"Jiyong, hold your son."
You looked at him expectantly with your newborn son in your arms. Jiyong gave one look in your direction and let out a choked sob.
"I can't, you know I can't," his voice cracked, his eyes looking everywhere else but your own. You smiled gingerly. Jiyong always became like this whenever his emotions got the best of him. Hell, you were the one who just gave birth and your hormones had a better grip than his. You spoke softly,
"Please?" You begged one more time. The scene in front of you almost broke you to bits. There stood Jiyong, in a grey shirt and black sweatpants, arms folded across his chest with one hand covering his lip, constant sobs were escaping from his mouth. His hair was disheveled, his hands constantly running through it in moments of stress. His eyes were a fresh red, a contrast from his brown eyes. You understood his feelings, you really did.
After 9 months of brutal foot massages, hormone imbalances, spontaneous cravings at 4 A.M., reading countless books about infant care, he was finally here. Your newborn son. Cautiously, Jiyong unwrapped his arms from his chest and opened up his arms. Finally. He held his son to his chest, grinning with tears in his eyes.
"I've waited so long to meet you, little fella."
