Divorce Contract C80

Chapter 80

Yes—Dohyeon had always made decisions without asking. And yes, Igyeol had always bent quietly.
But maybe he shouldn’t have.
Maybe he should’ve asked what Igyeol wanted.
Maybe he should’ve looked at him—not just as someone obedient and quiet, but as the young man he really was.

Twenty-five.
Just twenty-five.
Too young and too fragile to have gone through any of this.

Dohyeon wiped away a tear clinging to Igyeol’s chin.
But the bitter twist to his mouth made Igyeol panic, like the ground was dropping out under him.
Would Dohyeon be annoyed if he asked about the baby again?
Would he snap if the question felt repetitive?
Would he get tired of him?

Silent sobs shook Igyeol’s shoulders as he searched Dohyeon’s face for even the smallest hint of irritation.

Seeing the fear he’d created, Dohyeon gathered the little collection of ointments, gauze, and disinfectant he kept ready by the bed—like they were everyday household items. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he tended the torn scabs with gentle, practiced hands.

Igyeol offered up his ear without resisting, sitting small and still, his free hand twisting anxiously at his fingers.

“…The baby…”

“My promise stands—you’ll raise him. Don’t be afraid.”

“…Thank you.”

For days, Dohyeon remained unsettled.
And for days, Igyeol agonized over the baby’s name.

During therapy sessions with Park Gihyeon, during meals cooked by Aunt Eunsuk, he kept unfolding the softened, repeatedly-handled sheet of names Dohyeon had written.
He stared at each meaning, tracing the shapes of the characters.

Were all names these days this beautiful?
Or had Dohyeon just chosen especially lovely ones?

Two names kept catching his eye.

“…Ihyeon… Yeowon.”

Both were graceful.
Both felt gentle.
He imagined the little one carrying them—and thought they suited him.
But a name was for life.
He had to be careful.
Scratching his cheek, worrying about the scars Aunt might notice, he circled back again and again.

“Ihyeon,” he murmured.

He liked how it sounded.
Soft. Flowing. Easy to say.
Even shortened, it stayed sweet.

And though he didn’t notice it, it shared one syllable with Dohyeon too.

Blushing faintly, he turned toward Aunt Eunsuk, knitting peacefully by his bedside.

“Aunt.”

“Yes?”

“What do you think of… Ihyeon?”

“It’s beautiful. Have you decided, then?”

Her gentle smile made him nod shyly.
He folded the wrinkled paper and set it on the nightstand, whispering again under his breath:

Seo Ihyeon.

The name settled perfectly in his heart.

“I think it’s lovely.”

“So do I. Finally, our little one has a name. And isn’t today the start of kangaroo care?”

“Yes… today.”

“How fitting. From today onward, you can call him by his name.”

Her warm gaze made him uneasy. He lowered his head to hide his face. She only laughed softly, whispered how handsome he looked, and returned to her knitting.

“…Should I wash again?”

“You’ve bathed twice today already.”

“I just… I don’t want to smell bad…”

Thinking about holding his child for the first time made him panic.
He’d bathed in the morning, then again after lunch—and still felt unclean, terrified of leaving a bitter scent.

Just then, the door opened.

“Your meal?”

Dohyeon entered—neat, sharp, composed, carrying the clean cold air of outdoors with him.
Igyeol raised his sleeve to hide his face and nodded faintly.
Aunt Eunsuk didn’t so much as acknowledge him.

“Shall we go down?” Dohyeon asked.

“…In a little while. Ten minutes,” Igyeol whispered.

Even Dohyeon was tense; today was the first day the baby would be placed in someone’s arms.

He’d even pushed his hair back—a rare sight these days.
Igyeol wondered where he’d been, but the question died before reaching his tongue.

Aunt Eunsuk closed her knitting and offered Igyeol water.
She promised to rinse the flask and stepped out.
His anxious eyes followed her, though not desperately enough to cling.

Before leaving, she gave Dohyeon a sharp, warning stare.
He bowed slightly as she passed.

Igyeol noticed something strange—why didn’t Dohyeon approach him?
Lately, everything and everyone felt odd, except Aunt Eunsuk.

He opened his mouth to tell him the name—but Dohyeon spoke first.

“Have you decided on a name?”

“…I have.”

He glanced up, then away, lowering his arm from his face so the words wouldn’t be muffled.

“Ihyeon. I chose… Ihyeon.”

“I see.”

“But if you don’t like it, we can—”

“I like it. It suits him well.”

And it suits you too, the one who’ll say it the most.

“…Really? That’ll be his name?”

“Yes. I had thought of searching for more, since you were deciding slowly. But I’m glad—glad you found one you like.”

Igyeol studied him quietly. Something about him was different.
What had changed?

Their eyes met—fully, clearly—for the first time in ages.
Startled, Igyeol’s shoulders quivered.

“Aunt Eunsuk will be back soon. Shall we go?” Dohyeon asked.

“…Yes.”

He didn’t offer his hand.
He simply asked if Igyeol needed help.
And when Igyeol shook his head, he accepted it—no questions asked.

Slowly, carefully, Igyeol stood and moved toward the door.
Dohyeon held it open.
Out of habit, Igyeol whispered his thanks and stepped through.

Aunt Eunsuk returned just then, wiping her damp hands on her clothes.

“Take this,” she said, handing the flask to Dohyeon.

“Yes.”

He took it easily.
Supported by Aunt Eunsuk, Igyeol drifted down the hall.
He glanced back once—expressionless—and then faced forward.

Dohyeon returned to the room, placed the flask in the cold box, and straightened the bed.
Surrounded by the faint trace of Igyeol’s pheromone, he told himself:

He needed to bring up discharge again.

Inside the NICU, the nurse guided Igyeol to unbutton his robe and sit in the soft brown chair.

Soon, the baby appeared—not behind glass, but in the nurse’s arms.

“Lean back, sir.”

“Like this?”

“Yes. I’ll place him on you. Hold his legs gently—yes, perfect. He’ll lie chest-to-chest, face down.”

She adjusted the wires and pulled the monitor close.

“Some babies’ oxygen dips for a moment during kangaroo care. Don’t panic if the alarm sounds—I’ll be right here.”

“Yes… I understand.”

With all his focus, Igyeol listened to the tiny weight being lowered onto him.

The nurse praised his steady hold, draped a clean cloth over the baby’s back, and said:

“You may keep him like this for an hour. Pat or stroke him gently. Call his name if you wish— or a cradle name. Just no loud talking or singing. I’ll return soon.”

Then she was gone.

He was alone.
Alone with his child for the first time.

The soft hum of the machine beside them reassured him.
His panic eased.
Each tiny breath against his chest warmed him.

One hand cupped the baby’s bottom.
With trembling courage, the other hand rested lightly on the small back.

So small.
So warm.
So impossibly perfect.

The scent of the baby’s skin—pure, clean, sweet—made a smile rise unbidden.

In the incubator, he had seemed tiny.
In his arms, he was smaller still.
So light he felt like air.

“…Hi,” Igyeol whispered.