After a morning of baking cookies for Santa, Taeoh's antsy and noisy and is riling up the dogs enough that Kyungsoo can barely hold the boy still but manages to zip him into his snowpants, boots, and coat without catching any skin or clothing. “Gimme a flipper,” Kyungsoo says, holding a mitten open for his son to slip his hand into.

“Are sno-cones made with real snow?” Taeoh asks, the some-hundredth question he's rattled off that day.

“Only if it's clean,” Kyungsoo replies, only listening with half an ear. His kitchen timer is almost ready to ring. “That doesn't mean you should eat it, anyway. Okay? No eating snow.”

“Okay, Daddy...” He's still probably going to eat the snow. “Can Ink 'n Pepper come, too?”

“No, they're going to stay and help me. You go have fun; I'll come get you in a bit.” Taeoh waddles outside as fast as he can, throwing himself off the front step into the snow. He some snow from his mitten before Kyungsoo can yell at him, gets to his feet, and treks through their yard to the end of the block where the road and houses end, opening up into a wide public park with a football field, tennis and basketball courts, covered picnic pavilions, and playgrounds. Even in winter, they're not wholly abandoned, and Kyungsoo's sure Taeoh will find some of his friends. A lot of local kids play there or sled down the man-made hill leftover from developing the area.

“Okay, boys.” Kyungsoo sighs once he sees Taeoh safely at the park. His poodles roll in the snow, snort, and try to dart around him back into the house, but he catches them both to dry their feet and coats with a towel he keeps by the door for that very purpose.

It's starting to smell like wet dog. He tosses it in the bathroom laundry hamper and goes to his room, followed by both dogs.

He's going to miss Taeoh's age, when he can go shopping and buy things for his son and not have to hide the purchase, because the boy won't remember by the time Christmas comes around. The only time he can wrap the gifts is when Taeoh is gone or asleep, though; otherwise he wants to help.

Ink and Pepper take their supervisory positions at the foot of Kyungsoo's bed and watch him cut colorful wrapping paper and fold it around boxes of toys and clothes. He has a separate pile of things for his friends and parents and brother. A lot of the presents for adults, he's found, are gift cards, and they're nice, but he tries to pick something thoughtful as well. This year, he thinks he's done pretty good.

If anyone complains, they're just humbugs. Kyungsoo accepts returns; he never buys anything outside his own taste, anyway.

Once he's done wrapping or bagging gifts and putting everything away up and out of Taeoh's reach, he catches up on emails while petting his dogs. Then it's time to pick his son up out of the snow.

The morning weather forecast predicted some more snow. Small flakes fall delicately in the early afternoon, but it's nothing that should accumulate much, if at all. Kyungsoo probably won't even have to shovel.

He doesn't bother with a scarf or hat, zipping his jacket all the way and shoving his hands in his pockets, and walks the short distance to the snow-covered football field.

He doesn't expect Taeoh to be alone—because he is a very friendly boy, although shy—but he doesn't expect him to be with an adult. From the back, they could be anyone, and Kyungsoo tries to rein in the rising panic as his mind unhelpfully retrieves news headlines of abducted children.

Closer, he can hear his son chattering away, as though with an old friend. “'n everyone's like 'no, it's Frosty!' but snowmen are snow, not frost.”

“You're right,” the stranger says firmly. “It should be Snowy the Snowman.”

“Exactly!” Taeoh emphatically adds snow to his snowy snowman, smoothing it as best he can and tugging at his wrist when his mitten sticks to the surface.

Kyungsoo stands a short distance away, but his son doesn't notice. Crossing his arms, he calls, “Taeoh? Time to come inside, bud.”

His son greets him enthusiastically but doesn't drop the handfuls of snow. “Daddy! We're almost done!”

“You've been out long enough. Come on. I have hot chocolate waiting for you.”

Taeoh whines and smacks a couple more handfuls of snow onto his structure. The stranger says something, and Taeoh smiles, looking even brighter when he grabs his hand. “Daddy, can my friend have hot chocolate, too?”

“I don't think—” He gets a look at the stranger. Faux fur surrounds his face from his hood, and the parka is thick and shapeless, but he'll never forget that face.

Kim Jongin.

“Hey, Kyungsoo...”

Taeoh looks between them, picking up on something but not sure what. He tugs Kyungsoo's sleeve. “Daddy, can he come, too?” He stands on his toes to whisper loudly, “He's my friend, don't embarrass me.”

Jongin's lips twitch, and he tucks the lower half of his face into his hood to hide the obvious smile.

Kyungsoo can't think of a graceful way to reject his son in a way that won't result in a tantrum, so he straightens his son's scarf and nods. “If would like, he's welcome.”

Taeoh laughs and whirls around to grab Jongin's hand, looking red from handling snow. “You're gonna like our house,” Taeoh boasts. “It's real comfy, 'n we got dogs, 'n a fish, 'n moss balls the fish likes to eat!”

Kyungsoo walks on Taeoh's other side, and he holds both their hands, pulling up his feet to be lifted over particularly slushy piles on the sidewalk. He talks enough for the three of them, and Kyungsoo is rather amazed. He hasn't heard his son talk so much around a stranger...ever.

Not that Jongin is exactly a stranger, but Taeoh was a baby and wouldn't remember him.

Their house is in the middle of a line of single-story homes with a modest front and back yard. A garage sits almost behind the house, a large gate blocking the driveway from the road and a small gate opening to a cement walkway covered in ice-melting salt all the way onto the front step.

Jongin steps off the path to let Kyungsoo lead Taeoh inside. The boy pulls off his hat and mittens, dropping them where he stands and impatiently wriggles while Kyungsoo unwinds his scarf, s his coat, and pops his feet out of Iron Man snow boots. Finally freed, he grabs Jongin's hand again and tugs him into the house for a tour.

Jongin follows with enthusiastic responses to his little host's commentary, getting particularly goofy when introduced to the black and gray poodles, Ink and Pepper. They each carry one throughout the tour, and Kyungsoo can tell his son is already very attached. It leaves a heavy weight in his gut.

“Taeoh, come sit and drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold.”

Ink squirms to be let down but sits close to Taeoh. Pepper's content on Jongin's lap, eyes closing and opening slowly as he falls asleep.

Not even an hour after a mug of hot chocolate picked free of melting marshmallows, Taeoh's head bobs, and he whines when carried to his bedroom but falls asleep as soon as he's covered with his blankets and tucked in with a plush teddy bear.

Kyungsoo returns to the living room, looking at the scuffs in the hardwood that he's been meaning to hire a service to restore.

“You look good,” Jongin comments softly. He's not as comfortable on the sofa, now, sitting as close to the arm as possible. “I'd say nothing's changed, but that'd be a pretty big lie. And Taeoh's beautiful,” he adds quickly.

“Yeah, well,” Kyungsoo sighs, “he is his father's son.” He clears mugs and takes them to the sink, washing them right away instead of putting them in the dishwasher.

“I'm sorry for showing up like this. When I'd seen Taeoh playing in the snow... There were other kids, but he was playing by himself.”

That Jongin recognized Taeoh probably means someone's been keeping him updated. Kyungsoo's going to have Words with Jongdae. “Taeoh's shy.” Neither of his parents were particularly outgoing as children. Give him a couple minutes, and he'll warm up to just about anyone, though.

“He can talk an awful lot, though.”

“His teachers tell me they wish he talked more in class.” The conversation peters out. Somehow they have everything to talk about but nothing to bring it into conversation naturally, so they're silent. Kyungsoo takes the few dishes from the dish washer and washes them by hand, dries them, and then puts them all away. There's still coffee from that morning; he always makes a fresh pot every couple of days and just microwaves what's left from the carafe. He'd just made coffee that morning but dumps it all out and washes that pot, too.

With nothing left to wash, he boils water for tea. His mother sent him bags from his parents' recent trip to Australia. It gets very bitter when steeped for too long, but he's found the right balance of time and heat.

As the water starts to bubble with rising excitement, Kyungsoo finds himself looking over his shoulder. From the kitchen, he has a clear vantage point to the rest of the house, from the front door to the living room and hall leading to the bedrooms and bathroom.

Jongin's playing with the ears of the sleeping dog on his lap, staring at the wall behind the television. Photos, diplomas, and mementos hang neatly in matching black frames. “I thought I never wanted to see you again.” Jongin jumps, and Pepper hops to the floor and curls up on the dog bed with Ink. “But Taeoh looks and acts just like you. Whenever you were on TV, I had it on. Every dance performance, variety program, conference...Taeoh's taking ballet because of you. I tried to get him into something else, but he cried. He really loves it. He's made a lot of friends, too; they had a Christmas party at their studio last week. That envelope on the table has photos, if you want to look.”

Jongin glances at the envelope but doesn't move to grab it. “I'm sorry...”

Somehow, the apology cracks something in Kyungsoo, and the bitterness leaks into his voice. “Do you know how ty it is to be divorced with a child in my position?” People will remark on how mean kids can be, but they learn from their parents. Kyungsoo's heard things from mothers' mouths that would make a sailor blush.

“I'm sorry—”

“I know you are, Jongin.” He breathes deep, sighs, and drops his tense shoulders. “I know. I'm sorry, too.” He returns to the sofa with mugs of tea. “Honey and sugar.”

“You remember.” He smiles softly at the mug, watching the steam distort his amber reflection. Kyungsoo wants to punch the smile from his lips and kiss him at the same time.

He sits at the opposite end of the sofa, instead. “As if you'd let me forget. Every time I tried to tell you that you're gonna end up diabetic, you'd whine that it tastes better sweet. Same way with your goddamn coffee, if you could call it that.”

Jongin pouts, and it's just like Kyungsoo remembers. So childish but cute. Kyungsoo never could resist it. “I've gotten a little better...”

Kyungsoo hums and sips his tea.

A clock ticks somewhere. Jongin stares at his tea, chewing a finger, a sign that he's thinking. He used to bite his nails when nervous or thinking. Kyungsoo had helped him break the habit, although he apparently developed a different habit of playing with his bottom lip. Kyungsoo's not sure if that's an improvement.

Taeoh has about ten minutes before Kyungsoo plans to wake him. His naps have gotten much shorter than the hour-or-longer naps when he was younger. Soon, he'll be too old for naps. Too old for bedtime stories. Too old for playing in the snow and caring about the accuracy of snowmen's names.

Finally, Jongin speaks again. “I didn't intend to get to you through Taeoh. I really was on my way here. To see you.” He breathes deep, holds it for a moment, and sighs. “If you've followed my shows, you'll know about my injuries now. I can still dance, but I can't responsibly perform for as rigorous a schedule as I used to.” Kyungsoo nods. He had been sitting in his exact spot now, reading emails on his phone while Taeoh played on the floor. The six o'clock news reported that the popular ballerino, Kim Kai, had been taken to the hospital after collapsing during practice, and his manager left a comment with the media that, following doctors' opinions, he would be taking an extended period of rest. Just days later, social media announced his semi-retirement and excitement about exploring teaching and choreography.

“I've always regretted leaving you. I love my work, but I realized that I love you even more. They wouldn't let me break contract, and now that I'm effectively retired from the stage, I have a lot more time...to think about and to do things I didn't do like I should have.

“I know I've been apologizing since I got here, but I'm sorry for what I put you through. I could never hope for forgiveness, but I still dare to dream about a second chance.” There's honesty in his brown eyes, the same open and raw emotion that Kyungsoo fell for in the beginning.

“I don't know, Jongin,” Kyungsoo mumbles. He's had dreams, too. Dreams where they stayed together in different settings and scenarios and even worlds. “It hurt a hell of a lot, and I didn't know what to tell our son, so I told him nothing.” Taeoh asked about his missing parent once, but he never asked again after seeing how upset Kyungsoo was. He was just confused and frustrated—and still angry—but who knows how such complexity translates to a child.

Kyungsoo can't let Jongin shoulder all of the blame. He was there, too, every step of the way, and he just...did nothing. He allowed himself to step back and just watch as his whole life changed. “We're both responsible,” he sighs. “If I'd just gotten over myself and reached out to you, we could've worked it out. I'm sure we could have.” Steam curl into the air from his mug, and he watches it curl and dissipate. “But I didn't. I let my frustration and hurt get the better of me, and then it was too late.” But in the Blame Game, Jongin left first.

“I really wish you had felt...comfortable...comfortable enough to tell me that.” Words aren’t Jongin’s thing. He’s not dense or crude, but as a dancer and artist, he’s never had to rely on words to express himself or his thoughts. “I know I wasn’t being all that fair, though. If we’d just talked about everything like functioning, responsible adults, we could’ve come up with a really good plan. You’re so good at that! You’ve always been able to see things in ways I never could and look at the future possibilities and not just the one you want.

“I was selfish. I still am. It wasn’t fair to you, or to Taeoh, and I know I’m asking a whole lot just by even being here. He doesn’t need to know who I am, if you don’t want him to, but I’d like to be a part of his life...and yours. Even if it’s just as the super cool, fun uncle. Not as the ty ex whose name you can't even say out loud.”

“What about that girl you were dating? Sunyoung?”

“Soojung?” Jongin sounds surprised and blinks owlishly at Kyungsoo. “She's the prima ballerina of the company. We were friends first through another dancer—You remember Taemin? Him.—Besides, there was only one girl I ever loved, and that was kind of a stretch, anyway.”

Kyungsoo scoffs and rolls his eyes, although he feels his cheeks burn with anger more than embarrassment when he catches the soft look Jongin's side-eyeing his way. Stupid Jongin and his easy affection.

The insinuation isn't lost on him. Jongin's still single, after leaving him.

Kyungsoo sips his tea, taking the moment to think. He’s wondered about a future with Jongin. Ever since before they were even together, he’d thought a future together. A child—although Jongin’s always wanted multiple, and he had the attentive, caring personality to be a good dad—a couple dogs, a suburban house with flower beds and fruit trees. He even imagined the colors of the rooms in their house.

Then he left, joining his dance troupe on tour after tour. Kyungsoo tried to embrace the hurt he felt and ignore everything related to Jongin, but he couldn’t help but watch every performance he could online and on television, which got Taeoh interested in dancing and theater. Taeoh thought his dad loved dance and wanted to please him.

Even when they were together, Kyungsoo didn’t feel any exceptional fondness for dance. It was just an interest that bloomed from knowing Jongin. He seemed to live for the stage, for throwing his body around in what looked like reckless abandon but was actually carefully and meticulously controlled. The seeming lack of control came from years of dedicated practice. A chance to travel in a troupe is a huge deal for any dancer, and it would have been foolish to turn it down, but Kyungsoo had hoped that he and their baby had meant more.

The wall clock chimes the hour. Ink sighs and rolls over. The filter in the fish tank hums and releases bubbles.

“I've gotta get going.” Jongin pockets his phone. “My manager's still keeping tabs on me, making sure I'm not overworking myself.”

“He worries. As he should. You're a horrible patient.” Kyungsoo waves a hand at him, motioning for him to just leave his tea on the table. He barely drank it.

At the door, Jongin stuffs his feet carelessly into his boots, staring at the hall of bedrooms and chewing his lip. Once he steps outside, the chilly winter air slipping around them and into the house, he looks at Kyungsoo and asks, “Can I see you again?”

“Why?”

He can see Jongin falter—probably not expecting the cautious response—but he only thinks a moment before replying. “Because I want to see you again. And Taeoh.” He looks honest, wearing his emotions on his sleeve like always, and Kyungsoo is very close to inviting him back inside.

“I don't know, Jongin...” His old love looks heartbroken but bravely nods, accepting whatever he says, like he always has. “Have you changed your phone number?”

Jongin shakes his head, not catching on right away. He can be a bit of an airhead. Kyungsoo used to find it endearing.

“I'll call you later.” Kyungsoo says goodnight and gently but firmly shuts the door on Jongin's dazzling, hopeful smile. He watches the man march through the snow rather than go down the clear walk, kicking up the newest dusting of snow.

Taeoh's still sleeping peacefully when Kyungsoo looks into his room. He grunts and pushes at Kyungsoo when he lays over him, whining, “Daddy, you're heavy.”

“It's the weight of my love,” Kyungsoo replies. “I love you soooooo much!” Taeoh giggles at the winter-cooled kisses nuzzling his cheeks. Kyungsoo rolls over, pulling his son on top of him. The boy yawns, looking ready to grab his blankets and fall back asleep. “Anyway, if you sleep more now, you won't sleep tonight. You were gonna help me pick cookies to take for your teacher, remember?”

Taeoh slips off Kyungsoo and falls into the crook of his arm, head propped up on his dad's shoulder, and rubs his eyes. “Did Jongin hyung leave?”

“Yes. He had to go home.” Kyungsoo combs through the boy's bedhead with his fingers. His hair is getting long; Kyungsoo should make him an appointment to get it cut before the holidays.

Taeoh grabs his bear, playing with its arms in a nonsensical dance. “Oh...”

“You had fun with him today, huh?” He wonders if Taeoh felt any particular bond or familiarity with Jongin, but he doesn't want to ask.

“Yeah! He knows a lot about snowmen, and he really likes dogs. He's funny, too, and really handsome.” To hear Taeoh's enthusiasm, one would think Jongin's the most amazing person in the world.

Maybe he is, to certain people.

Taeoh tilts his head back but can't see Kyungsoo, so he sits up to look at him. “Don't you like him, Daddy?” he asks, quieter than before, as if afraid of the answer. Like Kyungsoo would take away his friend.

Kyungsoo isn't the one who made him leave.

Jongin could still be a friend, though.

He smiles, small but fond. No amount of hurt can make him forget the good times they had. “Of course I do.”

a/n: Written for EXOSeasonal fest. (prompt no.43 divorced!kaisoo meet again after kyungsoo finds jongin making a snowman with their son)

“We build statues out of snow, and weep to see them melt.” — Walter Scott

I was trying to be philosophical with my title and have it related to winter.

You make something, anything, especially with another person, and it's sad to see it ruined. With a material like snow, though, it is not a good building material if you want something with longevity. It melts pretty slowly or is knocked down all at once. It's bound to happen but is still sad.