Morning arrived the way it usually did in their apartment, not with drama, not with purpose, but with noise.
"Appa!"
The voice came sharp and bright from the hallway, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps and something small colliding with furniture. Hae-Min groaned softly into his pillow, one arm thrown over his eyes as if that might shield him from the inevitability of the day.
"Appa!" Ye-Joon repeated, louder this time, climbing onto the bed with the kind of reckless confidence only children possessed. "Wake up."
"I am awake," Hae-Min muttered, voice thick with sleep. "I'm just… resting my eyes."
Ye-Joon leaned closer, his face hovering inches away, studying his father with serious concentration. "But your eyes are closed."
"That's because," Hae-Min said slowly, opening one eye, "I'm thinking."
"Thinking about what?"
"Important adult things."
Ye-Joon nodded solemnly, as if this made perfect sense. Then, after a pause, he asked, "Do adults think with their eyes closed?"
Hae-Min cracked one eye open fully and looked at him. "Sometimes."
Ye-Joon considered this, then smiled, satisfied. He rolled onto his back beside him, legs kicking the air. "I think with my mouth open."
"That explains a lot," Hae-Min murmured.
From the doorway, Ha-Yoon watched the exchange with quiet amusement, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. She hadn't announced herself. She rarely did anymore. She liked watching moments happen before she stepped into them, as if afraid they might disappear once acknowledged.
"Breakfast," she said eventually. "If someone is brave enough to attempt it."
Hae-Min sat up, rubbing his face. "I'll do it."
Ha-Yoon raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," he said, already swinging his legs off the bed. "I am a capable adult."
Ye-Joon slid off the bed and followed him closely, acting as if supervising something important. "Can I help?"
"You can supervise," Hae-Min replied. "Very important job."
In the kitchen, sunlight spilled lazily across the counter. It was one of those mornings that didn't feel rushed, no alarms screaming, no urgent schedules. Just time stretching out in front of them, unguarded.
Hae-Min cracked eggs into a bowl with unnecessary confidence. Ye-Joon stood on a stool beside him, hands resting on the counter, eyes bright.
"Appa," he said suddenly, "when I grow up, can I marry you?"
Hae-Min paused mid-whisk. "What?"
"Because you make food," Ye-Joon continued seriously, "and you carry me when I'm tired."
Ha-Yoon laughed softly from the doorway.
"You can't marry your dad," she said gently.
Ye-Joon frowned. "Why not?"
"Because," Ha-Yoon said, thinking for a moment, "he's already married."
Ye-Joon's eyes widened. "To who?"
Hae-Min glanced at Ha-Yoon over his shoulder, something warm passing between them. "To your mom."
Ye-Joon considered this. "Hmm."
Then, very thoughtfully, "Okay. Then I'll marry someone else. But you can still carry me, right?"
Hae-Min smiled. "Always."
He turned back to the stove, and promptly burned the eggs.
Smoke curled upward, thin and accusing. The smell hit first.
"Appa," Ye-Joon said, nose wrinkling. "It smells like… sad."
Hae-Min cursed under his breath and hurried to turn off the stove. The eggs were blackened beyond saving.
Ha-Yoon stepped in, peering over his shoulder. "You burned them."
"I see that," he said defensively.
"I thought you said you were capable."
"I am capable of many things," he replied. "Cooking just isn't always one of them."
Ye-Joon giggled. "Can we still eat it?"
"No," Ha-Yoon said immediately. "Absolutely not."
Hae-Min scraped the ruined eggs into the trash, shaking his head. "I had one job."
"It's fine," Ha-Yoon said, moving past him to grab bread. "We'll toast something."
As she worked, Hae-Min leaned against the counter, watching her. There was flour on her sleeve from yesterday, hair loosely tied, face bare and soft in the morning light. Nothing about her looked like a woman carrying secrets. She just looked… here.
"This is my fault," he said quietly.
She glanced at him. "It's breakfast. Not a tragedy."
He smiled faintly. "Still."
She handed Ye-Joon a piece of toast. "Here. Emergency breakfast."
Ye-Joon accepted it like a prize. "Thank you, Umma."
They ate standing in the kitchen, crumbs scattered, conversation drifting without direction. At some point, Ye-Joon announced he wanted to race.
"To where?" Ha-Yoon asked.
"To the door," he declared, already sprinting off.
Hae-Min followed instinctively, legs moving before his mind caught up. "Hey...!"
Ye-Joon squealed with laughter, darting through the living room, small feet slapping against the floor. Hae-Min chased him, pretending to be slower than he was, arms stretched out dramatically.
"I'm gonna catch you!"
"No you won't!" Ye-Joon shrieked, laughter bubbling over.
Ha-Yoon watched from the kitchen doorway, laughter spilling freely now, unguarded and bright. For a moment, the world felt light. Almost foolishly so.
Ye-Joon ran in circles until he collapsed onto the couch, breathless. Hae-Min followed, dropping beside him, chest heaving.
"You're fast," Hae-Min admitted.
"I know," Ye-Joon said proudly. "I get it from you."
Hae-Min froze for just a fraction of a second, so small it almost didn't exist, then smiled.
Ha-Yoon didn't notice. Or if she did, she didn't say anything.
Later, when the laughter settled and Ye-Joon grew quiet with his toys, Hae-Min sat on the floor beside him, helping build something crooked and unidentifiable out of blocks.
"This is a spaceship," Ye-Joon explained.
"Where's it going?"
"Somewhere nice," he said. "Where nobody is tired."
Hae-Min swallowed.
Across the room, Ha-Yoon watched them, heart full and aching all at once. She didn't try to name the feeling. She had learned that naming things didn't always help.
This moment wasn't meant to mean anything.
It wasn't a sign.
It wasn't a memory in the making.
It wasn't a farewell disguised as joy.
It was just breakfast burned, laughter loud, a child running too fast, and a man running after him without thinking.
Life, refusing, stubbornly, to be symbolic.
And maybe that was what made it so unbearably precious.