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Sieun wakes up to the sound of whispering. The kind that’s definitely not meant to be kept a secret because it’s way too loud to be one. It starts soft, then grows louder, and louder still, until it tugs him right out of the thinning fog of sleep like annoying little hands shaking his body awake.
He keeps his eyes closed. He tries, genuinely tries, to sink back under, but his body has already decided; nope, we’re awake now. Every tiny shift sends a complaint up his spine. His legs ache, his back hurts, even his toes are throbbing, which feels personal somehow. That deep, heavy soreness that only long surgeries can carve into his bone hasn’t let go of him yet.
It’s been two days straight of standing for twelve hours to tackle five surgeries and three emergencies from the trauma unit he wasn’t supposed to take but he absolutely couldn’t walk away from. Classic Sieun, always gives too much fuck despite his well-known blasé personality.
But the voices beside the bed are the final blow. It is soft and conspiring but absolutely terrible at being quiet.
“Can’t Eomma come with us, Appa?” his daughter whispers.
“No, sweetheart. He’s too tired from saving people.” Humin’s so-called whisper is… honestly just whisper-shouting. Sieun can feel the vibrations of it in the mattress. “Appa can take you to school today.”
There’s a tiny gasp, Jin Ah’s trademark shock sound.
“Really?”
“Mm. And maybe we get ice cream on the way. Just…” a dramatic pause, “Don’t tell Eomma.”
“Pinky promise?”
“Has Appa ever lied to you?”
Sieun doesn’t open his eyes, but he can picture Humin’s grin perfectly; that same bright, ridiculous smile he’s had since high school, the kind that looks like he’s two seconds away from trouble but the warmth it rolled together would make you follow him willingly.
He shouldn’t be smiling. Really, he shouldn’t.
Sieun’s exhausted. Tomorrow’s schedule will probably kill him. His spine feels like someone replaced it with a bamboo but he smiles anyway, softly, under the gentle morning light that bathed their bedroom.
Because life with these two, Park Hu Min and Park Jin Ah, is warm, messy, and loud in all the right ways. It’s everything he never thought he’d have after a childhood of being told he was unwanted, an inconvenience.
Even on days like this, when he genuinely feels like he might faint and never gets up, Sieun never once regrets choosing the man whispering conspiratorially with their daughter.
“You know I can hear both of you, right?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.
The silence that follows only lasts a beat or two. Then—
“AAAAHH I AM SORRY SIEUN-SSI!!”
Sieun cracks one eye open just in time to watch Humin freeze midair, like his soul just left his body. Jin Ah is grinning beside him; she is twelve now, long-legged, bright-eyed, and painfully dramatic, just like her father. She flops onto his stomach without a care in the world.
“Oof— Jin Ah,” he wheezes. “Baby, you’ve grown so much.”
“She is light!” Humin argues instantly, already defensive, lifting her up by the collar of her uniform with one hand like she weighs nothing. “See?”
“Park Humin.” Sieun warns, deadpan. That’s all it takes for Park Humin aka Baku to put their daughter back down like she’s made of fragile glass. He rubs the back of his neck, wearing the most apologetic expression known to humankind; and if he’s smart enough, the one that never works on Sieun.
“Right, right. My bad. But come on, my love. You were way heavier than her at her age.”
“Oh really?” Sieun raises a brow, crossing his arms. “Is that so?”
Apparently, Humin woke up with a death wish today.
“Eomma,” she says sweetly, “Halabeoji’s picking me up later. I’m helping him at the restaurant again.”
Humin beams. “Abeoji says she’s a better help than I ever was.”
“Halabeoji let me taste the new spicy sauce,” Jin Ah adds proudly but she doesn’t know it only makes Sieun’s mood turn sour.
Sieun freezes. “…He what?”
“She only took one drop!” Humin blurts. “Very supervised! Extremely supervised! She coughed a bit but—”
“And that’s supposed to reassure me?” Sieun asks quietly, which is somehow worse than him shouting.
His eyes start scanning the room for something to throw at his dumb husband or at least a pen to deliver a message into Park Jin Cheol. Maybe the stab mark from the knife next to his cutting board wasn’t clear enough last time.
Humin opens his mouth and closes it. He opens it again and gives up entirely. He looks like a panicked fish gasping for air.
“Eomma, can we still get ice cream later?”
“See?!” Humin shouts, standing up, looking at their daughter with a scandalous look on his face from being betrayed by his own kid. “You told Eomma!”
“You’re the one who...”
“I didn’t think you’d be awake yet!”
“I’m always awake if you’re going to do something stupid.”
“That’s a lie...”
Jin Ah crawls up beside Sieun, pressing her forehead to his cheek in the soft, affectionate way she knows will melt him instantly. She hugs him tight, strategic little thing she is, because she knows it’s the fastest way to get her Eomma to calm down.
“Appa. Eomma. Please don’t fight. I’m gonna be late. And I want to wear the pink shoes Appa bought me.”
Sieun sighs, sits up, and shifts Jin Ah so she’s beside him instead of on top of him. His joints crack loudly in protest. Humin is immediately at his side, one warm hand on Sieun’s lower back, steadying him; and the other resting on his shoulder with a touch so soft it Sieun almost doesn’t feel it but his presence is difficult to deny.
“You sure you’re okay to get up?” Humin asks quietly, breath warm on Sieun’s cheek. “You came home at 3AM. You barely slept.”
Sieun used to hate this part, being seen like this, vulnerable. But secretly… he doesn’t hate it anymore. Not when it’s Humin. And when the concern is real and not dressed as pity.
“I’m fine,” he lies, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders like that somehow proves anything. And Jin Ah goes out of their room to get ready.
Humin gives him that look; the “I don’t believe you but I’ll let you pretend otherwise” look. The same one he had before messing up Sieun’s hair on the first day they met, somehow knowing what Sieun needs to overcome his panic attacks.
And because it’s morning, and their little sacred routine is important, Humin leans down and kisses Sieun’s forehead. It is slow and lingering, as if checking Sieun with his lips the same way some people check temperatures with their hands.
Sieun’s breath hitches.
Even after two decades, Humin still kisses him like he’s afraid of hurting him by accident. And everything he does, from laughing at Sieun’s dad jokes down to the soft kisses and gentle twirls when Sieun’s annoyed at his colleagues; all of it still knocks the air right out of him.
“Breakfast is ready,” Humin murmurs. “I made your favorite.”
“Kimbap?” Sieun guesses.
“No, your real favorite.” Humin grins.
“Park Humin.”
“Fine, fine. It’s my Dad’s fried chicken. He dropped it off earlier.” He rubs his face against Sieun’s cheek like some oversized dog marking his territory. “Gimme strength, pleaseeee. Twelve hours of frying chicken awaits me.”
He says it dramatically, but Sieun feels the real meaning under it; Humin is storing up warmth, scent, and comfort from Sieun before facing a long day. Sieun told him countless times that he didn’t need to work. That Sieun makes ten times Humin’s monthly income in a week but Humin never listens.
It’s not about money, he says. Not for Park Humin.
After all, in the end of the day, Park Humin is still a man, someone’s husband. It’s about responsibility, his pride. And men is all about providing for his family. Being a man who contributes to his family not because society demands it, but because he wants to.
And yeah… the whispers and gossip hurt sometimes. From their neighbours to Sieun’s colleagues. People talking behind Humin’s back about being “the lesser husband.”
But Humin always pushes through. He always has.
And Sieun… Sieun loves him for it in a way that almost aches. Sieun might buy the house, but it’s Park Humin who makes it their home.
***
Park Jin Cheol had stopped by earlier, briefly and awkwardly, to talk to Humin about picking up his beloved granddaughter after school. He didn’t even step fully into their home, opting to hover near the entryway like Sieun was a ghost he might accidentally summon by speaking too loudly.
And the second Humin said, “Abeoji, wait, do you wanna say hi to—” the man practically sprinted backwards into his shoes, muttering something about “the restaurant needing to be open soon” and “chickens won’t fry themselves.”
Not a single word about seeing Sieun if not truly necessary. Not even after twenty-something years of being family.
And it’s ridiculous, really, or maybe pathetic, depending how one sees it. That even now, just one pointed stare from Sieun could shrink the man down to the size of a garden gnome. But Sieun can’t help it; some habits stick. And some scars, especially from elders who once belittled their own sons, never fully fade.
Sieun sighs as Humin’s palms move up to his shoulders, broad, warm, incredibly skilled for someone whose job is literally frying chicken. The pressure is perfect. Humin always knows exactly where Sieun holds his stress. The tight line under his shoulder blade stores the stiffness from being in the position of holding the surgical scalpel too long. And that knot near his neck he pretends doesn’t hurt from looking down too long.
Sieun feels himself melting, eyes fluttering halfway shut. God. This man with these hands.
This is one of the reasons, one of the big ones, if he’s being honest, why Sieun chose Park Humin over all the men who once tried so desperately to win his affection. Humin always puts Sieun first. And never out of obligation let alone to boost his ego. But because that’s just who he is.
He’s not the richest; surprisingly, that title goes to Geum Seongje (who had inherited his family law firm and somehow turned his messy high school personality into profit).
He’s definitely not the most well-known; surprisingly again, Ahn Suho took that crown after launching himself into the MMA world like a possessed phoenix after waking up from a two-year coma. He had retired a decade ago.
But Humin… Humin is the one who puts Sieun and their daughter at the center of his universe without making it feel like they’re burdens he carries.
He picks Sieun up from work no matter how far the hospital is from the restaurant. He knows Jin Ah’s entire weekly schedule by heart, even her math quiz dates. He remembers the tiny things Sieun mentions offhandedly at 2 am and get it done the next day. He reassures Sieun, again and again, that having a daughter is something to celebrate and not to mourn in a country that still worships sons like trophies.
He’s a good man. In the simplest, most important ways.
“Rest your pretty head, Sieun-ssi,” Humin murmurs, thumbs kneading over the sore muscles at Sieun’s neck, and Sieun sighs in relief. “I’ll protect our angel from any harm. Any boy who even looks at our daughter funny? I’ll punch him in the balls so hard—”
“Please don’t,” Sieun mutters into his palm.
Humin just grins, the same stupid confident grin he wore in high school when he bragged about getting the girl’s number (he hadn’t; she wrote down an extra number instead of the correct one).
After wrestling Jin Ah’s hair into a half ponytail, which took Humin three tries and two extra rubber bands, and checking her backpack twice (definitely him), they all stand by the door.
“Eomma!” Jin Ah plants both hands on Sieun’s cheeks dramatically, pulling him down slightly, gently, just like her Appa. Sieun’s heart lightens in that quiet, good feeling he only gets because of her. Because his daughter inherits all the good things from his husband.
Mentally, Sieun is forever grateful that the only trait she inherited from him is the light smattering of freckles across her nose; but somehow, it looks perfect on her. Not his knack for getting into trouble, not his awkwardness with social cues, and definitely not his obsessive need to overachieve.
He just wants her to be not him, untouched by the loneliness and pain that shadowed his own childhood before Suho, Humin, Gotak, and Juntae barged their way into his life. Humin, on the other hand, keeps lamenting the absence of their shared “boba eyes” on her, as if that’s the real tragedy here. Ridiculous man. Truly.
“Stay in bed today, okay? Rest. Don’t do any work or cleaning. Leave that to our idiot Appa. Just sleep!”
“Why does that sound threatening?” Sieun mumbles.
“Because it is.” She says, and kisses his cheek like some over-the-top drama heroine. Sieun closes his eyes, drawing her into a hug. He kisses her soft cheek back, inhaling the warm, sweet smell of her shampoo.
Humin pulls on his delivery jacket and slings his helmet over his arm. “I’ll send pics when she gets to school,” he tells Sieun. “And after, when Dad picks her up. And when she tries the sauce again—”
Sieun glares.
Humin immediately crumbles. “Fine. No sauce.”
Jin Ah hugs him back tightly. “Bye, Eomma. Rest well!”
“Bye, my baby.”
The door closes behind them.
And the house goes quiet. Too quiet. That unsettling kind of quiet that usually only happens when you’re suddenly alone after being surrounded by love.
Sieun lets out a long breath, walks into his bedroom, and the bone-deep exhaustion finally catches up to him. He sinks onto the bed facedown, burying his face into the pillow. He pulls the soft thick blanket over his legs. His muscles unclench all at once, relaxing. His spine sighs in relief.
Three minutes later, his phone buzzes.
[Idiot Husband]: we r on a redlight. she is making us late bc she keeps saying i must drive slowly she'll kill me if i mess up her hair. like some1 i know
Another buzz fifteen minutes later breaks the silence.
[Idiot Husband]: we r at school. one package is delivered safely :D
A selfie comes through in which Jin Ah is posing dramatically in front of her school gate, hair absolutely perfect, while Humin stands behind her looking half-annoyed and half-proud by his own child.
Sieun snorts. But his chest warms from all the feelings he can’t describe.
God. I really love them.
He rolls onto his side, eyelids already drooping. His body finally lets go.
And Sieun sleeps.
Not the restless kind he’s known his whole life. And definitely, not the shallow kind that doctors take in ten-minute breaks. But the deep, content kind that you only get when the people you love most are exactly where they’re supposed to be. Safe and sound.