It’s Saturday morning.

Jongin puts on the nicest pair of pants he has in his closet plus the cleanest shirt he can find. Glancing at the clock, he hurriedly dresses the protesting Yoon Ah in a pink frilly dress and hopes he hasn’t left any beer bottles underneath the table.

He finds himself counting the seconds to nine o’clock almost in fear, maybe a bit eager as well. He wants to see how Kyungsoo’s been doing, but he’s also scared that he might be doing well. Without him.

Because Kyungsoo is a man faithful to his habits, the moment 9AM strikes, the doorbell rings simultaneously. Yoon Ah leaves Jongin’s lap with a jump (she was getting tired of his shaky legs anyway) and runs to the front door. Jongin follows her, albeit a bit uncertainly so, since her five-year-old frame is still not tall enough to reach the knob.

“Daddy!” she screams at the top of her lungs the second Jongin opens the door and reveals a short, neat man nearing his thirties in a white shirt and washed-out jeans. Kyungsoo’s face morphs into a genuine smile immediately and he kneels down, taking Yoon Ah into his arms, “Hey, sweetheart!”

Jongin’s lungs die out completely as he watches. If someone had told him five years ago that he’d be married and have a child before reaching 28, he’d laugh. But here he is, left out, and Kyungsoo looks so perfect that it hurts seeing him. It happens every time.

The two finally separate and the elder looks up, “Hello, Jongin.”
It’s a polite, formal greeting. Of course, Jongin is not expecting Kyungsoo to run into his arms or anything like that, but his heart still clenches painfully.

“Hi, hyung,” he says weakly, “Come in.”

Kyungsoo takes Yoon Ah, who for some reason always decides to throw tantrums around him (this time she’s tired of walking) and walks past him, shoulder brushing lightly into Jongin’s. The younger would probably flinch less if he’d taken a punch.

As on cue, Kyungsoo’s face scrunches in displeasure and annoyance as he observes the house. Jongin patiently waits for the inevitable lecture about how he’s lazy and will die buried in his own dirty laundry one day. However, Kyungsoo simply sighs, “It’s so messy here.”

“I cleaned up, though,” Jongin shrugs, absentmindedly playing with Yoon Ah’s ponytail.

“Yeah, I can see that,” the elder snorts, “How can you raise a child in this house?”

“I don’t see her minding it,” Jongin growls back.

It’s impossible to skip the fight. It’s a small argument, but it happens every goddamn Saturday. It’s either Kyungsoo’s new hair or Jongin’s laziness, but there is always something solid standing between them. A whole monster. A monster called Divorce.

“Why do I have the feeling you’re only waiting for her to grow up so that you can force her into being your cleaning lady?”

It’s like a slap. Jongin grips Yoon Ah’s shoulder a bit too harsh and she winces, which makes both of them kneel down and ask if she’s okay.

“You’re horrible,” Kyungsoo hisses, “You can’t even be gentle to your daughter.”

“I’m not the one who left her,” the younger snaps back, irritated and hurt.

“I’m hungry!” Yoon Ah suddenly declares, shifting their attention back to her. She pulls on Kyungsoo’s sleeve, because Jongin has always been bad at cooking – God bless the microwave dinners and instant noodles.

“Sure, let’s make you something,” the elder grins, “How about pancakes? Or rice and chicken?”

“Both.”

By habit, Jongin and Kyungsoo glance at each other and laugh softly. In magical moments like these, it’s easy to imagine nothing ever went wrong. It’s easy to imagine they’re still in love, both of them, and that Yoon Ah is still just a baby.
However, the magic wears off quickly and Kyungsoo switches back to his emotionless glare, possessively taking Yoon Ah’s hand and guiding her into the kitchen. He orders her to stay put while he prepares the dishes.

Jongin quietly stalks behind them. In their past Saturdays, the pre-divorce ones, Kyungsoo used to bake something every morning. Usually, it was vanilla cake, Jongin’s favorite. The younger, still sleepy and biting down yawns, used to wrap his hands around his waist and plant small kisses down his neck, murmuring incoherent I love you-s.

The memory seems to be so old.

“Jesus! What do you feed this child with?” Kyungsoo barks as he bends down to observe the products in the fridge, “Is this still good? It looks like it’s been here for ages.”

“It’s supposed to look like that. Microwave pizza,” Jongin replies, voice laced with guilt, “You know I’m no good with cooking.”

Kyungsoo raises a brow above a milk carton, “Well you better start learning. Am I supposed to come here every day and cook for her?”

“No, of course not,” the younger mutters, “It’s not…it’s not your house anymore, after all.”

It seems that Kyungsoo acknowledged the pain in his voice, because he adds, a bit softer, “Besides, it’s not good for you too. You’ve been working late again, haven’t you? Your skin looks ty.”

“Daddy, what does ty mean?” Yoon Ah asks innocently, staring at both of them with the curiosity of a five year old girl. They look at each other again, this time doubling in laughter at the same time. Yoon Ah frowns, unable to understand which part of her question was so funny.

“It’s nothing important, sweetheart,” Kyungsoo says, a smile still lingering on his lips.

“Daddy meant to say my skin looks bad,” Jongin puts in. The girl relents to this explanation and alters her attention to the far more interesting bug crawling over the table.

“And I’m right. You look like you haven’t been sleeping in ages,” Kyungsoo glances at him with slight worry, “You’re exhausting yourself.”

“I can’t help it. I need to keep things sharp and make sure she won’t ever be lacking anything. Besides another father, of course.”

Jongin isn’t sure why he added the last part. Sometimes, no matter how much he tries, he lets his feelings protrude and the Saturdays always end in chaos, with one of them shouting and Yoon Ah crying in her bedroom. It seems like this will be another one of those, because Kyungsoo smashes down the eggs with far more force than needed.

“Well, if her other father knew the first thing about being a partner, this might have worked.”

“Are you telling me I’m the one who cheated? Because I’m pretty damn sure that was you.”

“Let’s not have this conversation, Jongin,” Kyungsoo sighs, “I’m tired, and I don’t want to fight. It makes it harder for her too.”

“Quit talking like she isn’t here.”

“Then you quit acting like she isn’t here.”

Jongin suppresses a yell; turns back to Yoon Ah instead and leaves Kyungsoo with his cooking. He’s not exactly angry, more like offended. His pride has taken the hardest blow, and then there’s the horrible feeling of failure. He tried, honestly. He tried so hard to keep it all going, but they just couldn’t click. Maybe they never did, and a child – the most desperate measure to keep their relationship intact – proved to be useless. Of course, Yoon Ah is all a father could ask for. Weirdly enough, she has Kyungsoo’s eyes and Jongin’s smile; Jongin’s rebelliousness and Kyungsoo’s intelligence. It’s not difficult to imagine it’s their own daughter. The difficult part is pretending they’re still happily in love, for her, in front of her, when all Jongin wants is to punch his ex-husband for being an A-class .

“Daddy, are you listening to me?”

Jongin blinks. Kyungsoo is mixing some stuff into a bowl. It’s always like magic, the younger can’t grasp the essentials of cooking and perhaps that’s why they worked together for so long. They fitted where they were different, clashed where they were similar.

“I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

Yoon Ah pouts. She picked up that expression from Kyungsoo, and for some reason, it always makes Jongin irritated and soft all at the same time.

“I asked if daddy Soo can stay with us. I’m tired of eating the same thing.”

Jongin (with slight pleasure that he’ll never admit to) glances at Kyungsoo to see his ears going red. The bowl in his hands is shaking, so he leaves it and turns around with an awkward smile, “You know that can’t happen, sweetheart. Daddy lives elsewhere now.”

“But why?”

Because daddy is a , Jongin replies mentally. He keeps his mouth shut, obviously, instead savoring the embarrassment Kyungsoo has to live through while he tries to make out the correct words.

“Because I live with another future daddy now. You’ve met him already, right?” he finally says. The words strike Jongin harder than anything before. He turns to the elder in disbelief, wide-eyed and praying that it isn’t true.

“I don’t like him. He looks dumb,” Yoon Ah declares, grimacing.

I don’t like him too, Jongin wants to add, but then he decides against. After all, Chanyeol is impossible to hate. Chanyeol, the superb basketball player; the amazing college teacher Kyungsoo works with; the underground rapper (so underground that no one’s ever heard of him); Chanyeol, the man Jongin is not. The younger has spent entire weeks pondering on what exactly Kyungsoo saw in that gigantic klutz with two left feet. It’s a miracle he’s even survived until now, let alone create a family. But facts are facts, and Jongin is the one left behind as a single father with a child on his hands, not Chanyeol.

“You’ll get to like him,” Kyungsoo replies, going back to the dish, “When you come during the summers to stay with us in New York. He’ll take you anywhere you like. He’s actually a pretty nice guy, I’m sure you’ll love him once you get to know him, darling.”

New York, huh?

“But he isn’t daddy Jongin. He’s creepy.”

A tired sigh escapes Kyungsoo’s lips and Jongin decides that enough is enough, “Sweetie, go play in your room while we prepare the breakfast, okay?”

Yoon Ah frowns and fusses for a few minutes, but eventually gives up and goes upstairs. Jongin immediately regrets sending her off, because the silence is a bit too awkward, a bit too painful with all the things that are still left unsaid. He observes as Kyungsoo pours oil into the pan – an action so simple, yet so endearing that he almost submits to the urge of embracing him. It’s been so long. Half a year, and Jongin is still falling; falling for Kyungsoo and perhaps to his death.

“So how are things at work?” Kyungsoo asks.

It’s another polite question. Jongin has always hated this idiotic distance they set between each other, it’s just repulsive, since…well, how can you act formal to someone who you’ve been holding in your arms just six months ago?

“It’s okay. Nothing big. I’m managing.”

“And have you…”

Another patch of awkward silence. Jongin pretends he doesn’t understand the question, “Have I what, hyung?”

After a second of hesitation, Kyungsoo continues, “Have you found someone?"

The younger bites back a bitter laugh, “It’s not that easy for all of us, you know. Unfortunately, I can’t walk around campus with a bigass Get in my bed sign, unlike some people.”

“Jongin, you’re being an .”

“Wanna bet who started first?”

Kyungsoo flips the first pancake almost aggressively. Jongin knows he’s pushed too many buttons, but he can’t keep his mouth shut. Not when he fought for so long, not when he’s still fighting. Perhaps Sehun was right about one thing (and that moron is rarely right about anything): Fighting a war that’s been lost is masochism and suicide at its finest.

Kyungsoo is the first to break the silence, “We’re moving to New York this fall. Some university offered Chanyeol a place and we decided that we could use a change. Seoul’s been getting boring lately.”

“Are you sure it’s boredom that sparked that idea?”

“Not everything revolves around you and your selfish .”

“Sorry, are we talking about you?”

“Jesus, grow up!” Kyungsoo snaps, “Explain to me why, when you failed to care while we were together, are caring now? Where were you when we had to raise that kid? Where were you when I ing needed you?”

“Working my off to pay the bills, probably,” Jongin snorts. Kyungsoo isn’t right. He isn’t the one who ed up everything, Jongin tried. He tried far, far harder than him. Two jobs, night shifts, raising a child and still being a husband while Kyungsoo strutted his gorgeous around town, giving in to the first guy that offered him something better. Kyungsoo is a superficial bastard, and the reason why Jongin still loves him is unclear, but a fact.

Indeed, he loves him. Still.

Kyungsoo lets out a tiny, hysterical laugh, “Oh, right. Working. You were always working, weren’t you? I guess your night shifts ended up being more important than your family. It’s all about the money to you, that’s why it didn’t work out, you know. You looked at me, and all you saw were failed ambitions and green bills. You wanted to be a great man, and every failure you blamed on me. Sure, Jongin, you tried, I give that to you. But when you turned your back on me in bed, brushed my hand off while we were in public, told me I was dumb for craving more of you, do you think I could manage with all of it? I got tired, Jongin. Very tired.”

A sudden rush of guilt shoots through Jongin’s body. He inhales sharply, desperation clinging onto him for dear life.

“No one is perfect, hyung. I thought you knew what my flaws were before we started this whole thing,” he manages to let out, but his voice is soft, weak. He wonders how they got here when they loved each other so much in the beginning. Love is supposed to overcome everything; love is supposed to last forever. Kyungsoo and he, they were supposed to last forever.

“I never wanted you to be perfect. I wanted you to be with me. And you failed to do even that.”

Kyungsoo’s voice is weaker too. Maybe they’ve both been trying a bit too hard and a bit too long than it was worth it. Maybe their relationship – or whatever ship they had – was destined to crash down like a whole ing Titanic; amid bloody mist and the regular casualties. Jongin blinks back the tears. Crying is overrated even for Titanic.

While he watches Kyungsoo cutting off pieces of food and feeding Yoon Ah on his lap, he still lets a few of them fall unnoticeably in his plate. It’s too nostalgic, and Jongin is definitely not a sentimental man; however, every Saturday is a glimpse in the past, or in the future. A glimpse of what could have been only if they were stronger. Only if he was stronger.

He resists the urge to beg. He’s been begging too much anyway, with no results evident. And honestly, Jongin just feels pathetic in his overdressed attire and combed hair, since it won’t make any difference anyway – no matter how in love he is. No matter how much he wants to stop the time and live in this tiny magical moment for a few more hours, a few more centuries, even. No matter how much he needs Kyungsoo.

Four o’clock in the afternoons comes too quickly and the elder, completely defeated by Yoon Ah in that video game they bought her for Christmas two years ago, stands on the doorstep. He’s smiling, Jongin’s lips crack into a cheap attempt for a smile as well, and Yoon Ah clings onto Kyungsoo’s neck, whining.

“But I don’t want you to leave yet!”

“Daddy has another family to take care of now, dear. I’ll be back next week, and I’ll call you every day like always. Don’t forget to do your homework and make sure this other kid behind you gets enough sleep, all right? Take care of daddy Jongin for me.”

On the verge of a possible breakdown, Jongin blinks so hard that the whole world starts flickering in black. He kind of thinks whatever God there is finally relented on his pray and time has slowed down, but then he recalls it always does when pieces of you burn out. Seconds are merciless, though he grips to them, begging just for the next one to extend to another thirty. Yet Kyungsoo gets up, straightens his shirt and offers a brief, disgustingly formal smile to Jongin along with his hand, “See you next Saturday, Jongin?”

The younger absentmindedly takes it for an awkward handshake. The words come out of his mouth, genuine, inappropriate and useless before he can stop them, “Hyung, isn’t there a chance that we-”

“No, Jongin. There isn’t.”

And with that, Kyungsoo gets in his old Daewoo (Jongin remembers how they had to repaint the whole thing three and a half years ago; its color is faint, however, indicating just how much time has passed since then) and vanishes with a sigh from Jongin’s lips. It’s how relationships end, perhaps. No thunders, no booms; no wails and no cries. Just an indifferent glance and two words: It’s over.

“Daddy?”

Jongin snaps back to reality. Yoon Ah is pulling on his sleeve, grinning so widely that he can see all of the teeth that are missing from , “Yeah?”

“Do you think daddy Soo will come back if we clean the house better?”

“I don’t think so.”

She frowns, “But I’ll help too! We’ll wash the windows and if you teach me to use the vacuum cleaner, we can make the floor sparkle like in that commercial! Do you think he’ll come back then?”

Jongin laces fingers through her hair. Crying is obviously not overrated for anyone, because his vision gets blurred. He swallows, still staring to the direction where Kyungsoo’s car disappeared.

“No, sweetheart. Daddy is never coming back.”