Thread by @quinnpriv1

#dokhyuk #dokjoong fam AU pt 4

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To say that Dokja sleeps in the weeks leading to the delivery date and the fumbling weeks afterwards is an overstatement in the extreme.

Put more plainly: a lie.

Junghyeok is remarkably calm aboutquillifer.carrd.co/#dokhyukdads

the whole ordeal—“Someone ought to be,” he deadpans—from the minute his water breaks to the minute he starts dilating.

Dokja’s natural approach to emotional overload is to shut down. So, of course, he fights his way past panic to smooth, preternatural calm, cutting into

the doctors and nurses just as smoothly as any surgeon.

“Stop that,” Junghyeok fusses, squeezing Dokja’s fingers.

In response, Dokja says nothing. He doesn’t push the subject. Already, tensions are high.

Mia waits outside for good news, too distracted to focus on

books, games, or the cooking show on television. An anxious haze hangs over all of them as Junghyeok continues to push, sweaty and exhausted when his little boy is handed over, swathed and cleaned and placed on his breast.

‘Jimin’ suckles lazily. He looks as tired as Junghyeok

feels.

They let Mia in once Junghyeok is decent, blood and grime removed. He offers Dokja their son first, but Dokja is still standoffish, staring into the middle distance.

Again, Junghyeok doesn’t press.

He knows this is a big moment for Dokja. Has known this would

be difficult for Dokja to process.

Mia marvels over Jimin’s tiny fingers and toes, over his wispy, barely-there hair. “I held you when you were this small too, brat,” he says, desperately fond. It’s impressive, how much she’s grown and how fast the time had gone.

The nurses walk them through their discharge steps and everything required to go home. The car ride is silent, mostly because Dokja is driving and everyone else is asleep.

He pulls the baby out of the carseat with trembling hands, cradling Jimin in his arms.

Junghyeok is proud of him, even if he’s half-convinced Dokja is going to lock himself in the bathroom for three hours to calm down.

The nights are late. Jimin isn’t an exceptionally fussy baby, but he’s certainly nocturnal. “Your fault,” Junghyeok yawns, rolling over

in bed when he hears the baby monitor go off—it’s Dokja’s turn to deal with it.

“My fault?”

Dokja liked to murmur when he thought Junghyeok was sleeping, recounting tales about whatever captivated his interest. Comics and books, winding narratives—it was no surprise to

Junghyeok that Jimin had gotten used to Dokja’s voice in his ear at two a.m.

Most nights, the routine is easy. A change of diapers, a short round of nursing and burping, rocking with Jimin until he calmed down. A few minutes lost, then they could climb back in bed.

One night, however, is unusual.

Dokja cannot, for the life of him, seem to get Jimin to stop crying. His diaper is clean, he breastfed right before Junghyeok laid down to go to sleep, he doesn’t take well to the patting and he feels positively useless.

Trauma comes crashing down on him like a flooding wave, remembrance of bloody noses and broken glasses when his own father caught him crying. He learned to stop himself early, to hide for his mother’s sake if not for his own.

He can’t fathom hurting such a precious,

fragile thing, clutching Jimin with a lump forming in his throat. “I’m sorry, Jimin-ah,” he rasps, pulling apart at the seams. It’s been building and building in him, barely suppressed and spilling out. The lack of sleep and the building desperation to Jimin’s cries

has him feeling like the worst kind of failure.

There’s nothing for it. He heads for the bedroom, gasping for air.

Junghyeok blinks at him blearily, sitting up as soon as he realizes what’s going on. Dokja says nothing, wordlessly handing Jimin over.

Junghyeok shakes his head.

“Is now really the time to be stubborn?” Dokja hisses.

“Just talk to him,” Junghyeok advises, calm.

Junghyeok is trying to push him into an early grave. Dokja had long since suspected as much, but the way Junghyeok liked to push his buttons

was convoluted and steeped in trust.

“I think your father is being very mean to me,” Dokja starts, stumbling over his words because his throat hurts. “I think he wants me to go gray tomorrow because he’s into older men and the baggy-eyed thing isn’t cutting it for him anymore.”

“I am /not/ into older men,” Junghyeok retorts. “I’m barely into men.”

“Do you hear this? Apparently, I’m an exception, Jimin-ah. Lucky me.”

Between the gentle rocking back and forth and the rumble of Dokja’s chest, Jimin miraculously calms down. No fever, no outstanding

needs—just good old fashioned rambling.

Dokja stares at Junghyeok, marveling. “How did you know?”

Junghyeok rolls his eyes. “You’re not as clever as you think you are.”

He is far too tired to parse out whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. He plants a chaste kiss

on Junghyeok’s cheek before he gets up to put Jimin in his crib, tucking him in while the getting is good.

He’s not particularly surprised to see Junghyeok holding two glasses of water for them at the bottom of the stairs, climbing back up to join him in the bedroom.

“You’re a good father, Dokja,” Junghyeok says, placing his glass on the nightstand. Dokja freezes, stunned by the compliment. “I mean it.”

He desperately longs to laugh it off, to downplay his discomfort. He can’t even seem to manage a flimsy smile.

“I’m trying,” he admits.

Neither of them had anyone to draw inspiration from, after all.

“Succeeding,” Junghyeok counters.

Dokja huffs. “It’s not a competition.”

“No. It’s not.”

Junghyeok gestures for Dokja to rest on his lap. Dokja curls up, tracing Junghyeok’s stretch marks. He’s plush

and he’s lovely and Junghyeok rhythmically petting his hair has Dokja knocked out in no time.

Jimin sleeps the rest of the night. Dokja does too.

Junghyeok considers it a win.

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