Divorce Contract C132

Chapter 132

Go Igyeol lightly tapped Seo I-hyeon’s flushed cheek. Seeing the baby’s quivering lips, he lifted him gently into his arms. Pressing a soft kiss against the child’s warm face, he soothed his unease while Seo Dohyeon unfolded a large towel and wrapped the baby up snugly.

After drying his small body, rubbing lotion into his soft skin, dressing him, and towel-drying his damp hair, I-hyeon began to doze off, his head nodding like a tiny flower.

Leaving the baby in Seo Dohyeon’s arms, Igyeol quickly prepared the formula and returned. He switched off the main light, leaving only a soft lamp glowing, and handed over the bottle.

“When he starts to fall asleep, tap his cheek or the bottle a little, just enough for him to finish. Oh—and make sure to burp him afterward. Even if he’s asleep, rest his head on your shoulder and pat his back.”

“All right.”

With his expression calm once more, Igyeol went into the bathroom to tidy up what they had used earlier. But the place was already spotless — Seo Dohyeon had cleaned everything while dressing the baby.

When Igyeol stepped out again, he found him standing there.

“He’s asleep,” Dohyeon whispered. “He drank most of it, but his sucking was a little weak.”

“He’ll probably finish next time,” Igyeol replied softly.

“Go rest in the living room. I’ll stay until he’s settled.”

“Then… should I make you something to eat?”

At that quiet offer, Dohyeon shook his head. “No. Just rest for a bit.”

Uneasy but unable to argue, Igyeol sat down on the sofa. Leaning back, he let his eyes drift shut. His tension began to unravel, and before long, drowsiness overcame him.

While he dozed lightly, Dohyeon finished the last few milliliters of feeding.

The baby smelled faintly of formula, lotion, and fabric softener — a sweet, comforting scent. When the bottle slipped from his lips, he only smacked them softly and made no effort to drink more.

Dohyeon shifted him carefully, resting his head against his shoulder and patting his back in slow circles.

I-hyeon didn’t burp right away. After several minutes of gentle rubbing and soft taps, a small hiccup finally escaped him. Warm formula followed, staining Dohyeon’s shoulder. He barely flinched, brushing it off as nothing, and laid the baby down.

He set cushions on either side to keep him from rolling and tucked the plush rabbit toy between his legs — the one Igyeol had called his “comfort doll.”

Once he draped a thin blanket over the baby’s waist, he finally stepped away.

Leaving the door slightly ajar, he entered the living room quietly.

Igyeol was fast asleep on the sofa.

Dohyeon hesitated, not wanting to wake him, but his feet moved of their own accord. The soft rustle must have been enough — Igyeol’s lashes trembled.

“Ah… did I-hyeon… finish his milk?”

“There’s a little left,” Dohyeon said. “I tapped his cheek, but he wouldn’t take more.”

“You did well. If you force him, he’ll spit up— oh…?”

Rubbing his eyes awake, Igyeol caught sight of the white stain on Dohyeon’s shoulder and jumped up.

“He threw up while burping,” Dohyeon explained simply.

“Then you should change your shirt and wash up right away!”

“I will,” Dohyeon replied. “After I get your dinner ready first.”

He checked his shoulder, grabbed a pack of wet wipes from the table, and started cleaning up casually.

Igyeol followed him in a fluster, murmuring that he could eat alone, but Dohyeon only shrugged and guided him to a chair.

“I know you can do things alone.”

Then, as if proving his point, he busied himself — ladling out the porridge, heating it, and arranging the side dishes neatly.

A spoon appeared in front of Igyeol.

He was about to pull out the opposite chair out of habit but paused midway. “Ah,” he muttered, realizing something, and quietly pushed it back in.

“Eat slowly. I’ll wash up.”

“Um, I… actually saw something online.”

Dohyeon stopped mid-step and turned.

Igyeol stirred the porridge nervously. “It’s just… people said that after they finish taking care of their baby for the day, they sometimes order chicken or something like that.”

“After they finish taking care of the baby?”

“Yes — they call it ‘yuktoe’ — short for ‘parenting clock-out.’ When the baby’s asleep, it’s like getting off work. Have you never heard of it before?”

His explanation was so earnest that Dohyeon had to bite back a laugh. He had heard of it — but he nodded as if he hadn’t. His voice quivered slightly from holding back a smile, but Igyeol didn’t notice.

“Would that be okay?” Dohyeon asked quietly. “Doing something like that with me?”

“…Sorry?”

“We’re not really the kind of people who… sit together, celebrate ‘clocking out,’ and eat chicken.”

“I just thought… it’d be nice to have a memory like that. But if you don’t want to…”

He trailed off, his face turning bright red with embarrassment. He wished he could take the words back.

As he lifted a spoonful of porridge toward his mouth, Dohyeon’s hand gently closed around his wrist.

“You’ll make yourself sick again if you rush.”

“…”

“I don’t dislike it,” Dohyeon said softly. “There’s nothing I dislike doing with you. My only worry lately is that maybe you don’t enjoy doing things with me anymore.”

The warmth in his voice made Igyeol’s throat tighten. He wanted to deny it — to say that’s not true — but no sound came out.

Dohyeon smiled faintly, released his wrist, and stirred the porridge for him instead.

“I’ll shower and come down. Eat just enough to settle your stomach.”

“…Okay.”

When he left, Igyeol exhaled shakily, lowering his head.

Upstairs, Dohyeon entered the shower stall, phone pressed to his ear before he even turned on the water.

“Secretary Yoon,” he said.

— Yes, sir? Is something wrong?

“Do you like chicken?”

— Sorry, what was that?

“I asked if you like chicken.”

— …Pardon?

“Secretary Yoon. I have no one else to ask right now.”

A pause — then Yoon replied carefully.

— No one dislikes chicken, sir. Should I order it for you?

“No, I’ll handle the order. I just need to know what’s popular — what’s good.”

— There are many types… spicy, sweet, salty—

“I’m eating it with Go Igyeol. After putting the baby to bed. Recommend something.”

— I’m sorry, you said… you’re doing what?

“You heard me.”

There was a stunned silence.

Yoon knew better than anyone that the two of them were not the kind of people who ate chicken together to celebrate “clocking out.”

In fact, he began to worry his superior might be losing his grip on reality.

— I’ll come to you right away, sir. Please don’t do anything. Just wait there, all right?

“Secretary Yoon.”

— Sir, that’s not real. Mr. Go would never— surely he wouldn’t sit down and eat chicken with you? Please think about it rationally—

“If you’re trying to irritate me, you’ve succeeded,” Dohyeon cut in, voice dangerously calm. “I’ll only ask once more. Which chicken place has the highest reorder rate? If I pick the wrong one and ruin this moment — the one memory he said he wanted — I’ll make sure you regret it. Choose wisely.”

— Sir! Wait— then this isn’t… imaginary?

“Yoon.”

The weary sigh was enough to make him answer immediately.

— The one I usually get is… Honey Red half-and-half. With wedge fries, cheese balls, and a small salad. That’s a good mix for two people.

“Good. Thank you.”

— You’re really eating together…?

But the only response was a deep, annoyed sigh before the call ended.

Dohyeon opened the delivery app, ordered exactly what Yoon had suggested, and added one note: Please don’t ring the bell. Call upon arrival.

After giving himself a few minutes to shower, he went downstairs just as Igyeol was coming out of the nursery.

“Did he wake up?” Dohyeon asked quietly.

“No, he’s sleeping well.”

“How much of your dinner did you eat?”

Sitting beside him on the couch, he asked it gently. Igyeol avoided his gaze and murmured that he’d eaten “enough.” Less than half, clearly. Dohyeon didn’t press — just nodded approvingly.

Then his phone buzzed on the table.

“Wait here,” he said, rising.

Igyeol tilted his head in confusion. Someone’s here?

But before he could ask, Dohyeon returned — carrying a paper shopping bag.

“Where do you want to eat?”

“…Eat?”

“You said people eat chicken after ‘clocking out from parenting,’ didn’t you?”

He lifted the bag slightly, smiling faintly.

Igyeol swallowed hard. He hadn’t actually expected him to take it seriously, let alone act on it.

Without waiting for a response, Dohyeon carried the food to the dining table, unpacking each container neatly.

“I hope it’s to your taste,” he said.

“…Ah. Thank you. I’ll… enjoy it.”

“I read that people usually have beer with it,” Dohyeon continued, arranging the drinks. “But since someone should stay sober in case we need to drive, you’ll be the only one drinking.”

He set a glass of draft beer in front of Igyeol and a cola before himself.

The foam rose high and golden in the glass, making Igyeol’s palms sweat. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a drink, nor how well he could hold it.

“Try it,” Dohyeon urged, placing a piece of chicken on his small plate.

Igyeol bowed his head slightly and took a sip. The cool, sharp taste hit his throat — bitter and refreshing. He bit into the chicken next — sweet, salty, perfectly crisp.

“It’s good,” he said softly.

“Eat as much as you want. Or no, as much as you can,” Dohyeon corrected himself quickly.

The words were so gentle, so awkwardly careful, that Igyeol couldn’t help but laugh — a small, warm sound breaking the quiet between them.