It was snowing in Seoul, South Korea. Beautiful, white, cold, tiring snow. The cars on the clean, busy streets were in a desperate need of a defrosting while white blankets were neatly shoveled onto the sides of the sidewalks, courtesy of the military service. All of the trees were bare, stripped of their clothing from the previous season, but were now covered in festive lights that exactly when the sun set. The snow storm passed, though there were feather touches of snowflakes every once in awhile. The children took to this happily, screaming when they managed to catch one on the tip of their tongue. Parents scrambled to keep their kids in order, yet they knew it was to no avail. Soon, they found themselves joining their children. Large, bright ads flashed across the city: OPEN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS; BUY ONE GET ONE FIFTY PERCENT OFF; ALL THE TOYS YOUR CHILD NEEDS; LATEST TREND COATS NOW ON SALE.  The stores were trying to soak up as much money as they could from the holiday season before the holiday actually came. A sudden influx of street vendors came at its annual time, goodies from Christmas treats to small toys and decorations. This was a child's favorite time of year, and, while their wallets protested, the adults' as well.

    Luhan thought it .

     While it was pretty typical for this time of year to have snow, and 110 percent of the kids were rejoicing under the weather, Luhan wished it hadn't snowed today. The holiday season meant more business trips and meetings for his job, which meant more travelling, less sleep, and more customers he wanted to strangle, yet he could only smile and nod as he got them to sign their money away. The whole ordeal wouldn't have been so bad if he had nowhere else to be, but he did. And because of the snow storm that rudely appeared in the early morning, his flight from Beijing to Seoul had been delayed, which meant he was late.

    Usually, he didn't care. He liked taking his own time and didn't mind having the other party wait for him (no matter how rude it was). This time, however, he had promised a certain someone that under no circumstances he would be late. Yet the clock read 4:30 PM, two hours after his promised arrival, and he was still in a taxi, gritting his teeth at the traffic. 

    "How much longer do you think it will take?" Luhan asked, his tone forcibly polite. 

    The taxi driver rubbed his chin. "With this traffic, probably another hour. If it lightens up by the intersection, maybe half an hour?" He sighed and banged at the steering wheel with his palm. "I swear the traffic at this season gets crazier every year."

    Luhan tapped his thighs, agitated. If he ran from this point, it'd probably still take longer than if he stayed in the car. He groaned, sliding a little in his chair and taking off the baseball cap he had put on to hide his disheveled, dyed hair. Still in his work clothes from the day before, he loosened his tie and ran a hand over his face. God, what was he going to say? He should have never made a promise he couldn't fulfill. Two hours in Seoul, and he had already disappointed the two people in the world he actually gave a damn about.

    "Er, I think that's your phone." The taxi driver's voice made Luhan blink from his daze. "I can hear it. You expectin' a call?" Confused as to what the driver was babbling about, he frowned. "The vibrating. I think someone's calling you."

    It was only then he felt the vibration against his leg from his pant's pocket. Murmuring a 'thank you', he fished his cell phone out of his pocket and checked the ID. It was a number that wasn't familiar. Fearing it was about his work, he answered it. 

    "This is Luhan."

    "Luhan? Oh, you finally answered." 

    Luhan's grip on the phone strengthened for a moment, and his shoulders tensed. He knew that voice. That voice was imprinted into his mind; he would know if it was whispered softly next to his ear or screamed hoarsely across Seoul. There were two voices in this world Luhan knew from just the vibrations of their sounds, their tones and pronunciations, their melodic tune that hummed a warning to him, and this was one of them.

    He coughed, readjusted himself, and opened his dry mouth to reply. Then he shut it, then opened it again. "Hey," he said lamely. "I'm really late, aren't I?"

    "Yes. Where are you? Are you hurt?" 

    Luhan's chest ached. Never accusations. Only hesitant questions on his well being. "I'm fine. There was a snow storm, so my plane flight was delayed. I'm stuck in traffic now. I probably won't arrive until another half an hour or so." When there was no answer, and an awkward, uncomfortable silence appeared, Luhan chewed on his lip. "Why are you using this number? Did you change it?"

    There was loud rustling in the background, followed by a delighted laugh. The blonde man's throat tightened, and he swallowed heavily. There it was; the second voice he cherished the most. 

    "No, this is actually Chen's phone," came the distracted answer.

    A horrifying realization settled upon his shoulders. "Ch . . . Chen?"

    "Yes." There was a pause. "He's the new neighbor."

    "Oh."

    "I tried calling you with my phone." The reply was hasty. "You weren't answering, so I asked Chen to use his phone because you might have been ignoring . . . " the voice trailed off, never finishing the sentence, but Luhan knew the ending. 

    He pulled the phone away from his ear temporarily and noticed the six missed calls, all from the same person. They were from during his flight. There was also one other phone call, from the same number he answered to now. Realizing he failed to check his phone from the time he stepped foot on the airplane besides absently turning it back on, he quickly replied, "I wasn't ignoring you. I--the flight--you called during--"

    "I understand."

    No, you don't.

    The continued, tense silence made its comeback, and this time Luhan drew a blank. There was nothing to say. From all the small talk classes he took for his job and conversational skills he accumulated from years of working with clients, he had nothing to say to the person he should be most comfortable.
    The person on the other line spoke softly, voice cautious. "I'm hanging up, now."

    Luhan pressed his lips together, wishing their conversation would last, and let out a small breath. Rational. It was about being rational. Even if their conversation could last, neither side would be satisfied nor left in a better state from the beginning. "Okay."

    "We'll wait for you."

    "Okay."

    The line went dead.
---
    It turned out the traffic didn't lighten up, but only grew heavier, so by the time Luhan's destination was in sight, an hour and a half had passed. During the duration, he had sat anxiously, checking his phone every few minutes to see if there was an incoming call or text. No calls. No texts. He knew there wouldn't be any, but a part of him had foolishly hoped.

    Impatient, he told the driver to make a right and park by the curb. 

    "Do you want me to wait for you?" the driver asked as he parked the taxi.

    Luhan thought of going back into the holiday traffic so soon and grimaced. "No, you can go ahead. Here." He took out a wad of bills and placed it into the small cash box. "Thank you. Keep the change." The driver murmured a thanks. Opening the door, Luhan lugged himself out, almost flinching at the sudden cold air, and grabbed his one suit case along with him. With a short wave, the taxi driver drove off.

    It had completely stopped snowing on his way here. The air was still, heavy with silenced laughter and chatter. He was within the city, but he couldn't hear the city. He couldn't catch the blaring of horns, the rumbles of tires, or the grumbles of pedestrians. Thankfully, the screams of children were long gone, and the whistles from the crossguards were less than a memory. It was serene, here; white blankets shoved softly to the sides of the road. Lights twinkled hesitantly over each expensive town house's gate, an occasional whisper from the neighbors as they left their homes.

     Calm. Beautiful. 

    Readjusting his grip on his suitcase, Luhan made his way onto the all-too-familiar path to a particular home. He saw a decorated, tree outside, glinting with multicolored mini ornaments. A wet, child's drawing was taped onto a recognizable wooden gate. There was a "Merry Christmas" sign with an obviously drawn smiley face at the bottom nailed beneath the child's drawing. He couldn't help but chuckle at the small Chinese characters written messily on the gate: be happy! Nostalgia flooded him, and something else, but he didn't identify it. 

    It wasn't a surprise the gate was unlocked. The residents here were trusting; too trusting. Too many times had Luhan tried to convince them of the importance of locking the gate, but too many times have they forgotten, or not cared, for they believed the neighborhood was safe. Another humorless chuckle escaped Luhan, but his palms were clammy from anxiety. The cold air was the only incentive to move forward. And perhaps, someone else, but he squashed the taboo thought.

    It was a large townhouse. From his memory, he knew there would be three bedrooms up the stairs, a large kitchen and a living room that transformed into a casual dining setting. He knew which room each resident slept in, the hallways to the bathrooms, plus the small backyard that contained fake grass and real plants in painted pots. He knew in the kitchen there would be a tiny rice cooker with leftover burnt rice at the bottom. Several drawings of scribbles would be stuck on the fridge, each posted with a red or blue magnet. He knew of the dishwasher's low hum. He was certain of the glossy, wooden floor. He knew the living room had a low, light green couch in front of a wide-screen TV. He was aware of the several blankets the master bedroom had and the several plushes the smallest bedroom received.

    He was aware. He knew. And it would be well he knew.

    He had lived in the very same house. 

    His steps haltered to a stop, now in front of the friendly, light green door. Despite the burn in his chest, he raised his free hand to knock.

    The door suddenly swung open, and he was abruptly attacked at his legs. With a grunt, Luhan dropped his suitcase and found himself falling backwards, the attack unexpected and disrupting his balance. Instinctively, he placed a hand around his attacker's shoulders and grounded his legs as he stumbled. The attacker followed, his short legs keeping up with Luhan's not-so-tall legs. The unrelenting weight made it longer for Luhan to recover.  Finally, assured that he was no longer in danger of falling, he glanced down at his small attacker. 

    "Baba!" The offender happily greeted without letting go. "You finally came!" The words were spoken in rapid Mandarin.

    Joy swelled within Luhan. The man bent down quickly and swooped up the little boy in his arms. The action caused the boy to laugh, even more so when Luhan spun him around twice. Then, carefully, he brought the boy to his chest and pressed several kisses in the boy's hair. "Of course I came," Luhan murmured in Mandarin, inhaling his son's scent gratefully. "I'm sorry to make you wait." 

    The little boy, looking no more than the age of four, shook his head and pressed both his small hands against Luhan's cheeks. He giggled at the funny face his father made. "It was fun, today, so it's okay. I didn't get to play in the snow, but--"

    "Lay! Lay, oh, jeez, Lay, seriously? What did I tell you about putting on a jacket when you go outside? It's freezing! And you just recov . . ." The lecturing man's voice faded as he appeared at the doorway, taking in the new sight in front of him. His scowl was quickly replaced by a neutral look. "Hi."

    Luhan painfully swallowed the lump in his throat. There was another man in the house. There was another man in the house. A man he didn't know, a man that must have been a couple of years younger than him, a man that had sharp features and a mischievous face that would definitely take well to kids. That was reasonable. There was no need to be surprised, nor hurt, nor angry. It was expected.

    "Hello," Luhan responded tightly. 

    The younger man ran a hand through his hair, wondering if this was the infamous baba Lay always talked about.

    "Chen? Why is the door open? Is there something wrong?" A head poked from behind the door. Luhan quickly turned his attention back to Lay, not wanting to see him so soon. "Oh. Luhan, you made it."

    Luhan cleared his throat. "Y-yeah. The traffic was bad. I hope I didn't come at a bad time."

    Confusion took over the new man's face, but a quick glance between Chen and Luhan became his answer. Softly, he said, "Yixing, honey, you left some toys in your room. Why don't you take Chen and have him help you clean up?"

    Yixing's eyes widened. "I didn't know! I'm sorry, Appa, I'll go now." He pressed a quick kiss to Luhan's cheek and then squirmed in Luhan's arms until Luhan put him down. "Sorry, baba. I forgot to clean up. Don't go anywhere, please." He requested before rushing back to take Chen's hand. The familiarity between the two made Luhan regretfully stare after them. Chen, with one, last deliberative look at Luhan, took Lay inside the house. 

    Soon, Luhan was alone with the man who made his lungs disfunction.

    "Minseok--"

    "That was Jongdae," the man said, then coughed and tugged at his purple beanie. "Oh, ah, I guess, Chen. Yixing calls him Chen because he can't pronounce his name, yet. Same reason for the name, Lay, except vice versa. He's been helping me out with Yixing ever since my shifts at work were shuffled."

    "Oh." 

    Minseok studied him, slowly. With a small furrow of his brows and a short inhale, he tried to explain, "Jongdae is just a friend, Luhan--"

    "I don't need explanations." His voice was biting, his features hardened.

    Minseok snapped his mouth. Pressing his lips together, he nodded mutely. This wasn't the time nor place to fight. Not when Yixing was in earshot, and not when this was supposed to be a joyous day. Feeling the tension between them rise, he attempted to resort to another topic. "He was really excited when he found out you were coming. It was all he talked about today."

    "He's . . . he's okay, now, right? His fever is gone?" Luhan allowed himself to move forward and grab his luggage. "You told me a few days ago he had a dangerous fever."

    "He's recovering," Minseok replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It went down yesterday morning, and today he played. I didn't allow him to go outside, though." Not that Yixing complained. He was more than happy playing with Chen, but Minseok didn't mention that part.

    A soft wind blew over them, and Minseok shivered. Luhan casted him a concerned look. More than Luhan, Minseok was sensitive to the cold. "You should go inside," the younger man suggested. He carefully excluded himself. 

    Minseok gave him an apologetic smile. "Why don't you come in, too? We're actually cooking for dinner. I only made the rice," he quickly added at Luhan's surprised look. Minseok's skills were rather low when it came to cooking. Even the rice would be burnt, which explained why there would always be burnt rice at the bottom of the rice cooker. "Chen made everything else. Yixing helped. It's not done, yet, but you should stay for dinner." At Luhan's hesitance, he added softly, but cautiously, "I'd like for you to join us."

    Luhan brushed off the snow from his pants. No, you wouldn't, he thought. You only want to put on a show for Yixing. That made sense. Yixing was happiest when his two fathers were in the same room. He shouldn't expect anything else, anyway, which is why he found himself robotically stepping through the threshold of the house.

    The warm air of the townhouse's heater hit him, and he sighed with relief. The nostalgic smell that never changed, the soothing colors of the furniture that pleased his eyes; it warmed him briefly. He wiped his wet feet on the matt before peeling off his business shoes. Every single detail Luhan predicted of the house was true, and he was hit by the realization that Minseok hadn't changed a thing. There was not one aspect of the house that Luhan did not expect. Not even . . . Luhan facade cracked a little . . . not even their family picture that stood on the center of a table, pushed against the wall, next to the staircase. 

    Minseok gazed curiously at Luhan's captured attention. When he realized the object, his eyes quickly casted to the floor, hands secretly fidgeting at his sides. "Here," he murmured. "Let me take your jacket."

    Luhan robotically stripped his business suit off, leaving him in a tucked-in white shirt and a loose tie. The older male quietly hung up the jacket, unsure of what to say next. Luhan was worse, feeling the anxiety of the tense silence between them.

    It was thankfully broken by the thumps of rapid feet. "I'm done! Appa, I cleaned--Baba, you're still here!" Yixing, finally finished, ran down the stairs and dared to jump off the third to last step. Luhan scrambled to catch him, to Yixing's delight. 

    "Umf," he grunted, struggling to tighten his hold on the small boy. Once he did, however, he leaned back to meet his son's eyes. "Yixing," he scolded gently in Mandarin. "That was dangerous."

    Yixing's wide eyes stared back, afraid he had angered Luhan. He ducked his head. "I'm sorry."

    Luhan adjusted his son, again, this time with a small smile and ruffled Yixing's hair. Then, in Mandarin, asked, "Did you get a haircut? And how much did you grow this time? I bet you won't grow as tall as me."

    The little boy laughed and placed his hands upon Luhan's cheeks, replying back in rapid Mandarin. He explained that Minseok had bribed him with strawberry drinks for the haircut, and that he grew a lot, he thinks, even though it's only been a few months since Luhan last saw him, and even dared to include the fact that Baba isn't really that tall, so of course I will grow taller! He then went on to explain the day to Luhan, his excitement growing with each sentence. He informed that he wasn't allowed to play in the snow but that was okay because he got to draw snowmen with Chen (my snowman was better than Chen's, but Chen didn't admit it!), and he sang karaoke with Chen (Chen is really, really good at singing, baba, like you!) and even played hide-and-seek with both Appa and Chen (Appa isn't really good at that game). Luhan listened earnestly, smile tightening every time Chen was mentioned, but otherwise showed enough excitement and interest to spur Yixing on more. He laughed when Minseok in hide-and-seek was mentioned.

    A subtle cough interrupted Yixing's next breath, and the two snapped their heads toward the sound. Minseok was still there, leaning against the wall, amused, but a bit pained, at the interactions between father and son. "You know, my Mandarin isn't as polished as it used to be, so I can't follow your conversation. Wouldn't it be nice if we used a language we all knew?"

    Luhan blushed lightly at the comment. Yixing giggled and held his arms towards Minseok. "I can help you remember again, Appa, don't worry."

    Minseok chuckled and stepped forward to take Yixing into his arms. Luhan reluctantly let go of his hold. "Where is Chen?"

    "In the bathroom," the boy responded immediately. "Baba, when are we going?"

    "Baba will be staying for dinner, and then you'll both get going," Minseok answered for Luhan. He lightly pressed a kiss to Yixing's forehead. "You want to lead Baba to the kitchen?"

    "Yes!" Yixing squirmed down and took a hold of Luhan's hold. "You should sit at the table, Baba, and I can make you tea." Luhan, speechless, let his child drag him to the kitchen, despite him knowing exactly where it was. Minseok forced a smile and followed.

    "How about I make the tea, and you get the cups, Yixing?"

    Not at all unhappy with the change of plans, Yixing nodded. "Okay. Baba, you can sit in Chenchen's seat. I think he minds." Neither Luhan nor Minseok corrected his mistake.

    Instead, Luhan followed Yixing's finger to a particular chair at the other side of the rather small, rectangular table. His heart slowed when he recognized it, and his irrational hostility to this Chen flared to a higher level. That used to be his chair. It was a normal chair. Wooden, old, with a small back to it. Yet every morning, Luhan had sat in that chair. Every morning, in that chair, he had listened to the babbles of Yixing; the shufflings of his partner in the kitchen; the soft trees rustling from the small, open window above the sink. He had felt the air from the window, the soft lips of his partner, the attempted hug from Yixing on that chair every morning before he prepared for the busy life of work. It was only awhile ago that he felt those same lips, the same hug, heard the same scrambles of the house.

    It was so stupid to be upset over a chair. But he was upset. He was hurt. But it was stupid. He knew that.

    Minseok pretended he didn't hear Yixing mention the supposed owner of the chair, knowing that it also implied Chen was more than just 'someone who helped them', but his hands were noticebly shakier as he poured the tea. His knees felt strangely weaker. He averted his gaze when he delivered the tea to a silent Luhan in the chair, swallowing when he felt the latter's eyes on him. 

    "Yah, Minseok hyung, you're out of toilet pap--" Chen stopped mid-step and speech when his eyes once again landed on a stiff Luhan. Yixing stopped talking, delighted that Chen entered the dining area. "Oh. You're still here." Chen broke into an easy grin and stepped forward with his hand out. "Hi. I'm Jongdae. You must be Luhan. Lay's told me a lot about you."

    Luhan stood up, reluctantly taking the man's hand. "Ah . . . nice to meet you." The words felt bitter in his mouth. "Thank you for taking care of Yixing."

    "Luhan will be staying for dinner," Minseok informed from the kitchen. He was busying himself in preparing the plates. "Then he'll be taking Yixing for the weekend."

    "How nice," Chen's smile widened, but Luhan couldn't help but detect it was fake. "There's more than enough food. It should be nice seeing Lay after, you know, abandoning him for months with Minseok to take care of."

    Luhan in a breath, feeling the painful jab. The irritation came quick, replaced by hot anger, then overpowered by a burning regret in his chest. God, he did it again. He did it again, and this time, a stranger called him out on it within mere seconds of meeting. And though he knew he should be grateful Minseok had someone to support him and Yixing for when Minseok couldn't take care of themselves alone, he was irritated at the fact that there was an intruder to his family.

    You're not a family anymore, his mind dared to tell him, but Luhan pushed the painful fact away. 

    Minseok slammed the bowls on the counter, muscles rigid. "Jongdae," he warned slowly.

    Yixing hunched in his chair, feeling the tension in the room, not used to Chen's hostile manner and Minseok's anger.

    "I think," Luhan said quietly. "We should go now. It's getting dark, anyway, and we need to catch a taxi back to the apartment."

    "No!" Minseok whirled around, panicked. "No, stay. Yixing wanted to eat together. Don't mind Jongdae. It was rude." He narrowed his eyes at his neighbor, who stayed silent. "It wasn't your fault. You can't help your work."

    Stop. Stop acting as if I'm some damn martyr. Luhan shook his head. "It--It really is late. With the holiday traffic, even at night, it'll take awhile to reach the apartment." He gently turned towards a small Yixing. In Mandarin, he said, "Get your bags, please, Yixing, and a coat. We're leaving."

    "W-what?" Yixing widened his eyes. "But . . . But, Baba, Appa said we're staying for dinner!"

    "I just realized the traffic will be very bad. It'll be too late if we leave later on," he explained gently, even though it was an outright lie. Everybody but Yixing knew the real reason for the early departure.

    The boy's eyes started to water, but he slowly slid out of his chair. "I-I want to stay for dinner, Baba. Chenchen cooked." He tugged on Luhan's pants, as if that will make the man see his reasoning better. "There is lots of food, don't worry."

    Minseok covered his face with one hand, his full weight against the counter in a hunched figure. He fought to prohibit the tears that threatened to come. He knew he shouldn't have let Chen stay. He knew Luhan was coming. A part of him knew he was being selfish for letting Luhan meet Chen, and yet he allowed it.

    "Yixing," Luhan swallowed. "We need to go now."

    "But Baba," Yixing hiccuped. He was switching in and out of Mandarin in distress. His grammar became poorer. "We haven't eats together in so long. It's been a long time, Baba. We need to ate together!"

    Luhan kneeled down, hushing him softly and wiping the tears that trickled down his red cheeks. "We'll eat together, soon. I'll get some Chinese food for you tonight. Would you like that? You haven't had Chinese food in awhile, right? Come, Xingxing," Luhan picked up the light boy and pressed him close to his body. "No more crying."

    You're doing it again. Being selfish. He couldn't allow his child's one, innocent wish to eat together as a supposed family because of his own feelings. Maybe he shouldn't have come.

    "Was it because I didn't pick up my toys? I--I'll do it right away next time, Baba," Yixing sobbed into Luhan's neck. "A-Appa, believe me, tell Baba to stay, I do it next time!"

    Chen stepped forward, ready to take Yixing into his arms. "You're making him distressed--"

    "Don't touch him," Luhan snarled, tightening his grip on his son. 

    "Let me." Minseok suddenly appeared beside him. He already had one grip on Yixing's waist. "I'll take him up to his room to get his bags and jacket." 

    Yixing cried louder when passed onto Minseok. "Appa, I'm sorry, I pick them up. Tell Baba to stay. We need to ate together."

    Minseok patted the boy's back, slowly making his way out of the dining room and to the stairs, his murmured, broken Mandarin faintly heard to the two men left in the room. "This isn't your fault, baby. Baba just wants you to sleep well. We'll eat together, soon. Be good . . . "

    "It was a pleasure meeting you," Luhan greeted coldly and walked passed the man to grab his coat and case from the closet.

    "It wouldn't be this way if you admitted your mistakes and be responsible for once," Chen replied. He was leaning against the archway. "I've only met Minseok for a few months, but it's been enough to know you did some damage."

    Luhan closed his eyes, denying the words that spilled from Chen's mouth. "My family's business has nothing to do with yours."

    "You guys aren't a family anymore."

    Before Luhan could reply, Minseok came back down with a bag in one hand, and a dressed, sleeping Yixing in his other arm. "There should be enough clothing to last him the weekend," the shorter man quietly said. "I also added his favorite snacks and toy. His fever is gone, but he did just recover, so I packed medicine just in case."

    "Okay," Luhan murmured. "Thank you." He took the bag first, then Yixing, who stayed asleep. "Thanks for allowing me to see him for the weekend."

    "He's your son, too," Minseok tried to smile. He opened the door, allowing Luhan to slip on his shoes and step into the cold air. "He missed you a lot when you were in China. He's happy to be with you."

    Luhan grimaced. "I'm not sure now." An awkward silence passed between them, both figuring out how to bid goodbyes. "Um," he his lips. "Yixing seems to really want to eat a meal together. S-sometime during this weekend, we can attempt to."

    This time, Minseok did smile, but it was pained and full of longing. He brought his hand up, to which Luhan internally flinched at, and softly cupped Luhan's cheek. "That's nice, Luhan," Minseok whispered. "But we both know that that won't happen." He removed his hand from Luhan's cheek to Yixing's hair. Then he stepped back into his house, hand on the door."If he's looking better, let him play in the snow for a little bit. He likes it a lot. My phone is always on if he wants to talk to me. I'll see you both on Monday." He paused, front teeth biting lip. "I'm sorry. For all of this. Goodbye, Luhan."

    The door shut gently.

    Luhan tried to swallow. His muscles felt frozen, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the harsh winter air, or the anguish he felt accumulating in his stomach.

    He turned around.

    Rational.

    It was about being rational.