Being son of the country’s handsome, single Prime Minister had its perks. The endless spending money. Never getting (openly) bullied at school. Receiving special if unnecessary service at stores and restaurants.  It also had its downsides.  Reporters following you around. Women with dollar signs in their eyes asking questions about your father. A father who ran his household like a Cabinet—that is, whenever he was home long enough to do so.

Good, bad, Kyungsoo learned to deal with it all.  Since kindergarten, he wore all black to deflect attention—though sometimes, that ended up attracting more attention from concerned teachers.  He didn't speak in class unless called on, and over the years he perfected the spinechilling glare he would shoot strangers who dared approach him and his little sister Nara. 

The three of them—Kyungsoo, Nara, and their father (Kyungsoo didn't count the revolving door of incompetent nannies)—learned to get by. Though Mrs. Do disappeared from the picture when Kyungsoo was ten, her presence was everywhere in their house: in the flowery curtains and tablecloths that Kyungsoo’s father refused to replace, in pictures on the walls, and with each year growing in Nara’s face. In middle school, after their cook was fired for making non-culinary offers toward their father, Kyungsoo pulled out his mother's old cookbook on a whim. The first time he successfully made her spaghetti, Mr. Do had patted him stiffly on the back, before retreating to his study with suspicious sniffles. Kyungsoo hadn’t even seen him cry at the funeral.

All in all, everything was fine.  Some days were harder than others, but it was fine. Life was fine. They were fine.

Then, out of the blue, his father announced that he was getting remarried.

"What?" Kyungsoo's chopsticks clattered down into his bowl.  “Who?  When? How?”

"WHY?" Nara finished shrilly.

"Don’t speak with your mouths full," Mr. Do replied, ignoring his children's horrified stares.

"Did you get her pregnant?" Kyungsoo demanded.

"Kyungsoo!" Mr. Do scolded.

"I don't want a new mom!" Nara yelled.

"Well, your mother is dead, so this one will have to do." As always, the Prime Minister could be relied on to get his point across in a blunt ten-second soundbite.

Nara's eyes filled with tears.  Kyungsoo instantly lost his appetite.  He stood up and left the table with a loud slam, ignoring his father’s stern calls.

The cold winter air did nothing to cool Kyungsoo down.  He stomped down the streets in his puffy (black, of course) winter coat, trampling grass under his shoes.  He didn’t know how long he walked, thoughts swirling angrily in his mind.  How could his father?!  Without telling them?!  Kyungsoo was used to his father being the strong, silent type, but this was kind of a big deal! Where did this woman even come from?  Kyungsoo was pretty sure he’d never seen his father show an interest in anything but his work for the past few years, though certainly not for a lack of attempts from social-climbers and gold diggers.

Stewing in thought, Kyungsoo marched on through the depressing wintery landscape. He lost track of time, but his hands were freezing when he eventually found himself in front of a church.  Hope Church, the familiar sign read.  Right now, Kyungsoo needed all the hope he could get. He and his family hadn’t been here since Mrs. Do’s passing, but Kyungsoo could still recognize the birdhouse out back and the rosebush whose flowers were currently in hiding.  Somewhere in the ground by the trees, little Kyungsoo and little Baekhyun had buried their vegetables from their after-service lunches.  Maybe Baekhyun still did that.

The back door was unlocked, and Kyungsoo cautiously went in.  He remembered that the church was usually open during the weekdays for Bible studies and rehearsals. He went past the entry hallway and entered the back of the sanctuary. It still looked the same. The large room was lit by the afternoon sun, through the stained-glass windows. Even though he wasn’t a church boy anymore, there was something about the place that made Kyungsoo walk softer and stand up straighter, feeling as though God were watching him through a magnifying lens. A little awestruck, he made his way across the polished floor and slipped quietly into a pew.

"Um.  Dear God," he began, putting his hands together like he remembered doing in Sunday School. It had been years, so he was a little out of practice and felt more than a little awkward.  The last time he’d prayed to God, he had been ten and not very kind with his words.  "If you're there. Sorry, I know it’s been a while... But please don't let my dad marry this woman. I promise I'll be a better son, and work harder in school, and be nicer to my sister.  And, um, sorry for my last prayer...I was upset, you know… But please please please if you want to prove you’re real, don't let this happen..."

Kyungsoo's rambling was interrupted by the sound of soft piano music.

At first, Kyungsoo thought maybe he was having a religious experience.  The melody was strangely familiar and stirred a memory. But then the music broke off in the middle, then started again.  Then broke off again.  If this was God, he must be having an off day. Then, there was a decidedly human cough, a few feet above him.

Kyungsoo's eyes flew open and he whirled around in his seat.  His eyes traveled up to the balcony.  There was a boy seated by a piano, playing with utmost concentration.  He looked Kyungsoo's age, and he was dressed in a green sweater and black pants.

The boy seemed to feel the weight of Kyungsoo's stare.  His eyes flickered down toward Kyungsoo and he flashed him a smile.

Kyungsoo nearly choked on his gasp. He was gorgeous.

The pianist returned to his music, and Kyungsoo found himself debating between staying and fleeing.  On the one hand, he had no experience making small talk with strangers, especially ones that looked like angels.  On the other hand, well, the stranger looked like an angel. And, the rational part of Kyungsoo's brain helpfully reminded him, he was probably not at all interested in guys like Kyungsoo.  

Unsurprisingly, the coward in him won out.  Kyungsoo squeezed his eyes shut, said amen, and fled out the way he’d come, heart thumping dangerously.

When he returned home, dinner was unfinished and neither his father nor Nara were anywhere to be seen, a sure sign that a fight had erupted.  The servants didn’t dare touch the food, knowing that the kitchen was Kyungsoo’s domain. As Kyungsoo packed the leftovers, he began humming the hymn that the pianist had been playing.  He was sure he'd sang it before, in Sunday School.

Mid-verse, he felt something tug at his shirt.  It was Nara.  Her eyes were red, and she was wearing a pink coat and matching earmuffs, a giant backpack on her back. Kyungsoo could see a limb of her stuffed teddy peeking out through the opening. 

She held an empty lunchbag out toward him.

“I’m running away,” she informed Kyungsoo.  “Can you make some sandwiches for me?”

Kyungsoo turned back to the dishes.

“Oppa!” She hit him with her lunchbag. “Do you want me to starve on the streets?”

“Sorry, Miss Do.  The Do Restaurant is currently closed, come back tomorrow!”

“You’re not funny!” Nara yelled, before stomping back upstairs to her room, probably to cry some more.

The tabloids were full of speculation.  How old was she? Was this a publicity stunt?  Had the woman bribed the Prime Minister with a tape?  How would the Prime Minister's ratings be affected by this scandal? 

As Kyungsoo repeatedly told Baekhyun, he had no idea either. Baekhyun was one of Kyungsoo’s (only) friends, the result of a painting accident in the first grade that had ended up with a furious Kyungsoo and an unrepentant Baekhyun.  Since then, they had grown up together through Sunday school, elementary school, junior high, and high school, much to Kyungsoo’s dismay.

“Come on, is she hot at least?”

“That’s my dad’s fiance you’re talking about!” Kyungsoo hissed.

“So? Doesn't mean she's not attractive.  Wasn’t your dad voted this year’s iest Politician?”  Kyungsoo groaned and buried his face in his hands. (Mr. Do had had the same reaction upon seeing the article)

Two weeks later, Kyungsoo finally met the mysterious woman that had set the tabloids abuzz.  He came home to an unfamiliar pair of shoes on the mat outside their door. 

“It’s her!” Nara hissed as Kyungsoo entered.  “She’s in the kitchen!  She’s messing everything up!”

Kyungsoo sniffed.  There was a strange but unmistakeably food-like smell in the air. With growing dread, he followed it to the kitchen, where he saw the slim back profile of an unfamiliar woman.  She had curly hair and was wearing a flowery apron, and she was banging around like she owned the place. Kyungsoo instantly saw red, and it wasn't just the sweater that she had on.  The kitchen was HIS space. Everyone knew that. And that was wearing his mother’s apron.  

That wasn’t even the worst part, though.

"Oh, hello!" the woman exclaimed, turning around.  "You must be Kyungsoo!  I’m Im Yoona!  You can call me ahjumma.”

“…You!” Kyungsoo recognized her face instantly. Trashy magazine reporter.  A.k.a., one of those vultures that liked to tail him and Nara home from school. “You followed us to the park once!” 

“Ah.” To her credit, the woman looked sheepish. “Yes, I’m a reporter.  Wow, you have good memory...”

“What are you doing here?” Kyungsoo demanded.  His eyes darted for any sign of a hidden camera.  Did she break in? Where was Mr. Huang? Where was their father?

“Oh, your father didn’t tell you?” The woman bit her lip.  “We…well, I thought it would be nice if we all had dinner together…Get to know each other, before the wedding...”

Kyungsoo was blindsided.  So this was the person who would be replacing his mother?  Im Yoona was slim, with wavy brown hair and doe-eyes.  If Kyungsoo weren’t so angry, he would’ve admitted that she was pretty, in a girl-next-door kind of way.   

She also looked closer to Kyungsoo’s age than to his father’s.  Kyungsoo wanted to throw up. 

“So, I heard you’re quite the chef!”  Yoona continued, oblivious to the storm gathering behind Kyungsoo’s cold stare.  She smiled hopefully at him.  “I could use some help with the soup…I’m not really sure what I’m doing, to be honest…”

NO!  Kyungsoo felt ugly inside.  He wanted to yell.  He wanted to yell at her to get her dirty hands off his mother's apron, get out of his kitchen, leave, and never come back.  Oh, and get a better hairstyle while she was at it.  But his chest was growing too tight to get the words out. He was reduced to blinking rapidly to keep the burning in his eyes at bay.

"Kyungsoo…?"

Kyungsoo said nothing.  He turned and ran up the stairs to his room.

“Well, that went well,” Yoona sighed.  She turned to survey the mess inside her pot, wondering if it was edible.  Maybe she should just order some takeout.

Kyungsoo refused to go downstairs for dinner, yelling that he was busy with homework. 

"I’m very busy too!" Nara echoed from the other room, even though Kyungsoo could hear the distinctive sound of Exxo’s latest music video through the thin walls.

For once Mr. Do didn’t argue; his footsteps disappeared back downstairs. Instantly, Kyungsoo flattened himself to the floor and pressed his ear against the floorboards, hoping to hear his father sending that woman away.  Instead, he heard them talking.  His father said something in his usual stiff tone. The woman replied with a laugh. Then, there was the sound of chairs scraping.  Bowls clinking.  Stilted conversation, not the kind of prosody you would expect between a soon-to-be-married couple. Kyungsoo sighed in relief. Maybe this all really was just an act, like all the tabloids were speculating…

Then…his father laughed.

Kyungsoo leapt to his feet as though burned.  He reached for his headphones and jammed them on, blocking out the outside world with the smooth sounds of Exxo’s latest single Howl.  He spent the rest of the night watching music videos on his laptop and stubbornly ignoring the grumbling of his stomach.

“It’s not that funny,” Yoona huffed, as the Prime Minister choked on his water.

“Oh believe me, it is.” The Prime Minister calmed down, reaching for a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth. “You, accompanying me to the event? You must be joking.”

“What’s so wrong about that?” Yoona folded her arms and frowned.  “I’m your fiancé."

"Believe me, I know." The Prime Minister glared at the newspapers stacked in the corner of the room.  "And you’re a reporter.  How do I know you won’t be collecting secrets and photos to sell out later?”

“Excuse me!  Do you really think I’m that shameless?!”

“Yes.”

“I...God, I can’t believe I’m marrying you.”  It’s only for six months, Yoona reminded herself.  You’re doing this for your father.

“If I recall, you were the one who begged me to.”

“Like you're any better.  You were the one who ordered me to!”

Under Mr. Do’s strict rule, the Prime Minister’s children were raised to be the “Face of Children in Korea.”  Every evening, they studied until their brains were mush. Every morning, they practiced martial arts with Mr. Huang—their nanny-slash-bodyguard-slash-kendo-instructor— until their heads were spinning. When he was home, Mr. Do would join them, monitoring their practice like a drill sergeant.

“Kyungsoo, your form is sloppy. Back straight.  I heard you joined a band at school. Hobbies are fine, but don't let them distract you from your studies.  Singing is not practical.”

“Yeah, well marrying a woman half your age isn't practical either."

"Kyungsoo!" His father's face reddened in anger. Kyungsoo felt momentarily victorious for getting a reaction. "Keep this up, and you won’t be allowed in the kitchen any longer.”

Kyungsoo snapped his jaw shut.

“Nara, hold firmly.  I heard you skipped school again.  Is this the kind of image you want to give to our family?”

Nara grumbled.

“Don’t mumble when you talk. If this happens again, I’m taking away your TV.”

“But you said it was a present! It’s mine!”

“No gift is ever freely given. And don’t talk back to your elders.  Both of you, practice the form 100 times.  Tao will be watching to make sure you do it properly."

"Yes, sir."

"Good.  I’ll be going to work, then.”

Kyungsoo did well enough on his kendo exercises to be granted a trip to the supermarket.  When it came to food, Kyungsoo was notorious for taking forever, and Mr. Huang was all too glad to take Nara across the street to shop at the clothing boutiques.  Kyungsoo was left to peruse the aisles in blissful peace.

The peace didn’t last long.

“That’s a lot of cheese,” someone said in his ear.  Kyungsoo yelped, nearly dropping the bags in his arms.  A pair of arms reached out to steady him, and Kyungsoo found himself staring into a gentle, smiling, and all-too familiar face that may have passed through his daydreams more than once in the past few weeks. The cute pianist from church. Or, as Kyungsoo had taken to calling him in his mind, Church Angel Boy.

Meanwhile, Kyungsoo was holding four giant blocks of cheese in his arms. So romantic.

“I-I’m making pizza!” Kyungsoo explained automatically.  Church Angel Boy was even more beautiful up close; his face was so fair it seemed to glow.  He was wearing a sweater again, this time baby blue.  “I…it’s my sister’s favorite, and it’s fast to eat on the go, and the cheese here is really good, so…”

Wait, why was he telling him all this?  Kyungsoo felt himself turn red, and he forcibly clamped his mouth shut.

“Ah, really?” Church Angel Boy looked down at the cheese fridge in interest.  “Maybe I should buy some, then.  To go with my crackers.”

It was then that Kyungsoo noticed the 10+ boxes of crackers and cookies in Church Angel Boy’s shopping basket.

“That’s a lot of crackers,” said Kyungsoo.

“It’s for the Sunday School at my church,” Church Angel Boy replied.  “They eat a lot. Growing kids, you know.”

Kyungsoo thought about his ridiculously picky sister and couldn’t agree, but he nodded.

“I’m Suho,” said Church Angel Boy, finally letting go of Kyungsoo to extend a hand.

“Kyungsoo,” Kyungsoo answered, his voice squeaking a little.  He took Suho’s outstretched hand.  They were soft, like his sweater and his expression.  In fact, he just seemed to embody gentleness.  Suho—guardian angel indeed.

Suho continued to smile at him, and as the silence stretched Kyungsoo suddenly wasn’t sure what to say or do. To be honest, this was his first time in months making small talk with a stranger.  He was more used to running away from them and their cameras.

“Well, bye,” said Kyungsoo with all the smoothness of a rug.  He pulled his hands out of Suho’s and sped-walked to the canned food aisle.

Why did they make cereals in so many varieties?  Kyungsoo’s wide eyes darted between the Chocolate Crunchies, Yogurt-Coated Crunchies, Frosted Crunchies, Honey-Nut Crunchies, and Plain Crunchies, wondering which one Nara would like best.  Probably the one with the most sugar.  He reached out to check the nutrition labels.

“I like the frosted version,” a familiar soft voice murmured in his ear.

Kyungsoo screamed.

“You really need to stop doing that,” said Kyungsoo as he and Suho waited together in line.  Suho had approached him in Aisle 6 earlier, to inform him that the line in Aisle 3 was shorter. “It’s creepy.”

“Hm? Oh, sorry,” Suho apologized, still smiling.  “It’s just that I heard you singing earlier, and I had to know who you were.”

“Huh?”

“You were singing to yourself.  By the yogurts.”

“…That was an hour before the cheese!”

Suho nodded.  “You really take your time grocery shopping, huh?”

Kyungsoo frowned, defensive.  So? It was therapeutic!  “We all have our hobbies,” he said stiffly. “Besides, you’re the one following me—wait…are you a reporter?”

“No.” Suho’s eyes widened.  “Oh, are you an idol?”

“No.” Kyungsoo balked at the idea.

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Suho beamed at him.  “You’re cute, and you have a beautiful voice.”

“O-oh…” Kyungsoo dropped his gaze back down to his basket.  Was this how normal people made small talk? “Um, thanks.  You’re still creepy, though.”

“You’re welcome.” Suho replied.  “By the way, I was thinking you would be perfect to lead praise at my church! It’s Hope Church; have you heard of it?”

Kyungsoo thought he was going to get whiplash from the way Suho kept saying the most ridiculous things. Or maybe it was normal. Maybe Kyungsoo really was out of practice socializing.  “You’re asking me? Some stranger at the grocery store?”

“Our lead singer fell ill this morning, and a few hours later I heard you singing.”  Suho was undeterred.  “It’s a sign.”

“I’m not religious.”

“We welcome all,” Suho replied, unruffled, as he reached into his pocket for a pen.  “I’ll give you my number. Please think about it?”

Kyungsoo should say no.  Even if Suho was ridiculously handsome, he was more than a little weird.  Kyungsoo had had enough of stalkers in his life, people always wanting something from him and his family.

“Oppa! Are you done are you done—oh.”  Nara stopped short as she saw the unfamiliar-looking prince standing next to her brother.  “H-hi…”

“Oh, hello.  Are you Kyungsoo’s little sister?” Suho turned to smile at the awestruck girl.

“Um.  Yeah…”

“I’m Suho Kim.  I was just telling your brother what a wonderful voice he had.”

“I’m Nara Do!”  Nara replied, instantly forgetting all the Don’t Talk to Strangers lessons her father had drilled into her.  “And, well, oppa won the prize for ‘Heavenly Voice’ at our school last month!” 

Kyungsoo shot Nara a glare, shaking his head.

“Heavenly voice?” Suho beamed.  “See? It is a sign.”

“Sign of what?” Nara asked.

“That your brother should…”

“Our bodyguard is waiting,” interrupted Kyungsoo.  “We have to go. Enjoy your cheese.”

Suho watched them walk away, his smile giving way to confusion.  “Bodyguard? Wait, was that a joke…?”

Nara wouldn’t stop bothering her brother about the handsome prince from the supermarket.

“Who is he? Why was he following you? He looks just like Exxo’s Joonmo!  Why did he have so many cookies?”

Kyungsoo made the mistake of telling her, and Nara was adamant that they should go see Suho in his natural habitat next week. Since attending church constituted a Model Citizen activity, their father relented.  And so, later that Sunday, Kyungsoo found himself sitting in the front pew of Hope Church between his sister and Mr. Huang, wearing his nicest black shirt and black pants.  He tried hard not to look at the sweater-clad boy seated by the piano.  Nara had no such qualms; she stared at Suho with eyes that practically sparkled.

After service, Nara was vibrating to see Suho “oppa.”   Suho approached them first.  In contrast with her excitement a minute ago, Nara seemed to shrivel as he got closer, twisting her hands as she blinked shyly at Suho.  Kyungsoo would’ve found it amusing, if he himself wasn’t feeling similarly.  Suho was wearing a white sweater, and he looked even more like an angel today.

“Hello,” Suho greeted, shaking their hands.  “I’m very happy you came.”

“It’s only a trial run.  We don’t believe in God,” Nara explained. Kyungsoo winced, but Suho didn’t seem fazed. 

“Well, we’re still very glad to have you with us today.  Did you enjoy the service?”

Honestly, Kyungsoo hadn’t paid much attention to the sermon.  “I liked the songs...”

“That’s great!” Suho’s eyes curved into crescents.  “I picked them out. Does that mean you’ve given my offer more thought?”

“Yes!” Nara cried, at the same time Kyungsoo said “no.”  Nara turned to give her brother a disappointed look.

“No pressure, of course,” Suho added.  Caught between his little sister’s and Suho’s hopeful expressions, Kyungsoo couldn’t help it.  The yes slipped out of his mouth before he could control himself.

Meanwhile, the Do mansion was a Cold War zone, what with Nara refusing to speak to her father, Kyungsoo refusing to speak to the Woman, and his dad and the Woman…having some weird thing going on.  Kyungsoo really didn’t want to know, but he took comfort in the fact that they were almost always arguing or trading glares.  Maybe the rumors were true, and they were faking the relationship.  But then, the Woman moved her things into the guest room and became a semi-regular fixture in the house.  Kyungsoo usually saw her typing away at her laptop, storing up secrets about their family no doubt.  He busied himself with hanging out with Baekhyun and his band after school.  He would’ve been content with ignoring the Woman forever, but then Nara had to go and run away.

The Prime Minister had missed his daughter’s birthday, again, this time due to a weekend conference.  Nara spent the entire Saturday morning sulking in front of her TV.  Kyungsoo tried to cheer her up by baking a strawberry cake with Exxo figures on it, but she angrily informed him he had gotten the member Dyo all wrong—he wasn’t supposed to be that tall.

In the afternoon, the Woman came by with a gift bag and balloons in hand.  Nara rushed into the front hall at the sound of the buzzer, eyes alight with excitement, only to fall in disappointed anger.

“I don’t want you here!” she snapped, before whirling around and stomping back upstairs. Kyungsoo could hear her crying.

The woman bit her lip, and Kyungsoo felt the need to assure her.  The house was already depressing enough without having to drag her into it.  “It’s not your fault.  She’s just upset about dad.”

“Is he not here?” Kyungsoo shook his head.  The Woman’s eyes widened in disbelief.  “Did he forget?  I know! I have my car! We could drive over to his office right now!”

“No.  He didn't forget.” said Kyungsoo.  “Appa has an important debate today.  We can’t bother him.”

“But he’s your…” Yoona read Kyungsoo’s expression and decided better. 

Kyungsoo went outside to practice some more kendo, imagining that his enemy was his father.  It didn’t help; he still tripped at least ten times in the half hour.  Physical activity had never been his forte.  When he returned to the kitchen to make a snack, the house was strangely quiet.  All the bread was gone.  So was all of his and Nara’s secret candy stash.

A trip upstairs confirmed his suspicions. Nara’s backpack wasn’t in her room.  There was a lump on her bed with a hat and a Barbie wig placed at one end and a pair of slippers at the other.  Kyungsoo rolled his eyes; Nara didn’t even have blond hair.  He pulled down the comforter, revealing her mountain of stuffed animals. Underneath it all was a handwritten note. 

Dear all,

I, Nara Do, am running away in search of a better life.  By the time you find this letter and my disguise, I will be leagues away.  Don’t try to find me. Farewell.  Attached is my will.

On the second page, Nara had bequeathed her entire stuffed animal collection to her brother and nothing to her father, “except my disappointed tears and unreturned love.”

“…Idiot,” Kyungsoo sighed.

Yoona had already alerted the maids and bodyguards, who busied themselves checking every corner of the house and its grounds. This wasn’t the first time Nara had “ran away.”  The Prime Minister had put his phone on silent and wasn’t replying to messages at the moment…not that he would’ve been much help in the matter, to be honest.  Meanwhile, Kyungsoo opened up his sister’s latest internet history to see a local map pulled up, with several spots marked, the farthest one being the city park, Chanyeol Park.

The ground was slippery with ice, so Yoona drove slowly.  Beside her, in the passenger seat, Kyungsoo gave directions.  They checked Nara’s school, the library, her three best friends’ house, her favorite restaurants…to no avail. Kyungsoo was starting to get worried.  It was a cold day out, and even in the insulated car he could feel the chill on the windows.  Walking all the way to Chanyeol Park couldn’t be easy for a ten-year-old.

“You’d be surprised. I ran away from home once too, when I was a little girl." Yoona smiled at the memory. "I made it all the way to the other side of the city, five miles in the rain.”

“Couldn’t you have taken the subway?"

"Of course not! That would've ruined the adventure.”

Nara was curled up in a pink ball by a tree, next to the pond.  She had spread a picnic blanket on the grass, on which her stuffed bear was enjoying a sandwich.  She didn’t even twitch when Kyungsoo and Yoona approached.

“I was trying to fish,” she explained, showing her broken tree branch, on which hung a string with a soggy piece of bread tied to the end.  “And I tripped and fell in, and now my legs are wet.  And I’m cold!” 

Kyungsoo wanted to tell her it served her right, but she looked so miserable. He remembered his own tenth birthday. It had been his last one with his mother, back when Mr. Do was a prosecutor and hadn't yet sold his soul to serving his country. They had spent the day at the beach—all four of them.  It had been one of his best memories, sunburn and all.

“Are…you going to tell appa?” Nara asked in a small voice.

Kyungsoo glanced over at Yoona.  “We won’t, if you come home right now.”

"I didn't even catch a fish..." Nara sighed.

“We can buy fish on the way back, for dinner,” Yoona offered.

Nara didn’t say a word during the drive back. She meekly burrowed into her coat, head barely peeking out. Back home, Kyungsoo begrudgingly allowed Yoona in the kitchen. Apron-less this time, Yoona fried the fish under Kyungsoo’s suspicious eye, while Kyungsoo took the birthday cake out the fridge and tried to trim a centimeter off of Dyo’s sugar legs. When Nara got out of the shower, Yoona cleaned the scrapes on her leg.

“I did this for my own father a lot,” Yoona explained, reassuring a squirming Nara.

“Does he fall down too?”

“Yes, he is a bit clumsy.”

"I bet he doesn't forget your birthday."

Yoona didn't answer, but Kyungsoo saw twist slightly.  She put a bandaid on Nara’s knee.  “There, all good and hidden!”

“Say thank you,” Kyungsoo said.

“Thank you,” Nara echoed grumpily.

Later that evening, Kyungsoo went to bed utterly drained and feeling extremely sorry for himself and Nara. Having a Prime Minister for your father definitely had its downsides. He hoped Christmas wouldn't be like this too. 

Before nodding off, he found a new message blinking in his inbox, from a “Suho Kim.” Suho had emailed a proposed rehearsal time and date, signing off his message with a smiley and an “I hope you are eating and sleeping well!”  It was silly, but Kyungsoo couldn’t help himself from touching his screen, as though he could touch Suho’s smile through the emoticon.

Kyungsoo closed his eyes and fell asleep, worries melted away by the memory of a bright smile.  

 seeing suho for the first time: =o =0 =D. from Prime Minster and I.