our Hyuk-ah is on it. The supply lines are secure.” Biyoo blinked at him, unimpressed, and grabbed for his glasses.

He dodged expertly. “Ah-ah. These are for my screen work, not for teething.” He got them to the couch, letting her gnaw on a teething ring instead. From here he watched Joonghyuk drive the final screw into the wall anchor, his back muscles flexing with the effort. He looked even less like a pro-gamer than usually, and more like a carpenter. A very stressed, very handsome carpenter.

A strange, quiet ache bloomed in Dokja’s chest. It wasn't the cold, hollow panic of the first night, but something warmer, and thus more terrifying. He couldn't place what it was. Or maybe he just didn't want to.

Later, when Dokja was printing out the list of possible questions and the last of the forms, the printer jammed. He sighed in the long-suffering manner and opened the tray. There it was, a crumpled paper stuck inside.

"It always jams after ten pages," he grumbled.

Joonghyuk, who was walking by with a sponge, lifted an eyebrow at him. "You counted?"

"No, but it has happened so often that I noticed. It jams if you put more than ten pages in the tray at once,” Dokja muttered, struggling with the assaulted and stubborn sheet. “The manual lies. I think something is wrong with the design.”

Joonghyuk lifted the second eyebrow. “...You read the printer manual.”

For a split second, the words blurred on the crumpled page in Dokja’s hands. Not the smudge—the letters themselves seemed to swim a little. He blinked hard, and they snapped back into focus. Too much screen time. Not enough sleep. 

“...I read everything.” Dokja said, words coming out a little unsure. He finally freed the paper, almost toppling backwards. It had a black smudge across the words ‘financial stability.’ He held it up. “Metaphor.”

Joonghyuk snorted and shook his head, turning to scrub the counter until he could see his reflection in it.

 

***

 

The call came at 3:17 PM.

Kim Dokja stared at the unknown number on his screen, his blood turning to ice water. He showed it to the stiffened Joonghyuk, who was sitting on the floor with a half-latched drawer in his hands.

Dokja took a deep breath and answered. “Hello?”

`Mr. Kim? This is Ms. Kang from the Child Protection Service. We spoke at the hospital.` Her voice was calm and professional. `I’m calling to schedule the home study visit.`

“Of course. Yes.” Dokja’s free hand fumbled for a pen, accidentally knocking over a box of screws. Joonghyuk launched himself from the cabinet with his foot, sliding across the floor to catch the box before it hit the ground. His eyes fixed on Dokja's face, searching for any cues on what was being said.

`Would tomorrow afternoon work for you? Say, two o’clock?`

Tomorrow. They had tonight. One night. 

“Yes, It's perfect,” Dokja heard himself say, slipping into his smooth Publisher-Kim-Voice. “Thank you. We’ll be here.”

He hung up. For a minute it felt like the silence had swallowed all the sounds in the apartment, or maybe in the whole world. Even Biyoo had stopped chewing, sensing the weird shift.

He took a controlled, shaky breath, pushing his anxiety down before it could take root. Not now.

“Tomorrow,” Dokja murmured, finally remembering he was alive. “Two PM.”

Yoo Joonghyuk slowly finished screwing the latch into the drawer and straightened up, wiping his hands on his jeans. He surveyed their fortress: the furniture was secured, all the Biyoo-level doors were latched, and the newly ordered baby gate was leaning against the wall. His focus finally circled back to Dokja with the baby on her stool.

“Good,” Joonghyuk said, his voice smooth and sure. “Then we’re ready.”

It was the biggest lie either of them had ever told, and they both knew it.

Notes:

I'm finishing up with the chapter 5 and uploading it in a few hours. Originally, chapter 4 and 5 were supposed to be one chapter, but then it'd be too long, so I split them in two.

Thanks for reading TT TT ~🍂

Chapter 5: The answer

Notes:

Here we go ヽ⁠(⁠*ﾟ⁠ｰﾟ⁠*⁠)⁠ﾉ

Upd: if you see some text being fucked up aka huddled in a big chunk, it's AO3 mess. I'm trying to fix it but it won't update TT TT
Upd 2: I think we ball
 

Enjoy?

Monday. 1:58 PM.

The apartment looked more like some family advertisement prop than a living space, thanks to Joonghyuk's obsessive stress-cleaning. It smelled like lemon cleaner and cookies that Joonghyuk had baked but then put away, deciding they were overkill. The Binder sat alone on the perfectly clear dining table. Biyoo, in a clean unicorn onesie pajamas, sat quietly in the center of the living room rug, enthusiastically smashing two rubber blocks together.

Kim Dokja stood lost in the middle of the room. He was wearing his work sweater he usually saved for video calls with important authors, because it was his good sweater. He felt like an actor. A very bad one, who had forgotten not just his lines, but the entire plot. He ran a hand through his hair.   

"...Do we look like we know what we're doing?"

Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t move from his post for the last 10 minutes, as if worried the wall he propped would fall without his support. He wore a simple black long-sleeve shirt that made him look like some sort of hot security personnel.

“We look tired, Kim Dokja.” 

"Well. That's honest, at least." Dokja said. “So do we offer her tea? Coffee?...Or is it a bribe?”

“We offer her answers,” Joonghyuk stated, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “Nothing else."

Dokja was about to retort that answers were the one thing he was terrified of running out of, but the doorbell rang, pulling both of their attention to the hallway.

Their eyes slowly slid back to each other. A frantic, mental communication passed in the span of a breath. 

Showtime.

Joonghyuk marched to the door first as he was closer. 

Dokja fixed his glasses and shout-whispered, scrambling after him. "Okay, here's the strategy—don't think of it like we're two guys who got stuck with a baby. Think of it like we're a small private company that recently acquired a very demanding client, and answer her questions accordingly."

Joonghyuk regarded him with a glance of exhausted disappointment over his shoulder. "You definitely need to sleep more."

"The client's sleep schedule is incompatible with mine." 

Yoo Joonghyuk turned the door lock open.

Dokja’s feet carried him to stand slightly behind and to the left. It was a position that felt both supportive and like he was using Joonghyuk as a human shield. 

Ms. Kang stood on the welcome mat with a clipboard under her arm. She looked exactly as she had at the hospital: sharp-eyed, professionally kind, and super read-proof.

“Mr. Kim, Mr. Yoo. Thank you for having me.”

“Please, come in,” Joonghyuk said, stepping aside and shifting Dokja out of the way with his arm. His voice was completely unbothered and almost robotic. She stepped in, taking her shoes off and leaving them by the door. Her eyes made a slow, attentive sweep of the space.

Dokja could see Joonghyuk tense when her scanner vision slid over the secured bookshelves, the locked cabinets, the baby gate now installed in the hallway, the safe toys on the rug, and the silicone corners slapped on every sharp edge in the baby-reach radius. Joonghyuk had made sure it was perfect, but stress made his confidence waver.

“You have a lovely home,” she said, and it didn't feel like the empty compliment it could have been. It disarmed them for a moment.

“Thank you,” Dokja breathed, his publisher-voice snapping online. “Usually it's…livelier.”

Ms. Kang’s lips twitched into a light smile. She looked down at Biyoo, who had abandoned her blocks to stare up at the new person with that creepy look of hers. “Hello again, Biyoo.”

The child’s only response was a slow blink.

“She’s very…observational…?” Dokja offered weakly.

“A good trait,” Ms. Kang said and then turned her attention back to them. “Shall we begin with a walk-through?”

The house tour felt like walking in a museum with a guide who spoke very little Korean, and their translator. Joonghyuk was the guide. He just pointed at the facts with very brief elaboration. “Outlet covers. Cabinet locks. Crib meets all safety standards. Fire extinguisher, checked last month.” 

Dokja was his translator, and a pretty good one at that. Maybe one of his biggest achievements in life was the Yoo Joonghyuk language strike that he's been keeping uninterrupted for over 4610 days without needing reminders from the Green Owl Of Evil. 

When Joonghyuk gestured to the secured shelves, Dokja added, “We’ve moved all the heavier and sentimental items to higher shelves for now. The things here are soft or lightweight.” 

When Joonghyuk pointed out the clear path to the balcony door, Dokja said, “That’s our primary evacuation route. The secondary is through the front door, and the meeting point is the big maple downstairs.”

The CPS worker nodded, making small, neat notes on her clipboard. She tested a cabinet latch. It held. She ran a finger along a higher shelf, checking for dust. There was nothing, of course, but Dokja’s heart hammered against his ribs and he wasn't quite sure what kind of face he had on at the moment. 

Joonghyuk, on the other hand, seemed completely unflappable on the outside. The only way you could tell he was nervous was if you knew the little cues to look for.

After the walk-through they ended up back in the living room slash kitchen space. Biyoo was snoring in her bed, put to sleep somewhere in the middle of the house tour. Ms. Kang took the offered seat at the dining table, Dokja and Joonghyuk sat side-by-side across from her. The Binder sat between them like a fourth, anxious participant.

“You’ve clearly put in a great deal of work very quickly,” Ms. Kang began, putting her clipboard down. “This is impressive for an emergency placement.” She looked at them, and her tone settled into something more conversational. But only on the surface, of course. “Let’s talk about how things are going. Not just with the apartment, but with you.”

Kim Dokja and Yoo Joonghyuk exchanged quick nervous glances. 

Ms. Kang started with Joonghyuk.

"You seem very adept, Mr. Yoo. Have you had prior experience caring for children?"

"I raised my little sister since I was eighteen," he said, keeping his voice steady. "From basics to university applications."

Understanding and respect blinked in the woman's eyes. She wrote something down. "That's a very significant experience. And you, Mr. Kim? This is quite a life change alongside running a business, isn't it?"

Dokja felt the question peel back a layer of the work-mode. He kept his hands still on the table, trying not to pick on his sweater sleeve. "For me, the publishing house is mostly remote. Flexible. It's...an adjustment, sure, but we're structuring it." He gestured vaguely to The Binder, then to the sleeping lump of a baby in the crib. "She's the new priority. Deadlines can wait."

Ms. Kang nodded, satisfied with these answers.

She asked the practical stuff first. Joonghyuk answered in usual monosyllable grunts. Yes, she was eating. No allergies. Doctor on Thursday. Dokja filled in the gaps, like formula brand and other kinds of food they gave her, and doctor’s name.

When she asked about support systems, Joonghyuk mentioned his sister Yoo Mia, who wanted to visit soon. Dokja talked about his old friend, Han Sooyoung, as a slightly chaotic, but very reliable emergency contact.

His voice was smooth and his thoughts formed with ease without tangling in his head. He was more than ready for all the questions asked so far. Maybe overkill wasn't always a bad thing.

Then Ms. Kang set her pen down with a thoughtful look. “Like I already mentioned, you’ve prepared the space well, and my report will note that. But I also need to assess the sustainability of the care. The interpersonal environment.”

Dokja’s stomach tightened. Yellow tab section. Here we go.

“For my notes,” she continued, “how would you define your relationship? And how do you handle stress or disagreement within it, especially now?”

Dokja opened his mouth. His prepared, perfect answer was right there. Primary, committed support. A decade of shared—

A soft, frustrated sound came from the crib. It wasn't a cry, not yet. Just a whiny, disgruntled ehhh.

All three adults turned to the living room part of the space. Biyoo stood up clutching the rail, with her little face all scrunched up. She looked a good portion of that baby-ugly. Apparently, she’d woken up on the wrong side of the nap. 

Yoo Joonghyuk pushed his chair back before the whine even finished. He didn’t look at the woman for a permission or to apologize for the interruption. He used the time It would have taken to already be across the room.

When he reached into the crib for Biyoo, she kicked her plush that was discarded on the mattress. It flew through the bars, fell on the floor and, of course, rolled under the crib frame. Then, like a baby she was, she proceeded to point at it and get more upset.

Joonghyuk sighed, unimpressed. He adjusted his hold, tucking her securely against his shoulder, and making complaints muffled against his shirt.

Kim Dokja stammered up the second he saw it happen, almost tripping over the chair legs. Scrambling to the crib, he knelt and shoved his hand under the crib, fishing out the plush. There it was. When he straightened up, he dusted it off on his sweater absently, before mentally scoffing at himself. Idiot. The floors were so clean you could eat off them.

Now he needed to tuck the plush securely between Biyoo’s cheek and Joonghyuk’s shoulder. Dokja grabbed onto the taller man's shoulder to make sure neither he nor Joonghyuk lost balance during such a maneuver, and successfully slotted the toy into place.

His relaxed hand slid down Joonghyuk's back, catching in the fabric folds on his middle weakly. Dokja paid it no mind.

They stood like that for some time. Yoo Joonghyuk swayed slightly and Biyoo's sniffles were quieting down. Dokja’s focus was entirely on the curve of her back and the way her tiny fist loosened on Joonghyuk’s shirt.

They’d forgotten the question. They’d forgotten Ms. Kang.

Kim Dokja blinked.

…Fuck, Ms. Kang.

He pulled his hand away and spun around to face the table. His face felt hot. “Sorry. You were asking…”

“He doesn’t leave.”

Joonghyuk’s voice was low and flat. He wasn't looking at Ms. Kang, his chin still resting on Biyoo’s head. “I don’t leave.”

Dokja’s breath caught. All his textbook phrases evaporated. He looked from Joonghyuk’s profile to Ms. Kang’s patient face. His mouth was dry.

“It’s…yeah,” he managed, his voice weak. “That’s...that’s it, really.”

It was the least coherent, but the most honest answer they could've given.

The woman looked at them and nodded slowly. "I see." She wrote a single line on her form and flipped the clipboard pages to the default.

The rest was logistics. A promise to be in touch, a reminder about the next check-in. Polite goodbyes at the door.

At some point, the lock clicked shut.

Yoo Joonghyuk stood by the door for a three-count, listening to Ms. Kang’s footsteps fade away.

The apartment was just theirs again, plus the crushing quiet.

Kim Dokja hadn't moved from the center of the living room rug. He didn't bother to take a step and just let his legs give out, plopping on the floor with his back against the couch. Shifting, he wrapped his arms around the knees and dropped his forehead onto them. A long, shaky breath escaped him, making the fabric of his good sweater warm. He was exhausted down to his bones.

He heard Joonghyuk’s footsteps pad to the kitchen, then a quiet rustle of a cabinet and the faint ting of a plate.

A tap on the top of his head a minute later made Dokja flinch and look up, just to see Joonghyuk crouched beside him. He was silently holding out a plate with two big cookies. 

Dokja blinked and took the plate. “...Thanks.”

Joonghyuk grunted and straightened up. Dokja felt him plunk on the couch behind him, absolutely wrecked. He was close enough that his shoulder touched his leg.

Dokja took a cookie and bit into it.

"By the way, your floors," Dokja mumbled while chewing. "are so clean It's ridiculous."

"Shut up and eat."

The cookie was buttery and very good. Of course it was. Somehow, it tasted like relief, which was a rather stupid thing to think. He ate the second one just to have something to do.

The apartment was quiet, but not a deep or meaningful kind. Just the quiet of an afternoon after a lot of stress.

The adrenaline was gone, leaving behind that hollow, staticky fatigue. Dokja moved to slide down the couch side a little, and leaned his head until his temple rested against Joonghyuk’s knee. He stared at the ceiling.

His arm reached back, and without looking, he let his hand fall on the couch, palm up. A dumb, wordless request. He waited. Nothing.

He wiggled his fingers.

For a second there was, again, nothing. Then, Joonghyuk's big, warm hand covered his completely. Just there. 

Dokja let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and his fingers curled slightly, just enough to hook loosely around Joonghyuk’s. His thumb brushed over his knuckles.

We did it.

He didn't say it, he didn't need to. He just held on, and let the silent weight of Joonghyuk's hand say it for him.

The inspection was over.

Notes:

I think it was a pretty fun one. Feedback is appreciated as always, tell me what you think lol

 

Thanks for reading~🍂

Chapter 6: Framework

Notes:

Idk why it took me so long. Maybe cuz it's kinda a big chapter. Or I'm just lazy....Anyway!

 

Enjoy?

Tuesday. 6:35 AM.

The coffee needed four minutes to brew. Yoo Joonghyuk used them to wipe down the counter, already smeared with a mysterious sticky handprint from the night. Speaking of which, the night formula canister was getting light. They’d need more by the end of the week. He made a mental note to order more after his stream tomorrow. The breakfast prep was underway; Biyoo had woken for a feed at five, which meant she’d be hungry again around seven. He added  bananas and yogurt restock to the mental shopping list.

A soft thump came from the living room, then a frustrated sigh. Joonghyuk didn’t need to look, he knew the sound. Kim Dokja, half-asleep on the floor, was trying to coax a wriggling child into day clothes. Yesterday it had taken nearly ten minutes. A waste of time, but Dokja insisted on doing it his way.

The French press timer chimed, and Joonghyuk pushed the plunger down slowly. As he poured the first cup, he calculated. Sponsorship edits were due in two days. Ideally, he’d need three uninterrupted hours tonight or tomorrow after Biyoo’s bedtime, which, according to the erratic but slowly-emerging pattern, should be around eight. Kim Dokja could manage Biyoo way better by now, but his sleep was insufficient again. For the last couple days he’d been up past two working, and the baby monitor had flickered with movement at three-thirty. The dark circles under his eyes were getting permanent. 

Joonghyuk took a sip of the coffee. Black, no sugar. Strong. Perfect. Exactly what they both needed.

He carried the second mug to the living room border and leaned against the column that served as the space separation. The scene was exactly as he’d pictured. Dokja was on his knees, clutching a onesie like a flag of truce. Biyoo, equipped with nothing but a diaper, was attempting to crawl away with a determined expression.

“The armholes are not a suggestion, kid,” Dokja was telling her, and he sounded terribly raspy.

The child responded by rolling onto her back and kicking her feet.

Joonghyuk watched for another few more seconds, then he set Dokja’s coffee on the breakfast bar near him and went to scoop Biyoo up. He laid her on the changing pad, straightened the new onesie, and effortlessly guided her limbs through. Left arm, right arm, snap at the crotch, snap up the chest. Done. Twenty-seven seconds.

Dokja blinked at him from the floor with the empty onesie still in his hands. “...Show-off.”

“You were taking too long,” Joonghyuk grumped, lifting the warm and solid baby weight to his hip. “Food’s ready for warming. Don’t let it get too hot.”

“Yes, yes,” Dokja sighed, pushing himself up. He reached for his coffee mug. “You’re the boss, oh mighty child-wrangler.”

In twenty minutes, the high chair tray was a warzone of oatmeal and banana mush. Joonghyuk scraped the worst of it into the compost bin methodically. Breakfast had taken longer than it should have. Biyoo kept getting distracted—by a spoon, by the birds in the window, by her own fingers. He’d have to remember that for tomorrow. She'd been getting more fussy during meals lately.

They were well past the formula stage now. He’d phased it out over the last few weeks, replacing bottles with proper meals. It was more nutritional and age appropriate, and the night bottle was just a day closure ritual now. Milk made her sleepy.

Kim Dokja called her a creepy baby sometimes, and Joonghyuk couldn't disagree. There was something pretty unsettling about her quiet surveillance, and the way she could stare at a wall for ten minutes. But the real thing that nagged at him wasn’t her quietness. It was her lack of stranger anxiety.

She was old enough for it. At her age, most kids would scream bloody murder when handed off to two unknown men in a strange apartment. Biyoo hadn’t. She’d been watchful, still, and eerily accepting. She’d fussed when hungry or wet, but never with that specific, panicked grief of a child who knew her biological parent was gone. Her only distress was generic. A problem with conditions, not with people.

It made him wonder, in that part of his mind he used for troubleshooting, what her life before them had been like. Had she been left with a rotating cast of relatives, neighbors, indifferent babysitters so often that two new faces were just part of the routine? Had her silence been learned because crying never brought the right person back?

He didn’t have answers, just the observation. She hadn’t rejected them. She’d just…slotted them in. As if she’d been waiting for someone, anyone, to finally be there. To stay.

Speaking of slotting them in. He thought about the first time she’d really established it. It had been a few days ago, during another messy breakfast. Routine. 

Joonghyuk was wiping the chicken-pureed tray absentmindedly when he heard it.

“Mm!”

He turned. Biyoo was in her chair with sticky fingers curled around the safety bar. She was staring at him with that unsettling manner of hers, her head tilted.

“Mm-ah!”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting. Sometimes sounds were just sounds. Sometimes they meant “more” or “down” or “I hid the plush and you’ll never find it.”

“Mma!”

That one was clear and intentional. Joonghyuk’s hand stilled, gears in his head turning.

He most definitely knew where she’d picked it up. Those cartoons Dokja played sometimes, the annoying ones with too much singing and dancing. The label was wrong. Completely wrong.

“No,” He pointed at himself with the cleaning cloth. “Yoo Joonghyuk.”

Biyoo’s face lit up. “Mma!”

“Joong-hyuk.”

“Mma!”

A choked, sputtering sound came from behind them.

Joonghyuk rolled his eyes and turned. Kim Dokja was leaning against the breakfast bar with a manuscript to his chest. His face was doing something complicated, almost like he had a stroke—twitching between surprise and the beginning of a laughing fit that he was visibly struggling to suppress. His shoulders started to shake.

Joonghyuk reattached the tray. His face felt warm. “Don’t.”

But it only seemed to set Dokja off. A wheezing laugh escaped him, followed by another. He then bent in half, clutching his stomach. 

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s—Pffhkh—” Dokja dissolved into hysterical, choked sounds. Tears were forming the corners of his eyes.

Biyoo, absolutely delighted by all the commotion, banged her hands on her now clean tray. “Mmah! M-Mma!”

Dokja gasped for air, pointing with a finger. “I swear I didn't coach her on it.”

Joonghyuk shot him a threatening glare, but sure enough, it had no effect. The editor was curled on the floor now, laughing silently with his whole body shaking.

With a sigh, Joonghyuk put the cloth down and wiped his hands. Then he unclipped Biyoo from the high chair, ignoring her cheerful chanting, and lifted her out. He’d need to wash her face before her morning nap, and also there was oatmeal in her hair.

Carrying her to the bathroom, he stepped over Dokja, who was still hysterical on the floor, hugging the manuscript.

“You are a fool,” Joonghyuk stated.

“You’re a M-ma,” Dokja squeaked back, his voice thick with laughter.

Yoo Joonghyuk, with the cold clarity of a man who had just lost a battle he never even agreed to fight, decided that he would be putting tomatoes in Dokja’s dinner that evening. Not too much. Just enough.

The memory of Dokja’s hysterical laughter still annoyed him. Shaking his head, Joonghyuk finished cleaning the kitchen.

Overall, their division of labor stayed strong. By the third week of The Biyoo Era, it was less just a choice and more like a law of life. Joonghyuk managed the physical infrastructure of their home. He cooked, cleaned, held the renovation projects, and enforced the nap schedules with the unarguable certainty of a metronome. He knew the exact water temperature for Biyoo’s bath (it was 37.5°C), the Biyoo-approved consistency of her porridge, and which brand of wipes didn’t make her skin flare up.

Dokja managed the information front, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He deep dived into the parenting forums, booked the doctor appointments, and, of course, maintained The Binder. This mildly disturbing creation of his had now sprouted sub-sections on developmental milestones and local playground reviews. It made Joonghyuk slightly concerned for his sanity, but he decided to let it be. He was also, by default, the Minister of Distraction. When Biyoo got fussy, it was Dokja who was sent to sit with her, making absurd noises or trying to get her to stack blocks. His success rate was quite middling, but he was stubborn and persistent.

Yoo Joonghyuk usually watched their progress from his post at the kitchen counter or the couch. He had noticed the way Dokja sometimes handled Biyoo just a little too carefully, as if she was made of spun glass while his hands were soap-slippery. He knew how to read the signs—it was always worse when Dokja was running on empty. There was a moment, two days ago, when a pot lid slipped from Joonghyuk’s grip and clattered loudly on the tile floor. His eyes immediately snapped to his companion.

Dokja, who was sitting at the table with a stack of invoices, just flinched. That tiny, full-body recoil that was gone in less than a blink. His knuckles went white around his pen, and for a few seconds, his eyes were fixed on nothing. He looked like a wax statue. Then he just blinked, shook his head once, and went back to his papers.

Joonghyuk didn’t ask. He finished plating the food and set Dokja’s portion in front of him with a soft clack of ceramic on wood. It was a familiar, thus grounding sound. He said nothing. Dokja picked up his chopsticks in a bit, his movements just a little too stiff, but other than that he looked normal. 

Some things didn’t need to be fixed, or couldn't be fixed. They just needed to be navigated correctly. 

Sleep was a variable. Stress was a variable. Joonghyuk couldn't control everything, and he understood it wasn't his problem to deal with. But he could at least try to ensure Dokja wasn't already standing at the cliff's edge when he slipped.

The ‘Mma’ situation, once launched, did not improve. Biyoo did not discriminate. She said it when she was hungry, when she wanted up, when she dropped her plush, and just because. It was, Joonghyuk concluded with grim resignation, her default file name for ‘primary caregiver’ that she had picked up from TV. It was biologically reductive and factually annoying. And Kim Dokja, the bastard, found it endlessly entertaining.

“Mma, the food, please,” he’d say, grinning, when Biyoo started her pre-meal whimpers.

Joonghyuk would wordlessly retrieve the warm food and hand it to him. “You’re feeding her. You’re the Mma today.”

“But she’s calling for you, Hyuk-ah, ” Dokja would sing-song, settling Biyoo in the crook of his arm. “Your biggest fan.”

It was ridiculous, but Joonghyuk had started to notice a pattern. When Biyoo was just fussy or bored, she put up with whoever was nearest. But when she was genuinely upset or bonked her head, she'd look around, her eyes searching the space until they locked onto him. Her crying would zero in, and suddenly, “Mma!” wasn't just a stupid nickname anymore. It was a summon.

He’d take her. Her small, overheated body would go stiff against his chest, face buried in his neck, leaving a damp patch of tears and snot. He wouldn’t bounce or rock, he’d just walk. A slow, pointless lap from the kitchen to the balcony door and back worked. It always did.

After, spent and hiccuping, she’d often push weakly at his shoulder, her wet eyes seeking Kim Dokja across the room. “Ppa,” she’d sigh, the sound soft and round, almost affectionate. And Dokja would take her, his voice dropping into a soft, nonsense narration about whatever was in front of them. Biyoo wouldn't understand a thing, but she'd listen to him talk. She liked when he talked.

Yoo Joonghyuk would use that break to wipe his neck with a towel and get back to whatever he’d been doing. It was practical. He was good at managing immediate crises, Dokja was better at filling the aftermath. It made a brutal kind of sense.

Though a weird, hollow feeling sometimes still settled in his chest when she reached for Dokja instead of clinging to him. He tried not to dwell on the words. ‘Ppa’ felt like a real word. A normal one. What he got was…a function. Like a job. Mama. A little unfair, if he were the type to think in such petty terms, which he wasn’t.

But.

When her small, desperate hands fisted in his shirt, and her cries pitched to that specific frequency meant only for him…She knew, instinctively, that he was the one who would catch the fall. And that counted for something. Maybe it counted for a lot.

Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t parse the odd twist of something that felt both like jealousy and guilt. She was a baby, and she was just doing what babies did, sorting them into categories of need.

He pushed the mess of it all down and locked it away with the other non-essential data. It worked, and that was the only metric that mattered. 

After doing the malewife math, it was clear they would be out of too many things soon, so at this point the grocery trip was a necessity. Yoo Joonghyuk made the shopping list and planned the route. Mart first for baby supplies, then the big supermarket. He timed it for right after Biyoo’s morning nap, when she was usually most cooperative.

“I wasn't prepared for your tactical mission to be today,” Dokja yawned, hovering as Joonghyuk secured Biyoo in her car seat.

“It’s just grocery shopping,” Joonghyuk grunted, clicking the buckle shut. “Don’t make it sound dramatic.”

“Everything is dramatic with a toddler,” Dokja muttered, sliding into the passenger seat.

The mart was fine. A little crowded, but fine. Biyoo sat in the cart, wide-eyed, chewing on the horn of her round plush. Joonghyuk got the night formula, the wipes, and that specific brand of rice crackers she tolerated. Dokja drifted off to find coffee and came back with the wrong kind.

“This is the bitter one,” Joonghyuk said, looking at the bag.

“It was on sale. And come on, it's not that bad.”

“I don't care. I don’t want the bitter one.”

Dokja snorted with that cheeky face that irritated Joonghyuk so much. “You’re the bitter one.” 

The big supermarket was more crowded and brighter. Yoo Joonghyuk pushed the cart with one hand and the list in the other. Kim Dokja walked beside him, one hand resting lightly on the cart’s handle near Joonghyuk's, while his eyes slid over the shelves lazily. He was very visibly tired. Joonghyuk frowned. He seriously considered locking Dokja's laptop in his office drawer overnight. 

It was the cereal aisle where it all went down.

A sudden, sharp shatter of glass, somewhere an aisle over. A wine bottle, maybe, or a jar of sauce meeting its end. It wasn’t a super loud crash, but a surprise factor played its role in the worst way possible.

Joonghyuk’s head turned toward the noise on instinct, but his focus immediately snapped back when his brain recognized the sound as a dreadfully familiar auditory trigger. Kim Dokja. 

His eyes, while rounding back, fell on Biyoo first. She seemed fine, just a little surprised and slightly curious. Good. 

But Dokja had gone still in that concerning manner. His stare caught on a wall of garish breakfast cereal boxes, but he wasn't seeing them. His grip on the cart had cancelled itself. His arms were slightly bent and his hands were hanging limp, like he did when they were dirty or sticky. His breathing, Joonghyuk noted grimly, had stopped, and he was slightly paler than usual. It was the same freeze as with the pot lid, but here, in the fluorescent public eye, it felt different. Wrong. Too exposed. 

A useless, hot spike of anger shot through Joonghyuk. Not at Kim Dokja, but at the clumsy fucker in that other aisle. Not here. 

He needed to come up with something, and he needed to do it fast. 

Joonghyuk didn’t touch Dokja. It wasn't the best idea. He took one protective step to the left, placing himself between Dokja and the direction of the noise. Then he leaned down to his ear slightly, his calm and smooth voice cutting through whatever memory-thick fog Dokja was stuck in.

“The discounted rice in aisle two.”

Kim Dokja blinked. Once. Twice. Then one more time. He dragged in a shaky breath, and his eyes slowly focused on Joonghyuk’s face. “...What?”

“We need two big bags.” Joonghyuk kept his tone completely natural. “The cheap one. Not the one you bought last time that clumps.”

A beat of silence between them. Dokja wiped his hands on his sweatshirt in a quick, jerky movement. He looked from Joonghyuk to Biyoo, who was trying to grab a box of colorful loops from a shelf. Joonghyuk's shoulders eased, and he couldn't even tell when exactly he went so rigid. That's it. The normal, frustrating world reasserted itself.

“Right,” Dokja said, his voice cracking a little. He cleared his throat. “Two big bags. The non-clumping kind.”

He didn’t say anything else. Joonghyuk didn’t expect him to. They moved on to aisle two.

The rest of the trip was quiet, and Dokja slowly relaxed back into his tired slouch. He made the occasional dry comment about random things, like unreasonably overpriced organic fruit. By the time they loaded the bags into the car, the tension had mostly bled away. They were just relieved it was finally all done.

That night, after Biyoo was asleep and the groceries were long put away, the apartment settled into its evening silence. Dokja was at his usual place, pretending to work but mostly just staring at his laptop screen. Joonghyuk was at the dining table, taking apart his keyboard to clean it. The clicks of the keycap puller were monotone and precise.

The silence stretched. It was comfortable, but weighted with the day’s residue. The incident in the aisle wasn't a grand discovery for either of them, but it occurred in a new, unacceptable context. The grocery store. With the baby.

Yoo Joonghyuk spoke first, not looking up from the circuit board. “If that happens again.”

Dokja’s typing stuttered. He didn’t pretend not to know what ‘that’ was. He’d stopped pretending about it with Joonghyuk years ago, even if they never named it. “Mm.”

“In public. Or anywhere.” With her. 

“Yeah?”

Joonghyuk slotted a clean key back into place with a firm snap. “I'll say we're running late.”

A pause. Dokja spun slowly in his chair. “For what?”

“Doesn’t matter. An appointment. Her nap. It’s a full-stop reason.” Joonghyuk said, meeting his eyes. “No one questions it. It gives a reason to walk away.”

Dokja stared at him. His face went through a series of micro-expressions. Confusion. Understanding. Then a flicker of something painfully raw that he quickly buried. And finally, a shaky, disbelieving chuckle. He rubbed a hand over his face, dislocating his glasses. “Really? A code phrase?”

“It’s a bypass,” Joonghyuk grumbled, returning to his keyboard. He frowned and removed a stubborn bit of dust with a blast of compressed air. “For the...glitch.”

Another silence, somehow softer this time. Dokja leaned back in his bar chair, the defensive hunch leaving his shoulders. He still looked dead exhausted, but the pinched look around his eyes had eased by lots.

“Right, okay.” Dokja turned back to his screen with a faint, wry smile touching his lips. “Noted.”

They sat together in the kitchen a while longer. 
Joonghyuk finished reassembling the keyboard and setting it aside. He stood up, stretching.

“I’ll take her tonight.” 

Dokja looked up from his screen, blinking the digital strain away. “What?”

“Biyoo. She will sleep in my room.” Joonghyuk didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. You look like you’re about to fall over. You haven’t slept in days. 

Dokja opened his mouth, likely to protest out of habit, but then closed it. He just nodded with a short, weak dip of his chin. “...Okay.”

“Good. Don't sit long.”

Joonghyuk moved to the crib, gathering a sleeping Biyoo—blanket, plush and all—into his arms with practiced ease. She sighed in her sleep, but didn't steer. He didn’t look back as he carried her down the hall.

His bedroom door shut with a soft click, leaving Kim Dokja to himself. 

Notes:

That was definitely something lol. Kim Dokja and his self-destructive behavior even in the peaceful setting, check ✔️ Now go get some sleep, you stupid fuck.

 

Thanks for reading~🍂