Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sizzling scent of hot oil and the smoky haze from the griddle mingled with the sweet, spicy aroma of gochujang sauce, making the cramped space in their market stall feel stifling.

The sweltering heat of a late summer afternoon seemed to bake the air, blending with the steam rising from a pot of violently bubbling broth to form a thin mist that clung to the small stall of Hwang family.

Hyunjin kept his head down, his slender hands moving with practiced efficiency as he skewered cooked tteokbokki into a paper box for a hurried customer.

"How much?"

"5,000 won per skewer, ma'am."

"Too expensive. 4,000?"

"Well... but..."

The customer frowned, her nose twitching slightly as if trying to detect a scent from Hyunjin, then walked away without buying anything. He sighed, letting his hands drop to his sides.

Perhaps she was an Alpha or an Omega, her instincts making her uncomfortable around a 'blank' Beta like him. Or maybe she just didn't like his family's tteokbokki.

Who knew.

"Son, add some green onions to that plate for the gentleman over there." His mother's voice, raspy from a lifetime of hawking goods, called out from behind him.

Hyunjin nodded, his eyes dull and devoid of any spark.

He reached for the green onions, scattering them over the white rice cakes.

These hands, once praised by their small fanbase as 'golden hands' for executing complex dance moves, were now just tools for packaging, washing dishes, and collecting money.

Each finger felt heavy with fatigue and apathy.

A group of stylishly dressed young people, chatting and laughing animatedly, approached the stall.

Hyunjin caught a faint whiff of their scents—the sweet, citrusy aroma of an Omega and the sturdy, woody scent of an Alpha. Instinctively, he shrunk back, feeling utterly out of place and invisible. They placed their order, talking excitedly about a concert by a new, all-Alpha boy band. The names were unfamiliar, the music was foreign—a whole other world.

"Wow, you look just like an idol," one of the girls in the group suddenly said, her eyes curious as she stared at Hyunjin. "How come I can't smell anything on you? Are you using scent blockers?"

Hyunjin flinched slightly, lowering his head further. His heart constricted. He'd heard this too many times.

"Yeah, he's really handsome," another chimed in. "Are you an Alpha or an Omega?"

He stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "I... I'm a Beta."

The air grew still for a moment. Their curious glances quickly shifted to indifference, even a hint of pity. A handsome Beta was still just a Beta—ordinary, unremarkable, nothing special. They turned back to their conversation, promptly forgetting he was there.

That familiar pain gnawed at him, bit by bit. Every time someone asked about his secondary gender and met him with that indifferent stare, memories of his ten years under the stage lights flooded back like a wound that never healed.

"Hyunjin-ah, your face is a gift! But remember, in this industry, a pretty Beta is still just a Beta. We need something... more." The company CEO's words, delivered with a dismissive pat on the shoulder during a yearly evaluation, echoed in his mind. "Alphas have the power, Omegas have the allure. Betas... have diligence. So work harder."

He had thought becoming an idol, being known, would give him some worth. But that dream had shattered early on, during his trainee days. At fifteen, he'd dropped out of school, betting everything on a small entertainment company's promise of a debut within a year. One year turned into three, then five.

"Dad, Mom, I promise, it'll be worth it," he'd said, his voice full of a teenager's desperate conviction, standing in the doorway of their small, scent-neutral home. His father, a Beta whose hands were permanently calloused from a lifetime of repairing electronics, had just sighed, the sound heavy with worry. His mother, her own Beta scent a faint, comforting mix of laundry soap and garlic, had hugged him tight. "Just be happy, our son. That's all we want."

Endless days were spent in a damp practice room, sweat pooling on the wooden floors, brutal diets that left him dizzy, and nights spent crying silently from homesickness. He and his six roommates, all Betas like him, had become family.

"We'll make it," Jae, their leader, would say, his voice hoarse after twelve hours of practice, clapping Hyunjin on the back. "We'll show them Betas can shine too." They shared packets of black bean noodles, comforted each other after being cut from yet another debut lineup, and dreamed of a stage, even if it only had fifty people in the audience.

They finally debuted. But the world outside was harsher than they'd imagined. In an industry where Alpha pheromones and Omega allure were the attractive commodities, an all-Beta group like theirs was practically invisible. Singing well and dancing skillfully weren't enough.

At a music show, a famous Alpha idol from a rival group had passed them in the hallway, his potent, aggressive scent of sandalwood and ozone making the air crackle. His entourage didn't even look their way. One of his managers had chuckled, not bothering to lower his voice, "Look at them. Trying so hard. It's almost cute."

They lacked the captivating 'scent' to draw crowds, the 'it factor' that drove people crazy. At events, reporters often ignored them to swarm groups with powerful Alphas or charming Omegas. They had some fans, but most expressed disappointment in online forums he should never have read: "I thought you were an Alpha, what a shame, Oppa!" or "They're talented, but they just don't have that spark, you know?"

They struggled on, fighting every day. The bond between the seven of them grew stronger through those difficult times. They were confidants, comrades in a trench.

But no matter how strong their bond, it couldn't defeat fate. Their small company couldn't afford to invest much, their few advertising deals slowly dried up, and the stage lights gradually dimmed. When their contract ended, not a single offer for renewal came. They sat together in their dorm for one last meal—takeout fried chicken—in silence, the absence of any defining scent in the room a bitter reminder of their shared struggle. No one able to find the words. That silence was more painful than any dramatic farewell.

They had lost their gamble on becoming idols, and the price was their entire youth.

Now, the labels of 'Beta' and 'failed idol' kept him relegated to a lower status, a half-existence. Ten years of effort had only brought him back to the starting line, worse off than before—a former idol with no diploma, no practical skills, a massive gap in his resume, and a heart that was slowly bleeding out. He had returned to the small, quiet house filled with the scent of his Beta parents—a smell of home that now felt less like comfort and more like a confirmation of his own mundane destiny.

After the market closed, Hyunjin helped his mother clean up. His body ached, but the mental anguish was far worse. He had tried everything.

Working at a café, but the young Alpha owner had taken one look at him and said, "Sorry, man. Your look is... distracting. I need staff who blend in, not cause a stir with the customers."

Working as a delivery driver, but his stamina, worn down from years of intense training, couldn't keep up with the demanding pace. His Beta body, never designed for the raw, sustained endurance of an Alpha, gave out.

Applying for office jobs, but the blank spaces under 'Education' and 'Work Experience' on the application forms said it all. The Beta HR manager, a kind-faced woman who smelled faintly of paper and ink, had given him a look of pity he despised. "Your... idol career is very interesting, Mr. Hwang, but we're looking for someone with more traditional qualifications."

He had also poured all of that passion into the canvases. And he had tried, truly tried, to pivot, to find a new vessel for the intensity that still churned inside him. He bought tubes of paint in colors that were supposed to be joyful—cadmium yellow, cerulean blue, vermilion red. He would stand before the blank canvas in the small, oil-scented room, his body humming with a need to create.

But his hands, once so precise in their choreography, now betrayed him. The vibrant pigments, under his brush, would coalesce into scenes that were heavy and somber. A field of sunflowers would look like they were waiting for a storm. A smiling portrait would hold a profound, unsettling grief in its eyes. The colors were technically correct, bright and pure on the palette, but they bled onto the canvas with a melancholy he couldn't suppress. They were paintings of silence. Of absence.

No one bought them. The few who stopped at his makeshift online gallery would comment, "They're so... sad." The paintings piled up in the corner of his room, a leaning tower of failed exorcisms. The money from his dwindling savings bled away, spent on canvases and paints that only served to document his despair. Eventually, even the act of picking up a brush felt like a mockery. The blank canvas became just another form to fill with his inadequacies. So he stopped. The tubes of paint hardened in their caps, and the silence in the room grew thicker, now accompanied by the ghost of linseed oil and failure.

Hyunjin had gambled his entire youth on a fragile dream and lost spectacularly. And now he was here, back where he started, in a world that only had three notes: the sizzle of oil, the silence of his family, and the crushing absence of his own scent.

Chapter Text

That evening, like every evening, the small Hwang apartment was steeped in the familiar, weary rhythm of preparation. The musty smell of old cardboard boxes, filled with dried anchovies and kelp for tomorrow's broth, mixed with the thick, greasy odor clinging to the large frying pan, creating a suffocating atmosphere in the cramped kitchen. Hyunjin, his hands slick with sweat and dusted with rice flour, mechanically kneaded a large bowl of dough for the next day's tteokbokki. Each push and fold was a mindless, practiced motion, his soul feeling as inert as the ingredients before him. Across from him, his father, a quiet Beta man with kind eyes and permanent grease stains under his fingernails from his repair shop job, meticulously counted out wooden skewers, his movements slow and precise.

Suddenly, a sound different from the usual kitchen clatter came from his mother's old phone on the shelf. Not music, but a warm, calm voice of a man punctuated by small, shuffling noises and the occasional soft thump.

"Son, can you pass the soy sauce? The meatballs need marinating." His mother's voice, hoarse from a day of calling out prices in the market, sounded. But her attention was clearly elsewhere, her fingers pausing over the pile of green onions she was meant to be sorting.

Hyunjin glanced over. His mother was watching YouTube, her face illuminated by the small screen. On it was a bright, cozy room that felt a world away from their greasy kitchen. The channel name "Sungshine Haven" glowed softly in the corner. A young man with an expressive face and warm eyes, seated in a wheelchair, was the calm center of a whirlwind of quiet activity, surrounded by six children.

The first thing that caught Hyunjin's vacant eyes wasn't the man's handsome features, but the effortless, flowing way he moved between them. His hands were never still, fluttering like skilled butterflies, shaping intricate signs in the air—holding a rapid, silent conversation with a bright-eyed boy who watched intently and responded with equally eager gestures. But that wasn't all.

The teacher's gentle gaze then swept towards another boy sitting cross-legged on a colorful floor mat, intently stacking and restacking a set of red blocks, completely absorbed in his own world, oblivious to the signs. Instead of insisting, the man in the wheelchair softly wheeled closer. He didn't speak. He simply placed a soft plush apple toy gently on top of the boy's tower. The boy’s fingers stilled for a moment, then carefully picked up the toy, a faint, almost imperceptible shift in his concentration. In another corner, the teacher lightly touched the shoulder of a smiling boy with distinctive facial features, who was bouncing slightly on his heels. He held up a real, shiny red apple. The boy’s eyes lit up, and he clumsily but enthusiastically formed a sign with his hands, his smile widening when the teacher beamed and nodded in approval.

Hyunjin found his own chopping had slowed to a stop, his dough forgotten. He watched, mesmerized, as the teacher then turned to a petite boy with sightless eyes, guiding his small hands to feel the smooth, cool skin of the apple, then helping him trace its round shape in the air. For a boy who seemed unable to speak, the man pointed to a series of picture cards on the wall—an apple, a tree, a smiley face—and the boy responded by pointing decisively at the correct card, his chest puffing with pride when he received a thumbs-up. And for the youngest, who watched everything with wide, serious eyes, the teacher simply held the apple to the boy's nose, letting him inhale its sweet, faint scent, a silent lesson in experiencing the world beyond sight and sound.

The room was almost silent, filled only with the rustle of clothes, the soft roll of wheelchair tires, even breathing, and the occasional burst of a happy, wordless sound. But it wasn't still or sad. It was brimming with a different, vibrant energy—a symphony of movement, connecting glances, intentional touches, and radiant smiles that needed no sound. It was a lesson about apples taught in a hundred different languages, and they all understood.

"So loud," Hyunjin thought to himself, his own chaotic thoughts quieting for a moment to make space for this new sensation.

A strange, profound loudness of life, of wordless conversations and quiet triumphs. It stood in complete, stark opposition to the dead silence crushing his own heart.

"Who is that, Mom?" he heard himself ask, his voice raspy from disuse, taking a hesitant step closer to peer at the screen.

"Ah, it's that teacher I told you about. The one who runs that little haven for those unfortunate children," his mother replied, her eyes soft and not leaving the screen. She didn't shoo him away.

"Look at them, poor things. Each one is so different. But thank goodness for this teacher. He's a Beta too, just like us, can you believe it? But look how kind and patient he is. So clever with them. It really warms my heart to watch." She sighed, a mixture of pity and deep admiration in her tone.

"He films all his classes. Says it's to show people. And it's all right in our neighborhood, you know. Just a few blocks over in the old community center."

A Beta?

Hyunjin was truly surprised now, his own prejudices about their place in the world rattled.

On the screen, the man in the wheelchair wasn't just sitting still, passively observing.

He was in constant, gentle motion, a conductor of this quiet orchestra. His hands held conversations, his eyes offered comfort and saw understanding in return, and his smile seemed to warm the entire room like sunshine, a stark contrast to the sterile, scent-neutral air of their own home.

A Beta... who could command a room not with pheromones or power, but with pure, unwavering patience and love? Who could multitask and shine so brightly in such a beautifully complex environment?

He stood there quietly for the rest of the evening, his prep work slowing to a crawl as he kept stealing glances over his mother's shoulder.

The fluid hand gestures, the gentle, precise movement of the wheels, the way the teacher leaned down so a child could whisper a secret in his ear he couldn't possibly hear but somehow understood, the way his eyes lit up with unadulterated joy when a little one grasped a new concept... it all haunted him.

That night, lying in his narrow bed, the faint smell of gochujang still clinging to his clothes, the usual torrent of self-doubt and painful memories was held at bay. Instead, images of the teacher in the wheelchair and his special, apple-scented class from "Sungshine Haven" played behind his eyelids.

And in his fitful sleep, for the first time in months, the dreams that came to him were no longer rendered in bleak black and white.

Chapter Text

That Sunday morning, a heavy, relentless rain lashed against the windows of the Hwang apartment, mirroring the gloomy inertia that had settled in Hyunjin's soul. As was their unwavering routine, his mother gently nudged him awake for church. Hyunjin dressed mechanically, the familiar scent of his parents' simple, scent-neutral presence—a blend of clean laundry and the faint, waxy aroma of well-kept Bibles—filling the small space. He offered no protest, his will to resist anything, even this, long since eroded. He was a Beta, the son of Betas; a life of quiet obligation and faded dreams was his predetermined script.

The church was a modest building, its interior hushed and smelling of old wood, polished pews, and damp wool. Hyunjin sat between his parents, their steady, faith-filled presence a stark contrast to the hollow emptiness within him. As the pastor's voice rose and fell in a familiar cadence, Hyunjin’s head began to droop. The words, meant to offer solace, washed over him like the rain outside—a distant, meaningless drone.

"...and the Lord is a refuge for the weary, a stronghold in times of trouble..."

Hyunjin's eyelids grew heavy. His chin dipped toward his chest. The ten years of failed dreams felt heavier than any scripture.

"...for we are all His children, each unique in His eyes, each with a purpose..."

A purpose. The word echoed bitterly in his half-asleep state. What purpose is there in a life that leaves no scent, no sound, no mark?

The service finally concluded with a final prayer and a chorus of 'Amens.' A palpable sense of relief passed through the congregation. Hyunjin followed his parents as they filed out with the others, the murmur of polite greetings and the rustle of raincoats filling the foyer.

At the entrance, a bottleneck formed as everyone struggled to open their umbrellas under the narrow awning. Hyunjin waited his turn, the damp chill seeping through his jacket. When a space cleared, he mechanically pushed his own black umbrella open, its canopy snapping taut against the downpour. He prepared to step into the gray, watery world, his mind already drifting back to the stifling kitchen and the dough that needed kneading.

It was then, as he raised his eyes to gauge the rain, that he saw it.

Tucked away in the lee of a large, ancient oak tree just beyond the churchyard's edge, was a small figure. A boy. He was soaked to the bone, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, and his thin clothes clinging to his shivering frame. He wasn't crying, just standing utterly still, his arms wrapped tightly around himself in a futile attempt to ward off the cold. His eyes were wide, not with fear, but with a profound, lost confusion that struck a chord deep within Hyunjin. He looked like a forgotten fledgling, drenched and trembling under the relentless sky.

It was one of the boys from the video. The youngest one. Even with his hair plastered wet to his forehead and his small body shivering violently, Hyunjin recognized him—the serious, wide-eyed boy who had watched the world with such quiet intensity, and the distinctive, faintly fox-like slant of his eyes that had been so clear in the video's close-ups.

The world narrowed to that single, shivering point. The chatter of the dispersing congregation faded into a muffled hum. The drumming of the rain on his umbrella became the only sound. Hyunjin stood frozen, one foot on the step, the other still on the stone path, his grip tightening on the umbrella handle.

His first instinct, honed by years of self-preservation and withdrawal, was to look away. To pretend he hadn't seen. To step into the rain and walk home, back to the safe, predictable numbness.

But the image was seared into his mind. The teacher's patient face from the video flashed before his eyes—the way he had simply held the apple for the boy to smell, offering a silent, sensory lesson.

And without another conscious thought, his feet were moving, carrying him away from the path home and toward the dripping shelter of the oak tree. The rain immediately began to patter a frantic rhythm on the taut fabric above his head as he walked. He stopped a few feet from the boy, unsure of what to do, his heart hammering against his ribs with a strange, foreign anxiety.

The boy didn't look up. He seemed unaware of Hyunjin's presence, his gaze fixed on some invisible point in the middle distance, his entire world reduced to the cold and the wet.

Hyunjin took a slow, hesitant step closer. Then another. He crouched down, bringing himself to the boy's eye level, his dress pants soaking up water from the wet grass.

"Hey," Hyunjin said, his voice soft, almost swallowed by the rain. "You're getting all wet."

There was no response. Not a flicker of recognition.

Remembering the video, Hyunjin’s mind raced.

What would he do? What did he do for him ?

Slowly, carefully, Hyunjin lowered the umbrella, letting the rain patter softly against his shoulders. He needed both hands for this. He reached out his left hand first, presenting his open, flat palm to the space between them—a silent, non-threatening gesture of peace. Then, with a clumsiness that felt alien to his once-praised dancer's hands, he formed the first sign he could remember from his stolen glimpses of "Sungshine Haven."

With his right hand, he made a firm fist, his thumb extended straight up in a "thumbs-up" shape. He carefully placed the bottom of his fisted hand, his thumb resting against the side of his index finger, onto the center of his waiting left palm. Then, in one slightly jerky motion, he lifted both hands together a few inches upward, as if his right hand was being supported and lifted by the left.

It was the sign for "Help?" An awkward, questioning, but unmistakable offer. He moved his hands slightly toward the shivering boy, a clear gesture of offering assistance.

Under the ancient oak, everything seemed to freeze. The rain still fell in sheets, but the moment Hyunjin made that sign, something shifted.

The boy immersed in his own world, flinched. His unfocused eyes, which had been staring at nothing, snapped downward, following the movement of Hyunjin's hands. The simple, deliberate shape of the sign—a thumbs-up resting on an open palm, then lifted—cut through the fog of his confusion like a key turning in a lock.

It was a signal he knew. A language he understood.

His head shot up, a sudden, jerky motion that sent droplets flying from his soaked hair. His wide, fox-like eyes, previously glazed with a lost, profound confusion, now locked onto Hyunjin's face. The emptiness in them was replaced by a dawning, staggering recognition. A spark ignited deep within, then flared into a brilliant, disbelieving light. It was the shock of seeing a familiar landmark in a desolate and unknown country. He wasn't just seen; he was understood.

A slow, warm smile spread across Hyunjin’s face, softening his features. The foreign anxiety in his chest was momentarily eclipsed by a wave of pure relief.

Finally.

Finally, he had reached him.

Seeing the continued uncertainty in the boy's eyes, Hyunjin knew words were a barrier. He spoke again, this time slowly, over-enunciating each word, pairing them with the gentle sign he had just made.

"I... can... help... you..." he said, his voice a low, calm rumble beneath the rain's percussion. He made sure to shape each word slowly and deliberately with his lips, hoping the boy could read the syllables. He then gestured vaguely toward the road, then pointed first at the boy and then back toward the church and the surrounding neighborhood.

"Get... you... home?" he asked, over-enunciating each word, his face filled with a hopeful, questioning kindness.

He let the offer hang in the air between them for a beat before slowly extending his right hand, not to grab, but to invite. His palm faced upward, a silent question. It was an offering of guidance, of warmth, of a way out of the cold.

The boy’s eyes, wide with a mixture of shock and fragile hope, flickered from Hyunjin’s extended hand back to his face. A silent war waged behind his gaze—the instinctive fear of a stranger against the profound relief of that single, understood sign. He hesitated, his own small, cold hand twitching at his side.

Hyunjin didn’t move, his smile remaining a gentle, patient constant in the gray turmoil of the rain. His outstretched hand was a steady promise.

Slowly, tentatively, a small, trembling hand rose from the boy’s side. It hovered for a heartbeat before, with a final surrender to the offered kindness, his icy fingers slotted themselves against Hyunjin’s warm palm. The touch was light and uncertain, a bird alighting on a branch.

Hyunjin’s fingers closed around the boy’s hand with infinite care, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

Then, with a gentle pull, he drew the boy forward. In one fluid motion, he raised the umbrella high and guided the shivering child into the space beside him, under the shelter of the black canopy. The drumming of the rain on the fabric above them suddenly grew louder, a private rhythm for just the two of them. The boy stumbled a half-step, his small frame bumping lightly against Hyunjin’s leg, away from the relentless downpour.

He was so small, so cold. Without a second thought, Hyunjin shifted his grip, keeping a firm but gentle hold on the boy’s hand while his other arm came around the narrow, soaked shoulders, pulling him in closer, sharing his warmth and his shelter.

Together, they turned. A unified front against the storm. And step by careful step, they walked away from the old oak tree, their figures merging into one under the umbrella as they made their way toward the gate and the path beyond.

Chapter Text

The walk was silent save for the rain and the soft, squelching sound of their wet shoes. Hyunjin could feel the boy’s small body trembling violently against his side, a constant, shivering reminder of the urgency. He held him a little tighter, his own heart pounding with a strange, protective fervor he hadn’t felt in years.

Pushing the door open, the warm, familiar scent of home—of polished wood, simple meals, and the faint, clean laundry smell that was uniquely them—washed over them. It was a stark, almost shocking contrast to the cold chaos outside.

His mother looked up from her mending, her eyes widening in shock at the sight of her son dripping onto the floor mats, holding the hand of a small, utterly drenched and unfamiliar child.

"Hyunjin-ah? What in the world—?"

"He was lost, Mom. In the rain. By the church," Hyunjin explained, his voice rough with a mix of adrenaline and concern. He was already moving, his instincts taking over. "He's freezing."

That was all it took. The Beta instinct to care, to provide practical help, ignited in both his parents immediately. There was no hesitation, no barrage of questions. His father was on his feet, heading to the bathroom for towels. His mother was already in the kitchen, filling the electric kettle.

"Goodness, poor little thing," his mother breathed, her voice full of immediate, aching sympathy. She approached slowly, her movements soft and non-threatening. "You're safe now, sweetie. Let's get you out of these wet clothes."

What followed was a quiet, efficient flurry of activity. Hyunjin, with a patience he didn't know he possessed, helped the boy out of his soaked jacket and shoes. His mother returned with a stack of soft, warm towels and an old, clean sweatsuit of Hyunjin's from his teenage years. The fabric swamped the boy's small frame, the sleeves hanging far past his hands, making him look even younger and more vulnerable.

Hyunjin knelt and began to gently towel-dry the boy's hair. The boy stood perfectly still, his wide, fox-like eyes taking in the small, warm apartment, the kind-faced strangers, and Hyunjin's focused expression. The initial shock was slowly melting into a wary exhaustion.

Soon, the rich, sweet aroma of hot cocoa filled the room, a scent of pure comfort. His mother brought over two steaming mugs—one for the boy and one for Hyunjin, who was also damp and chilled. She’d also warmed a small bowl of simple, gentle chicken porridge.

"Here, try this, little one," she said softly, placing the bowl on the low table.

The boy looked at the food, then at Hyunjin, a silent question in his eyes. Hyunjin gave an encouraging nod. Slowly, the boy picked up the spoon. He was clumsy, his movements tired, but he ate, the warmth of the food seeming to seep into his very core. He sipped the hot cocoa after, leaving a faint chocolate mustache on his upper lip that made Hyunjin’s mother cluck her tongue affectionately and wipe it away with her thumb.

The combination of warmth, food, and overwhelming fatigue was too much. As he finished the drink, his eyelids began to droop heavily. The spoon clattered softly against the empty bowl, and his small body swayed where he sat.

Instinctively, Hyunjin shifted closer. He didn't say a word, simply opened his arms. The boy, in a final act of surrender, leaned forward and crumpled against Hyunjin's chest, his head finding a comfortable spot in the crook of his neck. Within seconds, his breathing evened out into the deep, rhythmic pattern of exhausted sleep, his small fist clutching a handful of Hyunjin's shirt.

Hyunjin froze, then carefully adjusted his hold, cradling the sleeping boy. He felt incredibly light, yet his weight against Hyunjin's chest felt immeasurably significant.

"Such a precious child," his father murmured from his armchair, his voice thick with emotion. "To be out there all alone... Who does he belong to?"

His mother sat beside them on the floor, her eyes glistening as she gently brushed a stray hair from the boy's forehead. "He looks so peaceful now. You did a good thing today, Hyunjin-ah. A really good thing."

The praise, so simple and genuine, washed over him, warmer than any towel or hot drink. He looked down at the trusting face nestled against him, and the hardened shell around his heart cracked open a little more.

And then he remembered.

"Mom," he said, his voice low so as not to disturb the sleeping child. "You said that class... that teacher's place... it's in our neighborhood, right? Sungshine Haven. Do you know where it is?"

His mother looked up, surprised. "I... I think so. I'm sure I've seen the address in the video descriptions. It's in the old community center on Mulberry Lane, I believe. Why?"

Hyunjin looked from his mother's curious face back down to the boy. His answer was simple, final, and it surprised even himself with its certainty.

"Because that's where he belongs. And that's where I'm taking him home."

The family’s small, slightly rusted car hummed to life, a familiar sound that usually signaled another mundane errand. But today, the atmosphere inside was anything but ordinary. Hyunjin’s father focused on the slick roads, while his mother sat in the passenger seat, casting frequent, worried glances into the back.

Hyunjin had carefully, so carefully, settled into the backseat, cradling the still-sleeping boy in his lap. The boy was a dead weight, his head lolling trustingly against Hyunjin’s chest.

The gentle rumble of the engine and the rhythmic swipe of the windshield wipers seemed to weave a spell of deep exhaustion. Perhaps it was the emotional toll of the afternoon, or the residual chill from the rain, or simply the profound warmth of the small, trusting body in his arms, but a heavy drowsiness began to pull at Hyunjin’s own consciousness.

His head leaned back against the seat, and his eyes, watching the waterlogged world blur past the window, slowly fluttered shut. For the second time in a long time, his sleep was not a escape into numbness, but a surrender to a quiet, protective peace.

Chapter Text

He was jostled awake what felt like moments later by his mother’s gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Hyunjin-ah, we’re here.”

Blinking, he looked out. The rain had stopped, leaving the world washed clean and gleaming under the diffuse grey light. They were parked on a quiet, slightly overgrown lane. Before them stood a modest, single-story building that could only be the old community center. It wasn’t grand or modern, but it was cared for. Window boxes under the front windows burst with hardy, rain-drenched flowers—bright marigolds and creeping ivy—and a freshly painted, ramp-access led up to the main door. A hand-painted wooden sign hung by the entrance, adorned with a smiling sun and the words: Sungshine Haven.

It felt… warm. Like a real home.

Adjusting his hold, Hyunjin maneuvered himself and the sleeping child out of the car, moving with extreme care to not disturb the boy’s slumber. The boy merely sighed softly in his sleep, nuzzling deeper into the fabric of Hyunjin’s jacket.

It was then that he saw him.

A man in a wheelchair was on the paved path near the entrance, his phone pressed to his ear, his expression etched with deep, frantic worry. He was talking quickly, his free hand gesturing with a tense energy. But then his eyes, scanning the lane as if hoping for a miracle, landed on their small group. Then they dropped to the bundle in Hyunjin’s arms.

The change was instantaneous.

The worry on his face shattered, replaced by a wave of pure, unadulterated relief so powerful it was visible even from a distance. He abruptly ended his call, his phone slipping forgotten into his lap. Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned his chair and began to propel himself toward them, his movements swift and urgent, his entire being focused on the child in Hyunjin’s arms. A smile—brighter and more radiant than any sun after the storm—broke across his face, and in that moment, Hyunjin understood exactly why the channel was called "Sungshine."

The man in the wheelchair reached them, his eyes glistening with unshed tears of relief. He didn't even reach for the boy first; instead, he placed a hand over his own heart and gave a deep, grateful bow of his head to Hyunjin and his parents.

"Thank you," he breathed out, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you so much. I've been searching everywhere. I was so worried."

Understanding the unspoken question, Hyunjin carefully leaned down and gently transferred the sleeping boy into the man's waiting arms. The man cradled the boy as if he were the most precious treasure in the world, holding him close and whispering a soft reassurance into his hair.

Perhaps it was the familiar scent, the secure hold, or simply that he had finally slept enough, the boy began to stir. He let out a small yawn, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, he looked disoriented, then his gaze focused on the man's face. A brilliant, sunlit smile instantly broke across his features, any trace of fear or confusion gone.

His small hands flew up, moving with an eager clumsiness. He made a few simple signs, his face beaming: a point to his own chest ("Me"), a big smile as he waved his hands near his chest ("Happy"), then a pointed finger directly at Jisung ("You"), and finally, a tap on his own opposite wrist ("Here").

His message was simple and clear: "Me. Happy. You. Here."

The man laughed, a sound of pure delight and relief, and quickly signed back, his movements fluid but matching the child's simple style. He pointed to his own chest ("Me"), then made the same sign for "Happy". His expression then shifted to playful scolding as he held his hands out, palms up, and shrugged in an exaggerated question ("Where?"). He finished by pointing to himself again and placing a concerned hand over his heart, his smile softening ("Me. Worried.").

His reply was just as clear: "Me too. Where were you? Me. Worried."

It was a silent, intimate conversation that spoke volumes of their bond. Watching them, Hyunjin felt a strange, warm ache in his chest.

It was only then that the man seemed to remember his manners. He looked up at Hyunjin and his family, a blush of embarrassment tinting his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, I completely forgot! My name is Han Jisung. I run this place, Sungshine Haven. And this little adventurer," he said, nodding fondly at the boy in his lap, "is Jeongin. I cannot thank you enough for bringing him back to me."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Hwang Hyunjin," Hyunjin replied, bowing slightly. "And this is my family. We were happy to help. Honestly, my mother has been a fan of your channel for a while."

Jisung's eyes widened in genuine surprise and pleasure. "Really? Ah, thank you for watching! It's just... me and the kids." His expression then turned somber again as he explained, the words tumbling out as if he needed to confess.

"The reason he was lost... Yesterday morning, I was at the market. He wanted to come along, but the crowd was so dense... I turned around for just a second and he was gone. I've had friends helping me look all night. It's... difficult for me to search thoroughly myself," he said, gesturing vaguely to his wheelchair, his voice laced with guilt and frustration.

Hyunjin's blood ran cold. He’s been out there alone all night? In the rain? The image of the small, shivering figure under the oak tree became infinitely more tragic. He felt a surge of protectiveness so sharp it stole his breath.

"Then he must have been in the rain for a very long time," Hyunjin said, his voice softer now, edged with concern. "We dried him off and gave him some warm food, but you should keep a close watch on him. I'm worried he might develop a fever from being cold and wet for so long."

Jisung's face fell further, the weight of the responsibility and fear evident. "You're right. Thank you for the warning, and for taking such good care of him."

As Hyunjin's family made motions to leave, offering final smiles and waves, Jeongin suddenly reached out from Jisung's lap. His small hand caught Hyunjin's sleeve, stopping him.

The boy looked up at him, his expression serious. Then, with deliberate care, he brought the fingertips of his flat hand to his lips and moved it forward and down in a graceful arc, his palm facing his body. The sign for "Thank you" was perfectly clear, filled with a sincerity that words could never match.

Hyunjin's heart clenched. Flustered but deeply touched, he fumbled for a response. Remembering the videos, he quickly gave a thumbs-up, a small, awkward but genuine smile touching his lips. "You're welcome. No problem."

It was a clumsy, silent exchange, but in that moment, a profound understanding passed between the former idol who felt invisible and the small boy who lived in a silent world. They had seen each other.

Chapter Text

Nearly a month had passed since that rainy day. The sky over Seoul gradually donned the characteristic gray hue of the season transitioning into autumn, the air turning crisp and cool. The oppressive humidity had retreated, replaced by a gentle, chilly breeze that carried the scent of decaying leaves and distant chimney smoke.

One evening, as the sun began its early descent, Hyunjin found himself walking alongside his father to the designated garbage collection area in their neighborhood. The routine was silent, familiar. His father carried the main bag of general waste, while Hyunjin handled the meticulously sorted recycling. His mind was elsewhere, adrift in the monotony of his new-old life, when a familiar sound of cheerful, overlapping voices caught his ear from the end of the alley.

He looked up.

And there they were.

Jisung and Jeongin. And with them was another boy he didn't recognize. They were gathered around the separate food waste bins, apparently on their own chore run.

A month had passed since he'd last seen them, only catching glimpses through the videos his mother watched religiously every evening. He knew where Sungshine Haven was, of course—a fact etched in his memory from the night he walked a drenched Jeongin home. But he’d never gone back. What reason did he have? He’d convinced himself they were just strangers who’d briefly crossed paths, unlikely to remember him, let alone seek him out.

Life, however, is full of unpredictable turns.

From a distance, Jisung was the first to notice him. His eyes, previously crinkled with laughter at something the new boy said, widened in clear surprise. Then, a bright, unmistakable smile spread across his face. Next to him, Jeongin, clutching a small bag of recyclables, followed Jisung's gaze. A shy, tentative look flashed in his fox-like eyes before he raised a small hand and gave a tiny, almost hesitant wave.

Hyunjin’s feet felt rooted to the spot for a second, a strange warmth spreading in his chest, contradicting the autumn chill.

As they drew closer, Hyunjin got a better look at the third boy. He was beaming, his entire face alight with a friendly, open joy that seemed to radiate outwards. He had a round, kind face dotted with a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. His hair was a sun-bleached, warm blond, like wheat under a summer sun, and his eyes held a distinct, beautiful almond shape. Hyunjin immediately recognized the features often associated with Down syndrome. Before anyone else could speak, this boy enthusiastically waved both his hands at Hyunjin, his smile never wavering.

Hyunjin, charmed by the immediate and genuine greeting, crouched down to the boy's eye level and smiled back, giving a warm wave in return.

He then glanced up at Jisung, his voice soft and considerate. "What's the best way to talk to him? How can I ask his name?"

Before Jisung could fully answer, the cheerful boy tilted his head, processing the gentle interaction and the kind expression on Hyunjin's face. He seemed to grasp the context—a question about identity.

"Bokie...!" he said, his speech slightly slurred and enthusiastic. "Chongbok!"

Jisung chuckled softly beside him, translating for a slightly confused Hyunjin. "He's saying 'Yongbok'. That's his name. But he likes when people call him 'Bokie'." Jisung's voice was fond. "He heard you thinking about a 'name'."

Understanding dawned on Hyunjin. He reached out and gently ruffled Yongbok's soft, blond hair. "Bokie," he repeated, his voice warm. "It's nice to meet you."

Hearing the affectionate nickname and the friendly tone, Yongbok's smile somehow grew even brighter, his eyes sparkling with delight. He then pointed a stubby finger directly at Hyunjin, his expression turning to one of curious concentration, his brows knitting together cutely. The universal question was clear: And you?

Hyunjin understood. "My name is Hyunjin," he said slowly and clearly.

Yongbok's mouth formed a little 'O' of excitement. He tried to repeat it, his tongue struggling with the syllables. "Jin...? Chin...! Chinnie?" he finally managed, beaming with accomplishment.

Hyunjin's heart melted. "That's right," he said encouragingly. "You can call me Chinnie. Whatever you want."

He then smiled, making sure to enunciate the next part clearly, pairing it with a thumbs-up. "It's very nice to meet you, Bokie-ah."

Yongbok seemed to latch onto the word "nice" or the positive emotion behind it. His face lit up with the understanding that this new person was happy to meet him. With an excited, joyful sound, he didn't hesitate—he took a small step forward and wrapped his arms around Hyunjin in a sudden, warm, and utterly genuine hug.

Hyunjin carefully hugged the boy back, a real, unforced smile finally gracing his own features.

As Hyunjin held Yongbok, feeling the little boy's innocent and sincere warmth, his gaze inadvertently shifted to Jeongin.

The boy was standing there, his wide eyes unblinking, staring intently at the scene before him. His deep, inscrutable gaze wasn't cold. Instead, it held a poorly concealed curiosity and anticipation.

A soft smile touched Hyunjin's lips, his voice warm against the autumn breeze. "Do you still remember me?"

Jeongin immediately ducked his head, the tips of his small ears flushing a bright red. He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the pavement, refusing to speak.

It was Jisung who laughed and broke the silence. He made sure to face Jeongin directly, speaking clearly and at a moderate pace, his words well-formed so Jeongin could easily read his lips. His tone was light and teasing.

"He remembers you." Jisung said, punctuating each word with a smile. "Asks about you. A lot. Wants to say thank you. Properly."

Jeongin, mortified, pinched Jisung's arm and shot him a fierce glare, his entire face now the color of a ripe tomato. Hyunjin couldn't help but chuckle at the interaction.

Jisung continued, rubbing his arm with a wince but his smile never fading. He again turned his head to include Jeongin, speaking with deliberate clarity. "I wanted. To bring him. To find you. But... didn't want to intrude."

Hyunjin froze for a second, processing Jisung's carefully spoken words. They wanted to see me? A strange, warm flutter stirred in his chest, a feeling so foreign he almost didn't recognize it. He turned his full attention back to the flustered Jeongin, making sure his own lips were visible. His voice was gentle, slow, and clear. "I missed you too, Jeongin. I really did."

At these words, Jeongin let out a small, almost imperceptible squeak and tried to hide completely behind Jisung's back, his small hands clutching at Jisung's jacket.

Seeing this, Jisung's smile softened. He looked at Hyunjin, then down at the boy hiding behind him. Slowly, deliberately, he made a sign. He made both hands into closed fists and crossed his arms over his chest, then moved them in a gentle, upward motion near his shoulders.

Hug.

He was asking Jeongin if he wanted a hug from Hyunjin.

Jeongin peeked out from behind Jisung, his eyes wide. He looked at Jisung's hands, then at Hyunjin's open expression. After a moment's hesitation, he gave a tiny, almost shy nod, his gaze flicking toward Hyunjin with a clear, hopeful expectation.

Hyunjin's heart swelled. He nodded, his smile widening. Keeping one arm securely around the happily oblivious Yongbok, he opened his other arm wide in a clear, inviting gesture for Jeongin.

For a heartbeat, Jeongin remained still. Then, he slowly emerged from his hiding spot, took a small, hesitant step forward, and then another, before finally stepping into the offered embrace, carefully wrapping his thin arms around Hyunjin's waist and resting his head against him, next to Yongbok.

Crouched on the cool pavement, surrounded by the unlikely warmth of two children—one radiant and joyful, the other shy and trusting—Hyunjin felt a piece of his fractured world click quietly back into place. The gray autumn evening suddenly felt incredibly, undeniably bright.

Chapter Text

The warm, three-way hug was broken by a soft, deliberate chuckle. Hyunjin’s father had been observing the entire scene with a quiet, amused warmth. He cleared his throat gently.

"Hyunjin-ah," he said, his voice a low, rumbling sound filled with affection. "You all look like you're having too much fun over here. Don't your old man get a hug too?"

Hyunjin immediately sprang apart from the boys, his face flushing a deep, embarrassed crimson. "D-Dad!" he stammered, suddenly hyper-aware of the scene they must have made.

Jisung giggled, covering his mouth with his hand at Hyunjin's flustered reaction.

Hyunjin's father just laughed, a kind, hearty sound. He then turned his attention to Jisung, the apparent leader of the little group. His tone shifted to one of genuine, polite inquiry. "So, are you boys in a hurry? If not, why don't you all come to our house? We have some snacks, something to drink. You can come in and relax for a bit."

Jisung's eyes widened slightly in pleasant surprise at the invitation. He immediately wheeled his chair a little closer to Jeongin and Yongbok, who were looking at him for guidance. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders to get their full attention.

Then, he began to communicate, masterfully bridging the gap between their worlds. He spoke slowly and clearly for Yongbok, who relied on speech and lip-reading, while his hands simultaneously moved in a fluid, practiced combination of gestures for Jeongin.

He first pointed directly at Hyunjin, then made the sign for "Home": he brought his fingers together into a flat "O" handshape and touched them to the side of his mouth, then moved his hand up to touch his temple.

Next, he made the sign for "Play": he formed a "Y" handshape with both hands, thumbs and pinkies extended, and rotated his wrists back and forth at his shoulders with a playful expression.

Finally, he made the sign for "Eat": he brought the fingertips of his dominant hand together, pinched, and tapped them against his lips a few times. For good measure, he added a quick, exaggerated version of the sign for "Snack": he used his left hand as a flat "plate" at his chest, then used his right hand to bring small, pinched fingertips from the plate to his mouth twice in quick succession, shrugging his shoulders slightly to emphasize the "little bits" of food.

He paired all the signs with his slow, clear speech: "Do. You. Want. To. Go. To. Hyunjin's. House? Play? And. Eat. Snack?"

Yongbok's face, which had been following Jisung's mouth intently, broke into an immediate, radiant grin. "Nack!" he exclaimed, his own adorable mispronunciation for the new word, already bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement.

Jeongin watched Jisung's hands, a spark of interest lighting up his deep eyes. He glanced at Hyunjin, then at Hyunjin's father, who was smiling warmly. After a moment of quiet consideration, he gave a small, but definite, nod.

Jisung looked back at Hyunjin's father, his own face bright with a smile. "They said yes," he translated happily. "We'd love to. Thank you so much."

The walk back to Hyunjin's house was a short, cheerful procession. Yongbok skipped ahead, occasionally circling back to grab Hyunjin's or his father's hand, chanting "Nack! Nack!" Jeongin walked quietly beside Jisung's wheelchair, his eyes taking in the unfamiliar neighborhood with a curious glint.

When they arrived, Hyunjin's mother came to the door, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face initially showed surprise at the small crowd on her doorstep, but it quickly melted into pure, unadulterated delight when she recognized Jisung and Jeongin from her nightly videos.

"Oh my! Welcome, welcome!" she exclaimed, her voice warm and effusive. She held the door open wide, ushering them all in. Her eyes then fell on the new, sunny-haired boy clinging to Hyunjin's arm. Her expression softened even further. "And who is this new friend?" she said, bending slightly to wave at Yongbok, who responded with a giggle and an enthusiastic wave of his own.

The warm, fragrant air of the house enveloped them. Soon, the low table in the living room was covered with a spread that made Yongbok's eyes go round: steaming bowls of mandoo dumplings, delicate fish-shaped pastries filled with sweet red bean paste (bungeo-ppang), and cups of warm milk with honey. For Jisung, she brought out a special plate of tteokbokki and a can of cold coffee, remembering his preference from the videos. The scene was one of joyful chaos: Yongbok enthusiastically nibbling on a bungeo-ppang tail, Jeongin carefully blowing on a hot dumpling, and Jisung laughing as he tried to keep everything organized.

Once the snacks were devoured and the milk was drunk, Jisung glanced out the window at the darkening sky. "We should probably get going," he said politely to Hyunjin's mother. "Thank you so much for the snacks."

The boys, clearly wanting Hyunjin to walk with them a bit, tugged at his sleeves. Seeing the last bag of paper recycling by the door, Hyunjin grabbed it. "I'll walk them out and drop this off on the way," he told his parents.

As he hoisted the bag, his mother's eyes caught on it. "Wait, what's in that big bag? Let me check it before you go," she said, her tone practical. Before Hyunjin could stop her, she had pulled the bag open. Her eyes widened in surprise at the stack of canvases inside. "Hyunjin-ah, what is this? Why are you throwing these away? They're too good to waste!"

Jisung, intrigued, wheeled a little closer. "You paint?" he asked, his voice full of genuine curiosity.

Hyunjin offered a bitter, embarrassed smile and nodded. "Knowing how doesn't really matter. It never amounted to anything. These just take up space and... weigh on me. It's better to just get rid of them."

Just as he moved to take the bag and leave, Yongbok, curious about the commotion, pulled Jeongin over. They peered into the bag, and before anyone could stop them, each pulled out a canvas.

Yongbok’s face lit up. "Pwetty!" he exclaimed, his speech slurred but his admiration crystal clear. "So pwetty!" Jeongin’s eyes, too, were wide, shining with a captivated light as his fingers gently traced the thick, textured strokes of paint. He brought the canvas close, sniffing it curiously, then looked at Hyunjin, followed by a questioning look.

"It's the oil paint," Hyunjin explained softly, crouching down. He was momentarily stunned by their raw, unfiltered appreciation. A strange warmth flickered in his chest. "If... if you like them, you can have them. You can take them home."

Yongbok's jaw dropped. "Weally?" he gasped, his eyes like saucers. Jeongin’s head snapped up from the painting, a look of stunned disbelief on his face. When Hyunjin nodded, a real, soft smile finally breaking through his earlier gloom, both boys launched themselves at him for another crushing hug.

Later, on the walk back to Sungshine Haven, after the goodbyes were said and the hugs were given, Hyunjin turned to leave.

Jisung, who had been watching with a fond smile, cleared his throat, a faint blush on his cheeks.

"Hey, um..." he started, fumbling in his pocket before pulling out a simple business card for the center. He held it out to Hyunjin. "Can I... get your number? I figure we're basically friends now, right? It would be easier. You know, in case a certain someone," he nodded toward Jeongin, who was watching them intently, "decides I need to formally invite you out for a thank-you meal."

Hyunjin was surprised for a moment, then a genuine, easy laugh escaped him. It felt foreign but good. "Yeah," he said, taking the card. "I guess we are friends. I don't have a pen on me, but I'll message you on KakaoTalk later."

"Sounds perfect," Jisung said, his smile widening. "Okay. Get home safe."

And with that, they all went their separate ways under the emerging evening stars, the weight in Hyunjin's chest feeling just a little bit lighter than before.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Hyunjin found himself staring at his phone, the business card from Jisung resting on his desk. He’d already input the number into his contacts hours ago, but the field for the name had remained blank, a blinking cursor mocking his indecision.

Han Jisung? Jisung? Sungshine Haven Manager? Just… Jisung?

Each option felt either too formal, too familiar, or just plain awkward. After a solid ten minutes of mental debate, he let out a frustrated sigh and typed out Han Jisung. Simple. Direct. It would do.

Opening KakaoTalk, he navigated to the “Add by Phone Number” function, his thumb hovering over the keypad. He took a deep breath and entered the digits. A profile loaded: a cheerful avatar of a cartoon quokka and a username, @SUNGHANIE. His heart did a little, inexplicable flip. This was it.

He pressed ‘Add Friend’, sending the request into the digital void. He expected to wait. To put his phone down and nervously check it every ten minutes for the rest of the day.

His phone vibrated in his hand almost instantly.

A notification banner slid down from the top of the screen.

[KakaoTalk] Han Jisung has accepted your friend request.

Hyunjin’s breath hitched. “Already?” he muttered to himself, his eyes wide. Was the man just permanently glued to his phone? The speed was both flattering and mildly terrifying.

Now they were friends. The chat room with the quokka avatar stared back at him from his list, empty and daunting. The pressure to send the first message was immense. What did you even say?

‘Hi, it’s Hyunjin.’ Too bland.

‘Thanks for yesterday.’ He’d already said that in person.

‘Your quokka is cute.’ Absolutely not.

His fingers danced over the keyboard, typing and deleting a dozen different openings. The text box became a graveyard of half-formed greetings. Unbeknownst to him, on the other side of the city, Jisung’s screen must have been a comedy of constant "Typing..." notifications appearing and vanishing without a single message ever arriving.

He was so deep in his own head, chewing on his lip as he drafted yet another failed attempt, that he nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone suddenly vibrated with an incoming message.

It wasn't text.

It was a vibrant, animated sticker of a tiny cartoon hamster, its cheeks puffed out, waving two little paws frantically. Above the hamster, in cheerful, bouncing letters, it read: “ANNYEONG!”

Hyunjin stared at the screen, his own anxious “Typing...” indicator finally gone, replaced by the overwhelmingly friendly and slightly dorky hamster. A slow, incredulous smile spread across his face.

[KakaoTalk]

Han Jisung

[Image: An animated sticker of a hamster waving. Text: "ANNYEONG!"]

Hyunjin (11:03 AM)

...Hi.

Sorry. I was figuring out what to say.

Han Jisung (11:03 AM)

LOL i could see that 😂

the "typing..." was going crazy over there

btw, what's your birth year?

just so i know how to talk to you! 😊

Hyunjin (11:04 AM)

'00.

Han Jisung (11:04 AM)

...seriously? me too.

WE'RE THE SAME AGE??? 😲

Hyunjin (11:04 AM)

...Looks like it.

Han Jisung (11:05 AM)

THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING.

we can just drop the formalities then!

nice to meet you, friend!

A genuine, quiet laugh escaped Hyunjin. The last bit of social anxiety about the interaction melted away. The man on the other end wasn't a distant, professional manager; he was a fellow 00-liner who used quokka avatars and hyper hamster stickers. The dynamic had just shifted, becoming instantly easier and far more comfortable.

From that day on, a new, quiet rhythm settled into Hyunjin's days. It was punctuated not by the sizzle of oil or the silence of his room, but by the soft chime of a KakaoTalk notification.

It became a routine as steady as the sunrise. Han Jisung would message him at least once a day. The timing was unpredictable—sometimes mid-morning, sometimes late in the evening—but the notification always came.

The messages were a window into Jisung's vibrant, chaotic world at Sungshine Haven. They were rarely long paragraphs; instead, they were bursts of life sent directly to his phone:

A slightly blurry photo of Yongbok, his face smeared with red bean paste, grinning triumphantly next to a finished bungeo-ppang. The caption read: Bokie champion eater today 🏆

A short video of Jeongin, intently focused on stacking colorful blocks into a precarious tower. The camera shook slightly with Jisung's silent laughter just as the tower tumbled over. Jeongin looked directly at the camera, a tiny, almost imperceptible pout on his lips, making Hyunjin snort.

A picture of a horrifically misshapen, lopsided clay cat that vaguely resembled a melted loaf of bread. "Innie made this for you. Says it's a guardian spirit," Jisung had texted. Hyunjin had saved that one to his phone.

Day by day, Hyunjin learned to recognize more of the children than just Yongbok and Jeongin, not just by face, but by personality.

There was Chan, a boy with a sunshine smile who was surprisingly polite and obedient, often caught in the act of diligently helping Jisung tidy up blocks or gently guiding Yongbok.

Then there was Changbin, the complete opposite—a little ball of chaotic energy with a mischievous grin. His photos were always action shots: mid-giggle as he tried to hide someone's shoe, or covered in a bit of paint after an "art experiment" gone wonderfully wrong.

Jisung’s updates often came with commentary.

Han Jisung (2:30 PM)

[Image: Chan carefully wiping a table]

Look at this angel. I didn’t even ask him to. How is he even real?

Han Jisung (4:15 PM)

[Image: A blurry photo of Changbin running away, laughing maniacally, with a single, stolen shoe in his hand]

Code red. The chaos gremlin has struck again. Send help. (And maybe some more shoes).

Hyunjin also learned, through Jisung’s frustrated but fond messages, that not every child at Sungshine Haven was an open book.

Han Jisung (11:02 AM)

Tried to tell Seungmin I was going to take a picture of the book he was brailling. He just shook his head and said 'No pictures, Sungie.' 😭

He's so shy. Respect the king's wishes, I guess.

Han Jisung (3:48 PM)

Minho is like a cat. If you try to take his picture, he just… disappears. Poof. Gone. Only emerges for snack time.

Sometimes it wasn't about the kids. It was a photo of a ridiculously fluffy cloud that looked like a quokka, a new brand of banana milk he thought Hyunjin might like, or a complaint about a stubborn jar lid.

Hyunjin found himself, without even realizing it, starting to anticipate these daily dispatches. The chime of a notification would pull him from his thoughts, and a small, unconscious smile would touch his lips as he reached for his phone. It was a tiny, digital thread connecting him to that warm, chaotic world, with all its distinct and sometimes elusive personalities.

But with the anticipation came a trickle of doubt. His own replies felt painfully inadequate in comparison to the life Jisung was sharing.

Jisung: [A video of Chan trying to teach Jeongin a silly dance]

Hyunjin: They’re cute.

Jisung: LOL Yongbok just tried to feed his broccoli to Changbin 😂

Hyunjin: Haha.

Jisung: It's raining. Remember last time? ☔

Hyunjin: Yeah.

He’d stare at his own responses, a dull frustration blooming in his chest. He wasn't trying to be short; the words just wouldn’t come. He worried his bluntness came across as cold, uninterested. Was Jisung just messaging out of some sense of pity, slowly realizing how lackluster a digital companion Hyunjin actually was?

One evening, after another exchange of a vibrant photo from Jisung and his own tepid, one-word reply, the anxiety finally bubbled over. He typed out a question, his fingers clumsy with hesitation.

Hyunjin (9:17 PM)

...Don’t you get bored?

The reply came faster than expected.

Han Jisung (9:17 PM)

?

bored of what?

Hyunjin (9:18 PM)

Of this. Of talking to me. My answers aren't very interesting.

There was a pause. The "Typing..." indicator appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again. Hyunjin’s stomach tightened.

Finally, a message came through.

Han Jisung (9:19 PM)

Hyunjin-ah

you always read the messages.

you always answer.

that's all that matters 😊

Jisung followed it up with another sticker, this time of the little quokka from before, nodding its head emphatically.

Hyunjin read the message again. And again. The simple words disarmed his complex worry. He wasn't being judged on the wittiness of his replies. He was being valued for his quiet, consistent presence. The knot of anxiety in his chest loosened, replaced by a warmth that spread through him, quiet and profound. For the first time in a long time, just being himself felt like it was enough.

Chapter Text

A month of steady, daily messages had settled into a comfortable rhythm. Hyunjin had grown accustomed to the stream of photos and updates, the digital window into a world so different from his own. It was a quiet connection, one that asked for little but gave him a surprising sense of belonging.

Then, one afternoon, the pattern broke.

A new message from Jisung appeared, its tone immediately different from the usual casual chaos.

Han Jisung (3:22 PM)
Hey, sorry if this is too nosy
But I was talking to your mom earlier
She mentioned you’re looking for a job…?

Hyunjin’s thumb hovered over the screen. A flicker of embarrassment warred with a strange sense of relief that he didn’t have to hide it. He typed back a simple, honest reply.

Hyunjin (3:24 PM)
Yeah. I am.

What followed was a long, puzzling silence. But it wasn't the kind of silence he was used to. Throughout the rest of the day and into the evening, every time Hyunjin checked his phone, the chat with Jisung showed the same status: 

Typing...

It was constant. It appeared at 4 PM, then again at 6 PM, at 8 PM, and even at 10 PM. It was as if Jisung was drafting a novel, typing and deleting, over and over again. Hyunjin could almost picture the concentrated frown, the way Jisung might bite his lip in frustration. The anticipation built with each passing hour, a low hum of curiosity. What on earth was so difficult to say?

Finally, close to midnight, his phone lit up with the long-awaited message.

Han Jisung (11:58 PM)
Okay. I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this all day.
I think your paintings are really beautiful. The kids loved them too.
I was wondering… would you be interested in being my teaching assistant at Sungshine Haven?

Hyunjin’s breath caught in his throat. He read the message once, twice, three times. The words seemed to swim on the screen. A job? There? His immediate instinct was a cold wave of panic. He couldn't. He wasn't qualified. He was too broken, too awkward, too… himself. He left the message on Seen, his mind racing, unable to form a coherent response.

Perhaps sensing his hesitation, another message from Jisung popped up a minute later.

Han Jisung (11:59 PM)
I mean it. Your art could really help me with the lessons. It’s a different way to communicate, you know?
But it’s totally okay if you don’t want to! No pressure at all. Really.

Hyunjin stared at the screen, the sincerity in Jisung’s words cutting through the noise of his own insecurities. He thought of Yongbok’s radiant smile holding the painting. He thought of Jeongin’s careful fingers tracing the texture. He thought of the empty, silent days stretching ahead of him, and then he thought of the noisy, colorful, overwhelming warmth of Sungshine Haven.

His heart was pounding against his ribs. It was a terrible idea. It was a terrifying risk.

But for the first time in a very long time, it was also a spark.

His fingers moved before his fear could stop them.

Hyunjin (12:02 AM)
Okay.
I’ll do it.

Han Jisung (12:03 AM)
THANK YOU!!! 😭
Wait, does that mean you can come tomorrow?!
Oh wait, it's already past midnight... I mean today?!
Sorry, that's way too eager and demanding, isn't it? 😅

Han Jisung (12:04 AM)
Actually, it's not urgent at all! Any day you're free is totally fine. Just let me know and I'll arrange everything!

Hyunjin couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. Jisung's frantic backpedaling was almost as endearing as his initial excitement. The anxiety in his own chest loosened just a fraction. He typed back quickly, before he could overthink it.

Hyunjin (12:05 AM)
It's fine. I can come.

The response was instantaneous.

Han Jisung (12:05 AM)
REALLY?! OKAY!! 😍
Be there at 8:30 AM then!
I'll wait for you at the gate!
Good night, Hyunjin! See you soon!

Hyunjin stared at the final message, a whirlwind of emojis and excitement. The screen cast a pale blue light on his face in the dark room.
8:30 AM.

Sleep claimed Hyunjin with a surprising swiftness. When his eyes fluttered open, the room was filled with a bright, morning light that felt all wrong.

He fumbled for his phone on the nightstand. The screen blazed to life.

8:20 AM.

His heart shot into his throat. 8:30 AM! He was supposed to be there in ten minutes!

A jolt of pure adrenaline surged through him. He scrambled out of bed, a whirlwind of frantic motion. His hands, clumsy with sleep and panic, yanked open the wardrobe. He grabbed the first soft-looking things he could find: a simple white t-shirt and a beige, slightly oversized knit cardigan that felt like a hug. He pulled on a pair of well-worn, light brown trousers, his style a quiet, gentle nod to a vintage warmth that suited his withdrawn nature.

He flew through the bathroom, brushing his teeth and splashing cold water on his face so fast he almost missed his mouth. He didn't have time for anything else.

Dashing out the front door, he barely registered his mother's surprised call from the kitchen. His eyes landed on the family's old, rusty bicycle leaning against the wall. It was his only hope. He swung a leg over the squeaky frame and pushed off, pedaling furiously down the familiar streets towards Sungshine Haven, the cardigan flapping behind him like a panicked flag.

He skidded to a halt in front of the familiar gate, his chest heaving, lungs burning. And there he was.

Jisung was waiting right where he said he'd be, just outside the gate. He was pacing a small, anxious circle, constantly looking down at his phone, then scanning the street in both directions. The relief on his face when he finally spotted a disheveled, panting Hyunjin on a rickety bicycle was palpable.

His eyes went wide, and a huge, relieved smile instantly replaced his worried frown. He let out a long, audible sigh. "Phew!"

As Hyunjin stumbled off the bike, trying to catch his breath, Jisung wheeled closer, his expression a mix of amusement and genuine relief.

"Oh my god, you're here! I was so worried you'd changed your mind!" he said, his voice laced with a laugh. "I was about to send a search party!"

Hyunjin bent over, hands on his knees, still gasping for air. He looked up, a weak, embarrassed smile on his face. "I'm... huff... so sorry... puff... I overslept," he managed to get out between ragged breaths.

Jisung's smile was understanding and warm, completely dissolving any remaining anxiety Hyunjin felt about his late arrival.

"It's okay, it's okay!" he chimed, his voice cheerful. "You made it, that's all that matters."

With a practiced, smooth motion, he turned his wheelchair around, positioning it to lead the way. He glanced back over his shoulder at Hyunjin, his expression bright and inviting.

"Alright then," he said, nodding toward the path that led into Sungshine Haven.

"Let's go."

Chapter Text

Hyunjin quickly propped the old bicycle against the wall in a corner of the yard near the gate, fumbling with the rusty lock before securing it. He then hurried to catch up with Jisung, who was waiting patiently on the ramp.

Stepping into the grounds of Sungshine Haven felt like entering a different world from the one he’d seen in the summer rain. The air was crisp and carried the distinct, earthy scent of autumn. The once-vibrant green canopy was now a brilliant tapestry of gold, amber, and fiery red. The window boxes under the front windows, which had burst with marigolds, now held hardy chrysanthemums in deep bronze and burgundy.

The most striking change was the garden. The large ginkgo tree he’d subconsciously noted last time now stood as a magnificent giant of gold, its fan-shaped leaves creating a dazzling carpet on the grass below. Mixed in were the broad, crimson leaves of a maple tree, creating a stunning contrast against the grey of the building and the evergreen ivy that still clung to the walls. The place felt quieter, more introspective, but no less warm—a gentle, golden warmth instead of a vibrant, green one.

As he followed Jisung up the ramp, Hyunjin’s eyes scanned the layout. The property was modest but well-organized. He could easily identify three main sections: the central building with its large windows likely housed the main classroom and common area. A smaller, attached wing with a chimney probably contained the kitchen and dining space. And a separate, quieter wing at the back with curtains drawn seemed like the sleeping quarters. Further back, near the tree line, he spotted a small, discrete block he guessed housed the bathrooms and an outdoor washing area.

His visual tour was abruptly interrupted by a distinct feeling of being watched. He followed his instincts and looked toward the main door.

A small group of children was clustered there, peering out with open curiosity. His eyes instantly found Yongbok and Jeongin. A soft, automatic smile touched his lips and he raised a hand in a gentle wave. Yongbok’s whole face lit up, and he waved back with both hands, while Jeongin offered a shy, almost imperceptible nod, though his eyes remained fixed on Hyunjin.

His gaze then shifted to the two other boys flanking them. He recognized them immediately from Jisung's photos.

One was Chan. His hair was a soft, brownish-black, and he did indeed seem a bit older and more composed than the others. His cheeks were round and featured deep dimples when he offered a small, polite smile. His eyes curved into friendly slits as he saw Hyunjin's wave, and he responded not with a wave, but with a respectful, well-mannered little bow of his head. Hyunjin gave him a nod in return, acknowledging his quiet courtesy.

The other was undoubtedly Changbin. His jet-black hair had a slight, natural wave to it. His eyes, sharp and mischievous, held no trace of shyness. He wasn't just watching; he was assessing the new arrival with bold curiosity. When Hyunjin waved, Changbin didn't just wave back—he grinned, waved enthusiastically with one hand, and then, with a spark of pure impishness, threw in a deliberate, cheeky wink.

Hyunjin couldn't help it. A surprised, genuine laugh escaped him, the sound feeling foreign but light in the crisp autumn air. The tension in his shoulders eased. He was still nervous, but this... this felt like being greeted not by subjects of a job interview, but by a small, wonderfully strange welcoming committee.

Jisung wheeled his way through the main common area, giving the curious children a playful wink as he passed. Hyunjin followed closely, offering the group another small, hesitant wave before they turned and slipped past a thick, colorful curtain that sectioned off a small part of the room.

As Jisung pushed the curtain aside, Hyunjin found himself in what was clearly a makeshift office. It was small and simple, dominated not by paperwork but by the evidence of its purpose. Shelves were crammed with boxes of art supplies, educational toys, and well-worn picture books. A single, modest desk was tucked into a corner, its surface a organized chaos of lesson plans, colorful markers, and a half-finished cup of what smelled like cold coffee. The walls were adorned with finger-painted artwork and charts with basic sign language diagrams. It felt less like an office and more like the heart of Jisung's operation.

Hyunjin was so absorbed in taking in the details—the personal, slightly messy warmth of it all—that he jumped slightly when he felt a gentle pat on his arm.

"Hey," Jisung said, a playful grin on his face. "You zoning out on me already? That's not a great start for a first day."

Hyunjin flushed, snapping his attention back. "S-Sorry. I was just... looking."

"No problem," Jisung chuckled. "Okay, first order of business. Go on out there and get to know the kids."

Hyunjin blinked. "What? Right now?" A wave of panic washed over him. "I... I'm hired? Just like that? I thought... I thought there would be an interview. Don't you need to ask about my qualifications? Or my work experience?"

Jisung shook his head, his expression softening into something more sincere. "Nope. Don't need any of that. I don't care about papers," he said, his voice firm but kind. "I care about people."

A flicker of hope ignited in Hyunjin's chest, so bright it was almost painful.

"But," Jisung continued, his grin returning as he held up a finger.

"You're not officially hired yet." He tilted his head slightly, gesturing with his chin toward the curtain separating them from the main room.

"I still have to see how you do out there. That's your real interview. Now go on. Your audience is waiting."

Hyunjin gave a slow nod. He took a deep, steadying breath, then turned and pushed the curtain aside.

The warm light from the main room flooded in, along with the curious, waiting eyes of the children.

Hyunjin stepped out. The real interview had begun.

Chapter Text

Pushing the curtain aside, Hyunjin stepped back into the main room. For a brief moment, he stood alone, the weight of the children's silent, curious stares pressing down on him. Then, like a flock of small, curious birds, the four boys closed in, surrounding him in a loose circle. Yongbok grinned up at him, Jeongin watched with his deep, analytical gaze, Changbin looked ready for mischief, and Chan offered a small, polite smile.

A wave of nervousness washed over Hyunjin. He was acutely aware of their large, round eyes fixed on him, waiting. He swallowed, forcing a warm smile onto his face.

"Hello everyone," he began, his voice sounding a bit too formal even to his own ears.

"My name is Hyunjin. Starting today, I'll be Mr. Jisung's... teaching assistant."

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew something was wrong. The expectant looks were replaced by blank stares and slight head tilts. A wave of confusion passed through the small group. Yongbok's smile faltered slightly, replaced by a puzzled frown.

Oh no, Hyunjin thought, his heart sinking.

Did they not understand me? Was I talking too fast?

Panic set in. He realized his critical mistake: he had no idea how to sign any of those words. He was utterly reliant on speech, a tool that had just spectacularly failed him.

"Sorry," he said, consciously slowing his words down to a crawl and over-enunciating each syllable.

"My. Name. Is. Hyu-n-jin. I. Am. Ji-sung's. Teach-ing. As-sis-tant."

He pointed at himself, then in the direction of Jisung's office, hoping the gestures would help. The boys just continued to stare, the silence growing more awkward by the second. Hyunjin was just about to try introducing himself a third time, desperation creeping in, when Yongbok finally spoke up.

"Tea... chin... ass...?" the little boy tried, his speech slurred and struggling around the unfamiliar compound word.

"Wha' dat Chinnie?"

Hyunjin blinked, not quite catching the meaning. He leaned closer.

"Sorry, Bokie-ah, can you say that again?"

Seeing the communication breakdown, Chan, ever the helpful one, stepped in. He had seen Hyunjin's mouth form the strange new words and understood Yongbok's confusion. His own speech was clearer, though slightly flat in tone, as he addressed Hyunjin directly, rephrasing the intent of the question rather than the muddled words.

"You said you are a... something for Jisungie?" Chan asked, his eyes flicking between Hyunjin's mouth and his eyes to ensure he understood the answer. "What does that job mean?"

The realization hit Hyunjin like a lightning bolt. It wasn't that they couldn't understand him; it was that they didn't understand the word.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, a relieved laugh escaping him.

"You guys didn't understand my job, not my speaking?"

Changbin nodded his head so vigorously his curly black hair bounced. Jeongin, standing quietly beside him, gave a small, definitive nod of agreement, his serious eyes locked on Hyunjin.

The relief was so potent it made Hyunjin's knees feel weak. The communication barrier wasn't as insurmountable as he'd feared. They understood him. They just needed things explained in a way they could grasp. He smiled, a real, genuine smile this time.

"It means," he said, his voice much warmer and more natural now, "I'm here to help Jisung. And to help all of you." He made a vague gesture of helping, patting his own shoulder. "And to play." He added the sign for 'play' that he'd seen Jisung use, forming a 'Y' with his hands and wiggling them.

This time, the reaction was immediate. Understanding dawned on their faces, followed by bright smiles. The unfamiliar title was gone, replaced by simple, clear concepts they could understand.

The moment Hyunjin confirmed that "help" and "play" were his new job descriptions, the atmosphere shifted from confusion to pure, unfiltered joy.

Yongbok was the first to surge forward. His small hands latched onto Hyunjin's arm, his wide, hopeful eyes looking up. "So... Chinnie come here?" he asked, his words tumbling out in an excited, slightly slurry rush.

"Ery day? Pway with us?"

Hyunjin's heart clenched. He slowly lowered himself to sit on the floor, putting himself at their eye level. He nodded, offering a warm smile. "Yeah," he said, speaking clearly and slowly for them.

"I'll come here a lot."

The silent caveat—if Jisung decides to keep me—echoed in his mind, but he pushed it away, focusing on their happy faces.

The reaction was instantaneous and beautifully unique to each child: Yongbok let out a delighted squeal, releasing Hyunjin's arm to bounce up and down on his knees while clapping his hands together. At the same time, Jeongin's serious expression finally broke into a small but radiant smile that reached his eyes - though he didn't move, his entire posture softened with visible relief and happiness. Meanwhile, Chan beamed with his dimples popping deep as he gave a series of quick, happy nods, his hands flapping slightly by his sides in contained excitement.

Even as these reactions unfolded, Changbin's mischievous eyes lit up with a brilliant idea; he gasped, and then scrambled to his feet, darting across the room faster than Hyunjin could process what was happening.

He returned moments later, clutching the two paintings Hyunjin had given them. He carefully laid Jeongin's sky painting and Yongbok's sunflower field on the floor. Then, with intense concentration, he grabbed a piece of scrap paper and a marker, his tongue poking out between his lips as he began to write.

He thrust the paper at Hyunjin. The message was a chaotic scrawl of large, uneven letters, some backwards, with erratic spacing. Hyunjin squinted, turning the paper sideways, trying desperately to decipher the child's handwriting.

Yor HanSoM.. i LiKe.. yor pAitng.. a LoT.. buT i no haV.. i saD.. pLEase.. giV me.. onE?

Hyunjin stared, utterly lost. Seeing his struggle, Chan gently intervened.

"He says you are very handsome," Chan translated, his tone matter-of-fact.

"He likes your painting a lot. But he's sad because he doesn't have one. Yongbok and Jeongin told him you have many more at your house. He is asking if you can please give him one."

The pieces clicked into place. Jisung wasn't just being nice. The kids really did love his art. The validation, mixed with the utterly charming and blunt compliment, washed over him, warm and startling.

He looked at Changbin's hopeful, ink-smudged face and felt a genuine, wide smile spread across his own. He reached out and ruffled the boy's curly hair.

"Thank you for the... handsome compliment," he said, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and emotion. He then looked at the whole group, a playful glint in his eye.

"Do you guys have paper and crayons? Or markers?" Four pairs of eyes widened. Nods all around.

"I can draw one for you right now," Hyunjin said.

It was as if a starting pistol had been fired. In a blur of motion, all four boys—the usually shy Jeongin, the polite Chan, the excited Yongbok, and the eager Changbin—scrambled and shot off in different directions like little rockets, their mission to gather every art supply Sungshine Haven possessed.

The sight was so sudden, so unanimously enthusiastic, that Hyunjin couldn't help but throw his head back and laugh, the sound echoing warmly in the sunlit room.

Chapter Text

He was still chuckling as four boys returned, arms overflowing with a mountain of construction paper, markers, crayons, and colored pencils, dumping the entire colorful hoard triumphantly at his feet.

Hyunjin gathered a few large sheets of paper and a pencil. He wrote in clear, block letters on a piece of paper and held it up for them all to see: "What animal do you like? Tell me or write it down. Then, show me your favorite pose! Try to hold still for a little bit so I can draw you."

The instructions were met with immediate, earnest cooperation. Changbin didn't hesitate, immediately scrawling "BUNNY-PIG!" on a scrap of paper with dramatic flair before striking a pose: one hand on his hip, the other making a peace sign near his cheek while winking exaggeratedly. Even as Hyunjin blinked, utterly baffled by the requested hybrid creature but beginning to sketch the confident, cheeky boy, Yongbok beamed beside them. "Chicken!" he declared happily, his pronunciation soft but clear as he instantly brought his hands up to frame his smiling face, fingers splayed out like a sunburst in a perfect, joyful flower pose that Hyunjin quickly began capturing on paper. Meanwhile, Chan, ever the thoughtful one, neatly wrote "WOLF" on his paper before adopting a subtle but determined pose, holding up a firm, steady "V" for victory sign with a serious expression that couldn't conceal the excitement shining in his eyes - a contrast to Jeongin who simply pointed shyly at the fox on his original painting before freezing when his turn came, a slight panic in his eyes as he awkwardly raised a hand to scratch the side of his head in a gesture of such pure, unscripted hesitation that Hyunjin found utterly perfect, gently nodding to reassure the boy before beginning to draw him in his naturally shy state.

As he worked, Hyunjin would glance up between pencil strokes. Each time, he was met with a set of wide, incredibly patient and expectant eyes, each pair holding a universe of anticipation. The room, for once, was filled with a focused, quiet energy. The only sounds were the soft scratch of pencil on paper and the occasional rustle of a child trying their absolute hardest not to fidget.

When he finished each drawing—a chibi-style caricature of the child merged with their chosen animal—he presented it with a soft, "For you."

The results were magical. Each boy's eyes lit up as if they'd been given a treasure. Chan's mouth formed a silent "wow" as he traced the lines of his wolf. Yongbok giggled uncontrollably at his chicken-self. Changbin roared with laughter at his bunny-pig creation, striking his pose again to compare. Even Jeongin, who simply stared and stared at his fox drawing, had a tiny, profound smile that spoke volumes.

Watching their unbridled joy, a warmth spread through Hyunjin's own chest, so bright and fulfilling it momentarily eclipsed all his lingering doubts. He was happy because they were happy.

It was only then, in the peaceful aftermath of his artistic mission, that he finally looked up and truly took in the rest of the room. And that's when he saw them.

In two separate corners, away from the vibrant little circle, were two other boys. One was seated at a table, his nose almost touching a book, his fingers moving slowly over the raised dots of a braille page. He was utterly still, lost in his own world. The other was by the window, gently rocking back and forth while watching the leaves fall outside, completely detached from the cheerful chaos that had just unfolded.

The noise, the excitement, the distribution of art—none of it had seemed to touch them. They existed in a silent bubble of their own, and Hyunjin's heart gave a quiet, understanding ache. His work here, he realized, had only just begun.

After ensuring the four boys were happily engrossed in their new drawings, Hyunjin stood up. He quickly wrote on a piece of paper and held it up for them to see: "Stay here and play. I'll be right back." He gave them a reassuring smile before turning towards the quieter corners of the room.

His steps were soft and deliberate as he approached the boy in the right corner, who was intently reading a braille book. Hyunjin stopped a respectful distance in front of him. The boy, seemingly hearing the faint footsteps, paused his reading. He didn't open his eyes, but he tilted his head slightly in Hyunjin's direction, a subtle acknowledgment of his presence.

"You're a friend of Sungie's?" the boy asked, his voice quiet but clear, breaking the silence first.

Hyunjin was slightly taken aback but answered gently, "You could say that. My name is Hyunjin. I'm... helping here now." He knelt down to be at the boy's level. "What's your name?"

"Seungmin," the boy replied slowly, his head tilting as if gauging Hyunjin's presence.

Hyunjin hesitated, the offer to draw dying on his lips. It felt instinctively wrong. Instead, he said, "I know how to make origami. Would you like to make something together?"

Seungmin was silent for a moment, processing. "What is... origami?" he asked, curiosity coloring his tone.

"It's the art of folding paper," Hyunjin explained softly. "You can turn a flat piece of paper into shapes. Animals, objects... anything. Would you like to try? You can choose a shape."

Another pause, then Seungmin's expression shifted with a flicker of interest. "A yellow dog," he said, his decision firm.

"Okay. A yellow dog it is," Hyunjin said, his smile audible in his voice. He found a sheet of yellow paper and sat down nearby. As he began to fold, he provided a quiet, steady commentary. "I'm starting with a square. Now I'm folding the corner to the opposite side... making a triangle. Now I'm folding the ears... one, then the other."

Seungmin listened, his head slightly cocked, following the sounds of the paper rustling and Hyunjin's calm narration.

When the final crease was made, Hyunjin gently said, "Hold out your hands, Seungmin-ah." He carefully placed the finished origami dog into the boy's open palms.

Seungmin's fingers immediately came to life, tracing every edge and crease with a delicate, practiced precision. He explored the pointed ears, the sharp nose, the four legs, and the folded tail. A small frown of concentration appeared on his face.

"Do real dogs... feel like this?" he asked, his voice full of a genuine, thoughtful curiosity.

Hyunjin's heart ached with a sudden, profound understanding. "Their shape is similar," he said gently, his own voice thick with an emotion he hadn't expected. "They have a head, ears, a tail, and four legs. But a real dog is soft, and warm, and wags its tail."

The idea sparked in his mind instantly, vividly. I could get a dog. For him. For this place. He should know what one truly feels like.

After a long moment of silent exploration, Seungmin's fingers stilled around the paper dog. His voice was barely a whisper. "Thank you... Thank you, Sungie's friend."

The title, a reminder that he was still an outsider, sent a small, sharp pang through Hyunjin's chest. His smile was a little sad, a little strained. It's okay, he told himself. He's just cautious. This is enough for a first meeting. Being "Sungie's friend" was a start. It was a title he would work hard to deserve, and hopefully, one day, replace with his own name.

Chapter Text

Leaving Seungmin with the delicate paper dog cradled in his hands, Hyunjin felt a small, hard-won sense of accomplishment. He took a steadying breath, his gaze shifting across the room to the final, most isolated figure.

The boy stood by the large window in the far left corner, perfectly still, his back to the lively chaos of the room. He was bathed in the soft, greyish light of the autumn day. His hair was a unique shade of brownish-black with subtle, dark red undertones, like mahogany. His profile revealed large, feline-like eyes, fixed on something outside, but his face was a complete blank slate, devoid of any discernible emotion. He seemed to exist in a bubble of absolute silence, a world away from everyone else.

Hyunjin approached with the caution one would use near a skittish wild animal. He stopped a considerable distance away, far enough not to intrude, but close enough to be noticed—if the boy chose to notice. He didn't. There was no flicker of recognition, no shift in posture. He simply continued his silent vigil, watching the leaves fall.

"Uh... hello?" Hyunjin's voice was soft, almost a whisper, feeling immediately awkward and too loud in the quiet space between them.

There was no response. Not even a twitch.

"My name is Hyunjin. I'm... I'm going to be helping out here with Jisung." He tried again, his introduction hanging lamely in the air before dissolving into nothing.

The boy gave no indication that he had heard a single word. He didn't turn, didn't blink, didn't acknowledge Hyunjin's existence in any way. He was completely, utterly absorbed in the world beyond the glass.

Hyunjin stood there, rooted to the spot, feeling a profound sense of helplessness. What was the right thing to do? Should he try again? Should he move closer? Every instinct told him that moving closer would be a violation. The silence stretched, becoming heavy and uncomfortable. He searched for something, anything, else to say, but his mind was completely blank.

He must have stood there for a full minute, a lifetime in the awkwardness of a one-sided interaction. Just as he was about to give up, he saw it: the faintest, most subtle tightening of the boy's brow. A tiny, almost imperceptible frown. It wasn't directed at Hyunjin, but it was a reaction. A reaction to the disruption of his peace, to the unwanted sound in his sanctuary.

That was the only answer Hyunjin would get. The message was clear: You are an intrusion. Please leave.

His shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. He had faced rejection before, but this silent, absolute dismissal was a different kind of sting. "Okay," he whispered, more to himself than to the boy. "Sorry for bothering you."

He took a slow step back, then another, finally turning away to leave the boy to his leaves and his silence. The math of the morning settled heavily upon him. He had forged a genuine bond with four of them, seen tentative curiosity from a fifth, but this sixth one, with the mahogany hair and cat-like eyes, remained an impenetrable fortress. And Hyunjin, for all his effort, had not even found a way to approach the walls, let alone locate the gate.

A gentle touch on his elbow made him start. He turned to find Jisung beside him, his wheelchair positioned silently nearby. How long had he been watching? Jisung didn't say anything, just offered a small, understanding smile and gave Hyunjin's arm a reassuring squeeze. Hyunjin tried to return the smile, but it felt weak and strained on his face.

As they moved towards the gate, Jisung broke the comfortable silence. "Hey," he began, his voice soft. "About those two... Seungmin, he's just... cautious. It takes him a while to warm up to new people, but he's a sweet kid once he trusts you. And the boy in the window, his name is Minho..." Jisung sighed softly.

"Minho is autistic. It's... different with him. The world is a lot for him to process. The fact that you didn't push him and just backed off? That was perfect. Seriously. I've had people before who tried to force it, and it only made everything worse. You did good."

Hyunjin nodded, absorbing the information. "It's okay," he said, his voice firmer now with resolve. "With kids like them, you need patience. I can do that."

Jisung listened, a slow, approving smile spreading across his face. He gave a small shrug, his tone shifting to something lighter. "Exactly. Skills can be taught, but the right heart? That's rare. You've already got the most important part."

He then stopped walking and looked directly at Jisung, a nervous hope flickering in his eyes. "So... does this mean I'm hired?""

Jisung let out a soft laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, you're hired." He then rubbed the back of his neck, a slightly awkward gesture. "So, about the salary... it's, uh, 1.4 million won a month. I know it's still not great for a full-time job, and this place runs on a tight budget. But it's weekdays from morning until the evening. You can eat all your meals here with the kids—please do, actually, it helps a lot. Is that... workable for you? You can think about it."

The number hung in the air between them. 1.4 million won. It was still far from generous, but more manageable than he'd expected. A silent, rapid calculation flashed in Hyunjin's mind: the stifling heat of the kitchen, the smell of oil and tteokbokki that clung to his clothes, the weight of his parents' silent worry. Was this his future? Flipping pancakes forever in his parents' tiny shop?

Then his eyes drifted past Jisung, back into the sunlit room where the boys were still admiring their drawings. He thought of Yongbok's radiant smile, Jeongin's shy nod, the feel of the origami dog in Seungmin's hands. This wasn't just a job. It was a chance to breathe, to create, to be needed for something more than just his ability to knead dough.

It was a risk. Still a pay cut, but a leap he was willing to take for the unknown.

He took a deep breath, the scent of old books and crayons replacing the phantom smell of cooking oil in his memory.

"Okay," he said, his voice quieter now, laced with determination rather than excitement. It was a conscious choice. "I'll do it. I need to... try something new."

In a gesture that felt more like sealing a pact than a celebration, he reached out and grabbed Jisung's hand, giving it a firm shake. "Thank you for the opportunity."

"Right! Yeah, get home safe," Jisung said, recovering his composure.

"Tomorrow's Sunday, so it's the weekend. Take a rest. Your first official day is next Monday."

He gave a final, warm wave as Hyunjin all but fled towards the gate, his heart pounding for an entirely new set of reasons.