Dada is sick?
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It was 7:03 AM.
Peace? Never heard of her.
The Mumbai apartment was filled with the sounds of soft cartoons playing in the background, and a certain toddler yelling, “DADA! DADA! VITAT NO WAKIEE UP!”
Rohit groaned, already exhausted. “Kid, I love you. But it's not even 7:05. Chill.”
Ishan, two years old, professional chaos machine, and owner of the fluffiest cheeks was standing on Rohit’s chest with a sticker book in one hand and a very serious look on his tiny face.
“Vitatttt s’weepin’. S’not ‘posed to s’eep! He go work!”
Ishan pouted dramatically.
“Beta,” Rohit said, rubbing his eyes, “Your Papa is sick, remember?”
Ishan gasped like it was breaking news. “SICK?! Like… like fishie in bowl? No b’eathe?”
“…what? No. Not like a fish.” Rohit chuckled, picking him up. “Just a cold. He’s got the sniffles.”
Ishan immediately wiggled out of Rohit’s arms and ran into the bedroom, yelling, “VITAT!!! VUE OKTY?! I BRING-H VUE STICKIE!!”
(translation : vitat you okey? I bring you stickers)
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Virat was buried under three blankets, two pillows, and one (1) bad attitude.
“Why is the air so cold in here?!” he groaned, voice stuffy. “I think I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying,” Rohit said, walking in behind Ishan with a glass of warm water.
“You just have the man-flu.”
Virat peeked from under his blanket fortress. “How dare you disrespect my suffering like this?”
Ishan clambered up the bed like a squirrel.
“I bwinged you STICKIE!” he said, slapping a sparkly star sticker right on Virat’s forehead.
Virat blinked. “...Thank you?”
“Make you bettah,” Ishan declared confidently, then shoved a random blue dinosaur toy in Virat’s hand. “He rawrrr! He p’tect you.”
Rohit smirked, watching the scene from the doorway.
“Guess you got your own personal sticker doctor now.”
“Your son is more supportive than you,” Virat sniffled dramatically, clutching the dinosaur to his chest like it was a talisman.
“He gets me.”
“Okay, drama king. Sit up. I’m feeding you soup.”
Virat narrowed his eyes. “Only if you cuddle me after.”
“Deal. But only if you stop fake-dying for like five minutes.”
Rohit went to kitchen and baby ishu marched inside him like a jellyfish.
“Okay, baby boy, you stay here,” Rohit said, placing Ishan on the kitchen counter like a tiny overlord.
“Papa needs soup. Dada’s gotta cook. Don’t. Move.”
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𐙚Ishman Melodies
Fanfiction~Ahoy, gentle hearts~ And so, it begins... From one hopeless 𐙚Ishman꒱ romantic to another...Yes just another heart beating a little faster for themᯓ★ Building a sanctuary for every soul that aches for Ishman's love story- A gc wanted t...
