By the time Minho’s birthday rolled around, he had easily become Minho appa and adjusted to Taemin, though he wasn’t as touchy as he used to be. Taemin didn’t mind, though, as long as Minho stayed by him. Eventually, Taemin hatched a plan to make Minho more comfortable around him.

            “Tae, can you bring Inho’s fake underwear thing?” Minho poked his head out of the doorway, one hand on the squirming toddler.

            Taemin walked into the room, digging a pair of the ‘thing’ from the bottom drawer of the dresser. “They’re right here, hyung. And they’re called training pants”. He looked around the room as Minho set Inho down and pulled his training pants up.

            “There you go, bud!” Minho said, ruffling Inho’s hair. “Nice and clean. Who cleaned you?”

            “Minho appa!” Inho exclaimed, falling over in a fit of random giggles.

            Minho beamed down. “That’s right. And who loves you the most in the world?”

            “Appas!” Inho sang. He ran off, hair bouncing, into the living room while Minho turned to face Taemin.

            “This is fun. This is a good thing,” He stated, surveying the room. “I think we should paint the room. White is too boring,”

            “I’m glad you’re enjoying this. I was afraid you wouldn’t.”

            “Oh, come on. Inho’s just like you when you were three.”

            “Really?” Taemin asked, raising an eyebrow.

            “Yeah, cute, tiny, smart, adorable, happy... Hell, you’re still those things, Tae.”

            “I’m not that tiny anymore, hyung. I’m almost as tall as you!” He rebutted.

            “You’d better stop growing! This is when I would hug you, but I’ve got poop-y hands.” Minho laughed. He went into the smaller bathroom, washed his hands and went back out, finding Taemin in his original claimed spot, curled up in a blanket against the armrest, reading the same old book he had been reading for years.

            “Now, what’s so good about that book? You’ve read it like four hundred times,” Minho said, exaggerating slightly.

            Taemin ignored him, mouthing the words he read until he finished the paragraph. “Maybe if you read it, you’d find out,”

            Minho rolled his eyes and on the other side of the couch, flipping the television on. The last channel they had watched was Inho’s favourite channel, and so Minho was assaulted by ear-piercing, high pitched cartoons. Before he could switch the channel, he learn tiny, loud footsteps running towards him and he sighed, knowing that he would be forced to watch cartoons until Inho got bored or suffer the consequences of a three year old’s fit.

            “Minho appa! Cartoons!” He cried, pulling himself onto the couch with Minho’s help.

            “Do we really have to watch this, Inho? Minho appa watched them all day with you yesterday. Let’s watch a little football,” Minho reasoned.

            “No! We have to watch cartoons!” Inho insisted, pulling a puppy face.

            “Taemin-ah, reason with your son,”

            Taemin looked up from his book, looked at Inho, then Minho and started laughing. “He’s your son, too”

            Minho sulked. “Fine, cartoons.” He almost pouted, lowering the volume and relaxing. Within a few moments, Minho was laughing at the show even more than Inho was, understanding more of the jokes than his stepson did. Eventually, Inho fell asleep after crawling his way into Minho’s lap and resting his head against his chest. Minho looked over to Taemin, about to brag about how Inho had fallen asleep on Minho and not Taemin, but he closed his mouth when he was faced with a slumbering Taemin.

            “Aish, these Lees...” Minho mumbled as he carried Inho away into the room and pulled the blanket over his shoulders. “Nap well, Inho.” Minho made his way through the spacious hallway back into the living room and retrieved a fleece blanket from one of the drawers in the coffee table. He spread the blanket, which was appropriately covered in bananas, over Taemin’s sleeping form, removing the book from Taemin’s firm grasp, and dog-earing the worn pages.

            Minho had looked in the book once, accidentally reading a few confusing words, but mostly noticing the underlines and highlights in the novel. He’d expected that someone would only highlight a textbook, as he had, but he’d never thought anyone would underline a regular book. He thumbed the cover of the book, inspecting the scratches, rips and he smiled. He wondered how many times Taemin held that book between his hands, buried in the pages, crying and screaming at the characters. Minho never had any idea what the book was about, because Taemin duck taped the summary and title for whatever reason.

            He just knew the book could make a grinning Taemin bawl, or a sniffling Taemin beam. He remembered the day Taemin decided he wasn’t going to read it anymore, though Minho caught him with the book an hour later. Taemin couldn’t stay away from that book. He put it back on the shelf and headed into the kitchen to prepare a meal for the family of three.

Minho learnt to cook abruptly when he graduated high school and began college. He found himself in a dorm with a dorm mate when neither of them could cook. Because Minho knew a few simple recipes like pasta, soup, and rice, he became immediately in charge of cooking. By the time they graduated, Minho was able to bake pastries and cook meat without a problem, much to his dorm mate’s glee.

            He quickly prepared rice and fried eggs while he boiled cabbage in a pot. By the time dinner was almost ready, he heard Inho’s soft cry.

            “Appa?” Inho said, still not understanding that he could get out of bed himself and go find one of his fathers.

            Minho wiped his hands on his pants, cringing about it, and hurried his way into the dark room. “Inho-ah!” He cooed, lifting the small boy from under the sheets and hugging him tightly. “Are you hungry?”

            Inho nodded enthusiastically. “So hungry!” He spread his arms out, giggling.

            “Well, I made some dinner. How about you wake your appa and we’ll all eat together?”

            Inho nodded again and ran off as soon as his feet touched the ground. Minho smiled and made the bed carefully. Once he was satisfied with the result, he followed Inho into the room. Taemin sat up tiredly, hair in all directions, as Inho pulled on his leg.

            “Appa,” he whined. “Wake up!”

            “I’m awake!” Taemin grumbled, rubbing his eyes. He shot a glare at Minho. “Why am I being woken up?” He pulled Inho into his lap and kissed his forehead.

            “Dinner is ready in five minutes,” Minho replied, going back into the kitchen. He stirred the pot once more, drained the vegetables from the water and filled Inho’s sippy cup with a mixture of juice and water.

            In about five minutes, during which Taemin fell asleep again and had to be woken up again, dinner was on the table, still steaming, and all three boys sat around. Inho had no regard for politeness yet, so he immediately began to eat with his miniature utensils and colourful plastic baby-proof plate that Minho had bought him a few weeks ago.

            Taemin shrugged and began eating as well, letting out a sigh as the cabbage melted in his mouth. “Hyung, this is so good!” He whispered, mouth full.

            Minho grinned. “Thank you.” He chewed for a bit, listening to Inho recount a discombobulated version of an episode he had watched.

            “And then, and then, Pororo finded Crong in the egg and Loopy comed to help, appa!” He turned towards Taemin and Taemin feigned great interest. “But Crong only says ‘crong, crong’, Loopy can’t know what he sayed.”

            “Oh, wow.” Minho commented. “So how did Loopy become friends with Crong?”

            “Well,” Inho began enthusiastically, adjusting himself on the chair. “Pororo understanded what Crong sayed so Pororo can tell Loopy what happened and then Pororo and Crong crashed into a tree and they meeted Petty and the white bear.”

            “Poby?” someone asked.

            “Yeah!” Inho sang, shoving rice into his mouth.

            Minho and Taemin exchanged an amused glance, mostly because Inho was adorable, but also because he hadn’t told the story correctly. “So as I said earlier, I think we should change the colour of the room. Isn’t white too boring? I never got around to painting that room ‘cos I thought I would never have any guests, you know?”

            Taemin looked over in the direction of the room and nodded. “Yeah, but aren’t we running tight on money? Isn’t paint...” he gestured vaguely. “Expensive?”

            Minho nodded in agreeance. “I’ve been saving up for Christmas. I’m thinking about spending some of that money on painting the room instead of getting myself a present.”

            Taemin raised an eyebrow. “You get yourself a present?”

            Minho looked sheepish. “Who else would have?”

            “Right, right.” Taemin replied, wiping Inho’s mouth with a wet paper towel. “So what colour do you want to paint it?”

            “It’s your room, Tae. What colour would you like?”

            Taemin smirked. “Wouldn’t it be better for that to be Inho’s room?”

            “What?”

            “Like, give the room to Inho.”

            “Where will you sleep?” Minho inquired, already knowing the answer.

            “With you, hyung!” Taemin said, like it was the simplest answer in the whole world.

            “Appa, TV!” Inho said, handing Taemin the remote. Taemin turned it on for him and returned to the conversation.

            “Uh, I’m not.... My bed isn’t...”

            “C’mon, hyung. I’ve slept with you before! If we’re both Inho’s parents, shouldn’t we sleep in the same room?”

            “I mean, I guess. It’s just a bed.” Minho said, flustered.

            “It sure is.” Taemin smiled devilishly. “I’m not saying we’ll do anything. Just sleep?”

            Minho nodded vigorously. “Of course.”

            Taemin laughed. For most of his life, Minho had been the dominant force in their relationship. In primary school, Minho was the one who decided where they would play once classes were over. In secondary school, Minho was the one who planned the little dates and outings, the one who paid for Taemin’s meals and the one who caused Taemin to turn red with embarrassment with just a single hushed whisper. It seemed as though the tables had been turned, now. Minho blushed furiously when Taemin stood near him. Minho hadn’t made any advances besides the failed kiss. Taemin wasn’t sure if it was because Minho was afraid or just inexperienced.

            When they were children, of course Minho knew more than Taemin; he was older. Neither of them had ever kissed someone or loved someone before. But Taemin left and he grew up. He kissed, he loved, he made love, and had a child while Minho had patiently waited for Taemin, never even looking at someone else. And so now Taemin had the advantage over his best friend. He knew what it took to kiss passionately, while Minho had only witnessed the act. He knew how to hold a lover close and Minho never learnt. It was now that Taemin decided he would take the initiative and that it would be his prerogative to carry the relationship forward, because Minho clearly didn’t know what he was doing.

            “Hyung?” He asked, batting his eyelashes, secretly enjoying the way Minho looked away.

            “Yeah?”

            “You’re adorable.”