September in Seoul smells like smoke and salt, like sticky taffy and the faraway seaside. Although the evenings have turned cooler and the days have started fading faster, the leaves on the trees still stay a stubborn vibrant green and the afternoons are consistently warm, urging people to spill out onto the streets to frolic in the remaining daylight. The seasonal extension is good for business, and Itaewon often pulses with the collective pounding of feet and raucous laughter, punctuated by a late-summer hit about jumping and hopping so we’re JOPPING. The fine dust levels around Seoul are at an all-time low, the news says, and encourages the crowd revelry.

At the Wolf and Rabbit café, locals and tourists alike mill in and about, crowing about the lovely weather, the gorgeous plants, and the shifting breeze as they sip their in-house iced Americanos and chew on just-baked cranberry-cheese-walnut bread. They speak with the cadence of chirping birds amongst the clinking of silverware against porcelain. Summer was nice but autumn is coming, and soon they’ll be in the thick of it and they absolutely can’t wait because it’ll be so beautiful.

(Halloween tinsel. Yumi points to trees glistening gold and scarlet under the fading light as they drive past UCLA. Isn’t it pretty?)

In the kitchen, Eric’s attention lapses for a second and he slices his palm open when the knife he’s using to pry loose the top of a can of condensed milk slips.

There is nothing beautiful about the anticipation of impending death.

“!” Minwoo yells from behind him as the blood drips from past his wrist and onto the chopping block. It’s like a Kubrick movie, but with actual pain. “Eric!”

There’s a ripping sound and it’s from one of the muslin cloths they have lying around for the fresh mozzarella. Minwoo presses it onto Eric’s palm to stem the blood, then hauls him over to the sink to run his hand under warm water.

“It’s fine,” Eric says, slightly shocked from the incident. He hasn’t cut himself in the kitchen in at least a decade. There’s a rummaging behind him as Minwoo searches for a first-aid kit. He returns with a handful of creams and ointments and the look of unbridled fear in his eyes.

“Do you need to go to the hospital? Do you need a tetanus shot?” he asks, peering at the gash on Eric’s palm. The bleeding has mostly stopped and the wound isn’t that deep but it stings like a motherer.

“It was the knife, not the can. I’ll survive.” Eric says. He winces as Minwoo sprays antiseptic on it. “Believe me, I’ve had worse.”

“This looks absolutely ing terrible and now you’re telling me you’ve had worse? Shut the up.”

“What do you think happens in restaurants? You think we cut stuff with plastic knives?”

“Whatever.” Minwoo looks slightly sickened as he watches Eric cover up the wound with a large plaster. “You sure you won’t die?”

“Positive.”

“Clean that off the chopping block and start getting ready to pick up Andy. It’s nearly 4pm. I’ll handle the additional orders coming in and get ready to wrap up.”

Minwoo is the only reason Eric even considered moving to Seoul. They met one summer when Eric was thirteen and Minwoo had decided to study in the US for a while, just because he could. The youngest son of a chaebol family entails him having enough freedom and money to do what he likes, as long as it isn’t against the law. They graduated side-by-side and Minwoo’s parents were so grateful to Eric being friends with him that they gifted him a brand-new car. (His parents were horrified, but they didn’t make him take it back).

Sixteen years later, when Eric received the call from him days after the Worst Day of His Life, inviting him out to Seoul if he wanted for a break, Eric went one step ahead and asked him if it would be possible that he and Andy could fly out of California and never return, if Minwoo knew a place which could get him a job, an apartment, a good school for his son, because he can’t stay here, I feel like I’m going to die myself.

Minwoo always said yes.

And now here they are.

“Eric.” A finger pokes his shoulder. “You good? I have three sweet potato lattes I have to make so get going already.” Minwoo helps tug Eric’s work apron off. “Hopefully no one orders any of your complicated while you’re gone.”

He practically pushes Eric out the door. The only direction Minwoo knows to go is forward, like a high-speed runaway car with no brakes. He claims Eric’s re-entry in his life is the kick-start he needed to finally open up the café he’s wanted to set up for years, but the only thing he’s accomplished is going through endless barista and coffee-connoisseur classes, ultimately falling short on any other skills in the kitchen. Eric doesn’t know if any of it is true but it served as the perfect chance to start over; he sold the house in Berkeley and with the money paid for half the initial investment for the café, even though Minwoo insisted he didn’t have to. Now they co-own and run The Wolf and Rabbit in Hannam-dong and are enjoying its relative success, despite it having only been open for two weeks. Even Minwoo’s hard-to-please father was impressed.

Despite the cards they were dealt with earlier in the year, the move to Seoul has been with very few complications, either due to luck or Minwoo secretly pulling strings behind his back to make things easier. Whatever the reason, he remains immensely grateful, but apart from the little world Eric has created between the café, Minwoo, and his home with his son, he wants very little to do with anything else. Reality thankfully keeps him busy enough.

“Daddy!”

For the moment, reality is a six-year-old throwing his full weight against his legs with the excitement of an overexuberant puppy, nearly knocking him over.

“Hey, baby boy,” Eric smiles genuinely for the first time in hours. He releases a breath he feels he’s held in since Andy let go of his hand that morning, and his ribs sigh loose. “Ready to go?”

“Yep!”

He picks up his son and embraces him, inhaling his scent of strawberry erasers and fresh out-of-the-box crayons. His boy is getting bigger; it won’t be long before Eric will no longer be able to carry him with one arm, if at all. He still remembers when Yumi was pregnant with Andy, and how she used to say she always felt him kicking. In his arms now, Andy is kicking his feet excitedly, the ends of his sneakers hitting Eric’s thighs.

“Daddy, can Junjin come home with us?”

Junjin?

“Me!” a voice exclaims, and it’s there that he notices the boy Andy had been accompanied by as he blasted out of the school gates. This boy is slightly taller and bigger than his son, with styled hair and untucked shirttails peeking out from underneath the maroon sweater vest that comprises the upper half of their uniform. He does a small bow while clutching a ninja star made out of folded notebook paper between his fingers. “Hello, Andy’s Daddy.”

Junjin. The boy from Andy’s story two days ago. His son’s friend. Despite the deep sense of devastation constantly gnawing himself raw, Eric smiles.

“Hello,” he greets back, bowing his head slightly. He switches to Korean to ask him how he is, but Andy clamps a small sweaty palm over his mouth.

“Nooo!” Andy whines. “No Korean! My head hurts too much already.”

Eric wriggles free, nearly suffocated by his son’s overly warm hand. The other boy giggles.

“You don’t understand Korean?” Junjin asks Andy in English, his tone amused.

“I do so. Mama taught me,” Andy says, frowning. “But I can’t speak it good.”

(Mama, Andy is crying. Daddy you said Mama was only sick, why isn’t she coming home anymore?)

Eric’s knees feel weak but he forces himself to lock them in place, aware of his son’s precious weight in his arms.

“I like the apple crackers you made.” Junjin’s voice reels him back. He speaks English easily and naturally, which surprises Eric a bit. When he speaks, his mouth twists into exaggerated shapes as though he’s tasting the words before they fly from his lips. His cheeks tinge pink from effort in the cooling afternoon air. “They’re deeelicious.”

“They’re not crackers, they’re tarte tartin,” Andy code-switches from English to French in a way that’s almost haughty, but Junjin shrugs good-naturedly, obviously unaffected by the correction. Andy wraps his arms around Eric’s neck and squeezes.

“We’re hungry, Daddy. Can we go? Please? Can Junjin come? Please?”

Eric’s stomach churns at the thought. “Andy. I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. His daddy might come to pick him up and look for him…”

Junjin interrupts him, shaking his head. “My daddy won’t. He’s busy. My uncle will pick me up. But he’s gonna be late.” He stands a bit straighter as though to make himself look bigger. “I’m allowed to go out but only to nearby places. I know how to take the train but Daddy doesn’t want me to unless it’s with Uncle Dongwan.”

Andy’s head whips around so fast, he nearly hits Eric’s nose. “My Daddy owns a café! It’s near!”

“It’s not just mine,” Eric chides gently. Credit-taking was never an issue when he was just a pastry chef, even in New York and San Francisco’s fanciest restaurants, so any attention directed to him for the café unsettles him. He prefers invisibility. “It’s mostly Uncle Minwoo’s. He’s letting me help him with it, is all.”

“But you make yummy things in it and we’re hungry.”

Eric can literally hear Andy’s stomach growling against his chest and he caves. When he asks Junjin if he can call either his father or his uncle for permission for him to come with them, the boy looks at him as though he hung all the stars in the sky. He s a smartphone in Eric’s face before Eric can even ask. The name Dongwan Samcheon is already flashing on the screen.

“My uncle. My daddy’s busy right now and won’t like it if I call unless it’s a ‘mergency.”

The call connects faster than he expects, and Eric spends a terse minute trying to introduce himself in his accented Korean to a man he’s never met before. On the other end of the line, Dongwan is understandably surprised and asks to speak to Junjin first before engaging Eric in any further conversation. With Junjin on the line, the conversation comes out smoother.

“He’s my friend’s daddy. From America. Yeah. Yeah. They said it’s a café. We’re just gonna eat. Yes.” Junjin looks up at Eric, switching quickly to English from the Korean he was using to speak to Dongwan. “Mr. Andy’s daddy, what’s it called?” Eric tells him the name of the café as well as the address, and Junjin relays it. “The Wolf and Rabbit. Hangangjin station. Uh-huh. Exit 2. Okay. Okay. Okay, bye.”

He hangs up before Eric can get a chance to speak to Dongwan again.

“He says he’ll pick me up there at six. He’s just in the middle of a shoot now.”

If this was the US, Eric would have never even considered taking someone else’s child with them without any of the signed paperwork, waivers, and allergy warnings children should always come with. But this is Seoul. He supposes it has to follow that the parents of kids, even young ones, are not nearly as paranoid. There are no school shooters, no open-carry policy. Even though Andy is in one of the renowned international schools in the city, the kids are allowed to freely enter and leave the campus without anyone accompanying them. Besides, the café is only ten minutes away.

He breathes. It will be fine.

Andy holds his hand and Junjin holds the other so they can start crossing the street. Andy lets out a sympathetic cry when he notices the plaster on his palm, urging the other boy to crane his neck to see.

“Oh, Daddy! What happened? Why do you have a boo-boo?”

“I wasn’t being careful. Daddy’s okay.”

“Let me kiss it. It’ll be better. Like what Mama does.” Andy presses his lips against the plaster and kisses it as they wait for the light to turn green. Eric ignores the pain, choosing to stare resolutely forward.

--

When they reach the café, the crowd inside has already started winding down, with Minwoo getting ready to close up shop by 5pm. They make it a point to follow Andy’s school schedule so the boy doesn’t have to adjust to them pulling late hours. They make up for it by starting early and opening in time for breakfast, offering overnight oats or breakfast bowls or pastries paired with extra-strong coffee for the working crowd.

“I thought you were only going to pick up Andy, not bring back an extra kid,” Minwoo jokes good-naturedly as Andy gives him a high-five. Eric watches as Andy pulls Junjin towards a free booth by the window.

“I got swindled,” Eric sighs. He’s getting a headache from forcing himself not to worry. “It’s an okay thing here, right? We asked permission from the guardian picking him up. He was going to be late anyway.”

“Yeah, don’t sweat it.” Minwoo says as he wipes down a table a couple has just vacated. “By this time next year, they’re probably going to be able to know how to take the train across the river. Kids grow up way too fast.”

Eric knows, but he doesn’t want to think about it yet. 

“Daddy, can we have pasta?” Andy calls out from the booth.

This he can think about though.

“What kind of pasta?” Eric asks. “Junjin, are you allergic to anything?” He’s relieved when Junjin shakes his head no. Praise Asia and their lack of allergy-ridden kids. It makes his job so much easier. “Carbonara?”

Andy lights up. “With almonds? And the cheese?”

Eric is already putting his work apron back on, taking a mental note of the available ingredients. “Yep.”

He uses the kitchen so he can work without becoming distracted, but keeps the window out to the café open. The only extra staff they have are two graduate students who come in shifts to help them wash dishes and clean, and Eric shares space with one of them now as he gathers lemon, oil, garlic, egg from various spots.

Boil water for pasta.

“Daddy, can you spell ‘ridiculous’ for me?”

Fry bacon. Ten rashers should enough for two hungry boys and two adult men. The crispier the better. When done, place on paper towel and cook shallots and garlic in the bacon fat. Add a little olive oil. Add a bit of sherry wine vinegar. Cook for thirty seconds and remove from heat.

“Uncle Minwoo, noooo! That’s not how you write it!”

Bash the hell out of whatever raw almonds you have. Marcona almonds are best but they don’t have them in this country. It’s all right. Just add more than usual. Add several anchovy fillets into the mix and bash the hell out of that too, right up until it turns into a semi-paste.

Eric’s arms strain and sweat as he goes through the ministrations. Cooking calms him because everything has rhythm. Everything makes sense. Nearby, the graduate student watches him with a curious eye while he’s elbow-deep in suds. Occasionally, he speaks with Eric to practice his English. Today is no exception.

“That’s a different carbonara,” he lets out a low whistle. “Your recipe?”

Get a bowl. Add anchovy-almond paste, egg, lemon juice and zest, parsley, heavy cream, a cup of grated cheese (a mixture of romano, pecorino, and piave work wonderfully), the garlic and shallots mixture, salt, and pepper. Whisk. Set aside.

Eric shakes his head. “My wife’s.”

Cook your pasta once the water boils, after adding a tablespoon of salt. Cook it until al dente. Reserve a cup of pasta water before draining.

The graduate student doesn’t press when he mentions his wife, and Eric doesn’t bother volunteering any more information. They finish their work while embroiled in focused silence.

Add hot, drained pasta to the mixture in the bowl. Pour a portion of pasta water until the sauce reaches your desired consistency. Toss. Taste. Add more salt, pepper, cheese, as needed. Toss again.

“Daddy, that smells so goooood! I’m HONGRYYY. DADDYYYY.”

Serve with toppings on the side: Whole or crumbled crispy bacon. Parsley. Grated cheese. Olive oil. Butter. Salt. Pepper. Thick balsamic vinegar reduced so much it’s practically syrup.

Eric places the finished pasta on two plates and presents them to the boys, along with the additional toppings in separate bowls. He leaves his and Minwoo’s under the warmer so they can attend to the last of the guests. Eric sees as Junjin sniffs at his plate suspiciously.

“This looks weird.” He says, poking at the small nested pile of pasta in front of him with his fork. “What’s in it?”

“Cream. Eggs. Pepper. Cheese. And other good stuff. I know because Mama made it many times.” Andy is busy slurping up his meal, the noodles slamming so hard against his lips that they’re stained and flecked with cream and parsley. He pushes the bowl of crumbled bacon towards Junjin. “Put bacon in it. And more cheese. It’s good! Try it, Jinnie!”

Junjin doesn’t need much convincing, and Eric secretly sighs in relief as he sees the other boy gingerly pick up a noodle and put it in his mouth, only to do it again, and again, and again. By the time they’ve said goodnight to the last customer and flipped the card on the door over so it says Closed, dusk is falling and there are two empty plates on the table. Andy is discreetly putting his fingers in the cheese and them off, and Junjin is snacking on bacon crumbs that have been sitting in a balsamic reduction pool.

“Wow, guess you guys liked that, huh?” Minwoo laughs from the cash register as Eric gives the boys some in-house lemonade.

Junjin kisses his fingers theatrically. “It was so good!”

Andy nods, his cheeks now dusted with cheese. “I like the crunchy bacon, and the tasty cheese, and when you get teeny-tiny almonds, they’re yum.”

Eric uses the end of his apron to wipe Andy’s face off before turning to smile at Junjin. Kids are the hardest critics and he’s secretly relieved he’s now passed it twice. “Thank you, Junjin. You’re welcome to eat here anytime.”

“Oh yeah! I’m gonna be here every day!” Junjin announces, bobbing his head enthusiastically.

Minwoo approaches the booth, this time with the two plates for him and Eric. He places the plates down onto the table and slides into the booth so they can sit across the boys. His arms are a blur as he adds a bit of each extra topping, tasting and mixing as he goes along. “Gotta agree Uncle Eric’s cooking is good. Does anyone cook for you at your house?”

“Uh…” Junjin looks pressed to reply, but in the end is able to give a sheepish: “My daddy. Sometimes.”

“Jinnie buys lunch. His daddy gives him lots of money.” Andy says. “But sometimes we share mine. Daddy,” he turns to Eric, “you have to make me more food so I can share!”

Eric smiles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

They settle. The boys take out their homework as Minwoo and Eric start eating their dinner, occasionally peeking over at the boys’ work to see if they’re on track. In the background, a song asking about the wind and where it’s coming from is playing softly on the radio.

Even though I keep closing those doors

You still don't seem to go away…

A rapping on the door makes both Minwoo and Eric look up. Someone is at the entrance, and Eric stands to answer it.

A man is standing outside of the glass door. He’s shorter than Eric is, and is wearing a baseball cap turned backward, a green windbreaker over jeans, and workman boots. On his shoulder is an overfilled camera bag. He regards Eric with an expression of mild suspicion.

“Hi.” Eric pulls the door open. “Can I help you?”

“Wow, you close early.” The man comments. “I’m Kim Dongwan.” He says, and Eric knows right away it’s the same man he had been on the phone with earlier. He speaks as though he’s in mid-run, even though he’s standing still, making it a bit difficult for Eric to pick up some of the words. “I’ve come to pick up Shin Junjin. He said he was going to be here?”

“Oh, yes. Come in.” Eric steps aside to let him into the yellow-lit cafe. Night has fallen and the wind has picked up again, offering no traces of that day’s previous warmth. When Dongwan enters, the sound of his shoes thumping against the concrete floor echoes across the small space.

“I know I had said I was going to pick him up at 6 but I finished early so decided to drop by already—”

“Uncle Dongwan!” Junjin calls from the booth. He waves excitedly before sliding out to rush towards him, crayons still in hand. He tackles Dongwan with such intensity that the man has to take several steps backwards. “You came!” he says, then frowns. “You’re early. You said 6pm. It’s…” Junijn checks the large digital watch encircling his wrist. “5:30.”

“Yeah well, I thought I should pick you up earlier seeing that you were with a new friend…” Dongwan glances up at Eric. This time, he offers his hand to shake. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. Thank you for taking care of my godson.”

Eric shakes his hand. “It’s no problem. He and my son are friends.”

Dongwan peers at him, his expression curious now. Instinctively, Eric inches backwards. “Are you from here? Your Korean is weird.”

“From America!” Junjin tugs at his uncle’s windbreaker. “I told you!”

“Ah, that explains it.” This time, the other man smiles and it’s almost pleasant. Fine wrinkles bunch up at the corners of his eyes. “Anyway, we should get going—”

“Noooooo!” Junjin interrupts him with a moan, tugging on Dongwan’s coat more earnestly. “Andy and I aren’t done yet! You said you were gonna come at 6!”

“Who’s fighting my friend!” Eric hears Andy yell, and he surmises he has maybe another 5 seconds before all hell breaks loose. He intercepts his son as he charges towards to where they’re standing, picking him up and making him face Dongwan.

“No one’s fighting Junjin, kiddo.” Eric says, speaking slowly enough so Andy will listen to him. If he doesn’t manage to get it under control, he’s sure a meltdown of epic proportions will occur, and he’s already had enough incidents for today. He’s not sure if he can handle any more. “This is his uncle. Say hello.”

“No.”

“Andrew.”

“Hello.” Andy finally says, but with an evident pout. To his credit, Dongwan is gracious enough to bow and smile at him in acknowledgement, ignoring the impending tantrum. At his unexpected friendliness, Andy seems to melt against Eric, slightly satiated and somewhat trusting of the new adult in the room.

“You should stay a bit longer!” Minwoo says suddenly, a human personification of a deus ex machina. He approaches the chaotic bubble they’ve formed by the entryway. “The kids aren’t done yet with their homework and we have some extra pasta if you’d like.” He winks at Dongwan. “On the house!”

“Yeah!” Junjin is nearly hanging off of Dongwan’s arm. “It’s reaaaally really good, Andy’s Daddy made it!”

“It’ll only be fifteen minutes, tops. The kids will be finished by then, you can eat a bit, and maybe we can all manage to end this without any crying.” Minwoo smiles a million-dollar smile. “Deal, Dongwan-ssi?”

No man is strong enough to be swayed from dinner and 15 more minutes of peace, and so Eric watches as Dongwan heaves a sigh then hitches his camera bag further up his shoulder. It doesn’t escape him that Dongwan only looks at Minwoo as he speaks.

“Until 6pm then. And free dinner, huh? That’s quite a bribe. And you are?”

“Lee Minwoo.” Minwoo grins. “Eric’s friend. Andy’s uncle. Co-owner of this cafe. Keeper of the peace. Whatever.”

“Sure.” Dongwan smirks. “And what did you say this dinner was? Something does smell good.”

“It’s carbonada.” Junjin says proudly. 

“Carbonara.” Andy corrects.

Eric doesn’t say anything further, but he does manage to mutter a low “Thanks” to Minwoo as he hands Andy off, before escaping to the kitchen to get to work plating up another serving of pasta.

tbc

Author's Notes

1. Andrew. I know, don't kill me.
2. This is also going slower than I expected lol. Hyesung should have been in the scene by now, but yeah, as usual, he doesn't want to yet. At least we now have the 5!
3. The directions for the Wolf and Rabbit are actually directions to Roofand in real life. Hehe. 
4. These recipes are actual ones from professional chefs so they should actually work. 
5. The song playing on the radio in the background that Eric is listening to is 바람, 어디에서 부는지 by Lucid Fall.
6. Thank you for reading and commenting! Hyesung will already likely be in the next chapter. No prizes for anyone who can guess which character he is. Hahaha.