Jongdae shifts, his head pillowed against the arm of the sofa. The heating is on full blast, but he's still chilly, rubbing his bare arms to heat them up. Yixing – having just appeared suddenly in the doorway as he does sometimes, when he's back from the studio – watches him, amused.

“You could just put on a jumper, you know,” he says conversationally.

Jongdae opens his arms for him, “Jongseok threw up on my last one,” he mutters, as Yixing winds himself up against him, frozen skin beginning to heat up.

“Maybe a blanket?” Yixing replies, trying not to laugh. He's in a good mood tonight, maybe because coming home to Jongdae is always so comforting. “He can't have sicked up on all of them.”

His boyfriend shrugs, the loose neck of his t-shirt pulling away to reveal collarbones almost as sharp as his cheekbones. “I was lazy, so sue me.”

Yixing shakes his head, but lets it go, burying his face in Jongdae's neck. Jongdae runs a hand through his hair. “The kids?” He asks, a little disappointed they didn't run down to greet him.

“In bed,” Jongdae pulls his arm around him, “they're both past the worst of it, but they're still feeling rotten.” Their sons have been laid up in bed for the past week or so, both having caught the bug going around their schools. Shang insists that Jongseok gave him the sickness – as he has been referring to it, in a rather grave and overly dramatic tone – but it could have been anything. Children, unfortunately, are disease vectors.

They're only lucky to have avoided it so far. Even Joonmyun has caught it, to Kyungmi's extreme irritation. Even doctors can be total babies about being ill.

“Ah,” Yixing hums, lying against him. “I'll go tuck them in in a bit,” he says, icy fingers reaching up under Jongdae's shirt to warm up. He snickers as Jongdae jumps in response.

“God, you're cold,” he shivers, still holding him close. “How was your day?” He asks, his own fingers curling around Yixing's exposed bicep. Sometimes he enjoys his boyfriend's fondness for thin tank tops.

Yixing relaxes into his hold, happy to be home and free of responsibility for a moment. “Good. Bit of a rush, but I was in all day.” He sighs, and Jongdae can hear the wistfulness in it. “What about you?” He kisses his cheekbone lightly, thigh somewhere between Jongdae's legs.

“Fine,” he the exposed muscles of Yixing's arm gently. “Even if I did give up my day off from work to take care of two sick little boys.” He smiles anyway, not really bitter. “Did you miss me?” He grins cheekily, daring Yixing to say no.

Yixing finds that he can't. “Maybe,” he allows, leaning on his elbows to stare down at Jongdae. A grin of his own tugs at the corners of his lips.

“I love you,” Jongdae says suddenly, in that disarming way of his. For a moment, Yixing doesn't know what to say; he finds that having someone who loves you for you is still something that takes getting used to. But perhaps he's just learnt never to take such things for granted.

He lets his fingertips graze Jongdae's tempting mouth. “I know,” he tells him softly. “I love you too.”

They look at each other for a moment, a wry smile on Jongdae's lips. Yixing looks away first, feeling awkward. “I'll, uh, go check on the kids,” he mumbles, and Jongdae laughs.

“You're cute,” he says, rolling his eyes. He doesn't bother to move. “Go see the boys, then,” he pushes him, still smiling. “Go.”

Yixing goes, not quite understanding how being awkward around romance is 'cute'.

***

It is Jongdae's turn to lean in the doorway and watch, as Yixing tucks Jongseok in tightly, crooning to him in Chinese. Jongseok – still a little sicker than his brother – whimpers a little, nuzzling into his father's touch as Yixing tests his forehead with the back of his hand.

“You're a bit cooler than before,” he tells him brightly, attempting to cheer him up, “that's good, huh?” He sweaty hair off his son's forehead, smiling at unhappy expression. “Soon you'll be back at school.” And out of our hair, Jongdae adds silently.

Shang coughs loudly in the background, not liking how his brother is getting all the attention when he's ill too. He sits up in his bed, inky black hair sticking up in all directions. “I'm sick too!” He protests, voice still hoarse.

Jongseok grins, leaning under Yixing's arm to stick his tongue out at his seven year old brother. Ever the impish little toddler, he has long learnt that fighting with his brother for attention really gets Shang all riled up.

“Boys,” Yixing sighs, unimpressed. “I'm coming, Shang.” He disentangles himself from Jongseok's limpet-like hold, kissing the top of his head. “Don't think I can't see you,” he warns the little boy, as he attempts to smirk at Shang again, “stop being mean.”

Jongdae hides a laugh, a funny feeling in his gut. He likes seeing Yixing like this, likes being a parent with him. There's a side to Yixing that – while it was never hidden – comes to the fore when he's with his children.

And Jongdae finds that he wants another child. He wants a child with Yixing's dark eyes, his dimpled smile. Maybe even just that look he gets when he's concentrating on something. Just to see his own features in his children delights him; it sends a small, satisfied little spark through him, to know that they are his in a way that is irreversible.

The boys are Yixing's too, there's no doubt about that. But he doesn't like the idea that Yixing has not added to the family, and he knows that sometimes, it preys on Yixing's mind too.

And if he was honest, there's a part of him that wants another baby to spoil, now that the boys are growing up. Jongseok is nearly out of babyhood, almost ready to go to school, and Shang – their firstborn, their little boy – is fast becoming more of a tiny adult every day. He loves watching them grow and assert themselves, but he wouldn't mind going through it all again.

Just once.