Somewhere in what he thinks are the most exhausting two hours of his life, Mark Tuan wonders if all the nuclear power plants in the world could be commercially outcompeted by an army of five-year-old boys on hamster wheels hooked up to generators.

The banged-up old football from Mark’s high school days he’d brought over for the party hits the wire netting across the court from where he is, and he slumps, hands on his knees, barely enough breath in his lungs to join in the ecstatic laughter from the group of boys, Youngjae’s friends from the daycare, if he remembers correctly. It’s difficult enough playing a 1v10 game of football in the dusty old concrete square of space outside the apartment where Youngjae lives, with a bunch of little boys armed with a seemingly never-ending supply of energy, not to mention when everywhere’s become a goalpost, and for the fifth time that day Mark wonders why he’s doing this when he’d known this would happen.

It’d been impossible to decline Youngjae’s request then, however, not when he knows how rare it is they get the chance to get out and have fun like this. Besides, he reasons, how could he have said no to his precious nephew on the boy’s special day?  

“Hyung! Mark-hyung!” It’s Bambam, one of Youngjae’s closer friends, the three-year-old with the bright doe eyes and oversized clothes (passed down from his older brothers, no doubt) that he keeps trying not to trip over. “Mark-hyung, get up!”

“Mark-hyung is tired,” Mark chuckles breathily, running a hand over his forehead to realise he’s perspiring, even in the cool mid-morning spring air. “Give me a second, Bam.”

Bambam seems overly elated that Mark-hyung remembers his name, feet doing an excited quickstep, before he remembers belatedly that his shoes are two sizes too big, and he unbalances sideways, landing with a thump on his side.

A couple of years ago, Mark would’ve rushed to the side of any kid that’d so much as stumbled, hovering nervously, hands jittery and inexperienced, but over the time Youngjae’s been under his care he’s learned that little boys, firstly, run on nuclear power, and secondly, are made of rubber. This is proven as Bambam doesn’t so much as cry out at the impact, instead quickly rolling onto his front to get up and dust his palms on his pants before one of the other boys (Hanbin, probably) can run over to kick dirt onto him.

Mark knows these boys were brought up to be invincible on the outside, that they’ve been bounced off so many floors and fists and words that they’ve known nothing but to drag themselves up and move on, and the thought’s been ground into the back of his mind so often it barely even makes him sad anymore.

(He clings on to the vestiges of that pain, though, to remind him that this isn’t normal, none of this is what they deserve and what they should be getting.)

He’s barely stood up, calf muscles crying out in protest at the exertion, when he realises his pocket’s buzzing insistently, the sound of the stupid tinny noise Jinyoung had set as his ringtone barely audible over the sound of the boys shouting over their most recent goal (the score was currently 82 – 0, or something to that effect), and he quickly takes his phone out, letting out a rough sigh of relief.

“Yes, Jinyoung?”

“We’re almost there, hyung, sorry we got held up, I was hungry, okay-…”

“No worries, man, I just almost died here,” Mark mutters. “How long more? I’ll go in and get the boys cleaned up.”

The ball hits the brick wall about an inch from Mark’s face, and he turns to look sternly at the offending kid, only to see Youngjae pushing one of the boys, Junhwe, or something, scolding him in a trill of dialect that’s barely understandable, even by Mark. The other boy seems to get it, though, scoffing and taking a few steps back, throwing his hands up in surrender.

There’s a fond smile on Mark’s face as he tunes back in to the steady stream of excuses Jinyoung has to give, only to hear a we’ll be there in twenty, just give the kids more food or something, and he sighs.

“Okay, sure.”

“Hey, don’t be mad,” he can literally see Jinyoung pouting, now, trying to milk his (honestly pretty gross) aegyo for all it’s worth. “Trust me, this one’s worth it. Besides, you wouldn’t want Jae to see you all grumpy on his birthday, right?”

“Just get over here,” Mark rolls his eyes though he knows Jinyoung can’t see it. “And text Jackson to say Youngjae’s waiting for him, too.”

“Ew, Jackson? Who invited him,” Jinyoung sneers, and Mark’s tempted to roll his eyes again.

“Don’t be disappointed when he doesn’t show up,” he mutters, grinning slightly at the explosion of why would I want to see that douchebag and I’ll be glad if he doesn’t show up, like ever. By the time he’s turned his attention back to the boys, though, a few of them have stolen the football and are kicking it around some distance away, while Youngjae gazes hopefully over at him, waiting for news on the really super big surprise for the best little boy in the world Jinyoung had promised him this morning, and Mark cups his hands around his mouth.

“Let’s get back in the building, guys, Jinyoung-hyung’s going to be back with the surprise soon!”

*

It’s only when half the boys have washed up and are scuttling excitedly around in the cramped living room that Mark starts to get worried- Jinyoung had said something about inviting a mascot for Youngjae’s birthday party, and all of a sudden all Mark can think of is some washed-up college kid in a half-assed green dinosaur costume that’s falling apart at the seams, and the disappointed look on Youngjae’s face when he sees it.

He’s got half a mind to call Jinyoung and ask if this is really a good idea when he feels an insistent prodding at his thighs, and snaps back into reality to see Youngjae clambering eagerly onto the couch beside him. He’s getting a bit too big to sit on Mark’s lap properly but the twenty-one year old lets him try anyway, chuckling when Youngjae almost unbalances onto the arm of the couch.

“Hyung, hyung,” Youngjae’s saying, once he’s comfortably seated, and Mark’s only half paying attention, more focused on what Yunhyung’s doing involving the telephone over by the mantelpiece and if he’s going to break anything. “Hyung, is my mom coming later?”

Mark blinks, dragging his focus back to Youngjae’s expectant face, before smiling. “’Course she is, Jae. She’s rushing straight over after work, and after she gets your cake, of course.”

“I’m really getting a cake this year?” Youngjae looks disproportionately happy at the notion of getting a cake on his birthday, and Mark feels that familiar twinge of sadness at the thought. “A real one? Like, in a circle? With the white cream and chocolate and the candles?”

“Yeah, of course,” Mark smoothens a hand down the back of the boy’s head, grinning. “You’re five, Jae, you’re a man now. Of course you have to get a proper cake.”

Youngjae literally leaps off Mark’s lap, speeding over to Yugyeom, who’s trying to discreetly take another chicken nugget from the plate on the kitchen table, colliding into him with the regular force of a five year old (approximately equivalent to being hit by a water balloon going at 80km/h) before starting to chatter excitedly, and Mark lets out an infinitesimal sigh.

He’s brought back to his original worries, however, at the sound of the main gate opening behind the door, and the boys who hear it freeze, almost, all with eyes glued to the door, especially Youngjae, who scoots out into the living room for a better look. Mark’s wincing, almost, all prepared for some pathetic, skinny, rabbit thing to burst from behind the door, throwing sweets and stepping on the kids by accident, getting up to do damage control if necessary.

It becomes apparent, in about three seconds, that damage control is, in fact, necessary, because the door opens by a crack, and there’s a collective gasp through the room, a couple of kids stumbling as the boys from behind press forward for a better look. Then-…

“It’s Captain America!”

And the boys surge forward in a tidal wave of tiny bodies, as the door opens fully to reveal what could very possibly be Captain America, because Mark feels like the breath’s been forcefully knocked out of his lungs at the sight of him.

Damn.

The kids are jumping up and down, tugging excitedly at his shield and suit, asking him a billion questions, when all Mark can think about is is this a Men’s Health model or a mascot and his jawline could freaking slice fruit, and then finally, of course, Jesus, is that six pack real.

But nothing beats the last revelation that hits him like a particularly nasty storm wave.

He is going to cost a bomb.

All it takes is one look at the material of the costume, clearly tailored to fit the curves of his muscles and abdomen almost perfectly, the complete lack of any awkward silence or gestures on the part of the mascot, to see that this guy’s received training, that he’s probably part of some company that charges an arm and a leg to send people like these to rich kids’ birthday parties and functions, and Mark almost panics. Almost.

Because the look in Youngjae’s eyes as “Captain America” identifies him and swoops him off the ground amidst the cheering and clamouring of the other boys, this mix of utter adoration and shock at seeing the man in the comic-book photocopies he’s pasted all over his side of the room (the only one in this house) he shares with his mother, the real-life, full body version of the plastic figurines with the missing arms and faded paint he blu-tacks to the bedside table, makes Mark realise that in that very moment he would give up almost anything to see that look in the boy’s eyes again.

“Do you guys know who I am?” and whoa, Mark’s brought back down to the cold hard reality that is this guy’s voice, a mix of warmth and earth and solid security, and he wonders what else this guy has under that gorgeous exterior.

The response is immediate, a deafening cheer of Captain America and you’re my favourite one in the Avengers and can I hold your shield, and Mark’s tempted to laugh as the man literally wades through the bubbling sea of excited boys, still holding Youngjae, who’s still looking like all his dreams have come true at once. He immediately gets up, circling around the table to let him sit, and immediately the boys form this reverent circle around him, eyes shining.

Mark glances back at the abandoned doorway as the guy starts to talk to see Jinyoung leaning against the frame, watching the events unfold with a satisfied kind of smile on his face, and quietly walks over to join him.

“Okay, you got me, this was a good one,” Mark whispers, watching the guy lead the boys on into some tale of his adventures with the Avengers and their death-defying expedition as Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. “I’ll bite,” he sighs. “How much was he?”

 “You don’t ask the price of a gift,” Jinyoung pretends to simper, hissing when Mark steps on his foot without a second’s hesitation. “Ow, fine, okay, Jaebum-hyung owed me a couple of favours back from high school, so I decided to call them in, alright?”

“You know him?” Mark tries not to sound too surprised (or too interested).

“Yeah, he got this job about half a year back, when he decided he didn’t want all his working out at the gym to go to waste,” Jinyoung rolls his eyes, still smarting about the jab. “He’s with the amusement park on the other side of town, the rich side.”

“He works for the amusement park?” Mark’s not bothering to hide his shock now. He would’ve cost more than the rent on this house.

“Yeah, why?” Jinyoung’s sniggering a little, at the sight of Bambam raising his hand, to very seriously ask Jaebum what being in the ice was like for all those years, to which Jaebum replied, equally seriously, that it was very cold, and unadvised for them to try.

“Just, he’s got better things to do with his time, doesn’t he…?” Mark trails off, both men completely fascinated by the adorable exchange that’s happening in the living room.

“Really cold?” Another boy, one of the skinner ones with glasses, looks like he’s trying to imagine how cold it could be. “How cold is really cold?”

“He means like winter cold,” Jiwon, one of the older boys, informs him. “Like when you’re walking home from school in like, a storm.”

“Yeah,” Jaebum nods importantly, and Mark tries not to laugh. “That’s why you all should be in your houses where there’s a heater, so it’s warm.”

“What’s a heater?” Hanbin asks loudly, then and Mark immediately stops laughing.

“It’s a thing that gives heat, you dummy,” Junhwe snarks.

“Yeah, heaters keep you warm,” Jaebum continues, and Mark winces, because it hits him that Jaebum’s only ever been attending to the insanely rich crowd that actually have the money to visit amusement parks all the time, all of whom probably use heaters all the time.

“Ohhh, he means a blanket!” Bambam says quickly, looking at Jaebum for confirmation.

“No, I read about it before!” Donghyuk, the glasses boy, is piping up again. “It’s a big rectangle thing, and they put it on the floor or in the wall-…”

“Like a floor mat?” Jinhwan’s frowning so hard his eyes are disappearing. “Wait, you can’t put floor mats into walls-…”

“You guys don’t use heaters?” Jaebum asks, a little uncertainly, and Mark almost speaks up, almost, internally chastising Jinyoung for not having briefed this guy sufficiently, but then Jaebum starts talking again and Mark holds his tongue.

“Do you know what our heaters are like?” he asks in a low tone, and the boys are immediately enraptured once more. “Okay, you guys can’t tell anyone this, or I’ll get into a lot of trouble with SHIELD, okay?”

After a bout of anxious nodding, Jaebum lets the silence hold for a moment, like he’s about to tell the world’s biggest secret for the very first time.

“Dragons.”

There’s another collective gasp, and some frowning. “No, dragons are big!”

“We have the baby ones,” Jaebum says solemnly. “After the mommy dragons lay the eggs, they can’t take care of all of them very well so we help to raise some of them, and in return they breathe little fires to keep us warm. After they’ve grown up a little, we give them back to the mommy dragons so they can go free.”

“You take care of baby dragons?” Youngjae sounds like his respect and adoration for Jaebum has just gone exponentially up, eyes wide with wonder, and the admiring silence barely holds for a moment before another question is raised.

“What if they bite you?”

“Can we have a baby dragon?”

“Do you fly on them?”

“What about the papa dragons?” Yugyeom asks quietly, then, and Mark stiffens, just as Hanbin hits the younger boy on the back of the head.

“You stupid, of course the papa dragons don’t want the baby dragons once they’re born, or they die when it happens,” he says, like he’s just made a very logical deduction. “Just like humans.”

Jaebum goes quiet, then, suddenly, as the rest of the kids chime in their agreement, nodding like it’s the most sensible explanation in the world, including Youngjae, and Mark watches him, breath held in his chest, suddenly wondering if he should intervene. But then-…

“Actually, for dragons, it’s a little different,” Jaebum speaks up, and the kids look up questioningly. “You know how you hear about dragons having lots and lots of gold?” his tone has this manner of capturing all the simplicity and wonder in the air, like he’s got the map to every child’s thought processes etched into the back of his throat, and for a moment Mark’s every bit as enraptured as the children. “So while the mommy dragon waits for the baby dragons to grow up, the papa dragon has to get all the gold he can. And when he has enough gold, he can’t leave it alone, or other dragons will steal it, right?” he waits until all the boys have nodded before continuing. “So he has to lie on the gold and sleep there, until the mommy and baby dragon can join him again.”

There’s a moment of silence as that idea sinks in, slowly, absorbed by the ten curious little minds in the living room.

“So he’s just protecting all their gold?” Jinhwan doesn’t sound entirely convinced.

“The mommy dragon and baby dragons can just go and get their own gold,” Hanbin declares. “They don’t need whatever gold the daddy dragon has.”

“I think it’s nice,” Bambam pipes up, then, a wistful sort of look on his face, and Mark’s heart twinges painfully.

“The papa dragon doesn’t want to go, then, he just has to,” Donghyuk says, half like he’s explaining it to himself. “‘Cause otherwise their gold will get stolen, right?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Jaebum nods, and the little boy beams.

Mark doesn’t even feel the prickle of tears at the corners of his eyes, until he hears the muffled sound of someone blowing their nose further out in the stairwell of the apartment, and rolls his eyes as he glances over his shoulder to see Jinyoung hunched by the stairs, catching his eye and glaring fiercely over to mouth that he’s not crying.  

Jaebum launches into another tale, then, about one time they’d helped return a mommy and baby dragon to the papa dragon when they’d gotten lost on Earth, and Mark rests his back against the doorframe, watching with a lidded, absent sort of half-smile.

*

Almost two and a half hours have passed, way beyond any amount of time that a mascot should have to stay for, and the boys are bouncing around the living room, ecstatic at the thought of cake (real circle white cake, with candles, Youngjae had proclaimed to the rest proudly) and the gifts that Jaebum had given them, a little blue mask held in place by an elastic band or a Velcro-strap cape for each boy, when Jaebum starts making his goodbyes in high-fives and fistbumps, and the boys press in around him at once, eager to get in one last word with him.

“You’re not staying for the cake?” Mark finds himself asking, as Jaebum waves a special goodbye to Youngjae, and the boy jumps excitedly on the spot, his cape flapping behind him, and Mark has to internally slap himself with the way his stomach does a flip-flop as Jaebum turns to look at him properly for the first time that afternoon. “I mean, you could grab a bite, or something-…”

“Nah, Jinyoung promised to treat me to grilled meat after this,” Jaebum grins, and Mark literally feels his legs go weak under him at the sight. Stop it, he tells himself sternly.

“Not even a drink? You were talking for ages,” Mark grabs a cup from the table, filling it from the pitcher of diluted punch, and Jaebum sighs gratefully.

“Oh, thanks man, I was parched,” he knocks half of it back at once, waving a final goodbye before he steps out, and Jinyoung catches all the boys’ attention magically as he flips on the television to show the latest episode of Transformers Animated. “Hey Mark, wanna talk outside?”

The reason why Mark stumbles is because of all the tiny pairs of shoes by the door, of course, and not at the sound of his name in Jaebum’s voice and wait a second-…

“How did you know my name again?”

Jaebum pauses for a second, before grinning and reaching up, and before Mark can ask what he’s doing, he’s tugging back the half mask, running a hand through and shaking his platinum-blonde dyed hair loose as he does so, and Mark swears he almost dies right then and there.

“Remember me?” Jaebum’s grin widens. “I know engineering students don’t run into the film arts kids much, but you were at the dance booth that time during orientation, weren’t you?”

“Christ, you work-…” Mark swears he’s about to combust. There’s no way the film arts student in the bboy branch of the dance group at his college, the one with the piercings and the silver hair and the hipster glasses, would come here as a mascot, of all things, to a kid’s birthday party. “I had no idea, holy-…”

“I know, I only started this job a few months ago,” Jaebum chuckles. “It’s easy money, you know, once you’ve got the shamelessness for it. Hence the mask,” he tugs at the bit of fabric behind him, and Mark exhales in a laugh. “So why are you here? You his brother, or something?”

“Nah, my cousin is his mom, and she’s uh, she’s getting the cake now, so-…” Mark finds it a little difficult to talk about it without revealing anything, so he changes the topic. “Thanks, by the way, for coming. I mean, how much did Jinyoung have to pay you after the discount?”

“Nothing, actually,” Jaebum chuckles, and Mark’s eyes widen. “I owed him for a couple of times in high school where he got my delinquent out of trouble, and he told me, you know, about Youngjae’s dad.”

Oh.

Jaebum must’ve noticed the way Mark stiffened, because he changes tact immediately.

“He didn’t tell me much, only that it would mean a lot if I did this for Youngjae,” he says, but Mark sends a peeved look over his shoulder at Jinyoung nonetheless. “But up to here I kinda gathered as much, for all the kids?”

“Yeah,” is all Mark can bring himself to say. It’s not like he’s one for talking, anyway, he usually leaves that to Jinyoung and Jackson, but Jaebum doesn’t seem to be ready to leave yet, instead taking another sip from his cup and looking contemplatively over.

“You know, just now, I asked Youngjae what his birthday wish was, after giving out the presents,” Jaebum says, and Mark looks at him, brow raised. “And he told me, you know, like it was a secret, he had two wishes- the first was that his mother would be happy,” Mark lets out a little breath of laughter here, that was only to be expected from a little angel like Youngjae.

“And his second wish was that you’d be happy too.”

Oh.

Mark looks up, eyes a little wider, before glancing back, a slight crease of surprise and confusion working its way into his brow as he watches Youngjae start to open his presents eagerly.

“So I was wondering, you know,” Jaebum continues, and Mark looks back to see a cautious curiosity on the other man’s face. “You seem awfully close to him, you know?”

“Uh, yeah. I usually pick him up from the daycare,” Mark replies shortly, hoping he doesn’t sound too stuff.

“His mom’s working?”

“Yeah,” Mark’s throat is tight, and he wonders if it’s showing. Jaebum nods once, before taking another sip.

“Thanks.”

Mark blinks. “What?”

“Coming around, you know, after college and stuff, to take care of him,” Jaebum starts, a little uncertainly. “I mean, the rest of us are complaining about not finding enough time to study and party and sleep or whatever, and you’re here taking care of a kid. It’s…noble.”

Mark coughs a little, grinning. “Noble.”

Jaebum shrugs, smile widening with the encouragement. “Film arts, remember?”

“It’s not, really, it’s just,” Mark scuffs his feet, glancing back in, as Youngjae lifts up one of his presents, a neat pair of trousers from one of the other boys, before pressing it against himself to see how it looks. “If I don’t, who else will, you know?”

Youngjae cheers after a few moments of silence between them, starting to tug the wrapping off a fire engine, and despite the inferior material or the tacky stickers on its surface there’s a collective sigh of envy.

“Hey,” Jaebum says, and Mark turns back questioningly, to see a strange sort of look on the other man’s face. “You know-…you dance, right?”

“Uh, yeah, martial arts tricking, until I dropped out,” Mark says slowly, wondering what he’s getting at. “Why?”

“You ever thought about getting a job? Like, at the park I work at?” Jaebum starts, and Mark blinks. The other man continues quickly, like he’s reading off a list. “Like, the pay’s incredible, really, for a few hours on peak weekends you get enough to pay off part of your tuition fees, and it’s not even that far off from the college, like forty minutes’ drive, at the most? And you can carpool with me and a couple of others that work there? You’ve already got the fac-…physical, uh, requirements, to start working there, so-…” Jaebum trails off uncertainly here, looking at him with what Mark would’ve immediately been able to identify as hope if he hadn’t been running the option over in his mind, faster and faster with every round, until it’s opening up in front of him like a stop motion film.

His parents had agreed to help out with his tuition fees but just imagine being able to pay off a bulk of it on his own with this on top of the money he’d saved from his other jobs, being able to start saving for a car, an apartment, buying enough snapbacks and video games to rival Jackson’s collection and finally getting to put his passion for tricking into something useful, all this on top of getting to know Jaebum more, and it seems like a dream come true, almost.

Until-…

“But who would take care of Youngjae, then?” Mark blurts.

The hope in Jaebum’s eyes dims to disappointment, for a moment, before it softens into something else.

“Yeah, didn’t think about that,” he admits, and Mark feels crushed for a second, before Jaebum speaks again.

“This is going to sound really weird,” he lets out a short breath of laughter, averting Mark’s eyes for a moment. “And I know we haven’t spoken since that time at the dance booth, but uh, do you want to, you know, exchange numbers?” Jaebum’s tone goes up at the last word, inflection hopeful once more in an irresistible way that contrasts sharply with the smirk Mark remembers seeing on his face, the piercings glinting up the lobe of his ear, and for once Mark thinks he starts to share that hope. “I mean I know you’ve got Jinyoung, and you’ve been managing things fine so far, but anytime you need help around college, or here with Youngjae, even, you can uh, you could always call me, you know?” the grin on his face stutters a little, betrayed by the honesty in his voice. “At least you know I can entertain him,” he laughs, but his eyes are still searching, still wondering.

Part of Mark tells him sternly that he doesn’t have time for this, doesn’t have time for someone else, not when he can’t even find time for himself on top of studies and taking care of Youngjae, but the gentle understanding in Jaebum’s eyes makes Mark wonder if he doesn’t have to fight to make another space in his life for him, if Jaebum’s willing to be a part of it.

“Yeah,” his heart’s pounding in his chest as he takes out his phone, undoing the lock he’d installed to keep Youngjae’s prying fingers out, before handing it over with a hesitant smile. “Thank you.”

*

Five months later finds Mark rushing up the stairs of the apartment building, checking his watch and cursing when he sees that it’s literally four hours since the time he told Jaebum he’d be there. He sweeps the mental images of Jinyoung sassing him about how any lawyer would consider this grounds for divorce, instead quickly working his hand into his wallet, pulling out his keys as he reaches the door.

Possibilities of everything that could have gone wrong are flashing through his head- Youngjae crying, Jaebum leaving for a shift whilst thinking that Mark would be back soon, or Jaebum being mad with him, and Mark thinks he’s about die from guilt as he hastily pushes open the door.

“I am so sorry, the project meeting got pushed back and my phone died and I’m going to get dinner right now-…” he pauses, as Youngjae stares owlishly up at him from the table, grains of rice sticking to the sides of his face, cheeks full of whatever it is he’s eating.

“Oh, hey Mark,” Jaebum’s calling from the kitchen, and Mark cranes his neck, frowning, to look over. “Jinyoung called me and I figured as much about your phone,” he’s leaning against the counter, now, a bowl of something in his hand, looking ridiculously attractive even (especially) in just a plain black tee and jeans, holding a wooden spoon in his other hand. “And Youngjae and I were kinda hungry, so I brought him grocery shopping over at the next block for a couple of things to throw together to eat.”

“Sausages!” Youngjae cheers, before going back to attacking his food in full force.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Jaebum asks, and Mark’s walking over, now, barely noticing as he drops his bag by the doorway. “I made enough for four, in case you were hungry too, and for Youngjae’s mom when she gets back-…”

Mark grabs him by the front of his shirt, dragging him further into the kitchen, ignoring the confused yells of careful there’s sauce here, before pulling him in for a kiss, one that Jaebum takes a moment to properly reciprocate.

(It’s not like Mark’s ever dared to do this with Youngjae, around, anyway.)

“Have I ever told you,” Mark’s breaths are shallow when they part, his head against Jaebum’s shoulder, swaying against him. “How much I love you.”

“Never enough,” Jaebum says, grinning, after a moment, and Mark shoves him, before wrapping his arms around his shoulders, as if to never let go.

All playfulness is eradicated, however, the moment Mark turns around and starts at the sight of Youngjae standing there, an empty bowl, complete with the Robocar Poli chopsticks and spoon that Mark had bought for his fourth birthday, eyes wide. Then-…

“Mark-hyung and Jaebum-hyung made kissy face!” he bursts out giggling, then, before walking over to the stove, as though nothing had happened, and tiptoeing to try to get himself a second helping from the pot.

Things return surprisingly fast to normalcy, then, and amidst warnings from Jaebum that Youngjae’s already had one bowl to himself, and pouty bargaining on Youngjae’s part to try and wheedle out just the sausages, please please please from Jaebum, Mark lets out a tiny, contented sigh, grabbing himself a bowl from the draining rack.

“Fine, but only one scoop, okay?” Mark takes Youngjae’s spoon, deliberately letting his shoulder bump into Jaebum’s chest at the younger man’s sighs of and you accuse me of spoiling him, and Youngjae cheers, holding up his bowl in anticipation, as he wonders how he’d ever made do without Jaebum before the birthday party.

“By the way,” Jaebum says, then, after Youngjae’s scuttled back to the table, leaning towards Mark with a grin, and Mark steps back instinctively, suspicious. “I love you too,” his head dips to steal the mouthful of rice off Mark’s spoon, then, before ducking out of the older man’s reach as he darts back out into the hall, asking Youngjae if he’s finished all his math homework, and Mark rolls his eyes, barely able to hold back a laugh.

Yep, he thinks fondly, walking leisurely out to watch Youngjae whine about math to Jaebum over the sound of the television playing reruns of Pororo, chewing a mouthful of the (surprisingly delicious) rice in his hand, all worries far from his mind.

No idea how he’s survived till now.