a/n: this took a longer to write than i bargained for.
and it also attracted a lot more attention than i could have ever thought
(what with single father having been written such long time ago now otl).

this was meant to have been uploaded a week ago, but things happened.
my grandpa got really sick and my parents brought my grandparents over
so that he can get immediate treatment in seoul if something went wrong.
everything’s fine though now, but it was really hectic for a while.

anyways. thank you to everyone.
i hope you enjoy.

(sorry if it isn’t what you thought it would be.
it wasn’t what i thought it would be either, to be honest.)

word count: 8182

( .---- )

“Maybe I shouldn’t go after all.”

I’m glaring at him. I’m driving, but right now, glaring at him is a task that has to be fulfilled.

But it’s like he doesn’t even notice this when he continues, waving his arms a little dramatically in the little cramped space of my car. If traffics laws didn’t demand that I keep both hands on the wheel at all times (if it didn’t regard our safety) I wouldn’t have paused to reach over and smack him over the head. Instead, his hand hits the roof and he grunts. He deserved it. “I mean, they haven’t talked to me in years, Himchan.” Returning his hands back to his lap, nursing the slight red that was forming on his right from the bump earlier, Yongguk looks almost glum. “This isn’t a good idea.”

From the corner of my eyes, I see the light turn green and I direct my attention back to the road. There’s a sigh hanging on my lips, and I can understand where exactly Yongguk was coming from - his parents had never been award winning -, but it still didn’t drive me enough to turn the car around.

“And you’ll never talk to them at this rate, you know?”

His bottom lip juts out as he turns his head out the window. He’s a little too old to be pouting like that, but it doesn’t change the fact that it eats away at a little part of me.

“Come on, can’t be that bad, right? They want to talk to you.”

“Apparently not enough to call me on their own.”

Yongguk sulking used to be a rarity that would come every once a full moon. He was a generally a peace loving sort of person, agreeable to a point I’d disagreed with his agreeable nature. Seven new years with me seemed to have changed that. He stuck out his bottom lip and withdrew to a corner when things didn’t go his way now; not that he was any less placid as he was a few years back, but he’d learned to portray his dislike without piling it all up until it blew over. I’d yet to figure out whether this was a good thing or not.

But I digress.

It had been seven years since I first found Yongguk working at a cafe by my university that I wouldn’t have even known, had I not been put on my caffeine ban. Seven years since he’d smiled at me through his hanging eye bags to brag on a napkin drawing his kid had sketched him during break time. And seven years since he sat outside my apartment door on an especially cold winter night, huddling close to him a feverish child and surrendering his pride for his son’s safety.

But it had been all that and longer since his parents had kicked him out of the house with nothing but the clothes on his back and worded shame for breaking the family taboo.

So yes, I could see why Yongguk didn’t want anything more to do with his parents; but they were still his parents, like it or not. And they were trying to reunite their broken family. It would be nothing but a shame if Yongguk didn’t even let them at least try.

“Maybe they were afraid or something.” Yongguk scoffed at that, rolling his eyes at my suggestion, but I kept my reactions guarded to a shrug. Hell if I knew what his parents were thinking when they’d asked Yongguk’s older sister to call up her baby brother for a family meeting.

When Natasha had called the other week, her voice sounded a little grounded in comparison to her excited squabble. She’d been overjoyed to find out that her baby brother was alive and well in Seoul and even more to finally get to meet that tiny little nephew she’d been told was dead. (She’d also been lectured her brother too had died in the winter streets, but sister senses, as she’d called it, had informed her otherwise.)

We’d thought it’d be just another one of her “weekly check ups” that she liked to do, just to make sure Yongguk hadn’t gotten himself mugged or run over on the streets over the course of the week. We hadn’t thought much of it when Yongguk picked up the phone in bed, switching the speaker on so the both of us could pick up on the conversation and Natasha’s usually cheerful hello didn’t ring out as pitched as it was supposed to. Maybe she’d just had a bad week.

The phone call droned on as it always did for the greater first half, Natasha complaining on how her husband had forgotten to buy enough ink for their shop before opening hours and how she had to run out in slippers and her hair undone to make up for the silly mistake. We’d laughed at her cute whining and made little agreeing retorts on how Chihiro could sometimes have his head too high up in the clouds.

But the hanging up goodbyes didn’t go how it always did every week.

“Mom and Dad called, Yongguk. They want to see you.”

I saw Yongguk stiffen up that night, his brows curling into one and eyes hardening as he stared down at the smiling picture of his sister drawn on his cell phone screen. I saw him freeze his breathing before letting it out in a slow puff and chirping in a fake tone how much he’d missed Natasha, but had to go to sleep.

Natasha didn’t press on the issue, telling him to think about it and give her a call later in the week.

Yongguk didn’t.

The ending bits of our weekly phone call rang out in my ear every day until I finally brought it back up to him. He gave me a stink eye and shook his head, clarifying just how much he didn’t want to have this conversation. But they didn’t call me bull-headed Himchan for nothing.

I had Yongguk promise to give his sister a call and set up a date that was good for the all of them. He swore to consider forgiving his parents, even if they didn’t really deserve it.

And in return, he had me promise to take care of Junhong while he was out.

I had no qualms about that. It’d be like old times, when Yongguk often left the house for work and Junhong and I would be left together until daddy came back home at night. The only thing different now, would be that Junhong could now hold a legitimate conversation. So Yongguk was going to be away for a week, visiting his parents in the little, old island off the coast of Korea that he grew up in; it wasn’t as if he was even really all that far away. No problem, right?

“Come on,” his sulking hadn’t ended, even as we drove up to the parking lot at the pier, his glaring seeming to have intensified during the car ride. “Maybe it won’t be that bad.”

The look turned to me and I felt a shiver crawl up my back.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he gave a grunt of surrender, “and yeah, I know I’ll regret it if I don’t go, but…” His eyes screwed shut and his head gave a little shake.

Yongguk didn’t need to finish those words for me to understand what he was trying to say. So I gave him a pat to the shoulder instead, tilting my head back to a sleeping Junhong in the back seat. “Do it for Junhong then. Set a good example for him so he’ll actually come and visit us when he grows up and we’re all old and wrinkly and no fun to play with.”

I said it as a joke, to crack a smile in the tense atmosphere; and it worked. He shook his head, but smiled anyways, pushing my forehead before twisting to the back seat to nudge at Junhong so soundly asleep. “Wake up Jun-bug, dad’s leaving now.”

We all clammered out of the seat to give Yongguk his hugs goodbye and to wave him off onto his boat. He promised to give us a call when he got home and we shook him off before he missed his ride - I’m pretty sure that’s what he’d planned on doing this whole time, that sly bastard.

Junhong got to be his last hug before Yongguk climbed on deck; but I got his last kiss.

When the boat carrying Yongguk fled from our vision, Junhong and I were the last ones left standing on deck, him leaning halfway across the safety bars and me holding my hands up and waving to my lover who I couldn’t even see anymore. We stood there for a minute longer before I caught Junhong huddling into his jacket and biting back a shiver. It was time to go back home.

“Can I ride in the front seat?” He gave me his puppy eyes with that, jerking his chin out and puckering his lips just as cutely as his dad did. “Promise I’ll wear my seatbelt and everything.”

A part of me told me to nag at him for assuming that sitting in the back seat could mean escaping from wearing his safety belt, but I bit back the words. Instead, the words, “Aren’t you too young for that,” found their way out.

Junhong frowned, losing the cute and innocent look for that of a rebellious child. “I’m twelve.”

Didn’t make him any older (a whole fifteen younger than me), but I laughed instead. Reaching out to ruffle his hair. “You have to be thirteen to get in the front seat, Jun-bee.”

He swatted my hand away - probably more because I’d said no than the fact I’d crumpled his already screwed hair - and crossed his arms. He pushed ahead of me, his shoulders hitched up in a swell of pride, back to the car, hand on the handle of the back seat before turning to me for a final whining look.

And I caved. “Oh, why the hell not? It’s not like your dad’ll ever know. It’ll be our secret then.”

He cheered, throwing his hands up in the air and pressing an index finger to his lips, puckering them out to a quiet, “Shhh. Dad has ears everywhere.”

I didn’t mention how those said ears were often played by me.

The car ride back home, for the most part, was chilling. If Junhong hadn’t taken to tapping out a beat against his thighs, I might’ve thought for a second I’d driven Yongguk out here alone.

I tried to make conversation.

“So, any pretty girls catch your attention?”

But was promptly shut off with a, “I go to an all boys’ school.”

And in there ended our conversation.

When the silence got too much, I flipped on the radio to a classical station. About half a minute later, Junhong groaned and changed the frequency, fiddling with the dial until an excited buzz came over the speaker. It was loud and mostly static, but Junhong found it appealing, bobbing his head to the beat and mumbling along with the words I couldn’t make sense of.

Was this what the kids listened to these days?

(They had no taste in music.)

I tried to think back to a time when I’d been as outlandish about my sense of music. There was a time when Yongguk had gotten me into rap; but at least that, I could make sense of the lyrics and beats.

What Junhong was listening to, I wasn’t exactly even sure what to call.

(Either way, it wasn’t my thing.)

I tried not to be a buzzkill - as I’d called my parents back when I was Junhong’s age - and kept my hands off of the increasing speaker volume. As much as the rambling on the radio bothered my ears, I tried not to pay mind to it.

I lasted until the last remaining minutes of the ride, when I couldn’t take it anymore; but the look Junhong shot me made it look like I’d stolen the half of his childhood.

Maybe it was because I had decided to switch off his music, but the minute we got home, Junhong rolled quickly out of my sight. The last I saw of him was the back of his head as he closed his room door behind him. He didn’t even bother come up with a excuse to lock himself up.

It had only been an hour or so since I saw Yongguk go, but I was already starting to miss him.

(Maybe I shouldn’t have let him go.)

Junhong only reappeared later in the night when Yongguk called to check in with us. It’s almost like he has a special sensor that pinged whenever his dad was involved.

“Is that dad?”

Yongguk had reached home safely without too much trouble - traffic probably having been his only worry getting to the old vacation turned retirement home. “Safe” ended there when it turned out that Natasha had Chihiro at the shop alone to see her baby brother. Yongguk said that she’d only taken him by surprise, but I knew Natasha’s excitement enough to guess that she’d practically all but jumped him.

His parents - well, mostly his dad - apparently hadn’t been nearly as excited to see their long lost son return home. He’d gotten a short hug from mom and a half an acknowledging nod from dad before taken to his old room to unpack. According to Yongguk, the level of awkwardness had been “unreal”; but at least he had Natasha there with him.

I had gotten maybe a total of five minutes on the phone with Yongguk before Junhong stole my phone, retreating back to his room with it. “Dad,” he dragged the word out (four beats, pausing a count for a breath after), “when are you coming back? I miss you.”

He fell asleep with the phone switched on and Yongguk on the other line, still talking.

“I’ll be home as soon as possible, alright Jelly? Be nice to Himchan.”

( ..--- )

The day started at noon.

Junhong came out of the room with a severe crow’s nest, rubbing his eyes. He placed himself at the edge of the living room sofa, next to Yongguk’s usual spot, and yawned without covering his mouth. “I’m hungry.” Junhong was always hungry; I would’ve been more shocked, had he said he wasn’t hungry.

“Alright, let’s have lu… - brunch then.”

The fridge was empty. Not completely, I mean, but nothing was made. Raw ingredients and a half drunken bottle of milk set to expire next week.

“How about we order in?”

It wasn’t like I couldn’t cook - I’m great at it! I just … didn’t feel like it at the moment.

Junhong took a moment of hesitation before shrugging. “I want pizza.” He eyed me a little funny, rolling his upper lip between his teeth. Did he expect me to say no?

(I couldn’t find a reason why not.)

“Sure.” That was burden off my shoulders. Ordering pizza usually meant leftovers; meaning no need to bother thinking about dinner. “Go get washed up and I’ll go order. What do you want?”

“Golden Deluxe Bulgogi Cheese Bites! Large size and a large coke! Please and thank you!”

He ran off before I could say anything else. Something told me Yongguk would have complained about Junhong’s choice in meal (he always chose the most expensive meal on the menu) but, again, I couldn’t figure out a reason to say no. Since Yongguk wasn’t here, why not?

I got on the line to order and Junhong returned a minute too early to say he’d washed properly (but he looked decent enough, so I lacked the excuse to send him back a second time). He switched the tv on and I let Junhong surf between the channels - he skipped all the news broadcasts - and didn’t argue when he rested on a gag program. It wasn’t funny (not really anyways), but I let him watch it; the pizza would arrive in a few minutes anyways.

And maybe a minute later, the bell rang.

Speak of the devil.

(I hadn’t ordered in pizza in a while, but talk about fast service. I could have nearly sworn they’d said that it’d take at least thirty minutes when I’d called.)

I shared a look with Junhong and went to fetch my wallet while Junhong went to get the door.

I’d thought that maybe it was way too early for it to actually be the pizza man; and I’d been right. The person at the door was in no way the pizza. He was too short, not to mention lacking a box of our pizza.

“Kris?” I did a sort of a double take. That was Kris? The little shin kicking demon from way back when? “What’s up? Didn’t you say you’re gonna be busy with Tao today?”

Kris did a sort of a huffy face and shoved his way in, bumping shoulders with Junhong and making himself home at our living room couch. Rude, definitely. Looks like physical appearance was pretty much all that’s changed about him.

I looked toward Junhong for answers and he shrugged back. “I’d asked him if he wanted to play today, like, a week ago,” I can bet my right arm that it hadn’t been really that long since he’d asked, “but he said that he was gunna go play with Tao at the park.” He puckered out his bottom lip and rolled his shoulders again. “He said he was busy, so I didn’t tell. Didn’t think he was gunna show up.”

Fair enough, but. “Tao?”

“Oh, his baby brother. Kris is, like, super protective and all. They’re like, attached at the hip.”

I can remember that. He’d wanted a baby brother for Christmas instead of toys like all the other kids (correction: he’d wanted toys and a baby brother). I remember laughing about that. I’d thought that Kris only liked the thought of having a brother but not actually having one. Turns out he’d really wanted one after all.

Junhong shrugged and scrambled over to join Kris at the couch before the kid could throw a hissy fit.

Shutting the door, I followed behind, catching the last bit of their conversation with much amusement.

“So what’s up, where Tao?”

“Hemfhs mifgh.”

“Huh?”

The look Kris gave Junhong was enough to kill. Junhong shrank back into his seat and blinked, jerking his chin out in a delayed effect to seem tough.

“He’s. Sick. Tao has a cold and mum won’t let me bring him out with me.” With the way Kris huffed those words out, exhausted and airy, you’d have thought that he’d caught a terminal disease. “We’d promised to go to the park today and, and he was all excited and everything.” He grouched, digging his arms closer to himself, folded. “I was gunna buy him ice cream and that Pikachu balloon he really, really wanted. I even saved up and everything!”

I could see his distress.

(Not really.)

Junhong seemed to be more sympathetic than me. He pulled on a sorry face (if I hadn’t stood watching them have this conversation, I might’ve thought Kris’s pet got run over or something. No one would have been able to guess those crocodile tears were because his little brother had caught a cold) and reached out to touch the grouch’s arm. “Sorry, he’ll feel better soon.”

(Kids really were funny things.)

Lucky for me, the doorbell rang again, this time the delivery man, and I rushed out back of the room before I could lose composure. I wasn’t sure if Kris still had violent tendencies, but sure as hell, I wasn’t going to be the one to test it.

( ...-- )

The phone call came as Junhong did.

I was on the phone, in one hand a plate of cookies I’d bought at the store today to fill in as Junhong’s evening snack before dinner (if things went along to plan, this was dinner). Junhong gave me a look as he closed the door behind him, slipping into the kitchen and tossing his backpack - looking awfully empty for a middle schooler - off to the side. He pulled a brow at me as I twisted away to angrily growl into my phone.

“No, I’m not going.”

“Going where?”

Junhong peeked over to me and frowned.

I ignored him.

“No, I don’t care if about the money, I said no.”

“What, what is it? Who is it? Where are you going?” This time, he was at my side, pulling my arm and ducking and dodging to peek at my phone.

I don’t know what got him so curious. He was never this curious. (Was he?)

Covering the speaker, I told him. “It’s Kwanghee, you remember him, don’t you?”

I know I did. Junhong hadn’t really liked Kwanghee all too much when he was little. He’d cried once after seeing him, screaming something about him being a monster. I hadn’t stopped him when Junhong had tried to throw a bottle at Kwanghee’s head during a photoshoot.

He still ran that stupid internet shopping mall of his. Who knew it’d last this long?

There was little recognition in his eyes, but Junhong nodded anyways. “Yeah.”

“He wants me to come down,” (“That’s Junhong, right? I remember the little er! Hey, Junhong can come too if that’s what it takes!”) “and help out with his stupid photoshoot.”

He looked thoughtful for a second, then shrugged. “Go then.”

I frowned, ignoring Kwanghee’s excited rambling. “It’ll be boring. You hated it there last time.”

“Hey, I was five.”

“And the process hasn’t changed at all since then. Knowing Kwanghee, he might even put you to work.” I paused, watching Junhong pull a lopsided smile. “Oh god, that’s what you’re aiming for, isn’t it?”

“Me? No way.”

I rolled my eyes, pulling my phone back to my ear and cutting off Kwanghee’s rant. Had he been trying to persuade the whole time I’d been talking to Junhong? “Shut up. Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute. You owe me.”

Seven years hadn’t changed the fact that Kwanghee was not exactly the best sort of friend. I don’t know why I was still friends with him.

Junhong made a fist bump behind my back and I threw a finger his way. “You, you’re taking your homework and working on that. Get your bag.”

He seemed a little discouraged at that, but agreed mostly to the deal, grabbing his empty back with a mischievous smile. Something told me that his bag was empty and that Junhong had no real plans to do his homework at all; but I let him off the hook. He couldn’t push it off forever.

(I was so telling on him when Yongguk came home.)

Knowing Kwanghee, I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from him. There was always something funky up with him.

I just didn’t know this “something funky” would come in the shape of my baby cousin.

“Jiho? What are you doing here?”

I didn’t have a lot of cousins, but even out of the few, Jiho had been the only one I’d bothered keep in contact with. In my defense, some of them had moved out of the country to China or the states; though, even if I’d known they lived next door over, I probably wouldn’t have cared.

Jiho was special though. He liked me; he was easy to get along with.

“Hyung?”

His hair was styled up, sticking to a point I knew for sure he was far too lazy to work on his own. He was into fashion, but never the type to spend too long fussing over his hair (he made up for all the whacked out things people did to their hair with his clothes).

And … was that makeup he’s wearing?

Junhong was behind this whole affair, me point wildly at my cousin and yelling at Kwanghee on the side, snickering behind a closed fist. He found this funny. He had always found my trauma to his amusement.

“What’s the meaning of this, Hwang Kwanghee?”

Kwanghee rapped. He might well as have. His hands flew in the air, gesturing every once in a while my cousin. And in the end, his point was that Jiho had volunteered.

“He did not.” I growled. Then I turned to Jiho. “Did you? No, you didn’t.” I answered for him, knowing better than anyone else how overly sweet my cousin was. He always did things for others. Hwang Kwanghee was abusing this kindness.

I might have tried to Kwanghee, but Jiho pulled me off, grabbing my by the back. If he hadn’t held me back, Kwanghee wouldn’t have survived the night.

We traded his survival for a raise and I had Jiho promise to call if Kwanghee tried anything funny.

Knowing him, it wasn’t long until he decided to branch out to selling underwear and needed models for that too.

(I was not having Jiho’s mostly pictures swim around the internet.)

When I returned back to Junhong, he was on the couch - the old thing he’d fallen asleep on way back when he was five (Kwanghee still hadn’t thrown it out yet, it wouldn’t stop squeaking and I swear it would break if more than three people sat on it at one time) - with someone I couldn’t quite recognize. He was laughing. I could have nearly sworn thought that Junhong was shy.

“Who’s this?”

Their conversation paused when I broke in. They’d both turned to me and I narrowed my eyes on this new stranger in failing hopes to put memory to face.

“Oh, this is Taehyung hyung. Remember him?” No, I didn’t. Not really anyways, though the name was a little familiar. But it seemed Junhong did.

Taehyung made a half hearted head bob toward me, meant to be a bow, I’m sure.

“His grandma owns the shop a street over from my kindergarden.”

Oh. Oh. He was the kid that helped out the little old lady whenever school was out. I hadn’t seen him since Junhong had entered grade school and I’d gotten busy with my own work. Somehow, I’d assumed that he’d always remain the tiny kid with scabbed knees and messy hair. I didn’t expect to see him so … grown up. He had to be at least Jiho’s age.

“Yeah, I, uh, I go to school with Jiho.” Okay, so he was Jiho’s age. “I’m not in the same major, I’m not like Jiho. I can’t draw like him.” He laughed here, making gestures I’m pretty sure was supposed to be of him drawing. “We were going to go to the movies today, but, uh, his boss called him over for a quick shoot so I came with.”

He smiled brightly at the end of his explanation. You’d have thought he’d given a world-famous speech in front of a grand audience or something. (He hadn’t. It was just me and Junhong and Junhong matched that goofy proud look on his face.)

“Oh, well, it’s nice to see you again.” I tried a smile and he didn’t seem to mind the fact that it was forced. He seemed to get the point that I wasn’t having quite the world’s best day.

I turned back to Junhong, meaning to tell him to do his homework and not to goof off, but was cut off. “Did you know that Jiho hyung did music? Taehyung hyung told me.”

I blinked. I did know.

After all, it had been me, who had set him up with the current studio he did his thing in.

“That’s so cool. We have to visit someday. Can we go visit? Please? I’ll be good and everything. I’ll even do my homework right now. Please?”

I made a glance toward Taehyun, who found it hard not to laugh at Junhong pulling faces and attempting to look good enough for me to say yes. He choked hard on his breath and mouthed a sorry before falling over clutching his stomach and nearly catching Junhong in the chin.

“Maybe.” I paused to think about it, “If you’re good. And if Jiho says yes.”

There was thing about selective hearing I’d read online a few days ago. Apparently, it was when people only heard what they wanted to hear.

In this case, the only word Junhong seemed to have caught, was the “yes,” at the very end.

He cheered.

( ....- )

Junhong came home today with a fishy looking DVD. He said his friends from class gave it to him and demanded that he be allowed to watch it. He claimed that Yongguk always let him watch scary movies and that he wasn’t scared of, “no stinkin’ scary movie or anything.”

He was lying through his teeth, but I let him anyways.

I don’t know why, but I did.

We were maybe halfway through the first half of the film when Junhong pulled his first whine. For special effects, we’d turned out the lights and shaded the windows before starting the movie. Junhong swore that he could take it and had rubbed in that I could say so if I got scared while watching.

The chances of me getting scared over fake blood and ghosts on screen wasn’t high, but I thanked him anyways. The gesture was cute.

But it was obvious now that it was Junhong that was scared.

A side glance to him gave that much away.

I’d tossed him a pillow earlier to shut him up (when he would stop claiming that he was a big boy now and could handle scary films perfectly fine without crying like he’d done when he was little), but now that cushion lay crushed between his hands. At any second, I was pretty sure his blunted nails would cut through the fabric and we’d end up with a bunch of cotton scattered around the living room.

“Junhong?”

He flinched, jumping a good inch off of the seat and hastily twisting to look over at me. His eyes were wide and had it not been so dark in the room (minus the flickering of the screen light hitting the side of his face), I was sure that his pupils would have been completely blown. “Y-Yeah? Y-You scared?”

Really, it was cute how he was still pretending to not be scared.

For his sake, I held back a laugh and shook my head.

“This isn’t too boring for you, is it?”

He shook his head, rapidly. “No, no. No, it’s alright. I mean, it, it’s not s-scary or anything! N-no - No way!” He went off for a little longer, tripping over his words badly and adding extra emphasis to how much he wasn’t scared. “I-I’m not scared at all!”

Of course he wasn’t.

I held out a hand toward him and he looked down at it. He looked conflicted, wanting to take it, but at the same time wanting to prove to me just how much of a man he was.

“I just want to hold hands.” He had a large pride like all kids his age. And for the record, so did I. But I was willing to fold it just a little at the corners for Junhong. (I guess this is what dads did for their kids. Had my dad done this for me too? What about Yongguks? - Probably not Yongguk’s.) “I’m getting a little scared.”

Junhong gladly took my hand.

And not just my hand.

He jumped at the opportunity and scooted close to me, nearly climbing on my lap in the process. “S-Since you’re scared.”

Really, I wasn’t, but I let him think that.

I nodded and thanked him.

He stayed like that, glued to my side, until the end of the movie, letting out a lengthy breath when the screen darkened and the credits rolled in. Once the screen turned completely black, he let out a breathy laugh. One so obviously fake.

“Th-That wasn’t scary at all!”

The way he squeezed my hand during the film told me otherwise.

“Y-You weren’t scared either, were you, dad?” He paused, blinked twice and then shook his head.

He’d made a mistake. Junhong never called me dad. Yongguk was dad and I was just: hey, you, or hyung.

I let his slip pass. “A little,” he wasn’t the only one that knew how to lie (though I was significantly better at it than he was), “but I was fine since you were here holding my hand.”

His chest puffed out (cute) in pride.

Again, I thanked him and pried my fingers out of his hand, petting his head twice just for effect.

“It’s late now, let’s go to sleep.”

Getting up, I stretched. My legs had fallen asleep somewhere during one of the jump-scare scenes, but had refused to move it in case Junhong thought it was a real ghost or something. I’d have to limp to get to my room, but blood would have to wait to settle until I got to properly stretch my legs out.

Bidding Junhong a good night, I took my first step back to my room (let the blood flow back before coming back out to the living room to reset the pillows and pop the DVD back in its case for Junhong to return to his friends tomorrow), but a tug at my sleeve held me in place.

“I, uh, I’m not scared or anything. B-But can I … Um. Do you wanna sleep together? S-So you don’t get scared at night! So - so, uh, so that the ghosts don’t come to get you. I-I can protect you and all.”

I almost died.

“I’d really like that, thanks Junhong.”

“S-Sure, whatever, it’s n-nothing.”

( ..... )

“That is so cool.”

Although Jiho and Junhong never really got along as kids (they’d fought and bickered at every chance they got and it had gotten to a point where I avoided letting the two stand in the same room for longer than a minute) they seemed perfectly fine now. If I didn’t know any better, I might’ve thought that the two had been friends for life, judging how close they stood next to each other now.

I hadn’t thought that Jiho would actually agree to letting us over to watch while he was at his “muse zone” - as he called it. Maybe that had been why I’d asked him. I’d almost hoped he would say no, just so I could have an excuse not to drive out and laze around at home.

But he’d said yes.

That had been the first time in my life, possibly, when I’d detested a positive answer.

I’d driven Junhong out warning him not to get on Jiho’s bad side and remain a good boy while we were at the studio, but it turned out that I didn’t need to make such advice. The two got along like two peas in a pod (like the peanut butter sandwich Yongguk always made for Junhong during the weekends, singing some song in English lyrics I’m pretty sure he didn’t understand half of).

I was almost scared of the devious that could come out of the two being friends.

Junhong had hunched over on the stool that Jiho had offered him by his side. He made it look like he’d sat there since forever as Jiho’s sidekick in terror. And sometimes, very rarely, Junhong turned back to me, hollering a fact he’d just found out, but also one I’d known for since forever.

“Did you know that Jiho hyung used to be an underground rapper under the name Nacseo? That is so freaking cool! Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?”

Honestly? Because you weren’t at all the slightest fond of Jiho until today.

I let them do what they did and slipped out of the room for some air. I liked it when Jiho made music and did what he wanted to do, but his passion toward music sometimes burned too high and it got suffocating, even for me. With Junhong there to fuel his fire, it was twice as bad, if not worse.

Jiho had an overflowing passion for music. He loved it more than anything else, but oddly enough, he hadn’t taken music getting into university. I’d suggested him for it. He’d used to love helping out with my term projects whenever I let him; and whenever he did help, the results had been fantastic. I’d thought for sure that Jiho would take music, like I did.

Imagine my surprise when he showed up one day with a canvas and a scene of a rural farm painted on.

I’d stepped just out of the building for a drink and was returning with a bottle for my two musically absorbed boys, when I ran into another face I hadn’t seen in years.

“Himchan?” I really don’t know how he recognized me from so far away. Or maybe it was just my eyesight that was bad. Yongguk had always told me to get glasses, but I’d just laughed at him. Maybe I really could consider it. “It is you!”

Junmyun looked good. Good as always.

During university, Junmyun hadn’t been too great with his appearance. He wore what was comfortable and cut his hair like those American prep boys on dramas.

Not saying he looked bad, but just that time been good to him.

He was still as bright as always. He bounced over to me and flashed a wide smile not in the slightest awkward. It was like he’d seen me every day of the past five years we hadn’t met up.

“You look good. How are you?”

From behind him, was Kris and a smaller, skinnier boy - who I could assume was this infamous Tao I heard about the day Kris invaded my apartment. Kris bit his lip and got this look in his eyes he usually did years back right before he kicked Junmyun, but instead huffed and moved the other direction with Tao in tow.

(It was scary to say, but Kris had matured. A lot.)

“I’m fine.” I guess. “Yongguk went to see his parents and I’m watching the house with Junhong now.” Junmyun had gotten the notice that Yongguk and I had gotten together a few months late and had immediately approached us to congratulate us. Surprising, but this was just the sort of person Junmyun was.

(And somehow, it occurred to me too late that I’d made it seem as if I was housesitting instead of picking up after my own house.)

“His parents?” Rumor had also spread to Junmyun’s ears that Yongguk wasn’t in too great of relations with his parents. It was funny how these rumors even spread, considering how Yongguk had disappeared for so long.

I tried not to show that I was worried. I really didn’t.

It might come off as a little awkward.

“Yeah. Wanted to talk or something.”

Or something. Smooth, Himchan.

Junmyun shrugged my struggle off. Kind, considerate Junmyun. “So what brings you here?”

“Junhong wanted to watch Jiho do his thing.” I shrugged. “Kid’s interested in making music like his dad. I think he might be interested in continuing it later.”

Junmyun did this weird eye wiggle thing. I stop him to stop.

(It looked creepy.)

I think it was because I’d mentioned Junhong’s dad. I’d meant Yongguk. Junmyun knew his.

When he refused, I swat him over the head and grumbled old profanities I hadn’t in long years. Kim Junmyun was weird.

I considered hitting him again, when Junhong burst down the corridor to meet us. He seemed a little out of breath. Had he run here? Was something wrong?

“Junho-”

“I want to go home. Let’s go home.”

He took me by my wrist and pulled me out. For a middle schooler, he was pretty strong. (Since when had he gotten so strong? So demanding for that matter.) He didn’t give me a chance to pause and say bye to Junmyun, or thank him properly for lending Jiho out a studio for cheap; so I hollered out quick thank yous and waved him goodbye, making loud handsigns that I’d call him later.

Junhong only stopped pulling when he got back out to the parking lot.

“What was that about?” He glared at me, stealing the words right out of my mouth.

“What was what about?”

He did a little more staring through the rear view mirror as we got in the car before seemingly giving up. He deflated against the back seat and turned to lean on the window.

“Nothing, never mind. I just want to go home. I want to talk to dad.”

I don’t think I’ll ever completely understand Junhong.

( -.... )

When I’d first let Yongguk go on this family meeting, I’d thought that the week never pass. The days would drag on and on again until I finally ended up cracking and begging Yongguk to come back home.

Turns out this wasn’t the case.

Time had passed a lot faster than I’d thought it to have and before long we had just one more day until Yongguk came back safe and sound where he belongs.

He had a lot to talk about today when he rang up.

After having stalled for the whole week - doing family bonding activities, like fishing with his dad or flower gardening with his mom -, his parents had finally decided to have their talk over dinner. Natasha had tried to defend Yongguk, speaking up at every empty silence to compliment her baby brother and try to talk some sense into their parents; it had been twelve years since Yongguk had “disappointed” (I’d like to disagree), after all.

And it seemed to have worked.

His mother had warmed up first, according to Yongguk. She’d apologized for having been rash and kicking him out of the house as she had. He mentioned how she shed tears over how much she had missed her youngest boy during the twelve years they hadn’t kept in contact. She’d really thought that Yongguk had died too many years back and hadn’t attempted to find him in fear of returning home a corpse and not her baby boy.

His father took a little bit longer. He never apologized, but supposedly made this grunt, which Yongguk took as a prideful form of an apology. Accordingly, there was no longer words exchanged after that from him.

And then he had to drop the bomb.

“It probably wasn’t the best timing to tell them, but I didn’t want to hide it either.”

He was whining over the phone and although we weren’t talking through webcam, I could practically see his puckering his bottom lip sadly. His kicked puppy look had been used on me far too many times and had burned into the back of my memory forever.

(I wasn’t complaining, it was cute. In a really weird way.)

“Yeah, well, you did good. They didn’t kick you out again, did they?”

Yongguk paused to think about this a little. “Well, dad did mention disowning me, but I don’t think he was serious.”

If my memory served right about Yongguk’s dad, he was very serious.

“Anyways, I’ll be home by tomorrow. I think it’d be better if I wasn’t at home while this bomb rests. Honestly, I don’t want to be home if my dad decided that he doesn’t want to have a gay son.”

I sighed. If only his parents were as accepting as mine had been when I’d dropped the gay thing.

(Though, dad did end up crying - funny how it wasn’t my mom who’d cried.)

“It’ll be fine.” It wasn’t like they could complain forever.

Yongguk hummed in agreement and a distant whine on the other line told me how he’d flipped over to his back on the bed. “Anyways. Why won’t you let me video call you? I want to see you, Channie. I miss you, don’t you miss me?”

“Of course I miss you!” How dare he think otherwise! It was just that … “I look hideous right now. I don’t want you to look at me like this.”

He snorted. “Himchan, I’ve lived with you for seven? Seven or eight years now. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen every bit of you there is to see.”

Yongguk couldn’t see it, but I flushed a little at the comment. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Does that mean you’re bored of me now?”

“No! No! Of course not! I’m just saying that even if you say you look hideous, I’m pretty sure you look beautiful … y’know … just … just saying … You’re really pretty Himchan … and handsome. Just … Just don’t ever forget that, alright?”

I laughed. Yongguk was really the best thing that had ever happened to me.

“Thanks, but you’ll have to wait to see my beautiful face until tomorrow.”

He grumbled, but came to terms with the offer.

He made a smooching sound over the phone and told me again how much he missed me, how anxious he is to get home back to me and Junhong (he said my name first).

“Yeah, I love you too, you big dummy. Get home safely. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

We hung up, and the first thing out of my mouth was a sigh.

The house was an absolute wreck.

There was no way I was going to let Yongguk think that I couldn’t manage watching the house and kid.

Junhong and I had a lot of cleaning to do.

( --... )

“This is probably the best and worst idea ever you’ve made.”

I wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment or not.

(I took it as a compliment.)

“Thank you, now are you done with the living room?”

Junhong popped from behind the couch back, twisting half way to give me a funny look. His cheeks had painted a pale shade of pink and his eyes weren’t exactly the nicest they’d been this week. “You gave me ten bags of balloons. Ten. Bags.”

After Yongguk’s call the other night, I’d called Junhong up (he wasn’t sleeping, why was I not surprised) to tell him about his dad’s coming arrival and the idea of pitching him a surprise. Yongguk had been doubtful of leaving the house to just Junhong and me, so why not teach him that we can manage without burning down the place - or even better, throwing him a surprise welcome home.

“I also gave you an air pump, but you refused to use that.”

I didn’t mean to laugh at him, but the way his eyes watered in frustration was a little too cute to hold back.

We’d split our tasks. Junhong had cleaned up his room (which, frankly, had been in the worst shape) and blow balloons for the surprise. I just hadn’t thought that it’d take him longer than it did me to get the rest of the house and make a few snacks on the side.

I joined in to help him finish up the balloons.

A little before Yongguk actually returned, we gave up trying to blow up all the balloons. It was an impossible task finishing up all ten bags in the limited time we did, but I say we gave it a fair enough attempt.

Scattering the ones we did get done around the room, Junhong ran around to get the curtains, closing them and the other room doors in between. We switched out the lights and waited for Yongguk to come back home.

(While we did, Junhong got a fit of the giggles and I had to hold his mouth closed just to stop him from completely cracking up - though for what, I’m not exactly sure.)

A little before the beeping of the security pad, Junhong pried my hands from his mouth.

“I, um, er,” he chewed at the inside of his cheeks. “Thanks, dad. I … Uh, really.”

He flushed red and pulled me into a hug.

I didn’t get to give him a hug back before he jumped out from our hiding spot the moment the front doors opened.

He left me with a sentence. Just eight words:

“Thanks for being my dad, I love you.”