Please read the A/N at the bottom. I have a proposition I'd like to run past people who are reading this fic. xD

It’s a normal evening in the house – Shang has spread his homework out on the table, and is diligently ignoring it in favour of plucking random strings on his guitar as Yixing cooks dinner. The only thing that is slightly unusual is the addition of Kyungmi to their kitchen table – but even then, this in itself is not particularly odd. She often drops round for tea.

However, she was supposed to be having Shang for the night, but Jongdae’s pretty sure she’s not going home any time soon; she has Sunhwa sitting on her lap, the toddler eagerly throwing paperwork all over the floor as Kyungmi laughs indulgently. It’s a pretty cute, yeah – but seriously, when is she going home?

“Mimi,” he starts cautiously, keen not to anger her unnecessarily. “Er, not that we don’t want you here, but, uh, when are you going home?”

Yixing doesn’t sense the tension, instead absentmindedly waving a spatula in Kyungmi’s general direction; a large dollop of pasta sauce drips onto the floor. Jongdae holds back a sigh. He’s going to have to clean that up later, along with the rest of the washing up that someone (read: Shang) ‘forgot’ to do. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner, babe!” He says cheerfully. “There’s enough for you too.”

Kyungmi smiles back, choosing to ignore Jongdae’s probing look. “Well, if you say so, honey.” She wraps her arms around Sunhwa’s stomach a little tighter, keeping the wriggling toddler from slipping off her lap. “You know how I like your cooking.”

Jongdae is unimpressed by her up to his talented boyfriend, but Yixing preens at the compliment. “It should be done soon.” He clucks his tongue, jabbing Jongdae (who’s been standing behind him to admire the strange little dance moves Yixing does while cooking) in the ribs with a sharp elbow. “You,” he directs, “go check on Jongseok, will you? I’m worried. He’s being too quiet and I want to make sure he eats.”

It makes him a little sad that he doesn’t get an endearment, or even a smile, but he guesses that’s just how their relationship is. Which is upsetting, and heart-wrenching and all that – but as long as Yixing remembers to say I love you, he tends to forget about it. “Fine.” He gives a long-suffering sigh, just so Yixing knows he’s not happy. “I’ll be back with the little terror.”

The only response he gets is Sunhwa’s delighted shriek of “Seokie!”, which really just shows his position in this household.

***

He approaches the closed door of Jongseok’s room warily; he used to share with Shang, until the fights about Jongseok’s constant explosions got too much for either he or Yixing to deal with. “Jongseok?” He raps on the door twice, listening intently; there’s no sound of movement, which is worrying – Jongseok is rarely ever silent, even when asleep. “Sweetheart, it’s daddy. Open the door, or I’m coming in.”

There’s a small scuffle, a weird, squelchy sound and then the door opens just a crack. Jongseok’s small face peers through, black streaks painted across his face in an imitation of camouflage. Jongdae blinks. “Hi daddy!” Jongseok says, body pressed tight against the door in order to keep his father from seeing just what he’s done.

Jongdae is immediately suspicious. “Bàba is almost done with din – what are you doing in there?” Jongseok’s expression is entirely too innocent, and Jongdae knows that nervous little foot shuffle – it means he’s done something he’s about to get in trouble for.

“N-nothing!” His son has guts, Jongdae’ll give him that – but that’s not going to stop him from finding out just what Jongseok has managed to destroy in his never-ending quest to become the most unmanageable child in existence.

“Yeah, I don’t believe that.” He pushes the door lightly, amused by the fact that Jongseok is throwing all of his weight against it; he’s resigned to the fact that he’s not going to like what’s behind that door, so why not have some fun while you’re at it? “Let daddy in, Jongseok. Otherwise I’m going to get cross, and you won’t li – “

“Okay, okay!” Jongseok squeaks, backing away from the door as Jongdae calmly shoves it open.

He should probably be surprised by the scene of utter horror in front of him, but he’s far too used to this sort of thing by now. “Oh dear god,” he sighs, fingers automatically beginning to massage his temples. “Couldn’t you use a little less paint?”

***

After several garbled sentences about how this isn’t fair, and kids these days, Jongdae deposits his child in the bathtub, barking “Stay” at the terrified six year old, as he attempts to dismantle the – actually he’s not entirely sure what to call the mess in Jongseok’s bedroom. It appears to consist mostly of books and paper, with a healthy splattering of paint and what looks like all of his action figures, a couple of Barbies (Jongseok doesn’t discriminate) and some of Sunhwa’s teddy bears.

It’s a good job Sunhwa really only cares about Blue Bear, else there’d be hell to pay.

When Yixing comes upstairs to see just what’s taking them so long, he takes one look at the mess Jongdae is kneeling amongst and sighs. “I should have known.”

Jongdae nods grimly, busily untying a piece of string from the door handle; several Action Men hang suspended from it, for some reason he has yet to decipher. “Can you go run him a bath?” Where the hell did this child learn to tie knots? Sailors couldn’t even compete. “He’s completely covered in god-knows-what.”

Yixing’s noise of agreement is lost in Jongdae’s high-pitched yelp of “Sodding buggering !” as he trips on yet another piece of bloody string.

It appears that dinner has been postponed.

***

Thankfully, dinner passes without incident – if you can call a minor food-fight between Shang and Jongseok nothing – and once a dessert Yixing has deemed as semi-healthy has been shoved down the kids’ throats, it’s bedtime.

Not that any of the children are willing to go to bed. That would be far too much to ask for.

“It’s too early for bed!” Shang stomps his feet, looking more like a five year old than the ten year old is. He turns towards his mother, eyes widening in an expression that’s supposed to look adorable. “Mum, tell them! I have to go home with you! I can’t go to bed now.”

Yixing snorts with laughter. “Nice try. Your mum’s staying with us, which means you,” – he grabs his son’s shoulders, directing him towards the stairs – “have to go to bed like a good boy.”

Shang makes a strange noise that sounds suspiciously like a growl. “But you promised I could stay up if mum came over! I’m not tired yet.” He tosses his head, shaggy hair sticking up comically because he refuses to have it cut. “Besides,” he wheedles, a crafty glint in his eye, “if you let me stay up for one hour longer, I’ll convince Sunhwa to go to bed right now.”

Oh, he’s a devious little bugger, make no mistake. He knows that’s an offer they can’t refuse, because the only person who has any sort of authority over Sunhwa is Shang. And Jongdae would really like to get an early night in because – well, just because.

The three of them share a look over the top of Shang’s head, Kyungmi trying not to grin at her son’s audacity. “One hour’s not that long,” Jongdae sighs. “Fine. But you go to bed as soon as that hour’s up, you hear?”

Shang nods furiously, hair flopping all over the place. Jongdae doesn’t miss the sneaky grin hidden by the long hair.

Oh, god.

***

Of course, Sunhwa and Jongseok decide that if their elder brother is staying up, they are too, and thus the game of ‘let’s stay up as long as we can just to really piss daddies off’ begins. They’ve given up pleading with them – instead, Jongdae is watching the clock like a hawk, waiting for the hour to be up so he can legitimately shepherd them upstairs with no arguments.

Shang – like the smug little horror that he is – is playing the latest Pokémon game on his 3DS (a birthday gift that Jongdae is now severely regretting because that ing theme music is going to drive him crazy). Jongseok is – strangely – being rather well behaved, sat on the floor with his colouring pencils and a pad of paper. Neither he nor Yixing have any idea what he’s actually drawing, but he seems quite happy, so they leave him to it.

Sunhwa, however, is refusing to even put on her pyjamas; she’s set up camp in Kyungmi’s lap, and every time they try to pick her up – or even move her – she bites. Kyungmi is not helping with this either – every time Sunhwa chomps down on a hand – or worse, a finger – she just snorts with laughter.

Sometimes Jongdae finds it very hard to remember why he is friends with this woman.

Yixing – having narrowly avoided bite number two – heaves a sigh, and flops down on the sofa next to Kyungmi instead. Sunhwa eyes him suspiciously, because her daddies are not putting her in the bath and they are not taking her away from mummy. Mummy is warm.

It appears that they’re at a stalemate. Oh well. Only fifteen minutes to go.

***

Jongseok goes up to bed without any complaints, which is surprising – but then Jongdae’s pretty sure he only stayed up because everyone else was. He doesn’t like being left out, bless him. Shang whines for about five straight minutes, but goes upstairs quite quickly once Yixing reminds him that his guitar lessons only get paid for if he behaves.

But Sunhwa – who is clearly on form today – is having none of it. Even Shang telling her it’s bed time has no effect – something that leaves Jongdae blinking because Shang always works, . She’s clinging to Kyungmi, tiny fingers embedded in the silky fabric of her blouse and they just know that the only way to get her into bed is if she falls asleep.

Which could take hours. Jongdae is not best pleased.

Once Yixing has herded Shang up to his room, a half-asleep Jongseok on his hip protesting that he wants This Is Not My Hat as his story tonight, Jongdae rounds on Kyungmi irritably. “Are you going to explain why you’re still here, instead of at, oh, I don’t know,” He pretends to think for a moment, “home, where your husband is, or are we going to have to guess?” To his surprise, hurt flashes in Kyungmi’s eyes for a second before her expression tightens.

“Do you not want me here?” He curses silently; he should have known there was something up.

“No…” He trails off, biting his lip – it’s not that he doesn’t want her here, exactly. It’s just that he’s tired, he hasn’t had any time alone with Yixing in weeks and work is kicking his . He doesn’t have time for Kyungmi’s avoidance tactics.

Well, he does. He just doesn’t want to.

“What’s wrong?” Jongdae’s been friends with the woman for seventeen years now; he has all of her quirks down pat. And if Kyungmi doesn’t want to deal with something, then she runs from it. The only problem is that she doesn’t do it very often – only for the things that really, really scare her.

And that means that whatever this issue is, it’s big. Ah, crap. Friendship is hard.

She rolls her eyes at him, but looks down at the sleepy toddler in her arms before speaking. She can only be glad that Shang’s not here to hear this; she doesn’t want him to know how upset she is. He might be ten going on forty-eight, but he’s still her baby – and she doesn’t want him to feel threatened.

“We got a call yesterday,” she starts unsteadily, cuddling Sunhwa closer. “From, the um – the fertility clinic. They still have some of our embryos and –“ Sighing, she clears ; why is it so hard to talk about this? “They want to know if we want to have one last hurrah of sorts, before they destroy them.”

“Oh, honey.” And immediately, Jongdae gets it – he gets why she’s so forcibly cheery, why she’s so distracted – and why she’s not with Joonmyun, when usually, it’s hard find them apart. He shuffles his chair closer, slinging a comforting arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

“A-and we had an argument,” her hands are trembling, fingers threading through Sunhwa’s short, fluffy hair. “He wants to say to hell with it, and try again, but I –“ closes; she can’t look Jongdae in the eye, and he squeezes her shoulder because he has no idea what to say. He knows how much it hurts for her. “I didn’t want to go through the disappointment again.” She whispers, screwing her eyes tight against the tears. “Because it won’t work, whatever he says and –“

Jongdae wraps an arm around her, leaning over to kiss the top of her head; it’s a gesture of affection he uses with the children, and right now, it just feels appropriate. “It might,” he says encouragingly. “You never know. Maybe it’s a sign, and by the end of the year, you and Joonmyun will have your own little bundle of terror to ruin your life with.” He grins, but his heart isn’t in it.

She shakes her head, smiling bitterly. “I’m too old, Jongdae. Combine that with the fact that me having a baby is a miracle in itself – and I’ve already had one – well, it’s not going to happen.”

“You’re only thirty-eight!” He tells her indignantly. “Plenty of women have babies at that age, and at older ages too!” One of his colleagues has just had a baby, and she’s forty – he knows it’s perfectly plausible.

“That’s not the point, Dae.” She mutters. “I’ve tried before and it all ended in tears. If – and this is an incredibly tenuous if – we get pregnant again, I’m not sure I can stand the pain of losing it again. You know how much it hurt, Jongdae. You were there.” The words are delivered in a flat tone of voice, devoid of all emotion – but he can see the ache in her glossy eyes.

“Joonmyun wouldn’t want to try if he didn’t think it was possible.” His hand slides down to rub her back, keeping one eye on Sunhwa; he doesn’t want her to interrupt what is turning into quite a serious conversation. That would just be – well, awkward. “This is his job. He knows about this stuff. Why not trust that this is a chance, and try it for that?”

She looks at him. “Because a chance isn’t enough anymore. I’ve made my peace with the fact that I’ll never have a baby again, and I don’t want to give myself futile hope, okay? Not anymore.” There’s a lump in , but she ducks her head down to press a kiss on Sunhwa’s cheek; Jongdae’s little girl has fallen asleep, head lolling against Kyungmi’s neck. It’s an adorable scene, and although he knows Sunhwa and Jongseok consider Kyungmi their mother in all the ways that count – it’s not quite the same. “Besides,” she mutters, “I’m being selfish. A lot of women don’t even get one baby.”

He frowns, because that’s not how he sees it, but he can’t push her any further; he can’t bear to make her feel any worse. “Do you want to stay here tonight? We can probably put you up in the living room, if you call Joonmyun…”

Kyungmi doesn’t look up, too afraid of the pitying expression on his face, but he hears the grateful, mumbled “Yes, please.”

Sunhwa snuffles in her sleep, twitching a little. Kyungmi snuggles her closer, her hair gently and – not for the first time, Jongdae wishes that life wasn’t such a . Kyungmi’s a wonderful mother, and Joonmyun deserves a child of his own.

But he’s happy to offer his own as substitutes – if he’s honest, sometimes the break is good for him and Yixing.

Not that he’s ever going to admit that out loud. Shang would have a field day with the excuse to scream ‘You don’t love me!’

***

Jongdae’s grabbing an assortment of toys, strewn all over the floor in one of Jongseok and Sunhwa’s boisterous games of ‘fight-cat’ or whatever the it’s called – he knows it’s not one of their more creative names, at least – when he finds his phone on top of the TV.

He sighs. He’d been wondering where it had got to; he might be a little scatter-brained, but he’s not stupid – he knows that keeping an eye on his phone is of paramount importance when he has slippery- little children who would just love to have daddy’s one expensive item in their possession.

Hopefully his new password kept them out; he’s not sure he wants to explain just what those texts he and bàba were sending each other are about. Again. Although they seemed to accept the explanation that they were merely corresponding about the plumbing without much fuss.

Or at least, they would have, if Yixing hadn’t been desperately trying not to snigger with laughter in the background.

Wincing at the memory, he unlocks his phone. He has a brief moment in which he is accosted with his wallpaper – a photo of Yixing and the kids making silly faces for the camera, while Shang looks on ashamed – when the phone starts ringing.

Caller ID says Joonmyun, so he bites his lip and slides the answer button across the screen. He should have known, really – Kyungmi’s been here since she got off work, so that’s what, six hours in which she’s been AWOL? “Hello?”

“Jongdae, thank god!” Joonmyun sounds breathless, worried with an obvious undercurrent of nervousness; he knows that Jongdae will most likely be on his best friend’s side, rather than his. “I’ve been trying to call you for ages, but it kept running to voicemail and then there was one time in which I think Jongseok answered but then he just said ‘No’ and dropped the phone or something, so – “

“Joonmyun,” Jongdae says, “breathe.” He rolls his eyes; Kyungmi and Joonmyun are both as bad as each other, despite the fact that Kyungmi’s taken the childish route of ‘I’m-not-going-to-speak-to-him’, rather than being sensible, and having an adult conversation about it. Not that Jongdae can judge – he’s done the same to Yixing many a time.

There’s a tired sigh on the other end of the line. “I am breathing, Jongdae. I’d be dead if I wasn’t.” True, but Jongdae doesn’t really appreciate the sarcasm; if he wants him to play middleman with his wife, then he better be nice about it. He’s tired, for chrissakes. “Is Kyungmi with you?” Joonmyun’s voice is softer this time, as if he’s afraid of the answer.

Jongdae doesn’t blame him. “Yeah.” He’s not sure whether or not to elaborate – Joonmyun probably does not want to go into just why his wife has run away.

“I ed up, didn’t I?” He mutters miserably. Jongdae can imagine the hunched shoulders, the kicked-puppy look – gestures that would work on Kyungmi if she was there to see them, and most likely the reason she’s not.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Jongdae says kindly, because it’s true. He hasn’t ed up, so much as push Kyungmi in the direction of something that hurts her; and while that wasn’t the best idea – and rather tactless – Jongdae can see where he was coming from. They’ve been trying for years, with no success and one, heart-breaking accident none of them could have predicted. It must have seemed like fate when they got that phone call and Jongdae – well, he can understand the pull that must have had on the other man.

He sometimes wonders if Joonmyun is a masochist at heart; what man works with babies every day – women blessed with fecundity – if his own wife can’t give him one?

“Kyungmi would.” Jongdae chuckles in response, because yes, she would – likely screamed as a parting shot before she waltzed out of the door. “I – “ Joonmyun stops, throat blocking, before starting again, “I’m not trying to hurt her. I love her more than anything, I just – “

“She knows.” Jongdae sinks down onto the settee – this conversation is clearly going to take longer than expected, and hell, it’s not like those toys are going anywhere. That would imply his children are both helpful and tidy, god forbid. “She just needs time to cool off, because she feels like you’re…” His lips tighten, mind casting about for the right word. “Disappointed,” he says eventually. “She doesn’t like disappointing you.”

Joonmyun gives a strangled noise in response. “She never disappoints me, I just – “ He swallows, silence falling for a few moments. Jongdae waits. “I feel like I’m not giving her what she wants. I feel like I’m failing her for not fixing this – “

“That’s a load of bull, you know that, right?” He scoffs, unimpressed. “God, you guys are terrible. You’re worse than me and Yixing, and at least we admit we have the mentality of five year olds.” He snorts. “You’re both hurt, understandably. You can’t get what you want and it’s ing painful – I get that. But you can’t blame yourselves. It’s just how it is. And I know it seems like a good idea to take what seems like your last chance, but Kyungmi’s tired. She’s tired of the pain, and the hurt and the getting her hopes up for failure. She’s convinced it’s not going to work, and – “

“Jongdae,” he turns to look at where the new voice is coming from, eyes widening in surprise when he sees Kyungmi in the doorway. There’s a grim, steely look in her eye he has to confess he doesn’t like very much.

It never bodes well for him.

“Is that Joonmyun on the phone?” She asks, arms folded. Sunhwa has been deposited in her room – with much angry biting, obviously – and she came down to tell Jongdae he was free to go to bed. She wasn’t really expecting to find him on the phone with her husband, but then, should she even be surprised?

Jongdae nods wordlessly; he can hear the sharp intake of breath on the other line and then, a husky “Put her on the goddamn phone, Jongdae.” He huffs, shoulders sagging – how, exactly, is he supposed to do that if he’s not sure if the woman in question even wants to talk to Joonmyun?

He hates playing middleman. “Er, I’m going to have to ask her about that one – “

“Does he want to talk to me?” Kyungmi interrupts; he doesn’t miss the spark in her eye, because she might be mad at him but Joonmyun still has such a hold over her.

“Um.” He blinks, looking back from her unreadable expression to his phone and back again. He can hear Joonmyun wittering away in the background, but he hasn’t got it pressed against his ear anymore; he doesn’t need to, anyway. It’s pretty obvious what Joonmyun’s going to say. “Yeah?” He phrases it like a question, holding the phone out to her.

She eyes it for a second, as if it’s going to bite her; Jongdae refrains from telling her that the only thing likely to bite around here is Sunhwa. “Give it to me.”

***

Joonmyun does not know what to say. He knows he’s gone too far – that’s he’s pushed her when she doesn’t want to be pushed, reminded her of things best left untouched – but he honestly cannot conceive of letting this chance go to waste. He is not a man accustomed to letting an opportunity pass by; scrutiny is a particular habit of his.

And he’s a doctor. He knows miracles can happen – have happened.

Therein lies the rub, however. It did happen. There was the moment in which everything clicked into place, and the one thing they’d tried so hard for finally happened. And then – just as quickly – it wasn’t happening, and they were left to deal with the loss of something they’d never really had in the first place.

Grief over a miscarriage is normal. But how do you grieve for something you have never seen, touched – something that was almost more of a dream than a reality?

It was physical – yes, he remembers the blood, the look of panic on her face and the horrible, heart-breaking realisation that even he couldn’t save his own child. And the pain lingered – lingers still, sometimes, if he’s honest – but they moved past it. They had the difficult conversation, mourned for this child-that-never-was, and he didn’t contest Kyungmi’s decision to stop trying because going through such pain again was too much.

“I’m sorry.” The words are so inadequate – so useless in the wake of so many bad memories. “I – I didn’t – “ he swallows, a lump in his throat that feels bigger than a goddamn golf ball, “honey, I just – “

“I get it.” She says quietly; it’s a struggle to hear her over the crackling line – they have such ty reception in their home, it’s unreal. “I understand. We spent so much money on this, and it just feels like a waste to not – “

“No!” He chokes out, horrified that she would think he’s more concerned about not getting their money’s worth than anything else, because that’s not what this is about. “No, baby, I just – “ It’s hard. It’s so, so hard to put what he feels into words when this has been a subject they’ve tiptoed around for years. “What if it worked, this time?” He breathes, aware he sounds like a desperate man – because he is, because she always makes him feel more than he should. “What if – “

“It won’t.” The words are sharp, but her voice shakes and instinctively, he knows she’s holding back tears. “It never does and I – “ She curses softly, the barely-heard a knife in his heart and the hitch in her voice the hand that twists it further. “I’m tired of being a failure,” her voice is stronger now, her stubborn self-beliefs something to hold onto in this sea of unspoken emotion. “I’m tired of failing you.”

He splutters, the words coming unbidden because for her to even think that is the stupidest thing he’s ever heard, and he’s friends with Jongdae, for crying out loud. “That’s bull, darling, complete and utter bull, how on earth could you fail me –“ He can hear Jongdae’s vehement denial of her words in the background, the angry diatribe of a best friend who cannot stand to see one of the people he loves most beat themselves up over something that’s so categorically untrue.

“I did it once!” Her voice is high, that strange, echo-y cast unshed tears will give to your words obvious. “I did it completely by accident, without even wanting to, and he was the best thing I ever did so I should be able to do it again –“

“It doesn’t work like that.” He tells her forcefully, because if there’s one thing he knows, it’s this. “Babies come when they want to. There’s no ‘should’ about it.”

Jongdae mutters his emphatic agreement in the silence.

He strains to hear anything other than the shaky breathing on the other line – one of the children refusing to go to bed, Yixing’s tired sigh, Jongdae’s comforting words – but there’s nothing. There’s just an empty space where his wife’s voice should be and it scares him. “A-are you still there?” It’s a stupid request; he knows she’s still there, but sometimes – well, sometimes, he needs confirmation.

“I’m still here.” She says finally. She offers nothing else, but it’s enough. It’s enough for him to sigh – to pull back, and give her the space she needs, even if it breaks his heart to do so.

“I love you,” he reminds her. He always loves her, even when they fight – even when she storms off, or he abandons her for the comfort of friends not so closely interlinked with the woman he cannot get enough of. Even when things are bad, and they’re tired and angry and snappish; he loves her, then, too – loves the intensity of her eyes, the slope of her neck. The way she tries to hide her obsessive need to know where Shang is at all times in favour of being the ‘cool’ mum.

The way she loves him for him, not the smiling imbecile everyone else sees.

“I love you more.” It’s a game they play; one neither of them can ever win because it’s ridiculous. They know they love one another equally, but the tussle for dominance is just another scar left by that brief period in which they did not have one another; a period he does not like to think about because he fell for her, fast and her abandonment of everything they could have had stung more than any other rejection.

He manages a weak chuckle in response. “Never.” She scoffs, but doesn’t disagree.

“I’ll come home tomorrow. I promise.” His heart sinks, but he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. He should have known it would be too much for her to deal with tonight; it’s just going to be weird sleeping in their bed alone. They’re not clingy sleepers, but still – there’s comfort in knowing that she’s there should he want to cuddle.

And right now, he wants nothing more than to hold her close.

***

Jongdae eyes her warily once she shuts the call off, worried about her state of mind and honestly – a little concerned she’ll go through his text messages for the hell of it. He really, really does not need anyone seeing what he and Yixing were texting. It’s just been a bit of a slow month and it does not mean he’s desperate, okay –

“I can still stay here tonight, right?” She sighs, handing him the phone without argument. His mouth falls open a little in surprise.

Usually she’d jump at the chance to make fun of just how whipped he is. “Of course you can.”

She nods, lips pressed together tightly. “Thanks. I’ll take the kids out for you tomorrow in return.” The words are clipped, but he knows that’s just because she’s refusing to cry, not because she doesn’t want to deal with his demonic offspring.

At least, he hopes that’s what it means. The chance to stay in bed and not deal with his hyperactive children is too good to pass up. He nods, fidgeting with his hands awkwardly – does he ask her if she wants to talk about it, or does he just…move past this? Social interaction is so hard when you’re this tired. “I’ll, uh, go get you a blanket and stuff.” He squeezes her shoulder, a little reassured by the half smile she sends him.

They keep the spare duvets in the airing cupboard next to his and Yixing’s bedroom, and when he climbs the stairs he finds Shang sitting on the top step, a serious expression on his little face. Yixing’s kneeling beside him, trying to convince him to go back to bed, but their son – ever the stubborn little horror he’s been since the moment he was born – refuses.

“I want to know why mum’s crying.” He insists, drawing knobbly knees to his skinny chest. Jongdae’s heart clenches a little at the sight. “Why isn’t she taking me home with her?”

Any other time, and Jongdae would be feeling a little upset – does Shang not like living with them? – but tonight, he just feels guilty for forgetting how perceptive his eldest son is. “Your mum’s fine, sweetheart.” He tells him, interrupting Yixing’s fifty-sixth attempt to get him back into bed, because it’s far too late for a ten year old to be awake. “You can go say goodnight to her again, if you want.” Shang’s eyes light up; gawky, thin limbs flail as he scrambles upwards. “But you better get right up to bed afterwards,” Jongdae warns. He’s not dealing with an overtired preteen tomorrow. No way.

Of course, his son is off before he can even fully deliver the warning, but what does he expect? It’s not like the kids ever prefer him. It’s always Yixing or Kyungmi – sometimes even Joonmyun – never him.

Yixing blinks at his partner’s melancholy expression. This isn’t looking good. “Is everything…okay?” He ventures.

Jongdae can only shake his head. “I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he promises, because they’re not in the habit of keeping things from one another, but, well – he’s too tired to explain it. “She’s staying over tonight.”

“Oh.” Yixing moves aside to let him rummage around in the airing cupboard, now rather curious. He knows both Jongdae and Kyungmi well enough not to push, however. He knows Jongdae will tell him soon; it’s just a matter of being a good friend, first and foremost.

“Yeah,” Jongdae says glumly. He grabs two pillows and a duvet, glad that he had that fit of needing to be obsessively tidy because they’re much easier to grab folded. “I’ll be up in a second. Did the other two go to sleep alright?”

Yixing shrugs. “Jongseok went to bed without much fuss, but Sunhwa started squawking as soon as I read him his bedtime story. You know how she gets.”

They both roll their eyes, because yes, Jongdae does know how his youngest child gets. As in, fussy, grumpy and jealous if the attention is on someone else for more than ten seconds. He can only hope she grows out of it.

Not that that’s likely.

“Right.” He clutches the bundles a little tighter, bobbing his head in a strange, jerky imitation of a nod that Yixing thinks attests to how tired he is. Cleaning up Jongseok’s mess did take rather a long time, after all. “I’ll be back with Shang in a minute.”

He’s rewarded with that slow, sleepy grin Yixing gets when he knows he can finally go to bed. He can’t deny it makes things seem a little better.

It’s not something he admits to often, but Yixing’s smile has always done things to him.

Um, hey! I've been really busy lately, and I will be busy for at least two more weeks. However, once my essays are done - I have three due next week - and I start to feel a little better (I'm really down at the moment), I was wondering if anyone had any Christmas requests for this fic? I have a lot of ideas of my own, but I'd really like to attempt Christmas drabbles for this fic.

Just a suggestion. If no one wants me to do it, I'll just write my ideas. I can be reached on this website, and through my Tumblr.

Also 'This Is Not My Hat' is an awesome children's book. I recommend everyone reads it. ._.