“Now, take the new middle strand and take it over the left strand again, then take it under the two strands to the right—”

 

Jongdae pauses the video again, frowning down at Elsa’s disembodied head.  Her long blonde hair is tangled around his fingers once again. How does MinStyle manage to hold so many strands at once?  Jongdae only has five fingers per hand, for crying out loud.

“Appa, we’re ready!”

Sighing, Jongdae sets his laptop and the giant plastic doll head on the bed, pasting on a smile as he makes his way to the foyer.  The apartment’s tiny bathroom doesn’t promote much privacy when getting ready for the day, as the whole family shares a vanity situated in the entryway.  The nearby window allows plenty of natural light, at least, but the morning sun pales in comparison with the smiles of Jongdae’s children.

They’re bouncing eagerly on their toes as they await his inspection.  They’ve got their school uniforms on correctly and their backpacks and lunch boxes are set neatly beside the door.  Their faces are scrubbed, hair combed, and shoelaces tied, and they’ve accomplished these tasks with enough time to spare that their father can reward them for their efficiency.  

“Good job, kiddos,” Jongdae praises.  “What can your hairdresser do for you this fine morning?”

“A diagonal waterfall braid, starting on the right,” Sookyung requests, as if she’s ordering something at a fancy restaurant.

“I want Klingon braids!” Jongin declares, stepping to the vanity to pull his favorite hair ties out of the drawer.

Relieved that they’ve both chosen relatively simple styles that he’s already fairly proficient at, Jongdae grins and accepts the hairbrush Sookyung hands him.  They assume their usual posture in front of the vanity, Soo’s big round eyes tracking her father’s every move in the mirror as he smooths her straight black hair with the boar-bristle brush MinStyle recommends.  

“Nini, tell us what you’ve been learning in your history lessons this week.”

His son obediently launches into a simplified summary of the Manchu invasions as Jongdae works, making enthusiastic battle noises and hopping about to act out his favorite bits.  Thankfully, Sookyung refrains from such antics as he works, holding brush and comb up for him when needed with the precise timing of a surgeon’s assistant. Soo loves this style and asks for it often, so Jongdae’s gotten pretty darn good at it if he does say so himself.  

When his little girl has an elegant line of twist-separated locks curving gently around her head, she holds up a pair of sparkly hair pins and Jongdae finishes the braid off with a triumphant little melody.  But Sookyung isn’t satisfied until she grabs the hand mirror off the vanity and gives the larger mirror her back, angling the one in her hand so she can inspect her father’s work.

“You get a ninety-six today, Appa,” she informs him solemnly.

“Hooray!” Jongdae cheers, kneeling to hug his daughter.  “I’ve been practicing that one.”

She gives him a nod, plush lips blossoming into a heart-shaped smile.  “I can tell. I’m proud of you for working so hard!”

Jongdae smothers his amusement at hearing his own words of praise parroted back to him by his six-year-old, just thanking Soo sincerely before straightening up to stand behind her brother.

“Soo, which of the stories in this month’s reader is your favorite so far?” Jongdae asks as he sweeps Jongin’s wavy black hair back from his well-sculpted face.  He grins as the previously-stilled girl animates with enthusiasm, large eyes going wider as she tells her father all about the cowherd and the weaver girl.

His daughter’s lethally cute, but his son is the one Jongdae thinks of as beautiful.  Even at eight years old, the boy moves with a gracefulness that reminds him so much of Sooyoung.  Sookyung has her mother’s face and her father’s talent for singing, and while their Nini’s looks come equally from both parents, his talent for dance comes directly (and only) from Sooyoung.

And both children’s affinity for elaborate hairstyles comes from Sooyoung, too.  People used to mistake Jongin for a girl when he was younger, his hair was so long and soft.  Sooyoung loved it, loved holding her child in her lap and brushing it out, loved plaiting it “like Legolas” or “like Thor.”  When little Soo finally had long enough hair to join this grooming ritual, their daily selection and implementation of hairstyles had become an extra little hug from their mother before Jongdae walked them to school and Sooyoung caught the bus downtown for work.

Until one day, she hadn’t come back.

She’d worked late on a rainy evening just over a year ago, huddling close to the shelter to block some of the wind as she waited for the bus that should have carried her home.  Instead, a drunk driver had jumped the curb at an unavoidable speed, killing her instantly.

A week after the funeral, Jongdae was readying the kids for school by himself for the first time, knuckling away tears every time he performed a task that was usually Sooyoung’s.  He’d kept it together pretty well until he’d seen his five-year-old daughter and seven-year-old son holding hands in the foyer in front of the vanity, staring at the silver comb Sooyoung always used to section their hair, silent tears dripping off their chins.  

“Appa will braid your hair,” Jongdae had instantly said, ready to promise his children anything that might soothe even a sliver of their grief.  “Appa will braid it, and we’ll remember Eomma that way together.”

Of course, he’d barely managed a few three-strand braids, one fat one down Sookyung’s back and two thin ones on either side of Jongin’s face.  All three of them had cried as Jongdae had gently combed and clumsily braided before he’d walked them to school. Imperfect as his efforts were, he hadn’t failed to notice how his little girl clung to his hand, her braid squeezed in her other fist.  And his son had continuously tucked his own braids behind his ears, absently toying with the beaded ties on the ends.

Jongdae had dived headfirst into the maelstrom of braiding videos on YouTube as soon as he’d gotten home from dropping them off.

And among the thousands of results that popped up in response to his “how to braid hair” search, there had been one face that kept catching his eye.  Somehow, despite the scads of white suburban housewives in far away countries braiding their daughters’ hair for the camera, this handsome blue-haired guy kept ending up near the top of the list.  His videos never had a visible thumbs-down bar, always had tons of grateful comments, and best of all, while they were all subtitled in a dozen languages, the one spoken in the videos was Korean.

Jongdae had cried again when he’d first heard familiar syllables explain this foreign new world.  For the first time since his wife died, he hadn’t felt completely alone.

He’s not actually alone—he has a wonderful support system, one that he truly could not get by without.  His parents offer to watch the kids all the time so Jongdae can run errands or meet deadlines, and his father is constantly putting food in Jongdae’s fridge.  Sooyoung’s mother lives further away in Gwangju, but when she comes to visit it’s with mounds of handmade quilts, each cozy blanket a tangible representation of the warm love she has for all three of them and the warm Jeollanam-do dialect with which she expresses it.  And Jongdae’s older sister, while physically in China, is always checking up on him and the kids by phone or text or video call, making herself available to her baby brother as much as she possibly can.

But Jongdae still feels alone, especially late at night in a too-large bed all by himself.  He misses Sooyoung, misses companionship, that casual reassurance that someone else is right there to consult or commiserate or cuddle.  So if Jongdae likes to watch hair braiding videos after the kids are asleep with his laptop propped up on Sooyoung’s otherwise unused pillow, it’s because he misses having someone to tag in when the going gets too tough to handle alone.

Thus MinStyle became his closest ally, an unwitting everyday partner in the fight to rebuild a sense of stability and security for his children and himself, and a little over a year later, Jongdae is able to confidently section his son’s hair into thirds and plait three smooth Dutch braids from forehead to crown, gathering the ends into a tidy topknot.

“All set, Nini,” Jongdae says, squeezing Jongin’s shoulders after the tie is secured.

“Thanks, Appa,” the boy says, handing Sookyung her backpack and lunch box before gathering up his own.  

“Thanks for being awesome,” Jongdae responds, accepting his daughter’s hand and allowing his son to lead the way out of their apartment to the elevator.

“Don’t forget we have performance classes after school every day this week,” Jongdae reminds his kids as he walks them to school, always keeping well to the inside of the sidewalk and placing himself between his babies and the street.

Jongin’s face lights up.  “I get to be the Rat King, Appa!  I’m going to practice so much and be the scariest Rat King, even if the girl who plays Clara is really cute and nice.”

“Yes, sometimes performing means we act out mean things to nice people,” Jongdae agrees.  “But you’re not really being mean to her—everyone on stage is working together to tell a story for the audience.  I’m sure she’s not really scared.”

“She isn’t,” Jongin confirms.  “She asked Miz Hyoyeon if she could play the Rat King next year!”

Jongdae can’t help but grin in response to his son’s giggle.  “And what did Miz Hyoyeon say about that?”

“She said if Sujeong was at least two centimeters taller next year and she learned to do the temps levé really well, she’d have as good a chance as anyone else of being cast for that part.”

Jongdae has always appreciated how Jongin’s dance instructor casts her productions with regard to capability rather than gender.

“They’re kids,” she’d explained.  “Their bodies are basically the same shape, and the bigger kids are stronger than the smaller ones.  They don’t care about political statements or attracting a date. They just want to dance, and I’m here to facilitate that however I can.”

“Sounds like you’ll have some competition next year,” Jongdae smiles.

“No way—next year I’m going to be even taller, and I’ll be the Nutcracker.”

“You just want to fight with Sujeong so she’ll pay attention to you,” Sookyung accuses.  

“No, I want Appa to do my hair in a zipper braid so she’ll pay attention to me,” Jongin retorts.  “I don’t want to fight with girls for real, just to tell a story.”

“I’m still working on the zipper braid,” Jongdae confesses.  “But you practice your dancing and I’ll practice my braiding, and maybe Miz Hyoyeon will let you wear your hair that way during the performance.”

“That would be awesome!  We can use gold ribbon so it’ll match my costume!”

“I want a zipper braid, too!” Sookyung interjects.  

“You can have one as soon as I learn.  But tomorrow, we can try that new ladder braid, okay?  I think I’ve got that one down.”

“Yeah!” Soo skips along beside him, heart-shaped grin on full display.

All Jongdae wants in life is for his kiddos to smile as often as possible.  So after he gets back home but before he settles down at his keyboard to work on the latest cat food jingle he’s composing, he takes a minute to comb out Elsa’s tangles and practice the ladder braid one more time.  

 

 

It’s after midnight before Jongdae gives up on the zipper braid again.  MinStyle’s videos are shot from clear angles, explained well, and each move is performed slowly enough that Jongdae’s usually able to figure it out after a few concentrated viewings.  Why can’t he get this one?

In desperation, he leaves MinStyle a comment on the video even though it’s sure to be as useful as screaming into the void.  The guy gets hundreds of comments per day, and while Jongdae has seen him respond to some before, it’s not likely that the whining of “DadDae21” is going to get his attention.

But the next morning, after he’s dropped his kids off at school (one with a ladder braid, one with pirate braids), there’s an alert on his YouTube account.

Ah, it’s true that the first few stitches are both crucial and difficult, but they become easier with practice.  It really helps to wet the hair first to keep it sectioned neatly. It’s nice to see another guy in this corner of YouTube, so thank you for your support!

Jongdae just blinks at the screen for a moment.  MinStyle actually responded, offered a tip, and thanked him—he’d even noticed Jongdae’s listed gender.  Jongdae is thirty-four years old which is way too old to have a senpai-noticed-me moment.

He yells about it a little bit anyway.

And it is indeed a little easier to keep the strands of Elsa’s hair separated when they’re damp, which gives Jongdae a warm feeling that MinStyle personally helped him as well as a burst of confidence to practice a bit before picking up the kids.  Except that he still doesn’t have enough fingers to hold everything at once, and he’s grumbling to himself as he abandons poor Elsa face-down on the bed and hustles over to the school.

Jongin is full of chatter as they walk to the performing arts center and Jongdae has to tell him twice to stop twirling and watch where he’s going.  Sookyung is skipping at Jongdae’s side, swinging their clasped hands as she quietly sings her warm-up scales. Jongdae takes pride in the fact that their braids still look pretty good—when he’d first started, he’d been afraid of hurting their little scalps and hadn’t made the braids tight enough.  They’d looked downright melted by the time he picked them up from school.

Now they end up just a little frizzed, especially Jongin’s because he tends to do forward rolls and roughhouse with his friends.  Sookyung’s used to get quite frazzled just after Sooyoung’s death—Jongdae had frequently had to collect her from the discipline office for picking fistfights with the other kids.  

Where Jongin had become quiet and withdrawn with his grief, Sookyung had been angry, furious at the man who’d killed her Eomma, furious at her Eomma for leaving her, furious at her Appa for trying to comfort her when all she’d wanted was to rage at the universe.  On her teacher’s advice, he’d enrolled her in a junior taekwondo class, giving her a time and place twice a week to let out her aggression and learn to calm her mind. Thankfully, she’d soon learned to punch and kick the instructor’s focus mitts instead of her classmates, braids flying around her face as she spun and struck and shouted away her grief.

And Jongin had slowly emerged from his little shell thanks to Miz Hyoyeon.  She’d sat beside the mostly-silent boy chewing on the end of his braids and told him that sometimes our words aren’t enough to fully express what’s in our hearts, whether it’s joy or pain.  She’d reminded him that ballets didn’t have words, just music and moving bodies, that he could pour his feelings into his dancing so they didn’t build up and threaten to drown him in misery.  And his son had practiced hard, had moved the audience to tears with his emotional performance of a stricken Prince Siegfried. And in doing so, he’d finally found his smile again.

The fact that his kids are currently bouncing and grinning at his side is the best possible proof that Jongdae hasn’t failed them, failed Sooyoung by being unable to care for their children adequately alone.  That’s not to say that Jongdae always gets it right—he once left Jongin’s favorite warm-up pants in the dryer at the laundromat, never to be seen again much to his son’s tearful dismay—but on balance, his little family is doing alright.  They’re still a little broken, but far from beaten.

 

 

Jongdae reminds himself of this fact that evening after the kids are in bed, resisting the urge to throw poor Elsa across the room.  He debates with himself about leaving another comment, not wanting to be too demanding of a stranger on the internet offering free instructions to the masses.  But the comments are filled with other remarks about how difficult the braid is, so at least Jongdae’s not failing alone.

He eventually gathers all of his courage and taps it through his keyboard.

Thank you so much for taking the time to film these videos for us!  I’m still having trouble with the first stitches. Wetting the hair did help a lot, but is there any other advice you can suggest?

Then he forces himself to close his laptop and go to bed.  School will start at the same time tomorrow morning regardless of how much sleep Jongdae gets and Soo has firmly claimed the morning-grump role already.

She demonstrates this the next day, ending up in tears twice before breakfast because her favorite tights weren’t clean (“I can only wear black ones, Appa!”) and because they were out of banana milk.  Thankfully Jongdae manages to cheer her up by giving her the same hairstyle as her brother, just a simple pair of French braids from forehead to nape, the free-hanging ends falling over Sookyung’s shoulders and finished off with ribbons while her brother’s shorter braids are tied together behind his neck with a simple transparent elastic.  

He croons to them as he works, a nursery song that Sooyoung used to sing frequently.  Nini joins in first, then Soo, managing a smile by the time they sing about the mountain bunny finding the chestnuts.  A relieved Jongdae just manages to them to school on time, stopping on the way home to buy more banana milk because a wise man doesn’t disappoint his child twice in a row if he can help it.

His work keeps him busy all day and his kids both have homework projects he needs to supervise that evening, so it’s not until the following morning after the school drop-off that Jongdae gets a chance to grab Elsa and pull up MinStyle’s channel on his laptop.  There’s a new video posted, and Jongdae can’t resist clicking on it before getting back to his zipper braid attempts.

“Hello, braid buddies!  Today instead of a regular Braid Breakdown we’re going to zoom in on a part of the zipper braid that a lot of you have told me you’re struggling with.  So I have Molly all combed out and I’ve misted her with plain old water—this really helps the strands stay distinct.”

As always, Jongdae smiles upon hearing MinStyle refer to his professional practice head by name—no plastic princesses for him!  The name is a play on the Korean word for head, and Jongdae always feels both fondly disgusted by the pun and extra-special to be one of the few who even understand the joke.

The camera angle changes to a top-down view, zooming in on MinStyle’s deft hands as he sections Molly’s hair and gathers the strands between his fingers.  Today his nails are painted a soft baby blue that makes them stand out against Molly’s auburn locks, and once again Jongdae marvels at how dextrous those fingers are compared to his own.

It’s not like MinStyle has big hands.  Jongdae suspects his own might be slightly bigger, and he’s hardly the largest bloke on the block.  It’s hard to tell in a video where the guy is always alone or standing by a seated model, but Jongdae likes to think of himself as taller than MinStyle, too.  He clings to this petty little fantasy because superior height is the only comeback Jongdae’s ego has while watching this guy be casually awesome at a skill Jongdae still struggles with.

On top of his awe-inspiring braiding abilities the man just has to be absolutely gorgeous, with huge almond-shaped eyes set into a heart-shaped face.  His hair seems to be a different color every week, and everything from natural shades to neon ones look damn good on him.  And sometimes he wears makeup in addition to his habitual nail polish—a little eyeliner making those big eyes even more arresting, or a subtle tint brushed over his plush lips (as if Jongdae doesn’t stare at the guy’s mouth enough already).  

As the father of a boy who is both decidedly masculine and unconcerned about expected gender roles, Jongdae really appreciates this grown-up version casually challenging the status quo.  He loves that MinStyle’s well-muscled arms (seriously the guy should only ever wear tank tops) end in well-polished fingernails, that his sturdy body is topped by such an ethereal face. It’s reassuring to see this possible future version of his independent-minded son who does ballet and likes braided hair but tells gross fart jokes at the dinner table, loves sci-fi movies, and keeps begging his Appa to let him get a tarantula for a pet.  

That’s the reason Jongdae is so fascinated with MinStyle.  The man is a role model, and a damn good one.

He’s a damn good hairstylist, too, and he slowly and carefully walks through the first few setup steps of the zipper braid before combing Molly’s hair out and doing it again.  The camera films once over his left shoulder, once over his right, once from his actual POV, that gentle velvet voice providing a steady stream of instructions and encouragement.  

“I’d like to thank all the viewers who pointed out that what’s old habit for me is an entirely new skill for most of you, especially DadDae21 who kept me up at night thinking of a way to reply to his comment for help with an understandable explanation.  I ultimately decided that it would be much better to show rather than tell, so we all have him to thank for this video! I hope it helps!”

MinStyle continues with his standard sign off reminding viewers to comment, like, and subscribe, but Jongdae is deafened by all the blood rushing through his ears.  Senpai definitely noticed him, and Jongdae is both embarrassed and ridiculously pleased that the stylist made a new video just for him.  Okay, he posted it publicly for the masses, but it was Jongdae who inspired him to make it.

He’d said he’d thought of Jongdae at night.  Possibly even in his bed.

Jongdae slams the laptop shut guiltily when his phone chimes at his hip.  He shakes his head at how dramatically the sudden sound set his heart to racing, then swipes his thumb over the screen to accept the call.

“DaeDae!” his sister’s voice cheers.  “Guess who’ll be able to visit for two whole weeks at Chuseok?”

“My favorite noona?” Jongdae asks, grinning in response to his sister’s excitement.  He can practically see the way Junhee’s eyes smile when she laughs.

“I’m your only noona,” she chides, drawing a chuckle from her little brother.  “Anyway, I can’t wait to see you guys. We’re still video chatting this weekend, right?”

“It’ll have to be Sunday,” Jongdae states.  “They have performance classes on Saturday.”

“I remember,” Junhee assures him.  “How are they doing with that? How are you doing with them?”

“Still coping,” Jongdae says.  “They’re really excited about their recitals, so I’m glad you’ll be able to see them while you’re here.”

“I wish I could see them more often,” Junhee responds.  “I really miss their sweet little faces—and your dumb dinosaur cheekbones too, I guess.”

Jongdae knows his sister’s teasing hides her guilt at being in Changsha with her own family rather than in Seoul taking care of his, but he doesn’t blame her for living her own life.  She helps him immeasurably as it is, answering his panicked help-Nini-sneezed-twice-in-a-row phone calls with advice and reassurance no matter what hour of the day or night he demands his noona’s attention.  And Junhee knows how grateful he is for all her support, so he answers sass for sass.

“Love you too, noona,” Jongdae snarks.  “How are your own kiddos?”

“I swear my little Taozi is going to be taller than me by middle school,” Junhee sighs.  “He’s already taller than LuLu, much to her displeasure.”

Jongdae laughs.  “Nini’s got his mother’s long limbs, too, but I think Soo is stuck with the traditional Kim physique.”

“Well, Taozi has no such excuse.  Yixing isn’t that much taller than me—only five centimeters or so.”

“Well, Sooyoung was a few centimeters shorter than me, but that’s not going to stop her son from towering over his Appa.”

“Dae, I tower over you.”

“You do not.  You just like to wear heels and look down on your poor baby brother.”

Junhee laughs in response to Jongdae’s audible pout.  They talk about the kids for a while, trading news of milestones and stumbling blocks before Junhee’s voice goes soft.

“And what about you, DaeDae?  Have you gotten a chance to talk to other adults that aren’t shop workers or your children’s teachers?”

Jongdae frowns.  He knows his sister means well, wants her extrovert brother to have a chance to absorb social energy, not-so-secretly wants him to find someone to marry and help him raise his kids.  It’s been over a year since Sooyoung’s passing so starting to date again wouldn’t be viewed as disrespectful, and it’s not like Jongdae is excited about growing old alone. But his kids are his whole life.  He’s content to spend all his free time with them and guilt clogs his throat at the thought of leaving Nini and Soo with their grandparents while their Appa goes out to a bar or something.

Besides, he’s actually had some social interaction this week.  He’s not a total hermit, thankyouverymuch.

“Not in person,” Jongdae admits, feeling a little defensive.  “But I’ve been leaving comments on my favorite braiding YouTube channel.”

Junhee scoffs.  “That hardly counts—it’s not a conversation if it’s entirely one-sided.”

“It’s not,” Jongdae defends.  “He actually responded. And, um.  He made me a video.”

“He?  Is this the little silver-haired hottie?”

Thanks to said hottie, Jongdae’s braiding had become good enough that LuLu had seen her cousin’s hair over Lunar New Year and begged her mother to do hers exactly like it.  Jongdae had texted his flustered sister a link to MinStyle’s bow braid video along with, “Don’t panic, it’s easier than it looks.”

Junhee had texted him back saying her brother was not allowed to send her videos of guys that hot since she’s already married.  He’d sent back laughing emojis, but three days later she’d texted him a pic of LuLu proudly modeling her own bow braids.

“Uh, his hair is green now, actually.  But yeah.”

There’s a dramatic gasp on the other end of the phone.  “Dae! This is so exciting!  I may have had two kids but I can still rock a matron-of-honor dress.”

Jongdae snorts.  “That’s quite the leap—don’t project your crush onto me.”

“Oh, you definitely have a crush on him already,” Junhee says knowingly.  “I grew up with you, Dae. I’ve met everyone you’ve ever dated, and y Braid Boy is definitely your type when it comes to guys.”

“Shut up,” Jongdae says.  “I’m interested in his videos for purely educational purposes.”

“Oh, I just bet he could educate you.”

“Shut up!” Jongdae repeats, a whine creeping into his voice as his face flushes again.  “I don’t have a stupid crush on an internet star I’ll never actually meet in real life. Besides, someone that hot can’t possibly be single, anyway.”

“He’s not wearing a wedding ring,” Junhee points out.

“He doesn’t wear rings of any kind—they’d probably get tangled in the hair as he works.”

Junhee scoffs.  “We’re talking about a simple band here, Jongdae, not some chunky statement piece.  When you lock this guy down, you’d better insist he wear his ring in his videos—you don’t want obsessive fans to thirst over him too much.”

“You’re the only one thirsting around here,” Jongdae chides.

“I am not—my dear husband has suddenly decided he wants to learn how to braid LuLu’s hair.  Guess what channel is the only one he looks at?”

“Okay, that’s officially too much information,” Jongdae laughs.  “Have fun with your digital love triangle—I’ve got to polish up this fried chicken song and send it off before I pick up the kids.”

“It’s not a love triangle if everyone’s happily participating,” Junhee protests.  “What we’re having is a digital .  y Braid Boy just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Gross,” Jongdae laughs.  “Get off my phone so I can work.”

“You only think it’s gross because you want him all for yourself,” Junhee declares.  “Have fun singing about food!”

Jongdae whines at her until she stops laughing and hangs up.

 

 

The chicken jingle gets finished and sent off in time at the price of getting stuck in Jongdae’s head.  Given his growing son’s appetite and his daughter’s stubborn streak, Jongdae shouldn’t be surprised that singing “wings and tenders, legs and thighs, only the best; no compromise!” results in stopping at the local chicken joint on the walk home.

“Can Sehun spend the night on Friday?” Jongin asks around a drumstick.

Jongdae’s first instinct is to say no because they have to get up early to go to their performance lessons, but then he remembers Sehun’s in Jongin’s dance class as well as being his schoolmate.

“If his eommas say it’s okay then sure, we can just take him to dance with us in the morning and they can pick him up afterward.”

“Yay!” Jongin s both fists in the air, bare chicken bone waving around as he celebrates.

“I want a sleepover, too!” Sookyung demands.  “I want Chanri but not Baekja.”

“Aw, I thought all three of you were friends,” Jongdae says, tilting his head down at his daughter.

“Baekja’s too loud.  She always makes you scold us to go to sleep.”

“That’s because you girls are still bouncing around at two in the morning,” Jongdae defends.  “And Chanri is just as loud.”

“Nuh-uh,” Sookyung denies.  “When she’s loud I just punch her because it makes her cry and she cries really quietly.”

Jongdae almost pulls a muscle in his face forcing himself to frown at his daughter instead of bursting into laughter.  “Kim Sookyung! We do not punch our friends! I thought we had this sorted.”

Sookyung drops her suddenly sullen gaze to the pavement.

“Soo, what did we decide about punching?” Jongdae asks gently but firmly.

“Punching is only for taekwondo class and kidnappers,” Sookyung recites resentfully.

“That’s right,” Jongdae agrees.

He smothers another smile at the mental image of his feisty little daughter clocking a potential abductor in the groin and then kicking him in the face when he crumples to the ground.  He’s not naive enough to think that a six-year-old actually has much chance of physically defeating a fully-grown ert—which is why he walks his kids to and from school every day—but it’s a pleasing thought nonetheless.  

He almost pities whoever ends up dating his no-nonsense baby girl.  Jongdae won’t have to threaten them to treat his daughter well, she’ll be completely able to do so herself.

“Can I have a sleepover if I invite Chanri and Baekja?” Sookyung asks, giving her father soulful eyes and a protruding bottom lip.

“Not on Friday, baby—you’ll stay up too late, and Chanri and Baekja probably won’t like getting up super early so we can get to your singing class on time.”

Sookyung’s face crumples in the way that equally may precede tears, shouting, or the problematic punching, so Jongdae hastens to continue.

“You can ask them if they’re allowed to stay over on Saturday night, though.  But you have to promise not to deliberately make either of them cry.”

Sookyung sighs like her father’s gentle admonition is an unreasonable burden.  “Fiiiine,” she agrees. “Can I duct tape Baekja’s mouth shut instead?”

“How about asking her to keep it down?” Jongdae suggests.

Sookyung looks up at him like he’s stupid.  “Appa, that would only work if Baekja could actually tell how loud she’s being.  She’s like, immune to her own noise or something, like how Nini-oppa says his farts don’t stink.”

“They don’t!” Jongin turns his scowling face over his shoulder to indignantly protest his sister’s slander.

“Watch out!” Jongdae barks.

His son manages to swivel his head forward in time to dodge a baby carriage instead of walking straight into it.  Sheepish, the boy bows his apologies to the laughing mother.

“Aww, how fun to have a day out with just your Appa,” she coos at them.

Jongdae just smiles and bobs his head to her as they pass.  It doesn’t hurt so much any more—the reminder that every day out for his kiddos will always be with just their Appa doesn’t stab like a knife like it used to.  He still misses Sooyoung, of course, but the pain is like an old bruise. It twinges a little when he pokes at it, sometimes he’s startled by the sudden notice of the greenish smear marring his skin, but he’s so busy with work and the kids that he often forgets it’s there.

So while his stomach does drop a little at the woman’s words, it’s more the fact that a father out alone with his kids is something worth remarking on.  As if it’s unusual, some novel behavior to be praised and rewarded instead of a parent navigating an ordinary day.

Nobody exclaims over a woman taking her kids for a walk or to the park or escorting them through their increasingly-full schedules.  It’s expected that a mother’s world revolves around her kids and that her own needs are secondary to theirs, but if a father shows even the least bit of participation in his children’s lives he deserves a medal or something.

It’s insulting, both to the mothers that are taken for granted and the fathers that are excluded by assumption.  Jongdae has even been questioned by a patrolman once as to why he’d been sitting on a bench at the playground by himself for an hour.  He’d had to get the other mothers nearby to vouch for him, tell the officer that he came around several times a week with his kids, that he was just a father and not a ert.  

But the suspicion hadn’t been the worst part.  When Jongin had seen the uniformed officer talking with his father he’d burst into screaming tears, absolutely convinced the officer was there to tell his Appa someone else the boy loves had died.  Sookyung had begun crying since her big strong brother was, and instead of breathless, laughing, well-exercised kids, he’d taken home two breathless, sobbing, traumatized children.

His family has suffered enough.  They don’t deserve to be punished for the crime of attempting to enjoy a sunny afternoon.  But he’d had to learn to let that anger go, let the unconscious presumptions of strangers roll off his back, just like his little girl has to learn to tolerate people without punching them.  Maybe Jongdae should take a few taekwondo classes himself.

That will have to wait until he’s mastered this impossible zipper braid, though.  That evening, with Elsa in his lap, Jongdae replays the new video over and over, setting it to play at half speed, then quarter speed when he still finds it impossible to follow MinStyle’s already-deliberately-slow movements.  He still ends up with a fistful of tangles and a mouthful of curses, but Jongdae will not be beaten by unruly strands of keratin (or plastic).

He has a master’s degree in music composition.  In college, he’d sung backup for big stars on big stages in front of thousands of people.  He taught two grief-stricken children to ready themselves for school in the morning with enough time for their also-grieving father to reenact their mother’s ritual, doing his best to massage love into their scalps on her behalf.  He will conquer this as well.

But not alone.

MinStyle has been so helpful already and seems to have a soft spot for a rare male viewer.  The fact that the stylist spoke his username out loud in a video, thanked him for pointing out something that needed more attention, makes Jongdae feel entitled to continue to attempt to seek personal assistance.

Thank you so much for this video!  It’s really helped a LOT. I’m able to complete the first half of the setup, but my braid doesn’t look like yours when I start making the first few zipper bumps.  I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong—any other tips to help a struggling father out?

He rereads the posted comment at least six times, much more self-conscious about his request now that it’s out in public.  Is he coming off as too needy? Pathetic? Demanding special treatment? He’s just made the decision to delete the comment when a wail from Jongin’s room reflexively launches him toward his son.

“Don’t answer the door, Appa,” Jongin sobs when he sees his father.  “If you don’t answer it, then it won’t be true.”

Jongdae’s heart breaks for his son, sitting up in bed with his long legs bent up into the circle of his arms, teary face pressed against his knees.

“No one’s at the door, Nini,” Jongdae soothes, sitting on the bed beside his son and drawing the fretful boy into his arms.  “No one’s at the door. Everyone’s okay. You’re okay, I’m okay, Soo’s okay.”

“Grandma and grandpa Kim?”

“They’re okay.”

“Grandma Choi?”

“She’s okay, and so are all her kitty cats.”

“Auntie Jun?”

“Totally fine.”

“And Uncle Xing, and TaoTao and LuLu?”

“All of them are fine.”

“And Miz Hyoyeon?”

“She’s alright too.  And Sehun and your other teachers and all your other school friends, okay, Nini?  Everyone’s alright. You just had a bad dream.”

Jongin cuddles close, filling Jongdae’s heart with the joy and the burden of his son’s complete belief that his father’s arms will shield him from all harm.  Jongdae often yearns to keep his babies pressed safe against him forever, but he loves them too much to do that. His job is to raise them well, teach them to be strong and flexible, tough and open, loving and independent.  His ultimate desire is for his children to be fine on their own.

“I miss Eomma,” Jongin whispers.

“I do, too, kiddo.”

Jongdae is definitely not fine on his own.

 

 

At least he has an enthusiastic ally in the braiding department.

Can you take a picture or video of where you get stuck?  That way I can better see where you’re having trouble. You can upload it to YouTube as a private video and only share it with my username if you’re not comfortable posting it publicly.  

Why does the thought of sharing a video only with MinStyle have Jongdae’s heart racing?  It’s not like it’ll be anything racy. It’s probably going to be completely embarrassing, especially because he has Sookyung film it for him.

He sits cross-legged in the middle of the bed, Elsa’s shoulders weighted by his flannel-covered thighs and MinStyle’s detailed video full-screen on the laptop in front of him.  His daughter has Jongdae’s phone open to the camera app and is standing on the mattress behind him, both because Jongdae can’t braid and film at the same time and because Soo can’t resist bothering her brother and his best friend during their Friday-night sleepover if not otherwise occupied.

“Are you filming yet, sweetie?”

“Yep!”  

“Thank you, baby, you’re so helpful.  Try to hold the picture steady and focus on the top of Elsa’s head for Appa, okay?”

“Okay!”

Jongdae plays MinStyle’s video and tries to follow along, hoping MinStyle is able to actually see anything he’s doing since he can feel his daughter wiggling around against his back while she sings one of her recital songs.

“Appa, you’re doing it wrong,” Sookyung interrupts her serenade to inform him.

“I know I’m doing it wrong, sweetie—that’s why you’re filming it for me, remember?”

“Oh yeah.  But you should do it right, Appa.”

“That’s the goal, baby.”

“You have to paint your fingernails.”

Jongdae turns to look up at his daughter with a curious smile.  “Why do you think that?”

“Because.  The video oppa has his fingernails painted, and he’s doing it right.”

Jongdae can’t help but grin at Sookyung’s entirely serious face.  “I am willing to try anything at this point,” he says, releasing Elsa’s once again tangled hair and taking the phone from his daughter.  He ends the recording, then pulls up the video to watch it back. Hopefully there’s a few seconds in there where she manages to get Elsa’s scalp on the screen.

It’s actually not too bad, which is good because Jongdae has no video editing software and wouldn’t know how to use it if he did.  He just uploads it directly from his phone, doing as MinStyle had suggested and setting the video to private, viewable only to the usernames he whitelists.  Typing MinStyle into the permissions box sets his heart to racing again and Jongdae shakes his head at himself.  Even if he were trying to seduce the man, a twelve-minute video of an awkward guy tangling his fingers in doll hair while a child sings about baby elephants is about the farthest thing from sultry.

 

 

Jongdae’s weekend is hectic between the sleepovers, the Saturday performance classes, and the hours-long video call with his sister and her family on Sunday.  So it’s not until he’s wrestled both his over-stimulated children into bed (only half an hour late—Parent of the Year award, here Jongdae comes) that he gets a chance to spend some quality time with Elsa.

A little thrill zips down his spine when he sees the notification that there’s a new comment on his video.  He snorts at his frivolous reaction but immediately clicks to see what MinStyle said.

This amount of cute should be illegal!  Your camera assistant is quite multitalented.
It looks like your inner stitches are loosening while you weave, making them harder to work with.  Also you’re twisting the wrong way on the left side of the head. I know that sounds vague and unuseful so I filmed what I mean.

There’s a link at the bottom of the comment that takes Jongdae to an unlisted video.

“Hello DadDae21!  I see that you have a very discerning clientele, so let’s get you past this little roadblock so you don’t end up with bad Yelp reviews.”

MinStyle chuckles at his own dorky joke as he brushes through Molly’s hair.  It gives Jongdae the same squishy feeling in his chest as when Sookyung tries to tell him a knock-knock joke and gives away the punchline before Jongdae can even “knock.”

“Okay, so you do a great job of sectioning and gathering and setting the first stitch, but then you start to lose your tension.  You’re weaving the outer strands more tightly than the inner ones so you entirely lose the zipper bumps beneath the braid.”

At this point, MinStyle reveals that he is not a man bound by silly things like the laws of logic and physics.  He proceeds to hold three of the strands together between two fingers of his left hand after he weaves the working strand through them.  He does the same on the right side as he weaves back across the braid. Then, because he’s evidently a wizard, he calmly removes each strand in turn from his left hand to weave with the working strand, none of which try to get tangled or clumped or intertwined with each other.  They come out of his grip just as smooth and sleek as they’d gone in, and Jongdae can only blink at the screen.

“And then you just repeat these steps until you run out of hair, gathering smaller sections and braiding a little more tightly toward the end if you want it to taper back down.  I don’t know for sure that having painted fingernails helps, but I can make you a video for that too, if you ever want to learn to do your own.”

MinStyle laughs at his own cheesiness again and Jongdae’s eyes are burning from lack of moisture.  It feels like scraping sandpaper over his corneas when he forces himself to blink, and it is this physical irritation and not the despondence in his soul that is responsible for the excessive moisture in his eyes.

Thank you so much for taking the time to film such a detailed and helpful reply.  I think I’m going to set aside my goal of mastering this braid for now. I seem to need to work on my strand management techniques before the zipper braid is possible for me.

He sighs as he posts the comment.  Jongin’s going to be so disappointed, but Jongdae will remind him of the time that Miz Hyoyeon wouldn’t let him play the male lead in The Little Mermaid because he couldn’t do an assemblé without landing on hands and knees.

“I’m doing this because I care about you, Jongin,” she’d told him.  “Falling down is a part of learning to assemblé. Everybody does it, but I’d spare you the shame of doing it in front of an audience.”

Getting the strands tangled is a part of learning to braid, Jongdae guesses.  But he won’t send the Rat King out to battle the Nutcracker with less than perfect hair.  Maybe they can do a pair of cobra braids instead.

But when the cobra braid video loads, the notification bell is displaying the little red circle indicating a new comment.

Aw, don’t give up just yet!  I’m making a big assumption based on the fact that your comments are in Korean, but do you happen to live in Seoul?  If so, I can meet you somewhere and show you in person.

Without taking his eyes from the screen, Jongdae picks up his phone, looking down only briefly to select the contact he wants.

“Dae?  Is everything alright?”  Junhee’s voice is thick with sleep and Jongdae realizes exactly how late it is.

“Oh, sorry, Noona,” Jongdae winces.  “I didn’t notice the time. Go back to sleep—I can be dumb at you in the morning.”

“Well, I’m up now, so spill the tea.  Mockery will be dispensed in direct proportion to the tastiness of said tea.”

Jongdae should reassure his sister and send her back to bed, but instead he blurts out, “He wants to meet me.”

“What?  Who?”

“MinStyle?”

“Who?”

Jongdae rolls his eyes.  “y Braid Boy.”

Junhee chokes on air.  “DaeDae! What happened to ‘sisters before misters,’ you poaching brat!”

“I’m not poaching!” Jongdae defends.  “First, you’re married, and more importantly, in China.  Whereas I am just a normal, non-poaching guy that’s just trying to make my son the fiercest Rat King primary school has ever seen, here, in Seoul, where MinStyle evidently lives, and for some reason he wants to imbue me with his alien braiding superpowers in what I can only assume is some arcane ritual involving a lot of probing.”  

Jongdae may or may not be face down in his pillow with the phone mashed against his face while he calmly and rationally explains his distress to his sister.

Junhee, like the loving, sensitive sister she is, cackles uproariously in Jongdae’s ear.  He really hopes she at least had the decency to go into the kitchen or something and let Yixing sleep.

“DaeDae, you are an absolute mess.”

“Do I call you in any other situation?!”

More cackling, then an obviously fake sob.  “Is that all I am to you? Just some guardian to rush in and save you from your ridiculous self?”

“Yes.  You’re the noona.  It’s in the job description.”

The fake sobs cut off with a chuckle.  “Fair enough. Tell Noona all your troubles, but try to actually take a breath occasionally.”

“What if I can’t breathe because a god among men wants to teach me things without the security and anonymity of the internet between us?”

Yet more cackling.  “DaeDae. I doubt he’s an axe murderer or something.  Just meet him in a public place like a park if you’re that nervous.”

“I’m not afraid he’ll kill me!” Jongdae hisses, trying to keep his voice down so as not to wake his kids.  “I’m afraid of being an absolute dork in front of him!”

“Well, that’s only inevitable.  But how did you end up with an invitation for a private lesson in the first place?”

Jongdae winces into the pillow.  “By making him feel sorry for me, I think.  Or by having a . I have no idea. I’m having trouble with this braid Nini wants to wear for his recital and MinStyle offered to show me in person and I both really want to learn it so Nini will be happy and am completely convinced that my fingers are incapable of performing this miraculous feat of hair manipulation.”

“Then just ask him to do it.”

Jongdae sits up, suddenly needing more air.  “What?”

“If he knows how to do it and lives in Seoul, ask him how much he’d charge to braid Nini’s hair on the day of the recital.”

“That’s… actually a reasonable idea.  You’re the best noona ever.”

“Of course I am,” Junhee affirms.  “And I’m going back to bed. Try to panic about future crushes during normal waking hours.”

“I don’t have a—” Jongdae tries to defend, but Junhee’s already hung up.

Face hot, Jongdae stares down the comment on his laptop screen.

It’s really kind of you to offer, but I don’t want to waste your time.  Instead, could I hire you to braid my son’s hair for his dance recital on the Saturday before Chuseok?  The Rat King wants to look fierce in a zipper braid.

MinStyle must be a night owl, too, because there’s an almost immediate reply.

OMG Of course I will!  I am here for fierce young dancers, free of charge.  But I’m still happy to at least try to show you how it’s done.  My schedule’s really flexible. so just let me know when and where you’d like to meet.

Jongdae almost types “the hospital” because that’s where he’ll need to go after he humiliates himself in front of MinStyle and has a heart attack from sheer embarrassment.  He almost types “Thanks, but that’s not necessary” to spare himself from said impending heart attack.

I’m available on weekdays while the kids are in school.  I could meet you at a park if the weather’s nice. Yongsan family park has a great coffee kiosk, but I can meet you anywhere near a train station if you’re on the other side of town.

When he reads back the comment he’s just posted, Jongdae is fairly sure he’s been possessed by some otherworldly spirit.  But it’s too late to delete it—MinStyle has already replied.

You had me at “coffee.”  Should we meet at the kiosk in Yongsan on Thursday?  Maybe around 10 am?

That sounds great, Jongdae’s possessed fingers reply.   I’m looking forward to it!

And then, because he’s a thirty-four-year-old father of two and not a pubescent schoolkid, he buries his face in his pillow to muffle his hysterical scream.

 

 

Thursday morning is nice and sunny, which is why Jongdae has his aviators on as he leans against a picnic table near the coffee cart in Yongsan family park.  It’s definitely not because he feels like a weirdo with a plastic shopping bag full of combs, brushes, bobby pins, and hair ties sitting next to a decapitated Disney princess on top of said picnic table.

At least it makes it easy for MinStyle to find him.  Not that he’d have had any trouble identifying the ridiculously handsome guy hauling a silver rolling case behind him, looking like a pop star showing off an airport look.

“DadDae21?” MinStyle asks with a bashful smile as he approaches the picnic table.

Man up, this isn’t a date, you’re trying to help your kid and he’s way out of your league anyway.  Quit staring at his adorable smile like a creep and introduce yourself.

“It’s Jongdae outside of the internet,” he says, forcing himself to take off his sunglasses and offer the other man a friendly smile.

“Ah, it’s very nice to meet the real you!  I’m Minseok.”

They trade bows and Jongdae definitely does not notice how MinStyle—Min seok— is wearing gold metallic nail polish that sparkles in the morning sun.

“I, uh, got you a coffee.”  Jongdae gestures to the two sleeved cups steaming on the table beside Elsa and his bag of tricks.  He keeps his eyes on the cups, because Minseok makes an adorable little happy noise accompanied by the cutest expression of excitement, big eyes wide and lips shaped into a little O.  

“I didn’t know if you were a sweet guy or not, so I got an Americano and a mocha,” Jongdae continues, mostly because he needs something to say so he doesn’t make squeaky noises of his own.  “I’ll drink whichever you don’t want.”

“Well, I like to think of myself as a sweet guy,” Minseok smiles.  “But I prefer my coffee dark. You’re a sweet guy, too, for thinking of me—thanks!”  He lifts the cup of Americano in a little salute before taking a big swallow, humming contentedly and closing his eyes.

“Ah, no problem—it’s, uh, the least I could do considering how helpful you’ve been.”  Jongdae takes a careful slurp from his own mocha, wondering how Minseok can swallow down the molten brew like it’s nothing.

“I’m happy to help,” Minseok says.  “Especially for such an adorable cause.  It’s so cute that your son wants you to braid his hair—how old is he?”

“Jongin is eight,” Jongdae replies, shoulders relaxing now that they’re on to his favorite topic of conversation.  “And my daughter Sookyung is six.”

“Your singing VJ?”  Minseok asks with a little smile, tilting his head just to torment Jongdae with his cuteness.  How is he so hot and so cute all at once?

“Yeah,” Jongdae nods with his own little smile.  “Sorry for sending you such an awkward vid. I’m impressed that you were actually able to figure out where I was going wrong.”

“Aww, it was adorable,” Minseok coos.  “But I thought I’d explained how to moderate the tension really well.  What made you decide to give up on it?”

Jongdae feels his face flush.  “Ah, it’s just… I can’t hold more than one strand between the same two fingers or they get all tangled,” he admits.  “I doubt I’m going to be able to learn to do that before Nini’s dance recital.”

“Not with Elsa, you won’t,” Minseok chuckles.  “I’m sure she’s better than a wiggly six-year-old to practice new techniques on, but that type of doll hair is frizzy and static-prone.  Molly’s hair is synthetic, too, but it’s much closer to the real thing.” He lifts the rolling case up onto the picnic table, unbuckling the clasps and opening it to reveal Molly packed safely inside along with a tidy array of styling tools and hair accessories.  “Do you let your kids watch TV?”

“Sometimes,” Jongdae admits as he watches Minseok efficiently set up Molly and the other supplies.  

“I’ve heard from other parents that TV time for the kids is the best time to experiment with their hair,” Minseok smiles.  “I guess they tend to be rather enthralled.”

Jongdae nods.  “That’s a good idea.  My son doesn’t even hold still when he’s sleeping, but my daughter would probably tolerate it if it didn’t hurt.”

Minseok smiles.  “I have a sister like that—constantly moving, I mean.  I used to have to braid her hair while chasing her around the room.”

Jongdae can’t help but chuckle at that image.  “Jongin manages to hold still for me while I braid.  They’re both really good for it, though as you noticed, Sookyung is much more critical.  She grades me out of one hundred every time.”

Minseok laughs, a lovely rolling sound that Jongdae shouldn’t like so much.  “Your kids sound truly precious. They’re lucky to have an Appa like you.”

“They’re my world,” Jongdae agrees.  “I can only hope they feel lucky.”

He takes another slurp of his mocha, trying not to fidget in advance of The Question.  It’s only human nature to ask so Jongdae’s not resentful about having to explain his situation.  But he’s never talked with a stranger about his kids for this long without it coming up, and he’d like to just get the damn thing over with so he can be done with the little ritual of being pitied and reassuring the world he’s fine.

“If they don’t now, they will as adults when they look back on it,” Minseok assures him, running a brush through Molly’s hair.  “Let’s see if Molly’s hair behaves any better for you.”

Jongdae moves into position behind the practice head and Minseok walks him through the steps of setting up the braid’s foundation.  Nothing more is said about Jongdae, his kids, or his family situation, but instead of relaxing him it leaves him a bit on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  

He hasn’t asked because he doesn’t care, he lectures himself.   He’s just here to help you because he’s a guy so he thinks one guy braiding another guy’s hair is a worthy cause.  This is politics, not personal.

He manages to focus on his braiding enough not to embarrass himself too badly in front of Minseok, but he does draw laughter to the other man’s lips as he gets to the part where it all collapses in tangles.

“I have an idea,” Minseok says, brushing the tangles away.  “Start setting it up again.”

Jongdae does so, but this time when his hands are becoming overfull of strands he’s supposed to keep separated, Minseok stops him.  He sighs at his ineptitude as Minseok steps up close behind him, a solid presence against his back, stretching his arms out to bracket Jongdae, hands on either side of Molly’s head.

“Give me the outermost strand on each side,” Minseok instructs, chin hooked over Jongdae’s shoulder, voice rumbling gently at his ear.

Jongdae manages to drag his attention away from the piney-herbal scent of Minseok’s cologne and the press of the man’s pelvis against his .  “That’s cheating,” he huffs.

“It’s not cheating to ask for help when your hands are full,” Minseok states.  “There’s no prize for toughing it out all by yourself. This is another assumption, but I’m going to guess that unlike Molly, your son has two hands?”

“Oh,” Jongdae says, feeling extra foolish.  “He does.” He transfers the outermost strands as suggested, subsequently (and unsurprisingly) finding it easier to manipulate the ones he has left.

“There,” Minseok says approvingly.  “Now trade outside strands with your model as you go—this way, you’re not just braiding his hair for him, you’re doing it with him.”

And just like that, Jongdae has to swallow back a sob and blink away the extra moisture in his eyes so he can see what he’s doing.  This stranger doesn’t know him, doesn’t know his situation, and somehow has managed to both enable him to complete the hairstyle his son wants and remind him that he and his kiddos are in it together.  It’s not Jongdae against the universe—it never has been. It’s the three of them braided together, his children making him far stronger than he’d be on his own.

“Thanks,” Jongdae manages to choke out as Minseok hands him a hair tie and he finishes the braid right at the crown of Molly’s head, the spot Jongin had decided would be fiercest for the Rat King.

“Anytime,” Minseok says, still pressed against his back.  He steps away after that, though, letting Jongdae move around Molly to inspect his work.

“Not bad,” Jongdae finally pronounces when Minseok’s distance and some internal lectures allow his voice to sound casual and steady.

“Not bad?  It looks great!” Minseok praises.  He looks up at Jongdae, eyes curving as he grins.  “Honestly I think your foundation is almost better than mine after all the practicing you’ve obviously done.”

“It is not,” Jongdae dismisses.  “You’re not only the professional but you have magic fingers that make hair impossible to tangle or something.”

Minseok laughs.  “Well, I have been braiding for over two decades.  Your kids aren’t that old and I doubt you started when they were infants.”

Ah, finally, Jongdae thinks, both relieved and apprehensive at the direction the conversation has taken.  “I only started a little over a year ago.”

“There, see?  I’m pretty sure I was still only doing three-strand ponytail braids at that point.”

Jongdae snorts.  “You’d only have been ten years old twenty years ago,” he accuses, but his own lips reflect Minseok’s contagious smile.  “It’s hardly a compliment to tell a thirty-four-year-old they’re more dexterous than a child.”

“I said more than twenty years, and I was thirteen when I started braiding for my sisters and cousins,” Minseok counters with a wicked grin.  “So you’re more dexterous than a teenager.”

“Oh, thanks, that’s so much better.”  Jongdae’s giddiness at his success and this playful banter is weighted down with the unease caused by the still-unasked Question.

“I’m just suggesting you give yourself a break,” Minseok laughs.  “The zipper braid is one of the most complex, and you just created one quite competently.  I’ll still come help you on the day of your son’s recital if you want, but with a little more practice on actual hair, I’m sure you’ll have it down.”

“I’d appreciate having backup anyway,” Jongdae says.  “My boy’s a perfectionist, and while he wouldn’t hold an imperfect braid against me, he’d be more at ease if he knew that not a single hair was out of place.”

“Then I’ll be there,” Minseok says.  “Oh, but let me give you my number—YouTube is great, but it’s awkward to privately message someone on there.  This way you can text me to let me know where and when I’ll get to meet this ferocious Rat King.”

This is strictly business, Jongdae, he lectures himself as he hands over his phone.   You will not add a <3 by his name, you giant dork.

“And you can text me if you have trouble with anything else,” Minseok says after he’s entered his information, handing Jongdae’s phone back with a smile.  “I really will teach you how to paint your nails if you like.”

Jongdae laughs but shakes his head.  “I’d never have time,” he states. “My life is not one where I can patiently wait for my nail polish to dry.  And it would probably get chipped almost immediately, anyway.”

Minseok frowns.  “I know parenting is a twenty-four hour job, but I hope you’re able to get at least a little time for yourself.”

This sounds suspiciously like pity, triggering a reflexive I’m-fine-don’t-worry-about-me smile.  “I’m here, aren’t I?” he points out.

Minseok shakes his head as he undoes the hair tie and begins to comb out Molly’s hair.  “I don’t think it counts if you’re still doing something for your kids,” he gently chides.  “Do you have to get back right away? We can salvage a busy parent’s me-time by grabbing lunch at this nearby cafe I know.”

Jongdae blinks.   He’s not asking you out, he’s just being nice because he feels sorry for you.  He’s too hot and sweet to be single and he surely assumes you aren’t, since he hasn’t asked The Question.  Go home and work on the mattress jingle and stop wasting this guy’s time.

“That sounds great, actually,” Jongdae finds himself saying.  “I have to pick the kids up after school, but I work from home—if I blow off a few hours now, I can make them up once the kids are in bed.”

Minseok lowers his reassembled case to the pavement with a frown.  “I don’t want to be responsible for your sleep deprivation.”

“Well, if you hadn’t helped me out, I’d have been up late repeatedly failing at the zipper braid while trying to grow an extra finger per hand.”  Jongdae offers a my-life-is-great-and-definitely-under-control smile.

This gets a chuckle.  “Well, in that case, I guess I can take advantage of your zipper mastery.”  He gestures with his head in the direction he’d originally come from. “My car’s this way—we can walk to the cafe from here if you prefer, but I’d like to at least drop my stuff off so I don’t have to drag it around.  You can leave Elsa in my car, too, if you want.”

“We can take your car if you’d rather not walk,” Jongdae says, falling into step beside Minseok.  “But are you sure you don’t want to take Elsa and Molly to lunch with us? Without the ladies, people might think two guys are on a date or something.”

He regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth.   Great job, Dae, way to make things super awkward.

But Minseok only laughs.  “Well, I’m not straight, so I’d hardly be offended if people thought I was on a date with a guy.  And you’re really cute, so I’d only be flattered if someone thought I was lucky enough to be on a date with a guy like you.”

Jongdae almost trips over his own feet but manages to both remain upright and maintain his stride as if nothing had happened.   He’s not flirting with you.  He’s just making conversation and being polite.  He probably wants you to buy him lunch in return for his help.

“I was going to pay, anyway,” Jongdae blurts, causing Minseok to tilt his head and raise his brow as he pulls a key fob from his pocket.  “I-I mean, you don’t have to butter me up. I’m already in your debt.”

Minseok’s brow furrows as he pushes a button that makes the lights flash on a silver Hyundai Grandeur parked perfectly in the middle of a space in the park’s small lot.  “You’re not in my debt—I wanted to help you. And I suggested lunch, so I’ll pay.” When Jongdae opens his mouth to protest, Minseok just shakes his head. “Besides, I’m the hyung.”

“You are not,” Jongdae dismisses.

“You said you were thirty-four,” Minseok says, popping the trunk and lifting the silver case into it.  “If that’s true, then I’m two years older.”

Jongdae narrows his eyes.  “No way,” he breathes. “You’re way too pretty to be that close to forty.”

That rolling laugh is just as devastating no matter how many times Jongdae hears it.  “I’m single without kids and I play with hair for a living,” he says. “I’m sure I’m less stressed than most people my age, and I have the time and energy to pamper my skin.”  He reaches for Jongdae’s plastic shopping bag of hair stuff.

Jongdae relinquishes it with a pout.  “Just rub it in, why don’t you?” he grumbles playfully, setting Elsa into the trunk beside the rest of his things.

“Hey, I already said you’re really cute,” Minseok defends with a chuckle as he shuts the trunk.  “You must have really good genes—another reason your kids are lucky.”

And then the smirking bastard winks at him.

You totally imagined that, he just had something in his eye, do not fanboy over something that didn’t happen.

Evidently his internal lecture fails to take effect in time, because Minseok chuckles again before gesturing to the passenger door.

Still way more flustered than he should be, Jongdae gets in Minseok’s car even though spending more time with this guy is basically asking for a heart attack or something.

 

 

“And he never even asked!  He just kept smiling and being attentive and playing the good hyung.  We talked for two whole hours and he never once even hinted at it.”

Jongdae whines to his sister the next morning after dropping off the kids at school (with Jongin’s hair in a Fullmetal Alchemist-style single braid and Sookyung with a simple milkmaid style).  He hadn’t even waited until he got home to call his Noona, since he had indeed stayed up late to write songs about mattresses (which definitely didn’t help him to stay awake).

“Did you ask about his family?” Junhee asks.  

“...Not specifically,” Jongdae winces, because he habitually doesn’t ask strangers about their family to avoid having to tell them about his.  “But he said he’s single with no kids. And he has at least two younger sisters.”

“He specifically told you he was single?” Junhee interrogates.

“I was surprised that he’s older than me.  He said that was why he looked so young.”

“So, to recap: a hot guy offered to help you, put his arms around you in the process, gave you his number, asked you to lunch, flat-out told you he’s not straight but he is single and would be flattered to be on a date with you.   And he seems to like kids—Kim Jongdae, I know you’ve been out of the dating game for a long time, but I’m in a whole other country and I can still tell he’s blatantly flirting with you.  Why are you talking to me when you could be ting with him?”

“You’re projecting again, Noona,” Jongdae dismisses.  “Being single and non-straight doesn’t automatically make him interested in me.  I’m sure he thinks I’m straight and married.”

“He knows you’re not married,” Junhee states.  

“How can he possibly—”

“Your wedding ring is in the memorial display along with hers, not on your finger,” she reasons.  

Jongdae scoffs.  “Normal people don’t creepily stare at people’s hands to scan for wedding rings like you do.”

“If he was cuddling up behind you and watching you braid over your shoulder, repeatedly moving hair from your hands into his and back again, he absolutely is aware you aren’t wearing a ring.”

“He wasn’t deliberately cuddling, he’s just shorter than me.  His arms weren’t going to reach otherwise.”

“DaeDae, if all he was looking to do was hold your extra strands for you, he would have sat across from you and reached in from the front.  This might be the first time the whole let-me-show-you-how move has been used with braiding as an excuse rather than billiards or golf, but it’s still a blatant come-on.”

“You’re reading too much into it,” Jongdae dismisses.  “I’m trying to get you to agree that it was weird that he never asked about the kids’ mother and instead you’re trying to convince me that he was putting moves on me.”

“He definitely was.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t, because without asking about the kids’ mother he can’t have truly known I’m single, and he doesn’t seem like the kind of creep that would hit on an unavailable guy.”

“DaeDae, if a guy has only been braiding his kids’ hair for a year, asks for help from the internet instead of getting someone in his life to teach him, has no wedding ring, and his availability revolves around his children’s school schedule, it doesn’t take a genius to connect the single-parent dots.  Since very few men become single parents for happy reasons, maybe he just didn’t want to ruin the mood.”

“That is quite the stretch,” Jongdae huffs.  “You seem to think this guy is Sherlock Holmes or something.”

“No, I just think he’s interested, ” Junhee laughs.  “And I can prove it.  Text him to thank him again for helping you and give him the details for Nini’s recital.  If he’s just in it for the braiding, he’ll say something like, ‘Let me know if you need help with any other braids, otherwise I’ll see you at the recital.’  But I will bet LuLu’s favorite monster truck that he’ll say something else, trying to find a way to see you between now and then.”

“Not exactly a high stakes bet, is it?” Jongdae scoffs.  “You can’t be that confident.”

“It is a high stakes bet!  LuLu can’t sleep without that thing.  I’d be condemning myself to endless bedtime meltdowns.”

Jongdae laughs.  “Fair point,” he concedes.  It’s TaoTao that’s the Tantrum King in Junhee’s family, but LuLu isn’t far behind.  “But I still think you’re reaching.”

“Text him and see,” Junhee goads.  “Don’t call me again until you have a date with him lined up, unless it’s about the kids, of course.”

“Wow, guess you never want to talk to your baby brother again,” Jongdae whines, but instead of sympathy he gets laughter and the click of a disconnected call.

But that evening Jongdae’s scowling down at his phone, already hearing Junhee’s gloating chants in his ears.

I told you, I’m happy to help!  I had a really good time with you today.  If it wouldn’t mess up your work schedule too much, maybe we could go see a matinee showing of that new action movie next week.  I bet it’s been a while since you’ve gotten to see anything that isn’t aimed at kids! ^^

Since he’d rather not listen to his sister’s mockery in person, Jongdae simply sends her a text.

I hate you, he types.  

Not even thirty seconds later, his screen is filled with laughing emoji, followed by, Where is y Braids Boy trying to romance you?

He just suggested a movie, Jongdae begrudgingly replies.   But I’m sure he’s just trying to be friends—it’s not romantic at all.  It’s not dinner-and-a-movie or anything, just a matinee action flick because he thinks I don’t get to watch anything but kid shows.  I think he’s just glad to find another man that’s into hair stuff. He’s probably just excited for some guy time.

Oh please, Junhee types back.   That guy has no trouble getting people to go to the movies with him if he just wants to see things blow up.  If he’s specifically asking you to join him in the middle of the day, he’s trying awfully hard to fit himself into your schedule.

This thought makes Jongdae’s stomach flip in a way it hasn’t done for a long time.   You’re delusional, he types anyway.

More laughing emojis.   So are you going to go with him?

Jongdae sighs, but if he doesn’t reply Junhee will probably start calling him repeatedly until she gets an answer.  His thumbs move reluctantly over the screen.

...Yes.  But only because I really do want to see a grown-up movie for once.

Gonna keep telling yourself that when he stretches and puts an arm around you in the dark? Junhee responds.

No one actually does that, Jongdae types.  

I dunno, DaeDae.  He’s found a cheesy excuse to cuddle you once already and you let him get away with it.  Why wouldn’t he do it again?

His sister’s reply is so ridiculous Jongdae just leaves her on read.

 

 

The movie theater is practically empty at eleven a.m. on a Tuesday so it’s impossible not to immediately notice the gorgeous guy waiting for him in the lobby, beckoning him over to the entrance doors while holding two tickets up for Jongdae to see.

“I can pay for myself,” Jongdae protests when he gets close enough to the grinning guy to speak without shouting.

Minseok shakes his head, pulling open the door and ushering Jongdae through with a warm palm against the small of his back.  

“I’m your hyung,” he reminds Jongdae as they near the concession stand.  “Do you want some popcorn? A soda?” His hand is still on Jongdae’s back.

“No soda,” Jongdae says.  “You weren’t wrong that this is the first non-juvenile movie I’ve seen in a while.  I’m not going to ruin it by needing to pee in the middle.”

Minseok laughs.  “Aw, but the popcorn is too salty to eat without a drink.  We’ll get a soda without caffeine, and you can just take tiny little sips.”

“We’re sharing?” Jongdae asks, brows lifting in confusion.

“Of course,” Minseok says with a wink, finally taking his hand off Jongdae’s back to pull out his wallet and step up to the counter.

Jongdae stands behind him stupidly, gut squeezing with anxiety or anticipation as he starts to think that it just might be a little bit possible that Junhee was actually right.

Minseok makes it clear as day a moment later when he hands Jongdae the jumbo bucket of popcorn only to hold out his now-free hand toward Jongdae’s.

“You never asked,” Jongdae blurts as he stares down at fingernails done in an array of tropical blues.

“Oh, sorry—are you shy about PDA?”  Minseok withdraws his hand to run it through his violet hair instead.

“No, I mean—” Jongdae carefully studies Minseok’s face.  “I have two kids! Why do you think I’m available and interested?”

Minseok shrugs.  “Because you’re here?”

“You don’t think I want to just be friends?”

Minseok tilts his head quizzically.  “Well, you moaned a little when I put my arms around you last week.  That was a pretty obvious clue.”

“I did not moan, ” Jongdae hisses, blushing even though there are only about two other people in the lobby and neither of them are paying any attention to the two men hovering near the concession stand.  “That was a sigh! Of frustration! Because your hands are magic and mine aren’t!”

Minseok snickers.  “So, do you want to just be friends, then?”

Jongdae does his best to glower at this hot, confident man who just assumes he can help a guy learn a difficult braid and then insinuate himself into a position to sweep said guy off his feet.

Minseok lifts a brow, smirk threatening to spread into a grin.

Jongdae’s also having trouble keeping a straight face.

“...No,” he growls, hiding his delight as Minseok beams at him.

Minseok holds out his hand again.

Eyes narrowed but lips twitching towards a smile, Jongdae takes it.

 

 

He meets Minseok at least once a week from then on, doing things like playing crazy golf, going bowling, and visiting an arcade, spending way too much of Minseok’s cash to liberate a Pororo plush from a claw machine for Sookyung.  Minseok always insists on paying for everything, totally abusing the I’m-the-hyung line to cut off Jongdae’s protests. And he’s always watching Jongdae, smiling at him, big feline eyes even sparklier up close and in person as they are in his YouTube videos.

And once Minseok had heard Jongdae’s verbal admission of interest, he’d only gotten more affectionate—not only had he stretched and put his arm around Jongdae’s shoulders during the movie, smirking at Jongdae’s resulting side-eye, but he’d held his hand and insisted on walking Jongdae back to the train station afterward even though his car had been parked in the theater’s garage.  And he shamelessly pulls the let-me-show-you move repeatedly, helping Jongdae putt, bowl, and play skee-ball at the arcade.

“I am terrible at any game involving a ball,” Jongdae whines when Minseok suggests they try the ball-toss between rides at an amusement park.

“I know!” Minseok crows.  “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

“Then why do you—oh, hell.”  Jongdae covers his face with both hands.  “God, I’m so in for it when my sister hears about this.”

“Hears about what?” Minseok says, face a mask of innocence.

Jongdae scowls at him.  “If you want a hug, just ask for one, you cheeseball.”

“Fine—hug me.”  This is followed by a ridiculous (and totally unnecessary) display of aegyo.

Jongdae sighs and shakes his head but moves to embrace the ridiculous, gorgeous man.  And then he melts right there in the middle of the midway, because Minseok’s chest is broad and warm against Jongdae’s own and his arms are strong and secure around Jongdae’s shoulders and his waist is solid and sturdy in Jongdae’s grasp.  He smells clean and fresh and male and Jongdae can’t resist burying his face against Minseok’s ridiculously y neck to inhale that calming, thrilling, addictive scent as deep into his being as humanly possible.  

It’s been so damn long since Jongdae was held like this.  How is he both on the verge of tears and about to pop a ?

Minseok sighs contentedly, chest rising and falling against Jongdae’s racing heart.  “You’re right,” he says happily. “Actual hugs are so much better.”

Jongdae can only nod his agreement against Minseok’s shoulder.

He somehow manages not to cry or get hard and with a final squeeze Minseok releases his torso to take his hand again.  Neither of them say anything as they stroll off toward the next ride which means Jongdae can marvel at the fuzzy feeling blooming in his chest, something else he hasn’t felt in too damn long.

 

“Why haven’t you asked?”

They’re sitting hip to hip on a cement bench near a pond in Yeouido park, tossing food pellets to the swarm of ducks honking excitedly at the water’s edge.  Jongdae’s voice is only just loud enough to be heard over the waterfowl but Minseok turns to him immediately, wearing a soft little smile.

“Why you’re single, you mean?”

Jongdae nods.

Minseok shrugs, gaze locked on the pond, absently tossing pellets one by one toward the rioting ducks.  “If your kids are with you full-time, it seems likely that you aren’t single by choice. I’m sure you get enough awkward questions about it without me adding to the chorus.  If you want me to know, you’ll tell me, and if you don’t, I respect your privacy. I don’t need to know every detail of your past in order to want to be part of your future.”

Minseok is obviously surprised when Jongdae leans over and kisses him, one hand lifting to caress the bright raspberry fuzz at the back of Minseok’s neck.  He recovers quickly, though, humming his delight against Jongdae’s lips. He blindly chucks the rest of the pellets in the general direction of the pond, setting off an explosion of indignant quacking and frantic flapping as he wraps both arms around Jongdae and pulls him closer.

Minseok’s lips are firm and satiny against Jongdae’s own slightly-chapped ones and he tastes like the blueberry snowcone he’d eaten on the way to the pond.  Jongdae’s twisted sideways, torso suspended over Minseok’s lap by the man’s tight grip and Jongdae runs his fingers all throughout that neon hair. They’re both making soft little noises, hums and whimpers blending with the slick sounds of lips against lips.

When they finally break apart they’re both flushed and panting and grinning at each other.  Minseok is so beautiful and Jongdae’s heart twists with a new kind of pain, the tight tension of another strand being woven into the thick braid of his feelings for those dear to him.  He’ll always love the mother of his children. That strand may taper over time but it will always be intertwined with those of his daughter and his son, reflected in Sookyung’s sweet eye-smile and Jongin’s graceful motion.  

But that doesn’t prevent him from making a new gather and adding another love to the plait, and while it may be a little bumpy where the new strand joins the rest Jongdae has faith that it will smooth out as the braid continues, becoming as integral as all the others.  Jongdae just has to be brave enough to reach out for it, give himself permission to value the old while adding the new.

Jongdae’s smile goes soft as he gazes at the man still holding on to him with a grip somehow both secure and relaxed.

“Her name was Sooyoung, and she died fifteen months ago.”

 

 

“How would you like to go to the aquarium this Sunday?”

They’re walking home after rehearsal and his question breaks the quiet of the evening.  The fact that both his kids look at him like he’s an alien means it’s been way too long since they’ve been on a family outing that isn’t performance-related.

“The big giant aquarium?” Sookyung asks.

“Yeah.  Would that be fun?”

“Yeah!”  Sookyung does a little skip of excitement.  

“Nini?” Jongdae asks, used to his son being completely exhausted post-dancing.  In fact, it makes walking home in the dark that much easier, since Jongin drags himself along beside his sister instead of running ahead.

“Sure, but.  Um. Why?”

Jongdae is glad that the deepening twilight hides his blush.

“Um.  Well, there’s someone I want you to meet, and this way you can get to know each other somewhere fun.”

“A woman?” Jongin asks, suddenly fully alert.  If he were a cat, all his fur would be puffed out in maximum alarm.

“No, it’s a man.  It’s Minseok—the guy from all the braiding videos.”

Jongin visibly relaxes.

“Um, but we are sort of dating.  Or we’d like to, if that’s okay with you guys.”  Jongdae braces for a tantrum from one or both of his babies.

“You want to date a boy? ” Sookyung asks, eyes wide.  “Why would you want to do that? ”

“‘Cause he’s like, super lonely, Soo,” Jongin explains, rolling his eyes.  “Adults like to hang out with other adults sometimes.”

Jongdae fights to keep his face neutral.  He’s dismayed that he’s evidently been failing at his everything’s-just-gonna-be-fine routine if his kids know he’s less than fulfilled these days.  And considering how his son reacted initially, he was prepared for dramatic wailing.

“So… you’re okay with that?”

Jongin shrugs.  “If he’s nice, then sure.”

“Oh.  Uh, good.  What about you, Soo?”

“Boys are gross and smelly,” she declares, nose wrinkling in disdain.

“Minseok isn’t gross and smelly,” Jongdae laughs.  “You said you liked his nail polish on the braiding videos, remember?”

Sookyung her chin between finger and thumb, a gesture Jongdae loves although he has no idea where she picked it up.

“If he’s not smelly, you can marry him,” she declares.  Then her eyes go wide as she in an excited breath.  “And then he can braid my hair before school!”

“Hey!” Jongdae protests.  “You gave me a ninety-eight this morning!”

“That’s because I don’t want you to look sad anymore,” she explains in an exaggerated way that implies her Appa is dumb as well as evidently depressed.

“You guys really think I’ve been moping around?” Jongdae asks when they stop at a corner to wait for a light.  He looks from face to face, doubly dismayed by the way they trade glances with each other but don’t want to look at him.

“We’ve all been sad,” his sensitive son says diplomatically.  “But you work hard to take good care of us, and we have teachers and friends to help us feel better.  You don’t have any friends, and our family is too far away to take care of you.”

Jongdae is so stunned by the fact that his kids have evidently seen through him completely that he just stares at them in shock and no small amount of shame.  Sookyung has to squeeze his hand to tell him the light has changed.

“Well.  I’m sorry to have burdened you,” Jongdae says as he looks both ways twice and holds both his kids’ hands tightly as he ushers them across the street.  “You shouldn’t have to worry about your Appa.”

“We’re your family,” Sookyung says, hopping up on the opposite curb.  “Families worry about each other.”

“Still,” Jongdae says.  “It’s been hard enough on you without worrying about me.”

“Then I hope Minseok-hyung is nice,” Jongin says, giving his father a soft smile.  “No one can ever replace Eomma, but we want you to be happy again, too.”

Relieved that neither child seems to have strong objections to their father getting attached to someone new—as long as it’s not a woman, apparently—Jongdae smiles warmly at his babies.

“I think you’ll like him,” Jongdae says confidently.  “He’s easy to like.”

“I will only like him if he isn’t smelly,” Sookyung declares.  “And if he makes our Appa smile.”

“Same,” Jongin agrees.  “Except guys are supposed to stink when they work hard and sweat.  It’s manly.”

“It’s gross,” Sookyung retorts.  “And sweaty guys are supposed to take a shower.”

 

 

The aquarium is busy as usual on a Sunday so it takes Jongdae longer than it should to realize the pair of balloons making their way towards them are being transported by a handsome man whose grin always makes Jongdae’s stomach flip.

“Hey,” Minseok says, aiming that grin at Jongdae before bowing to greet the children.  “I’m Minseok, and I’m really excited to meet you.”

The kids introduce themselves and bow politely as Jongdae tries not to coo.  Today Minseok’s hair is a chocolate brown, and combined with the fitted jeans and oversized hoodie he looks soft and warm and incredibly huggable.  

Still, Sookyung eyes Minseok critically.  He bends to hold out a balloon to her, but instead of taking it she steps past his outstretched arm to press her face against his abdomen.  Jongdae and Jongin both burst into giggles at Minseok’s bewildered look as Sookyung inhales dramatically.

“You’re not stinky,” she pronounces.  “So you can stay.”

Minseok blinks at Jongdae with those huge cat-like eyes before dropping his head to address the judgemental child. “Um, thanks.  Your hair looks really pretty today.”

Sookyung spins around so Minseok can see the pair of dutch braids that start at the crown of her head, arcing up before swinging out and down and in to form a heart that ends in a tie at the nape of her neck.  

“Appa only got an eighty-eight because it’s a little lopsided,” she says, spinning again to face Minseok.  “That’s why I’m glad you’re not smelly. You have to marry my Appa so you can be there in the morning to do my hair and paint my nails.”

She s out her wrist towards Minseok.  “Tie mine around my wrist, please. Thank you for bringing us a present.”

“Uh, you’re very welcome,” Minseok responds, knotting the end of the balloon’s ribbon to her arm, carefully leaving a fingerbreadth of slack so as not to tie it too tight.

Sookyung bounces off to press herself against the huge cylindrical tanks flanking the aquarium’s entrance, balloon bobbing merrily above her.  Minseok turns sheepish eyes to Jongin.

“You’re probably too old to be very excited about a balloon, but your Appa worries about you a lot and the aquarium is busy today.  Will you let me tie this to your wrist so your Appa can keep track of you more easily?”

Jongin’s face had been a watchful neutral as Minseok was evaluated and bulldozed by his sister but now it breaks into a smile.  “Yes. I don’t care how you smell—as long as you keep looking after our Appa, you can stay.”

“Thanks,” Minseok says, returning the smile and fastening the second balloon to its host.  

Jongin promptly takes off after his sister, catching her hand to keep her from attempting to follow another family through the turnstile that leads to the exhibits.

“Well,” Minseok says, watching after them as he moves to Jongdae’s side.  “That is not at all what I expected.”

“That makes two of us,” Jongdae agrees, swallowing his embarrassment.  “But the balloons were a good idea. Thanks for thinking of it.” He smiles at the bright yellow orbs bouncing along above his children, their cheery color contrasting nicely with the blue of the surrounding fish tanks.

“I have four sisters and the oldest one is five years younger than me,” Minseok says, reaching for Jongdae’s hand.  “I felt like the world’s worst sheepdog running after them in public until I figured this trick out.”

Jongdae twines his fingers with Minseok’s, enjoying the little thrill of doing so in public like an enamored teenager.  “Wow—I thought one big sister was bad enough,” he chuckles, strolling to catch up to his impatient offspring.

“It seems to be sisters in general that are a challenge,” Minseok huffs.  “Did your daughter really sniff me?”

Jongdae puts his hand over his eyes.  “Yes. I am terribly sorry—I swear they were taught proper manners, I have no idea what happened to Soo’s.”

“At least I passed muster,” Minseok laughs.  “I hate to think what might have happened if I hadn’t.  And she did thank me for the balloon.”

“She would have demanded you take a shower before deigning to remain in your presence,” Jongdae guesses, releasing Minseok’s hand to wave his kids over and pull his family pass out of his wallet.  They’ve had one every year since Sookyung was three, and it admits two adults and two children. Jongdae deliberately does not dwell on which two adults are using it today.

“Lucky for all of us I have a thing for hygiene,” Minseok says as the kids crowd close to fit through the turnstile.  Minseok looks briefly surprised when Sookyung grabs his hand and tugs him toward one of the native fish displays, but he follows gamely enough.  He even oohs and aahs and praises Sookyung’s eyesight when she finds the speckled brown inhabitant lurking among similarly-colored rocks.

“They can grow up to twenty centimeters long,” she informs him.

Minseok looks impressed.  “Wow, you know so much about dark sleeper fish.”

“No, Min-oppa,” she huffs.  “I just read the sign.” She points to the placard affixed to the display.

“Oh,” Minseok says.  “Well, keep reading them to me—they’re right at your level and they’re really interesting.  It will be like having my own little tour guide.”

Sookyung looks at him shrewdly.  “The price for this guided tour is one penguin plush from the gift shop,” she declares.

Minseok laughs, that open, rolling, relaxed one that Jongdae loves best.  “Deal,” he agrees, holding out his pinky. Sookyung hooks her little finger with Minseok’s black-varnished one, the slightly chipped polish betraying the man’s edgier nature beneath all the cozy fleece of his sweatshirt.

Jongdae isn’t keen on his daughter taking advantage of Minseok’s desire to get to know them by having him buy her approval.  But she does indeed lead him through the exhibits, reading the signs aloud and pointing out the mentioned creatures for an appreciative Minseok.  And when she stumbles over some of the words—reading being a relatively new skill for her—Minseok patiently waits for her to trace the Hangul and sound out the new combination to herself before confidently pronouncing it correctly and continuing the tour.

Jongdae figures a plush penguin is a reasonable bribe for all this subtle reading practice, especially when Minseok winks at him before asking her what the yellow and white fish with the black zigzags is called.  Sookyung scans the identifying placards above the huge tank before sounding out the name of the threadfin butterflyfish.

“It’s really pretty,” Sookyung comments.

“It is,” Minseok agrees.  “I wonder if it tastes as good as it looks?”

Sookyung gives him an absolutely appalled look that only makes Minseok’s grin stretch to sharkier proportions.

“Boys are gross,” she declares condemningly, but she still drags a laughing Minseok to the next display, determined to earn her penguin plushie.

Jongdae has been following a few paces behind with a contemplative Jongin, stopping to look at the displays for a few minutes before drifting on again like a pair of leaves caught in a gentle eddy.

“You sure you’re okay with this, kiddo?” he asks gently in front of the various household appliances that have been made into fish tanks in the Wonderland area.

Jongin nods.  “It just makes me think a lot about Eomma,” he says.  “How things are different because she’s gone, and how they’ll change again if you marry someone new.”

“Well, despite Sookyung’s words earlier, nobody’s talking about getting married yet, Nini,” Jongdae huffs, leaving out the part where Junhee is probably shopping for matron-of-honor dresses as they speak, her spider-senses tingling since all four of them are together and nobody’s crying yet.

But Jongin only scoffs.  “Don’t pretend like you aren’t thinking about it, though,” he chides.  “I know how much you miss Eomma. You still get out two coffee cups in the morning sometimes.”

“I’m not looking to replace her,” Jongdae murmurs, ostensibly watching fish swim around inside a TV but casting frequent sidelong glances at his pensive son.  “I’m not just trying to shove someone else into the place she used to be.”

“I know,” Jongin says, taking Jongdae’s hand in his and playing with the fingers.  “No one else would fit there, anyway. But someone else could fit into our family in their own space.  Not a replacement…” Jongin trails off, chewing on his bottom lip.

A silence falls for a moment, but it isn’t tense.  It’s poignant, ready, like inhaling before a song.

“You’re like Batman,” Jongin suddenly says.  “And Eomma was your Batgirl. No one else can be Batgirl, but Batman can still fight crime with Robin.”

Jongdae smiles.  “That’s a nice way to think about it.  And I’m flattered you see me as a superhero.”

Jongin grins back.  “All the dance eommas think you are,” he informs him.  “Even Taemin’s eomma, which is kind of dumb because she’s been single for five years.”

“It is dumb,” Jongdae agrees.  “Someone’s gender doesn’t dictate what they’re good at.  There are physical differences of course, but that doesn’t have anything to do with what someone’s heart and mind are suited for.”

“Or how someone does their hair,” Jongin adds, toying with the hair tie on the end of the braid beside his face.  “I still want you to braid mine even if Soo has decided Minseok isn’t stinky.”

Jongdae laughs.  “That’s good, because I rather enjoy doing it.  It’s like when you first learned how to jeté and you jeté’d all over the place all the time.  Any time I see long hair loose my fingers start to twitch.”

“Then you probably shouldn’t look at the family over at the phone booth tank,” Jongin snickers.

Of course Jongdae turns to look.  Then he dramatically clenches his hands into fists, because there’s a woman standing in front of the converted call box flanked by two middle-school-aged girls, and all of them have hair past their waist.  And it’s just hanging there, neatly trimmed and adorned with sparkly clips but otherwise unrestrained.

“Oh no, I can’t control them,” Jongdae whines.  “They need something to twitch against—like your ribs!”  

Jongin tries to run but Jongdae’s legs are longer (for now.).  He wraps his son tight in his arms, tickling him until the boy shrieks, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.  But Jongdae gets judged just for walking down the street with his kids, so he figures he may as well give onlookers a reason this time.  He keeps tickling his writhing child until Jongin is a wheezing heap on the floor.

“Should we be worried about that?” Jongdae hears Minseok’s voice waver between amused and concern.

“Nah,” Sookyung dismisses.  “Let them tire themselves out.  They’ll sleep better that way.”

Jongdae’s smiling as he shakes his head.  It’s always funny to hear his stock phrases fed back to him from little heart-shaped lips.

 

 

They have lunch at the cafe, the highlight of which is Sookyung swimming her dolphin-shaped chicken nugget through the air before regarding it seriously and asking if it’s as delicious as it looks.  Then she suddenly bites off the nugget’s “head” with an exaggerated chomping sound, making Minseok attempt to choke on his soda.

Jongin pats his back as Minseok coughs up the stray droplets.  “Soo’s a scary combination of sweet and violent,” he informs the wheezing man.  “You’ll just have to get used to it.”

When Minseok lifts watery eyes to raise a questioning brow at Jongdae, he can only sigh and nod.  “I’m simultaneously appalled and proud,” he admits. “It’s a real struggle.”

“I’m definitely struggling,” Minseok wheezes, watching Sookyung dip her decapitated dolphin into ketchup before shoving its red-smeared remains into .

Thankfully it doesn’t take long for Minseok’s body to realize it isn’t actually drowning and soon the four of them resume their meandering journey through the aquarium.  They spend quite a while in the marine touch lab where aquarium staff supervise guests at various touch pools filled with starfish, anemones, and horseshoe crabs. There’s even a simulated pond where guests can pet catfish and cute little turtles.

Jongin, Mister I-want-a-tarantula, is fascinated with all of the various hard or slimy things he’s allowed to touch after carefully washing his hands.  Minseok is evidently in the fearless category himself, eagerly following the boy around and comparing notes on which felt the weirdest (it was unanimously decided that the non-stinging jellyfish won that award).

But Sookyung approaches the tanks with apprehension and determination, working up her nerve to touch all of the creatures with two fingertips, then shuddering and declaring it gross before moving on to touch the next thing.  She likes the chocolate chip sea stars the best (which is to say, hates them the least) so they spend a few minutes petting the bumps studding the surface of the placid creature.

“Do they like getting patted all the time?” Sookyung asks one of the smiling staff.  

“They don’t mind it,” the woman assures her.  “We rotate which ones are in the touch pool and which are resting, so they only get touched one day a week.  And we watch them closely for signs of stress and take them to the resting tank if they need it.”

Jongdae looks at the starfish molded over a rock in the bottom of the pool.  It barely even looks alive.

“Uh… how do you tell if it’s stressed?”

“We watch their breathing and see which arm they move most.  They don’t have a head, but they do tend to have a ‘favorite’ arm, and they use that one more and more if they’re stressed.”

Sookyung gently touches one of the starfish’s dark brown nubs, drawing her finger back quickly.  There’s no reaction of any kind from the creature.

“So this guy’s fine?” Sookyung asks.

“Yep—he’s totally relaxed.  Cool as a sea cucumber.”

Sookyung seems rather relieved for someone who claims that everything in the touch pools is gross.  She touches the starfish one more time, then goes to wash her hands at the tap near the exit. “I’m done petting,” she says.  “When do we get to the tunnel?”

“It’s towards the end, remember?”

“We haven’t been here in a long time, Appa,” she huffs.  

“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry about that,” Jongdae smiles wryly.  “I’ve been letting you kids down by being a worried appa instead of a fun one.”

“Nuh-uh, all my friends are jealous,” Sookyung refutes.  “Some of them hardly even see their appas. I used to get mad when they’d say they wished their appa would pick them up from school sometimes instead of their eommas, because I really wanted Eomma to pick me up and she never will.”

Jongdae winces.  When sent to the discipline office for starting fights, the reason she’d always given is that the other kids had eommas and she didn’t.  Jongdae hadn’t known the explanation was a specific reason instead of a generic one, and his heart goes out to his precious girl.

“But now I just brag about you,” Sookyung continues.  “Because you do all the things of an appa and an eomma all by yourself.  And that’s how I know you really love me.”

Jongdae is not going to cry in the middle of a public place.  He does hug his daughter though, tighter and tighter until she squeaks.

“Go hug Min-oppa,” she complains, causing the mentioned man to lift his head from the pond he and Jongin are leaning over.  “His stomach is all hard so you won’t be able to squish him.”

“I do hug him sometimes,” Jongdae says, batting gently at Sookyung’s balloon.  “And we hold hands. Is that gross?”

Sookyung makes a disparaging noise.  “I hold your hand all the time, Appa,” she reminds him.  “Holding hands and hugging aren’t gross unless someone’s stinky, and I checked that for you.”  She pats his hand reassuringly. “You could probably even kiss him sometimes.”

“I have done that once or twice,” Jongdae confesses.  “So I’m glad to know you’re okay with it.”

“Of course I am—you have to practice for the wedding, duh.”

“Nobody’s getting married any time soon,” Jongdae laughs.  “You’re stuck with my lopsided braids, I’m afraid.”

Sookyung sighs, shoulders drooping.  “That’s okay, I guess,” she grumbles.  “You’re way better than anyone else’s appa at braids, and you’re even better than most of the eommas.”

“I do practice a lot,” Jongdae points out.

“Yes you do,” she coos, taking advantage of his hunched position to pat his cheek.  “Thank you for your hard work.”

Jongdae laughs, straightening up just as Minseok and Jongin finish washing their hands.  “You’re very welcome, baby,” he says, patting her face in turn.

She grins at him, heart shaped smile matching her heart shaped braids, then starts telling Jongin off for stealing her tour customer, recapturing Minseok’s hand and tugging him in the direction of the nearest exhibit, already reading the signs to her willing victim.

“I like him,” Jongin says as the two of them watch Minseok get escorted through what’s looking more like a guided marathon.  

“Yeah?” Jongdae can’t help beaming at his son.

“Yeah,” Jongin nods.  “He said a pet tarantula would be awesome.”

Jongdae’s smile folds into itself as he purses his lips at the boy.  He sees how this is going to go. Soon it’s going to be three against one as Minseok continues to charm his way into his children’s affections.  “Spiders are outside animals,” Jongdae reiterates for something like the two hundredth time.  “What about a nice normal pet like a kitten?”

“Cats are boring.  Parakeets are outside animals too, and people keep those as pets,” Jongin smirks, dodging his father’s playful attempts to grab him.  “Soo’s friend Chanri even has a weasel for a pet.”

“It’s not a weasel, it’s a ferret,” Sookyung corrects, interrupting herself mid-sentence.  “And you can’t have one because they’re stinky.”

“Tarantulas aren’t stinky,” Jongin counters.

“They’re still gross,” Sookyung declares.  “If it ever gets loose and I find it, I’ll squish it.”

“You will not,” Jongin protests, completely offended.  “They’re friendly and soft. I’ll name it Janggu if it’s a boy or Jjangah if it’s a girl, and it won’t get loose.  I’ll shut the door to my room whenever I take it out of its house.”

“Being fuzzy doesn’t make it cute,” Sookyung declares.  “We should get a poodle—then Appa can braid our hair to match.”

The bickering continues as the siblings move off down the passage to the next zone, playfully shoving each other until a group of screaming kids charges past.  Then Jongin pivots to put his little sister next to the wall, angling his body so she doesn’t get struck by a flying elbow as the unruly group thunders by.

As soon as the hallway’s clear again Jongin moves away from his sister, letting her take only a single step before he gently shoves her into the wall he’d just sheltered her against.

“Hey!” she protests, chasing after the laughing boy,

“Stay where I can see you,” Jongdae calls.  

The kids continue to roughhouse but they hover at the bend in the hallway, only proceeding when the adults catch up with them.

“That’s how I always felt about my baby sisters, too,” Minseok chuckles.  “So annoying and so fun to pick on, but nobody else better even look at them mean unless they’re looking to start trouble with me.”

“That’s exactly it,” Jongdae agrees.  “It must be an older-sibling thing, because my unnie is both my greatest tormenter and biggest support.”

“It’s our right and our responsibility to be both,” Minseok grins, taking Jongdae’s hand.

Jongdae’s heart feels so full it’s almost scary.  His kids are happy, his boyfriend is beautiful, and Jongdae can’t resist taking advantage of the empty hallway to steal a quick kiss.

“I saw that!” Jongin calls, voice accusatory and amused.

“Sookyung gave me permission,” Jongdae calls back.

“Yeah, Min-oppa’s not stinky—it’s okay.”

“Well if Your Majesty says it’s alright, I guess it must be,” Jongin shrugs, giggling a little at his serious-faced sister.

“Why is she so concerned about stinky?” Minseok murmurs, entirely amused by the whole exchange.

“Jongin sweats buckets when he dances and sometimes his performance classes end before hers.  So we stand around in the hallway and he gets a little ripe by the time she’s done.”

“Ah.  Well, that sets the bar nice and low for me,” Minseok says.

“Thank goodness my children are easily won over,” Jongdae agrees.

“I was a little worried about Jongin at first,” Minseok confesses.  “But he opened up a lot more after lunch.”

“Yeah, he thought about it for a while and told me that it’s okay to date you because you’re Robin instead of Batgirl.”

Minseok snorts.  “And you’re Batman?”

“Honestly, the most appealing part of his life anymore is that he has a butler.  I must be getting old.”

“Aww.  I’ll be your Alfred if you want.  I’ll even iron your shirts.”

It’s Jongdae’s turn to snort.  “Hyung, I work from home. Sometimes I don’t even wear a shirt.”

“Mmm, and isn’t that a lovely thought?”

Jongdae is saved from having to stammer some sort of reply to that when Sookyung coos with delight at the huge tropical reef display.

“Appa, look! It’s Nemo’s friend Dory!”

“Oh yeah—it sure is.”

Eyes locked on the bright blue fish, Sookyung wiggles her body as if she’s also darting among the corals.

“I’m really beginning to see what Jongin means,” Minseok laughs.  “Threatening to squish a giant spider one minute, mimicking an animated character the next.”

“My children are gloriously complicated creatures,” Jongdae sighs.

“As are we all,” Minseok agrees, gazing at Jongdae with a palpable amount of fondness.

The four of them spend a long time in the undersea tunnel exhibit when they finally get there.  The day has left Jongdae so buoyant that he pulls Minseok’s own move on him, stretching and settling his arm around the man’s shoulders as they sit on a bench in the middle of the tunnel.

Minseok grins in delight and cuddles into Jongdae’s embrace, resting his head on the younger man’s shoulder.  Together they watch Jongin arch into a cambré so he can watch the sea turtle swimming above him and listen in on Sookyung’s encouraging lecture of a pair of black and white clownfish, instructing them on how best to clean their anemone and cheering when they finally succeed in removing all the debris.

“I’m falling for them just as hard as I fell for you,” Minseok murmurs.  “Must be something in those amazing genes.”

“Cheeseball,” Jongdae accuses, disparaging tone overridden by his huge grin.

His kids have evidently fallen for Minseok, too, proven on Sookyung’s part when she bashfully tells him she had fun so he doesn’t actually have to buy her a penguin.  He does so anyway, looking like he’s about to melt all over the floor when he bends to give it to her and she throws her arms around his neck in gratitude. Jongin’s reaction upon being presented with an octopus is more subdued but no less sincere.

”Sorry buddy,” Minseok smiles his apology.  “They didn’t have a tarantula but this guy has eight legs at least.”

“And he’s way too big for Soo to squish.”

“Also a plus,” Minseok agrees, grinning when Jongin perches the toy on his head the entire way home.

 

 

The morning of Jongin’s recital is just as chaotic as Jongdae expects.  Jongin has been full of confidence and swagger during all of the preparation and practicing but when Jongdae wakes his son up and the boy remembers what day it is, the tears of anxiety begin.

“You’ll be fine,” Jongdae repeats like a mantra as he helps Jongin put on his dance belt, T-shirt, and tights.  He’ll finish getting dressed at the performing arts center and Jongdae has at least six reminders on his phone to grab Jongin’s makeup and hair kit, now packed into a snazzy blue tackle box rather than a plastic bag since Jongdae was inspired (shamed) by Minseok’s professional setup.

“The Rat King needs his energy,” Jongdae coaxes when Jongin seems more likely to cry into his breakfast than eat it.

“My stomach’s too squeezy,” Jongin whimpers.  “I’ll throw up when I do the chaîné turns.”

“That’s why you’re eating now, kiddo,” Jongdae soothes, his son’s sleep-mussed hair.  “Just eat slowly and chew carefully and remember how well you’ve prepared for this. By the time you’re on stage, the food will be giving you energy instead of sitting in your stomach.”

There’s still a lot of sniffling but as long as Jongdae keeps his hair, Jongin manages to get all of his breakfast inside himself without throwing up, to Jongdae’s great relief.  He’s also relieved that his sister’s family is here to take care of Soo for him this morning so he can focus all his attention on his darling dancer.

He gets Jongin to sing some of Sooyoung’s favorite songs with him on the way to the studio, not caring about the opinions of passers-by.  Jongin holds his Appa’s hand for once instead of bounding ahead, squeezing Jongdae’s fingers tight enough to hurt.

Jongdae just sings and endures both the twinge in his fingers and the one in his heart as he gets flashes of the day his son was born.  Sooyoung had squeezed his fingers then too, much more painfully and for what seemed like forever. Jongdae’s hand had been one big bruise afterward, but as he watched his wife nurse their first child for the first time, all Jongdae could feel was joy.

He gets a similar sense of stomach-flipping delight when he sees Minseok waiting for them at the next corner.  The feeling is doubled as Jongin makes a happy noise and tugs his father rapidly down the sidewalk until the anxious boy can grab Minseok’s hand as well, visibly settling once he’s secure between the two men.

“Pre-performance jitters?” Minseok asks Jongin who nods, then shakes his head.  “I practiced a lot,” he states. “I’m a really good Rat King, we didn’t forget my makeup, and Min-hyung’s here now.  Everything’s just gonna be fine.”

Jongdae just smiles at his boyfriend over Jongin’s head, completely unoffended that his son is so soothed by Minseok’s presence.  How can he be, when he feels exactly the same way?

Soo adores her Min-oppa as well, frequently asking Jongdae to marry him so he can be there in the morning to do her hair.

“You try very hard, Appa,” she says, patting Jongdae’s cheek.  “But Min-oppa knows how to braid hair for real. ”

Again, it’s hard to be offended when his daughter only speaks the truth.

Jongin is much more sentimental about it, having a longer, clearer memory of his mother playing with his hair.  He wants Minseok to supervise, but he insists that his father be the one to actually do the braiding.

“That way it’s all of us,” he’d explained.  “The braid is because of Eomma, but Appa couldn’t learn it without Min-hyung and he can’t do it without me.  We’re doing it together, even if Eomma’s on the other side.”

Jongin doesn’t cry any more after this statement, but Jongdae takes over for him.  His eyes are wet while he carefully plaits Jongin’s silky hair, his boyfriend hugging his waist from behind and peering over Jongdae’s shoulder to murmur instructions and encouragement as father and son pass strands of hair back and forth.  They are doing it together, and Jongdae’s sure that Sooyoung would smile to see it.

At Minseok’s suggestion, they weave the braid over the top of the mouse-ear headband to make absolutely sure it won’t fly off during the dancer’s enthusiastic jetes.  And they incorporate a gleaming gold ribbon, leaving stiff loops standing in twin rows along the top of Jongin’s head to give the impression of a crown.

“You’re going to have to teach me how to do that,” Miz Hyoyeon declares when she sees it.  “It’s hard to make the Rat King look imperial without a full-face mask or an elaborate headpiece, but those are heavy and difficult to see out of.  The simple headband is safer for a child to dance in, yet this style looks both regal and intimidating.”

“Wait until we do his makeup,” Minseok grins, sharing a high-five with Jongin.

“He has a YouTube channel,” Jongdae informs the dance instructor as Minseok starts sweeping eyeshadow over the Rat King’s lids.  “There are several videos teaching this style of braid, and I can help style next year’s Rat King too, if needed.”

“You’d better,” Miz Hyoyeon says, taking a dozen pictures of Jongin’s hair with her phone.  

She takes pictures of his finished makeup, too, and Jongdae asks her to send them to him.  His beautiful, sweet-faced son looks incredibly eerie with red shimmer accenting his dark, dramatic smokey eyes.  His cute little nose is starkly contoured to make it look sharper and tipped with glossy black that also covers his philtrum and lines his lips, extending past the corners of Jongin’s mouth to create an exaggerated scowl.

“I’m holding them for ransom until you send me the link to this YouTube channel,” she grins before moving on to check on Clara and the Nutcracker.

Jongdae tears up again while sitting in the audience, his boyfriend on one side, his sister on the other, and his daughter cuddled in his lap.  Jongin does a fantastic job, earning thunderous applause during the curtain call that makes him blush hard enough to see from where his family is standing and clapping until their hands hurt.

“Aww, his ears turn red when he’s flustered just like his Appa’s,” Minseok leans over to murmur to Jongdae, who promptly demonstrates the noted similarity.

 

 

Sookyung, on the other hand, is cool as a cucumber for her own recital the next day.  She calmly dresses herself in her black velvet dress and has Jongdae tie the white satin waist ribbon into a fluffy bow at the back, reminding her father at least forty-seven times not to forget to bring the matching ribbons that are to be braided into her hair.  She eats her breakfast readily and sings her warm-up scales as they walk to the performing arts center, once again meeting Minseok on the way.

“I’m glad you’re here, Min-oppa,” Sookyung tells him solemnly.  “Appa is super nervous. He really needs you to hold his hand. And carry me.”

The two men trade a knowing look over Sookyung’s head, but Minseok obligingly scoops her up whereupon she promptly wraps her arms around Minseok’s neck and buries her face in his shoulder.  She lifts her head just long enough to repeat her demand that Min-oppa hold her Appa’s hand, so Minseok shifts the little girl so her weight is supported by one arm, freeing the other to reach for Jongdae’s hand.

“Thanks, Soo,” Jongdae says, tone extra sincere.  “Appa isn’t nervous anymore. Now I’m just excited.”

“Good,” Sookyung mumbles.  “Appa’s not nervous, just excited.”

She repeats this little mantra several times as Minseok carries her to the performing arts center, going so far as to inform Miz Taeyeon of the fact when the instructor ushers them to their designated preparation area.

“It’s okay if Appa’s a little nervous,” Miz Taeyeon informs the girl with a gentle smile, having obviously seen this kind of transference before.  “Even pop idols are nervous before they go on stage. But they’re excited, too—they think singing is really fun.”

“It is really fun,” Sookyung agrees.  “It’s almost as fun as punching.”

This gets an odd look flicked between daughter and father.

“She does taekwondo, too,” Jongdae explains.  “She really likes it.”

“Ah,” Miz Taeyeon says with a smile.  “It’s good to have multiple ways of stress relief.”

And it’s good to share a little father-daughter bonding moment, too—even though Sookyung says Minseok’s braids are better, she still wants her father to do a suspended infinity braid for her before the performance.  This is a fairly new discovery of theirs and it’s another one that’s made much easier if he passes the outermost strands back and forth to his daughter as he works the white ribbons into her hair.

And Minseok gets in on the action, too.  Sookyung holds absolutely stationary as Min gently sweeps a pearly eyeshadow over her lids, adds a light blush to her cheeks, and paints her lips with a slightly-tinted lip balm.  She’s a little sceptical about the subtle results when she looks in the mirror, though.

“I still mostly look like I usually do,” she says, closing one eye to see the shimmer of the shadow.

“That’s the point, sweetheart,” Minseok explains with a smile.  “This will help people see your cute little face from the theatre seats, but we don’t want to distract them too much from your beautiful singing.”

And of course his daughter is putty in Min’s hands, entirely flattered by the smooth guy’s pretty words.  

Sookyung manages to produce pretty words of her own, totally killing her solo much to Jongdae’s delight.  His fatherly pride knew she could do it but he’s relieved that she managed to do herself proud even under such pressure.  He feels like shouting for joy even though the performance isn’t over yet, even more so when Minseok indulgently squeezes his hand, chuckling softly at Jongdae’s enthusiasm.

“I suppose it’s only right that a girl’s father should be her first fanboy,” Minseok murmurs between songs.

“Damn right,” Jongdae whispers back.

 

 

“Min-oppa, I can’t find the green fuzzy hair ties and they’re the only ones that match this shirt!”

Jongin freezes just outside the still-open apartment door, giving his father a guilty look.  Jongdae sighs beneath closed eyes, ready to re-enter their home and swap the ties at the ends of his son’s braids for something else to avoid one of Soo’s tantrums.

“What about these pink ones?  Complimentary colors are nice, too—they’ll look like flowers blooming in the grass of your shirt.”

“Oh, that’s way better, Min-oppa.  Do you know these things because you’re an internet star?”

Father and son relax in unison, giggling at each other’s sagging shoulders as they head for Jongin’s Saturday morning dance class.  Sookyung originally started singing lessons to keep from dying of boredom during her brother’s classes—Jongdae couldn’t exactly leave his then-five-year-old at home alone.

But his almost-seven-year-old is more than thrilled to hang out with her Min-oppa on Saturday mornings now instead, loving that his weekly “sleepover” on Friday nights means he’s her dedicated attendant from the moment she wakes up.  And Jongdae enjoys spending one-on-one time with his ever-taller son, doing his best to memorize all these candid moments as his boy grows up toward the man he’ll someday be.

And on Sunday afternoons, Minseok comes to pick up Jongin to go do “gross boy things” together—visit the arthropod house, go see movies about slimy space aliens, make translucent green goo at the children’s science museum—and Jongdae can focus all of his attention on his precious little girl.

This usually means he’s covered in cosmetics when Minseok and Jongin return, since the Youtuber had set up a sub-channel for Sookyung’s self-directed videos, but sometimes he’s a kidnapping victim being rescued by a superhero or is losing at seemingly-simple children’s board games—his daughter doesn’t know the meaning of the phrase “go easy on your old man.”

Jongdae’s sure he prefers it that way, even if he’s also sure he’ll be finding glitter on his pillowcase for the rest of his life no matter how well he washes his face.  And even if Minseok sometimes has to cut away the excessively-knotted clothesline the bad guy tied him up with.

But Saturday evenings will always be Jongdae’s favorites.  Oh, he loves Friday nights, too—actually having Minseok himself on the other side of his bed instead of just his image on a laptop screen will never get old.  But there’s something about moving together in the kitchen that trumps moving together in the bedroom, no matter how fantastic the experience may be.

He just loves how they’ve settled into a routine, preparing a healthy home-cooked meal together like it’s something they’ve always done, stepping around each other smoothly to chop vegetables and tend pots on the stove.  Jongdae often absently sings random pop songs as they work and Minseok ends up doing little shimmies and spins to the beat, making Jongin laugh at his Min-hyung’s silly modern dance that’s nowhere near as elegant as the boy’s ballet.

And Sookyung often sits on the counter and sings with her father, using dangerous amounts of aegyo to coax him into giving her “just a little taste” of whatever they’re cooking.  Jongdae has started bargaining with her instead of capitulating to her charms, and now Soo is an old hand at washing vegetables and carefully stirring simmering pots under her Min-oppa’s watchful eye.  Jongdae is sure it’s only a matter of time before Sookyung’s makeup videos are accompanied by cooking demos.

Jongin’s main interest in food is eating it rather than preparing it, but he’s more than willing to set the table and help wash up afterward.  He’s free with his compliments to the chefs and even though Jongdae knows he’s flattering them to make them more willing to cook for him—as if feeding that pouty mouth is something Jongdae could ever refuse to do—he still appreciates the kind words.  And Soo practically preens under her brother’s praise, though she’s not swayed enough by the flattery to agree to her brother’s continuing suggestions of nontraditional pets.

“Baekja’s oppa has a lizard, and the crickets it eats are always escaping and cheeping all night when we’re trying to sleep,” she states in response to Jongin’s latest idea.

“But crested geckos don’t have to eat crickets!  They mostly eat this special gecko food. And they’re cute!  They come in a bunch of different colors.”

Sookyung’s narrowed eyes indicate her brother’s appealingly-widened ones are having zero effect on her.

“Do they come in black?” she asks after considering the photo of the friendly-looking lizard on Jongin’s tablet (that isn’t supposed to be making an appearance at the dinner table).

“Um.  Some of them are kind of black and white.”  Jongin swipes to another photo. “See?”

Sookyung considers, her chin as she chews a mouthful of the kimchi spaghetti she’d helped prepare.  “It looks like someone splashed ink on it. We’ll name it Meokmul.”

Jongin’s face lights up.  “That’s a great name,” he agrees.

Jongdae lowers his brow over a concealed smile.  “Kids. Do I get to be part of this discussion? Seeing as I’m, you know, the adult?”

His children look at each other in frustration, then grins spread over their lips.  Perfectly synchronized, they both turn way-too-cute faces at their father in a coordinated aegyo attack.

Trying not to choke on his own mouthful of spicy pasta, Jongdae turns to Minseok for help.  Except of course the man is beseeching Jongdae as well with his own way-too-cute face.

“I’ll help them take care of it,” he offers.  “You won’t have to do any of the work, right, kiddos?”

“We’ll be so responsible,” Jongin promises.

“I’ll take it for walks,” Sookyung offers.

“Geckos don’t need to go for walks,” Jongin dismisses.  “You can help mix up its food. You’re good at making food.”

“I’m really good at making food,” Sookyung corrects.

Jongdae can only sigh in resignation as his children bicker about habitat options and Minseok steals the tablet to research gecko breeders in Seoul.  Instead of neatly sorting out the strands of his life, this handsome YouTuber seems delighted to tie Jongdae up in knots, further complicating his life even as he comfortably weaves himself into the Kim family, braiding the four of them together ever tighter the more time he spends with them.  

Jongdae can’t bring himself to mind.  Even this unorthodox pet is getting his children to work together and he’s absolutely sure Min will turn the whole thing into a lesson in responsibility, endlessly talented at getting his kids to learn and grow without fully realizing what’s happening.  Hasn’t he done the same thing to Jongdae himself? If anyone’s a superhero around here, it’s Minseok.

So Jongdae just finishes his meal and listens to the rest of his family chat about their future pet, smiling at their excitement.  

“Min-oppa, you better sleep over all the time to make sure Nini-oppa is taking good care of our Meokmul.  Appa doesn’t know anything about lizards.”

Minseok laughs.  “You just want me here every morning to braid your hair, lizard or no lizard,” he accuses, then laughs harder at Soo’s furtive facial expressions.

But it’s Jongdae’s turn to whip out the aegyo.  If he’s going to end up sharing his home with a lizard instead of a cat, he’s going to at least insist on a cat-eyed man.

“You know, my composing studio really dampens outside sound well—it’s great for recording.  We could move my keyboard closer to the far wall to make room for you and Molly.”

Minseok’s astonished silence is interrupted by an enthusiastic squeal.

“Or I could be your model!” Sookyung volunteers, ing one hand into the air as if volunteering an answer in class.  “We could record a new video every morning before school.” She smiles angelically, eyes curved into adorable little paisleys.

“Can we record videos of Meokmul too?” Jongin asks.  “Geckos look really cool when their color intensifies when they’re excited.”

Now it’s Minseok that looks rather beleaguered.  “What sort of tangle have I gotten myself into?” he asks, but it’s obvious he’s suppressing a smile.

“You’re stuck now,” Jongdae informs him.  “But don’t worry—if they get to be too much of a handful, I’ll be happy to hold the extra strands for you.  I’m told there’s no shame in asking for help.”

The smile sneaks away from Minseok’s control.  “That’s good to hear, because your kids are shameless.”

“They were perfect before you showed up,” Jongdae counters.  

“We’re still perfect,” Sookyung asserts, entirely offended.

“You are,” Jongdae confirms.  “All three of you.”

Jongdae still stands by this even when he wakes up Sunday morning with Minseok’s drool on his shoulder, Sookyung’s hair in his mouth, and Jongin’s foot in his armpit.  His family is safe and thoroughly twined together, maybe not in the tidiest braid—how his son always ends up upside-down he has no idea—but in a lovely one nonetheless.  He’ll happily endure twelve extra limbs pinning him to the bed.

It’s way better than eight fuzzy limbs skittering around in his son’s bedroom, after all.