Chapter Text
“You don’t say?” Jinyoung says distractedly, trying to balance the bags of groceries while fitting his key in the lock, while also being an attentive parent that supports and encourages his daughter’s interests, “They really did two whole new choreographies? They must’ve worked very hard.”
“Yes!” Sungmi says while nodding enthusiastically and lisping around her braces, shifting her hold on the bag of groceries in her hands, “And they’re gonna do two more if we reach the next streaming goals, and you know, me and my friends really think it’s possible!! I really think that this is going to be their most successful comeback yet —”
Jinyoung finally manages to wiggle the door open, making a resolute promise to fix the door handle before it falls off completely, and then makes a second, separate little note to please don’t let the task disappear amongst all the other thousand little things he has to do.
He forgets about the door the moment he drops the grocery bags on the counter, groaning as he stretches his back out, hearing the slight pops that run all along his spine. God, he really should try and make it to the gym this week, it’s been two since he went last. And fuck, he’s very much past the age where he could take two weeks off from doing it and not feel the repercussions immediately.
Sungmi walks in through the door, toeing off her ratty sneakers with idol names and hearts written all over them, putting the groceries on the kitchen counter before picking up her phone, quickly tapping away.
“Dinner in an hour, Sungmi,” Jinyoung says while groaning as he bends down to pick up the magazines right inside of the door, looking them through as he places his bags on the counter as well. There’s his Lawyer union magazine which seems vaguely interesting this time, for once, and the music magazine with Jaebeom on the cover, that he promised to read. He just has to find time for it, in between being a single parent and working for a firm that just fired another slew of lawyers to save on cost.
He places the magazines on the counter, flipping the union magazine open to an interview, distractedly reading it through as he unloads the groceries. Hands full of ginger and chilis, he flicks on his music, feeling himself relax with the sound of his favorite crooner.
“Dad!” The slight calm of the situation is quickly dispelled and Jinyoung’s head snaps up as his heart immediately speeds up, instincts already rising to the occasion when hearing the distressed note in Sungmi’s voice, “Dad!!!” Sungmi says, her entire face scrunched up into fear as she runs towards him, Jinyoung dropping the vegetables he had been unpacking to go and meet her, “I dropped Hyungmin!”
Jinyoung blinks.
“Hyungmin, your... Your bias?”
“Not my bias, dad, my ULT! And I dropped him!” she sniffles, motioning to the back of her phone where there does, indeed, seem to be one less boy card than there used to be, “We have to find him!”
“Okay,” Jinyoung says, taking a breath to calm down his nerves, “Okay, yeah, we can go look, but can we do it after dinner?”
Sungmi looks at him as though he’s stabbed her in the back and Jinyoung raises his hands in quiet apology as Sungmi grabs his hand and drags him towards the door.
“It’s from their debut album, it’s like, limited edition, if someone finds him they could steal him!”
“Alright,” Jinyoung says, putting on his orthopedically beneficial sandals and straightening out his back, “You sure you dropped him nearby?”
“Yeah!” Sungmi says, her eyes glued to the floor as they get out into the building hallway, “I definitely had him when we said hi to Mr. Kim in the lobby, so he has to be either there or in the hallway.”
“I’ll take the lobby,” Jinyoung says seriously, smiling as he gently tucks a strand of hair behind Sungmi’s ear, “Don’t worry, we’ll find him.”
“We’ll meet back here in fifteen minutes,” Sungmi says seriously, puffing up her cheeks in the same way her mother used to do, when she had been determined, and Jinyoung finds himself smiling again as he sees it, “Good luck, dad.”
Jinyoung does a small salute, the elevator doors dinging open as he walks into them, doing a quick check on the ground to see if there are any photo cards on the elevator floor. No luck.
When he gets to the lobby, a quick check proves that the little card is nowhere immediately visible. He breathes out as he sees the two small tables by the entrance, because yeah, he has to check but he’s also just had an entire inner monologue about having taken an ill-advised break from working out. He sends a glance skywards, a quick yes, thank you, you’ve made your point, before squatting down.
Getting down on his knees is about as dreadful as he imagined, but he couldn’t face Sungmi if he hadn’t done what he could to find the lost, uh, playing card or what it’s called off her favorite idol. He shakes his head, disappointed, as there is nothing underneath the first table but a bit of dirt, and as he straightens out and prepares to get up, he winces, placing one hand on his back.
Someone clears his throat behind him.
Jinyoung quickly turns around and finds that someone has been watching him, or, well, he sees a pair of shoes and assumes that they are attached to someone that has been watching him. And, okay, perhaps it’s fairer to say that this someone has probably been waiting for him to get up since he’s pretty effectively blocking the entire entrance.
“Oh, sorry,” Jinyoung says quickly, rushing to get up but hitting his head on the table, “Fu —” he starts, swallowing the rest of the swear with the type of familiarity that can only come from trying to set a good example.
“Are you okay?” the pair of shoes asks, and when Jinyoung looks up, he finds that the large, slightly unwieldy pair of shoes belong to large, dark eyes and artfully swept brown hair sprinkled with grey. The man standing there is handsome, handsome in a way that seems unfair, especially considering that Jinyoung just has been down on the floor and is therefore not at his most desirable.
“Uh, yeah,” Jinyoung says, wincing as there is a slight twinge of pain from where he took the hit on the top of his head, “Sorry, I’ll just get out of your way, I’m —“ he clears his throat, finding himself slightly lost as he meets the man’s dark, brown eyes with gentle crows feet in the corners and the type of face that carries joy so well it seems made for it, “I’m Jinyoung,” he finishes, in the end, despite how that’s not really what he wanted to say. He winces, inwardly, from a completely different pain than the one in his skull. He’s pretty sure that if Sungmi was here, she would’ve called him cringe.
“Don’t worry,” the man says, breaking out into a smile that seems to fit into a heart shape, pink lips stretching over his teeth, and Jinyoung, instinctively, finds himself holding his breath, “I’m not in a rush. And, well, nice to meet you, Jinyoung, I’m Jackson.”
He gives his hand, long-fingered and warm, and when Jinyoung takes it, he feels the slightly calloused skin and the strength of his grip. The man isn’t small, but he’s slight and lean, even though he’s showing off enough skin in his tank top and jean-jacket to prove that he’s pretty fit. Probably not a guy that misses a couple of weeks at the gym.
God, he’s handsome, Jinyoung thinks to himself with something stuck in his throat. It’s been almost four years since he broke up with Mark (amicably, but still) and two since he was on his last date. He doesn’t miss it, not really, at least not consciously, but standing on the other side of a man like this, it’s hard to not find yourself measuring the time that seems to pass too quickly, these days.
“Hi,” Jinyoung says, his fingers curling over Jackson’s for a moment before he lets the other man’s hand go, “Nice to meet you too.”
“Did you drop something?” Jackson asks, curiously peering around Jinyoung’s broader frame at the lobby behind him.
“Oh,” Jinyoung grimaces, runs a hand through his hair and misses the way Jackson’s gaze follows the movement, “Yeah, or, well, my daughter, she dropped Hyungmin,” he pauses, and then seeing the slightly nonplussed look on Jackson’s face, he rushes to explain, “Oh, not like, a person, it’s one of those... playing cards of a boy called Hyungmin, he’s her favorite from a pop band she likes.”
“Ah,” Jackson says, breaking out into another smile, and damn it if Jinyoung’s heart doesn’t make a little flip at that, “Yes, the Lost Boys, hm?” When he sees the look on Jinyoung’s face, Jackson laughs, a slightly nasally sound even through what seems to be his naturally hoarse, warm cadence, “It’s my daughter’s favorite band too.”
“You have a daughter?” Jinyoung answers, and Jackson smiles, and perhaps Jinyoung imagines it, but it almost looks sly as he purses his lips, blinking his dark eyes even larger.
“Yeah, it’s just her and me, or, well —” he smiles, wrinkling his nose so adorably that Jinyoung feels it in his chest, “Her, me and the Lost Boys, they’ve been on repeat for the last four days, there are apparently —”
“— streaming goals,” they both finish together and then share a smile before breaking out in a shared fit of giggles.
“Well, I hope you find your lost boy,” Jackson says after the giggles have subsided. He looks at his phone, waving a bit apologetically with one hand as he types something into the screen with the other, “It’s my girl, she needs me to come home, but it was nice meeting you.”
“A pun, really?” Jinyoung shakes his head and his hand curls at his side as he watches Jackson walk towards the elevator, pressing the button to call it.
“It’s my job as a dad, isn’t it, to have a bad sense of humor?” Jackson smiles at him, raising an eyebrow.
“I suppose,” Jinyoung smiles, ducking his head and tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear, like a teenage girl, “Hey —”
The elevator dings and Jackson walks inside it. He turns around, looking like a vision. The slightly too bright fluorescent lighting doesn’t wash him out at all, instead just makes him look warmer, showing the soft stubble along his jaw.
“See you around, Jinyoungie, yeah?” he says, smiling so warm that Jinyoung feels his stomach flip. The elevator door shuts. The world, suddenly, feels a bit less bright.
“DAD!” Sungmi comes screeching down the stairs, waving her arm over her head, “I found him!”
“Oh, thank God,” Jinyoung says, seriously, dutifully checking the little card that Sungmi is holding up to make sure it isn’t damaged, smiling to himself as he remembers the joke Jackson just said, stealing some of it for himself, “Well, I’m glad he’s no longer lost in the literal sense and only in the metaphorical.”
Sungmi groans, wiggling her shoulders, but when she rolls her eyes, it’s with a smile. Jinyoung ruffles her hair, carefully, so he doesn’t ruin her hairstyle, and then calls the elevator. When they step into it once it arrives, Jinyoung kind of imagines that the slight scent of spice is still there, hanging in the air.
No matter. It’s time for dinner, and while he doesn’t forget Jackson, of course he doesn’t, his life is more than a fleeting crush. And when he steps out of the elevator, listening attentively to Sungmi’s explanation of why this card is more valuable than any other, he finds himself smiling easier, his steps feeling a bit lighter. It’s nice, to be flirted with, after all.
Even if it’ll never lead anywhere.