Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Sorry, I know I’m late again!” Jihoon yelled almost from the other end of the nursery corridor as he jogged to the classroom. The corridor was clean, there was no sign of any other kid than his own here, and even the office and the classrooms were dark and empty. This wasn’t new for Jihoon; he was usually the last one who collected his offspring from the nursery because his boss really liked to have him around in the office. 

Sometimes it sucks to be the best secretary in the world. He still wore his tight tie, but his hair was messed up, and a rush reddened his cheeks. For his calm, another parent was standing at the classroom door, doing a collection with the tall, slim teacher, his son’s favorite.

If he hadn’t been in a hurry, he would’ve stopped for a second. This man wasn’t a regular parent, and he must have been new because he had never seen him before. He wore dirty, dark blue trousers and a matching jacket. White dust covered the trousers, and the ends were torn. Additionally, he also wore worn and dusty shoes, and a black backpack hung from his shoulders alongside a child’s blue backpack.

Let’s be honest: it wasn’t the outfit that caught Jihoon's eye, even though the clothes were slightly unusual for the setting. No, it was the man’s broad shoulders and messy long hair, which was tied back in a ponytail, that drew his attention. As Jihoon examined him further, he noticed how large the man’s dark eyes were—something Jihoon found irresistible. The stranger was listening to Sooyoung, the nursery teacher, with a wide but somewhat concerning smile.

Jihoon arrived next to the class and waited for his turn. His son, Chan, noticed him from an enormous window, which looked out into the hallway, and excitedly ran to Sooyoung, pointing to his dad. The woman hugged his head while explaining to the new parent how they tried to help his son get used to the new environment. Jihoon waved to his son and urged him to be patient. Then he noticed a little boy beside the stranger, hiding behind his dad’s (incredibly thick) tights. Chan whispered something to him, and then the little boy peeked to look at Jihoon, who waved to him.

“Overall, he had a great first day. Of course, it was a lot for him, but he got really well with Chan, didn’t he, true buddy?” She patted the boy’s head, who nodded intensely.

“Thanks to both of you! I assume you’re Chan. It’s nice to meet such a lovely young man!” The man crouched down, shaking Jihoon’s son’s little hands. It looked lovely how this man looked like a giant next to Chan; his tiny fingers disappeared in the hard, meaty palm. Of course, the boy was proud of himself, and Jihoon couldn’t do anything but smile. He was proud of him, too, of how confident and well-behaved his son was. At least in front of other parents.

“And he is my dad!” Chan grabbed his dad’s arm and pulled him closer. “Dad, can Seungkwan come over to us to play? Please, please, please!” He whined already. Of course, he couldn’t say no to his only child, especially when it came to socializing, although he was really tired of playdates. Everybody told him he was spoiling this kid, and he knew that well. Sometimes people judged him. Like, it would be such a great sin to try to give everything to his only beloved child?

“We’ll see it, okay? Let them settle down first, okay? But first, you should take on your shoes!” He shooed his son into his stuff. Chan was quite independent and stubborn; he didn’t let his dad help with dressing up. Jihoon looked up at the tall, broad man, who smiled gently. Seungkwan, his son, curiously peeked from behind. “If it’s okay for you, too. You two must be new here, but our offer still stands. I usually host playdates in the class because we have a pleasant garden for them to run around, and Channie is a real social butterfly.” He minced the sentences so fast, it was almost inaudible. The other man continued to smile, trying to hide a laugh.

“Okay. It would be nice for my son, too; it would help him get used to the unknown places. Should we exchange numbers? And if you’re late a lot too, we’ll run into each other a lot, I think.”

His smiling killed Jihoon; he barely recognized the numbers as they changed. What Sooyoung said about Chan’s day was completely blank; he only noted that today, exceptionally, there wasn’t any complaint, incident, or accident report for Chan. Maybe because he was too busy with Seungkwan. Not to say, both of the dads were happy about this.

When they left the parking lot, they saw Seungcheol and his son walking towards the bus stop. This time, Seungkwan was in his dad’s arms, half asleep from the long, eventful day. Of course, Chan usually tires out all the teachers in the whole nursery, although he wasn’t even four. They adored and loved this energy bomb, but secretly opened a bottle of champagne when he caught something from the nursery.

His son tried to wave to his new friend, but only got an answer from his dad. Jihoon watched the man from the rearview mirror. He must be very tired, and he needs to carry his boy. And his job probably wasn’t the easiest, judging from his clothes. At that very moment, Jihoon was thankful for his comfortable, mostly calm office work, the occasional home office, and the low-interest loan on his house. Yes, he fell for this man in seconds, but wished him a loving partner who supported him. He looked like a great man with a big heart and was affectionate towards his son, so he deserved that.

Hopefully, this time his human knowledge sense didn’t trick him like so many times.

Chapter Text

When they usually arrived at the nursery, it was early in the morning; everything was quiet, and only the early shift teachers and caregivers were in the building; not even the office was open. Chan was still learning to wake up almost at sunrise to get ready for the day. On other days, he was often fussy about the morning routine, but today, he was just a sleepy little baby. Actually, he was fairly happy because of his new friend, so he left his moody side in dreamland, which made his father suspicious and glad at the same time.

But he refused to walk to the classroom, so Jihoon balanced himself across the corridor, with Chan on his arm and his backpack and raincoat on the other, to the door, while he constantly checked his watch, trying not to be late for work, calculating the traffic and his sometimes ridiculously long goodbyes with his son. Yes, that morning, his son, his beloved star, wasn’t the independent “big boy,” but Daddy’s tiny baby who clung to his father’s neck. This always made goodbyes a hard time for Jihoon, emotionally and physically. He always joked about Chan giving him the perfect opportunities to do some morning runs.

On other days, they were the first arrivals, so Chan could start painting the teacher’s hair grey early. He was a very active, sometimes mischievous child, most of the time, who made the caretakers go crazy, and the accident and incident report went on full quite soon. Today, he saw another parent-child pair next to the classroom, busy with the little one’s shoes and jacket. From the broad shoulder and the navy blue pant-work jacket combo, he knew it was Seungcheol and Channie’s new friend, Seungkwan. It was good to know that his son wouldn’t be alone for another hour until the others came. And, to be honest, the teachers were happy about this too.

“Wow, you’re early birds too!” Jihoon greeted them with a wide smile. His little one wouldn’t dress himself, but immediately focused on Seungkwan. They were both sleepy but happy to see each other.

“We need to. Daddu needs to go to work.” The little boy said shyly. A light, proud smile ran through his face, and then he gave his dad a big kiss on the cheek. Seungcheol hugged and kissed him back, then gave the little boy his shoes for the classroom. He only greeted Jihoon and Chan with a wave; he wasn’t in his best form. Maybe it was too early for him.

“Is it hard for you to get up, too?” Jihoon tried to engage in the conversation, but he had trouble with the jacket’s zipper. After numerous attempts to pull it down, Seungcheol, without a word, helped him. He looked exhausted, and behind his smile, Jihoon saw a part of sadness.

“It’s all alright.” Seungkwan shrugged, then took away his outside shoes. After picking his comforter out of his small blue backpack, he stood in front of the classroom door and looked at his dad. “Can I go, Daddu? I’m hungry.”

Seungcheol accompanied him to the room, where his little one sat down for breakfast, and Chan pursued them. This morning, there weren’t any long goodbye kisses, hugs, or crying; he didn’t want to miss out on anything he could do with Seungkwan; it could be breakfast together or playing. The teacher, Soonkyu, helped them pour out the milk and the cereal and sat down with them, waving bye to the fathers. Before Seungcheol left, the other man asked him.

“Where do you work? I can give you a lift if you want. And if you don’t mind.” Jihoon asked, almost running after him.

The other stopped for a moment, hesitating. He looked like he was searching for something behind Jihoon’s intentions. At first, he looked more intimate and friendly. Now, he seemed suspicious and uncertain. Maybe because he had an awful night, at least, he appeared to be someone who hadn’t slept a wink. His hair was messy and dusty, just as it had been yesterday; his almost-black, enormous eyes were weary and sunken, and his shirt had wrinkles.

“You look like, no offense, but a wreck. I thought you could use a helping hand.” He said in embarrassment, playing with his hair and arranging his tie. Finally, Seungcheol smiled and nodded.

“To be honest, yes, that would be great. I had a poor night.” He spoke with that calming, warm tone he had yesterday. Every worry disappeared from his face, despite the fact that his appearance still looked like some victim of a hit and run. His gummy smile compensated for all. “I work at that construction site in the capital, near the bus station; if you drop me somewhere nearby, that would be great. I don’t want to cause big trouble for you.”

“Oh, that’s great; that route won’t take me anything; it’s only a slight detour for me. Usually, I’m always late from everywhere, but this morning went smoothly, so I’m not in that big rush as always.” Jihoon spoke as they walked to the car. Seungcheol quietly laughed.

“Do you always speak at this speed or just for me? I barely understand you. No offense.”

Let’s be honest; it surprised Jihoon. He never noticed he spoke fast, and no one ever said anything. Maybe his embarrassment in this man’s company caused this? Probably. Seungcheol was quite a handsome, well-built, lovely, family-oriented, and hard-working man; who didn’t fall for him at first sight? Hopefully, he wasn’t irritating too much.

“No one told me that. You’re new, and I had a lot to say, I think. I’ll try to take control of my speaking speed.” He tried to calm down as they rolled out of the parking lot and turned onto the main street to the capital.

“It’s okay. It’s lovely.” The man spoke with a deep, calming voice. “Sorry, I don’t want to appear rude, especially because you helped me out; I just slept badly.” He took a deep breath, watching the small city left behind the mirrors. “Sometimes my son and I share the same dream, so we’re both up all night.”

“Oh, it’s lovely. Not that you couldn’t sleep, but that the two of you are this close. It’s very clear that you two love each other. So what brought you there? If it’s not too inappropriate.”

The other man stayed silent for a moment, and Jihoon started to think he fucked up the beginning of their beautiful friendship. Seungcheol sighed and started playing with his backpack strap protruding thread. It was a heavy topic, for sure; the younger one unintentionally brought it up. Jihoon wanted to say something, but the other proceeded before him.

“I lost my wife almost a month ago, and I couldn’t pay for our old home. We needed a smaller, cheaper home, so we moved out of the capital.”
Firstly, it shocked Jihoon. Seungcheol looked like a lovely man with a lovely child; he was sure he had a lovely wife to wait for him, too. He didn’t look like he lost someone and became a single parent quite early because Seungkwan didn’t seem too much older than three. His son’s needs required: He needed to stand on his feet soon for his son. When did he get a chance to mourn? And what about Seungkwan? Poor baby boy, he not only lost his mother, but he also needed to adapt to a brand new environment, life, and routine. He must have missed his dad in the nursery; they need each other now more than ever. As a single father himself, his heart started aching for them.

And now he started feeling bad for having a wild dream at night about a fresh widow and what they could do to each other. Now, he felt like a pervert.

“I’m so sorry.” He spoke up after a long silence. “If you need any help, just call me, whenever it’s about Seungkwan, a lift to work... or just a shoulder. I know we don’t know each other well, but I want to offer this to you. I’m sure it’s difficult for the two of you now.” Seungcheol only nodded in a quiet thank you. The silence became heavy, and Jihoon had the urge to fill it. “I mean, I don’t want to burst into your life, but years ago, I was in almost the same situation. I mean, that’s not exactly true, but that would be a long story.” He laughed in embarrassment. They stopped at a red light. On the pedestrian crossing, there was a group of little ones in their same yellow jackets walking towards a park. “I was alone with a baby, without help or friends.” I only had my cousin, but he couldn’t be there for me always. No one was there for me; only my son and I piled mistakes upon mistakes and bore the consequences. I know how hard it can be to balance parenting and work, so if I can help you, just let me know.”

Seungcheol still stayed silent, looking out of the window. The words sank into the almost soundless air. Jihoon’s palm started sweating, and he felt his eyes hurt. No, he didn’t plan to be this open towards a man whom he had known only for two days; he just let his mouth do the talking while his brain focused on not dying in a car accident. Historical mistake.

“Thank you, Jihoon. Really. It’s good to know I have an ally in you.”

This calmed the man a little, but he will think about this conversation for the day. Or for the week.

He peeked at Seungcheol, who smiled at him gently. Why does he always fall for people so soon?

He turned right and parked at an empty bus station while Seungcheol jumped out. They said their goodbyes to each other. Then everybody went on their way and continued their daily routine, spiced up with this emotional morning, which was new for both of them. Not to say both men were happy about this, yet Jihoon still felt embarrassed every time he remembered this ride; he was glad he told Seungcheol. He looked pleased to hear he was not alone. 

As Jihoon’s life became a little more stable, he always tried to help other parents. Sometimes, he offered playdates, cooked their meals, or offered coffee and a listening ears. No one ever knew how he struggled to keep a job while Chan was so little, how his heart hurt when he needed to leave him at a daycare and nursery. He sometimes still felt like a bad dad because he couldn’t make enough free time for his son. Seungkwan looked so proud of his dad; did his son feel the same way? Does Chan feel loved enough?

That was the question that appeared in his life every day, sometimes in his dreams, too.

Seungcheol was a lovely man at first sight. And now, he has learned how strong he really is. He shouldn’t have to do this alone. He shouldn’t have to suffer.

Chapter Text

“Seungkwan said his dad can drive trucks! And excavators! And cranes!” Chan happily yelled as they walked over to the car. This time, they didn’t cross paths with Seungcheol, but they often met at the classroom door. Poor man, sometimes he almost fell asleep as the teacher told him about his son’s day. Jihoon always offers them a ride, but he refuses because they enjoy discussing their day on the way home. Or maybe he felt like he took advantage of Jihoon’s kindness.

Jihoon couldn’t help but adore the man’s strength. He admired him like a child, and sometimes he felt embarrassed because of it. Especially if he remembered he was a freshly widowed man.

“You two really found each other, didn’t you? I’m glad you’re so sweet to him.” He buckled up his son, who looked proud when he heard the praise. The little man couldn’t wait to tell his dad more. Other kids came home from nursery tired, but not Chan; his second shift had only just started.

“He lost his mommy. I need to be extra sweet to him.”

This sentence made a knot in Jihoon’s stomach. His son talked about what they ate and how they played, but he only focused on the road and that gripping feeling that ruled his body. Chan didn’t know how hard and deep this sentence was; he had never experienced loss in his brief life. This week, the kids learn about families and home, so it must be extra distressing for the newest little one.

As they arrived home, he tried to engage with his son. They barely have free time together, so he tries to seize every opportunity to shower him with love and quality time. Every Wednesday, instead of a shower, Chan took a long, nice bath, which always ended up with Jihoon covered with bubbles and soaking wet clothes. He loved hearing his toddler laugh when he made a foam beard and funny hair around them. Chan splashed the warm water; he was a big, scary octopus who attacked the boat but only wanted their marshmallows. His dad sat on the toilet lid and watched him fondly, thinking about how time passed.

Not long ago, Chan was a real baby who could only bathe if someone held him, giggled at some funny faces, and threw a whole Broadway show of tantrums at Seokmin, his uncle, if his dad dared to go shopping without him. Now, nobody could blow him out of his uncle’s hands if they met. Jihoon remembered how hard it was to find out what kind of baby food Chan was willing to eat, and it turned out he only ate homemade meals, not the ones that came in little jars.

He lived so little, yet Jihoon knew how many things he had come through. Most of the time, it was because of his unlucky dad’s poor choices. But Chan still adored him because he didn’t see the connections. He only saw how his dad loved him and answered his needs; for his heart, this was more than enough.

“Come on, little captain! It’s time for dinner. Fish fingers, mashed potato, and peas?” Jihoon lifted his son out of the water and wrapped him tightly in a soft towel. He rocked like the boy was still a newborn, and the little one loved it. They overall loved to spend time together, even if one of them woke up on the grumpier side; they knew each other’s breath so well, and both of them knew how to behave and what to do in case of crustiness. But sometimes, Chan decided to ignore this. “Then go get your pajamas on; I’ll make it!”

He stood next to the stove, making the boxed potatoes. It seemed so natural as if he’d always been prepared to be a single dad. Of course, he made mistakes, but he has become a relatively confident and skillful dad now. Sometimes, he still messes up, and he learns new things from other parents, but overall, when he tucks his son in, tells him his bedtime story, and sometimes even sings a lullaby, as he watches his little star, he always thinks about how well he did.

Not to mention how scared he was when he realized he needed to raise this crying little human, probably alone. He was terrified. Chan was so small and fragile; he was born slightly prematurely, but he quickly caught up with his friends. Probably, Jihoon cried more that time than his newborn.

And Seungcheol needed to learn this now. He was probably also scared and worried about his little one, yet he barely buried his wife. When they separated, Jihoon didn’t feel anything towards Chan’s mom; only anger and compassion worked in him, but Seungheol was different. Anybody could see how he loved and still loves his wife and how broken they became after their loss. It made their relationship closer, but at what cost?

“I’m ready! Can I watch a cartoon?” His son pokes his head into the kitchen. Not only his voice, but the milk that ran out of the pot woke him up from his journey, where he wandered in his mind.

“Yeah, sure. Daddy messed this up, so take your time.” He said as he tried to clean the hot stove, lightly burning his hand. He was always the clumsier type of person, but nowadays, he is the champion. On top of that, his phone rang. To his surprise, it was Seungcheol.

“Hey, sorry for the late call. Can I ask you a favor?” The man sounded unsure, like someone who doesn’t give hope for it, or Jihoon was his last chance. Probably both. “Tomorrow, can you please pick up Seungkwan and look after him? I got a chance for some overtime; I would pick him up at eight. I know it’s kind of late, but I really could use these hours. Please.”

Jihoon already said yes in his mind before the other could even tell him what the favor was about. As he started to explain, he was absolutely sure. The please at the end was just the cherry on top. His heart melted when he heard Seungcheol’s nervous tapping on the counter or somewhere else. He happily said yes, and then they both hung up because both of the kids decided to cry out of hunger at that exact moment. They’re best friends already, for sure.

That night, Chan didn’t want to sleep because he was so excited about the sudden playdate with his new friend. He was literally on and off the walls; they read two stories together to calm down, but he only found peace at his dad’s bed, snuggled close to him. They both knew he was a big boy, yet sometimes, he still needed his parent's warm hug and calming heartbeat to fall asleep. And Jihoon couldn’t blame him; he sometimes wished this time would last forever.

They met again at the classroom door this time; Jihoon arrived earlier (a rare occasion) and tried to zip down the tiny coat. He promised himself to throw away this jacket, but always forgot it. Seungcheol immediately helped him; he looked rested and smiley today. Seungkwan nervously packed away his stuff without a word. Maybe he wasn’t as excited for tonight as Chan. When he couldn’t reach the hanger, Jihoon helped him, but the boy only stared at him with wide eyes. He was clearly ill at ease. They dropped them off and told the teacher that tonight Jihoon would collect both of them, and they walked together to the car. Of course, the shorter man offered the other a ride to work.

It started getting cold, dark, and foggy. It was almost November, but some days, winter was already in the air; everybody could smell it. Some early mornings, the little noses were red from the icy wind, and the parents prepared for the illnesses with tons of vitamins and tissues. Today, when they stepped out of the nursery, a light rain started to drip; it was the type that resembled teeny-weeny ice crystals, and it pinched the people’s faces and bothered their vision.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you. You helped me out already.” He stood next to the car, playing tensely with the strap thread. Jihoon leaned on the car’s top, waiting for the other to sit in. “Okay, okay, because you gave me that look. No wonder why Channie is such a well-behaved kiddo.”

“Ask the teachers; they probably say something else. He can be sweet and polite, a model child, if he wants. Seungkwannie has a wonderful effect on him; I didn’t need to sign any reports for him over the week. I don’t think that’s ever happened!”

Seungcheol laughed. He had a funny laugh and a wide smile; his quite enormous eyes almost disappeared; only the long lashes betrayed them. Jihoon wanted to watch him, to see him happy, but needed to focus on the road again. What a shame.

“I’m sure if Kwannie warms up, they will be out of the nursery hand in hand. He was just like your son, I swear.” His face became a little darker, yet his smile stayed on his face. He looked out the window; his gaze was far away, over their small cities’ houses. The love that he felt for his son glowed from Seungcheol’s whole body. “He will probably feel overwhelmed, and I apologize in advance.” I’m sure you will handle that like a pro. You look like a born model father. With a model son. I’m sure I’ll learn a few things from you.”

“A smart man learns from his mistakes; a genius learns from other men’s.” Jihoon chuckled, and then they went silent, but it wasn’t awkward; it was somewhat comfortable. It was foggy, and the rain started to pour loudly on the windshield. Almost everything disappeared in the fog; only a few streetlights and other cars’ brake lights could be seen. Jihoon was always a safe driver, so he drove at a low speed instead of risking both their lives. He remembered their kids when he cautiously hit the brakes. Probably, it was a tiny jam before them, so he stretched his back in the seat. He didn’t notice it, but Seungcheol watched him with gratitude and some inexplicable love he started to feel. Not the romantic kind, but the one type that two matching souls, two similar destinies, experience with each other. They were separated at one point, but they reunited.

Jihoon asked the nursery spare car seat to buckle up the two babies. Seungkwan was shy and remained silent on the entire ride, no matter what the man asked of him. He only spoke a few words and squeezed his comforter in his palms. It was a rag with a puppy head on one corner; it was worn, so it must have been his best friend for a long time. His large eyes, inherited from his father, mirrored his fear. Of course, Jihoon was a stranger to him, and he had a strong connection to his dad; no matter how many times they talked about this, he was overwhelmed by the miss of his parent.

On the other hand, Chan’s mouth moved like someone would pay for it. He chatted about his day and became excited to show Seungkwan his toys and play together; he was lively as always. Hopefully, it will help his little friend to warm up a bit, so they’ll have a lovely afternoon together.
This time, Jihoon didn’t engage in his son’s play; he wanted to give time and space to the new little boy.

After he made dinner, he decided to do some work on the couch. This time he made a larger portion, not because Seungkwan would eat that much, but because he expected his dad to eat something after work. He giggled and felt like a housewife waiting for his husband, but quickly abandoned this joke. Time passed, and he spotted a little black head at the corner of his eye. It was Seungkwan. Of course, Chan was on his way, too. The man patted the couch next to him and put aside his laptop, helping the toddler sit up next to him.

“Hey, little one, what’s up? Do you have a good time?” Seungkwan only nodded while he started picking up Jihoon’s sleeve. It was a sign asking for comfort, the man knew, because his son did this when he was younger. Seungcheol is correct; they have very similar personalities. He opened his arms, and the little boy snuggled closer to him.

“I like it here. But I miss Daddu.” He wept, and then large, plump tears came down on his cheeks. Chan climbed on his father’s other side, watching him comfort his friend. He also patted the little boy’s head, like he saw from his dad. Jihoon rocked the baby and let him cry for a time. He shushed, hummed, and caressed the bitty head under his hand. Of course, Seungkwan got upset; he expected it, but it surprised him that the boy came to him for some comfort. He was a nobody to him, so he probably misses his dad really if he accepts comfort from Jihoon.

“It’s fine; you’re doing really well. Your Daddu will be proud of you, my darling. He must have finished work, and he is on the way here.” He said as he checked the time. The babies played so well; he heard giggles earlier, and they absolutely lost their sense of time. It’s getting late for them; probably that’s triggering Seungkwan’s nerves. “I think it’s about time to eat some dinner. What do you guys think? It’s bolognese on tonight’s menu.” He looked at the toddlers. Chan burst into a cheer, while Seungkwan only nodded his red face.

The boys did a really good job setting up the table and ate very well. They ate the last bits when the doorbell rang. Of course, all three of them greeted the arrival of Seungcheol, who instantly picked up his son, and they flooded each other with kisses. The scene touched Jihoon as he watched the large, muscular man holding this tiny baby and showing his affection toward him. There was something warm and domestic about them.

“Come, Seungcheol, eat some dinner, then I’ll give you a ride home. It’s late, and you’re both tired.” Jihoon invited the other, who reluctantly accepted. He was almost utterly silent, letting the children talk about their day. Seungkwan was more chatty this time; he felt comfortable around his dad, yet tiredness could be seen on his face. Usually, they were in bed around this time.

“I’ve only cried once!” He said it proudly. His dad let him sit on his lap while he ate dinner, hugging his little one with one arm. The boys looked like they were taking the storytelling as a competition, but Seungcheol only smiled at them.

Jihoon’s heart was filled with coziness as he leaned in the doorway. For a long time, he felt this house was a home, like a genuine family. He quickly shushed this idea out of his head, but not from his heart. He tried to give Chan a true family multiple times, but after his last failed relationship, he gave up. Yes, he knew they could be a family on their own, but sometimes he missed a loving partner, another guide for his son, somebody to lean on. Sometimes, it was genuinely painful to be alone, not physically, but in his heart.

Seungcheol lived on the other side of the city. It wasn’t a long ride, but both boys had dozed off at the moment the car engine started. They drove in silence, but Jihoon noticed how nervous the other man became. He knew the reason because their goal wasn’t the best side of the city. Dirt and many old, cheap apartments crowded together. He felt sorry for them, but probably that’s what was affordable for them. Seungcheol was ashamed.

Seungcheol worked hours to get out of there. His own clothes were worn, but his son was always clean and neat; his hair was long and sometimes unkempt, but Seungkwan was always ready for the day. Jihoon felt his throat closing as they got closer to the other end of their small town.

“How much do I owe you?” Seungcheol asked. He sounded serious.

“You don’t owe me anything. I’m happy to help you, and the boys enjoyed their time together, too. Seriously, Seungcheol, I wouldn’t accept money from you.” The man fiddled with his fingers, not knowing how to answer this. He sat there, his head so down that his chin was pressed into his chest.

“I mean, I don’t want you to feel humiliated. I only see what I see, and I don’t feel comfortable accepting anything from you until your life doesn’t go the right way. It’s fine, I swear.”

After some minutes of silence, Seungcheol gathered himself to speak up. His voice was rusty as if he was on the edge of shedding tears.
‘Thank you. I cannot say this enough. I know you were in a similar situation, but you don’t know what this all means to me. We’re almost there; please turn left. We live at the end of the street."

“And Seungcheol... How are you feeling? I don’t want to step into your life and soul, just so you know... I know you want to do everything for your son; I did the same, but don’t put yourself aside fully. If you need it, I can take Seungkwan to give you some time. To cry, to mourn, or to have a good afternoon nap.”

The car stopped in front of a lofty building. It had six floors; the outside was weedy, and almost half of the street lamps didn’t work. Finally, he could look at Seungcheol. The man stared back with shiny eyes and a light, painful smile. He nodded.

“I feel so much better now. But I’m still scared. To be said, I want to tell you a lot of things; talk about it. The problem is that I can’t; it’s still too fresh. Maybe someday. Again, thank you for finding us.”

“Anytime, but it was Channie. I only followed him. You’ll be good; you’re doing good.”

Those were the sentences he never heard when he tried to balance his life with a baby. He knew how much these meant to Seungcheol, how strong these words were.

Jihoon watched as the other man climbed the stairs with his child on his arm. Sometimes, as he could see from the staircase's window, he stopped to take a breath. He was tired, both physically and mentally. But he fought because of this little boy in his hand, who sucked the comforter's corner in his dream. 

Was it hard? 

Yes.

But he wasn't alone.

Chapter Text

It was one of the mornings when Jihoon didn’t bother himself about how late he would be for work. He strolled each and every step; pure pain in the sparse sunlight hurt his eyes, and he only wanted to go back to his bed. Luckily, his son quickly changed his stubborn, frantic behavior to a calm, understanding model child as he saw his father’s wrinkles come alive on his forehead. He knew him well, and no matter how terrible a mood he woke up in, he tried really hard for his loved daddy’s sake. Usually, Jihoon was thankful for it—only later, when his head didn’t try to explode.

He was always prone to migraines, and sadly, he needed to do the same things as every other day. Even the smiling which was the toughest task of the day. Sometimes, he had to pull over the car because he didn’t feel safe driving. Chan insisted on carrying his own little backpack, which contained all the spare clothes, nappies, and his binky, Eary the bunny. They needed to stop before stepping inside the building. Jihoon didn’t like to be touched or hugged when he had migraines, but he couldn’t have the courage to tell his son this. Chan always hugged his legs when he struggled, only because he couldn’t bend down to embrace him properly.

When Chan spotted Seungkwan, he ran towards him to the other end of the corridor, yelling his name. Jihoon didn’t even try to stop him; he was too busy checking if his ears were actually bleeding or if he just imagined it, like the knife in his eye earlier. Seungcheol already helped the little boy take off his jacket as he arrived at them. He must have noticed something because he put his hand on Jihoon’s shoulder when he tried to hunch down.

“Everything’s okay?” He spoke softly and quietly. Probably, Jihoon’s reaction was apparent to the loud noise earlier. The man sighed and nodded, a move he instantly regretted.

“Migraines.” As he spoke, the headache hit him and made his vision dizzy. He clutched onto Seungcheol, who held him tight and secure. Mostly, he wasn’t this helpless, or he would have noticed in time, and they wouldn’t have stepped out of the house for the day, but this time, he missed the signs. As the warmer weather hit, Jihoon started to feel like a beehive had fallen on his head.

Chan was used to this, so he wasn’t as scared as Seungkwan, who looked terrified. He was practically frozen, eyes wide, as his dad helped their friend sit on the tiny bench in the corridor. Even when the teacher, Soonkyu, came out to take the boys, he couldn’t react or move. And suddenly, he started to cry. Jihoon wanted to feel sorry for him, but the pain just became worse than his noisy voice reached his ears. Seungcheol picked up both toddlers and brought them into the classroom. None of them could say how much time it took Seungkwan to calm down, but his dad was late for work; that was sure. And Jihoon wasn’t sure if he could go to the office. Or move away from this bench, honestly.

When the aching stopped for a moment, he hated himself or his body, mostly because of it. No kid should see their parent in a state like that; no babies should get used to it. And poor Kwannie, he was so scared. Jihoon wasn’t able to say a proper goodbye to his son, who would be here almost until closing. He saw from the classroom window how the two toddlers sat down for breakfast, what his son wolfed down, but the other boy only poked the porridge with a spoon. Seungcheol crouched down to him, gazing at his face carefully.

“Better now?”

“Yeah. Sorry for scaring your little one. Other times, it doesn’t come down this serious.” He whispered, full of guilt. He looked at his wristwatch and became paler than before. “Oh, God, we’ll both be late.”

“I’m fine, but I don’t think you should sit in a car in this state. Call in sick and get a rest. I would help you to get home safely, but I really need to go now. Hope you understand.”

This morning, this was the first moment Jihoon looked at Seungcheol. Poor man, he wasn’t tired. He was exhausted. Something was off, Jihoon felt, but didn’t want to push the other. He never saw him this wracked, bags under his slightly swollen eyes, nose, and cheeks red like a cherry. The coal-black hairlocks were greasy at some spots; they were white from construction dust. Probably he only rinsed down with water and didn’t have time or energy for a proper hair wash. His shirt was clean this time, but the jacket could use a good wash and some patches for the holes. It didn’t look warm, but it was probably his uniform with the company name on it. But why on Earth didn’t Seungcheol wear a warm coat on top of that? No wonder why he was sick as a dog.

Jihoon needed half an hour to move from the bench, drive home safely, and call in sick. Not exactly a day off, but a home office, which sounded fine. He needed the sickness as an excuse if Chan truly fell ill in the wintertime. The only thing he could do was lie on the bed in complete darkness and wait for the afternoon to collect his child. He barely touched his laptop, maybe at night, after the house went quiet. Around that time, finally, the migraine traveled away, but he still wasn’t in his best shape.

“You’re fine?” Seungkwan stood in front of him at the classroom door. He wasn’t alone yet, but the other parents started to come in, so the little one needed to wait for his dad alone. It was a sad scenario, but Seungcheol declined his offer to collect Seungkwan. He couldn’t blame him for how he looked in the morning.

“Yes, darling. I only had a really bad headache in the morning, but it faded away.” Jihoon smiled at him, patting his head reassuringly. Chan struggled to take off his boots but, of course, refused to accept help. Until he got ready, his friend watched Jihoon carefully.

“You came early,” Seungkwan stated. Oh, how happy Chan was when he saw his dad’s car turn into the car park, and he walked to the building with confidence, which meant the ‘evil little gnomes’ finished their hammering in Jihoon’s head and went back to their holes in the walls. It was verifiable because his dad said this to him.

“Yes, I couldn’t go to work this morning because my head hurt from those mischievous gnomes. Luckily, they got tired really fast.” He tried to zip up that horrid jacket. Seriously, Lee Jihoon still forgot to get rid of it. No matter how many times Seungcheol showed him his trick to ease the zipper for him, it never worked.

“My Daddu is sick too. He had a fever last night. I changed the towel on his forehead.”

These innocent words left Jihoon shocked. Given the district where these two lived, he likely couldn’t afford to skip any workday. He patted the toddler’s head, praising him for being such a lovely son of his dad. Although his son had probably done this too, he couldn’t bear the idea of a baby seeing his parent in a state like this. Seungkwan was possibly scared and up all night because he seemed tired, and Chan said that his friend wasn’t himself today.

As they almost started their journey home, a sizeable figure popped up at the end of the corridor, rushing to their classroom. It was Seungcheol.

Oh, poor man. He looked terrible.

His nape-length hair was wet, and the strands were stuck together. It could be from sweat and from the rain; both had an equal chance. His jacket was soggy, and there was a rip on the right sleeve. The boot laces were only tucked into the bootleg, not properly bound. The man’s face was bright pink, but his nose was red, and his lips were so dry, the skin was peeling off in massive parts, leaving bloody lesions on them. His dark eyes were sunken again; a wet shine blinked in his visage. Seungkwan ran out of the classroom to welcome his dad, and Jihoon stopped, too.

“Hey, buddy. I missed you too!” Seungcheol hugged his son for a long time. His voice sounded nasal and hoarse, and he spoke slower than usual. But the happiness still shone through his illness. When he saw Jihoon, he nodded a hello. “I wasn’t feeling well; my boss sent me home early so I could come for you. Are you happy about this?” He picked up his boy, walking over to the worried teacher to do a handover.

“Cheol, what if both of you came over? I think you should take a rest, and I could look after the boys. You look like a walking dead.” Jihoon’s voice was full of anxiety. The man clearly was unwell; he could barely walk. It wasn’t safe for any of them to be at home alone in this state.

“To be honest, it would be great. We’ll get ready quickly, I swear!” He smiled, walking back to the classroom. Chan still didn’t get bored from playdates this week; there was almost a minimum of one little friend at their house, if not more, every day. It looked like Seungkwan would be his best friend and all-time favorite because he became excited the most when the new boy came over. It happened almost every Thursday; that day was the only chance for Seungcheol to do some overtime work, and Jihoon happily helped him out. Yesterday, he didn’t stay over because he felt the illness attacking his body, but it looked like the usual weekly playdate still happened.

In the car, Jihoon noticed how this large, muscular man struggled to breathe; his coughing was dry and painful. As the fever rose high in front of his eyes, Seungcheol became more and more numb over the car ride. Seungkwan chewed his comforter’s corner in the spare seat, watching his dad’s face mirror exhaustion more. He reached his tiny hand towards him, and he happily held it.

“You’re warm, Daddu.” The toddler said it with fear in his high-pitched voice. He was on the verge of crying.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. That’s why we come over to Channie’s; I’ll take a break while you two play, okay? Jihoon will help me heal, like Mommy did with you when you were sick last year, remember? When I had to work far away, you got a fever too. You called me on video chat to tell a bedtime story.”

The boy nodded and leaned back in his seat. When his heart broke completely, Jihoon felt that these two and their past were conducting some kind of experiment on him. Every sentence, every small word, has a greater weight given to it from their loss and current struggle. From experience, he knew that every parent tries to hide their sickness from their offspring, but Seungcheol is too exhausted at this point. And the guilt could be seen on his face from it.

“I have a guest room; you can lie down there, next to the bathroom, left in the corridor. And you, babies, can you help me with the dinner? I could use a few helpful hands!” Jihoon herded the boys to the kitchen, which was the farthest from the guest room. After a couple of minutes, he wanted to give Seungcheol some medicine, but the man was already deep asleep, so he left it on the side table along with an enormous glass of tea.

He tried not to watch and feel sorry for the other, but couldn’t help it. There were drops of sweat on his forehead and neck, making his hair messier than before. It could be seen with bare eye how his whole body trembled under the sheets, so he covered him with another blanket, tucking it carefully. When he leaned over, he saw not only the sweat but also the tears and the silent hiccupping of the crispy lips. It could be from the sickness or the pain of guilt; it doesn’t matter. Seungcheol suffers. He looked vulnerable and tiny despite his body size. Jihoon smiled and patted the wet head, then let the man sleep through the virus.

In the kitchen, both toddlers worked hard. Seungkwan spooned rice from the package into a bowl, and Chan washed vegetables in the sink. Which, as Jihoon later thought, was a disastrous idea because his precious son flooded most of the kitchen. At least both of them smiled; they even insisted on helping to mop and sweep the floor while the adult prepared the dinner. It didn’t happen because Channie found the broom as a hilarious toy horse, and they rode away into the Wild West (the living room).

While everything was on the stove and only needed to wait, Jihoon sneaked into the guest room again. The pill disappeared, and the glass was empty too, but Seungcheol was still asleep. He won’t be awake until morning, so he makes bathing water for the boys and tells them they’ll have a sleepover. Channie, as usual, became excited, but Seungkwan looked as if he saw a ghost.

“Chan, my love, can you make the guest bed and search for pajamas for Kwannie?” Jihoon patted his son’s head, who ran into his bedroom happily. The guest bed was necessary after a time because sleepovers and playdates were such common happenings there. It was easy to set up; Chan even learned. While the tiny host was away, he hugged their baby guest. “Don’t worry, your Daddu just fell asleep deeply. He is fine; his fever has gone down. It will be fine for you to have a great weekend with him.” He booped the boy’s nose, who smiled at this gesture, nodding with a smiley face. “We will have a bath now, then dinner, then right to bed. I’ll tell you two a nice bedtime story; what do you say?”

“Can I give my Daddu a goodnight kiss?” Seungkwan fidgeted with his fingers, gazing at his socks. They were mismatched pairs, one dotty and one with a dinosaur face on the toes. Jihoon nodded and picked him up, bringing him to the guest room.

Seungcheol snored awfully loudly because of his blocked nose; his mouth was wide open. Sometimes, he coughed in his dreams because his throat was so sore and dry. His son crawled over to his face and gave him a wet, sweet kiss. It was a lovely scene as the toddler snuggled his head into his parent’s neck, had a big sniff of his cologne and sweat-mixed scent, then rushed back into Jihoon’s arms, who waited for him at the end of the bed. They looked back one more time before closing the door on him.

Jihoon always felt sensitized when he watched his son playing in the bath with his friends, but tonight was special. It was overwhelming.

He sat at the kitchen table with his laptop to finish some work he couldn’t do today, when Seungcheol wandered in. Jihoon could see the question mark around his head, but didn’t say a word. Not even when the shorter man put a mug of warm tea in his hand and made him sit down. He only looked at him with his doe eyes; his big lashes blinked without a proper thought.

“Don’t worry, Kwannie ate and bathed. They enjoyed that I accidentally overloaded the bathtub with foam. He asked a lot about you before the story, but eventually calmed down. Do you want some dinner? I’m sure you do.” He turned away to microwave some leftovers. Jihoon felt his cheeks flaming; his hands were shaky. “And feel free to use the bathroom; I put out some clothes for you. It was one of my exes; you two were around the same size. I’ll wash your clothes; they’ll be dry in the morning.” When he turned back, Seungcheol was smiling, almost laughing. He shook his head as he looked up at Jihoon. “I hope you don’t mind this sleepover. It became late, and you slept so deeply, I didn’t have the heart to wake you up.”

“It’s fine, really. I’m grateful to have you. But I barely understood anything.”

Oh, so Jihoon prattled too fast again because he felt nervous around this man and his warm, intimate smile, sweet presence, bed-wetting voice (even when he was sick), and upper arm muscles as wide as Jihoon’s thighs. He should’ve quit daydreaming and the romantic series.

“I knew you were in my shoes, but that’s too much. I could never pay back what you’ve already done for us.” The smaller one felt slightly embarrassed. Maybe he was too much, but Seungcheol never stopped him. In fact, he always said how happy he was for the help and how his son loved to play with Chan. And for him, it came naturally to help. Never thought that it would cause humiliation or any other bad feelings for the other. “Before this, can you show me where the boys sleep? I want to give Kwannie a goodnight kiss.”

The host nodded and led them to the kid’s room. Chan slept on the guest bed next to his own bed, where Seungkwan was tucked in carefully. Chan always kicks the blanket down, so his dad adjusted it for the third time. And it’s only around midnight. It was fun to see in the star-shaped night lamp’s warm light that Seungcheol did the same with his son as the baby did earlier, when he kissed him and hid his face in the loved one’s neck crook. It looked like a lovely habit they have.

Outside, before they went back to the kitchen, Seungcheol hugged him. He instantly fell in love with the feeling of this hug, the warmth and safety these arms gave him. He could feel how the fever attacked the older’s body again, but his focus was on his shaking sigh and teary voice as he thanked Jihoon again and again.

He couldn’t sleep; he was still under that hug’s influence. It was hard to focus on his task, so he called it a night, but after an hour of tossing in the sheets, Jihoon checked on the kids again. Seungkwan wasn’t in the bed but quickly found him on his dad's side.

“Daddu’s very hot again. Can you help him?”

Such an innocent, honest question from a baby who worries for his only parent. He, of course, helped them. As he woke up the feverish man and gave him some medicine and water again, the other caressed his free hand.

“Thank you, My Flower.”

Probably, he called his wife like this. The sickness made a fog around his mind, and he mistook Jihoon for his love. To be said, it almost made the man cry. This small sign of inseparable love—he always wanted something like this. When someone helps you, who else could it be if not the love of your life? Who would sit next to you and change the dank towel on your forehead, if not your spouse?

This kind of love always avoided Jihoon, and until now, he has given up all his hopes for it. Now this feeling came back, just to chase it away. It’s not right, it’s not.

“You want to sleep next to your Daddu?” he asked the little boy, who watched every act carefully. The boy nodded and climbed into Jihoon’s lap.

“Can you sing that lullaby? That sounded sweet!”

And Jihoon sang again for him while watching the smiling Seungcheol. It was such a domesticated, peaceful moment; the only thing missing from it was his Chan. If he were here, he would feel like family. It would be so good.

He placed Seungkwan on his dad’s chest. Couldn’t help but caress both their faces.

Dream avoided Jihoon at every cost that night, but his heart was so full of peace and calmness that he didn’t mind that much. He brought his own son next to himself into the bed and hugged Chan tightly because all these sweet years faded away.

Chapter Text

“I’m so sorry, but both boys came down with a sickness bug. Seungcheol couldn’t get here; can you take Kwannie with you? None of them are their usual selves; Channie even took a nap earlier.”

Jihoon sighed and dialed his boss on the inside phone. He was prepared for this, and of course, he happily took care of Seungkwan. Well, almost happily, a vomiting child wasn’t a dream; two is worse than a nightmare. But he couldn’t say no ever, especially for Seungcheol’s child. And he already had the permission papers to pick him up from the nursery. His boss wasn’t pleased to hear Jihoon needed to work from home for at least a week, and he warned him about how many day-offs and home offices he had asked for this year. “This doesn’t look good, Jihoon. You need to reduce this in the next year.”

How the hell should he reduce this, he thought as he hit the road in the middle of the rain. He was a single father; he was always the first in the nursery and last at pickups. Practically, he paid for the refurnishing of the baby room from the late fees. And now his big heart has adopted Seungcheol and Seungkwan. He helped them out in sickness; sometimes, he “accidentally” cooked too large portions for dinner and gave Seungcheol numerous rides to work. Jihoon sometimes felt scared about humiliating Seungcheol with all this, but then the man smiled at him with warmth and gratitude in his eyes. He doesn’t talk much when he does; he usually talks about the kids, but those enormous eyes tell everything. Or Jihoon was hopelessly romantic and imagined all this. Ultimately, everything gets taken care of.

Soonkyu, Chan’s keyworker, asked Jihoon if there was something between him and Seungcheol because they seemed so close in such a short time. She didn’t believe the answer was no, not a brief encounter, not a passionate weekend without the kids. Only two mature dads befriend each other. Maybe a fair amount of platonic interest from Jihoon’s side, but that’s all.

The babies were pale and ready to go when he arrived. They sat on the bench next to the classroom while their teacher zipped their coats up. It turned out that so many kids became sick today that they can let most of the nannies go home. Chan looked at his dad, and his flushed cheeks became calmer and a lot happier. He reached out his tiny hands and clung to the adult’s neck. Jihoon needed to lift him, but his heart broke as he looked at Seungkwan. Poor toddler; he sat there alone with sadness on his face. He clearly wanted his dad, not someone else’s parent; he wanted their safe home, not to be a guest at someone else’s. A plump teardrop appeared in his eyes as he watched his friend hugging his dad. Jihoon invited him into his arms, and the boy reluctantly accepted it. Balancing with two babies in his arms is hard, he stated.

The boys snuggled on the couch, watching cartoons and chewing crackers—the only food they kept down. Then Chan played with the blocks, despite the light fever he had, Seungkwan engaged with a coloring book, and Jihoon kept up with some work on the couch. It was a lovely few minutes after their snack, and then Seungkwan lifted his fluffy head and stared at the adult. He doddered towards him and tried to climb up. Before he could fall, Jihoon caught him and sat him on his lap.

“What’s up, buddy? How are you feeling?” Jihoon smiled at him, gently rocking the toddler on his knee. The child grasped his shirt to steady himself.

“Bad. I miss Daddu.” It was just so lovely how he said this nickname. He sounded innocent and lost, no matter how hard Jihoon tried to make him feel at home and safe. Of course, it was too many changes for his age; too many people changed around him. Jihoon wrapped a blanket around him tightly, which calmed the boy down a bit.

“I know, honey. It’s a few hours until Daddu finishes work. I’m sure he can’t wait to hug you this tightly. This is how he does it, does he?” He bear-hugged the little one just as he saw it from Seungcheol. Of course, that man was stronger than him, and he couldn’t mimic his hugs at all, but at least he tried. Seungkwan nodded and snuggled into the warm safety of Jihoon’s scent.

No matter what Seungcheol said, Seungkwan was the ideal child. He was just as polite as Chan, but he was more well-behaved and calmer. He never shouted at his dad and never tried to argue or bargain with him, unlike his best friend. But at what cost? Seungcheol mentioned how lively he was before his mother’s passing. Probably, that broke him, making him shy and sensitive. Seungkwan had constant fear in his eyes when he wasn’t near his dad, the teachers said. The calmness was likely mistaken for this fear of losing and failing. He barely tries new things unless Chan pushes him into it and does it with him. Sometimes, he cries when his friend forces him to step out of his comfort zone, and they split up for a few hours. Chan has other friends, but these short breakups always wear on his heart, too, so eventually, he reaches out to Seungkwan. And they’re friends again.

Seungkwan fell asleep in Jihoon’s arms as the man thought about this and how he could help him open up more. Maybe they should give this little man more time; perhaps they should’ve talked about their loss, but no one knew the answer. But this child suffers from the separation from his only parent. Some separation anxiety won’t be a problem, but the amount of Seungcheol’s work makes it worse. And the most awful thing was that Seungcheol knew that and ate him from the inside.

Chan zonked out too, so he put both babies in their beds with the ‘vomity-bowlie’ and perfectly tucked binkies. He set aside the work for a few minutes to search for some recipes for dinner that this two itty-bitty sick tummy could handle. And it would be nice for Seungcheol, too.

This was the first time he stepped into Seungcheol’s home. When Jihoon mentioned he would happily pick up Seungkwan from their home, he didn’t think twice about this offer. He never thought that Seungcheol would feel offended if he stepped into their flat or that he felt ashamed because of their living environment. No, the only thought Jihoon had was helping a sick baby. After he saw the large man hesitating on this offer, he rethought that. But after that, there was no way back.

Yes, he may overdo himself, but it’s not that he wouldn’t do it for any other parent if they asked. The difference was that Seungcheol never asked; he was probably more shy and broken by that. Despite how strong and scary he looked, he was a sweet man. Like a teddy bear. A teddy with a large scab on his forearm as he opened the door, a patched jacket (what Jihoon sewed when he was sick and slept at their place), and a worried face. Like he wants to hide under some rocks but can’t do it.

Seungkwan sat on the bed in his pajamas; Jihoon asked for this. He had some spare clothes in the bag, but it’d be more comfortable to spend a day in his night suit rather than anything else. The whole flat was sad. From the small lobby, there was an open space for the kitchen and the... living room. Bedroom? The room, containing a large sofa unfolded as a double bed, was separated only from the kitchen by a high bar counter. One dark blue sheet, one with a cartoon character. In the corner of the room, there was a large, dark closet. Next to that, under the window, there was a gigantic pile of fresh clothes and an ironing board. In the ‘done’ basket—or at least what Jihoon thought—there were only kids’ clothes, neatly folded. The kitchen was messy, with some coffee spills and some cereal sprinkled over the bar counter. In front of the bed, there was a toy box, but the toys were in their places; only Seungkwan’s binky was in his hand.

The entire apartment was dark, and the air was lightly humid, probably from the nightly rain outside. Jihoon saw their attempts to maintain tidiness, but the two rooms were overly filled and too crowded. But there were only essential pieces of furniture. Seungcheol called his son to put on his boots and jacket, but other than that, none of them spoke. Even Chan was silent, maybe from the early morning, maybe because he felt the seriousness of this scene. Jihoon was sensitive too; he remembered what it was like living like this, where the walls suffocate and where the natural light was rare, especially in the winter. Living without any personal space, relying only on his baby, trying to take good care of him, and making this life as easy and full as he can so his precious little one doesn’t feel how much struggle they’ve been through. Jihoon wanted to hug this man, tell him everything would be alright, tell him how proud he could be of himself, and take all his pain and tiredness off his shoulders.

Instead, he dropped Seungcheol off at work while the two toddlers slept well in the backseat. Before he left, Seungcheol patted Jihoon’s shoulder and thanked him for the help again. While he faded into the fog, the man silently let out a cry before heading home. Memories and feelings came back from that apartment: struggles, fights, and lies. Everything that he never wished back. Everything he thought he had already forgotten.

“Yeah, so I had to shower both of them; after that, they had a big nap. Seungkwan tried to eat some boiled potatoes, but in the end, we stayed with the crackers and tea. You should’ve seen that fuss over Chan and the potatoes! They were everywhere. I thought my hair would turn gray for this boy someday. Seungkwannie was quite tired and attached to me. Not that it would be a problem; he was adorable, but he mentioned how he misses you a lot. I don’t want you to feel bad, only to let you know how he loves you.”

Jihoon, as usual, spoke as fast as he could without even noticing it. Seungcheol sat at the table with his glass, staring into the living room. He wasn’t exactly watching the kids, only in their direction. The boys played with a Duplo cooking set or something similar. He listened to the smaller man’s chirping and understood the words, but somehow, his mind was somewhere else. Well, at least that’s what Jihoon thought when he looked at him. He tried to continue his small talk when suddenly Seungcheol spoke up.

“Why the fuck are you doing this?” There was no tone, no anger, or any emotions in his voice, which was one of the scariest parts of this. The other one was the cursing; he had never heard Seungcheol speak like this. To be honest, since he was single, he barely used curse words. But just like the flat at the beginning of the week, this brought up so many things in Jihoon.

He froze and stared at the other man. They stayed still for a moment, then Jihoon started to back up until he reached the counter. He felt his heartbeat become faster, breathing more shallow. Only one word and he was a mess. This proved to Jihoon how much of an impact his ex had on him. He noticed Seungcheol stood up and started walking towards him, so he squeezed his eyes. Maybe he let out a whine? Jihoon didn’t know; he only saw himself in a smaller kitchen, shaking from fear, exactly like this: a large man approached him after he shouted something, swearing at his head.

Seungcheol carefully held his wrist and talked to him with a soft voice until he calmed down. He asked Jihoon to breathe with him, caressing the white, almost translucent skin under his bronze, calloused fingers. The kids didn’t notice anything, perhaps how the two adults hugged each other. Seungcheol rocked themself, holding Jihoon tightly until the younger’s breathing became normal again.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.” He whispered into the blonde locks. Slowly, he released the other man, who was afraid to look at him.
“No need to worry. I’ve overreacted. To be honest, I don’t know what that was,” He stuttered as he tried to wipe the tears away. Seungcheol gave him a glass of water, but he almost accidentally poured it down because of his shaky hands. “What was the question again?”

He remembered the question but wanted to earn some time for the answer. He couldn’t say he was madly in love with Seungcheol, and couldn’t say he felt pity for them. That would be humiliating. But all this—the free caretaker, the rides, the food, the love of a parent toward a strange kid—was over the ‘I was in the same boat.’ There was more to it, and Seungcheol somehow felt that. Hopefully, he doesn’t feel pressured by these gestures. Jihoon would die if the man returned his feelings out of obligation. Then he doesn’t want him.

“Nevermind. Forget it.” Seungcheol said with the same toneless voice, but this time, he smiled at Jihoon and patted his head.

Chapter Text

This week wasn’t about sleep for Jihoon. On Monday, he had a terrible headache—not a migraine, but it still wasn’t a pleasure. He hurt his back on Tuesday, lifting Chan incorrectly from the bath. Now, he just couldn’t sleep. He was daydreaming. Sometimes he felt lonely in his life, but it always hit him strongly in the night, when he lay down in bed. Thinking back, he was never into relationships; he liked being in love. Even when it’s platonic, he realized.

He wanted touch, to have a cuddle with someone. Of course, he cuddled his son every day, but it wasn’t the same. Jihoon didn’t want the hot, sexual touches; he wanted to be caressed and feel loved. To have somebody next to him when he collapses on the bed, kissing his forehead or cheeks, and talking to him until he falls asleep. An arm around his body when he turns on his side, a comforting snore in his ear. He loved the idea of being in love, to imagine how the person would behave if they were in a relationship. It wasn’t an expectation; it was just a game for him. In an actual relationship, the other could hurt him, or worse—his son. In his mind, they were both safe; they had a happy, peaceful family.

He tucked the duvet under his body. It was like resting a head on somebody else, but without a hug. Like on many nights, he was thinking about Seungcheol and how he would sleep with him. Jihoon didn’t want to show him too much affection, not to scare him away, so he quietly dreamed of him during his sleepless nights. Sometimes these fantasies went on in a more adventurous way, but as the cold, snowy winter arrived, he only wanted a snuggle under the sheets.

Seungcheol would probably be firmer than this sheet; he would be warmer and more fragrant. He had nice, powerful arms, and Jihoon was almost lost in them when they hugged. Still, it made the man’s body shiver. The scent of the other, the gentleness, and care. He thanked every single thing countless times and was shy when he asked for a favor. When he collected Seungkwan every Thursday, he always made sure to give the boys some minutes if they wanted to show something. Sometimes, he washed the dishes without asking. They almost even got into a fight about it, but it was friendly and funny. He was mostly silent, so it was nice to make him laugh loudly with that sweet gummy smile. Those lips looked like they would give glorious kisses.

And when they would’ve been lying in the bed, he would caress Jihoon’s arm, and the shorter man would lean into the touch. Then the door would open, and one of the toddlers would wander in. Maybe both of them. And they would climb on the bed and force the two dads to tuck them between themselves. And Seungcheol would even reach out his hand to hold Jihoon’s because he would want to feel his lover’s skin, the presence of him.

It would be the dream snuggle for Jihoon.

But the actual door cracking disturbed his daydream. It was his son who stepped into the room, rubbing his almond eye. His dad automatically sat up in bed, but when the baby didn’t come closer, he crouched down to him.

“Hey, what’s up, honey?” He asked, patting the boy’s head. Both bedrooms had a nightlight, so Chan wasn’t afraid to wander into his parents’ room when he needed to.

“I had a nightmare. And it was so scary. I peed.” Chan murmured. It was such an innocent confession that Jihoon smiled and herded the boy back into his room. He quickly cleaned and changed the boy, then the sheets. Without any asking, the child talked about the dream, which was rare. It was almost impossible to talk about such things. “It was a red and orange monster. It ate Seungkwan. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew it was him. I always recognize my bestie. His dad tried to save him.”

“And what was the end?” Jihoon asked, but he didn’t like this dream. It was strange because Chan never dreamed about monsters. He barely had nightmares; he had numerous ones in and after Jihoon’s last relationship, but these were different, of course.

“I don’t know. I woke up and noticed I was wet.”

“It’s okay, bud. It was only a dream, and remember, monsters aren’t real. But I’m pretty sure Seungcheol saved Seungkwan. Remember what you said the other day? He looks like a real-life Superman. Try to sleep back, darling.” He tucked the boy in, gently whispering the words to settle him down a bit.

“Can you sing a lullaby?”

And Jihoon sings, of course. He wasn’t sure he had a pleasant singing voice, but his son loved it. That’s what matters.

The entire class buzzed with parents. They usually met outside the nursery, too, but they behaved as if they had not seen each other in years. At these parent meetings, they discussed the Christmas Nativity, who would bring cookies, which child would play baby Jesus, why the cartoon decorations look cheap, how many holiday cards a three-year-old could make in one day, and plans for the following year’s trips and special days. Which meant requesting days off for Jihoon.

Luckily, Seokmin was happy to take care of his nephew for the weekend, and Jihoon would have a whole day for himself. One and a half, plus tonight. It’s enough. He was already thinking about a long, luxurious bath, some soppy series, and a glass of wine when a tired little whine reached his ears. Usually, parents don’t bring their kids to this night, but he wasn’t surprised to see Seungcheol comforting Seungkwan. Of course, the baby was tired already; it had been a long day for him from early morning, and he needed to listen to the adults’ dull conversation. To be said, Jihoon understood him. He smiled and waved at them, but before he could say anything, Soonkyu opened the parents’ night. Jihoon volunteered at the cookie stand, like every year. He loved to bake, and Chan was always willing to be his little helper in the kitchen. Same as last year, and if the plan goes well, same as next year. He didn’t want to put in more effort than that because he wanted to give space for the tiger moms. It was never worth fighting with them. Last year’s parents’ meeting needed medical care in the preschool room, rumors said.

He heard how unsettled Seungkwan was at the back of the room. Some parents started whispering, which made Jihoon angry. Usually, he was a calm man, but hearing this ridiculous indignation about a baby made his blood boil. They didn’t understand that he had nobody else to watch after him. They don’t know how hard their lives already are. Even without knowing this, Kwannie was only a tired child. He doesn’t cry out loud, only whining faintly. This suited him. When he turned his head back, he saw Seungcheol excuse himself and walk out of the room, rocking his son. Everything could have gone smoothly when Jihoon heard more mothers. Mothers whom he considered not really close, but friends. His son’s friend’s mothers, to be precise.

“Finally. Some peace.”

“I agree. I have my kid; I don’t want to listen to him in my free time.”

“I saw him earlier, but never the mother. What kind of mother could be this lazy?”

“He is a single father; his wife died not so long ago.” Jihoon couldn’t help but speak up. He instantly regretted it; maybe Seungcheol didn’t want everybody to know this. It’s a sensitive topic, not to belong to everybody’s gossipy lips. But the other women only rolled their eyes.

“Then he should’ve paid attention to how to deal with a child.”

Jihoon’s blood boiled to the point he almost stormed out of the classroom or slapped the woman on the over-concealed face. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down before speaking up about anything. Let’s be honest, not today’s dull meeting at work was the heaviest part of the day; it was this moment when he needed to defend someone who wasn’t even there, someone who worked harder than anybody in this room and likely cared more about his kid than all of them added together.

“I think he is a brilliant father. Not perfect, like you, but his child is kind and well-behaved. That child never peed on the paper instead of painting.” Jihoon didn’t remember the word that left his mouth, but the whole classroom froze. He tried to stay calm as much as he could. “Should we continue? I believe we left at the seating question. I prefer the order of arrival.”

Seungcheol quietly stepped back into the classroom, this time with a sleeping child. No one knew if he had heard anything from the earlier conversation, but everybody continued the discussion of why the order of arrival was unfair. Jihoon looked around and saw the gossip spread on the whispering red lips while their owners sent sniffy looks toward Seungcheol, who tried to stay awake and focus. As the smaller man started to think, he slowly realized something he had never noticed. Most of these women had their own businesses or were married to a businessman. Some of them were doctors or lawyers, and none of their husbands did manual labor or had a lower rank than a manager. Until then, Jihoon had the lowest post among the parents, but they never chewed on that. Or maybe he never knew. But he always participated in nursery events, helped out the others, and was an active participant in his child’s life. Probably that’s why, because they weren’t like Seungcheol, they took advantage of his good heart. They never said a bad word to Jihoon because he could be handy.

But Seungcheol, who came here wrinkly and messy, whose child was tired and annoying for them, could be a significant bite of a topic over a coffee. And now Jihoon accidentally blurted out that he was a widower; he surely became the victim of these harpies. While angry on their behalf, he was mad at his own carelessness in speaking. He couldn’t even focus on what was happening; only when his parents started to get up from their seats did he realize the meeting was over. He barely caught Seungcheol on the way out.
“You really thought I would let both of you take a bus home? You almost fell asleep walking!” Jihoon laughed.

“I can’t ask this, Jihoon. You should enjoy your weekend and not collect favors I can’t repay for you.” Seungcheol lifted his toddler on his other arm, which was probably hurt, given his face. The smaller one gently herded them over the car.

During the day, some light snow fell, enough that the roads became slippery and the windshields needed some heat to melt. Around the city, people started to put up the Christmas lights. It was already dark, so they sparkled like stars along their journey. Seungkwan was asleep when his dad buckled him up; the ride was silent. Seungcheol stared out of the window, but somehow his quietness was different. For Jihoon, it was like a stab in the heart. Maybe he heard what they were talking about him. Did he hear that Jihoon defended him? He was perhaps angry because Jihoon exposed him. Too many questions, he was afraid to ask. He should start in some way. Or he could be tired.

“Are you okay? You seem like you’re out there.” He asked after a gigantic sigh. Jihoon was nervous about the answer. At first, Seungcheol didn’t recognize the question and stared out for a while.
“Thinking about Christmas, how he will handle this. I managed a little tree for us, and we have some ornaments from our previous home.” He started smiling and shaking his head. “I could save an ornament he always liked. It’s tangerine-shaped. My wife was from Jeju; probably that’s why Kwannie loves that. I hope he will cope well.”

It was rare for Seungcheol to speak about his late wife, so Jihoon was happy about it. This means the man didn’t hear anything about what other parents talked about, and he started to open up about his loss. From now on, Jihoon was sure the man trusted him emotionally, taking him as a friend. At least, it was good to think that.

“It’s lovely. I’m sure the two of you will have a great Christmas. I’m a little bit sad because Kwannie isn’t ready for this year’s Nativity. When he forgets about himself, he is really great at acting when they play along. Hopefully, next year, he will gather some bravery to stand out.”

Seungcheol smiled, nodded, and went back to his thoughts. This time, the stillness was more peaceful, calmer. At a red light, the younger one managed a glimpse of him. Under one house’s colorful lights, the man’s facial features became more handsome than ever. The happiness and hope in his eyes were more sparkly than any other stars; the plays of blue, red, and green lights brought out the excitement for this memorable holiday that he planned for Seungkwan. He was exhausted, but pleased with what they had for the future. Jihoon wanted to think he was a part of it, a friend, a support, someone who gave Seungcheol some security for the everyday struggles. He forgot his mind about the man; he almost didn’t restart the engine at the green light.

It was somewhere in the middle of the night. In the morning, a lot of snow fell in the parking lot in front of the house, and Jihoon could barely sleep from his sore arm. Channie found this funny and enjoyed playing in the snow, especially when his father threw it to the side. They even played a bit, which resulted in a quick clothes-changing, a short tantrum of not wanting to change the wet clothes, and the rare occasion of them being almost late from nursery. When Jihoon drove home and passed next to the bus stop, Seungcheol came to his mind, and he gave them a ride in the afternoon. It was almost Christmas break; the Nativity was on the way; it would be in a week. The presents are in a high closet in his bedroom, wrapped all up, and they made some test cookies on the weekend. The smell of cinnamon was still in Jihoon’s nose when he looked at the phone screen with lots of confusion. Everything felt festive, excitement was in the air, and the feeling of the warmth of their home made both of them overly happy.

“Hey, Jihoon,” Seungcheol spoke into the phone. His voice was different, and his background was so noisy it was difficult to understand. “Sorry to wake you up this late, but I need you. Now.”
He didn’t say in the tone that Jihoon ever wanted to hear this. Something in his chest, a heavy feeling, said that something was off. Terribly. Why on Earth would Seungcheol call him in the middle of Friday night? He was afraid to ask back.

“What happened, Cheol?” This was the first time he ever called him like that. His heartbeat was rapid, and the knot in his stomach got intense. What could happen? Hopefully not something too bad; maybe he was overreacting to this.

“Our building...is on fire.”

There were no questions asked.

Chapter Text

Jihoon was sure he would remember this night for the rest of his life. He immediately jumped into the car in his pajamas; he only put boots and a jacket on his son, who was confused, scared, and obviously tired. When they arrived at the apartment building, the entire building was on fire. The snow around the building had melted, and orange and red flames painted the dark night as bright as day, while smoke replaced the clouds in the sky. People tried to walk around in the slippery mud. The noise was unbearable: sirens, crying, and shouting all over the place. The monstrous building was crumbling as the fire slowly consumed it. Firefighters in high-rises tried to rescue the people stuck in their flats, while others battled the flames to salvage anything possible. If there are any at all.
And in the middle of the chaos, there was a broad shoulder that protectively hugged a small child. The kid was in a large adult winter coat, his fluffy head lost in the padded jacket. Over his dad’s shoulder, the tiny hands grasped his binky. At the man’s frozen, red, dirty bare foot, there were two backpacks, a big, torn black one and a baby-sized blue one. None of them cried; they only stared at the building, their home, their little that they had. The man was in a tank top and sweatpants, but he didn’t shiver, because the heat was hardly bearable even at this distance.

Jihoon held his own son fiercely, like he feared the fire would try to take him out of his hands and destroy him, like anything else around them. He stepped up to Seungcheol and put his hand on his fallen shoulder. The man looked at him but didn’t say a word. The fire mirrored in his dark eyes; no emotions in them, only the destructiveness of nature.

“Let’s put the boys in the car. It’s cold. Do what you need with them.” Jihoon gestured towards the police. Without a word, they put the two babies into the seats, and Jihoon stayed with them with the heating on in the car. He watched as the other walked towards the police and talked to them. It wasn’t longer than a few minutes, but it seemed like hours. As his dad put him down, Kwannie started to cry and shout; he was inconsolable until Seungcheol came back and didn’t hold his small fingers in his large palm.

“It’s okay, my love. Everything will be okay. We have Jihoon and Chan, don’t we? We have great friends, so everything will be alright.” He consoled his child, who sniffed continuously. Chan, unlike him, was silent and watched his surroundings with curious looks. He offered his own pacifier to Seungkwan, who accepted it. On the way home, all four of them were silent, and the babies almost fell asleep.
Jihoon felt his hands shaking while driving. At a red light, he leaned back in his seat and tried to put the pieces together. Only two weeks until Christmas, it’s snowed all day, and people’s ankles sank into the icy white powder. The kids were sad because the snow wasn’t suitable for a snowman. They planned what they would cook for Christmas Eve and how they would decorate the tree. The house was dazzling inside and outside, as was the entire neighborhood. There were a lot of families with kids around. And in the middle of the festive feeling, suddenly, destiny turned against this couple, a dad who tried to make the most fantastic Christmas for his child, even though he lost his wife and old life. And now, fate took away literally everything from them. He felt anger towards the world because he found this unfair. Before the green light came, he looked aside at Seungcheol, who stared out the window. He seemed calm, but Jihoon noticed how his hands shook, too. Would it be too much if he held his hand? Just for reassurance.

He didn’t have time to think about that; the light came, and he needed to hit the road again. What should he do? Of course, they can stay as long as they want, but other than that? Especially poor Seungkwan, all these happenings will be too much for him. He is just a small child who doesn’t understand the things in the world. Or maybe he understands too much  — things that he shouldn’t know at his age. Thinking about his own kid, the one who looks at them like a fawn in the bush from his seat, Jihoon’s heart breaks into pieces. Two little fawns were looking back at him from the front mirror. Two innocent, tiny darlings. He felt a chilly hand on his arm. Seungcheol smiled at him. It was a hard, forced smile, but for politeness, it was there. Seungcheol opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

Jihoon went forward and switched all the lights on. In the corridor, every doorframe had a garland with some plastic red globes and fairy lights. They were strange, too, out of place this night. Jihoon turned around, and he wanted to break down crying. Seungcheol held Seungkwan in one arm and the backpacks and all their belongings in his other. They stood there like they had never been here. Because they were practically frozen in the hallway, Jihoon needed to close the front door.

“Go and take a hot shower, both of you. I’ll put down Chan and prepare the guest room.” Jihoon stuttered, trying to list the things he needed to do for his friends. “I’ll bring in some clothes for you. Take as much time as you need. I don’t know anything else. Do you need?”

Seungkwan started to wiggle in his father’s arms until he felt the lobby’s tiles under his ice-cold feet. He stumbled towards Jihoon and held out his binky, the worn puppy. The toy was always in his hand or backpack; it was rare to see him without the puppet. It was brown with big, floppy ears and a little pink tongue sticking out from its smiling mouth.

“Can you wash out Puppo? He is stinky.” He was so innocent and lovely; his dad smiled at him with all the love in the world. The younger man lowered himself and slowly took the plush from the tiny fingers.

“Of course, darling. He will be fresh and flower-scented for you in the morning. Don’t worry about that.” He patted the boy’s head.

Jihoon was glad he accidentally didn’t throw out his ex’s clothes, because they fit Seungcheol almost perfectly. Jihoon always thought he didn’t have a type of man he was attracted to, but he started to doubt it. He changed the bedsheets in the guest room when his son wandered in. When he put Chan down, he didn’t resist like he usually did, didn’t beg for Seungkwan to sleep with him, and didn’t ask for another story or a cup of water. He only blinked under the duvets. Now he stands in the door, holding Eary, his white, blue-eyed bunny plushie, to give it to his little friend for comfort. They already share clothes, dummy; why don’t they share a comforter?

“Can I sleep with you, Daddy?” He asked his father in a faint voice. On other nights, he doesn’t ask, but tonight was different. Of course, the answer was yes, and a warm hug. In this hug, there was everything they could feel: fear of losing, love, togetherness, inability, and loneliness. Yes, they often feel lonely, especially Jihoon, but Chan too, when his dad needed to work even at home, and he knew Seungcheol would feel the same. But now they, all four of them, are lonely together.

The adults sat at the kitchen table, and Seungcheol stared out of his head. Jihoon poured wine for both of them, but he immediately emptied his own, so he poured another one. He finished the red liquid as if his house had burned down. Now he just sat and thought about what to say and what to do. The silence was terribly heavy, all the festive decorations hurt his eyes, and the smiling reindeer and penguins from the kids’ mugs, from which they had drunk cocoa earlier, were derisive. From the other side of the house, the washing machine fought with the smell of the smoke from the two refugees’ clothes.

“I don’t know what to do next. I really don’t, Jihoon. I lost.” Seungcheol spoke up, voice deep and crusty from the suppressed tears, smoke, and cold wine. He looked hopeless, futureless, as he turned the glass in his hand, like the answer was hidden in there. Jihoon, without any thought, put his hand on the man’s wrist, making him stop in his tracks.

“I can’t say anymore; I was in your shoes. All I can say is we will figure it out for the kids. The next step is to drop an email to your boss; you can’t go to work in this state. Then you’ll go to bed and hug Seungkwan tightly because he needs you. You can’t give up. I know you’ve lost almost everything in months, but you still have your son; don’t forget that. A dad’s instinct is really strong; don’t doubt it. Trust me.”

He sounded strong, but the moment Seungcheol looked into his eyes, he melted. A light faith sparkled in the ebony eyes, and long lashes swept away some lost tears. Until this moment of the night, Jihoon didn’t think about how strongly he was attracted to this man; now he wanted to hold him in his hands and kiss those cracked lips. Of course, as these pictures came into his mind, he felt an enormous weight of shame in his gut. How could he think of that on this night?

“Why do I think you were in my place after all?” Seungcheol let a light smile shine through this dark night, making Jihoon’s already shivering legs go jelly. After seeing the younger one hesitate to answer, he almost apologized, but Jihoon was faster.

“Almost. I had also restarted from scratch. I escaped from an abusive relationship a year and a half ago. Yeah, I think a year and a half. Seokmin, my brother, helped me a lot to find this house, lent me money, connected me with social services, and so on. I’m not an expert, but I’ve done this before.” He suddenly felt his body too heavy, his heart pounding so hard it was almost hearable. Memories suddenly attacked him: the fear in Channie’s eyes every time he left the room, how hard he cried, the loud fights, broken things, and constant fear. He always walked on eggshells, and so did his son, but his dear heart didn’t understand how he should behave. He now knows. But when he became a little mischief and realized what he did, Jihoon still could see that terrified baby. The man shook his head and felt the other’s hand on his.

“Thank you for sharing this. I appreciate that. And as much as this is a sad situation, I’m happy that we are under the wing of a professional survivor. They sat there, both broken, but now fear didn’t grip them. Yes, Seungcheol still felt lost and still didn’t know what the next step was, but at this very moment, now that Jihoon shared his vulnerable side and heavy past, he was more than happy and willing to place their life into the smaller man’s delicate hands. “A year and a half ago, huh? That was almost yesterday, I believe. You stood up really fast. I don’t know how you did that.”

“Sometimes neither do I, but sometimes when I feel down, I remember Chan. I was a terrible father; I ignored him for so long, and I still can see marks from the past on his behavior. This gave me some strength to correct my poor decisions and to help him. Eventually, my only reason to live was Chan; I only worked hard for him. Because for a long time, I didn’t focus on him at all. It’s like an apology. But you’re not me; you’re a really good father figure, Seungcheol. That’s why you need to stand up to maintain this.” He felt his eyes burning, and his cheeks became wet. Outside, the wind has risen, making the powder snow dance around the fair light of the street and whistle around like a howling wolf. Now he has the bravery to look up to Seungcheol, who looked back at him with fondness and pride. He wanted to say something, but Seungkwan’s crying broke the moment. They both immediately jumped up and ran to the guest room. The baby sat in the wet bed, weeping.

“It’s okay, my boy. Everything will be fine. Can you help us out?” He turned towards Jihoon. The man nodded and stepped out to the hallway quickly before the pain of the past, the warmth of the present, and the hope for the future burst out of his eyes. He needed to cover his mouth to suppress the sound of his own whine.

It was hot, burning hot, but they were closed in the tiny apartment, where there was no fresh air. Even if he could open the windows, it wouldn’t do anything. It had been a while since his partner allowed somebody else in their home, but this time, who knows why, Seokmin could come over. They were sitting on the couch, and Chan played with some blocks.
“It’s hot; why are you so bundled up?” His brother pointed it out numerous times, but he always dodged the question. Suddenly, Chan’s tower collapsed, accidentally hitting him.
Jihoon quickly dropped the blanket from himself and got his baby on his lap.
“It’s okay, my boy. Everything will be fine. Can you help us out?” He asked his brother, pointing his eyes at his blue-purple wrists and thighs.

Chapter Text

Jihoon couldn’t sleep a wink at night, but as far as he heard from the guest room, neither could Seungcheol. Seungkwan woke up crying almost every hour, poor baby, and Jihoon couldn’t hear the man’s loud snoring. He never thought he would love such a noisy sleeper and misses the sounds of the night. That silence, which came from the room, was worrying. Every time he woke up, he stroked his son’s messy hair and kissed his forehead, feeling grateful that he could sleep like this after that night. It would be terrible seeing him tired, stressed, and full of fear.

After a few hours, a silence fell on the house, and he strolled out to the kitchen to make some coffee and breakfast. In the corridor, he stumbled upon the two forgotten bags next to the kitchen door. He started to unpack them to see what needed to be washed.
From Seungcheol’s bag, of course, he packed out his working clothes, charger, wallet, and an empty thermos. Seungcheol probably likes to make himself a warm cup of tea or coffee in the morning to help him cope with the cold working environment. At least he tries to prevent another sickness.
In Seungkwan’s bag was the usual nursery pack: spare clothes, diapers (although he was well potty-trained), a dummy, and a water bottle. At the very bottom of the bag, there was a crumpled picture. A picture of a woman in denim overalls in front of a beautiful, blooming bush. He smiled into the camera, hands in pockets. Jihoon recognized Seungkwan’s round, chubby face and smile from the picture.

“She was my wife.” He heard a whisper above his shoulders. In other conditions, he would be frightened and surprised, but now, this deep, calm voice was calming. “Kwannie loves this picture of her; he always carries it everywhere. Now, it’s the last memory of her.” Seungcheol sighed and sniffed. Jihoon couldn’t say anything; then, suddenly, he knelt in front of the fridge and put the picture on it with a flowery magnet.

“Of course, he can put it back in his bag, but until then, it’s the first thing he sees in the morning. If you don’t mind.” He smiled at the man, who forced a grin on his face, but it was still a grey one. Jihoon put up the coffee, then he put his reassuring hand on the older’s fallen shoulder.

“I spoke to my manager earlier. He only gave me the next week for days off. Without pay, of course.”

Jihoon was sure this wasn’t legal, but at that moment, what could they do? At that very moment, Seungcheol said those words, and they both lost focus on things. Seungcheol’s mind was fogged with the pain of loss, despair, and anxiety, and Jihoon’s with rage and injustice. There are a lot of emotions he needs to hide so as not to scare his boy.

The warmth and coziness of the kitchen were lost; suddenly, it was cold as the snow outside, and the air was crisp and stung their skin. The coffee machine whistled and let out steam. With its little red light, it reminded them of the previous night, the flaming building. Jihoon made the coffee, and from a closed drawer, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to the other man, who reluctantly accepted.

“I never thought that you smoked.”

“Bad habit, but barely. Sometimes I need that.” They put on coats and sat down on the front porch. Jihoon let the door ajar. “Channie knows when he doesn’t find me, and the door is open like this, I’m out here. And I hear him, too, if anything happens.”

They smoked silently for a long time. The temperature was way under zero; not only the smoke but also their breath could be seen very well. Soon, their legs started moving to keep them warm. The neighborhood was still asleep; only a few houses had their driveways cleaned—they had probably gone early in the morning. On the sidewalk, there was a footprint alongside some paw patterns. The young lady from the end of the street always walks her dog before anybody could ever think of waking up. The car was lightly covered by the night, and snowflakes shone in the streetlight. It was still pitch dark in the sky, but some houses left their Christmas lights on. It vibrated on the white blanket that covered the front garden.

“What’s next?” Seungcheol asked, puffing out a large sniff from the cigarette. “A week without money—I barely have any spare ones. I can’t cover new clothes, necessities, or toys for my son or me. Christmas is near. And we can’t live on you for free before you offer. That would be very kind, but too much, Jihoon. I’m kind of lost.”

“It’s okay; I guess it’s normal. Let’s agree that we will split the food and necessities. I physically can’t charge rent for you; I really can’t. I think the boys should be in nursery; if any of them are too upset, we will bring them home earlier. You should use the next week to process what happened. And rest a bit; you could use some me-time.”

Jihoon quickly created a plan for them. Since he broke up with his ex and took responsibility for their lives, he became better at planning things. Before that, usually their exes dictate the things in their life, whether it’s a man or a woman. He barely lived alone (with Chan, of course); he always had somebody around them. It has been a while since some other adult was under the same roof as him, but now the curse has broken. Not that he wanted it this way. He didn’t need to think about what’s next, unlike Seungcheol, who looked still shocked. Of course, sleep deprivation didn’t help in this case.
The man only nodded, staring at the mug, which was slowly getting cold. His face was swollen; his cheeks and the tip of his nose were bright red. One strand of his hair stood up funny; he slept on that. Dark circles framed the dark eyes; behind them, there was nothing. The padded jacket still smelled like smoke.

“Would it be too weird if I asked you to hold my hand? I mean, physically. I really feel like I’m falling.” Seungcheol asked. His voice was raspy and so low it was hard to hear it in the whistling winter wind.
Jihoon smiled and put his light, pale hand on Seungcheol’s and squeezed it. The cold and hard work had wounded and dried his working hands. It was probably painful, but the inner pain was stronger. The younger one wasn’t thrilled and wasn’t exactly happy with this asked gesture. In other circumstances, he would be over the clouds, but today, he heard the hopelessness in the man’s voice. He held the strong, icy hand and gently stroked it with his thumb. It wasn’t about attraction; it was all about comfort. Still, his heart raced, his whole body became hot, and every brief touch on the other’s skin was a thunderstroke for him.
He always wanted to do this since he knew Seungcheol, but not like this. This was painful for both of them.

“I’m here, Seungcheol. And I’ll be.” He whispered, searching for the man’s eyes, which were hidden behind his long bangs. “If you don’t want to be alone, I can ask for a home office. They’re quite permissive.”

“I think I’ll be fine. It won’t hurt if I’m finally alone for a few hours. I think you can understand.” He chuckled, but it didn’t sound honest. “We should go back in; we’re both frozen.”

Of course, Seungkwan wasn’t in the mood to play, no matter how hard Chan was trying to involve him. Seungkwan usually likes roleplaying, which Chan doesn’t like as much, but he offered different costumes to play. The older boy, however, stayed on his father’s lap, sometimes weeping, sometimes just watching the cartoons they put on. His little friend tried all morning but eventually wandered to his dad, who was cooking in the kitchen. He was a little fussy about Seungkwan; he didn’t understand the situation. Why doesn’t he want to play? Who wouldn’t want to play all day long?

“Darling, Kwannie didn’t sleep well. He is just not in the mood for playing. They were both tired and sad after what happened. They lost everything, my dear. You’re a clever boy; I’m sure you understand this.” His dad comforted him while he put Chan on the counter. “Not everybody can be in the mood to play; sometimes you also don’t like to play. Or you can’t like all kinds of games. Remember, sometimes I’m grumpy, and you too. It’s okay; give them some time. Help me instead.” Jihoon gave his son a bowl of soft-boiled potatoes and a masher so the little boy could give off his energy and frustration into a well-mashed potato. The baby pouted but started pushing the metal into the yellow puree. Jihoon knew his son; he knew that this frown meant his brain was working very hard, the spacing-out eyes trying to imagine his father’s words.

They were in silence. Almost the entire house was in silence; only the sounds of the TV filtered from the living room. Not even the wind blew like earlier. Sometimes the bowl clanked when Chan flailed violently. He got mash on the counter, the sink, and all over him. Jihoon cleaned his face and clothes with a soft smile. They’ve come so far since last year. Without his brother’s help, who knows where they would be?

“I still don’t understand, Daddy.” Chan looked up at him with a serious face. He never looked this serious; he even stopped painting the kitchen with potatoes. Jihoon sighed; he really tried to avoid this topic. He feared that it would bring up some trauma in his child. Maybe he didn’t remember those times. Maybe he does, but he copes very well.

“Remember when we moved to Uncle Seokmin’s last year?” He asked fearfully. Chan tilted his head, thinking.

“When did he come for us? And we were in our pajamas?” His voice sounds so innocent. Probably, he doesn’t understand this now, but later, he will have some ‘Aha!’ moments.

“Yes, my love. When we also had nothing, only our pajamas and your binky. I needed to work a lot every night, and Aunt Yeji read the bedtime stories. Now, for Seungkwan, it’s a similar situation. You were a bit gloomy back in those days, and it’s okay. Maybe he needs weeks to feel better; be patient with him. Be a good brother, Channie.” He kissed his son’s forehead before putting him down. “Now, be a good boy and wash your hands. And slippers on!” He yelled after the toddler, who disappeared in the corridor. In his heart, he didn’t want to know the answers; it was enough if he remembered those days.

Jihoon slipped in the living room. He found Seungcheol and his baby on the couch, hugging tightly. In the room, there were toys scattered around, a half-built Duplo house, costumes, crayons, and pencils on the coffee table alongside coloring sheets. It was truly a disaster.
But in the middle of the chaos, the two guests—are they guests if they will live here for no one knows how long?—were sitting there peacefully. At first glance, he thought both of them were asleep. Seungcheol had his face buried in his son’s hair. Seungkwan was asleep so deeply that he drooled on his father’s fresh shirt. As he stepped closer, he noticed Seungcheol was actually awake and pressed tiny kisses on his boy’s head.

“I hope you and your mother can forgive me. I’m weaker than I thought. But I’ll try everything.” Seungcheol whispered; his voice was so low and hoarse, it was hard to hear. Jihoon stepped on the floor with a little more weight to make the board crack. After this, it was hard to address Seungcheol. The older one looked up at him; his face was puffy, and his eyes were slightly red.

“I just wanted to say the food is ready. But as far as I can see, Kwannie will eat later.” Jihoon tried to chuckle, but his throat was closing.

“Yeah, he just fell asleep. I’ll eat later too, if it’s okay. I just—I just want to have a moment with him.” Seungcheol said, carefully stroking Seungkwan’s hair.

“Of course, of course. Channie will nap after lunch, and I’ll make the bed for Kwannie, too, if you want to put him down. Only if you want, of course, you can stay here or in your bedroom; it’s up to you.” Jihoon didn’t realize it, but he started to speak with one breath and incredible speed. He always does this when he is nervous. His heart raced as Seungcheol looked at him again. The messy, long hair, the gummy smile, those black eyes—it made him weak; he almost collapsed in his own living room.

“Thank you, Jihoon. Really, for everything. I can’t say it enough.” Jihoon wanted to wipe those tears away with kisses. To hug and hold him until the pain fades away. To make sure Seungcheol got all the love back that he gave away. He shouldn’t have fallen in love this quickly; this always resulted in trauma, sadness, and pain. Maybe he fell for the idea of being in love?

"That's what friends are for."

Chan was still upset when his dad put him down for his nap. Jihoon could understand him; he probably couldn’t process last night and the fire, and now his baby brain was full of why his best friend didn’t want to play. He lived through heavier things, but his brain likely deleted those memories. Jihoon sang to him, but he could see in his face that his son was already far away in his mind. Only when he fell asleep did Seungcheol, who had gently put down Seungkwan on the guest bed.

“I didn’t want to disturb you. I was afraid you would stop singing.” Seungcheol whispered as they stepped out. They went to the kitchen, where the older one sat down to eat, and Jihoon started to clean up a little.

This silence wasn’t painful or sad, as it had been all day. It was peaceful and calm. For a long time, Jihoon felt at home in his own house. Yes, Chan and he are family, but now he feels different. Never had he felt this with any of his partners, and to be honest, not even with Chan’s mother.

“This is delicious. You’re really good at this.” Seungcheol spoke, then stuffed his mouth with food. The younger one could only smile at him.

“Thank you. I needed to learn, and I was alone a lot. And usually I was in charge of the household.” Luckily, had his back to him, because he could feel his face flare up from the compliment.

“You could teach me. A year passed, but I still suck at cooking. I rarely did; my wife was an amazing cook. She was really caring.” His voice became less and less cheerful, and his hand stopped moving. Jihoon didn’t know if the other person wanted to talk about his late wife more or not, so he tried to give it a try. Seungcheol probably would feel a little easier if he talked his heart out.

“Oh, if you already mentioned her—I found this in your bag. I forgot to give it to you, sorry.” He took out a golden ring on a silver chain. Seungcheol’s face was lit up, and he smiled softly as he gently took the jewelry from Jihoon.

“What luck! Thank you, Hoon! I usually don’t wear it, and I forgot where I put it. I thought I had lost it.” He quickly tried to put it on his neck, but the meaty, crusty fingers couldn’t deal with the small clasp. Jihoon helped him and then sat down at the table with his mug of coffee. Seungcheol still didn’t finish his lunch. “I’m sure she was the one who sent you for us; she always took good care of us. Since I knew her. I am a tiler; that was my first profession, and they wanted their house renovated. She always brought us coffee and sandwiches, like that. Sometimes my master left me to do some things alone, and then she came for a little talk when she could. I was twenty, and she started uni around that time. Her family hated the idea of her dating me, someone ‘uneducated,’ but we moved in together. We asked her family to pay for the uni; I covered everything else. I accepted every little work to give her everything she wanted. It was easier when she started to teach, then Kwannie surprised us. She was so alone after he was born; her parents never visited us. And my love was already ill when she fell pregnant, but didn’t tell me. To be honest, if she were to tell me, I would probably suggest not keeping the baby. It was too risky. Now, I’m happy we have Seungkwan, but at that time... I’m sure you can understand. And I hope you don’t think I’m a shit person.” 

He chuckled. Jihoon sat and stared at him with wide eyes. Seungcheol shouldn’t have to open like this, but this has probably been building for a while, and now he has burst. The other man was so vulnerable, his face wet with tears, his fingers fidgeting with his wedding ring, and staring into nothing as he talked. Into nothing, but behind them, there was everything: love, hope, and a future. Even when he remembered the hardest time, his eyes were like the snow outside in the night. Jihoon had never found anyone this beautiful before. Yes, Seungcheol was handsome, but the feelings, the vulnerability, and the unfaded love made him more than his appearance.

“No, I absolutely understand you. Please, continue. As I can see, you have a lot to say, and I’m happy to hear it. It’s a pleasure to know you more.” Jihoon spoke quietly; he felt his own throat closing, who knew how many times today. Their shoulders fell, they let their tears out, hearts trembling, hands shaking—because when the kids woke up, they needed to hide these. At least, that’s what they thought.

“She never told me what illnesses she had, but she refused any treatment when she was pregnant and while Kwannie was a newborn. And after—I think it doesn’t matter anymore. She fought to see our son grow, but the pregnancy and being a mom without help really took everything from her. I tried too, but not as much as her. I wish I had done more. One morning, she didn’t wake up. Seungkwan tried to climb between us for a morning cuddle, but she was already cold. Poor love, since then, he has been a little stickler to me.”

They both stared at the picture on the fridge. The woman smiled at them, and Jihoon tried to imagine them together. She is teaching a group of little ones, with a big bump, waiting for Seungcheol with a warm dinner, snuggling into his arm on the couch. It was hard, heartbreaking, yet beautiful. The two of them were an ideal couple and could’ve been an ideal, loving family. Something that he would never give his son because of his selfishness. Now he felt guilty for falling in love with Seungcheol. Jihoon felt selfish, greedy, jealous, and overall like a piece of crap. He squeezed his eyes and shook his head to give himself a rational mind, but it didn’t help much.

“And what’s your story? If I can ask...” Seungcheol pushed away his lunch. He clearly lost his appetite. Jihoon’s coffee was already cold.

“University love. My parents wanted me to get a degree in a business field, although I hated it. I always wanted to be a teacher, in a school or nursery; it doesn’t matter. Then at the uni I met my wife; she was lovely. We were very young, barely finished with university, when we tied the knot. Then soon, Channie came. We waited for him; we wanted him. But my wife has a mental illness; she took pills for it, which she stopped during pregnancy. That’s where things go wrong. After he was born, he didn’t restart the medications, and ... let’s say, she couldn’t take care of him. She even...” He bit down on the end of the sentence. He can’t tell him everything. Not that Jihoon couldn’t trust him, but it was still a bleeding wound for him. “We left her. Then, there are numerous relationships, one of which is worse than the other. The last was the worst; my brother rescued us from it. Sorry... I usually don’t...” He excused himself because his voice started to fade away in the tears. Seungcheol slowly placed his hand on Jihoon’s wrist, rubbing it reassuringly with his thumb. As it was nice and comforting, it was also painful. Not exactly the touch, but the feelings for him, the feelings of the past, and the insomnia. Everything was too much.

“I’m glad you shared this with me. It’s completely enough. If you want to tell me more, I’m all ears. I assume you also didn’t talk about this ever.”
They sat there, whining and taking deep breaths to calm themselves down. It was heavy, yet still peaceful. It felt good to let out these emotions, these memories. And to get to know each other, to understand each other.

“DDadduuu!” They heard Seungkwan’s crying. Seungcheol wiped his face, but before he could step out of the corridor, Jihoon hugged him. The smaller one could feel the wedding ring pressed on his temple as he buried his face into Seungcheol’s chest. The man hugged him back strongly; the warm arms gave so much comfort and safety. It had been a while since Jihoon felt like this.

“You’re stronger than you think.” He whispered to the other before he let him go to his son.

Chapter Text

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The snow melted, weeks passed, and Jihoon’s new little family started to get together. Everybody’s roles started to unfold; the kids loved to play with Seungcheol. Of course, he was strong; he loved to wrestle with them, throwing and swinging the boys in the air, playing football, or any other sport outside. He was always a partner in crime, whether jumping in muddy puddles or climbing a tree. He worked a lot, and he rescheduled himself so that he usually arrived around dinnertime. However, the weekends were all for his children, even though Chan wasn’t technically his; he loved them both equally. As the weather got warmer (and rainier), they barely spent their time inside; they were constantly moving, from the garden to playgrounds, walks to the park, zoos, and tropicals. Seungcheol picked them up anytime, showing them the world from a higher point of view.

But no matter how much time they’ve spent with him sillily around, both kids ran to Jihoon if they fell or hurt themselves. Jihoon was the first person they gave their drawings to, showing their newly found talent or performing something they learned at nursery. While Seungcheol read bedtime stories, Jihoon sang lullabies and handled the nightmares. Jihoon made snack plates and food and handed out the sweets, while Seungcheol did the laundry and most of the cleaning with the boys. Mostly vacuuming when Jihoon was away since he hated the sound of the vacuum cleaner. It was unusual at first, but that’s why he didn’t have a hairdryer.

They got new habits; every Sunday they sat down together to watch movies, and every Saturday they went somewhere together. They slowly forged together; not only the boys, but the adults became inseparable too. Seungcheol’s clinginess was everything to Jihoon; they started every morning with cuddles and hugs. Not only that, but the man always touched him; he placed his hands on his shoulder or arm, patted his head, or ruffled his hair. Especially after Jihoon cut it short and carefully styled it. He was annoying and adorable. Everything was perfect.

Well, almost. Not exactly the moment Jihoon saw Seungcheol shirtless, but a few days after that, he started dreaming of him, at least once a week. These weren’t nightmares; they were the opposite; these were the hottest dreams of his life. He mostly squirmed through the night in his bed, sweating and suppressing his moans. He had dreams like this before, since they knew each other, but it became worse; now he knew what to imagine. It was easier when he didn’t know. He felt like he was an omega in heat, like in that spicy novel he recently read. Not to say, since Seungcheol moved here, he stopped reading this kind of literature.

But in his dream, they not only had sex; it was more than that. Yes, sometimes his mind lived it out itself in his dreams, but other times it was more of making love. They were intimate and slow-burning, with caressing, soft kisses, just like a relationship with Seungcheol would be. Or at least how Jihoon imagined it. Not once he wake up with tears stinging his eyes; his whole body shook. He changed his sleeping position from his back to his side, in a fetal pose, tucking the blanket under his body, like he would when sleeping on Seungcheol. The only difference was that the pillow didn’t have that rhythmic, calming heartbeat. And of course, it wasn’t as firm as Seungcheol’s muscles or as soft and good-smelling as his skin, but it was more than nothing. On these nights, he felt unbearably lonely and desperate. Every one of these nights convinced him he was only like an image. Something he imagined in his brain, something he believes, nothing more.

He already knew Seungcheol wasn’t playing for his team, but what if he did? Would he be so kind and soft in bed like in the daytime? Or would he be rough and animalistic? Continuing this train of thought, is he really showing himself? Is this the true Seungcheol, or is he just nice because Jihoon helped him? Jihoon was afraid of the answers and the truth, and he was scared to escape to his imaginary world, where they actually lived like a family, together, fell asleep in each other’s arms, and celebrated anniversaries with champagne and child-free nights out.

From the outside, Jihoon was a perfectly balanced, loving dad, but inside, the sleep deprivation and destructive thoughts ate him alive.

When March arrived, Jihoon was completely exhausted. He couldn’t keep the ‘model dad’ role, and not only Seungcheol but also the kids noticed it. He was slightly impatient; although he tried his best, he became slow and clumsy. The boys, however, became literal angels; even Chan had less trouble in nursery, and he became calmer than before; no tantrum was thrown. They cuddle a lot, but usually at night, before bedtime. Chan didn’t disturb him in the mornings anymore. What really scared Jihoon was that he started taking pills to help himself fall asleep.

The first time he noticed this, it was the middle of the night, and he had already changed pajamas, but he sweated through this one, too. He stood in the kitchen, staring at the medicine cabinet. Jihoon shook his head. No, he only came for a glass of water; he was dehydrated from the intense dreaming. Every joint in his body was in pain, especially around his waist. His colleagues remarked on the bags under his eyes and messy hair—but Seungcheol didn’t mess with his hair for weeks. The only neat thing about Jihoon was his shirt; his roommate took over this chore. Seungcheol paid close attention to ironing Jihoon’s shirts crispy and wrinkle-free; he barely cares about his own working clothes. Every time Jihoon took out a shirt from his closet, he thought about that. His mind ran a marathon, and he stared at the cabinet, like he were hypnotized. Surely, it would help, but he was scared of the consequences.

He spent numerous nights standing in the kitchen like this until he took one. It took two months to decide this. Only one, with shaky hands, almost tearing up, and he could barely swallow it because he felt his throat closing. Not to say, he slept deeply like the dead.

After sleeping through the night with the first pill, he had difficulties in the mornings. He knew in advance, so he timed this attempt on a Friday night so it wouldn’t be conspicuous if he stayed in bed a little longer. His door was closed; probably Seungcheol did it so they wouldn’t disturb him. Jihoon’s head was heavy, like he had been hit by a bus, and it was hard to even sit up in bed. He walked down the corridor like a zombie; halfway; he needed to lean on the wall because he felt weak. The house was silent, but from the backyard, he heard the boys screaming and laughing. It was a nice, sunny day; the nature started to turn green. Fresh dew’s scent fragrances the air every morning, and their tiny town becomes lively again. With lots of family and little children, it was never truly silent, but as the sun came out, everything changed. Jihoon wanted to love this time of the year, but he couldn’t. He was too tired and too grumpy about it. Even the sun shone for his annoyance.

There was a mug of coffee on the counter. His mug and his coffee. It was light brown from the cream and sweet-scented from the sugar. He only needed to heat it up in the microwave. Would Seungcheol do this if he were a bad person? Or was it part of his game? They cut the grass and cleaned the front porch. Sometimes he asked Jihoon to come and pick him up, and then he filled the trunk with wooden boards that were waste at work. He never said what he planned. Only a naughty glint appeared in his eyes. Now, these wooden boards sat under the roof of the porch, waiting for their fate. Actually, it smelled good, Jihoon noted as he smoked on the stairs of the veranda. The kids left their tricycles outside. Seungkwan got one too for Christmas, and he was the happiest little tangerine in the world. Seungcheol started to call him like this, and soon the whole patchwork family called him like this. One time, Seungkwan even called Jihoon ‘Dad’ accidentally. He quickly covered his mouth and waited for the adult’s reaction, but since he got scared like that, Jihoon pretended he didn’t hear that. The word ‘dad’ held a special place in their hearts; it should be treated with care, but honestly, for Jihoon, it felt more than good. He was moved by this simple word. He slowly realized he had no idea what time it was, and he moved automatically after he got up.

As he drowsily shuffled in his slippers into the house, he heard the back door open and close, then the two little boys chit-chatting. Seungcheol scolded them to be quieter, and then they saw Jihoon in the hallway. Chan kicked off his shoes and ran towards him.

“Daddy! I thought you were sick! You reeeallyyy overslept!” He hugged his parents’ legs tightly. His tiny hands were covered with dirt, and it got on his face, too. Jihoon patted his head, smiling at his son.

“Yeah, I felt quite tired. I’m still a bit too, but I feel a lot better. I think you wanted to go wash your hands; go quickly!” He shushed the boy. While the boys ran into the bathroom, Seungcheol prepared lunch. He reheated the food and set the table. Usually, they ask the boys to do it, but sometimes they can get an exemption from chores. “What did you do outside? All of you look like little pigs!” Jihoon chuckled.

“They played outside a bit while I planted the flowers we bought last week. Then they asked to plant the veggie seeds, although I said to them it’s a bit early. The nights aren’t too cold nowadays; maybe the plants will survive. Will you eat with us? And after a nap, we will go to the playground, the closest one. Would you like to come? You can rest, if you want. I can see you need it.” It was a lot of information for Jihoon to understand. He sat down at the table and thought about whether he had energy for the afternoon. Maybe he could nap to while the kids are asleep. He needs to tire himself out a bit so he can sleep well at night. In the end, he agreed to go with them.

Like every time, the walk to the playground was longer than the time they spent there. Chan ran forward (but not too far, not only because his dad said so but also because he was actually scared of being lost), and Seungkwan walked peacefully holding his dad’s hand. Until Chan found some very interesting ants, who walked in a curved line. All four of them stood above them, the boys looking at the insects, discussing who dares to touch them, and the adult looking at the toddlers fondly. Jihoon took advantage of the time and leaned on Seungcheol’s shoulder. The afternoon nap didn’t help; he still felt weak.

“Are you okay, Hoonie?” Seungcheol whispered, stroking the shorter man’s arm. It took Jihoon some time to realize what the other one said. He nodded.

“Yeah, I’m just tired. I have had troubled sleep for the past few days.”

“Or the past few months. I noticed that. Are you sure you’re fine?” The boys started their journey again, holding hands like loyal brothers. Seungcheol let his friend go but still looked at him, searching for answers. Accurate answers, not the ones Jihoon gave him.

“Last night I slept better. I just... I have a storm inside me.” He could express himself better than that. Maybe he seemed vulnerable, but at this stage, he didn’t mind that. How could he explain his dreams, thoughts, and concerns to Seungcheol? Was he the cause of his restlessness? And he didn’t do anything to distress him.

“I hope it will calm down. It’ worrying to see you like this... Not that I want to stress you more, I just want to say you can come to me if you need a shelter.”

Jihoon couldn’t say a word more; he only gazed at him thankfully. The boys had already reached the playground’s gate and were jumping to get there. Of course, the first one was everyone’s favorite: the swing. The area buzzed with the families, familiar faces from the nursery. Jihoon wasn’t in the mood for a chat, so they quickly changed kids; Seungcheol was happy to play on the monkey bar and ran after the energetic Chan, while Jihoon and Seungkwan cooked dinner for the whole city in the sandbox, but after the appetizer, some kids from the nursery called Seungkwan to build the largest, real-size sandcastle. He was left alone, watching them dig in the dirt, and he was completely happy with that. Sometimes one of the kids (not necessarily theirs) ran to him to show something cool he found, but eventually he could enjoy some quiet moments. The sun was still up, although it didn’t shine as brightly or hotly; the rays felt nice to his drained face. The wet sand and the spring’s smells ran through his veins, calming Jihoon’s nerves. For a short period, he stopped existing; nothing was around him, and the world ceased to exist.

Chan jumped on his back. He held a bouquet of tiny yellow flowers and handed it to his dad with a huge smile.

“I took these for you, Daddy! Now you have sunshine!” At first, Jihoon didn’t understand. Chan probably heard what they talked about earlier. He could be independent, stubborn, and sometimes distant, but he showed his love when his dad really needed it.

“I love you, my big boy! These are gorgeous!” Jihoon kissed the boy on the cheek. But of course, Chan, being Chan, broke this precious moment with a simple question. Knowing him very well, Jihoon was happy with this question.

“Can I have a juice?”

It was a silent night at their house. The kids were bathed, exhausted, and quietly engaged with coloring books. It was a rare moment, at least for Chan. Seungcheol offered Jihoon help with the dinner, but he refused. He needed something to keep him distracted, so he left the older one watching a toddler cartoon. He was surely tired too; the kids hung on his neck all day. And because of this, he wandered to the kitchen.

“Do we have painkillers? Not as strong as your migraine one, a lighter.” He asked and started rummaging in the medicine cabinet. It was almost right above Jihoon; they got insanely close. Seungcheol’s butt always pushed him accidentally. Suddenly, the man stopped searching, and with a bottle in his hand, turned over Jihoon. “Hoon, what’s this?”

When Jihoon turned back, he started panicking. He was in a dog clamp, trapped between the counter and Seungcheol’s body. He held his pills, which were one of the strongest and widely known medicines. His friend knew what that was; it was a rhetorical question. As he towered over him, he squeaked like a mouse and tried to excuse himself. He shook as the electricity hit him; his speech was almost inaudible.

“It’s just... I never took them when I was alone with the kids... In fact, I wasn’t taking them for a while. My doctor gave this to me last year when I was stressed out. I only took them because I can’t sleep... And I...I”

He was out of breath, and his throat started closing. The kitchen was too hot; the lights were too bright, and he was trapped. No escape; Seungcheol could do whatever he wants. Through the tears, he couldn’t see the man above him, only that he raised a hand. Jihoon quickly put his arms over his head and let himself down. He sat on the tiles, hugging his knees. From the shadows, he could sense Seungcheol crouched down to him. He was scared and vulnerable. He had not only discovered his secret but also the second one he was insecure about, yet he didn’t want the other to be found out. Jihoon would probably tell him later, but he wasn’t ready for that.

“Hey! Stop hurting my daddy!” Chan shouted and stood between them. Jihoon raised his head and stopped whining from the surprise, but the other man froze too. This little boy, who barely grew out of the ground, stood between them with a steady, fearless face. The baby for whom Jihoon never stood up was ready to fight a man ten times his age, who was clearly bigger than him, for his dad. Jihoon reached out for the toddler and held him tight.

“Oh, baby, Seungcheol never hurt me! You misunderstood this.” He shushed the boy, but his face showed that he didn’t believe his parents.

“You’ve said that other times! Then why are you crying?” Oh God, Chan was mad. His face was red, and his tiny hands were clenched into fists. Yes, Jihoon remembered saying this numerous times before. They were all lies.

“Seungcheol asked me about something, and some terrible memories came into my mind. Don’t worry, my darling, everything is alright now.” He whispered to his son, caressing the angry cheeks and pressing kisses on his hair. He remembered that, over time, he could never smell this baby shampoo anymore.

“But you were very brave, Chan. I’m sure Daddy is really proud of you. It’s great to have a son like this. And I swear, I would never ever hurt you or your dad. I love both of you. Please let us be alone so we can talk about what upset your daddy, okay?”

After a few kisses and promises, Chan eventually left the kitchen, but he still looked like he could kill someone. The adults sat in front of each other, motionless. Seungcheol mistrustfully reached his hand, just like before, but this time he finished the move and caressed Jihoon’s face. This little gesture freaked out Jihoon earlier; this was the one he had misunderstood earlier. He let himself lean into the touch, wiping his tears into the calloused palm. It was warm and soft, despite the imprint of hard work. Seungcheol snuggled closer, throwing a hand around his small friend’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to talk about it. I was just worried. It’s okay. And I never wanted to unintentionally upset you. And of course, I won’t hurt you. I’ll always be your shelter.” Jihoon sat there silently. He had so many emotions, but he couldn’t name any of them. His heartbeat couldn’t slow down; it was still racing like hell. If this already happened this way, he should open up. Maybe Seungcheol could help, or at least ease his soul.

“My ex. I took these because I had sleeping problems at that time, too. Of course, he made an unlivable environment. When he found out, at first he freaked out, then he took control of it. Sometimes he put it into my drink. Sometimes he took it away from me. He made me addicted. I did horrible things to get my dose, even...” He quickly covered his mouth. No, he can’t say that in front of him. That would be too much, even if he thinks about it.” I was scared to talk, but I was so tired, Cheol. And I’m scared now, too. What if I fell back? What if I accidentally overdose myself? Or I didn’t notice that something happened with the boys?” He again felt like freaking out, but Seungcheol’s steady hands held his shoulders. The man looked deeply into his eyes, intently.

“Do you fully trust me, Jihoon? I need your words.” He said after Jihoon only nodded. Again, with teary eyes, he answered with a whispery ‘yes.’ “If you let me, I’ll hide them. You can ask anytime, but I’ll monitor them. You can’t overdose or become addicted to them. And I swear, I won’t take advantage. Do you want this? Do you trust me enough for this?”

He was so serious. So distinct. As they locked their gaze, Jihoon felt true love for the first time in his life. He didn’t love the caring or the desirable body; he loved him.

“Give me shelter, please.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“Look, Daddy! We’re helping!” Chan yelled at him when he walked out to the back garden. The kids were dressed in their playing clothes, smudged with splashes of paint, and the earthy smell of fresh wood shavings clung to the air. They painted two planks for the treehouse; both little ones were covered from head to toe with white paint. Although they obviously weren’t needed—the materials all lay out, ready to go—it was a good way to involve them. The proud glint in their eyes was priceless. Jihoon put the cups and water on the table, feeling the refreshing breeze of the spring air, and then walked over to see how Seungcheol was doing.

From right under the tree, he had the best view of Seungcheol’s round ass. He currently stood on the ladder, trying to nail down the base of the house. Sometimes he put his weight on the planks to test them; he wanted to make them as safe as possible. Hopefully, the boys will use it when they grow a lot more. He looked satisfied and proudly stood on the rudimentary floor of the treehouse. Jihoon couldn’t be happier. Everything was so bright and shiny, and we’re not talking about the weather. His heart was full of joy just from watching the kids in oversized shirts, covered with white paint from head to toe, while the world’s nicest man is currently working on their playhouse. A man he only knew for how long—half a year?

“So, who is brave enough to come up?” He yelled down, and both boys started to jump with joy. Of course, Channie needed to go up first; otherwise, the universe would explode. He held Seungcheol’s leg tightly. It was scary to see the world from this height. Lastly and uncertainly, Jihoon climbed up too. He clung to the other man, too, but this he didn’t play; he was actually afraid of heights. Probably because he always viewed his environment from below.

“Wow! That’s really cool!” the babies awed, peeking down from the edge. It was almost impossible to take them off to let Seungcheol continue working. Jihoon admired him; he worked hard every day, helped out, and had time to plan this. On some nights, when he sat next to Jihoon on the couch, he drew and calculated something, but he didn’t show it until it was finished. They only told the boys when they got everything to start the project. It was a nice task for the children too; they were forged together.

It was a family project. Something they do together.

Jihoon felt touched; he only stared at his loved ones, enormous smiles on every face, laughing and excitement in the fresh April air. He felt like he was in a soppy movie; only a golden retriever was missing from the scene, but it would be too much. Two energetic toddlers were enough, even if Kwannie was a lot calmer than Chan. But he got everything he never dreamed about—or he dreamed when he met his ex-wife. From his daydream, a warm-toned voice woke him up, full of love and the world’s simplest questions.

“Hoonie, can you give me more screws? They’re there next to the toolbox! And can you pass the bottle too?” He smiled and nodded; he couldn’t do any more. He was scared of another overstimulation seizure. Chan and Seungkwan carefully put aside one plank they had finished together. Yes, half of the paint was left on their palms, but they didn’t notice and sat down to drink. They looked like two elderly men who viewed the fruits of their lives with satisfaction from the porch.

“Our Daddu is really cool,” Seungkwan stated. His little friend nodded as well.

“Yeah, we have the best dads.”

He didn’t know why he woke up; he fell asleep easily, slept deeply, and didn’t need to drink or go to the bathroom. Inappropriate or horrible dreams avoided Jihoon. It was probably his parental instinct, so he went into the boy’s room. A terrible smell hit his nose; it was both sour and sweet and acidic. Both kids were up and tried to pull down the bedsheets. Jihoon quickly put the pieces together; one of the boys was sick but too afraid to ask for help, and his little brother tried to save what could be saved. When Jihoon opened the door, both children froze in place.

“Hey, guys, what happened?” As he got closer, he became convinced of what had happened at the very moment when Chan hugged his legs with an apologetic look. His eyes were swollen and red, and his little body trembled like a leaf in the wind. “Kwannie darling, thank you for helping, but you should sleep. Go snuggle with your Daddu! And you’ll have a shower, okay? Go to the bathroom; I’ll come soon.” He patted the boys’ heads, then started to change the sheets. Of course, his stomach hardly handled the smell, even with open windows, but he had no choice. He hated it when he accidentally touched the weird texture; it really stank. This was the dark side of parenting. Hopefully, Seungkwan didn’t catch the stomach bug from his friend; one sick baby is a thing, but two is horrible. He learned it from last time: cries and snuggles. They could barely eat a thing; everything upsets the kids, and nothing is good for them. Like walking on eggshells.

He quickly started the wash, while Chan sat on the potty naked, hugging the basin they use in case of sickness. Chan looked so small, so vulnerable. Jihoon’s heart broke. This little creature was his son, blood from his blood, somebody who resembles him, someone who counts on him. Even if he stunk, with a covered bum, he loved his baby. He put the boy in the bathtub and started to wash him with warm water. Chan lowered his head, not looking at him.

“Look at me, Channie. You didn’t do anything wrong, darling. Next time, please let me know what happened. I won’t be mad. It would take a lot of effort to make me angry; you know that. I love you, my boy,” Jihoon whispered as he dried the toddler with a soft towel. Like a stray puppy. His face overall was fully his mother’s, but he inherited his father’s eyes more. The eyes Jihoon fell in love with long ago. Sometimes it hurt to look into these eyes, as they recalled too many terrible memories. On other days, he fell in love with his son’s gaze again, because he remembered the good times he had with his wife. Chan put his arms around his neck, tightly hugging him. His skin is his father’s, pale cauliflower, and still smells like a baby. But he soon will be a big boy, and he will go to school.

“Can I sleep with you?” Channie asked, barely understandable, because his thumb was in his mouth. He rarely did this; he rarely even used dummies, only for sleeping or when he was stressed. Jihoon pulled out the “sicky bowl” under the sink and held his hand.

“Of course. Where else would you sleep?”

Yes, there was a chance that Chan would vomit or poop over his bed too, but he would always risk this. His baby needs him; he is weak and unsettled. At least until he settled on Jihoon’s chest, sleeping so deeply that he drooled over his father’s chest. He had a light fever, but he slept through it. Jihoon had a hard time falling asleep, yet he had time adoring his infant.

Chan was practically glued to him. When he tried to sneak out to talk with Seungcheol in the morning, the boy whined until he picked him up. Of course, the baby was half asleep when they walked out. Seungcheol was already dressed up, sipping his coffee, and scrolling through his phone. He looked a bit surprised when he saw them at the door. As he patted Chan’s head, he understood why he woke up early; he had a light fever and rosy cheeks, but his face was all white. Jihoon wrapped him up in a blanket and rocked him gently.

“He became sick at night. I’ll stay at home, but is it okay if I drop Kwannie off? I’m overloaded with work this week.” He looked at the other man with bags under his eyes and a rasp in his voice. He was tired and worried, firstly for his child and secondly because of the important project that he should arrange. “And it would be a big request if I asked you to stay at home on Thursday and Friday? I have to go to work personally.”

“I’ll ask, okay? Don’t be this distressed. You can handle everything.” He answered in a calming voice. Jihoon started to plan this project months ago, but in the end, he really became stressed. And his problematic sleeping didn’t help this at all. Now that his son is sick too, everything seems to collapse. It was luck that Seungcheol was always by his side. He needed to leave soon, but he made a cup of coffee for Jihoon, which he couldn’t do because he held Chan, and the boy became fussy when he tried to put him down in the chair. These slight gestures helped Jihoon every day to keep his sanity.

Chan stuck his hand out of the blanket and reached for Seungcheol. The man leaned closer to him and pressed a kiss on his burning forehead. Jihoon could smell his aftershave and held his son, as sane Seungcheol kept him, as crazy as he could make him. Not every day, every minute was like Jihoon sitting on a seesaw, but as always, his legs couldn’t reach the ground, and he couldn’t control when he was up or down.

Chan nudged his dad. Jihoon looked up from his laptop and patted the boy’s head. His son looked a lot better than the previous day, but he still had a sensitive tummy.

“Are you hungry? Then come, buddy; I already boiled some potatoes in the morning.” Seeing his son’s disappointed face, he picked him up and tried to explain the situation to him while giving him big kisses and nuzzles. “Your stomach is full of small, evil viruses. They’re small, smaller than ants, and make your body sick. Your body focuses on fighting them and can’t digest anything heavy. Potatoes are simple, right? It’s easy for your body to get energy from it.” Chan looked really focused while he listened to his father. Of course, it might still have been complicated for a three-year-old.

“Potatoes are easy to smash, but meat isn’t. And pastas also don’t.” He concluded. Jihoon laughed and reheated a small bowl of mashed potatoes. Chan, with a bored expression, ate without a word of complaint or fuss. He knew his dad wanted the best for him, and he was too tired for arguing. All morning, he had a fever, so he was still faint. Jihoon liked to sit with him during mealtime, especially when Chan chose to switch to nonverbal mode. He pointed to the right side of the plate, which meant he was thirsty. His sippy cup was always on the right.

“Daddy! Water, water!” Chan only started to talk and walk not long ago, and he was already pretty confident about it. He constantly followed his dad, trying to name things around him. Jihoon couldn’t be prouder of his son’s development, despite not being the greatest father and not always being able to devote time to teaching him. Chan observed his surroundings; that’s how he learned. Jihoon tried to reach out for a tiny plastic cup to give him something to drink, but his partner stepped in and grabbed his wrist. Sometimes he reacted a bit dramatically, especially when it was about raising Chan. He always knew everything better since he already had a child, who lived with his ex-wife. The little girl was a lot older than Chan, so Jihoon believed in him to help rear.

“We will eat soon; he shouldn’t drink, or he won’t eat well. He can drink after lunch.” He said it firmly, looking intensely in Jihoon’s eyes. The younger man looked at his son, who still nudged his knees for a drink. Jihoon shook his head with a smile.

“He is thirsty. A sip won’t matter.” He wanted to pull his wrist out of the large palm, but it didn’t move. His partner growled at him, his eyes stabbing into the smaller man’s orbs.

“You don’t know how to take care of a child. You never raised one; I did.” As he talked, he tightened his fingers around the pale white arm. Jihoon lowered his head; he felt ashamed. His partner was right; he was unsure of his parenting methods. But Chan develops so well; he is so well-behaved. His gaze met the toddler’s questioning eyes. The boy whined for water again, pointing at the cup, his sweet and bubbly face distorted. He was on the verge of crying; he must be thirsty. Chan was only a baby, probably lost in playing, which is why he noticed his thirst at the very last minute.

“My sweet, look at him. He is dried out; he really wants to drink. It’s okay; one occasion won’t cause anything.” Chan sensed the tension, and it added to his restless state; he pulled his father’s pants, crying. The tears weren’t for the water, likely because he felt the fear that Jihoon tried to suppress. Jihoon slowly peeled the fingers off his wrist and poured water into the cup. He almost gave it to Chan when his partner knocked it out of his hand. The cup rolled on the tiles, empty, and the water sparkled in the midday sunshine. Everything was too calm, warm, and beautiful for this scene. Chan screamed.

“Enough!” Jihoon’s partner yelled at the baby, who hid behind his dad’s legs in complete silence. Jihoon was shocked; his lover was short-tempered, but he never freaked out this much during these five months. At least not in front of Chan. He stepped closer to Jihoon, so close that the tips of their noses met. Suddenly, Jihoon’s head tilted to the side, and he felt a painful sting on his cheek. At first, he didn’t realize his partner had hit him until he spoke up angrily. “And don’t you dare question and disrespect me like that! Am I clear? Clean this up.”

Jihoon’s whole body trembled. He looked back at his son, who, after this, never asked anything with words.

Chan leaned back in the chair, patting his tummy. He cleaned the plate really well and found it funny how big his belly was when he stuck it out. And Jihoon found it lovely too; he adored when his son showed the signs of a well-cared-for kid. The toddler thanked the food for his dad and placed the plate on the counter, then wandered back into the living room to watch his show. When he was sick, he was allowed more screen time. This was the only way to keep him in one place to rest, because he constantly wanted to play, even in his worst state. All of this was feedback for Jihoon that he does well in this parenting thing.

It happened in a second; one moment, they built a fort from leporello books, and the next one, Channie was sick again. They thought he was already fine, but this bridge of hope collapsed. Seungcheol held the boy’s body, patting his back and his head while whispering some comforting words. He would never forget the look Chan gave him after finally vomiting on the living room floor. He froze with tearful eyes and pressed his lips, like he was trying to prevent anything else from coming out of his mouth. His whole body trembled, not only from the fever but also from something Seungcheol had never seen on him: fear. When he came back with the mop, paper towels, and a bowl of warm water to clean up the mess, he was even more surprised.

“What are you doing, bud?” Chan kneeled on the floor, shirtless, and tried to clean up. Of course, he only spread it around while he wiped quickly. As Seungcheol came closer, he started wiping faster and faster until the man held his hand. “Thank you for helping; I’ll continue it. Put this in the washer; I’ll come and help you shower. Nothing to worry about; it’s okay.” He patted the toddler, who became hesitant. He sucked his thumb, still standing next to the puddle. Seungcheol started to clean up, but the boy didn’t move.

“Are you not angry?” He murmured and crouched down next to the adult. Seungcheol needed a moment to take in what he said, then shook his head, laughing.

“No, little one, why would I? It was an accident; you didn’t do anything to it.” Then, he put the pieces together. He stopped, palming a soaked paper towel, staring at the kid seriously. “Somebody was mad at you because of this? That’s why you wanted to wipe it up.” Chan nodded. This time, he didn’t suck; he chewed his thumb. Seungcheol quickly cleaned his hands and pulled him into his arms. The little life felt much more comfortable in there, let his finger out of his mouth, and grasped the other’s shirt. He loved how he was gently rocked by a trustworthy man. “Listen, bud. That’s over; we are here now. Nobody ever will hurt you or your daddy, I promise. Not while I’m here. Be honest, were you only scared, or did you really want to help?”

“I was just scared. Yuck! It stunk!” He held his nose with both of his palms. Seungcheol tickled the baby, then rushed him to the bathroom. Chan wasn’t exactly completely covered with any bodily fluid, but after he had a light fever in the morning and knelt over a quite large pile of digested food, the man thought it would be good just to have washed his body a bit.

Then he needed to search for a new mop and clean up the bathroom too, because Chan found it hilarious to turn the shower to the maximum and aim at Seungcheol. And be honest, the man was also happy for this child. He probably still felt bad, but he tried to hide it behind playfulness. He only stopped this when Seungcheol blew bubbles from the shower gel, bigger than the toddler’s head. It was a good idea until it popped in his face, and the soap’s typical unpleasant taste spread around his mouth.

“Do you love my daddy?” Chan asked when he snuggled under the blanket for a nap. He already got his story, but he was just too energetic to sleep, so Seungcheol sat down next to him for a chit-chat. Clearly, this little guy wants to connect with him. Why would he turn this down? They barely have these moments, only the two of them. He had this with his son; it was obvious, but not with him. Maybe Channie only wanted another adult in his life so he could have two parents, like anyone else. It doesn’t matter if it’s two men; he was used to it. But he wanted one who really behaves like a true parent. One similar to Jihoon.

“I love him as a friend. Not everybody is into both genders.” He chuckled, but the little one became quite sad. “Even if we are not together with your dad, we are still kind of a family. We hold together to help each other and to love you guys. Hopefully, one day you’ll get a real mom or dad. Both of you deserve that.”

“Are you sure you can’t love him? Like, really, really sure?” Chan asked desperately, almost tearing up. Seungcheol patted his head. Of course, he wants it now because he is nice to them, nicer than the previous ones. But later? Even if it happened, he wasn’t sure how both boys would react to it. Especially Seungkwan. Seungcheol never felt bad for being heterosexual, but for this little boy, he almost rethought his identity.

“I’m afraid not, buddy. But I won’t let any of you down. That’s what friends are for; learn that, big boy.”