Seungcheol knows that he needs to stop the cute pair of limbs the moment his three-year-old son got a hold of the black marker. There are clothes strewn everywhere, one halfway through his head too, and he’s resigned on the floor, catching his breath after barely thirty minutes of jogging, literally, around the flat to tend to him. The child got some supernatural energy going on in there and he’s come to the point of asking where did he get his genes from. But the child merely giggles in full mirth, chubby cheeks rolling up and huge doe eyes crinkling into crescents whilst making grabby hands toward his exhausted dad on the floor and Seungcheol decides he’s defeated so he lets the child play with it.

He should really have thought things out because by then, his giggly son finally finds out what a marker does when he pulls the cap open and drags the point across Seungcheol’s abdomen.

The dad sits up rather abruptly, surprising the small child when he squeaks a loud, “No, baby, don’t!” Why is he not wearing a shirt, again? Yeah, he got too sweaty from his impromptu exercise. Bad decision.

It took him five, six seconds before he finally registers the face of his son, whose eyes are now casing small tears and a big pout marring his thin lips with his head slowly bowing down and tiny fingers letting go of the big marker (too big for his little fist, that is) because why did his dad shout at him? He has a scary