HAPPY KAISOO DAY EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

yes, the greatest day of the year has arrived, where we celebrate the greatest ship of all time kaisoo. GLORIOUS GLORIOUS KAISOO

I HOPE EVERYONE IS HAVING FUN CELEBRATING AND READING LOTS OF FIC AND EATING LOTS OF KIMCHI SPAGHETTI AND WATCHING PORORO AND DOING ALL OF THOSE KAISOO THINGS

im currently revising and trying not to up exams for the nth time buT IM STILL HAVING FUN BEAUSE ITS KAISOOOOOOOOO DAYYY 

also day 2 of my three days of kaisoo fic extravanganza, links are in the forward if yo uwanna read the other 2 winkY PROMMOOOOOO 

ill let ya read now because i ramble too much i know and i need to woRK i have an exam first thing tomorrow morning and i started revising at like 2pm today oOOPS 

anyways, keep it cool, keep it kaisoo fam, i love you muchly

much love, 

TEAAAA<333333

(lil side note this is based on lal of those posts you see on twitter like 'imagine ksoos son finding a box of old photos in the attic etc') 

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh my God, Dad you’re so embarrassing.” Do Taehyun is 15 years old, draped in check and leather, and he is wholeheartedly embarrassed by everything his father does. 

 

What his father doesn’t realise is that Taehyun will soon be the leader of the greatest emo/punk rock band the world has ever seen, and his dad is severely limiting his cool status. He folds his arms stubbornly. 

 

Kyungsoo lowers the chunky camera held to his face and pouts. “I just want a picture of my baby boy, is that too much to ask?” 

 

“Er, yes.” Taehyun hisses, pushing his dad away from the fountain that he’s currently being made to pose in front of. “I don’t care if the water will ‘reflect the light beautifully’, I’m not standing here like a loon all day while you get all stressed about your angles. And don’t call me that in public.” He glances around furtively; loads of his school friends hang out round here and he cannot afford to be seen with his boring old dad posing like and idol. 

 

Kyungsoo acquiesces, but looks at his son with a hint of sass in his eyes. “Sweetie, I’m a photographer. An award winning photographer. My work has been exhibited all across the globe. People would die to have their photograph taken by me.” He grumbles, slinging an arm around his son’s shoulder which is quickly shrugged off. 

 

“You’re embarrassing me again. And I don’t care. I’m not a model, nor do I want to be thank you very much. I don’t want my picture taking, and when did you get so cocky?” Taehyun huffs, marching off in the vague direction of home, his vintage Converse stomping against the pavement. He didn’t want to come on this stupid shopping trip anyway, and he especially didn’t want his dad to start photographing him in public. 

 

“And when did you get so insolent?” Kyungsoo shoots back, catching up with his son with swift easy strides. He’s not outgrown him (yet). 

 

“I’m not insolent. It’s called being indifferent. It’s cool, dad. Something you wouldn't understand. I’ll need it in the future when I’m lead singer of Death Heart.” 

 

“D-death Heart?” Kyungsoo chokes on air. “Is this the band’s newest name?” Kyungsoo knows all about his son’s ambitions, and his band has changed members and names so many times he has a difficult time keeping up. 

 

“Yes. Uncle Chanyeol suggested it. He’s going to start teaching me the guitar too, when my exams are over.” 

 

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “Oh, God.” 

 

“Ugh, Dad!” Taehyun strops. “Uncle Chanyeol is cool, unlike you!” 

 

“I have photographic evidence that proves Uncle Chanyeol is definitely not cool. At all.” 

 

“He so is. He plays the guitar, and the drums, and he was in a band too! He understands me!” 

 

Kyungsoo laughs and rolls his eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Whatever you say. But, may I just enquire, who’s original plaid shirt is— currently tied around your waist— is that?” 

 

“It’s yours.” Taehyun drones. 

 

“Yes,” Kyungsoo sings sweetly. “And if you’re nice to me, who is going to let you into the attic to look through all of my old CDs?” 

 

“You are.” 

 

“Precisely.” Kyungsoo hums. CDs are very fashionable these days, Kyungsoo has learnt from his son. All the kids are flooding into the old music shops to buy them, hoping to get a taste of the past.  Taehyun is convinced that a clutch of his father’s old disks will bring him the cool status that he so desperately desires (and it means he won’t have to spend his pocket money). “So you’d better start being nice to me.” 

 

Taehyun immediately quietens down , his head hanging low as his dark fringe flops down into his eyes. “Sorry, dad.” 

 

“You need a haircut too.” 

 

Taehyun looks seconds from passing out in horror. His dad is so not cool. 

 

They finish the rest of their trip home in stony silence, with Kyungsoo tottering along happily, stopping every now and then to snap photographs of blooming flowers and sun streaked streets.

 

Taehyun walks beside him entirely expressionless. This is so embarrassing. 

 

His sour mood is quickly forgotten when they reach home, a pretty whitewashed town house with rows of pansies planted out front. Taehyun bursts through the front door and sprints up the stairs, his feet pounding agains the floorboards. “DAD! Come and open the attic!” 

 

“What’s the magic word?” Kyungsoo trills as he kicks his shoes off and drops his shopping bag in the hallway. 

 

“Please!?” 

 

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes at his son yet again (its a wonder they haven't popped out of their sockets by now) and picks the key to the attic off the rack. He begins trudging up the stairs. 

 

There were times when he could have run up these stairs just like Taehyun, but he’s an old man now (ok, he’s only in his mid forties) and his knees creak as he takes each step. 

 

“You’re so slow dad.” 

 

“I’m old. Ailing. Advanced in years. Have patience.” Kyungsoo commands, taking a few heavy puffs of breath as he reaches the top of the stairs. Yep he really isn't as fit as he used to be. 

 

“You have grey hair too.” His son reminds him helpfully. 

 

“I have a small streak of grey hair, yes.” Kyungsoo reaches up to past the few strands at the front of his messily styled hair. As he steps up onto an unbalanced stool, he makes mental note to count just how many strands have changed from their original midnight black— he doesn’t want to start reaching for the hair dye earlier than necessary. 

 

The attic lock is a little stiff, but with enough twisting and turning it comes loose and Kyungsoo coughs as the rickety wooden ladder drops down in a puff of dust. “Up you go.” He gestures to Taehyun, who starts scrambling up with ease. “Give me a shout if you need anything.” 

 

He would follow his son up there but his knees really aren’t feeling up to it. 

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Comes Taehyun’s disinterested reply, and Kyungsoo can already hear the familiar sound of nimble fingers flicking through CD cases. 

 

In the end its about forty minutes until Taehyun shouts for his father’s attention. 

 

Kyungsoo drops the pair of socks he’s folding together and appears at the bottom of the ladder, fully expecting Taehyun to have done something idiotic like getting stuck up there. 

 

His son’s head peeks out through the opening. “Come up here a minute, I wanna ask you something.” 

 

Kyungsoo wordlessly heads up to his son, cringing a little as the ladder wobbles beneath him. He isn’t as light as he used to be either. “What is it?” 

 

Taehyun is crouched at the far end of the attic with light streaming in from the skylight above him. Without thinking, Kyungsoo immediately reaches for the camera permanently strung around his neck and snaps a quick picture. 

 

The shutter sound alerts Taehyun to his father’s arrival and he rolls his eyes. “Stop doing that.” He moans. 

 

Kyungsoo strolls his way over and sits down next to his son, a little confused as to what has piqued his curiosity. The attic is mostly full of junk; not the sorts of things that would normally entertain a 15 year old boy. 

 

Taehyun is looking down at a spread of photographs laid out in front of him. A fraying, brown leather box is open to one side; the photos’ usual home. “I hope you don’t mind me looking in your old photo box,” he suddenly looks sheepish, “but I was just wondering… who’s… this.” His thin fingers brandish a crinkled photograph. 

 

Kyungsoo looks at the picture. “Ah.” He says. 

 

Taehyun looks worried. “I’m sorry if this is a difficult subject but it’s just… this guy he’s… he’s everywhere. There’s hundreds of pictures of him. You only do that when you're really fascinated by someone… if you're in love with them. He… he was special to you.” 

 

The picture Taehyun holds aloft is of a young man, about 20 years old. He’s partly hidden behind a white curtain, his own white jumper blending into the scene. He smiles coyly at the camera, face partly hidden, and his caramel skin contrasts in the early morning sunlight. 

 

“Do you want me to tell you the story?” Kyungsoo says, looking at his son searchingly. 

 

“Y-yeah.” Taehyun murmurs. He wants to know who this man is… clearly such an important part of his father’s youth. He wants to know, and feels slightly put out that he didn’t know there was someone like this in his dad’s past beforehand. Taehyun always tells him about his secret crushes anyway. 

 

“I met him when we were sixteen.” 

 

Taehyun’s jaw drops. “So he was your first love.” He sounds aghast, turning his eyes back to the man smiling out of the page. 

 

“Yeah.” Kyungsoo sighs nostalgically. “He moved into the house next door to us. Our bedroom window were right opposite, and we used to spend out nighttimes sitting on our window sills talking to each other. The first time I ever spoke to him was when I caught him dancing through his bedroom window. It was ‘I love you’ by S.E.S if I remember rightly.” Kyungsoo laughs. 

 

“I stayed watching him for ages, and eventually he looked up and caught my eye. He turned as red as a rose and looked like he’d just seen a ghost. That’s when this photo was taken.” Kyungsoo gestures to a picture bon the floor of a boy in a blue shirt, his mouth rounded into a small ‘o’ with pink tinging his cheeks. “I had to talk to him then, didn’t I? So I did. I leaned right out of my window and then asked his name and what he wanted to do when he was older. That was always my opening gambit. He said he wanted to dance, but didn’t think he’d ever be good enough to dance as a career. I told him I thought he would be, and I told him that every time we spoke, actually.” 

 

Kyungsoo’s eyes rapidly turn wistful. “I asked him to date me when we were by the river one day.” He picks up an image of the boy with a daisy chain in his hair. “I made him a crown and told him he was my prince. I made him promise he’d stay with me forever or I’d turn into a frog.” 

 

Taehyun snorts and some of the expectant atmosphere is momentarily broken. “You’re so cheesy.” 

 

“That was the first time we kissed as well. Both of our first kisses with anyone, in fact. He promised he wouldn’t leave me, ever, and I believed him. It felt right.” 

 

Taehyun’s eyebrows raise. “Go on.” He urges in a hushed whisper. 

 

“So we moved in together. We went to university. I did photography, he danced. We lived in this tiny little apartment with bare walls that was freezing in winter but it was ok because we’d cuddle up when we couldn’t afford the heating bills and we had each other so everything was fine.” 

 

“Oh my god he isn’t wearing clothes!” Taehyun shrieks all of a sudden, picking up another sepia tinted photo of the boy lying asleep shirtless with his hair mussed against his forehead. 

 

“He’s covered by a sheet, Taehyun. I did classy, not . That was… the first night we made love.” 

 

Taehyun visibly cringes. “Please don’t use that phrase, ugh. And that’s kind of creepy that you just slept with the guy and took a picture of him.” 

 

“it’s called love and appreciation for artwork, Taehyun.” Kyungsoo corrects a little haughtily. “That was the moment the floodgates opened for me— when I started taking pictures every time I could. These are pictures from visits to the beach, visits to museums, art galleries, everywhere I went I had to have a picture of him. I had to have proof that this man was mine. My caramel boy, I used to call him.” 

 

“You had a dog?” Taehyun says, producing a picture of the boy again at the beach, hugging a greying mongrel in his arms. 

 

Kyungsoo smiles. “That’s Monty. Lord Montague Jefferson the third. He was his family pet. A tearaway if ever you met one, and very much a free spirit, much like his owner. When we could we’d bring him to the beach with us too. He used to love the sea.” 

 

“Oh! That one was his first stage show.” Kyungsoo says indicating a picture of the boy, now looking more of a man, standing in a spotlight holding a bouquet. “That was the bouquet I threw for him. Pansies were his favourite flowers and I picked them myself. I got chased by a few old ladies for stealing from their gardens but, love eh?” 

 

“You’re such an emotional artiste it’s embarrassing.” Taehyun interjects. 

 

“It’s in my job description.” Kyungsoo sighs before getting back to his story. “I took that picture and then ran onstage and threw my arms around him and kissed him straight on the lips. We were a little controversial to say the least, but love is love and as far as we were concerned everyone else just had to deal with it. We were different but we were happy with each other and isn’t that what love’s made for? Being crazy and random and spur of the moment but at the same time the most thoroughly grounding experience. I’d rather be controversial than dull, and your heart is never wrong.” 

 

Taehyun pulls out another picture, this time of the boy in silhouette over Paris. “Ah, that one won me my first international photography recognition. We were 24. I was fairly famous in Korea by that point but no one in the wider community recognised my work. The picture, oddly enough, was taken after my first international defeat. I’d applied to a competition in Paris and I got nothing. In fact, a lot of my photographs were heavily criticised. I was heartbroken, cried all the way back to the hotel in the taxi but then realised that I had him. I had warm arms to hold me up, soft palms to dry my tears and I had love. I didn’t need the recognition of a bunch of crusty old men. I had my caramel boy, my muse, and I had happiness. So on a spur of the moment I took this picture on our balcony. As a thank you of sorts, I suppose. A thank you for being there and for loving me even if I was this failing photographer with no stable income and a tendency to have artistic, dramatic crying fits.” 

 

“I reapplied the next year with that shot and that was what really set the ball rolling. The jobs didn’t stop coming in after that.” Kyungsoo huffs out a soft laugh. “I can’t describe how amazing that feels, to see your passion becoming a reality. Me, a witless photographer, and my dancing bear by my side, conquering the world.” 

 

Taehyun is quiet, giving his father a minute. He looks like he might cry, nostalgic tears filling up his eyes. He must have been so very in love. 

 

Kyungsoo looks up at the skylight and sniffs, smiling. “Why am I getting so emotional? I thought I’d left this crying jag behind me in my 20s.” He chuckles.

 

“Dad,” Taehyun starts, “What happened to you two? Where did the story go next? What happened to him, where did he go? You can’t just leave me there.” He pleads. 

 

Kyungsoo looks at his son with deep fondness. Those eyes, his eyes, look back at him in desperation. He presses his lips together tightly before a tiny, affectionate smile creeps onto his face. He sighs. “Come on,” he tilts his head towards the door. “I’ll show you.” 

 

Taehyun frowns curiously, but gets up and follows his father. At first he assumes he’s going to be shown more photographs but no, they’re heading down the ladder, down the staircase and into their living room. Taehyun slides his socked feet across the bare wooden floors until his father pulls him to a halt just before the join between the living room and the kitchen. 

 

Taehyun’s other dad, his papa, Jongin, stands in the kitchen at the breakfast bar in a pink sweater. The jumper is pushed to his elbows as his hands are covered in the sticky cookie dough he’s trying to mix, and there’s a small smile on his face as he hums along to a new poppy girl group tune on the radio. 

 

Taehyun isn't quite sure what he’s supposed to be looking at yet, but then his father drops a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“About three months after that photograph was taken, the boy was accepted into Korea’s National Ballet. By the following year, he’d worked his way to primo ballerino. I was still taking photos of him, every chance I could, but there were always other photographers in my way now, for newspapers and magazines and the like. I had to settle for seeing his face instead and tracing his features with my hands at night. I won more awards, he won more awards and we could finally afford to move out of that damn freezing flat. We moved into a little townhouse in the nice part of the city, and in our garden I planted posies because they’re his favourite flowers. I had to replant them a couple of times actually, because they kept dying on me before I could master the art of posy maintenance.” 

 

Kyungsoo stifles a giggle as Taehyun still looks a little bit lost, glancing around the room and trying to spot something to prompt him. 

 

“On our one year anniversary of moving into the little townhouse, I got down on one knee and told him to make that promise he’d made me 9 years ago official. The promise that he’d never leave me. He said yes, and about a 6 months later we were married in a tiny little church where my parents too had been married. He ended up holding the post of primo ballerino for about six years, but then he retired to start a family with me. Just under a year after that, a tiny little baby was born and we named him Do Taehyun. A couple of years later, a little sister in the form of Do Eunha followed and so began the happiest years of my life.” 

 

“Wait a minute you mean—“ 

 

“If you're asking what he does now, well, he runs a bakery. Sometimes he goes into ballet schools and encourages everyone to dance. Right this very second, in fact, he’s standing in this kitchen making a right mess of himself while making cookie dough. He’s older, he’s got a few more wrinkles and he hasn’t got the six pack he used to, but he’s still just as breathtakingly beautiful as the first day I saw him. My caramel boy, my dancing bear, the love of my life, is none other than your father Kim Jongin.” Kyungsoo whispers as he squeezes his son's shoulders softly. 

 

Kyungsoo reminds himself not to get emotional again as he steps round his son and walks towards his husband. “You look beautiful today, honey.” He says soothingly, brushing Jongin’s fringe out of his eyes. 

 

Jongin grins lopsidedly. “I’ve been waiting for you to come downstairs since you got in from that shopping trip. I didn’t get my kiss.” 

 

“I was just telling our son a story. Our story, as a matter of fact.” Kyungsoo grins indulgently and slides a palm across Jongin’s stomach and round his back, pulling him in to connect their lips softly. 

 

The couple peer at their son in confusion when the kiss doesn’t provoke some sort of reaction. Usually by now there’d be shrieks of ‘Gross! Old men shouldn’t kiss!” from either Taehyun or his sister, but the room is silent. 

 

Taehyun stands wordlessly, looking close to tears himself. “Y-you mean… Papa’s… the boy? You’ve been in love all that time?” 

 

Jongin nuzzles into his husband’s hair. “Yeah. We have.” 

 

“T-that’s beautiful.” Taehyun says before a tiny tear slips down his cheek. 

 

Jongin giggles, leaning into Kyungsoo’s side. “I think we broke him.” 

 

Kyungsoo laughs. “Mission accomplished.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She’s dancing. The girl. 

 

Taehyun, now sixteen years of age, thanks she’s waiting for her friends, but she’s got her headphones in so she wouldn’t hear him if he asked. 

 

She’s beautiful, noticeably so. 

 

Chocolate skin and wild blacks curls. They fan out from her head and bounce in a gentle rhythm as she bops her head and the wind tugs at the twists. 

 

She’s a good dancer, Taehyun notices. 

 

He can’t hear the music but he can feel her passion from the few paces away he stands. 

 

He doesn’t think she knows he’s there. So he watches her dance. 

 

The cherry blossoms fall and in three, two, one… the girl looks up. 

 

She spots Taehyun and freezes. Her cheeks colour, opens and like some crazy twist of fate Taehyun reaches for his camera— the camera gifted to him by his fathers at his last birthday. 

 

He snaps a picture. 

 

Love is meant to be controversial. It’s in its nature to break down walls between gender, race and class. 

 

Your heart is never wrong. 

 

So Taehyun smiles at his chocolate girl. His dancing angel. He takes two paces towards her. “Hi. I’m Do Taehyun. What’s your name and what do you want to do when you’re older?” 

 

 

Chocolate girl smiles. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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p.s lol i cried writing this im so emosh

also v unedited plz dnt hate me