The day was warm and clear, with a slight smell of the sea in the air. The sun played with the reflections on the car's windshield, as if the whole world was rejoicing with them. The white walls of the hospital were left behind, and with every step away from the gate, Minjun felt himself becoming lighter, warmer inside.
Hyuk carried the baby carrier in his arms, holding it so gently against his chest as if he were holding the whole world in his palms. Minjun walked beside him, lightly touching his elbow - not just for support, but to make sure this was all real.
"He's so tiny..." he whispered, looking at the peacefully sleeping baby.
A barely audible snuffling came from the carrier, like the quiet breath of a new life.
"He's small, but he's ours," Hyuk replied. His voice was soft, but it carried a pride that made Minjun's eyes sting.
The apartment greeted them with a silence permeated by the smell of cleanliness and slightly faded laundry detergent. The air seemed different, fresh, as if the space itself was preparing for a new beginning.
Minjun carefully placed the baby in the crib, which had been set up by the window in advance. The white blanket with the small embroidered clouds seemed too big for his tiny arms and legs. Minjun kept straightening the folds, touching the tiny fingers, stroking his soft cheek - still not believing that this wasn't a dream.
Hyuk came up from behind, hugged him, and rested his chin on his shoulder. His warmth immediately spread through Minjun's body.
"Now you can breathe," he whispered. "Everything is okay."
Minjun nodded, but he didn't move away from the crib for a long time. Only when the baby's breathing became even and calm did he allow Hyuk to lead him to the bedroom.
The night brought new sounds: a quiet squeak, a muffled cry, the rustle of a blanket, the creak of the floor under bare feet. At first, they both got up in a panic, then they started taking turns, but each time they came back to bed to meet each other's eyes and smile in the dark.
When the baby fell asleep, the silence of the apartment felt special - not empty, but full. Minjun lay on his side, watching the warm light of the nightlight glide over Hyuk's face. In those shadows and reflections, he felt for the first time: they now had their own universe.
The morning began with the smell of toasted bread and milk. In the kitchen, there was the sound of a knife hitting the cutting board and the quiet hum of the coffee machine. Minjun tried to slice tomatoes with one hand while holding the baby with the other, looking both funny and touching.
"Don't be a hero," Hyuk laughed, expertly taking the knife. "I need you in one piece."
Sometimes Hyuk would make light, flirtatious jokes:
"Still, the best breakfast is you," he said one day when Minjun leaned over the table.
Minjun blushed and threw a towel at him, but the corners of his lips twitched into a smile. In the kitchen, the smell of fresh bread mixed with their laughter - and that was the smell of home.
In the evenings, they would go for a walk. The asphalt still held the warmth of the sun, and the sea air smelled of salt and seaweed. The stroller rocked gently around corners, and the baby slept, covered with a light blanket.
Minjun held Hyuk's hand and talked about little things: that he wanted to buy a clay pot with flowers for the windowsill, to hang lighter curtains to let more sun into the house in the mornings.
Hyuk listened attentively, squeezing his fingers a little tighter than necessary.
"You have no idea how important all this is," he said softly. "This is what happiness is."
At night, when the baby finally fell asleep, a thick silence would descend upon the apartment. Not a dead silence, but a living one - with the breathing of three people intertwined with each other. Minjun would lie down next to Hyuk, pressing his shoulder, and their conversations would turn into whispered confessions.
"I've never felt so peaceful before," he confessed. "With you and with him... everything feels right."
"Because it is right," Hyuk replied, kissing his lips.
And at that moment, even time seemed unnecessary. There was only the present - quiet, warm, and secure. Their present. Their home.