Lee Minho ³²

The house was quiet for the first time that day. Well, almost. From the living room, the soft sound of cartoons and the little girl's occasional laughter could still be heard.

Minho was sitting on the kitchen floor with the child on his lap, trying to teach him how to fold napkins "correctly." The little boy was frowning just like him.

"Not like that. Look closely," said Minho, repositioning her hands with unexpected patience.

—But it remains the same…

—It doesn't look the same.

The boy sighed as if life were extremely hard at five years old.

On the sofa, Jisung had the little girl snuggled against his chest, wrapped in a blanket even though it wasn't cold. She was covering his face with glittery stickers while he feigned indignation.

—Another star on your forehead? Seriously?

—It makes you handsome.

—Even more? How dangerous.

The girl burst out laughing so loudly that the boy turned his head from the kitchen.

—Dad, she's bothering us again.

"Because you're boring," she replied before Jisung could speak.

—I'm not boring.

-Yeah.

-No.

-Yeah.

Minho looked up for just a second.

—Both silent.

They both fell silent instantly. Jisung chuckled softly.

It was evident even in small things. The boy followed Minho everywhere, copying his mannerisms, expressions, even the way he crossed his arms when he was angry. And Minho, although he pretended to be tired of him every five minutes, always ended up letting him sleep on top of him or holding his hand.

With the little girl, it was different. She sought Jisung out for everything. If she cried, she wanted Jisung. If she was sleepy, she wanted Jisung. If she hurt herself, she'd go straight to hide her face in his neck. And Jisung spoiled her so much that Minho constantly said he was going to turn her into a tyrant.

"Because it will be," Minho muttered as he watched his daughter force Jisung to put on another sticker.

—You indulge her too.

—That's not true.