Word count: 2200 words.
Warnings: Brief, barely-there mention of sex.
Summary: It’s Monday morning in the Kim-Wu Household.
Notes: the Bangles – Manic Monday. Two spoken sentences in this are directly borrowed from a movie. Ten points if anyone recognises where they're from. Originally written for yifantasy.
Yifan should have known that this would be one of the bluest Mondays in a long, long time when the baby call makes crackling noises at ass o'clock in the morning. High-pitched whines creaks through the speaker lying on the mattress in the small, small space between Yifan and his husband.
Joonmyun - his husband - had suggested one of their night stands as the place to keep a baby call, but Yifan had persuaded him to let it stay in the bed. Joonmyun had looked at him in that way that made the black roots of Yifan's hair blush, patting his cheek, kissing his nose before telling him that if it meant that much for Yifan, they could keep it in bed.
Yifan's entire body is protesting as he grabs the baby call, long fingers clumsily, blindly feeling over the surface of the small, egg shaped digit until he locates the squishy mute button. The baby call immediately falls silent, and Yifan feels fifty pounds lighter.
"Your son is awake," Yifan speaks, Joonmyun's soft hair tickling his lips as he does.
"Before sunrise, he is your son," Joonmyun argues sluggishly, fingers skirting down Yifan's clothed chest before falling limply onto the mattress. Yifan wonders if Joonmyun actually is awake, or if they've had this discussion so many times that Joonmyun knows what to reply in his sleep.
And yeah, Joonmyun is right. Yifan is the one staying at home currently so it's his turn. Joonmyun has work in just a couple of hours so he gets to sleep now, gets his designated eight hours of sleep. Yifan, however, has to get up. He's going to get up any second now. Just another minute, Yifan thinks, basking in the silence, curls further towards Joonmyun, whose breathing has evened out and is soundly asleep.
Just another minute.
Yifan's heart hammers with the strength of a horde of buffaloes and pulls him out of his slumber. His brain is screaming at him, and he jumps out of the bed as if electrified. The wooden floor is cold under the bare soles of his feet, his skin gooseflesh as he pulls on his fluffy bathrobe. A quick glance tells him that he has slept for an additional hour, and while it's still early, it means that the kids have been awake for an hour. Alone, with no one to supervise them.
Luckily, Joonmyun is still asleep, curled up in a foetal position, looking much like a kid himself, with his soft bangs falling over his forehead. Something hot surges in Yifan's chest, and he pauses briefly, lets time be time, to press a soft kiss to the crown of Joonmyun's head before he sprints like a greyhound out the door, careful not to slam the doors.
With the speed and graze of a new-born leopard, Yifan runs down the stairs which taking him to the first floor, where he can smell disaster and Armageddon. Something is burning. He pauses in the living room to see, listen. There are noises, loud, coming from the kitchen. Yifan fears the worse and takes quick, measured yet trembling steps forwards until the kitchen is visible to him.
Yifan's tense shoulders immediately lowers at the sight of the scene unfolding in front of him, relieved that the kitchen isn't on fire or that he has to run back up to wake Joonmyun. A soft smile splays out on his lips as he leans against the wall, as he's yet unseen. Weird enough because he's sure he made enough noise to raise the dead.
Sitting on the table, tiny legs folded underneath him is Zitao, six years old; their oldest son. He's already dressed in his school uniform sans the pullover. Yifan is impressed that he has managed to put on his white under-knee socks well. Zitao's shirt is still clean too. Yifan chuckles softly. Zitao's black hair is still a mess, especially in the back.
In front of Zitao, sitting safely in his high chair - Yifan doesn't want to know how Zitao managed to get him into that by himself - sits their youngest son, Sehun, who is just weeks away from turning one-year-old. Unlike his clothed brother, Sehun is naked sans for a pair of diapers and thick socks. It doesn't seem to bother Sehun at all, who's talking in nonsense to his brother, happily squealing whenever Zitao brings a spoon of porridge to Sehun's mouth.
Yifan swipes his gaze quickly over the rest of the kitchen. It's mostly clean, save for porridge spills and drops of milk on the counter. The burnt smell turns out to be the pop tart Zitao had made for himself in the toaster. A burnt piece that strongly resembles coal lies by the toaster, while two more successful pieces lies on a paper plate next to Zitao's feet, one of them half-eaten.
Zitao notices him first, almost dropping the spoon in his excitement as he gets onto his feet, still on the table. Yifan's heart trembles.
"Good morning Baba!" Zitao chirps, beaming like the sun. Sehun startles in his chair and wiggles his tiny body to be able to look over his shoulder.
"Baba!" Sehun mimics, clapping his porridge-stained fingers. Like his brother he tries to get onto his feet, but luckily, Zitao has fastened the straps of the high chair properly. However, to avoid any accidents, Yifan walks over to them, unfastening Sehun from his high chair before his happy squeals turn into sad wails. Zitao lets out a protesting noise when Yifan lifts Sehun up from his chair, holding the toddler in his arms. Sehun shows his gratitude by smothering Yifan's face with sticky, porridge kisses.
"I was feeding him!" Zitao protests in high-pitched Mandarin, stomps his small feet onto the wooden top of the table. Luckily Joonmyun had gotten his wish when they went looking for a new kitchen table a couple of years back, after they broke their old one from having sex on it. The table is sturdy; made out of massive oak, with thick feet to keep it balanced. It can carry Yifan and Joonmyun's combined weight so it's more than strong enough to keep up under Zitao's.
"You've done well, thank you for feeding Sehun, Taozi," Yifan says, ruffling Zitao's tousled hair with his big hand. Zitao lets out a delighted squeal and beams at Yifan when he removes his hand. Zitao grabs Yifan's hand with both of his own smaller ones, spoon dropping to the table.
"Me too, Baba!"
That's the story of how Yifan juggles two boys up the staircase. Especially after Sehun started singing: "Appa, appa, appppppppa!", popping the p's before laughing loudly. Zitao joined him quickly, and despite knowing that Joonmyun is on dad-off-duty, he cannot deny his sons this, not when they’re both looking up like him as if he’s their saviour in an armor.
They manage to get up the stairs, and Yifan’s arms are trembling a bit under Zitao and Sehun’s weight when they finally step into Yifan and Joonmyun’s bedroom.
“Ok boys, promise me you won’t be rough with Appa ok?” Yifan begins, eyebrows slightly furrowed to get the two kids to understand that he’s serious, not joking around as he tends to be doing. Yifan isn’t too worried. Zitao and Sehun treats Joonmyun with more caution than they treat him. He’s not sure if he should be offended.
Yifan sits down on the edge of the bed, letting Zitao and Sehun crawl out of his arms and toward Joonmyun’s motionless body. He’s fully tucked into the large duvet now, the only parts of him visible are the top of his head and his tousled hair.
“Appa,” Sehun coos, pats the dotted duvet with his tiny hands as he sings. Zitao, bolder, sits down in front of Joonmyun’s face, gently tracing his eyelids with his index finger. His small finger runs down Joonmyun’s cheek, over his nose, back to Joonmyun’s forehead before it cards gently through his hair.
“Baba,” Zitao says, looking back towards Yifan while still petting Joonmyun’s hair. Yifan hums in answer. “I think Appa is very sleepy.”
“Sleepy!” Sehun chirps, clapping his hands together, squealing in delight at the noise. He repeats it once more. And again.
“Yes that’s right Sehun,” Yifan smiles, speaking in Korean, as he reaches out to tickle Sehun’s bare tummy. “Appa’s sleepy.”
“Appa,” Sehun mimics, pointing at Yifan with the tiniest, chubbiest index finger.
“No, Sehunnie!” Zitao starts in Korean before switching over to Mandarin, crawling over Joonmyun’s body to get to Sehun. Yifan watches, amused. “Baba” Zitao points at Yifan, then, “Appa!” moves to point at Joonmyun.
Zitao repeats it once more, his tiny eyebrows furrowed as all his attention is on Sehun. Sehun responds by flailing his little arms, smiling and showing off his tiny, white teeth. He’s still lacking a couple.
“It’s ok, Taozi,” Yifan says in Mandarin. He grabs them both, pulls them onto his lap. “Sehun will fully understand it when he gets older. It doesn’t matter if he calls me Appa, you know.”
“But you’re Baba,” Zitao argues, his bottom lip sticking out as he looks at Yifan. Confusion is clear in his eyes as he looks at Yifan. As if suggesting that it’s ok for Sehun to call him Appa instead of Baba when Appa clearly is another person is blasphemy in Zitao’s ears.
“When he’s older, he’ll learn, ok?” Yifan says, raising an eyebrow, anticipating Zitao’s reaction. His oldest son puffs out his chest, as if he’s about to argue, but deflates quickly when Yifan, possessed by the ghost of love, leans down to press a kiss against Zitao’s bare forehead. As quick as the bat of a bird’s wings, Zitao’s frown turns upside down and he’s grinning at Yifan.
Zitao, quick as a panther, leans up to peck Yifan’s chin before declaring: “Baba, I love you!”
“Love!” Sehun insists in Korean, pursing his lips. When Yifan just blinks at him. Sehun puffs his cheeks, then, reminding Yifan of a blowfish, before he repeats it, this time in Mandarin. “Love!”
“I think he wants a kiss too, Baba,” Zitao informs Yifan, sounding rather matter-of-factly as he speaks.
“Oh. Of course I love you too, Sehun,” Yifan declares loudly before attacking Sehun with kisses; peppers them over his soft hair, over his pudgy cheeks and onto his round tummy. Sehun’s delighted squeals fill the room, only replaced by high-pitched yells of “Baba!”.
Zitao joins Yifan and both of them showers little Sehun with kisses before Zitao and Sehun decides that Yifan should be the one to be showered in kisses.
Five minutes later finds Yifan lying on his back with Zitao and Sehun on his chest, all three of them out of breath and thoroughly smothered with kisses of love. Yifan glances over the mop of Zitao’s hair to see that the clock on the nightstand now shows 06:50.
“What do we do with Appa, Baba?” Zitao asks, getting up on his elbows to be able to look properly at Yifan. Sehun sits up without too much effort and starts making bubbles with his mouth.
“I think we have to break down and do some rapping. It’s time for the good morning-rap,” Yifan declares. Zitao beams at him. “I’ll start.”
“Yo, yo. It’s almost seven am and it’s Monday in the Kim-Wu household. Joonmyun, hun, it’s time to get up. Zitao, what’s up?” Yifan raps with as much style and class he can do while wearing a fluffy, pink bathrobe. Zitao has found a hairbrush he uses as a microphone as he continues where Yifan left off.
“You heard Baba, Appa it’s time to get up. I’m Zitao and I’m here today with my Baba and my Sehunnie, we’re flying free. We’re waiting, work is waiting, you gotta get up now, it’s time for the show!” Zitao takes his rapping very seriously, bounces to the imaginary beat as he raps. He’s cute in his school uniform, rapping like it’s his job.
It takes two more verses and a high-pitched squealing chorus from Sehun (tickled by Zitao) for Joonmyun to stir in his cocoon, looking at them with cloudy eyes, eyelids looking dangerously heavy. In two seconds flat, both boys are on him, kissing his cheeks, holding his face with their small palms.
Yifan watches, enamoured, warmth spreading through his chest as their sons greet Joonmyun, their dad, Appa. If someone had told Yifan ten years ago that he’d be married with two kids before he turned forty, he’d probably laugh at you. It wasn’t a future he had pictured for himself. But upon meeting Joonmyun, falling in love with him, Yifan realised there was no way out.
“Come on Baba! Love Appa too!”
And ok, Yifan realises as he lets Zitao pull him into the heap of limbs, maybe it’s not such a blue Monday after all. After all, he gets to spend the quiet hours of the morning with the people in his life who mean the most to him – his husband and their two sons. And if that’s not perfect, Yifan decides when Joonmyun kisses him, Zitao and Sehun snuggled up in between them, then nothing ever is.
hope you enjoyed it, thank you for reading.