sorry for the long delay, guys. I had some major crap going on, including a breakup (I think?), deadlines for school and taking care of the kid. Please enjoy this chapter ^^

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            They woke up the next morning with their legs intertwined with one another’s. Minho stopped to admire Taemin’s sleeping face and kissed him, rousing the younger from his sleep.

            “Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” Minho said.

            Taemin scoffed. “Since when did you get so corny?” He sat up and pushed the hair out of his eyes.

            Minho shrugged and pulled some clothes on. “I’m going to make some breakfast. Wake Inho,”

            Taemin nodded sleepily and copied Minho’s actions, but remained shirtless. “I’ll throw the sheets in the washer first.”

            Minho grunted and walked out of the door, kicking a pile of their dirty clothes away from his path.

            Taemin felt pretty content with himself now that he’d finally gotten Minho to express his affection in a physical way. He had before, with shy kisses and a lingering hand on Taemin’s hip, but he hadn’t ever expressed the pure pleasure before last night. Minho was thinking the same thing about himself and his previously stoic self.

            He limped about the kitchen, embarrassed slightly and quite glad that it was Saturday so that his colleagues wouldn’t see his temporary disability. He’d been promoted from a low down measly contractor to the assistant manager’s assistant a few months ago. He typed and scanned files more often than he did anything else, but he thought it sure beat running errands and meeting actual clients. In fact, Minho was happy with his job. He had just enough responsibility to be considered an indispensable worker but just enough freedom to sit in the cafeteria and munch on bagels. He also made almost twice as much as he did before, which made him, Taemin and Inho very happy. Soon, Minho wanted to purchase a new flat to convert the extra bedroom into a study.

            He fried some rice quickly and heated leftover food up from the restaurant they’d all gone to on Wednesday. Once he’d shared the meals out, he waited for his family to join him. Taemin’s hand s around Minho’s waist, squeezing him in places that made Minho jump.

            “Tae!” Minho exclaimed, swatting Taemin’s wandering hands away.

            Taemin smirked and adjusted Inho on his hip. “Guess who is awake?”

            “Inho!” Inho shouted, squirming to be carried by Minho. He was swiftly transferred from appa to Minho appa and he cuddled lovingly against Minho. “Hi, Minho appa”

            “Hey, Inho,” Minho said, placing the toddler in his seat. Inho had started preschool recently and Minho stayed home to comfort the crying Taemin. His bosses understood.

            The three of them ate, talking and laughing, until the meal was almost finished and Inho excused himself to go play with some toys that Minho left out.

            “Did you put the sheets away?” Minho asked, face pink.

            “I did that before I woke Inho. Help me put the clean ones on after this.”

            Minho nodded. “What do you want to do today? We can take Inho to the park and watch him play, or we can go see a film or something.”

            “Or we could do both?”

            “Yes, or we could do both.” Minho pushed a grain of rice away from him with his fork. “You know, Tae--”

            “Is this about last night?” Taemin guessed, stabbing a piece of meat from Minho’s plate and moving it to his own.

            “Well,” he paused to glare. “Sort of. Did I...” he paused again, blood rushing to his face. “Was it okay?”

            Taemin burst out laughing, causing Minho to glare at him. “Hyung! It was great! There’s nothing better than doing that with someone you love and I love you,” he giggled.

            Minho squinted and blushed harder, stammering. “And, and was it better than it was with… you know, her?”

            Taemin stopped laughing and shut his mouth. “Are you trying to compete with her?”

            Minho rolled his eyes. “No…”

            “Listen, hyung. In all honestly, it’s different. She’s a girl, you’re a boy. But if you’re asking who it felt better with, there’s not doubt it’s you. I was made for you, hyung.”

            Minho went back to squinting. “Because you love me?”

            “Because I love you. With her, it was mostly loneliness and maybe faux-love. Maybe even just lust and my stupid 17 year old hormonal self. But with you hyung, it felt like I was made to love you.”

            Minho looked away and pushed some rice onto his fork. “Okay.”

            Taemin took the hint and finished off the last of his coffee. It’d taken him a while to get used to it, but he now enjoyed the less-sugary coffee.

            In recent years, Minho had taken to being a health-nut. He’d only bought organic meats, vegetables and fruits. He had replacement sugars and vitamin supplements in the cupboards. At first Taemin had rolled his eyes when Minho handed him all natural farmer-grown petite strawberries and he’d scoffed when Minho’s idea of a good dinner was organic steak with a side of couscous and steamed arugula. But like many things he’d adapted to, Taemin eventually grew to enjoy oat pancakes and dark chocolate covered granola bars. Inho enjoyed some of the things as well, though he adamantly refused to eat any steamed veggies. He would scrunch his nose up and squint cautiously at the wilted food and if no one removed it from his plate, he’d push it to the corner, pile it up and eat everything else.

            Taemin and Minho, like any good parents, tried to get their son to consume everything on his plate, perhaps unaware that forcing children to eat isn’t a smart idea because children will eat when they’re hungry and forcing food could probably cause obesity later in life. But they didn’t know this because they weren’t really into the whole new hippie-parenting style that was spreading rapidly. They, like their parents and their parents and their parents, believed that children were not equal to adults and thus children didn’t have the same rights as them.

Minho and Taemin sometimes hit Inho on the when he spoke rudely or refused to brush his teeth. They weren’t his friends, they told him. He’d appreciate their parenting, they said. They didn’t let him do whatever he wanted either. They told themselves that it was better to have a strict parent to teach children lessons than it was for a child to have laid-back parents who didn’t teach anything and then Inho would do something stupid like take drugs or get arrested or get a girl pregnant. When they thought that, they looked at each other, ashamed because that was what Taemin had done and that was what Minho’s mother had done.

To this day, Minho had no idea who his father was.

They agreed mostly, on how to discipline and what colour they would paint things and

what they’d do with Taemin’s raise. But sometimes, like real people, they argued over how to long to discipline and what colour the furniture would be and what they’d do when Taemin got promoted as assistant boss of another store, 10 minutes away.  

            Through all of that, they maintained a kind of love that ranged from “I need you right now” and “If you breathe near me, I will kill you” but almost everyone knew that Taemin and Minho were lovers, in love and surrounded by their love for each other and their son.

            It was obvious. So Inho grew up like that. He grew up listening to arguments, witnessing kisses, being hit, being hugged, being spoiled and being deprived. He still wouldn’t eat his veggies and sometimes he rolled his eyes when he got older and found his parents lip-locked.  He’d shout “Get a room, appa!”

            He especially took to picking Minho’s habits up, including the squinting and looking down at the floor. He copied the way Minho styled his hair.

            Soon, Minho and Taemin’s baby boy wasn’t a baby (though they still treated him like one) and they were celebrating Inho’s fifth birthday with Minho’s old roommate and Taemin’s friend who had introduced Taemin to Inho’s mother. No one had any idea how she was doing or where she was, and she hadn’t made any attempt to contact Taemin for years now, though she could have because she had his phone number and his parents’ address. Taemin didn’t mind very much but he dreaded the day Inho asked.

            Today was the day. Amidst all the hubbub and chaos of a five year old’s party, the birthday boy walked shyly to his Minho appa and asked something that changed the family with two words.

            “Where’s eomma?” He asked, looked around excitedly.

            Minho and Taemin exchanged glances of uncertainty, whether or not to answer the question honestly or lie to their 5 year old. Taemin cleared his throat. “You don’t have a mother, Inho.”

            Minho shot him a glare while Inho squinted. “            How come?” He directly this question towards Taemin.

            “Because you’re special, bud. You have two dads instead. Isn’t that fun?”

            Inho shrugged and nodded, attention diverted by an uncle coming to scoop him up and tickle him. Minho pulled Taemin aside and glared harder, waiting for Taemin to admit what he’d just done.

            “What?” Taemin asked, rubbing the spot where Minho accidentally had grabbed too tightly.

            “Why’d you tell him that?”

            “You want me to lie to him?”

            “You didn’t exactly tell the truth, either, Tae.” Minho pointed out.

            “He’s five years old and today is his birthday. You want me to tell him that his mother abandoned him?”

            “I don’t want you to lie to him! How is he going to feel when he finds out that’s what really happened?” Minho argued.

            “It doesn’t even matter! I know how to raise my son,” Taemin retorted, trying to keep his voice down.

            “And I know what it’s like to hear that lie! Hell, Tae, I was his age when I asked who my father was and I remember what it was like to hear the lie and then learn he’d left before he’d even met me!”

            Taemin would soon regret the words that came out of his mouth. “It doesn’t matter what you think!”

            “Why doesn’t it?” Minho asked. “Don’t I get a say in anything about how we raise him?”

            “You’re not his father!” Taemin shouted.

            Minho’s face fell and he stepped back. “Oh,” he breathed.

            Taemin cringed. “I-I didn’t mean that.”

            Minho didn’t say anything. In the midst of his son’s birthday, Minho walked back into his and Taemin’s bedroom, packed a bag, and left.

            Taemin chased him down the road, yelling his name and startling the guests of the party. Inho followed him, confused and alarmed.

            “Where’s Minho appa going?” He asked, tugging on his father’s coat.

            “I made him leave,” Taemin said, sorrow filling his voice.

            That was when Inho started to hate Taemin.