BANG!
BANG!
POW! BOOM! CRASH!
The TV roared with cartoon chaos, colors flashing wildly across the walls.
Minho was planted against a pillow propped up on the headboard, tiny hands gripping the blanket, completely absorbed. Every explosion reflected in his wide eyes.
Jaehyuk appeared at the doorway and winced slightly.
"Is the house under attack?" he muttered.
He stepped inside anyway. "Hey there, kid."
No reaction.
Minho didn't even turn. His mouth was parted just a little, breath syncing with the rhythm of the show.
Jaehyuk toed off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping beside the child.
"What are you watching?" he asked, leaning closer.
He gently poked Minho's soft cheek. "Hmm?"
Minho made a small protesting sound. "Mm—" and pushed Jaehyuk's hand away without looking at him.
Jaehyuk smiled.
"Oh, so I'm bothering you now?"
He shifted until their shoulders touched, settling back against the headboard. The volume was still obnoxiously loud, but he didn't lower it yet.
Minho's eyes shimmered with blues and reds from the screen, blinking slowly, completely captivated.
Jaehyuk tilted his head slightly closer.
"Turn it down?" he asked gently.
Minho frowned a little — not at Jaehyuk, just in concentration. His fingers fumbled with the remote.
"…N—" The sound got stuck halfway.
He tried again. "Uh."
His brows pinched in frustration.
Jaehyuk's teasing expression softened immediately.
"It's okay," he said quietly, reaching over to help press the button.
The volume lowered just a bit.
Minho glanced at him then. Just for a second.
Jaehyuk gave him a small smile — not exaggerated, not pitying. Just steady.
"Teamwork," he said lightly.
Minho stared at him for a moment longer, then leaned the tiniest bit closer without realizing.
And went back to watching.
Jaehyuk stayed there, shoulder warm against his, listening to the now-muted explosions and the soft sound of Minho's breathing.
Minho suddenly lifted his hand and pointed at the screen.
"Boo?" he asked, looking up at Jaehyuk.
Jaehyuk blinked and focused on the image.
A gun.
Animated. Oversized. Ridiculous-looking in the cartoon character's hand.
Still.
He tilted his head slightly before answering.
"Gun," he said evenly. "It's a gun."
He repeated it, slower. "Gun."
Minho watched his lips carefully, trying to match the shape.
Jaehyuk leaned back against the headboard.
"And in our family…" he paused, gaze drifting back to the screen, "…that's not exactly unfamiliar."
The Jung family had been in the weapons business for decades.
It began with Jung Ho-shin's eldest son — a man who believed innovation meant power. Factories grew. Contracts multiplied. The name carried weight.
That eldest son was Jung Tae-min.
Jaehyuk's father.
Renowned in the industry. Brilliant. Precise. Feared in boardrooms and respected by governments. Military machines. Custom designs. Precision engineering.
Smart men raised smart children.
That was the expectation.
Jaehyuk grew up surrounded by cold metal and cleaner-smelling workshops. His father had taught him early — how to disassemble, reassemble, handle weight, calculate recoil. Guns. Knives. Mechanisms. Efficiency.
He learned.
He just never loved it.
In the end, Alaena surpassed him in that world — steadier hands, sharper instinct. She fit it like it belonged to her.
Jaehyuk didn't fight it.
Instead, he stepped sideways.
Into the business.
Contracts. Numbers. Expansion. He built differently.
On the screen, the cartoon gun fired again. Exaggerated. Harmless.
Minho looked back at him.
"…Guhh," Minho tried.
Jaehyuk glanced down at him.
"Yeah. Something like that," he said quietly.
Then after a beat, gentler —
"But it's just a cartoon."
He reached over and nudged Minho's hand away from mimicking the shape.
"No pointing," he added calmly.
Minho blinked.
Then nodded once, small and obedient.
Jaehyuk's eyes lingered on the screen for a moment longer before he reached for the remote and lowered the volume another notch.
The explosions didn't need to be that loud.