The morning was transparent, like thin glass — the air was filled with the scent of grass, warmth, and something new, yet unlived.
Do-yun stood by the window for a long time, holding the baby, watching the sunbeams break through the curtains. The little one squinted, wrinkled his nose, then yawned widely.
— It's morning already, isn't it? — Do-yun whispered. — Today is your first day outside.
Seungho came up behind him, kissed his shoulder.
— Ready?
— I am. He seems to be too.
— The world probably isn't, — Seungho chuckled, looking at his son.
They packed a bag, folded a blanket, a bottle, a toy — everything that seemed necessary, although, as it turned out later, the baby only needed one thing: hands and breath.
⋆⋆⋆
The park greeted them with the rustling of leaves and a soft sun that seemed to have lowered itself deliberately so as not to blind them. The paths glistened with morning dew; couples sat on benches, and someone was feeding pigeons. The world was living its own life, and for the first time in a long time — not against them.
Seungho pushed the stroller; Do-yun walked beside him. The baby slept, fists clenched, and a light breeze played with his hair.
— He likes it, — Do-yun said, looking down.
— He looks like you, — Seungho replied.
— Why?
— Because he sleeps as if he's conquered the world.
Do-yun laughed softly. The laugh was a little surprised, as if he hadn't expected to be able to laugh just like that, for no reason.
They walked to the pond. The water was smooth, reflecting the sky. Do-yun stopped, traced a finger along the bridge railing.
— Strange…
— What is?
— I used to be afraid to look at people. I always felt like they saw something… wrong in me.
— And now?
— Now I don't care. They look — and I don't hide.
Seungho nodded, not smiling — he just looked at him with a gaze that held more warmth than the sun.
— You've changed.
— Maybe I just became myself.
They walked on. Under the shade of a tree, they sat on a bench. Do-yun took a toy from the stroller — a soft teddy bear with a ribbon around its neck.
— We need to give him a name, — he said.
— Who? — Seungho didn't understand.
— Our son. We keep putting it off.
Seungho frowned, thinking.
— Hmm. Something simple. Not loud.
— Han? — Do-yun suggested.
— Sounds too cold.
— Then Min.
Seungho smiled.
— Min… light, right?
— Light, — Do-yun confirmed. — And peace.
He looked at the baby, and a soft feeling settled inside, as if the name truly fit.
— Min, — he repeated softly. — Let him have his own quietness and his own light.
Seungho nodded.
— Then it's settled.
⋆⋆⋆
In the evening, the nanny arrived on time — a kind woman recommended by the investigator. Reliable, calm, with hands that smelled of chamomile. Min slept in her arms, not even noticing that his parents were leaving.
Do-yun looked at him, lingering at the door.
— Everything will be fine, — Seungho said, touching his shoulder.
— I know. It just… feels strange to leave him for the first time.
The hot springs were outside the city. Steam rose above the stones; the air was thick, with a taste of minerals. Seungho took off his shirt; water glistened on his skin, and Do-yun, looking at him, suddenly felt a slight thrill — something he hadn't felt in a long time.
— I forgot what it was like to just see you, — he said.
— And I forgot what it was like to have you look at me like that.
They entered the water. The warmth enveloped their bodies; the sound of the streams drowned out the world. Steam settled on their shoulders, hair, and lips. Do-yun leaned against a stone, closing his eyes.
— Strange… I don't want to be strong.
— And you don't have to be, — Seungho said.
— What if I lose myself?
— Then I'll find you. Again.
He moved closer, placed his palms on his face.
— I'm not afraid of losing you, — Do-yun whispered. — I'm afraid of losing myself without you.
Seungho trembled slightly, as if those words passed right through him. He kissed him slowly, softly, like on the first day after the storm. The water rippled; steam enveloped them. Their hands found each other. Skin — hot, slippery, breathing. Kisses — long, cautious, as if they weren't striving for a finale, but simply living this moment.
Seungho ran his palm down his back, then lower; his movements became rhythmic, confident, but not rough. Do-yun gasped; his fingers clenched on his shoulders. He whispered his name, not with words — but with breath. The water concealed the sounds, but not the feelings. Their movements were slow, like breathing in unison. Not a struggle, not power — equality. They weren't losing themselves — they were finding each other. Again and again.
When everything quieted down, Seungho just held him, pressing him against his chest.
— You know, — he said, — I thought we had been through everything a long time ago. But it seems life has just begun.
— Then let it be long, — Do-yun replied softly.
They sat in the water until the steam dissipated, until the sky was tinted with the first shades of dawn.
— Let's go to the cliff, — Seungho suggested.
— Why?
— I want to see the sun rise. Without war. Without fear. Just because.
Do-yun smiled.
— Then let's go.
They emerged from the water, and the steam, billowing, seemed to escort them. Somewhere beyond the mountains, the sky was already lightening — dawn was preparing to take hold. And with it — their new life.