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Chapter Text

There wasn’t quite anything like today, Jongdae thinks, gripping around his umbrella handle tightly as raindrops splatter over his shade harder. Jongdae’s beginning to yearn for the comfort of his bed and blankets but his steps are forced slow with the weather showing absolutely no mercy, and really, as patient of a man Jongdae is, he’s beginning to grumble and pout – cursing the clouds and asking relentless why’d they choose to cry today; It’s not even as poetic as it sounds, Jongdae’s words dripped with crudeness aimed to the skies. Byun Baekhyun must be laughing now, what not, with his ‘5-minute walk from school’ house, and Jongdae regrets not looking harder for an apartment that is closer to his workplace.

It’s a little over 6PM, and Jongdae takes the shortcut through the woods to his home. It’s dark, and dangerous on its’ own, but Jongdae does make sure to keep an emergency number on his speed dial in case of anything. The ends of his pants are dirtied over by wet soil and Jongdae puckers his lips in dismay, why’d the sky have to fucking cry today?

However, his tracks are put to a stop when Jongdae hears some rustling to his left. In the midst of the heavy rain, he thinks he also hears crying – a baby’s crying. There’s no sad music playing, nor some spooky horror tune in the background, but Jongdae’s mind does blank out when he finally spots a dark silhouette in the bit of distance from him, among the bushes. The figure’s peering down at the ground, and Jongdae can’t see at what exactly with the bushes blocking his sight. There’s still crying coming from that area, he notices, and the figure doesn’t seem like he or she is planning to do anything about it.

“Hey, is everything okay there?” Jongdae shouts.

The stranger’s head snaps up at him, and lightning strikes, and Jongdae manages to vaguely catch the sight of the hem of a floral-patterned dress. The figure’s bolting towards him, Jongdae drops his umbrella in a panic – his mind racing to form the worst-case scenario. He isn’t quite as prepared as he should be to at least call 911, and his fight-or-flight instincts fail him when shock paralyses him on the spot, forcing him to shut his eyes and wait for the impact instead. The impact had come, and Jongdae falls onto his butt, finding himself dirtied further when the puddle of water splashes upwards. It had hurt a lot lesser than he expected; Jongdae opens his eyes and begins to feel raindrops over his face again when the numbness from the fall fades.

The stranger is gone, and hadn’t done anything to Jongdae – probably just knocked him over in his or her haste. The scene is back to being nothing but trees and bushes, but Jongdae still hears the baby’s crying. There’s still one more person here besides him, and Jongdae approaches the source of noise.

Jongdae doesn’t think he’s ready enough for the sight he finally sees.

.

Jongdae: I found him wet and

Jongdae: I don’t think he was wrapped up in anything besides a towel

Jongdae: He was just there

Jongdae: Inside a goddamn duffel bag like

Jongdae: His face just in between the zips, almost his whole body

Jongdae: Was fucking exposed to the rain, Baek…

Jongdae: I didn’t know what to do so I just took him and ran off to the hospital

Baekhyun: Where’s he now?

Jongdae: Emergency room

Jongdae: What happens after this? Is he going to be sent off to foster care or something? I need to call the police too don’t I? Shit shit

Jongdae: How on earth does one just

Jongdae: leave a FUCKING BABY INSIDE a BAG???????

Baekhyun: Dae, calm down

Jongdae: It just makes me fucking mad

Jongdae: Seriously

Jongdae: Who fucking does that?

Jongdae: Who...

.

Jongdae asks Baekhyun to fetch him from the hospital two hours later once the doctors' confirmed that the child is in stable condition. Baekhyun doesn't quite miss the way Jongdae's hand tremble in his, and he intertwines his fingers around his tight, offers Jongdae a reassuring smile when he looks up. "You should rest well tonight, you seem really shaken up," Baekhyun softly says.

The younger shakes his head, hesitantly - before he decides that nodding may seem more appropriate; He can't even get the response right, ah, Baekhyun's pretty damn right about him being shaken up. Images of the baby he'd found inside the black bag flashes, and Jongdae remembers all too clearly how every drop of rain hits the child's face; how cold he must've been, how nervous he must've been, how closer to death he could've been, and Jongdae shivers from the very prospect.

Somewhere along their way, Baekhyun turns to him, his hand shoved into his pocket, fishing for his keys; "So, what's going to happen to the baby?" Jongdae doesn't miss the faint concern in his voice.

Jongdae smiles sadly, "They're going to look around for his relatives. If they don't find any, then..."

"Then?" Baekhyun raises an eyebrow.

"He'll be given up for adoption," Jongdae shrugs (or at least, tries to), "Which is, pretty self-explanatory."

Baekhyun hums in acknowledgement as he gently sits Jongdae onto the passenger seat, "I hope he'll be taken care of," he says sincerely, "by a good family."

Jongdae is quiet throughout the whole journey home, and Baekhyun, out of concern, casts him a couple of subtle glances every now and then. Jongdae is deep in thought, Baekhyun can tell, and as much as possible, Baekhyun tries to distract him with small talk though he stops when he realizes that Jongdae may prefer to be left to his own devices for now. 5 minutes away from Jongdae's apartment, Baekhyun sends one last curious glance and sees a small smile on Jongdae's lips, though slightly dimmed under the gloominess of the weather.

He tries one last time, "What are you thinking?"

The latter scoffs, but more to himself than to Baekhyun's attempt, "Nothing much. Just a stupid idea that popped into my head."

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow, and Jongdae notices this, but he does nothing more than chuckle and give Baekhyun a light pat on his arm. Baekhyun takes this as his cue to not prod further, give Jongdae more time to think whatever he has in mind. When Baekhyun drops him off by the entrance of his apartment building, he tells Jongdae to not think about today too much, and to rest, to treat himself to dinner, and relax.

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

"The kids are having their finals soon, Baek," Jongdae chuckles, "I'm not so irresponsible to leave them on their own when they need me."

Chapter Text

Jongdae isn’t happy. Jongdae has a headache. Jongdae wants to die. Jongdae is certainly – not any remotely happy. The grip around his red pen tightens as he scans through the next few lines, ready for another heart attack and another massive headache.

‘My mom say I must shopping with she. I say no I want playing games. She say you go. She shout when I say no again. She say she tell my dad I becoz I no listen to what she say.’

Jongdae’s really going to cry, and he’s sincerely hoping that this child isn’t actually serious and he’s just playing a prank on his teacher, and that he is actually more capable than this and just wants to piss his English teacher (read: a certain Mr. Kim Jongdae) off. Whenever he marks, Jongdae makes it a habit to cover over the names with a sticky note just to prevent himself from being biased to the nicer kids who don’t try to make his life as hellish as possible. Curiosity wins him over, and Jongdae’s angrily flipping to the front page of the paper in the next second, lifting up the edges of the sticky note to check over the name and finds a familiar name that he can’t quite deny stands out in his memories.

Lucas Wong Yukhei, name scribbled in his usual sloppy handwriting.

Even to this very day, Jongdae still can’t quite comprehend what exactly is this child’s problem with him – because he knows how bright Lucas is. Lucas scores beautiful distinction marks on important exams like his end of year finals, and even performs outstandingly in a couple of academic interschool competitions, and is not at all a poor English speaker as his composition work suggests.

He shuts his eyes closed, and sighs to himself, “Do you hate me or something?”

“Who?” A small voice from the silence.

When Jongdae opens his eyes, he sees another pair staring right back at him, curved crescent and he knows it’s because Sehun, his dear little boy, is smiling behind the table, and Jongdae can't help his heart from doing a couple of jumps as it melts into a little puddle of contentment when he imagines the young boy standing on his tip-toes just so he could better fold his arms over the table. Jongdae sends him a soft smile as he lays his red pen down, “No one, baby," he smiles, casts all distracting thoughts out of the window in favour of pleasant Sehun thoughts, "Why are you up though?”

“Hunnie,” He whispers softly, “Story. Great Grandma gave Hunnie book so Daddy can read for Hunnie.”

Jongdae nods, “Does Hunnie want Daddy to read it for Hunnie?”

Sehun beams as he stands off of his tip-toes and brings up the book Jongdae’s grandmother had bought for him on his 3rd birthday just 4 days ago, and Jongdae softens as he watches Sehun’s tiny hands place the thick book on the dining table, not caring for the things underneath. “Lots of pictures. But Hunnie don’t know how to read,” he says, and Jongdae chuckles, understanding.

“That’s okay, Hunnie – But Daddy is a little busy now and,” Jongdae pauses when Sehun dims, his crescent eye smile dropping with obvious dejection, and Jongdae faintly recalls of one of the promises he had made to himself for Sehun almost three years ago – the effect is instant, “Alright, let’s see what kind of story Grandma bought for you right now, ‘kay?”

When Sehun smiles, victorious (and redeemed, Jongdae internally comments), even the sullen space seems to brighten up.

.

Sehun snores lightly against Jongdae’s arm, the little pink piglet he hugs to sleep every night kept against his chest. Jongdae gently kisses the top of his forehead before his attention returns to the book he’d read Sehun to sleep with. A Child’s First Bible, its’ called, courtesy of his devout grandmother. Jongdae smiles; though not as religious as his grandmother, he’s thanked her for the thought and the well-wishes that came with the gift – though his thank-you text may or may not have came out as a tiny bit bitter.

(Prior to sending the text to his grandmother, it had come to his realization that Sehun obviously preferred her gift over the Space Encyclopaedia for Children that he’d got him, if the way he'd easily casted Jongdae's gift aside was of any indication. Jongdae's still silently grumbling about it.)

It’s a cold night, Jongdae thinks, when he feels Sehun burrowing himself closer against his side. Jongdae doesn’t say anything as he pulls Sehun’s own baby blue blanket up high over his small figure and places extra pillows by his left where he’s not facing him. In his sleep, the corner of his lips begins to curve up into a little smile. Jongdae takes it that he’s all warm and comfy now, and finds his own comfort in this very fact though his own arm is turning sore from the weight of Sehun’s head.

Jongdae wants to live for this, to overflow his son’s life with everlasting and definite warmth that Sehun will never feel doubtful of, not now or ever. Just another promise amongst all the others that he’d made to Sehun as he held his tiny hands for the second time three years back. Jongdae puts down the storybook by the lamp on the bedside table before turning back to Sehun.

Sehun’s hair has grown a little, Jongdae observes, gently running his fingers through his hair, and decides that it’s prime time to bring him for his next haircut soon.

Maybe Saturday, or Sunday. Maybe Hunnie would want some McDonalds too.

He reaches for the bedside's lamp switch, and turns the lights off for today.

Goodnight. Sweet dreams, my Hunnie .

(And I am coming for you tomorrow, Lucas Wong Yukhei , mark my words.)

Chapter Text

There’s a roar from the distance, Sehun stays on guard. He holds his breath, covers over his mouth with both palms. A drip of sweat runs down his forehead, and his heart beats wildly against his chest. Sehun can feel it… Sehun hears the steps come closer, and a sense of dread washes over him. Two stomps, and another, and another… The next roar sounds closer, Sehun needs a new plan!

“Hunnie, please!” The dinosaur roars once more, “We’re late – and, you need to get washed up – and I need to get dressed, and – where are you?!” He’s extremely tired, Sehun concludes, from the way he’s already beginning to slow down, and how easily Sehun's been able to slip away from his grasp. Sehun doesn’t think he can quite blame him – Of course anyone would be tired from chasing after he, who is as fast as Flash. Sehun sees the golden opportunity!

He crawls behind the sofa silently as Jongdae looks under the table for any signs of his child. He turns to the wall clock and a panicked whine escapes his throat. Junmyeon’s going to kill him, he’s now over 6 minutes late. “Kim Sehun!” Jongdae groans, and all Sehun hears is a dinosaur’s frustrated roar. Sehun springs up from behind the sofa with a loud ‘Ha!’ and grabs his weapon (read: the water gun behind the cushion) and locks onto his target – and shoots!

(Soaked and dripping in strawberry syrup, Jongdae realizes that bringing Sehun along for a Jurassic Park marathon with his best friend was not exactly the best idea. Baekhyun’s never going to let him live this down – so Jongdae decides from then on that whatever happens in his house, is best to fucking stay in his house.)

“Sehun,” Jongdae grumbles to himself, almost incoherent, “You do not put some goddamn syrup inside a motherfucking water gun…”

“Daddy,” Jongin smiles sheepishly from the sidelines, who only decides to make an appearance exactly five minutes after Jongdae’s given up on calling out to Jongin for help, “That’s two dollars into the Swear Jar.”

“Kim Sehun!” Jongdae shouts, but his dear, precious, sweet, and beloved but way, way too fucking imaginative Hunnie has once again, disappeared. He groans – not quite ready for the time where Junmyeon is going to make sure that Jongdae goes through hell for his lack of punctuality.

Chapter Text

Jongin was 5 when he first visited the sea. He’d been with his mother then, and while it had once been a clear memory, Jongin is now only able to vaguely recall how tense his mother’s hand had felt, wrapped around his own. Jongin remembers looking up to her, questioning, and remembers how she told him that she won’t be with him after this anymore – that she has another child, and that’s she going to have to give up either one of them, and how much it hurts her to choose but she’s already chosen because having at least one of them is better than none. Jongin remembers – and this time, it’s not a vague memory because Jongin remembers, crystal clear – how she told him that he wasn’t the one she’d chosen.

“I’m sorry,” his mother had whispered, “You don’t deserve this.”

At 5 years old, Jongin had yet to understand what deserving really meant.

The second time he came to the beach, Jongin had been 7 years old; shy and hesitant as he stepped barefooted over the sand, his father trailing quietly behind him. Jongin sees wave over wave crashing over the shorelines, seashells scattered across the sandy surfaces – and Jongin is only almost compelled to run towards the waters or ask his father for a small bucket he could collect seashells with. All the other children there were doing it, together with their parents, of course – And yet, Jongin can’t quite feel enough of a pull, feels a sense of dread against him instead of the sea breeze.

He stops out of nowhere, right in the middle of the beach, the water still a ten to twenty steps distance away. Jongin hears his father scoff behind him. “Don’t want to play at the water, Jongin?” He asks. Jongin shakes his head.

“Any other kid your age would’ve ran off to the sea right away,” he chuckles, sounding bitter, and Jongin feels like he’s being mocked, “Where did I go wrong with you?”

Despite being two years older than five, Jongin still can’t quite understand an adult very well – even if said adult is his own father. Nevertheless, his father’s words ring the clearest amongst the others, and all Jongin feels from remembering those words are nothing but sadness, and some form of emotion he can’t quite fit with any of the words he knows.

It’s the same feeling that Jongin gets whenever he’s spoiled someone’s drawing and makes said someone cry – but ten times worse because it makes Jongin want to cry himself.

.

Jongin is 12 years old, and his third visit to the beach is with Jongdae, Sehun, and a certain Baekhyun who had been insistent on coming along. Today, the soles of Jongin’s feet feel warm against the sand – it’s a little over half past five, and the sun looks as if its’ coming closer to the far ends of the ocean that Jongin doesn’t think he will ever reach. he scoots closer against Jongdae’s side, and rests his head on his shoulder as he makes a quiet wish. Jongdae runs his hand through Jongin’s hair and smiles, kissing his temple. “What are you thinking about, son?”

Son. Jongin smiles, shaking his head. “Nothing much, Daddy.”

Jongdae seems to beam at that, and Jongin swells up with a bit of pride, but mostly joy – Something he’s said seems to have made his father happy. “You remember the time when you wouldn’t call me Daddy no matter how often I told you to?”

Jongin's expression dulls because he does. He really does, because Jongdae is a good person. Dads, fathers, daddies, or whatever names they went by, as far as 7 years old Jongin was concerned, were not. It’s been over five years, and Jongin thinks he’s understood some things a little better now – like what deserving something means, or what his father had meant by his words, and that somewhere along the way, his parents - his real parents had come to realize that there were some things that Jongin doesn’t quite deserve, because there was something wrong with him. Maybe that’s what they’d fight about every night.

(He squeezes his eyes shut at the memories, the dark, dark times when he’d curl up on the bathroom floor as his father would shout at his mother, and his mother would shout back to his father, and they would both shout at each other, and his mother would scream, and his father would smash some things, and it would go on till dawn, and Jongin hates – hates being stuck in the bathroom every time it happens.)

When Jongin doesn’t answer him, Jongdae continues as he watches Sehun pull their Uncle Hyun away for some last-minute seashells collecting, “I used to think it was because you couldn’t get used to calling me by anything else besides Uncle Dae.”

His son shifts slightly, turns his head to look up to him, eyes wide and puzzled and Jongdae’s heart hurts knowing that he hadn't been there when Jongin needed him the most, when Jongdae had been too blinded by his brother complex once upon a time to notice that someone needed his help. Someone who deserved better. Someone who needed better. Someone like Jongin. Jongdae hopes it’s not fear that he sees in Jongin’s eyes right then.

“You’ve been so strong, Jongin,” Jongdae says, and Jongin hugs his knees closer against his chest, feeling something tighten within. His heart leaps when Jongdae brings him into his arms suddenly and pulls him close to his chest as he envelops the small figure into a tight embrace and if Jongin hadn’t known that hugs don’t last forever, he would’ve thought that this one would – because this may have been the first time where Jongin feels like he’ll never be let go of, and the thought has Jongin letting out a broken whimper because this may be the closest he'll ever get to having everything he’s always wanted – to having all the wishes he’s made in secret fulfilled.

At 12 years old, Jongin finally sees it in himself to hope for more. He sees this in the midst of the tears he would never have been able to shed had it not been for Jongdae, had it not been for him showing Jongin that something that is promising and good can be ahead of him - will be ahead of him.

.

That night, Jongin comes to Jongdae for a goodnight hug, and something more; “Thank you for taking me to the beach, Daddy.”

Jongin’s soft features glow under the dim lights, and to have him smile his gentle, content smile is all that Jongdae could ever hope and ask for as he brings his precious boy into a tight embrace. “And thank you, for arriving in my life like the soft beach breeze, and tingling my emotions like the waves softly crashing at my feet, Jongin,” Jongdae says, quiet and soft – and Jongin feels loved, loved as he had always been ever since he’d first met Jongdae five years ago though too hurt and pained to realize it. Jongin’s days have never felt as whole.

Chapter Text

Jongin thinks that the day feels almost dull with how numb he feels to his surroundings. It’s not his first time going to wherever he’s going now but he doubts his first journey there had felt as long as then. They’re far from home now, their car having just drove past the last of the more modern buildings to where the view has moved on to the scenic, and more countryside-like part of town.

Sehun presses on the switch over the handle on his side door and the power window rolls down. Beside Jongin, on the driver’s seat, Jongdae’s eyes widen and he screams in protest. Sehun only cackles in response as he pops his head out of the window.

“Hunnie, don’t do that! Put your head back in!” Jongdae shouts.

“But I want to feel the wind, daddy!” Sehun pouts.

Jongin turns around to Sehun, feigning nonchalance, “Hunnie, if your head gets severed, it’s not going to be easy to stitch it back together…”

“Se-severed?” Sehun blinks, but his head hasn’t moved back in.

Jongdae gasps, “Jongin, that’s so gory!”

“Gory?”

“It’s when there’s a lot of blood, Hunnie,” Jongin shrugs, “And there will be a lot of blood if your head hits a car that’s driving past…”

“Hunnie, please!” Jongdae scolds, stern though he’s internally anxious from the image that Jongin has planted in his head, “Get your head back in now!”

Sehun grunts as he finally moves his head back in. The open window on Sehun’s side slides up when Jongdae presses the switch from the driver’s side, and he presses on a single switch to lock all the windows from opening a second time. Sehun huffs as he crosses his arms over his chest, pouting with his eyebrows furrowed. “You’re no fun. I just wanted to see the view!”

“You could do that with your head in the car, Hunnie,” Jongdae sighs. “And look at all these damn cars speeding anyways, like I know it’s a fucking highway but there’s like cows and animals along the sides… what if they run over them, geez…” he mutters under his breath, more to himself really – but Jongin picks up on it anyways.

“One dollar,” Jongin suddenly says.

“Hmm?”

“Into the Swear Jar, daddy,” Jongin grins – and Sehun decides this to be the next matter to be make a big deal over; “Swear Jar again? What did he say, hyung? I didn’t hear him!! What did he say?”

Jongdae’s grip around the steering wheel tightens as he thinks back to the Swear Jar he had (purposely) left at home, sighing as he regrets the very moment he came up with the idea. Jongin seems to notice this, sending Jongdae a subtle, cheeky smile before he takes to observing the everchanging view outside of his window once again.

He’s starting to feel restless as the landscapes begin to seem more and more familiar to him with every mile past them. The paper around the flower bouquet in his hands crinkle in Jongin’s hold, and his heart beats wildly against his chest.

.

His first bouquet to him had been some white chrysanthemums, and by far, had felt the heaviest. Jongin couldn’t quite remember how the day he had given his first bouquets to someone went; all he could recall was feeling confused, and some sort of relief – along with a vague guilt, as Uncle Jongdae walked up to the front with him and placed his own flowers over the casket.

“Do you want me to help you put it up there for you, Jongin?” Jongdae had whispered to him, softly – gently, careful. His eyes a little swollen too, Jongin had noticed. That day, the uncle whom he’d assumed all his life to be a bright person appears dull in all black (not that Jongin was dressed anymore colourfully than he was), his expression kept at the bare neutral. Jongin nodded, handing his bouquet over to him, and Jongdae placed it on top of the casket for him; Jongin’s white chrysanthemums, alongside Jongdae’s white clovers.

That was 5 years ago, and in the next few years after, where in some, Jongdae had abstained from giving any flowers, he had bought Jongin the same bouquet of white chrysanthemums for him to lay over his father’s grave – year and year again.

22nd of August 2022; Jongin kneels down in front of the grave, the very same spot he had lowered his knees down onto during his previous visits. The area around the grave is tidy, cleaned – as if already swept up, but only Jongdae takes notice of this. He closes his eyes shut, whispering a small and brief prayer and Jongin looks up to him momentarily from his ground before he finally decides to lay his bouquet over the soil where his father rests underneath when Sehun comes up from behind him.  

“Hyung, those aren’t the usual white flowers you give,” He says, in a hushed shout, sounding somewhat offended. Jongdae chuckles beside him, reaching his hand down to Sehun’s and intertwining their fingers together. He holds onto his son’s hand tightly, and Jongin’s heart beats a little faster when he sees that Jongdae is smiling softly at him.

This time, Jongin doesn’t give him chrysanthemums. The soft, bright yellow of his new bouquet stands out in contrast to all the pale white flowers he’s placed in its’ stead prior to this. Sehun places his own smaller bouquet beside Jongin’s after he gets Jongdae’s urging, and he pouts slightly because his flowers are white and Jongin hyung’s is yellow, and he had preferred it if they matched.

“I’ve been giving white flowers every year, Hunnie. Isn’t it good for a change?” Jongin says, with a shy chuckle at the end.

Jongdae keeps his smile, softening when he sees just how content and in peace Jongin is, even amidst standing over the ground where his father had laid to rest. The yellow of Jongin’s bouquet catches his eyes once again, and he thinks back to how Jongin had insisted on buying his own bouquet this morning, reassuring Jongdae over and over again that he’s saved up enough for the bouquet he wanted to get for his father. When Jongdae had asked why, Jongin told him that he’s stopped grieving, or lamenting over his father’s death – and to this, he is a bit taken aback because he hadn’t expected Jongin to know the meaning behind the white chrysanthemums.

When Jongin came out of the flower shop after him, a beautiful bouquet of daffodils in hand, Jongdae wrote himself a mental note to find out what they mean – because he’s sure Jongin hadn’t just mindlessly picked out his flowers just because they were the prettiest in the shop.

“Hey, Jongin.”

“Yeah, dad?”

“Why don’t you go and bring Hunnie back to the car first? I want to have a little talk with him,” he says, eyes casted down onto the writings over the tombstone.

‘Kim Jongdeok, 14th June 1982 – 22nd August 2017. A son, brother, and father. For dust you are, and unto dust you shall return.’

.

For all the things he’s done to Jongin, Jongdae doesn’t feel like he can quite forgive him just yet, especially when he’s come to love Jongin so much, hold Jongin so close to his heart like this – but memories get in the way, and Jongdae can only do nothing but remain mum as memories of their childhood and youth flashes all over, here and there – crashing against his own thoughts, and it almost feels like Jongdae doesn’t know who's the man that's been laid to rest underneath the ground he’s standing on; because the reliable, and warm-hearted brother he followed around so desperately as a child had been completely different from this Kim Jongdeok who died as the man who hurt and broke his own family.

It pains him to be this lost. Jongin’s daffodils meant new beginnings, Jongdae had learnt – and it fits, because Jongin, who’s also said he’s no longer grieving is now ready to move on, and this is what he tells his father, Jongdeok, when he’d left the yellow flowers on his grave. Jongdae lets out a small, nervous laughter.

If Jongin has moved on, he thinks, if young Jongin could come to better terms with his father now, why is it still so hard for you to let whatever you've got against him go?

Aren't you the adult here?

Isn't it supposed to make better sense to you?

He’s realized for a while now that he’s been using Jongin’s bitterness against his father as his own excuse for his bitterness against his brother. But now that Jongin’s willing to let go?

The breath that Jongdae lets out after is shaky, so full of uncertainties – masking a hidden desperation to find answers because he wants to let his own resentment go so badly, because within, it hurts him whenever Jongdeok comes to mind - and then it hurts even more, because Jongdae doesn't want the thought of Jongdeok to hurt him. At least not like this.

Chapter Text

[03:23AM]

DAD

hey dad

you ever just think about heaven?

like is heaven going to be the home that we’ve always wanted but never have on earth…

when we were kids, the Sunday school teachers used to tell us that heaven has all that we’re looking for.

and that’s why heaven will always be worth it.

because we want a lot more than we think.

but what do you think, dad?

honestly, it’s still a bit weird to me…. I’m not even sure why I’m pondering so hard over this.

I’m really content now… I never did think that I’d want anything more.

and then I start to think, could it be because I don’t know what I really and what I really want just yet?

I kind of hope that death is just a finality, you know? Not some stage to go through before we head on to the next phase.

but at the same time, I kinda want to see what heaven has for me. what if they turn out to be the things that I could’ve found on earth here as well, just I never tried hard enough….

^^’

????

oh shoooooot, did I wake you up…

It’s okay : - )

But Hunnie, anything wrong? Why are you still up?

Is everything good in college? Your roommate didn’t turn into a vampire, did he?

oh oh, college’s been all good, I guess?

and oh my god, I didn’t think of that possibility. that explains the blood bags in his side of the fridge….

Wait

What

ARE YOU SERIOUS

NO WAIT JDJDJD

I’M KIDDING

Lol gosh

Can’t sleep, Hunnie?

hehe

and yeah… I wonder why though. today was exhausting.

Try drinking some warm milk or tea.

Read something to sleep…

I’ll try that

sorry for waking you up… I just needed some venting.

I thought you always had your phone on silent when you sleep!!!

I’ll head to sleep soon, dad. you should go back to sleep hehe.

Wait

Hunnie?

yeah?

Everything is really alright, right?

If things are tough, if you ever need me or anything

I’m just a text away, kay?

aren’t you supposed to be a phonecall away? - -

This parenting forum said it’s better to treat your homesick college student child with texts.

you’re still on those parenting forums, dad??

we’re not baby children anymore, you know? > : (

But I’ll always be your parent, right~

My baby boys <3

-____-

well

I mean…

I MIGHT end up crying if I heard your voice

<3

wait how did you know I was homesick anyways???

JDJDJDISJIDSJDS

let me guess

parenting forum.

Partially.

But let’s just say I know you in and out

As your papa :^)

ew don’t call yourself papa

that’s so weird

Lolol

I miss you too, son

…

tell hyung I miss him too

and.. disclaimer, I’m not actually troubled about heaven or life or anything…

Awhaha, that’s a relief

Because I know nothing about heaven or life either

I don’t have the answers to those things

what kind of questions do you have the answers to then?

Hmmmmmm

Maybe like what happened to Hunnie’s favourite blanket?

not like anyone would ask -___-

wait

WAIT

WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED

DAD

I love you, my lil piglet oink.

So, so much.

And I’m sure your Jongin hyung told me that he misses your ‘bitch ass’ all the time.

HIS WORDS! NOT MINE.

$2 into the swear jar.

Don’t do this to your dad.

ok but what happened to my blanket

Good night <3

I’ll tell you when you come back lol

-

Sehun muffles out his chuckle by burying his face into his pillow. Johnny is snoring on the bed next to his, and he’s mentioned of himself not being very friendly when rudely woken up (especially during the odd hours before dawn) and Sehun doesn’t really want to risk it when he’s just met him. It doesn’t stop his chuckling fits from morphing into silent, longing tears though.

He’s been spoiled his whole life (his dad still calls him his little piglet for fucks’ sake) and spending this long of a time away from his home and family has proven to be a lot more challenging than he’d expected. Jongdae was right to worry for him – to think it’d be this hard.

“You sure you’ll be okay at the dorm? Dad and I could drive you to the train station in the morning – and my classes are around 10PM,” Jongin had suggested once.

“I’ll be fine. Besides, I’ll be home by the weekends anyway.”

Sehun’s never wished to take back his decision as much as he does now.

-

[03:32AM]

AA JONGIN

JONGIN

You owe me $5

what???? why????

dad its like 3am

wait

did sehun………..

:))))))))))))

damn it

Chapter Text

Sehun can’t bear to take another look at his weakened father; Jongdae's arms are pale and skinny, lacking the life it once had and lost to the flow of time and the monster within his body. The older man is awake, but is close to drifting back into his slumber – Even staying awake is taking a little too much energy from him. His father wants to frown but he lets out a weak sigh instead. Sehun’s lips quiver, eyes seeming glassy with tears. Jongdae notices this, and he feels his own heart wrenching, the already painful throb on his chest hurting more.

So many things Jongdae wants to say, so many things he’s left unsaid, so many things he still wants to do with them, so many years to spend with them still. Jongdae wanted to die at 75, not now.

Jongin sits beside him, faithfully, quietly – he stays even when Sehun leaves the room because his heart had started to hurt too much, stays even past lunch and dinner time and it’s Jongdae who makes him eat instead. Jongin stays, head hanging low, eyes hidden underneath his bangs as if it would hide just how much he fears losing his father for good. Where eyes are easier to hide, tears are harder to control, and Jongdae so desperately wants to tell his son that he’s not going anywhere but he can’t – because very soon, he is going. He really has to go soon, he thinks sadly, I really have to leave soon.

“Don’t you have anything to say, dad?” Jongin says, “I mean, say something. Can't you? We were told to spend some time with you so, you should say something."

Say something, before you have to go.

Jongin can't bring himself to say it out loud. Jongdae knows what he means anyway.

Jongin’s hand move up from his lap, and he curls his fingers in between his father’s own, squeezes the frail hand gently. Jongdae thinks solemnly how Jongin used to squeeze Sehun’s hand whenever the youngest was scared or nervous – he remembers smiling when he’d first realize it, at how Jongin looks out for Sehun and gives him strength where he can and he thinks that Jongin must be unconsciously doing the same now too, but this time, for Jongdae. Jongdae shakes his head gently, and does his best to squeeze Jongin’s hand instead, with the little bit of strength he has.

Keep the strength for yourself, Jongin.

“Dad?” Jongin’s voice cracks, “Or is it too hard to speak for you? It’s okay if you can’t.”

Eventually, Jongin lifts his head up – only slightly, but it’s enough for Jongdae to see how swollen and teary Jongin’s eyes are, and he lets out a breathless gasp, “I’m sorry, Jongin.”

Pain flashes over Jongin’s expression, “Wha-What are you saying sorry for? Dad, you don’t have to – Please don’t say sorry, please. Not now, I don’t need an apology now.”

“But Jongin,” Jongdae’s volume is so small, and Jongin has to lean in closer, “I don’t even want to go yet, I don’t want to leave you two yet. I don’t know how to make this any easier for you two, I’m so selfish.”

A sob erupts out of Jongin, “What are you talking about?” He frowns at Jongdae, “You’ve done so much for us, why are you still thinking about what else you need to do for us now?”

“There’s still so much I want to do,” Jongdae whispers, “So much I want to do for you two, so much I still want to tell you two. I haven’t said enough, haven't done enough.”

“You’ve done more than enough,” Jongin cries, just bits away from turning into a wreck. “You saved Hunnie, you saved me, you showed us what we could be meant for, you showed us the way, you gave up everything, and gave us everything, you gave us a place in this world, you gave your unconditional love, everything – a home, a heart, and with you, we weren’t just alive, we were fucking living, and that’s all because you gave your all for us.”

“Remember when you told me to focus on my studies first because I was always too busy in the dance studio? I thought you just didn’t like the idea of me being a dancer but in the end, you supported me all the way – came to watch every single performance I had; screamed at the top of your lungs whenever I appeared on stage.”

“Or when you drove 70km all the way to my camp at 3am when I was 14 because I told you some guys were bullying me? You drove all the way just to tell them off though the event organisers weren’t too happy about the interruption.”

“When I came out of the closet to you? I ran off because I thought you were going to start hating me because grandma’s Catholic but you chased me all the way under the rain and hugged me tight and told me that I deserved to be myself, and that I deserved to be with someone I want and love."

“I’ve lived through the first 12 years of life, thinking I didn't deserve anything,” Jongin’s voice is shaky, “Nothing that anyone else has done in my life can compare to what you’ve done for me.”

Sehun listens from outside, and tries to break his own wail from escaping, the bouquet of sunflowers dropping onto his feet. Sehun is an adult – but for his father, Sehun is still a child – and he doesn’t want to let him go. Sehun wants to so badly go in there and tell his father every single thing he’s yet to say, wants to do it along with his Jongin hyung as well – Sehun wants to hold onto his father’s hand one last time before it inevitably becomes something that is only within his dreams.

But it’s hard, because every time Sehun wraps his fingers around the door handle, he’s reminded of how his father had looked inside the hospital room; how weak, how lifeless, how frail, how close to death, and Sehun’s hand starts to tremble. He doesn't know how to open the door when his hands are this shaky.

Why are you so weak? Sehun sinks his teeth onto his bottom lip. Why couldn’t you be stronger for dad?

Chapter Text

[05:23PM]

Baekhyun

DAE

!__!

DAD ;_______;

omg. DAE*

lol.

BUT DAE.

DAE,,

Uhm. Hi uncle Baek…..

uncle Baek?? Tf????

oh.

Jonginnie????

Yeah…..

Uncle Dae is still in the shower……

Hunnie is asleep and the notifs made him stir a lil…

oh.

OH.

i’m so sorry omg

please don't tell your dad

he’ll kill me jajjjjajaja

xD

did you need Uncle for something….

you should start calling him Dad, jonginnie

Ahh…

And i uhmmm, kinda dooooooo…

i mean, tell him once he's out of the shower

to CALL ME ASAP

tell him it's IMPORTANT

Got it!

-

It isn't long until Jongin hears the bathroom door creak open from within the master bedroom. He glances at Sehun, peacefully asleep on the carpet and tucked in under his favourite blanket, before deciding that it wouldn't be a problem to leave for a second. He isn't going too far anyways, he thinks with a smile before he gets up and walks over to where he knows Jongdae is.

The door is wide open, but he knocks anyway, and Jongdae - topless, and hair still dripping wet - turns his attention to the room entrance. “Oh, Jongin?” He says, as he pulls his shirt down and adjusts the hem of his tee over the waistband of his shorts before looking back up to smile at Jongin. “Is everything alright?”

“Uncle Baek,” Jongin raises his hand, waves Jongdae’s phone around as he approaches Jongdae, handing him his phone. “He messaged you a lot. Told you to call him ASAP.”

“Is that so?” Jongdae puckers his lips out slightly, slides his screen unlocked and opens Baekhyun’s chatroom. He can't help the small smile forming on his lips when he comes to the part where he realizes that Jongin had taken to replying Baekhyun just to shut him up. He should really get started on all those punches he’s threatened Baekhyun with. Kyungsoo isn't the only person who punches. “Thank you, Jongin,” he says, “Did he wake you up too? You can go back to your nap. Just make sure to wake up before dinner so you have time to do your homework.”

Uncle Dae is really nice. Jongin thinks as he nods when he feels Jongdae briefly pressing his lips against the side of his head. He looks up to see Jongdae’s fond smile on him, fingers gently running through his hair, and his breath hitches because isn't this what the best dads in TV shows do?

“Get some more rest, Jongin,” he says, turning his focus back to his phone. Jongin can only do so much to not smile too obviously, and Jongdae pretends as if he hadn't notice (He prays for the one day where Jongin would smile at him without any reservations.)

-

“Hello, Byun Baekhyun. Heard you almost woke my son up.”

“Shit. Jongin told you!”

“To whose phone did you think you sent those messages to? And you're a little shit, you literally woke Jongin up too.”

“Boohoo hoo, Daddy’s mad at me!”

“... So, what did you call me for?”

“Okay, listen. I need to VENT about something.”

“About what?”

“Dae, my Venus Flytraps. My Venus Flytraps!! The kids fucking killed them, my babies!!”

“... Can I hang up?”

Chapter Text

“Minseok hyung?”

When Jongdae opens the door for Minseok, his head is hung low, gaze casted downwards and his lips pursed into a thin, straight line. Sehun puckers his lips, head peeking out from behind his dad’s legs. He doesn't think he’s ever seen his Uncle Minseok like this before, so dimmed and rather dead-like; he looks as if an evil villain (Thanos?) had just ripped his world away. Though then again, it's not like he meets him often and Thanos doesn't actually exist anyways. Uncle Minseok teaches P.E at daddy’s school, is what Jongdae had once told him about Minseok, and he’s very strong and fast! He has a son around your age too.

There's always been a bright gummy smile on Minseok’s face in the few times they’ve met, and in every time, Minseok would always reach down to give Sehun’s hair a loving ruffle - Much to Jongdae’s (who’s taken a liking to styling Sehun’s hair with gel) dismay. But when Minseok’s eyes finally travel to meet Sehun’s, there's nothing but indifference - something that feels far colder than a winter chill, and Sehun can't help but shrink under the man’s icy gaze.

“Minseok hyung,” Jongdae’s voice brings Minseok’s gaze back up. “Is everything al-”

“Dae,” Minseok’s voice cracks, “ He’s gone. No more - This’ it. He’s gone.”

Sehun wants to ask who’s gone , but Jongdae’s taught him against it before. While he doesn't quite understand what Minseok is talking about, he does understand that this is a conversation between adults, and that it sounds like a problem that probably weighs far heavier than any of those giant alien monsters that Ultraman fights every week. He wonders why his daddy is still silent though, when Jongdae suddenly bends his knees and levels himself to just slightly above Sehun’s height and whispers in his ears to tell him to head to the bedroom first. “Daddy will join you soon, 'kay? You can play with daddy’s tablet, hm?” Jongdae smiles softly, and Sehun nods without himself really realizing it.

Jongdae pats his back and gives his temple a kiss before inviting Minseok in, an arm wrapped around his waist as he shuts the door close behind them with his free hand. Jongdae sits Minseok down onto the most comfortable (and cleanest) couch when Minseok suddenly lets out a couple of choked sobs that gradually begin to morph into wails that he muffles with his palms. It’s then that Sehun decides to quietly retreat back into his and Jongdae’s shared bedroom.

“If I could, I’d take his place, Dae,” he faintly hears Minseok say, “Kids like him - They weren't meant to die so soon. Why couldn't I be the one instead? Why did it have to be him? Why couldn't it be me?”

Chapter Text

“Dae, I swear to God - I’m pretty sure the resistant gene is the recessive allele, listen,” Baekhyun huffs, crossing over Jongdae’s Hardy-Weinberg working with a big X mark, “Look, the data in the damn table shows-”

“Okay, but listen, we’re basing it off of the student’s hypothesis, aren't we? And what is the student’s hypothesis?” Jongdae furrows his eyebrows as he repeatedly tips at the underlined statement with his pencil, “'The student hypothesized that the mosquitoes without resistant traits are homozygous recessive - which means that the resistant gene is homozygous-”

“Yes, but if you look at the numbers, the ratios of the population don't match your working and-”

“You don't care about those ratios first, follow the question!! There's probably going to be a follow-up question after this too!”

There’s a sudden croak (that sounds suspiciously like a 'what the fuck’ ) from behind that has them jumping out of their thoughts. Jongdae looks up from the Biology worksheet, turning in his chair to greet the new face, “Oh, good morning, Jongin!” Baekhyun puts on a sheepish grin, sending a nod and a small wave to the younger boy.

Jongin’s eyes are still sleepily half-lidded, his hair a mess from a whole lot of turning and shifting in his sleep. He has a hand over the back of his head, nails gently scratching his scalp and the faintest trace of a line of drool from the corner of his lips. Jongin lets out an incomprehensible murmur, and Baekhyun hears him groaning about something along the lines of this and that or whatever. Baekhyun blinks confusedly. He could never understand Jongin’s sleepy murmurs, not even to save his life.

Jongdae, on the other hand, is a lot more fluent in Sleepy Jongin language. “There’s some burgers, and fries in the kitchen,” he says, before adding after a moment's pause, “McDonald’s.”

“Eh…”

“Uncle Baek bought them on his way.”

“Ah…”

Jongdae is about to return to proving Baekhyun’s ass wrong when he lifts his head up again, calling out to Jongin before he’s completely out of sight, “Do you have any classes today?”

They hear an incoherent grumble from Jongin, and while it sounds like nothing to Baekhyun, it’s enough of an answer for Jongdae to understand; “Just because you don't have any lectures today doesn't mean you just neglect your assignments, Jongin. I know you haven't even started on a bunch.”

A whine from the kitchen. Jongdae doesn't respond verbally this time, only letting out a soft chuckle. He presses on the button of his mechanical pencil several times to force more lead out, ready to tell Baekhyun why the resistant allele is a fucking dominant trait when they hear steps walking down the stairs. Sehun appears from behind them, looking just as disheveled as Jongin - though something’s noticeably different. Baekhyun doesn't think he needs to be Sehun’s dad to see the twinkle in Sehun’s eyes, and Jongdae doesn't need his glasses to see the couple of bruised red marks on his son’s bare neck.

“Hi, Dad,” Sehun greets, “And Uncle Baek, what brings you here today? It’s an awfully early hour for a Saturday…”

Baekhyun scrunches his nose. The fuck is up with him? “Just discussing Biology with your Dad. I’m setting the papers for your qualifying exams.”

“Oh,” Sehun nods understandingly. The cheeky smile on his face hasn't faltered, not even in the very least. “Go easy on us, Uncle.”

The older man narrows his eyes on Sehun. Sehun’s a fucking Biology prodigy so go easy on who, exactly? “Watch me, I’m setting the standard to the maximum bar,” Baekhyun warns.

Jongdae scoffs beside him, “What maximum bar? You can't even tell between a dominant and a recessive trait even when it states it right, fucking there! Why are you discussing about this with me anyways? I’m the GP teacher, for fucks’ sake. Science has nothing to do with my subject.”

“Oooh,” there’s an ugly shit-eating grin on Sehun’s face, “Two dollars into the Swear Jar, Dad.”

Jongdae turns to him, pointing the pointed tip of his pencil towards Sehun’s direction. “You, where have you been last night? I said curfew by 11.30, not 2AM, Kim Sehun.”

The smile on Sehun’s lips is suspicious to say the least, and Jongdae wonders why he’s so cheery this early in the morning. It usually takes a lot more than just one truly good morning to get Sehun out of his usual post-sleep moodiness. His eyes center over the expanse of Sehun’s pale neck, “Are those hickeys?”

“Dad,” Sehun says instead, with a lilted edge to his voice, “Guess what?”

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow, and Jongdae is looking at him expectantly when they all hear Jongin yelp from the kitchen. “Dad, a girl just fell out of the sky!” Jongin shrieks.

“What,” Baekhyun croaks. Jongdae is ready to run over to check on Jongin and said girl who fell from the sky when Sehun fucking giggles , “That must’ve been Seulgi, she’s always been so sporty… I can't believe she really jumped down from our balcony like she said she would.”

“Seulgi??”

“Seulgi, from Ms. Irene’s Biology block?” Baekhyun attempts to supply.

“Yeah, yeah… Her,” Sehun chuckles, looking oddly proud of himself for some reason. There's no doubt that there’s some sort of twisted pride twinkling in the eyes of Jongdae’s beloved youngest. Jongdae sends him a pointed look, though Baekhyun pales over a sudden thought.

“Why was she in our balcony on the first place?” Jongdae asks naively. Baekhyun wonders why it’s taking him so long to have it all figured out.

“Oh my god, she just jumped over our fence,” Jongin’s shrieking again from the kitchen. “I think she tripped over the neighbour’s dog!”

Sehun clears his throat before he announces with clarity;  “Everyone, Kim Sehun’s no longer your homeboy virgin.”

Chapter Text

When he went to pick Sehun and Jongin up from school, Jongdae really wasn’t sure what to think when Kyungsoo – Sehun’s new English teacher, Jongdae’s junior back in high school and college – had passed to him a sheet of paper, containing a short essay written in a particularly distinct bubbly handwriting; and notably to Jongdae’s eyes (former English teacher and all), missing some necessary punctuations. Oh, and its’ S is shaped like a 5. Jongdae snorts. He had known who it belonged to already – said boy was running around the school courtyard with his friends then, his boisterous laughter audible and ringing through the air.

“Sehun’s composition,” Kyungsoo had said, “I hope I don’t seem like I'm meddling but I’m hoping you’d have a read of it.”

Jongdae reads the title of the essay in his head; ‘What Makes Me Sad.’ Scheming through the composition, he thinks he’s caught the words ‘adopted, ‘parents’ and ‘dad’ more than just a couple of times. He remembers how his heart had tightened inside his chest.

“This…”

“I wasn’t planning to return this paper to them when they handed it in to me. It was just means of me getting to know what might upset them so I know what to be careful of. But I think you might know better what to do with this than I would, hyung .”

Or at least, that’s what Kyungsoo had told him.

It’s past 10PM, and both the children are asleep in their shared bedroom – or at least, Jongdae assumes (and hopes) they are; Sure, he’d been the one to turn off the lights for them and closed the door shut, but he remembers being a pretentious little shit when he was their age, so for all he knows, Sehun could be giggling about god knows what like he usually does while Jongin’s shooting zombies or monsters on his phone under his blanket. He groans to himself as he counts up the points he’s given for the current essay he’s marking, slumping his head onto his arm once he’s concluded the grade and wrote down his comments for the paper. ‘Good content and references! But mind your grammar. Some points might need to be rephrased to be better conveyed.’ Okay. Enough.

He closes his eyes, sight off of the dim lighting from the light hanging above their dining table. He’s careful to position his head so that he doesn’t accidentally knock the papers next to him off of the surface. His other hand roams about the table, reaching for the lone paper he’d kept in place under his small stationary bag. Jongdae holds up the paper to his face once he’s found it, opening his eyes to read the content.

‘What Makes Me Sad, Oh Sehun (Class 2B),’ Funny how Jongdae hears Sehun’s voice reading the words out to him.

‘I love my dad a lot. He always makes me happy because he always tells me how much he loves me and sometimes it’s scary when he scolds me but he never scolds me for a long time. He scolds me when I run away from him and Nini hyung when we go to the supermarket.’

‘Sometimes, he would tell me things like every child is a gift to the family no matter where the child comes from and that I’m also one of GOD’s greatest gift to him.’ He chuckles, Sehun had clearly taken his great grandmother’s words to heart when she said to always capitalize the letters in God. Jongdae smiles fondly.

‘Sometimes my dad would look at me when I wake up in the morning and he would tell me how he loves me so much and that he is blessed to have me and that he prays that I have a good day .'

'But when I was 6 years old my daddy told me I was adopted,' and then, his heart drops, ‘Being adopted is when the parents that you have now aren’t your real parents.’

‘Nini hyung knew I was adopted too. Dad made him keep it a secret until he was ready to tell me though Nini hyung was adopted as well but unlike me he knew about it when it happened. He was old enough when he was adopted to know and dad told me there’s nothing wrong even if I wasn’t old enough like Nini hyung was. When daddy told me at first, I thought that it was alright since I wasn’t the only one who was adopted in the family. I didn’t feel alone.’

‘But then I started to want to know about my real parents. Nini hyung knows where his parents are. His real dad already passed away but his mom is in America with her new family. So, what about my real dad and mom? I asked my dad a few times but whenever I do he always looks like he doesn’t want to tell me. He does tell me that he doesn’t really know either and that once he finds out, he promises he’ll tell me.’

‘Still, I get the feeling that he already knows.’

‘I love dad and Nini hyung a lot and I don’t want to ever leave them but I do want to know why my real parents aren’t the ones taking care of me.’

‘This makes me sad because I think they threw me away. Did I do something when I was still with them that made them so mad that they gave me away?’

Jongdae wants to regret how he’d let himself hear it all in Sehun’s voice, but he hits himself internally because then again, he is supposed to hear it in Sehun’s voice – because this whole composition is after all, Sehun’s voice, in a metaphorical sense. This is Sehun’s writing. It’s Sehun’s thoughts – It’s all Sehun. He sets the paper down on the table, eyebrows slanted and the corner of his lips curled downwards. He feels his eyes turning watery already – Jongdae quickly swipes the side of his finger against a single fallen tear.

The parenting forums had made it look so easy. 1. Don’t wait till adolescence to tell your child about their adoption. 2. Don’t let them find out from another family member or a friend. 3. Introduce them to the concept of adoption during their early ages, and do not criticize their birth parents. 4. Always reassure your child that they are very special and that they belong in the family.

And yet – Jongdae still obviously wasn’t prepared enough; and he’s never, ever wanted to admit it, not even to himself, that Sehun was indeed thrown away. In a duffel bag, his mind supplies, inside the woods – possibly left to die by possibly his own mother had no one found him, had Jongdae not found him. Jongdae hates himself to bits for letting himself even think the thought.

But he doesn’t want Sehun to think as such. Jongdae doesn’t want Sehun to hate himself like that, doesn’t want him to wonder why he was thrown away, doesn’t want him to think that perhaps he’d been so, so hated by his birth parents that they gave him away like that. Jongdae would rather die than have Sehun think like that.

He chuckles to himself, finding the irony somehow twistedly amusing. The guilt of not being able to tell Sehun really balances out with the concern of what could happen to Sehun if he were to tell him what truly happened. Jongdae isn’t one to curse, has never been one to hate or bore grudges either, but from time to time, he finds himself cursing Sehun’s parents -  because why, why of all the things that they could’ve given Sehun, it had to be this reality?

“Fuck you two,” Jongdae cries in a whisper, “Really, fuck you two, whoever you are. Hunnie didn’t deserve that.”

Chapter Text

Minseok hasn’t spoken a single word in the past few hours, mindlessly tracing circles over the surface of his desk with the tip of his finger as he keeps his head rested over the top of his arm. His eyes are dark and swollen under, puffy from endless tears. From time to time, he looks like he has something to say. Jongdae sighs and pours water into the older man’s empty cup.

“We were planning to give him a younger sibling,” Minseok finally says, and a single drop of tear escapes from the corner of his eye, “But I don’t know if I’d ever want to have a kid after this anymore.”

Jongdae observes him intently, thinking back to his own little Sehun. “Take your time, hyung,” he tells him. Take your time to think about what you want to say. You can take your time to say it too. Important bits that go unconveyed, but, nevertheless, understood.

He purses his lips, closing his eyes shut as he lets out a shaky exhale. “It hurts so bad,” Minseok murmurs, “I don’t know what to do, Dae. I really don’t. It’s so hard—Where do I go from here?” He raises a hand up to his chest, gripping his shirt in a tight fist, “How—Why did it have to be—?”

Minseok opens his eyes and looks around, face distorted into a despaired expression as he takes in his surroundings, breath hitched when he notices the absence of the usual disarray of toys in his son’s favourite corner, his box of colour pencils, as well as the drawings stuck on their fridge. When he looks around a little more, his heart squeezes further at the sight of his son’s personal mug and his little lunchbox sitting on the counter. It’s not like he hasn’t already seen them before this. He had already seen them as he washed their dishes this morning; had already cried while he organized his son’s belongings into their respective containers—but in spite of it all, everything still comes crashing like the first time. Nothing screams louder than the fact that he'll never return home to his son's smile ever again.

‘Your son has…’

Minseok remembers all the prayers he made, sleepless nights spent for praying to the God he believed would listen, the denial he’d been in of the possibility that he’d ever become one of those parents. Losing a child? The kind of things that he would have never ever seen coming, words he never thought could ever be meant for him—for them; a new chapter that he isn't sure if he'll ever be ready for, not even in the slightest bit. Don’t these things only happen to others?

‘Your son is…’

He screams onto the table, fist knocking over and over again against the wooden surface. Hopelessness heavy in his heart, the hurt overwhelming in his chest as hot tears run down his cheeks, lips quivering in the aftermath of each sob.

Jongdae doesn’t know what to do, arms folded over each other as he purses his lips, holds his own tears back. A tiny part of him imagines if this would be him in the case of the loss of his own son, and another part alongside the aforementioned telling him to stop being selfish. With a sad smile, he casts aside his own worries and battles for tonight, reaches an arm out to rub at his hyung’s back.

“How do I move on from this?” Minseok cries; this time, quietly. Jongdae doesn’t know the answer. “He would’ve turned three this August,” he says again before shaking his head, shuts his eyes close once more, “He wanted to see a sunflower field. I promised him we would.” Minseok scoffs to himself bitterly, "Is this where I comfort myself... by telling myself that he's probably seeing the prettiest flowers in heaven now?"