Joonmyun takes a seat on a plastic foldable chair the creaks audibly over the echoes of screaming children and ecstatic parents in the auditorium. He's seated too far in the back, to the point the figures start blending into one even with his glasses on. The plastic wrapping of the flowers in his hands crinkle as he fingers it absentmindedly. Luhan had left minutes ago, nearly ten minutes late, to take his spot on the stage.

A lot can change in eighteen years, Joonmyun thinks as the audience begins to quiet in apprehension. The time when Luhan was so small, so vulnerable that Joonmyun was almost afraid to hold him, seems like a dream now. He was anxious that his grip would be too tight or he'd drop Luhan, a three month old the size of his forearm. The fear that would overtake him when Luhan would catch a fever or cry out in pain as he crawled into table corners and stuck his fingers in an electrical socket was so overwhelming; Joonmyun could've never understood such an internal, magnificent pain for the wellbeing of a child without adopting Luhan. He was scared of so many things for something barely a fourth of his height.

At least he can now be relived that his eighteen year old son will no longer be in danger of electrocution or burning himself (although there is always the fear occupying the crevices of his mind). Luhan doesn't need to be locked in a playpen and listened to all the time anymore. He doesn't need to be held and carried and doesn't need the constant reassurance of a parent within his viewing vicinity.

Today, Luhan is graduating. Luhan is leaving his home with Joonmyun and Minseok and moving back to where he always belonged: China. His homeland is calling him back, and Joonmyun still hasn't quite learned how to take it.

(He will probably never learn.)

"Did you get the camera working?" Minseok asks as he takes his seat next to Joonmyun. He's smiling just as wide as he possibly can, but they've talked beforehand and Minseok has the same worries as him. How is Luhan going to fare in the concrete jungles of China? In a place he's barely known, how is he going to survive without the two men who've been with him since he was just three months old?

Joonmyun sighs, fiddling with Luhan's digital camera in his hands. It's not the same as the old cassette video camera he used to have that he'd taped Luhan's piano recitals and soccer games on. It's new and foreign to him and Luhan had forgotten to show him how it works before rushing to his spot on the stage.

Minseok takes the camera and tampers with it as best he can until something looks like it's taking video. He points it to Joonmyun and takes video pre-graduation ceremony.

"Hi baby, we're sorry we made you late and couldn't get good seats, but we're waiting for your speech," Minseok says, turning the camera on himself and leaning into Joonmyun's shoulder. He turns the camera away to see miles and miles of a sea of people, and they're so far away, Luhan will probably whine about how small he looks or how shaky the footage is. "Got anything else to add, Dad?"

"Luhan will probably kill us for embarrassing him like this," he says, smirking at his husband.

Minseok weakly slaps Joonmyun's shoulder. "Oh, shut up. That's what parents are for."

It's true. Parents are for making fun of their kids, for helping their kids, for stepping out of their own comfort zone for their kids. There were the endless nights of staying up until three in the morning with Luhan as he finished projects (though Joonmyun never lasted until 3 AM, but Luhan was always thankful for the presence the next day. Joonmyun didn't mind working at the hospital like a zombie the next morning, so long as Luhan had done what he needed to). There were the hard times of competitions and coming home with teases and taunts for second to last place and cheers and gloats for coming in first. There were the smiles and laughs as they rode amusement park rides and celebrated birthdays and watched movies late into the night. There were the times they'd made fun of Luhan, whether he was old enough to understand or not.

But it's his little family that nurtured and watched him grow and is now sending him off to the unknown where there's no more plastic cage to protect him and baby monitors to hear him all the time.

Joonmyun snaps out of his thoughts when he hears Luhan's name being called. Minseok holds his hand a little tighter, squeezes it a little harder, and holds his breath as he watches their son take the stand and speak.

It's a speech Joonmyun has heard at least ten times in the car. It's a speech he'll never forget, but he will: he'll forget exactly what Luhan said as he stood on that stage above hundreds of his peers, and he'll forget the day, month, and year when he did so, but it's hard to forget how proud he is of his son as he took the stage for his accomplishments. Luhan has done so much, and Joonmyun couldn't be more proud.

"You were fantastic, Luhan," Minseok congratulates afterwards. They're standing in the crowded parking lot, parked farthest away from the school in order to have a little privacy. Minseok presses a light kiss to Luhan's blonde hair- not black like it used to be.

"Thanks, appa," Luhan says, embracing his dad in a hug. He looks at Joonmyun hopefully. "Dad?"

Joonmyun swallows thickly and nervously pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You were great." He wipes at his dry eyes and embraces Luhan tightly. "You really are."

And even though Luhan is moving on to China, going back to where he always belonged, Joonmyun thinks that they're a family, and that's the only thing that hasn't ever really changed in eighteen years.

A/N: well there's the second update \o/ i've had this one sitting in my drafts for such a long time tho OTL we'll just have to see where these drabbles go next ^^ thanks for reading and let me know what you think~

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