“It’s official,” Wei whistled out. He leveled himself into the car that Luhan had parked in the driveway, and sank into the soft leather seats.

Luhan watched him do it, watched the look of comfort pass over his face, and then rolled his eyes and asked, “What’s official?” He opened the door to his side of the car and maneuvered his own way in. It took some effort, and some time, but eventually he was in correctly, with the seat in the right position and his seatbelt stretched around the underside of his stomach.

Wei gave him a decidedly salacious look. “You, Han, are one of those kept sugar babies.”

Laughter burst up out of Luhan’s throat. “A what?”

“Do you have those here in Korea?” Wei asked with his own laugh. “You know, where an older person, typically a man, takes financial care of a younger person, in exchange for ual favors. A sugar baby.”

Luhan folded a little over the steering wheel and demanded, “When did you get so weird?”

Wei wiggled his eyebrows at Luhan’s stomach. “Clearly there are some major ual favors going on here.”

Ignoring him, Luhan hit the button to start the car, then the button that would open the gate to the driveway.

“I mean it,” Wei said good-naturedly. “This is the dream, isn’t it? You get to live in a big, fancy house. You get to drive a nice, new car around. You get to paint all day every day when you’re not knocked up. And some handsome rich boy takes care of all your needs.”

“You’re definitely not my friend,” Luhan decided, backing out onto the street. “America has made you far too impudent.”

Leaning an arm up on the windowsill, Wei teased, “I’m just having some fun at your expense. Though I bet that’s what this really looks like to an outsider.”

Feeling the best he had in a while, Luhan had resolved to make the day count. He’d gotten to sleep in to a delightful hour, and then Xiumin had given him the go-ahead to bring Wei around. Youri was at her preschool, and Sehun was at work, and for a Monday, things were going exceptionally well.

Xiumin’s clinic, where he had his fulltime position, was much further out of Seoul than Luhan really cared for. But it was still technically in the city, and no amount of driving was enough to detour Luhan from getting Wei and Xiumin in the same room together. They were both amazingly good at smothering Luhan with passive-aggressive concern, so he thought they were going to get along swimmingly.

“And I should point out,” Luhan told Wei, “I’m actually several years older than Sehun. He’s practically a baby in comparison.”

“You cradle robber,” Wei accused.

Pleased at the ease of their conversation, Luhan admitted, “Of course I know that Sehun handles most of the financial needs of the house and family. But that doesn’t make me feel emasculated, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“It’s not,” Wei returned.

It felt so good to speak nothing but Chinese. It felt even better to speak it with someone who was Chinese. Sehun had really done his best over the years to try and pick up the basic fundamentals of the language, but he struggled greatly. And too little did Luhan speak to Lay or Tao. And Kris? Kris spoke Chinese perfectly well, but almost never chose to. He’d speak English before he spoke Chinese. It felt like there was a story there, but Luhan wasn’t going to pry.

“Sehun worked hard to get where he is at his job,” Luhan felt like he had to defend. “It’s not like he’s some trust fund baby who inherited all this money. And contrary to how much you think we must have, it’s not nearly that amount. Sehun bought this house because he sold his old one, and he only had that one because everyone in his family pitched in to help him buy it.”

From the corner of his eye Luhan could see Wei give him a reserved look before asking, “The one he had with his first husband? What was his name? Jae … Jae …”

Luhan felt himself tense naturally. “Jaehyuk. His name was Jaehyuk, but everyone just called him Jae. And yes, that’s the house Sehun had with him.”

Wei eased out, “Jae, who was Suho’s brother?”

“Younger brother.” Luhan nodded. “You’ll meet Suho at the party.”

Wei seemed fine enough with that, and Luhan practically breathed a sigh of relief.

The truth was, over the years Wei had become a confidant. Xiumin was still Luhan’s best friend. And Sehun was still the person that Luhan knew he could tell anything to. But Wei? There was something important to the age of their bond. There as something present between them that made Luhan confide in Wei more than anyone else.

But on the subject of Jae, and Sehun’s past, Luhan always said very little. The past was Sehun’s, and it was his and only his to divulge where he felt appropriate. And still, so many years down the road, there was pain. There was always going to be pain.

Wei didn’t need to know about any of that, not any more than the basics. So Wei knew that Sehun had been married once before Luhan. Wei knew that Jae had died in an accident, and that Youri had come along quickly after that. But Wei didn’t know much more than that. Luhan planned to keep it that way.

“As for this thing,” Luhan said, patting the steering wheel when they came to a red light, “Sehun bought this car with his bonus money—the raise he got when he received his promotion to a senior staff member at work. He said we needed a second car.”

Wei scoffed. “Most people don’t need a single car in Seoul.”

Luhan shrugged. “I told Sehun one was more than enough. But he said he’s always out at work, and he always takes his car with him. He wanted me to have a way to transport Youri back and forth from her playdates, and her ballet lessons, and anywhere else we need to go. Especially since there’s going to be a new baby pretty soon.” Luhan leaned towards him to say, “I’ve tried to take the bus with a baby before. It didn’t work out so well.”

Easily Wei reached over the divide between them to brush his fingers over the swell of Luhan’s stomach. “And should you be driving this far in to your pregnancy?”

“Why not?” Luhan was unconcerned with the sentiment.

Wei offered, “Doesn’t it … get in the way? Your stomach, I mean.”

Luhan snorted in an undignified way. “You sound like Sehun.”

It was more like Sehun had insisted on the necessity of the car before they’d even known that their son was on the way. And then the second they had gotten the lab results, Sehun had practically hidden the car keys.

But Luhan understood why.

“The guy does love to worry,” Wei commented offhandedly.

“It’s not that,” Luhan said, keeping his focus on the road. He sighed deeply. “Jae died in a car accident. It took Sehun a long time to be okay with things surrounding cars, and I’ll really appreciate if you don’t bring this up to him at all, but there’s still a lot of trauma associated with them.”

Luhan really did get it.

“Oh,” Wei breathed out.

Jae had died on a typical, average walk down to a store he needed to place an order with. He’d died in a crosswalk, with the right of way, and in an utterly freak accident. Because of that, Luhan walked places as little as possible, or didn’t fight Sehun who always wanted him to go with a friend or in a bigger, more visible group of people.

And even thought the circumstances were different, Luhan could understand where anxiety with Luhan driving a car could come from.

More than once Sehun had woken up in a cold sweat, jarring Luhan awake, babbling about car accidents and babies and heart wrenching outcomes.

“Me driving makes him nervous,” Luhan stated clearly. “Not because he doesn’t trust me. It’s everyone else on the road he doesn’t trust.”

Wei made a sharp noise and said, “Actually, you know what, I’m totally siding with Sehun on this. People are crazy drivers. You’re not even my husband, that’s not even my kid in there, and I’m already nervous. Do you want me to drive?”

“I’m a great driver!” Luhan defended. “Probably better than you.”

“Probably,” Wei agreed with a laugh. “Remember when we used to play those racing games when we were kids? I ered my parents into buying me that PlayStation one year, and then you’d come over and we’d race for hours. You were always so serious about winning and doing it right. It just wanted to crash into the other cars.”

At the fond memory, Luhan grinned wide. “I’d get so mad at you. I wanted a real opponent, but you just wanted to have fun.”

“And that,” Wei whistled out, “is definitely the difference between us. You’ve always been focused and driven, no pun intended. I’ve always been the guy who wants to make trouble.”

“You rebel,” Luhan teased.

“You loved it growing up,” Wei insisted.

“Maybe,” Luhan mused out more quietly, “that’s why I hated seeing what your family made you into.”

Silence fell over the car then, and Luhan regretted his words.

“Han,” Wei said quietly. “You know I …”

Traffic had been congested near the house, which was deep in a residential area that was packed full of businessmen and women who could all afford cars. But the further they got out from Seoul’s epicenter, from the cars and the people and the speed of it all, the lighter the traffic became. It was even a nice drive to Xiumin’s animal clinic, as the buildings tapered off and the trees became more prevalent.

“I forgave you a long time ago,” Luhan told him simply. “And I’ve been waiting over three years now for you to forgive yourself. Isn’t that what you went to America for? To figure out who you are and be anyone but that person who tried to hurt me?”

Sullenly, Wei responded, “That doesn’t make it okay that I did what I did.”

“And you think other people don’t have moments in their life they regret?” Luhan scoffed. “That’s part of just being alive. Hindsight. I only care about the person you are now.”

Wei didn’t respond.

So Luhan hedged, “I’ll give you a hint, he’s a pretty good person. The person you are now is someone who tries to do right, and figured out who he is, and is someone I trust and respect. How’s that for your self doubt?”

Wei turned to look out the window and asked, “Is it any mystery how people fall in love with you so easily?”

To that, Luhan had no answer.

But it made him worry.

Because three years ago, when under duress from his parents Wei had attempted to coerce him into the marriage, Luhan had seen a hint of love there. They’d been best friends growing up, and shared a couple of intimate moments, and a spark of something had definitely been there. But it had smothered out long ago on Luhan’s part.

But was Wei still carrying some of that flame for him?

Luhan severely hoped otherwise.

Desperate to try and change the mood, Luhan said, “I think you and Xiumin are going to get along great. You both like to irritate me with your unnecessary concerns.”

The words were enough to lighten the situation, and Wei remarked, “I don’t think it would be necessary to irritate you with said unnecessary concerns, if you were better at looking after yourself. You want to fix everyone else in the world apparently, Han, but you can’t take three seconds for yourself.”

“Also,” Luhan said, “you’re an animal person. Xiumin loves animals. See? Perfect?”

Wei laughed deep and heavy at that. And then he promised, “I’m going to like your friend, Han. Stop worrying. And even if I hate him, I’ll still fake it for your sake. Seriously, stop worrying.”

Luhan thought Wei was making far too light of the situation. Or maybe he just didn’t understand. Xiumin was everything to Luhan, not just his best friend. And Wei was the only part of Luhan’s past that still mattered to him. They had to get along. They had to like each other. A lot felt like it was riding on the meeting.

“This is it,” Luhan announced when they pulled into the parking lot.

The clinic itself seemed quiet and mostly empty that Monday morning, and Luhan had certainly been counting on that. Xiumin was the kind of person to get caught up in work, much like Sehun. Xiumin could work through his lunch without so much as a thought to it. But catching him in the morning, before the first appointments of the day started showing up, was best.

“Han.”

Luhan let the car door shut firmly and looked over the roof of the vehicle. “Hm?”

The odd look of worry on Wei’s face staggered him.

“I…” Wei took a visibility deep breath.

“What’s wrong?”

The cold was nipping at Luhan, but he ignored it. “Wei?”

Almost twittering nervously, Wei offered, “I meant to say something to you in the car. I meant to tell you before that, actually I just … I haven’t been able to find the right time, and I don’t want to stress you out, but I …”

“Tell me,” Luhan demanded. He rounded the car in a flash. “Something is wrong. Tell me.” Wei was a direct and upfront person. He hardly ever was at a loss for words, and that was more worrying now to Luhan than anything else.

“I have to tell you now,” Wei decided. “So you have enough time to decide what to do, and really think it all over, before I leave next week.”

Luhan startled. “Leave? But you’re staying in Korea for the next six months. You said you were.”

Wei gave him a kind look. “I’m living in Korea for the next six months while I work on a series of editorials and a new project. But I’ll be flying out next week for a short trip to China.”

“China.” The word almost felt sour in Luhan’s mouth. “You’re going to China?”

“For personal reasons,” Wei ended up telling him.

The baby kicked hard into Luhan’s side and he braced a hand there with a wince. “What personal reasons are those? I thought you swore you’d never go back.”

“That was when I was first disowned,” Wei replied, hands fisted deep in his coat pockets. “That was when I was upset and being reactionary, and I thought that my family disowning me meant China disowning me. I’ve had some time to cool down since then, Luhan. I still love China. I still love the food and the people and the culture. I still love that when I go there, it feels like home, even if my family never will again. I don’t need people I’m blood related to, to make China feel like home.”

Luhan gave a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.

Luhan loved China. With that, Luhan agreed with Wei. China was just as much a part of him as Korea was now. And having Youri had absolutely imparted its importance on Luhan. He needed his daughter to value and embrace China. He needed China to mean something to Youri, and that was only possible if it still meant something to Luhan.

But Luhan was never going back. There was nothing left for him there. China was not home to Luhan.

Mouth pursed, Wei said in a low voice, “My mother died last month.”

Luhan felt his stomach bottom out. “Oh, Wei. I’m …” He was sorry for Wei. Sorry that his friend had lost someone who’d meant so much to him. But being disowned definitely changed perspectives on people. Maybe Wei wasn’t so upset to see her go. Maybe he was glad.

Maybe Luhan would be glad when his own parents died. Glad and sad.

“Of course no one sent word to me,” Wei said with a shrug, and gave nothing away about how he was really feeling. But he did take Luhan’s cold fingers between his own to warm them. “But I have a disfavored cousin, one who isn’t likely to inherit anything, and therefore doesn’t care what anyone thinks. You’d like her, Han. She’s a sculptor. She got herself in hot water with the family after she started doing sculptures of her girlfriends. The whole thing was hilarious.”

A smile eeked its way out onto Luhan’s face.

Wei pushed on, “Anyway, this disfavored cousin, she’s invited me over to stay with her in Beijing for about a week or so. I have friends over there, too. Friends I kept in touch with. They’re friends who have contact with the family, mine and yours.”

At that, Luhan fowned. His and Wei’s? Their families had always run in the same social sphere. They’d shared many of the same close friends, and the world in which they existed in had been quite small.

“This is for you.” Wei held out a standard looking white envelope. “A friend passed this to my cousin, and my cousin mailed to me a couple weeks ago. I’ve been trying or figure out how to give it to you—or if I even should. I’ve been looking for the right moment.”

“The right moment,” Luhan scoffed. He had no idea what the envelope was supposed to be. “And you found that moment standing in the parking lot of my best friend’s pet clinc?”

Luhan could feel the card stock in his palm. The weight of it was substantial, indicating quality.

“Your parents will never speak to you directly again, Han. They’re incapable of communicating with you because of their choice to disown you.”

Luhan practically ground out, “What is this?”

“But they can communicate with you if you’re just a proxy,” Wei finished with a sigh.

And then suddenly Luhan recognized the Chinese symbols printed on the top of the envelope. He recognized the slight slant to the writing, and the curve to the way Luhan’s name was written.

His mother. This envelope was from his mother.

Luhan’s knees locked up. “How … why … Wei …”

“I don’t know,” Wei said quickly, ing his hands back into his coat. “I only know that came from your mother, through a chain of people trusted to keep quiet about it, for me to deliver to you. That’s what I know, Han. And I’m sorry if it’s wrong of me to give this to you, or I’ve upset you. I’m so sorry if that’s the case. But Han …”

The letter. It just didn’t make any sense.

Luhan’s parents had disowned him. They hadn’t just cut ties with him, they had completely disavowed him. It was now as if he had never existed. If they could have taken the blood that ran through him, they would have. And all because Luhan had wanted to be an artists, and had refused to conform to their wishes.

His parents had kidnapped him, or at least lured him to China under false pretenses, and then kept him there illegally. They’d stolen his passport. They’d kept him prisoner in his childhood home. They had threatened Youri.

The only spot of happiness in it all, the only thing worth remembering, was that Sehun had come. He’d dropped everything, while he himself was still healing, and he’d come for Luhan. He’d come for Luhan and for Youri, and he had saved them.

Still, there was no explanation for why Luhan was now holding a letter from his mother.

“It’s been three years,” Luhan breathed out. “Over three years. Why would she write to me, a son she doesn’t even recognize anymore?”

“She’s not writing to you,” Wei told him. “She’s not writing to her son. She’s writing to a proxy. Look at the envelope. Look at the way you’re addressed on it. She’s definitely not writing to her son.”

A proxy. She was writing to a proxy? Then who …

Luhan’s knees unlocked in that moment, and he might have gone crashing down if Wei wasn’t there, catching him, shouting at him in surprise. “Han!”

Youri. It was Youri his mother was writing about.

Luhan was Youri’s proxy in this instance. And just because Luhan had been disowned, didn’t meant that Youri had.

“What would my mother want with Youri?” Luhan demanded of Wei, thankful the man was there to help him get his feet underneath him. “What would she want with my daughter? Youri’s only three.” Youri, his precious, precious daughter, was not going anywhere near his family back in China. Over Luhan’s dead body. He’d strugged with the idea of cutting Youri off from the family she had in China. He’d felt ashamed and wrong to do so for so long. But in the end, he felt it was better for her safety.

Luhan had nightmares of his parents snatching Youri up, and stealing her away.

Maybe they had wanted to send her away when she’d been inside Luhan, back when the plan had been for Luhan and Wei to marry and have a dynasty of their own. But now Youri was the clear and decisive heir to the Lu family. And Luhan had a sinking suspicion his parents were now beginning to realize that.

When Luhan was steady on his feet, Wei put his hands up defensively. “I don’t know what’s in that envelope. The seal is still intact. I wouldn’t go through your business anyway. But if I had to reason, I’d have to think that your parents see an opportunity in Youri—in Daiyu, and the look on your face says you think the same thing.

“I will never,” Luhan vowed deeply, “let them get within an ocean of Youri.”

Or the new baby. Oh god, there was the new baby to think about, too. His parents were probably looking at Youri as their only real remaining heir to the family and its future. They were looking at her as a last option. But that might change if they knew Luhan and Sehun’s new baby was a boy. China was still woefully behind in prioritizing children based on their gender, at least in the more traditional families, and Luhan’s was certainly one of those.

In a final sounding way, Wei said, “I know this is a crappy way for me to spring this on you. But I had to do it now, before I lost the little bit of courage I had left.”

Luhan looked at the envelope in his hands now, shaking slightly.

“Look,” Wei told him, nudging them towards the clinic. “What you do next, Han, is up to you. If you want to read that letter, for whatever reason, you know I’ll stand beside you. You know I’ll support you no matter what. But you don’t have to open it. You don’t have to read it. I see a trash can from here. If you want to, you can put that right in there, and we can go on like nothing has changed. I only had to bring the letter to you. That was my responsibility. You make the call now.”

He wanted to trash the letter. Of course he wanted to trash it. How could he be a responsible father to Youri—a good one, if he exposed her to the danger that was Luhan’s parents?

But he wanted to know what was in the letter badly. He wanted to know what his parents had to say. If they were a threat to her, or the new baby, Luhan wanted the heads up. He wanted to have the advantage.

And he couldn’t make this kind of decision alone.

“I’ll talk to Sehun about this,” Luhan said with finality. “I have to talk to him about this.”

Wei nodded seriously. “Of course.”

Opening the car door, Luhan set the letting inside, and then leaned a bit on the metal of the car.

“You don’t have to worry,” Wei said, giving him a one armed hugged. “No matter what, Han, we won’t let them do anything to Youri. We won’t let them be a threat.”

Luhan desperately hoped that he’d open the letter and just find that his parents were getting old, and with age came regret. And maybe they didn’t regret disowning Luhan at all, but maybe they did regret losing access to Youri.

If only this were a case of grandparents just wanting to get to know their granddaughter

“Who they are, is simply a threat,” Luhan said as he and Wei crossed to the main doors of the vet clinic.

He was fooling himself into thinking his parents just wanted to meet their granddaughter. He’d known he was before he’d even started down that line of thought. Because they had disowned Luhan simply for being himself. They’d given up on him because he wasn’t willing to bow down to their wishes.

Youri was a million times more stubborn and opinionated that Luhan. If they couldn’t accept Luhan as an artist, how could they accept Youri and whatever she planned to do? Luhan could most certainly be assured she wasn’t going to want to sit in a stuffy office all day and look at projected profit graphs.

“Speaking of threats,” Wei said, holding the door open for Luhan. “Come introduce me to the guy who’s probably going to hit me at some point, for being a threat to you.”

The first laugh in a while bubbled up in Luhan. “Xiumin’s not a fighter. That’s for sure. He can plan dirty when he wants to, but he’s a good person, not violent in the least bit, and more reserved than you’re picturing him. I don’t think you have anything worry about.”

The secretary at the animal clinic waved to Luhan the moment she saw him. Luhan had been hanging around the clinic for some time, ever since Xiumin had gotten his position and needed help getting his office set up. Luhan also tended to have afternoons free several times a week, when Youri went over to Ahra’s after school for her playdates. Luhan preferred to spend that time making such his best friend remembered to eat.

“Is Minseok with anyone right now?” Luhan asked, ignoring the way Wei mouthed the name at him.

“He’s in his office,” the receptionist told him, her hair swaying behind her as she swung her chair over to the phone. “I’ll let him know you’re on your way down the hall and buzz you through. So nice to see you again!”

They were through the door to the back hallway before Luhan explained, “Xiumin’s a nickname. Didn’t I ever mention this to you? When I first came to Korea, the names were difficult for me to master. Xiumin, being Xiumin, decided he’d given himself a Chinese name, then, that I could call him until I could get the hang of Korean names. The nickname just stuck. So his actual name is Kim Minseok, but I call him Xiumin. Most people call him that, actually.”

“The receptionist calls him Minseok,” Wei said, thumbing back in the direction of the teenaged girl.

Luhan chuckled out, “The receptionist is Xiumin and Eunji's younger cousin  They’re family, but they'd never tell anyone that. That whole family is very, very professional. ”

Wei offered up, “And Eunji is Chen’s wife. Chen is Sehun’s best friend, too.”

“Got it,” Luhan said with another chuckle. “Chen’s not actually his real name, either. It’s just a nickname, too.”

Slowly, Wei shook his head. “This feels more confusing than it needs to be.”

“It gets less confusing the more you get to know everyone. Stick around for a while. You’ll see what I mean.”

Xiumin opened the door to his office long before Luhan got there. And then he was there, filling up the hallway like he was giant, his presence warm and welcoming. He gave Luhan a grand hug and said, “Thanks for coming down to see me.” Xiumin said practically the same thing every time. And Luhan never got tired of hearing the words.

Not much about Xiumin had changed over the years, actually. Luhan hadn’t really ever expected change from Xiumin, who was steady like the river and unmovable like a mountain. Xiumin had finished school certainly, and taken a year off afterwards to do some traveling. But in the end, Xiumin had come back to Korea. He’d come back to the place he called home, and the friends he called family.

Xiumin looked the same as he ever did, too. He had the same crinkle around his eyes when he smiled, and the same confidence in the way he spoke and acted. The steadiness was something that Luhan depended on often.

And Xiumin was still the best friend that Luhan could ever ask for.

“Han,” Wei interjected, “introduce us, will you?”

If there’d ever been any reservation in Luhan about Wei and Xiumin getting along, it was dispelled the moment the two men were shaking hands.

Xiumin said, “So you’re the guy who used to be a jerk, and tried to take advantage of Luhan’s good heart.”

And Wei returned, “Definitely a former jerk. Oh, and it’s nice to meet the guy who tried to run Sehun out of the picture because he wanted to be Youri’s father.”

“Ah, youth,” Xiumin breathed out.

Then the both of them were laughing and Luhan knew they’d all get along just fine.

“We’re definitely not built to keep a large population at any time,” Xuimin explained as he gave them a tour around the premises. Appointments wouldn’t start showing up for a couple more hours, and Xiumin was the only doctor on the grounds at the moment, so they practically had the whole place to themselves. Luhan had had the tour before, but it was nice to go along again, getting a behind the scenes look at how it all ran.

Maybe it was future useful insight. Youri’s classmate, a particularly liked one, had gotten a puppy for her birthday the previous month. Now Youri talked about wanting a pet at least once a day. Sehun had been adamant at first that they couldn’t handle Youri, a new baby, and a puppy, but Sehun was also weak when it came to Youi. After they had the baby and got used to a new routine, Luhan wouldn’t be surprised if Youri got a new puppy for her next birthday.

Xiumin took them down to the kennel portion of the clinic. There were a couple dogs and cats in their cages, most of them with the obvious signs that they’d recently under gone treatment. He continued telling them, “But even if we don’t keep a lot of pets at once, we usually have a fair amount of them recovering from procedures before they can be released back to their owners. These are the guys we’re taking care of today.”

Xiumin popped open one of the cages and the dog inside rushed to meet his hand, at the offered skin, wet nose nudging at Xiumin’s palm.

“I begged and begged and begged for a dog when I was young,” Wei said, moving to stand next to Xiumin and pet the friendly dog. He scratched lazily at the dog’s fur.

“I remember that,” Luhan agreed.

Xiumin, head tilting up to look at the much taller man, asked, “You look like you’ve been grown for a while. Why haven’t you gotten one?”

It was almost a little funny to note the difference in height between Wei who was taller than average, and Xiumin who was shorter. But they also made an oddly attractive pair standing next to each other. They were both unseemly in their attractiveness.

Wei said with an easy grin, “If I could, you’d better believe I would.” Wei bent down to practically fold himself into the cage, lavishing attention on the dog and kissing its head. He gave a deep laugh when the dog at his face. “I love animals. I love everything about them. They’re a million times easier to deal with than people. A lot more honest, too.”

Xiumin peered around Wei and said definitively to Luhan, “Okay. I like him. We’ll keep him after all, I guess.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Luhan said, indulgingly.

“I move around a lot,” Wei told Xiumin, letting him put the dog back fully in the cage so they could move on to the other animals. “I never thought it was fair to get a dog if I wasn’t going to be there a lot of the time.”

Curiously, Xiumin asked, “You move around a lot? Luhan said you were a writer, right? What kind?”

Luhan was happily enough to follow along after them, listening to them chat easily. Xiumin seemed endlessly interested in the kinds of writing that Wei did, from his research to his editorial pieces. And Wei was certainly enamored with Xiumin’s decision to go into veterinary practice. Their friendship was easy to see as it developed before Luhan’s eyes, and it was one less thing to worry about.

“You should think about boarding,” Xiumin offered to Wei when they got back to his office and were having a round of coffee. Rather, Luhan was enjoying his water, while the smell of caffeine permeated the air. It seemed only ironic and cruel that coffee was one of the few things that didn’t upset Luhan’s stomach, and was also something that his doctor had sworn him off.

Unlike Youri’s pregnancy, Luhan hadn’t developed gestational diabetes from his current one. It was something unexpected, but nothing Luhan was taking for granted. And he wasn’t going to do anything to squander what he’d been given, either. So he ate almost obsessively planned out meals, never snuck anything unhealthy for himself, and was woefully tired of bland foods.

But it would all be worth it when his son was born perfectly healthy, and Luhan’s own recovery was unhindered. So for that alone, he carried on as he was.

“Boarding?” Wei asked.

“I have a couple friends that have pets,” Xiumin said. “When they have to travel for professional reasons, they board their pets. Pet boarding is becoming something pretty common these days. You could board your dog for as long as you need to settle in to whatever new place you’re going to be living in, and then bring the dog over. I’ve donoe it myself a couple of times.”

Wei pointed to a corkboard across the room that had pictures tacked up on it. There were mostly pictures of Xiumin and his sister, and Xiumin and Luhan and all their friends. But there were also pictures of a brown and white spotted dog.

Wei asked, “That yours?”

“It sure is,” Luhan interjected for Xiumin. He shot his best friend a faux dirty look. “Youri likes to go over to Xiumin’s house all the time. She likes his house more than her own, because Xiumin has a dog with an unless amount of energy.”

“I’ve got a big backyard,” Xiumin supplied. “That’s out of the normal for Seoul. So Youri and the dog have plenty of room to run around. Luhan, really, you should be thanking me. I get her tired out for you so you can take her home and she’ll sleep. If anything, you owe me.”

“Fair point,” Luhan allowed.

“Maybe I’ll give it some more thought,” Wei said, with a firm nod. “It’d be nice to have someone waiting for me at the end of the day when I get home. Even a dog.”

At that, Xiumin gave a firm nod. “There are several shelters in the area with many, many pets that need new homes. And take it from me, if you adopt a dog or a cat, they’re always going to be there waiting for you at the end of the day. Unconditinally.”

And though it was faint, Luhan felt a stab of guilt. He’d spent the better part of three years trying to set Xiumin up on dates, get him out into more social situations, and get his best friend’s mind away from a relationship that would never happen. He knew that Xiumin had accepted long ago that they would only be friends, but Luhan also knew that love wasn’t so hard to squash out.

So far, Xiumin had resisted. Though he’d humored Luhan for a few months at best, in the end, he’d become more a lurker. He’d kept to himself, making no effort to peruse any kind of relationship with anyone, and it bothered Luhan.

Luhan didn’t want to see Xiumin go home to an empty house at night. He didn’t want to see his best friend not find someone.

And no, as much as Xiumin seemed to think a dog was a good substitute, Luhan didn’t agree.

“You should come over and meet my dog,” Xiumin said, bringing Luhan back to the conversation unfolding. Xiumin looked from Wei to Luhan. “Youri hasn’t been over in about a week. You should all come over.”

That was actually unexpected, as far as Luhan was concerned. Xiumin was a fiercely private person, and he almost never entertained at his home. Especially with people he didn’t know. Luhan and their close group of friends always seemed the exception, and not the rule.

Wei gave the most enthusiastic smile Luhan had seen from him in some time. “I’d really like that. I’d like it if you introduced me to your dog.”

“Good,” Xiumin returned. “I would too, I mean …”

Xiumin was blushing.

Luhan was confounded.

Xiumin was actually blushing? And was Wei … oh, wow. Wei was looking at Xiumin with interest Luhan had never seen from him before.

No way.

Not possible.

Luhan snorted a little to himself. This was utterly adorable. Unexpected. But adorable.

Eventually, however, Luhan and Wei needed to leave. Xiumin’s first appointment of the day had arrived, and it was Luhan’s day to pick Youri and Ahra up for their playdate. He needed enough time to get the finger painting set up, he’d promised the girls last week that they could each make something on sheets of canvas just like Luhan painted on.

Baekhyun often joked, “If you make my daughter into a no good, lazy painter like you, Luhan, I’ll never forgive you.”

But Luhan certainly had seen all of the little arts and crafts that Ahra did scattered around Baekhyun and Taeyeon’s house. He saved every scrap of work that Ahra did, and Baekhyun wasn’t fooling anyone.

“So I’ll see you at the party then?” Xiumin asked as he waked them out to Luhan’s car. “You’ll be there, Wei?”

Luhan leaned an arm up against the car and watched amusedly as Wei replied, “I promised Luhan I’d go. I mean, I’m not sure why he wants me to come a party with a bunch of people I’ve never met before, excluding Sehun, but a promise is a promise.”

“And me,” Xiumin said, with still a hint of pinkness to his features. “I’ll be there. So that’s at least one more person you’ll know. Plus, you’re important to Luhan. Don’t you want to be important to the friends he considers family?”

One side of Wei’s mouth quirked upward. “I guess I do.”

Xiumin gave a small chuckle. “I guess I’ll see you there, then.” He offered a wave to Luhan, then headed back inside.

“See,” Luhan teased when Xiumin was safely inside. “He didn’t even hit you. He actually likes, you Wei. You had nothing to worry about.”

“I guess not,” Wei said pleasantly.

Luhan was still practically giddy about the meeting for the rest of the day. So much so that he set the letter from his mother aside in Sehun’s office and promptly forgot about it. Maybe he made himself forget about it, between the regular routine of dinner and bath time and a bedtime story reading.

And then, if there was a moment afterwards, with Wei working in his bedroom on his laptop, and Youri upstairs sleeping, it was lost as Chanyeol all but dragged a visibly drunk Sehun through the front door only an hour or so before midnight.

“When you sent me a message saying you were going out of drinks after work,” Luhan said pointedly, arms crossed over his pajamas, “I didn’t expect this.” He certainly wasn’t mad. Sehun hardly ever drank, and he deserved to unwind once in a while. But the sight was as unseemly as it was unexpected.

“Oh, Luhan,” Sehun slurred out, stumbling his way over. “You are so pretty. You are just, oh, man, Chanyeol, Channnnyyeoool. Look how pretty Luhan is.”

“I see you two got a little carried away,” Luhan commented.

“We only had this many,” Chanyeol defended, holding four fingers, and then five, and then he seemed to get confused and give up with a shrug.

“I looovee you,” Sehun sighed out into Luhan’s shoulder, smelling strongly of soju. “I love you and Youri and Ja—”

“Sehun!” Luhan practically laid him on the ground in an attempt to quiet him. “Keep quiet!” From his spot on the floor, Sehun let out a grand laugh.

Chanyeol looked at Luhan with wide eyes.

“You heard nothing,” Luhan warned. They planned to make the grand reveal of their son’s name at the party and not a second sooner. No one knew besides them, not even Sehun’s mother or sisters, knew what it was. Luhan hadn’t held in their choice for a name for so long, only to have it ruined in one drunken moment.

Especially if Chanyeol found out. If Chanyeol knew the name, everyone would know in less than a half hour.

“Luhan?” Wei stuck his head out of his bedroom. “What’s going on?”

Luhan sighed. “I need your help.”

It took twenty minutes to get everything sorted out. But by the time it was, Wei had done enough heavy lifting to get Sehun upstairs and to the bedroom, and Chanyeol stuffed in the car.

“Are you sure this isn’t too much trouble?” Luhan asked, pressing his car keys into Wei’s palm. “Chanyeol can just sleep downstairs in the living room. He and Sehun had enough sense thankfully to take a cab home, and they can go get the car tomorrow. You don’t need to drive Chanyeol home.”

“He doesn’t live far, right? You gave me directions and he doesn’t life far, anyway. I’ll take him home, make sure he gets in safely, and then come back. It’s not a big deal. I swear. Plus, that gives you enough time to get Sehun settled in.”

Luhan gave him another appreciative look, then took the stairs slowly to get to Sehun.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Luhan said, wrangling Sehun out of his clothing and then smoothing back the hair that fell across Sehun’s forehead.

Sehun stared at him with a goofy smile and kind eyes. “I love you,” he said happily, hugging a pillow tightly to his chest.

“I love you too,” Luhan said indulgingly, pulling the blankets up over him. Then he rounded the bed to his side and slid in. “But you’re going to hate yourself in the morning when you wake up.”

“I didn’t even drink that much,” Sehun defended woozily. “Maybe just like … six or seven … or ten … or …”

Luhan pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Tough day at work? You never drink, Sehun.”

“Good day!” Sehun defended. “I don’t care what that Lee says. My work is soooooo good. I’m soooooo the best.”

Luhan teased, “You’re sooooo drunk.”

Sehun gave a soft snort, then tucked into Luhan’s side sleepily.

“I’m glad you went out with Chanyeol,” Luhan soothed, running his hand up and down Sehun’s back. “You deserve to go out with your friend and unwind. You work hard. You can have a night of soju if you want it.”

“Nah,” Sehun murmured sleepily. “I just want you.”

Luhan found Sehun’s hand and slotted their fingers together. And in the warmth and comfort of their home, he assured back, “I just want you, too.”

Half an hour later Wei was back from having dropped Chanyeol off, and then the house was quiet until morning.