Chapter Text
“Can’t remember what size he said to get…really should’ve written it down…maybe if I…I mean, this one looks right, but…” To an outside perspective, there really wasn’t much of a difference in the two nails. One was slightly longer, but their width was the same, but one’s head was flat while the other was round. It would look more like a screw once inserted, and that’s how you finally remembered that wasn’t the one your dad wanted. You dumped the unwanted nail back in its bin and squatted down to find the box you needed. Buying in bulk always makes sense; it was cheaper in the end, but you had a suspicion your dad bought a huge batch of these already and had simply misplaced them. Still, you would need almost a hundred this week, so a large box would suffice. For no reason other than the fact that you liked the sound, you shook the box you’ve selected, smiling as the nails rattled against each other in their confinement. Before you could stand up, you noticed a small figure squatting down next to you. Even out of your peripheral vision you could see a fierce look of concentration on the kid’s face. His striped shirt and overalls made him look a little like a train conductor, and his unruly honey-colored hair almost completely covered his ears.
“Having trouble deciding?” you said, and the boy’s fingers tightened on his knees a little as he rocked once while nodding. “Well, these are all nails,” you said, pointing at all the drawers in front of him, each labeled with information on length, width, and other terms that would definitely go over the kid’s head. Most things would go over this kid’s head. He looked tiny, especially squatting down beside you. You threw a quick glance over him but saw no other adults in the aisle. “So first you have to make sure you need nails. Do you need nails or screws?” You could see his lips pursing together and then pushing out as he thought seriously about your question, but when he didn’t answer, you tried a different question. “What are you making?”
“A bird house!” the boy said, finally looking at you and flashing you a dazzling smile. A real lady killer, this kid, you can tell immediately.
“No way! I’m building one of those, too!” you said, and the boy somehow lighted up even more.
“Really?”
“Really really! You definitely want nails, then,” you said, nodding solemnly, and you fought back a smile as the boy copied you. “What kind of wood are you using?” The boy thought for a moment, his eyes drifting beyond you for a moment.
“Good wood,” he decided on, and you nodded wisely.
“Of course, of course, very good choice. Nails, good wood, what else does a bird house need? What color are you going to paint it?”
“Red,” he said.
“Why red?”
“Bird houses are red.”
“They don’t have to be,” you said, standing up and groaning slightly from squatting for so long. The boy did the same, even letting out a little sigh in imitation as he stood up. He cocked his head at your answer, as if the knowledge was completely new to him. “Really,” you clarified. “They can be any color you want.”
“Even pink?”
“Totally pink,” you said. “A pink bird house would be perfect. Would be the best house on the block.”
“Yeah?” the boy said suspiciously, but a smile was threatening to break over his face.
“Yeah,” you said, gripping your box of nails tightly and looking around again. “Look, kid, where’s your mom or dad or whoever watches you?”
“Oh,” the boy said, looking around. You imagined the aisle may look a little like a Hitchcock film in his eyes, elongating or narrowing before him as the world suddenly seemed too big for him, because his eyes were wide when he looked back at you, causing you to squat down in front of him again and place your free hand on his shoulder.
“Hey,” you said quickly, hoping your voice was reassuring, “we’ll find them. Who was here with you?”
“Daddy.”
“Okay, where did you last see him? What were you getting for your bird house before you came to look for nails?”
“Wood,” the boy said.
“Good wood,” you said, and he smiled slightly to your relief. “Okay, do you know what to do when you get lost?” The boy thought seriously again for a moment, and the tiny mole on his nose moved as he scrunched his face.
“Get unlost?”
“Yea—yep,” you said, refusing to laugh, “you’re very smart. That’s exactly right. But when you get lost, do you think you should stay where you are or go looking for someone?”
“You should get unlost,” the boy said again, and you nodded, because technically he wasn’t wrong.
“Totally. But you should stay where you are because then people can find you. If you leave, they’ll take longer to find you.”
“Really?” the boy said, his voice high.
“Really,” you said solemnly, “one time when I was little, my da—”
“Taehyung!” The little boy’s shoulders beneath your hand shook at the loud voice, and as he turned around, your arm fell from him limply. Before you even had time to stand up, a figure in all black with strikingly bleached hair crouched down in front of the boy and took both of his shoulders in his hands and shook him once. The boy’s tiny frame flopped dramatically in the man’s grip, and you shot up, clenching your fist at your side. “Don’t you ever,” the man said, shaking the boy again, “run off without me again. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, daddy,” the boy mumbled faintly, and you stuffed your fist in your pocket, hoping it would go unnoticed.
“Tae?” you said kindly, and the boy turned his head around to smile at you, a real blinding smile. “Is this your dad?” The man stood up as Tae turned around, his hands still protectively holding his shoulders, and he was giving you a look as if you hadn’t just heard the boy call him “daddy.” The little boy thankfully nodded, so you tried to calm your face down, but something about the way the man was holding onto his son and staring at you still made you uneasy. You made eye contact with him, anyway, not letting yourself be unnerved by his stare. “I was helping your son find the right nails for his bird house.”
“Yeah, daddy, did you get good wood?” the boy said, trying to look up at his dad’s face who was still staring—glaring—at you. As the man wasn’t carrying anything, the answer seemed obvious, so the boy tugged on his dad’s coat sleeve. “She said we can paint the bird house any color. Can we paint it pink, daddy?”
“Sure, son, let’s go get the paint,” the man said, taking his son’s hand. Without even saying “thank you” or “goodbye,” the man turned to go, and his little boy waved frantically as he got dragged away.
“Bye, bird house lady!”
“Bye kid,” you said, smiling back. As soon as he turned back to his dad, though, you frowned. “What an ass,” you muttered, shaking your box of nails again before turning to leave yourself. You shook the box all the way home, your leg shaking as you drove your truck back to the shop, its entire frame shaking you. Just a nail in its confinement.
He had his finger on his lip the second the automatic doors slid open, and you rolled your eyes at the smile on his face even while he tried to remain serious. Just to annoy him even more, you dramatically tiptoed up to his counter and then slammed down the stack of fliers you were holding.
“Jimin, my man,” you said, and, on cue, the boy ran his hand through his blonde hair and laughed once before becoming serious again and leaning over the counter closer to you. “Ji-man,” you said again as he shook his head and looked at the papers. “Mah mahn, can I put this up today?”
“Bird houses, huh?” he said, his whispers making his voice lower than it normally was.
“Yeah. Ever made one?”
“No,” he smiled, “why would I?”
“Why wouldn’t you, is the better question, Jimin,” you mused. “You should come.”
“I’m good.”
“You’re more than good,” you said, winking at him. He rolled his eyes again and brought a dispenser of tape down hard on the counter. The librarian at the counter next to him gave him a stink eye, but he only rolled his eyes again and put the stapler down gentler next to the tape.
“Bring these back when you’re done,” he said, already turning around to get back to work. You gave him a silent salute and gathered up your fliers and supplies. “Quiet” has never been an attribute ascribed to you. Even while working in silence you always needed to have some sort of filler noise, music or the buzz of a light or the hum of your own mouth, so you unconsciously hummed under your breath as you put up flyer after flyer, taking down your older ones from last week and covering up older ones that didn’t belong to you that someone else—Jimin—should be taking down. After adequately covering one bulletin board, you turned around to work on tapping fliers to the end of each shelf when you saw a small boy squatting down in one of the rows, running his fingers along the plastic covered books. Smiling to yourself, you tiptoed to the row behind him and squatted down, eyeing him over a stack of books. Even though he was wearing a giant green sweater and khaki pants that looked much too loose on him, you recognized him immediately.
“You don’t want that book,” you whispered, and you saw his head shoot up, his hand stilling on one of the books. He moved his tiny fingers to the left to the next book and you suppressed a chuckle. “Not that one, either.” He moved his hand in the opposite way and you giggled this time. “Nope. Turn around,” you tried to make your voice sound like a ghost, wavering up and down, but the boy turned around with a smile, and his eyes lit up as he scurried over to see you over the row of books. “Hey kid,” you said when he saw you.
“Bird house lady!” he squealed, trying to whisper but failing miserably.
“Y/N,” you clarified. “What are you doing here?”
“Getting books,” he said, as if your question was dumb.
“A library is a good place to get books,” you said, nodding. “But can you even read?”
“I—” the boy started, and then his face fell. “I can’t.”
“Why are you getting books, then?” you teased.
“Daddy reads them to me.”
“Oh?” you said, crawling down the aisle and turning the corner to see him better. He crawled over to you, too, and sat on his knees. “Where is he?” For an answer, the boy pointed past your shoulder, and you followed his finger to the tables in the middle of the library where a variety of people were sitting. You saw a head of bleached hair behind a computer screen and black pants with crossed legs underneath the table and scoffed lightly, hopefully quiet enough that the kid didn’t hear you. “I see. So how did the bird house go?” You felt your heart drop as the kid’s face fell. He played with the hem of his sweater pooled in his lap and muttered,
“We didn’t build it.”
“Oh, why? Wood not good enough?”
“Daddy got busy,” the boy shrugged sadly, and you couldn’t help the sigh that left your lips.
“Well, maybe you can come this weekend to my workshop. We’re making bird houses.” The boy took a flier from you reverently, his face lighting up as he saw the picture.
“You make bird houses?”
“Of course. How do you think I knew so much about them at the store? I’m a bird house expert.”
“Wow,” he breathed, staring up at you.
“Yeah, it’s really impressive,” you shrugged nonchalantly.
“Daddy!” the boy squealed, and you failed to shush him in an adequate manner, the snooty librarian at the counter beating you to it. His little feet went from running to walking quickly as soon as he was reprimanded, and you got up slowly to follow him, not exactly thrilled about his dad glaring at you again. But glare he did, the second his son tapped his knee and he closed his computer screen partly to see what was going on.
“Daddy,” the boy said, and then, remembering to whisper, leaned closer to his dad, who leaned down just a little to hear him, “look, bird house lady. Can we go to this?” Without waiting for a response, he thrust the flier into his dad’s lap. The man eyed you and then the paper suspiciously as he flattened it out. Your amazing flier-making skills were obviously not impressive enough for him as he took a deep breath and looked at his son, his hand taking the tiny one in his.
“Maybe, Tae. Did you finish finding your books?”
“No,” Tae said.
“Go get your books, then, so we can leave.” The boy nodded a little reluctantly and looked up at you once before scurrying off.
“So, bird house girl,” the man said, a tone to his voice that made you bristle.
“Y/N,” you said simply. The man hummed before folding up your precious flier and stuffing it in his black coat pocket.
“You make bird houses for a living?”
“No,” you huffed, stuffing your hands in your own coat pocket so he wouldn’t see how clenched they were. “Well, not just bird houses. My dad and I own a shop. We do wood work but also blacksmithing and glass work. A variety of things.”
“How old are you?” he asked, one of his eyebrows raised. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, since you know your dad would say to remain professional whenever talking about the business despite how most people didn’t understand.
“Twenty.”
“In college?”
“Never went,” you said simply, and his eyebrow somehow managed to raise even higher. It was harder to not sigh, now, even though the look was one you were used to.
“You own a business but never went to college?”
“Why should I pay to sit in a bunch of classes where nothing would be applicable? The only way to learn how to run a business is to run a business. Experience is all that matters. Reading a bunch of books and listening to stuffy old professors is a waste of time and money.”
“I see,” the man said, closing his laptop. The click of the screen locking into position made you jump slightly for some reason. His left hand stayed on top of the computer long enough for you to notice the absence of a ring, and you quickly looked away to where Tae was once again squatting in an aisle, this time in the kids’ section where the rows were already at his level. The man followed your gaze, and you pulled your eyes away from his son before you started smiling at the sight of him practically drowning in his sweater. He looked like a little wood elf in the dark green color with his tan skin. The man was looking at you again, and you shifted in your coat. While you were trying to think of something to say to fill the awkward silence, Tae appeared beneath you with a big but skinny book in his hands.
“Can we get this, daddy? It’s about castles, see?” His dad hummed in affirmation, causing the little boy to smile. He put the book on his dad’s laptop before turning to you, perhaps surprised but still pleased to see you were still there.
“Hey, Tae,” you whispered, getting down on his level again and leaning in close like you had a secret to tell him. He got the cue and leaned in close, too. “How often do you come to the library?”
“Uh, every couple of days? Or so?”
“Do you know your days of the week?”
“Of course,” he said, sounding a little offended.
“Do you know what day is today?”
“It’s Thursday,” he said confidently, and you nodded in confirmation.
“Do you always come to the library on Thursdays?”
“Yeah!” Tae said, proud of figuring out what day he came to the library.
“Then I’ll be here next Thursday, too. That way if you don’t come to the workshop this weekend, I can see you then, and I’ll bring something for you.”
“Something for me? Why? It’s not my birthday?”
“Do you only get presents when it’s your birthday?”
“No,” Tae said, pursing his lips together in concentration, his brain working hard to figure everything out.
“When do you get presents?”
“Sometimes when I’m a good boy,” he said seriously, eyeing his father quickly. He was just sitting there with his legs crossed and his fingers folded in his lap, watching the two of you.
“Well, there you go. You were such a good boy the other day in the store.”
“I wasn’t,” Tae said, a frown on his face, “I ran away from daddy.”
“Did you on purpose? Did you never want to see him again?”
“No,” Tae gasped, “no, no.”
“You didn’t run away, Tae,” you explained, “you just got excited and got lost for a few minutes. You were doing so good finding everything you needed for your bird house. And you just went and got your book like your daddy said to do.”
“I did,” Tae said, nodding slowly.
“So there we go, good boy,” you smiled, ruffling his hair. You drew your hand back quickly, looking up at his dad, but his face was still unmoving. “And maybe next week you can tell me everything you learned about castles?”
“Okay,” Tae said excitedly, his smile making you smile. His dad, however, still did not.
“Okay,” you parroted, grunting a little as you stood up. “I hope to see you Saturday, then, but, if not, next Thursday. Here,” you pointed to the spot beneath your feet, and Tae looked down.
“Here?”
“Right here,” you said. “If you’re over there,” you pointed to a random spot across the room, “I won’t see you. It has to be right here.”
“Right here,” Tae echoed, looking around as if to memorize the exact spot.
“Awesome,” you said, sticking your hand out to him. He eyed your palm for a moment. “We are making a promise. So usually at this point you would take my hand and shake it, or spit in it, or get out a knife to mix our blood or just give me a high five to solidify our plan.”
“Why would I cut you?” the boy asked, looking a little alarmed.
“Don’t spit in her hand,” his dad’s low voice rumbled at the same time. “At least not in a public place.”
“A high five will do,” you said seriously, and Tae complied, slapping your hand. You let out a dramatic groan and shook your hand back and forth, wincing at the pain. The boy lit up at that. “Powerful five you’ve got there, kid.” He only beamed brighter, and you smiled one more time before taking your leave, bowing slightly to his dad beforehand. “Sir,” you said seriously, and his face didn’t move at all as you moved away to gather up your—Jimin’s—supplies to return them. You gave Tae another wave as you left, his hand already in his dad’s as they stood in line to check out his book.
Tae and his dad did not show up at the workshop that Saturday.
You weren’t surprised, even if you were a little disappointed.
If you were honest with yourself, your flier for this week’s workshop wasn’t as impressive as the bird house one, but your heart hadn’t been in it at as much for some reason. Even while you tried to explain to Jimin what you would be making—mobiles? Windchimes? Art?—you only were half-interested in what you were saying, and he handed over the tape and stapler as always without any questions. You promised yourself it didn’t have anything to do with the man in all black at one of the tables typing away on a computer who had looked up at you when you came in, your pants covered in paint and your dad’s giant pilot jacket hanging loosely on your frame, a large box shifting in your arms. Before you even put the fliers up, you went to find Tae, squatting as always, in the kids’ section, browsing the shelf with seriousness beyond his age, however old he was.
“Hey Tae,” you whispered as you sat in the aisle next to him.
“Y/N!” he almost squealed with a huge smile on his face.
“What are you looking for?”
“A book on dogs,” he said, and you watched him half-pull out several ones, obviously looking for one with an interesting cover.
“Do you have a dog?”
“No,” he said, his voice sad, “daddy won’t let me.”
“Ah,” you sighed, sad for the kid. You wondered what else his dad wouldn’t let him have or do.
“Do you?”
“Oh, yeah,” you said, “we have three.”
“Three dogs?” Tae breathed, looking at you like you were some savior for dogs around the whole world. “What kinds?”
“They’re all mutts. Mixtures. Cattle dog, blue heeler, coolie, Catahoula.”
“Cata?”
“Houla,” you laughed. “Maybe you can find info in one of these books about them.” Tae seemed to accept the challenge immediately and began pulling out three different books with dogs on the covers. “What did you find out about castles, by the way?”
“Oh! So much! Did you know castles are surrounded by moats?”
“No way,” you said. Tae only nodded. “What’s a moat?”
“It’s this circle around the castle filled with water,” he explained, using his hands to demonstrate.
“Like a donut?”
“Huh?”
“Like the castle is the donut hole, and the moat is the donut?”
“Oh,” Tae said, smiling, “yeah!”
“So what else is in the moat beside water?”
“Oh, sometimes they put stuff in there to keep people out, like animals.”
“They put animals in the moat? What kind of animals?”
“Dangerous kinds,” Tae said, as if your question was stupid.
“Like cows?”
“Cows?” Tae said. “Cows aren’t dangerous.”
“Actually, did you know more people die from cows falling on them than from shark bites?”
“Cows?” Tae said again, his eyes wide, and he looked up as if he was expecting a cow to suddenly drop from the ceiling. You suppressed a laugh and placed your hand on the books in his lap.
“Yeah, so if you find yourself in any fields, stay away from cows.”
“But I thought cows were nice,” Tae said, his lower lip sticking out as his world was shaken.
“Oh, they are,” you clarified, not meaning to scare him. “But don’t let one fall on you. So no cows in the moats, huh? Sharks?”
“No sharks. I—I don’t remember what they put in the moats.”
“That’s okay,” you said, noticing how distraught he looked. “So if there was a circle of water surrounding the castle, how did people get in?”
“Oh, they had a drawbridge!”
“What’s a drawbridge? Like, did you draw it and it appeared? Did you have to draw a new bridge each time?”
“No, no,” Tae said, giggling before he demonstrated again, his arm going up and down from his elbow. “A drawbridge goes up and down so only certain people can get in when they want.”
“A drawbridge goes up and down? Why is it called a drawbridge? Why isn’t it called an up-and-down bridge?” you asked, and the boy’s brow furrowed again as he thought hard about your question. He clearly had no answer, and that seemed to bother him. “Maybe we could look it up on the internet?”
“Daddy doesn’t let me on the internet,” Tae said seriously, and you had to nod, pursing your lips.
“That’s probably a good idea. It’s not really a nice place.”
“Then why did you say we should get on it?”
“I mean,” you said, feeling like you were finding yourself in your own moat, “it has some good things on it. In it. But we can look in a different book about castles to find out why they’re called drawbridges, probably.”
“But I wanted a book on dogs today,” Tae said, pouting slightly.
“Okay, yeah, no one cares about drawbridges. Dogs are much better. Get the book on dogs.”
“But I don’t know which one to get,” Tae said seriously, and you laughed softly, looking at the three he had picked before helping him select the one that looked the best—it had the most pictures—and putting the others back.
“Hey Tae,” you said, even though you thought you knew the answer, as you both walked back to his dad, “why didn’t you come make a bird house on Saturday?” Tae shrugged even while he answered,
“Daddy was busy.” You grunted in response, eyeing the man in question as you approached his table, and you shifted the box under your arm uncomfortably, trying to not let the fliers and tape and stapler topple off. Perhaps a little too loudly, you put the box on the table next to Tae’s dad, but he barely flinched as he closed his laptop to look at the two of you.
“Daddy,” Tae said, reaching up to put the book on top of his laptop, “I got a book on dogs.”
“Very cool,” his dad said, still eyeing you.
“Hey, Tae,” you said, trying to get away from the man’s stare, “here’s a flier for this week.” The little boy took the paper again as if it was a secret treasure map, his mouth opening at the picture.
“This is so pretty!” he whispered. “What is it?” You laughed softly as you pointed to the mobile.
“Art. A mobile. If you put it outside, it can blow in the wind and make noise or when the light reflects on the glass it can make really pretty patterns on the ground or on a wall. It has multi-purposes—many purposes—it’s multi-purposeful. And they all look different because you can chose what you want to put on them. Plus the color of the glass matters.”
“I thought glass was all see-through,” Tae said.
“Nah, see this?” you said, pointing to the picture. “That’s glass. At our shop we have a lot of blue and green glass, but you can have red and even pink glass.”
“Wow,” Tae said. “Daddy, can we make one of these?”
“Maybe, kid,” his dad said, and the way Tae’s shoulders sagged told you everything you needed to know. For some parents, “maybe” meant yes, while for Tae’s dad, “maybe” obviously meant “no, but I’m not going to tell you no right now for some reason, probably so I don’t appear like the actual dick that I am.”
“Hey, Tae, you remember when I said last week I would bring you something?” you said, trying to distract him from his inevitable disappointment. The boy nodded gently, putting the flier on top of his book. “Were you a good boy this week?” He nodded more enthusiastically, but then, noticing the way his dad was looking at him, he hung his head a bit and kicked at the carpet once. He was wearing another giant sweater, a bright red that made his whole face seem pink, with a pair of simple jeans underneath.
“I was mostly good,” he said.
“Well, no one’s good all the time,” you hummed. “That would be boring,” you said, watching his dad. He only stared back, so you took everything off of the box you had carried in and squatted down next to Tae to put it in front of him. As he eyed it, you gestured toward it, and after a small nod from his dad, Tae reached down his tiny fingers to fiddle with opening the box. His face lit up as soon as he saw what was inside, and you were afraid the stern librarian was going to shush him, but he didn’t scream or shout at all, his mouth just gaping open as he pulled out the pink wooden bird house from the box.
“Daddy, it’s—” he stuttered. “It’s a. Look daddy!”
“I see, buddy,” his dad said softly, but his voice didn’t hold any of the excitement his son’s did at the sight. He didn’t sound disappointed or annoyed, to your relief, just as stoic as always.
“It’s,” Tae kept saying, and if you didn’t stop his rambling soon, you were afraid he was going to cry.
“It’s your pink bird house,” you said simply.
“But why?” Tae said, looking up at you, and while you had seen similarities between him and his dad already, his face suddenly looked like a mirror image of his father’s, which startled you a little.
“Well, your dad got too busy to help you make one or come to my workshop, right? And I had to make one with everyone at the workshop, so I made this one. Then I painted it pink for you.”
“It’s,” Tae tried again, but you only reached over to ruffle his hair.
“Like it?” He nodded, smiling finally, and you relaxed. “Where are you going to put it?”
“Where do you put bird houses?”
“Well, do you have any birds inside your house?”
“No,” Tae said, giggling at the thought.
“So definitely not inside. Outside, then. Do you have a yard?”
“Oh, yeah!” Tae said excitedly, his voice rising above a whisper. “We have a huge yard! We have a pool, and a swing set, and a basketball net, but that’s daddy’s because I’m still too short for it, but I have my own right beside it, and oh, a sand box and, and.”
“Are you sure you don’t live in a park?” you said, eyeing the boy playfully.
“No, no, it’s our yard.”
“Sounds like a park to me,” you said seriously.
“No, no, we have a house, I promise,” Tae smiled, shaking his head frantically. “But our yard is bigger than our house.”
“Sounds like a park to me, but whatever you say,” you joked. “Well, you see the bottom of the bird house here? If your dad gets you a pole, it can screw right on top of that and then be put in the ground anywhere in your park—or, your yard, excuse me—and then you just need to put some bird food in there before all the birds come.”
“What kind of food do birds eat?” Tae asked, looking at the bottom of his new house.
“Bird food,” you said seriously. Tae’s lips stuck out from his face for a moment before he smiled, satisfied with your answer. “Okay, well, I have to go finish putting these fliers up so I can give all this stuff back to Jimin. I hope you, and the birds, enjoy the house that you’re going to put in your non-park yard,” you said, standing up. Tae copied you, even matching your face as you felt your muscles rebelling once again from squatting for so long.
“You know Jimin?” he said, pointing over at the young man at the counter who was too immersed in stacking books to notice.
“Don’t point,” you said gently, lowering his hand. “But yeah, Jimin’s my friend.”
“He’s my friend, too!” Tae said, and for a moment you were afraid he was jealous and you were going to have to fight with a toddler about how you were older and had known Jimin since high school and therefore were his friend first, which would be a ridiculous argument to have with a kid, but Tae only smiled wider. “We’re all friends!”
“Yeah, kid, we sure are.” You smiled down at him before ruffling his hair again and then turning to his dad. “I hope you can make it Saturday. It was nice”—it wasn’t, really, but you were trying to be polite—“to see you again Mister?”
“Min. Min Yoongi,” the man said.
“Mr. Yoongi, got it,” you said, already turning away from him as he opened his mouth. “See you later, Tae.”
“Bye Y/N!” Tae said, sticking his hand out.
“Oh, yeah,” you said, stooping slightly to high five him.
“Thank you for the bird house.”
“No problem, buddy,” you said honestly. It had taken less than an hour of your time. You had loved doing it. Seeing the boy smile was worth any potential splinters you might have gotten. It really wasn’t a problem at all, even if the kid’s dad obviously thought it wasn’t as important as whatever else he had to do. So, yeah, you were extremely surprised when they both showed up on Saturday. The room wasn’t full, as four of the ten workstations were still empty. The workshops in your dad’s giant barn were rarely ever full. But everyone who came always had a good time and went away with a few new skills under their belt and a project they had made and could be proud of. Your dad always said that there was nothing like making something with your own hands. It certainly beat buying things that you could make yourself. You also weren’t surprised to see Mr. Min still all dressed in black while his son was wearing a puffy zipped-up black coat and a pink beanie pulled down low over his ears. The boy, upon seeing you, raced over the straw-covered floor until he ran into your open arms. You stood up and spun him around a few times before putting him down, his high-pitched laughter bouncing around the room.
“Y/N, Y/N,” Tae said, laughing, “I’m here!”
“I see that,” you laughed, straightening out his coat for him. “I’m so glad to see you!”
“Where can I sit?” he said, practically bouncing on his feet.
“Well, there’s a table there,” you said, pointing each other, “there, there, or there.”
“Where will you be?”
“Well, I stand up here to start, but then I walk around to each table, so I’ll make sure to come see you lots,” you said, poking at him, but his coat was so puffy you didn’t touch him at all.
“Okay, this one, then,” Tae said, leading you over to the empty table closest to the front. You made sure the stool by it was close to the table before dropping his hand.
“Can you get up here or need a lift?
“I’m a big boy, I got it,” he said, already climbing up.
“I believe you,” you said, though you kept a hand out just in case he had any trouble. Soon he was sitting on the stool proudly, his legs swinging and hitting the underside of the table in front of him. “Okay, see this box of glass? It’s all rounded on the side, so it won’t cut you, so I want you to pick ten pieces that you want to use. Can you count to ten?”
“Of course,” Tae scoffed, already pulling the box close to him, all of the pieces rattling against each other. “I know my ABC’s, too.”
“Of course you do,” you said, patting his head softly. “You’re a big boy. I’m going to go talk to your dad really quick, okay?” Tae only nodded, already plenty distracted with picking out his glass pieces. You imagined he could spend the whole day examining the box, and you figured you would have to help him pick the best pieces because he was going to want to use each pretty piece. Mr. Min still stood at the door, his hands in his pockets as he eyed the barn. If his shoes were any indication, he had probably never set foot in a barn before, even a barn that no longer housed animals.
“Mr. Yoongi,” you said to annoy him, and based on the way his eyes narrowed, you were obviously successful, “glad to see you could make it.”
“Is there a chair I could use?” he interrupted.
“There’s a stool over there by Tae you could use,” you said, pointing back at his son who was hunched over his box of glass.
“Can I pull it back here? I have some work to do.”
“You—” you started before shutting your mouth and taking a deep breath. “Mr. Min, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Excuse me?” the man said, blinking rapidly at you.
“If you’re not going to go sit with your son and participate, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. The class is only an hour, so if you really can’t put your work aside for an hour to spend time with your son, then I don’t want you here.”
“Excuse me?” he said again, and you realized he wasn’t used to people talking to him this way, but that only spurred you on further.
“This is my place of business, so I reserve the right to refuse service to anyone. You, sir, are being refused. Tae can stay. I’ll watch him for the hour, because it will be my pleasure, and he’s obviously a great, smart kid, so he won’t need me to baby him or watch him every second, but—”
“I’m sorry,” Yoongi interrupted again, putting his hand out to stop you, “I’m not going to leave my kid here with you. I don’t even know you. I don’t care that you made him a bird house, you don’t know him. He really wanted to come, so I brought him, but I have work to do—”
“Did he really want to come make a mobile? Or did he want to make a mobile with you?”
“Wh—”
“Look, Mr. Yoongi,” you said, sticking your hands in your pockets to stop them from shaking. It was a little cold in the barn today, but you were also angrier than you expected to be. “I don’t need to know you or your son to know that he wants the same thing every kid wants. Your attention. Your love. Your support. So if you can’t give that to him for an hour today, then I don’t want you here. You’re right, I don’t know you, so I’m not going to say you’re a bad dad, but you’re clearly prioritizing your work over him, and it’s clearly hurting him. Just look at how happy he is to be here. Imagine how much happier he would be if you went to sit by him and put your phone away for an hour. An hour, Mr. Min,” you sighed, your voice coming out soft despite how upset you were. The man only stood in front of you for a moment, and for a second you thought he was going to give in, to put aside whatever was holding him back, but then his mouth opened.
“Taehyung! Come here right now.” Shaking your head, you tsked and licked your lips before looking at the man with as much disdain as you could muster.
“Yes, daddy?” Tae’s voice met your ears, and you couldn’t even look at him as his dad took his hand.
“We’re leaving,” Mr. Min said firmly, and while Tae tried to stand still, his dad’s strength greatly overwhelmed him, and he staggered briefly before hurrying to keep up with his dad’s long legs.
“But daddy,” you heard him whine, “I wanted to make the m-m—”
“Be quiet, son,” his dad said, and before they reached their car you could hear Tae crying, his sobs slapping you. Cursing under your breath, you kicked a pile of hay before going to Tae’s table. A small pile of glass had already been separated from the box, and you carefully picked up the colorful pieces, sighing deeply before giving the rest of the room a smile.
“Okay, everyone, let’s get started.”
The mobile you made hung on you front porch for a week, and each time you passed it you would run your fingers over the smooth glass, trying to smooth the anger you felt toward one Min Yoongi. On Thursday, you boxed the mobile up and headed to the library, hoping beyond hope to see Tae again, hoping the mobile would sooth some of the disappointment he must be feeling. It was just some glass on some string. The kid didn’t need much. Why couldn’t his dad see that?