Annyeongz One-shots

114. Baby

The living room was dim except for the soft glow of the television, the flickering lights from the stage reflecting against the walls like moving stars. The bass from the speakers filled the space, low and powerful, the kind that you could feel in your chest even at a low volume. On the screen, Yujin stood under blinding lights, sweat glistening on his skin as he moved with sharp precision, every step perfectly in sync with the music and his teammates.

“Dada! Dada! Dada!”

A small voice, high and excited, broke through the intensity of the performance.

Arthus was standing unsteadily on the couch, his tiny hands gripping the backrest for balance, his whole body bouncing with uncontrollable excitement. His eyes were wide, sparkling, completely locked onto the screen like nothing else in the world existed.

“Dada!” he called again, louder this time, as if Yujin could hear him through the screen.

Beside him, Wonyoung sat quietly, one arm protectively around her son’s waist to make sure he wouldn’t fall. Her other hand rested loosely on her lap, but her gaze… her gaze never left the television.

Yujin was in the center now.

The camera zoomed in on his face—sharp jawline, intense eyes, lips slightly parted as he sang into the mic. His hair was damp, strands sticking to his forehead, his chest rising and falling heavily from the choreography. Every movement he made was powerful, controlled, confident.

Wonyoung swallowed softly.

Even after everything… after marriage, after sleepless nights with a crying baby, after seeing him in the most unguarded, exhausted states—he still looked like that.

Untouchable.

Like he belonged to the stage.

“Dada!!!” Arthus squealed again, this time clapping his little hands excitedly, almost losing his balance.

Wonyoung immediately tightened her grip around him. “Careful, baby…” she murmured softly, her voice gentle, but her eyes were still glued to the screen.

On TV, the music dropped into a heavier beat. Yujin’s body moved lower, sharper, his movements more intense—each step hitting perfectly with the rhythm. His expression darkened slightly, more focused, more dangerous. The kind of look that made fans scream in arenas.

Wonyoung exhaled slowly.

She knew that look.

But seeing it from here—from the quiet of their home, with their son in her arms—it felt… different.

It wasn’t just admiration.

It was something deeper.

Her husband… the father of her child… was up there, commanding thousands of people without even trying.

“Dada! Dada! Dada!” Arthus kept repeating, his voice now desperate for attention, like he was trying his best to call his father back home.

Wonyoung couldn’t help it.

A soft smile formed on her lips.

“He can’t hear you, baby…” she whispered, brushing her fingers through Arthus’s soft hair. “But I think he’d be really happy if he knew you were watching him like this.”

Arthus didn’t listen.

He leaned forward instead, his tiny fingers pointing at the screen. “DADA!”

Wonyoung laughed quietly under her breath.

“Yeah… that’s your dada,” she said softly.

On the TV, the performance reached its peak. The lights flashed rapidly, the music grew louder, and Yujin hit the final choreography with explosive energy. His body snapped into the last position, chest heaving, eyes intense as the camera lingered on him for just a second longer.