04.

I didn’t get the best of a night’s rest; who could, hearing the heart breaking coughs coming from the usually empty room across the house? And to think, if it affected me this much, how much had Yongguk been bothered?

He’d probably slept even less than I had (which, frankly, hadn’t been much).

After marking the yesterday over, on the living room calendar, I peeked into the guest room, cringing pitifully when the unused door creaked at the hinges. In the dim of the room, I could easily make out Yongguk hunched on the floor, half his body on and the other half off the bed, his body slowly rising and falling. Well, he was alive, if that was anything to work off of. Junhong on the other hand, was now awake, playing with his Pororo doll (the one I’d gotten him the month - two weeks and two days now - ago), coughing every few minutes into his sleeve.

The minute I’d opened the door, the light from the living room pouring into the dark room, Junhong’s head perked up my way, a childish smile curling his lips. “It’s hyung … … Pororo ajusshi.”

And by this point, it was obvious he was just playing with me.

(God, he was just like Yongguk. Just as stubborn. Just as annoying.)

I rolled my eyes and pulled the rest of the door open, stepping into the room and around a snoring Yongguk to seat myself on the bed next to Junhong. “Did you sleep well?” Maybe if I just ignored his ajusshi comment, he’d stop; hopefully, he’d bore of making fun of me soon.

He nodded brightly, hiding behind his stuffed penguin with a smile. “Hyung, Pororo is hungry!”

Yes, because stuffed penguins got hungry. “Oh no, that’s no good. We should go make breakfast for Pororo then.” But sometimes, it was easier - and so much more fun - to play along.

Junhong squeaked a little in agreement, wiggling away from the heaps of sheets that had been piled over him to follow me into the kitchen, one hand in mine and the other latched onto his doll’s finn. It was cute, undeniably, it was adorable.

Not for a single second, did I actually expect Junhong to help me make breakfast. If anything, I’d expected him to make more trouble around the area, leading to a messy kitchen and him; but I was met instead to a surprisingly patient Junhong. Instead of scampering over the counter, wanting to help, he sat still at the kitchen table, singing some unrecognizable song to his penguin while I scooped rice and heated our soup.

Whatever training Yongguk had done on the kid, it worked.

He even helped set the table (pulling out all my spoons and chopsticks to a full table of four - including a setting for Pororo), putting an equal amount of dining utensils at each seat. (The only downside, being that I had to set a bowl out for Pororo as well. The blast penguin couldn’t eat!)

And by the time we had the table completely set, a still half asleep Yongguk came stumbling from the guest room, rubbing his eyes and yawning widely for the world to see. Junhong was, either way, elated to see his sleepy father.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Tucked into the seat, pulled up so his chest nearly hit the kitchen table, Junhong waved his arms, sticking them in Yongguk’s direction with a squee. They saw each other every day, and still Junhong looked best excited when with his father.

Yongguk seemed to snap to attention once he heard Junhong, automatically pulling him from his seat to squeeze him in ams, pressing sleepy kisses all over his face. Junhong wiggling and begging him to stop didn’t seem to do any effect at all.

(Somehow, I could recall my dad doing the same to me. Maybe it was a father thing.)

“What’s this?”

It was only once I cleared my throat - after a good five minutes of watching them kiss and play - that he seemed aware of my presence in the room. Good to know I made such a large effect.

“Breakfast. Sit. Eat. The soup’s probably already gone cold, do you want me to heat it up for you?”

“You shouldn’t have.” He frowned, looking apologetically at me, but sat down nonetheless when I gave him one of my pointed glares. “And it’s fine, really, you don’t have to go through all the trouble.”

“It’s better for Junhong to have something in him before going to the hospital.”

Yongguk nodded slowly in agreement, making another mute thank you my way before seating his boy next to him and scooting up close to the table.

“Himchannie hyung?” I lifted a brow, humming with my spoon stuck in mouth. “Pororo would like his soup heated.”

Pororo made for a hard customer.

(Pororo should just eat what he was given.)

Once breakfast was over, Yongguk gathered Junhong up in the restroom (after an unnecessary task of permission to wash him), wiping the grime and dirt off his pale face. It had been established over the breakfast table that Yongguk was going to take him to the hospital for a check up - seeing the kid’s cold didn’t seem to have gotten any better over the night - and that I (obviously) was going to follow. Yongguk had struggled at first, but eventually gave up when I glared at him, again, hard.

He’d just have to deal with me poking my nose into his life now. Junhong and Yongguk both.

Within minutes, the duo were both out, Junhong’s hair groomed down instead of the messy bed head he’d woken up with. He didn’t look at all pleased though, pulling off an expression that vaguely reminded me of a disgruntled kitten. It made me laugh.

Crouching and pulling my arms out for Junhong, I let him crash into me, screwing his combed hair by nuzzling into my left shoulder. Obviously, he didn’t like his hair split that way (kid knew fashion, unlike a certain father of his).

“Ready to go?” Picking Junhong up in my arms, letting him cling off my neck, I glanced over at Yongguk as he dug in his pockets for the few bills of cash he still possessed. It would have been nice if he just let me pay for their bill, but I decided against pushing my luck. I was lucky enough that Yongguk had sought out my aid at all.

The subway ride to the hospital was quiet, most of the conversation led by a jabbering Junhong (coughing harshly between sentences and pauses). The longer I was with him, the more obvious it was that I needed to buy Junhong a mask - and not just for health issues either.

But the minute we stepped into the doctor’s office, Junhong instantly shut up, squirming the furthest away he could from the doctor with a cat-like hiss

“No!” He was screeching, sobbing, as he clung tight to Yongguk’s shirt, glaring daggers at the aged doctor. “Don’t want!”

Junhong’s Pororo, the dollie he usually never let go, was abandoned on the floor by my foot as the kid struggled hard against his dad’s grip, biting and wailing at the hand that came his direction.

I’d heard before that kids didn’t like needles, but obviously, that had been a sad understatement. Not liking needles consisted of crying and blunt refusals; absolute hatred seeded to biting and clawing. Junhong reminded mean awful lot of a vicious kitten refusing to take a bath, maybe worse.

Somewhere along the way, he managed to escape Yongguk’s grip, tackling straight into my legs and hiding behind them as he pressed his into my knees. He was begging me - me of all people - for refuge. Unfortunately, I couldn’t offer it.

From the exhausted look Yongguk wore, I pulled Junhong out from under my legs and into my arms, letting him claw his dull fingernails into my forearm. His tears hurt more than the claws.

“You have to get your shot Junhonggie,” I tried to reason - to a kid absolutely unwilling to listen, I was fighting a losing battle. “If you get your shot, you’ll get all better! No more coughs or sniffles!”

He shook his head though, completely uninterested as he dug his nose into my chest, soaking my jacket in his tears. It hurt. It legitimately hurt, broke my heart, watching him cry so hard.

“Can’t we just give him meds or something?”

Who was I kidding?

It took a close to an hour to finally get Junhong his shot, leaving the office - bowing and apologizing - with a brightly red tinted child and a more than flustered father. Anyone could see that we were new at this whole baby business, and adults nearby shook their heads, clicking their tongues our direction.

(I’d like to have seen them try and fight Junhong back in there.)

A heavy sigh on his lips, a sheen of sweat over his forehead, Yongguk let me carry Junhong over toward the counter as he paid for the shot, receiving the prescription paper to take over to the drug store. Our little trip - adventure, mission, quest, any of those worked - to the hospital was almost over.

Even done with his shot, Junhong wailed pitifully, kicking and punching me wherever possible. If whatever he sobbed right now was anything to go by, he was going to summon a mass horde of demons to murder me in the dead of the night - not that he actually said that, word for word, but I figured that’s what his wordless babbles ment.

“Junhong stop kicking Himchan.” If it was possible, Yongguk seemed to have aged at least a good ten years since this morning. “Sorry you had to go through that. He’s usually more cooperative than this.” Turning his attention from his child to me, reaching and taking his son (and Junhong’s fiery of fists and feet) with an apologetic frown.

I shrugged. I didn’t blame Junhong’s over exaggerated pain in the slightest. According to my mother, I’d raised hell as a child as well. You could almost look at it as karma biting me in the .

“It’s fine. Kids’ll be kids.”

He smiled sheepishly at me, wincing when Junhong landed a good kick under his ribs. “I’ll make it up to you someday.”

“It’s fine, Yongguk. Remember, I’m the one who begged his way in.”

“Right, but still.”

The way to the drug store comprised mostly of Yongguk apologizing, me telling him it was absolutely fine, and Junhong sniffling back sobs. In the end, the three of us were all in our own little worlds, completely ignorant of what the other was trying to say.

Little to say, we attracted a lot of attention the way there.

“This is his cough syrup; make sure he takes it three time a day, thirty minutes after meals.”

“Is it orange?” Both the pharmacist and I turned automatically toward Yongguk with a raised brow. He coughed into his fist, blushing a little. “Is it orange flavored? Junhong won’t take that, probably. Could we change it out for strawberry? He likes that better.”

Smiling, the old man behind the counter nodded, shifting behind the makeshift white wall to fetch the other, strawberry flavored, cough syrup. He seemed used to having to shift flavors (though, judging his expression, it wasn’t as common for parents to do so).

“How do you know?”

He hummed, shifting a now asleep Junhong (he’d exhausted himself, crying) against his shoulder, smiling dumbly at the tiny boy on his thumb. “Know what?”

“That he won’t take orange flavored cough syrup.”

“A father’s intuition.” Yongguk smiled over at me, looking prouder than ever. “You live with your kid long enough, you tend to understand them better than you’d think. Especially when they’re all you ever think about.”

I should have guessed that.

When the pharmacist returned Yongguk (after paying) and I parted ways, shifting his boy carefully into my arms and pressing a kiss against the napper’s forehead. Much as he wanted to stay, to tuck Junhong into bed, work called. Being fired would have been a giant step backwards on his way up. Assuring him I’d take care of Junhong until he came back, I shooed him off, kicking him when he kept trying to make excuses to stay.

He cared a little too much about Junhong sometimes; it was that, or he just didn’t trust me enough.

(I would have prefered it be the former than latter.)

Determined to keep up with my side of the promise, I worked slowly back home, careful not to stir Junhong awake. But see, the problem began after getting home; after Junhong woke up from his nap.

Stepping one foot into the apartment, Junhong wiggled on my back, whimpering and struggling against my arms with a little yawn. I groaned, let’s be honest. He could have woken up just a few minutes earlier and saved me the trouble. But no, no, of course not.

“You awake Junhonggie?”

Toeing off my shoes, I’d only just set Junhong down and went to grab a cup of water for him when the kid was completely out of sight. Like, how can a kid disappear in the two seconds I let him alone?

“Junhong?”

Oh god Yongguk was going to murder me when he found out I lost Junhong.

Deciding he couldn’t have gotten too far (he came at best up to my waist, how far could he have gone?), I flipped my house upside down, tossing pillows and couch cushions this way and that. Surely, he couldn’t have left the house.

, Yongguk was so going to murder me.

Should I report this to the police before he gets home, or would that be stupid?

Just as I’d finished digging through the guest room, my cell phone rudely interrupted my search, blaring English pop music from its speakers, not leaving me alone, until I flicked the screen, propping the device between my cheek and shoulder. “, Hyungjun, what the hell do you want? I’m sort of busy right now.”

“You are? But I’m boooored Channie ~ Suhoon ditched me to play basketball.”

I snorted, pushing back bangs to roll my eyes. If I didn’t have my life dangling off a fragile string of line, I might have considered laughing. If I wasn’t just about staring death in the face, I might have had the time to feel pity for my bored little friend. “Sorry, but I don’t have time to laugh in your face right now.”

Hyungjun huffed a little on his end of the line, the ruffled static on his line indicating his shift in pose. “Do tell, what’s got our dear princess’s in a knot today?”

He better be god damn glad I didn’t have the time to stab a stick up his for that princess jab.

“Nothing you can help with.”

“Really? Try me, I may surprise you.”

I highly doubted it.

(Junhong was probably smarter than Hyungjun anyways.)

“So, let’s say I lost a five year old.”

“You lost a five year old?” I hissed, listening to him laugh over the line. This had been exactly why I didn’t want to tell him. “Sorry, sorry. I’m good, I’m done. Do continue.”

He really was testing my patience. “Anyways. He disappeared. I left him alone for maybe one second and he just up and disappeared!”

Silence. For the first time since I’d met him, Hyungjun was so quiet, I’d had to check my phone to see whether he’d hung up on me or not. He hadn’t. He was being quiet (it was scary).

“Did you check under the bed?”

“Under the - of course I did!”

No, I hadn’t.

Dropping to my knees, I pressed my cheeks against the wooden floor, coughing a little to the dust swirling underneath. What do you know?

“, I found him!”

“Was he under the bed? Ha! I told you. And you thought I was dumb.”

“Shut up.” Hissing, mostly at myself, setting the phone aside on speaker, I pressed completely onto the floor, rolling over onto my stomach to reach out for a glaring Junhong. “Hey, Junhong?” He was glaring; he didn’t look too happy with me. “What’re you doing down there? Want to come out?”

I reached out for him, just barely getting my finger wrapped around his wrist, when he bit me.

He bit me.

“Ow!”

Snatching my hand back, propping up onto my knees and cradling my hand (marked beautifully with a set of teeth indents) to my chest. I wanted to glare right back. Cursing sounded just about good too.

“What? What happened?”

Hyungjun’s voice cut through the tense silence (he probably heard me scream through the line), demanding me for a proper update of what was going on. I usually wasn’t one to tattle-tale though.

“He bit me, Hyungjun!”

But usually people didn’t bite me for trying to get them out from under the bed. (Usually, people didn’t bite me, period. That’d be just weird.)

Somewhere along our conversation (the one sided conversation consisting mostly of me complaining and Hyungjun laughing), Junhong hissed from under the bed, warning me of a second attack if I dared try and pull him out again.

He was being ridiculous. I hadn’t done anything worth being bitten over. Why the hell was he under the bed anyways? It was dusty under there; it couldn’t have been a very pleasant place to be.

Between a stubborn five year old refusing to come out from under the bed (threatening me of decorating my arm in bite marks if I dared try otherwise) and a bastard of a friend laughing at me through the phone for my miseries, I figured life pretty much hated me.

Somewhere between laughing at me and brushing away tears (an act obvious by that queer whine he made whenever he wiped laughing tears), Hyungjun offered to come help me, hanging up the phone only after promising me he’d help. I wasn’t sure just how much of a help he’d be (Junhong was the most stubborn child I’d met - not that I’d seen too many kids my  lifetime), but it would be better than deal with him alone, I figured.

But still, just in case Junhong decided to pull another Houdini on me, I kept my eyes on him, engaging him in an unintended stare off. If Kyuhyun knew what I was doing, he might have rolled his eyes and called names for arguing with a kid.

(Didn’t mean that I should lose to him either.)

I only left my post by the guest room bed to answer the door for Hyungjun, finding that he’d brought his seven year old younger brother - Hyungseok. Kicking off his shoes, said younger brother disappeared toward the guest room within seconds, jabbering excited about getting a dongsaeng.

I wanted to stop him, to warn him of Junhong’s horrid habits of biting, but Hyungjun stopped me, pulling my arm and shoving me toward the kitchen. “You should leave kids with kids. Easiest way to solve problems.” Then, he demanded I serve him tea (he originally wanted coffee, but I didn’t have any, Kyuhyun had made well on raiding my house and riding my cabinets of my precious) and cookies.

(The temptation to punch him was high.)

Distracting my vicious tendencies, Hyungjun had me explain why exactly there was a five year old in my apartment - me, of all people who loathed having to take care of things (hence the lack of pets and plants in the house). I’d only gotten maybe halfway through my explanation (“See, remember in high school? There was that - well … … uh. He’s a friend’s kid!”), when the two kids emerged from the dark guest room.

Oddly enough, Junhong on all fours and Yongguk’s jacket sleeve wrapped around his wrist, the other end of the jacket in Hyungseok’s hand. It was weird, but, frankly, I’d seen weirder coming from Hyungjun’s brother.

Almost expectantly, he looked over at me, batting his wide brow eyes and twitching his nose exactly twice with a haughty, “Meow.”

I frowned, swerving to look between Hyungjun, his younger brother and the little meower.

I was lost and in desperate need of answers.

Why did Junhong just meow at me?

“We’re playing pet and master,” Hyungseok explained sweetly, lifting a hand (the one not holding tight to the makeshift jacket leash) to pet Junhong gingerly, scratching between the fluffed brown where his ears would have been, if he was a real cat. “Junhonggie’s a pretty, little kitty. Aren’t you?”

Before I got a chance to interrupt (he glared a little, what was with kids and glaring at me today), he began again, scratching under Junhong’s chin, “He likes tuna, milk and tomatoes.”

What kind of a cat liked tomatoes?

(And weren’t cats lactose intolerant?)

“And hates,” he paused, swapping out the word for another (hate was a strong word), “dislikes lemons, icky green vegetables and shots. He really doesn’t like shots. Isn’t that right, Junhong?”

“Meow.”

a/n: when i was little, i used to play house with my friends at pre school all the time. usually, we had too many members and i usually ended up being the lazy house cat who liked to sleep on the fridge. lol. i was the boss man. but if it you couldn't infer from within the story, the reason junhong hid under the bed was because he felt betrayed by himchan. he ran to himchan, begging to be hid from the evil needle, but ended up being held down and surrendered to its sharp evilness by the very person he ran to. so he was upset. but that's okay man. kids forget these things pretty easily. give them a lollipop and a hug and they'll be back to loving you.

also, i've run into trouble within the family again. not a week since my dad came home and the atmosphere's funky again. ugh. i'll more than likely be able to make proper weekly updates, but just in case i can't, apologizes in advance. otl.