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The first thing Jackson hears when he returns to the playground, besides the pitter patter of little feet and the occasional battle cry from a legion of toddlers going to war with a horde of pigeons, is—“Baba! Watch this!”
The second thing he hears is a heart stopping thud! followed by a little girl shouting, "Appa! I can do that too!”
The third and final thing, thank God, is Namjoon yelling, “Hanseo, no!”
Jackson was only gone for nine minutes. Nine minutes— just long enough to buy their ice creams and pet the puppy he saw running with its owner—but it seems like that’s all it takes for his son and Namjoon’s daughter to almost break their necks on the jungle gym. Thankfully, Hanseo doesn’t have the chance to follow Jun because Namjoon, with all the grace of a stampeding rhinoceros, sprints to her before she can leap off the metal bars and plummet seven feet to the rubbery ground.
“Baba, Baba! Did you see me?” Jun asks, running up to Jackson with dirt on his face and a triumphant smile to match, all gap-toothed and beaming. “I jumped to the fourth bar! All by myself!”
“You also gave Uncle Joonie a heart attack, Little Prince.” Jackson reaches forward to wipe the smudge from Jun’s cheek, but the boy pushes his hand away and attempts to snatch the cup of mint chip ice cream (that wasn’t even his).
“Hey, you said you wanted the cookie dough. That one’s mine.”
“I changed my mind! I want this one. It’s your favorite, so it’s mine too!” Jun swoops in a second time, nearly grabbing the tray and knocking Jackson’s knees out from under him in a show of quick reflexes that no seven-year old should have. Jackson knows Jun gets his athleticism from his side of the family, but Jesus, it could’ve waited a few years to develop. Maybe even skip a generation because Jackson needs a break.
“Jun-ah, wait. Clean your hands before you eat.” Jackson unhooks the bottle of hand-sanitizer from his belt loop and squirts a generous amount into Jun’s waiting hands. He keeps an eye on Jun to make sure he actually uses it rather than flicking the dollop to the ground because he hates the smell of strawberry, Jackson’s favorite. It’s only when Jun presents his clean hands to Jackson, palms up and pouting like he was forced to endure the worst punishment known to man, does he get his ice cream.
Correction. He gets Jackson’s ice cream.
Namjoon appears next to them with Hanseo slung over his shoulder and a grimace taking root on his face, screwing his lips and eyes so tight it makes him look like Jackson insulted his bloodline and backhanded him all in one sitting.
“Don’t say anything in front of the kids, Namjoon-ah,” Jackson says, catching him before he could make his dislike for the, apparently, offending flavor known to the entire park. For the second time.
“I wasn’t going to say anything…” Namjoon trails off, only to receive a disapproving look from both Jackson and his daughter. If Seokjin’s eyebrow raise can make men scatter across a battlefield, then one look from their daughter can bring hellfire down amongst an entire kingdom. Namjoon clears his throat and pats Hanseo’s back. “Bad. I wasn’t going to say anything bad, promise.”
“You’re a bad liar, Uncle Joonie,” Jun says around a mouthful of ice cream. Namjoon plants a hand on his fluffy hair, mussed from running and climbing and jumping from things he should not jump from, then spins him around and pushes him aside. Jun only laughs and skips around Namjoon, taunting his cup right under his nose.
“You only get that flavor to spite me,” Namjoon accuses, putting Hanseo on her feet so she can clean her hands and grab her cup—vanilla, another choice Namjoon doesn’t agree with—then stand next to Jun so they can share.
“I’ve been doing it for years, how can you only realize this now?” Jackson jokes.
“Because you’re a menace to society.”
“Oh stop it, Namjoon-ah. You’re gonna make me blush.” He hands Namjoon his chocolate ice cream—how original, Jackson thinks—before taking his own and dumping the tray in a nearby trash can.
“My papa made Appa blush this morning,” Hanseo excitedly adds. She bounces on the soles of her feet, her tiny body buzzing with eagerness to be included in the conversation, but she doesn’t speak until she shovels a spoonful of her ice cream into Jun’s mouth. “Papa called him handsome. You should’ve seen him, Uncle Jackson! Appa was so red, like, redder than a tomato! I only see Appa blush like that around Papa, they’re so cute.”
Namjoon makes a noise that sounds like a strangled cat, loud enough to scare the handful of birds perched on the tree branch above them and earn himself a concerned look from a mother passing by with her baby stroller. Jackson pats his back sympathetically in a way that says ‘don’t worry bro, my kids do that all the time,’ but it seems like Namjoon’s too busy choking on his chocolatey embarrassment to notice.
“Baba calls my appa pretty everyday,” Jun says matter of factly, “He also says Appa has a nice butt.”
It’s Jackson’s turn to resemble a dying animal, this one holding a candle to a squawking bird, and, like clockwork, Namjoon is there to slam a heavy hand across Jackson’s back. There’s no sympathy behind his actions, however, because he’s also trying—and failing, the bastard—to keep his amused chuckles under control. Little hoots of effort break through Namjoon’s thinly pressed smile and they only burst forth when Jun decides to correct himself.
“No, wait. Baba says Appa’s butt is big. He says it’s fat too, but I can’t say the word he says after that. It’s a bad word—”
“Okay!” Jackson interjects loudly, voice carrying over Namjoon’s belly-clutching laughter, “Enough of that, no one wants to hear anything about your appa’s butt.”
“I’d love to!” Namjoon heaves, managing to fit the words around a wheeze.
“Shush, no one cares about what you think. Just stay there and try not to die.” Jackson turns to the kids, ignoring Namjoon’s laugh that’s quickly turning into what sounds like a howl, then motions towards the trash can with a wave of his small plastic spoon. “Go throw your trash away if you two are done. Jun, there should be wet wipes in your backpack, please clean your hands and face before going back to the playground.”
“But why should I be clean when I’m gonna get dirty again?” Jun asks, his little voice holding so much curiosity for something that should be answered with a simple ‘because I said so.’
“Because you won’t have to shower when you get home if you’re clean now!” Hanseo says instead, all happy and wide-eyed, looking like she just unearthed the hidden truth to an age-old question. Jackson watches the realization dawn on Jun’s features, the ideas piecing themselves together in his head until he’s nodding along, and, at that moment, he knows his son is at the point of no return.
“You’re so smart, Hanseo-ah! Baba, isn’t she smart? She’s the smartest in our class, she always gets the right answer when Yang-seonsaengnim calls on her, did you know that? She never misses a question! My best friend is the smartest person ever!” Jun rambles in a single breath, sounding like he just ran a 5K marathon. In his momentary thrill to boast about his friend, he began bouncing on the soles of his feet and instinctively grabbed Hanseo’s already outstretched hand, linking their fingers.
Jackson’s entire chest goes off in a burst of warmth, a tingly sensation surges through his arms and legs until he feels like he’s wrapped in a cozy blanket despite the telltale signs of summer creeping around the corner. Jackson always had the looming thought that Jun would have difficulties making friends, he was never a social baby, even to his relatives, but the moment Hanseo crawled into the picture when they were mere toddlers, barely old enough to walk let alone know what a friend was, they became inseparable. They complete each other, Jackson notices for the umpteenth time as Hanseo stops Jun’s bouncing with a gentle squeeze of her hand, as if she’s the steadfast axis keeping Jun’s world from spinning too fast, easing his rotation to a slow orbit so he can always stay grounded.
There’s something so pure about finding your person at a young age, Jackson certainly wishes he met Jinyoung in his childhood years, that would’ve made growing up in a new country bearable. Watching Jun live a life he’s eager to share with someone he can proudly call a best friend is one of the many parts of being a parent that Jackson is delighted to witness.
They stay like that, Hanseo holding Jun’s hand as he weaves an animated tale of how they drew, and Jackson quotes, ‘the coolest, most awesomest picture of a bird in science class. Seriously, Baba, it had big wings and a sharp beak and it was blue! Have you ever seen a blue bird? Hanseo-ah colored it, it was so pretty!’ until Namjoon appears beside Jackson with a baggie full of wipes and an understanding smile.
“How many times have you heard this one since yesterday?” He asks, gently prying the kids’ hands apart so he can clean Hanseo’s sticky fingers.
“I lost count. I think it was somewhere after the twelfth time when I started to space out.” Jackson pinches at the baby fat of Jun’s cheeks, ridding him of his fleeting frown at being interrupted, then he wipes down his son’s grimy hands. “Don’t give me that look, Little Prince. You talked about your bird so much that Jihyun fell asleep in the car. Even Appa can tell you what it looks like and he’s never even seen it before.”
“I like it when Jun-ah talks,” Hanseo says, her cheeks dimpling in a way that makes her look exactly like her father. “I like listening to him. He always has cool stuff to say.”
Immediately, Jun and Hanseo’s hands find each other again like two magnets caught in a force field. They share toothy smiles, the same one Jun wears when he’s watching TV and his favorite character enters the scene. There’s wonderment and fondness and so much endearment evident on his face that Jackson has to turn away lest pink flowers and sparkles start popping up around them. He chances a quick glance at Namjoon only to find him grinning behind a curled hand, the corners of his lips wavering and telling Jackson that he’s about one more sweet moment away from opening the floodgates and washing out this entire park. Jackson pats his shoulder, mouthing ‘I know, I know’ because he does, in fact, know the feeling of almost having your entire heart burst like a balloon full of confetti just from watching the little people they made and raised and—
Ah. There goes the confetti.
The kids take their empty ice cream cups to the trash and, unsurprisingly, sprint back to the playground. Jun is a fast little rugrat, Jackson can’t count how many times he’s slipped past both him and Jinyoung when they’re trying to get him into the bath, but despite his physical prowess showing at such a young age, he never increases his pace with Hanseo. He always keeps to her steps so they can still hold hands all the way to the slide, and only when he tells her to go down first, do they separate.
“You know, for the record,” Namjoon starts, sounding like he thinks he’s about to make a valid point, “There’s someone else I know who used to talk a lot. Like, a lot. More than what I think anyone was capable of doing in Oh-seonsaengnim’s class when we were supposed to be quiet.”
There, see? Invalid. “Well, for the record,” Jackson mocks, changing his voice into a terrible impersonation of Namjoon’s, “if Oh-seonsaengnim didn’t give us so much free time, I would’ve tried to stay quiet.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“Can’t you ever give me the benefit of the doubt?”
“No,” Namjoon confirms simply, “For you? Never.”
They mosey over to the bench that’s a little ways from the playground, far away from the handful of kids having a very intense NERF gun war, but close enough so they can keep an eye on their children. Both of them, especially Hanseo, can be extremely clumsy when they’re not leaping from jungle gyms, and the last thing Jackson wants is a scraped knee. And a broken bone, but he can’t handle blood, he just can’t. It may be all fun and games to them, but to a parent, a playground is a pipeline to the hospital and Jackson’s keeping a track record for six years of not visiting that antiseptic smelling, white-walled building that he swears he didn’t get lost in. Jihyun’s birth was the last time he ever stepped into one.
In the midst of Jackson watching Jun help Hanseo off the slide, Namjoon mentions Jun’s lack of his normal red and blue attire, saying it’s strange to see him in actual clothes besides his school uniform.
“How did you and Jinyoung wrestle him out of his costume? Bribery? A weekend at grandma’s? No chores for a week?”
“Jihyun,” Jackson answers, as if that explains all of it. It does, and Namjoon nods in understanding because he knows exactly just what Jackson’s daughter is capable of.
Jun’s been wearing his Spider-Man costume for the past week and a half, absolutely refusing to let either of his dads wash it despite the questionable stains on the front that not even he knows the origins of. Ever since Mark introduced him to the Ninja Turtles first, then the web-slinging teenager with daddy issues second, Jun’s been more of a handful than usual. Jinyoung pulled in the big guns today and told Jihyun to get her brother into real clothes for the park lest he attempts to manifest his own radioactive powers and start crawling up the metal beams.
Though, even without his costume, Jun still leaps, climbs, and attempts to backflip from just about anything. He doesn’t even know how to do a backflip.
“You got it easy, Jack. I told Hanseo that Hoseok-hyung won’t hug her anymore if she doesn't wash her Rapunzle outfit. You would not believe the tears this kid cried at the thought of not getting her hugs from Uncle Hobi.” Namjoon groans and scrubs his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes like that single experience aged him ten years. And it probably did . If Jackson looks through his hair right now, he wouldn’t be surprised if he finds a handful of gray strands buried amongst the streaks of blond. “And Insu was no help at all. He just sat there and watched.”
“He’s nine-months old, Namjoon-ah. That’s all he can do.”
“He could’ve given me emotional support! I needed it!”
“I think what you need is a load off,” Jackson says, reaching into the mini cooler under the bench and presenting Namjoon with a small carton decorated with tiny dancing apples. “Juice box?”
“Do you have any orange juice?”
“I got grape.”
“Apple it is.”
They clink their boxes, sipping their juice from tiny bendy straws that takes Jackson back to their college years when him and Namjoon used to go bar hopping after a stressful day and spill their hearts out over whatever a pair of broke twenty-two year olds could afford for the night, then they return their attention to their kids—who are now climbing on top of the swingset.
“Jun Wang!” Jackson roars at the same time as Namjoon yells, “Kim Hanseo!” Their voices fall into fearful unison when they shout, “Get down from there!”
“Baba! Look at me!” Jun hauls himself up onto the metal structure, gabbing the middle beam with both hands to pull his legs up until the back of his knees hook over the frame and he’s dangling there like one of the potted plants Jinyoung keeps on their balcony. Hanseo is sitting next to him and waving to Namjoon with such a large grin on her face that it makes her seem like she knows what she’s doing and that they’re not in any danger. But they definitely are, because they’re thirteen-feet off the ground.
Jackson bulldozes his way to the bottom of the swings with Namjoon hot on his tail, the two of them nearly trampling a kid in their haste to make sure their children don’t plunge to the sand that most definitely won’t break their fall. Jackson knows; he knows all too well because these are the same swings Mark and him used to launch themselves off of at concerning speeds in high school trying to see who can land the farthest. Jackson may have won almost every time, but he experienced just about every way to eat sand and he’s not about to let his son learn the way he did.
“Hanseo-ah, how did you get up there?” Namjoon asks, totally missing the point of not how she got up there, but how to get her down.
“I followed Jun-ah!”
“She followed Jun,” Namjoon repeats, directing a squinted glare point blank at Jackson’s forehead. He stands under her with his arms open and a sort of wild look in his eye, almost as if this is the worst thing Jun could’ve taught her. “Just jump, honey, Appa will catch you!”
“But I’m having fun!”
“I’m not!”
“Jun-ah,” Jackson calls with his arms in the same position, “come down. What would Appa say if he sees you up there?”
“I dunno, why don’t you ask him?” Jun points to something behind Jackson, his smile growing bigger and his eyes crinkling at the edges, “Appa, look at me!”
A chilling shudder races down Jackson’s spine and he assumes winter came early because there’s nothing besides a raging blizzard that can make the scorching heat of a May afternoon suddenly drop to below zero.
Jackson’s husband, however, is the only exception.
“Jun-ah, get down from there right now,” Jinyoung declares, appearing beside Jackson like he materialized out of thin air. He’s eerily calm and that’s what scares Jackson the most.
Jun pouts in the same way Jinyoung does, with too much lip and too big doe eyes. He swings a little more, letting all the blood rush to his chubby cheeks. “But Appa—”
Jinyoung cuts him off with a raised hand and extends his arms, beckoning for Jun with a subtle wave. Jun must sense the air around them shift from hair-raising to holding a demand so absolute that it takes him less than five seconds to grip the overhead bar to detach his knees and flip unceremoniously into Jinyoung’s awaiting arms.
“Sorry, Appa.”
“No need to be sorry, Little Prince. Just don’t climb that high again, okay?” Jinyoung kisses Jun’s temple sweetly and hugs him extra tight, squeezing him until his pinking ears turn a shade of red that piques concern in Jackson’s gut. He has to smooth a hand down the length of Jinyoung’s spine to remind him that Jun needs air to, y’know, breathe. He releases Jun with a little huff and one last kiss to his forehead. “Go and play, we’re going home soon.”
That single sentence sends Jun haywire, and there’s a part in Jackson wondering if Jinyoung did it on purpose. When Jinyoung guides Jackson’s hand from the small of his back to his waist and hip checks him, Jackson’s question is answered.
“C’mon Hanseo-ah, there’s so much to do before we leave!” Jun tugs on the sleeves of Namjoon’s flannel tied around his waist as if that’ll make Hanseo move faster. “Uncle Joonie, get her down! We need to play on the bouncy bridge and ride the springy horses and the climb the rock wall and—”
“Jackson, please tell your clone that I’m trying.”
“Try harder, Uncle Joonie!”
“What does it look like I’m do— oomph!”
Hanseo is very smart, Jackson knows this much. She’s diligent and mature for her age, exhibiting wisdom beyond that of any seven year old Jackson’s ever met—which, now that he thinks about it, is a pretty small pool to gauge from—with an air of brilliance that can and will take her places above anyone’s expectations. She also has impeccable comedic timing because Jackson couldn’t have chosen a better moment for her to drop from the swing’s frame and land in Namjoon’s arms, crumpling him to the ground like a wet sheet of leaf paper.
“I want the yellow horse!” She exclaims, scrambling from the ground to immediately take Jun’s hand and dash towards the kiddie rides.
Jackson peers down at Namjoon’s slumped form, trying and ultimately failing to suppress his giggles. “You alright there, buddy?”
Namjoon says a few choice words no mother would be thrilled to hear, then stands on shaky feet. Jinyoung takes it upon himself to dust Namjoon’s shoulder free of sand and straighten his crooked shirt now covered in whatever the unsanitary ground has to offer. Seokjin isn’t going to be very pleased to see not only his daughter covered in grim, but his husband too.
“We’re never coming to the park with you and your carbon copy of a child ever again,” Namjoon says, all weighty and serious, as if it wasn’t his idea to meet here in the first place.
“That’s okay,” Jackson laughs, “the kids want to go swimming next weekend.”
Jinyoung pinches a section of skin on Jackson’s side when all the blood rushes from Namjoon’s face and he looks like he might faint at the mere idea of Jun at a public pool.
In an effort to change the subject because Namjoon might actually keel over, Jackson asks Jinyoung what he’s doing at the park when he knows he left his husband and daughter at home. It’s cleaning day, Jinyoung never skips cleaning day, and yet here he is, daughterless and looking like he didn’t lift a finger. Granted, he never has to do much with Jackson around, but he’s the one who pushed Jackson and Jun out the door because Namjoon called and said Hanseo wanted to see Jun, stating, and Jackson swears by this, ‘I work better when you aren’t around to distract me.’
“Yugyeom came by and stole my daughter,” Jinyoung answers as they walk back to the bench. Jackson can hear the hint of affection in his voice, the soft lilt to his tone anytime Yugyeom and Jihyun are mentioned. They’re inseparable, those two, and Jackson brims with delight knowing Jihyun is having a fun Saturday with her favorite uncle. “I managed to sweep and mop the floors before the lack of yelling and stomping feet got to my head. I thought I’d take a break and walk down to get coffee from the cafe near home, then I ended up here.”
“Seokjin does the opposite,” Namjoon comments. “When the house gets too quiet he makes his own noise to make up for it. Sometimes he even calls Jungkook over just to fill space.”
Jinyoung hums, settling into Jackson’s side on the bench that’s obviously meant to seat only two people, not three, nearly depositing himself in his husband's lap in his attempt to get comfortable. “I’ll call him next time. We’ve been meaning to get lunch for the past week, but we can never find time. We can’t even have a conversion during the morning drop-off without someone interrupting us.”
“Is it that music teacher? Because, I swear Jinyoungie, if it is then—”
“Sseun-ah,” Jinyoung says, shifting so he can run a placating hand along Jackson’s shoulders, thumbing at the base of his neck.
Namjoon watches them, amused. “Seokjin’s been saying he wants to hang out with you. He talks about you just as much as Hanseo talks about Jun.”
“I think Jun has both of them beat in that category because all he ever talks about is Spider-Man,” Jackson adds, pointing in his son’s direction.
All three of them fix their attention on Jun speaking enthusiastically to Hanseo sitting in the grass near the rock wall, watching him reenact a lively scene from the superhero’s latest movie. He swings his arms in wide arcs, pretends to shoot webs from his wrist, performs somersaults and puts on a huge show of what looks like…crying? Was there a lot of crying in this movie? Jackson has no idea, Mark and BamBam took Jun to the theaters that day and they said it was a ‘once in a lifetime cinematic experience.’
Jackson assumes he has to watch it now because Jun is laying on the fake tears real thick and Jackson’s interest is now piqued.
Throughout his little recreation of what’s most likely misplaced scenes and missing context, Hanseo still claps along with him, smiling so brightly Jackson’s surprised the sun hasn’t turned away from her sheer enthrallment at listening to Jun speak.
“They’re cute,” Namjoon finally says, gaze wondrous and eyes a little misty as he watches them. “They see each other everyday, but they still find a million and one different things to talk about.”
Jackson chuckles. “Don’t we all want to talk to our favorite person?”
“Apparently not because I haven’t spoken to Jimin in three days.”
“I’m telling your husband you said that.”
Namjoon’s eyes go wide then he's facing Jackson and grabbing his shoulders, his long fingers squeezing the thick swell of his trap muscles in a plea for mercy.
“Please don't.”
“Actually, I don't think I have to.” Namjoon squints, cocking his head to the side. “Because he's right there.”
“Very funny, Jackson. Your jokes can't—”
“When were you going to tell me I'm not your favorite person?”
Namjoon screams and Jackson’s resulting grin is positively gleeful. Beside them, Jinyoung stifles a laugh into his fist.
Kim Seokjin is a lot of things. Be it an absolute threat to peace and tranquility, one helluva of a whirlwind on the dance floor, or one-half of the nurturing fathers to two of the sweetest kids Jackson’s ever met, Seokjin can be it all. One thing that is undeniable in his advanced skill set of Seokjinian talent is to look intimidating no matter the circumstance. This particular moment in time is a first because Jackson doesn’t have the slightest clue as to how he can look menacing with a baby blowing spit bubbles strapped to his chest.
“So after all these years, huh? After marriage and kids and mortgage,” Seokjin lists, gravely, sounding like he’s counting down to Namjoon’s demise, “I put everything into this relationship—gave you every piece of my entire being and this is how you repay me? By saying I’m not your favorite person?”
If Jackson looks up the definition of scared-shitless, then a photo of Namjoon with his hands clasped together and tucked under his chin as if he’s praying for repentance would be the top result. Jackson should feel sorry for him, but he doesn’t because Namjoon, for all his smarty-pants ambiance and use of big words that make him sound like an old man, blatantly walked into this situation. Now, he has to suck it up and face the consequences. Godspeed, brother.
“Any last words?” Seokjin asks. He magically produced a baby bottle from somewhere and is now threateningly pointing the nipple between Namjoon’s eyes. Insu sees his food being used as a weapon of mass destruction and reaches forward, wiggling his little sausage fingers to no avail. Seokjin has a deathgrip on that bottle and by no means will he let it go.
“Make it good, Namjoon-ah,” Jackson says, chuckling into Jinyoung’s shoulder, “Say something philosophical. Quote one of those books you’re always reading, or a poem. Maybe think of some romantic shit—”
Jinyoung promptly clamps a hand over Jackson’s mouth before Namjoon can take the sharp end of his bendy straw and stab him with it. Instead, Namjoon settles for flinging his fist backwards and planting it right between a pair of Jackson’s ribs, making him emit a muffled squawk that has Insu giggling into a chubby hand.
“I feel like anything I say will be classified as wrong,” Namjoon starts cautiously, slowly rising to his feet like he’s cornered by a vicious beast and is one misstep away from having his jugular ripped out.
“Correct,” Seokjin answers. “You have five seconds before the council reaches their final verdict.”
“Five seconds? Babe—”
“Five.”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous—”
“Four.”
“Can we not do this in public—”
“One”
“You can’t skip—!”
“Council!” Seokjin proclaims, looking down at Insu, “What is your answer?”
Jackson holds his breath for the deciding decision as if he has a front row seat to Judgment Day, his attention undivided and solely focused on a child attempting to fit his entire fist in his mouth. In his lap, Jinyoung looks just as invested, sporting the same nail-gnawing expression he wears when he gets to the good part of a book.
Silence rings in their little part of the park, quiet enough to hear the breath of an ant, then, “Plaaah gwah!”
“Plaaah gwah!” Seokjin repeats.
“Plaaah gwah!” Jackson echos, voice still smothered but loud enough to get another rise out of Namjoon, this one being a quick middle finger flip off. Jinyoung firmly presses his hand down on Jackson’s mouth per Namjoon’s pitiful whine and Jackson has half a mind to bite him.
Seokjin thrusts the baby bottle towards Namjoon’s neck, the nipple just under his Adam’s apple, and reaches out to fist his shirt in an imperiling grip. Between them, Insu smears a spit-slippery hand over Namjoon’s chest and smacks at his pecs like he’s playing Whac-A-Mole, babbling what Jackson can assume is, “Appa! Appa!” in babynese.
“The council has reached a decision,” Seokjin narrates with a mirthful grin, something in his big dark eyes gleam with nothing but trouble, “By the power vested in me, I now declare your punishment to be—”
Here’s the thing about Namjoon: he’s really fucking smart. So smart that Jackson wonders just what he’s doing as a college professor when he could be off changing the world or speaking at global seminars or whatever the hell ridiculously intelligent people like him can do. In fact, he’s so smart that he not only gives Insu his baby bottle back with reflexes Jackson didn’t know he possesses, but he also tames the ravenous demon that is Seokjin by swiftly looping an arm around his middle and bringing him in for a kiss.
Just like that, as if Seokjin wasn’t moments away from committing homicide via baby formula, his menacing aura is quelled to a gentle hum of appreciation and a soft stroke of Namjoon’s cheek. He’s smiling now, which in turn makes Namjoon smile, which makes Insu giggle with his bottle in his mouth, because there’s nothing that this kid loves more than to see his parents happy.
Before Jackson can throw the nearest object at the joyus couple—because, hello, he doesn’t want to watch Seokjin stick his tongue down Namjoon’s throat—Jinyoung finally removes his hand from Jackson’s mouth and grips his chin between two fingers, tilting his head up to capture his lips in their own kiss. It’s unhurried, slow in a way that makes time turn sluggish around them like Jackson dive-bombed into a pool of golden honey and he’s swiming through the syrup, langishly moving to preserve the feeling of sweet serenity. Jackson sighs, his expression melting into one of pure bliss because Jinyoung can definitely do that to him, making him lose all functionality and awareness of where they are. Jinyoung has to nip Jackson’s lip to remind him that they’re in a parkful of families with their children, so the hand mindlessly wandering up Jinyoung’s thigh should really stop at his hip.
“What was that for?” Jackson asks when they separate, senses a little hazy and words just the slightest bit slurred. It takes a moment for his eyes to readjust, they crossed somewhere between his heart rate speeding up and his brain shutting down, and when they refocus so Jackson can see one Jinyoung instead of two, he’s elated to see the goofy smile etched across Jinyoung’s face.
“I just wanted to,” Jinyoung nuzzles into him, brushing their noses together. He’s wearing a petal pink tint to his lips and cheeks, pretty like a blooming flower in Spring, delicate in a way that makes Jackson want to caress every part of him. Jackson burns the image into his mind and stores it in the file in his head. The file is colored an obnoxiously eyecatching highlighter yellow and is labeled ‘JINYOUNG PICTURES THAT MAKE ME STUPID’ in big bold lettering. It’s a file he updates regularly because it’s a well known fact—so well known that every person in their life is intimately aware—that Jinyoung can effortlessly reduce Jackson to nothing but a bumbling pile of dumbstruck lovey goo.
Jackson always says Jinyoung has too much power in his hands, Jinyoung says this isn’t half of what he’s capable of. After more than a decade of knowing him, of four years as boyfriends and the last eight as husbands, Jackson is convinced he’s only experienced a fraction of what Jinyoung can really do to him. Just the mere idea of discovering things about Jinyoung he’s yet to unearth has him giddy with breathless eagerness, it has a tingly buzz soaring up his spine.
“You two are sweet,” Seokjin announces. He rests his head on Namjoon’s wide shoulder, and Namjoon’s arm immediately wraps around his waist without a second thought. In his carrier, Insu is continuously looking between them, turning his head this way and that like he’s watching a tennis match, his eyes swimming with the kind of wonderment Namjoon possesses when he watches a movie for the first time. He’s smiling while he does it, the lone dimple on his right cheek deepening each time his gaze switches from one dad to the other, and it only broadens into a mini crater in his sun-kissed skin when Seokjin swoops down to peck the top of his fluffy head.
“We’re sweeter,” Namjoon challenges, tightening his hold on his husband’s hip.
Jackson scoffs, waving off Namjoon’s ridiculous notion with a flick of his wrist. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Namjoon-ah.”
“I’m not starting anything. I’m just saying.”
“I feel provoked anytime you say ‘I’m just saying.’ Do you like provoking me? Is it fun for you?”
“Yes,” Namjoon states without a shred of hesitation. Jinyoung has to squeeze the back of Jackson’s neck in warning, his grip reminding Jackson that ‘there are children around,’ or else he would have tackled Namjoon by now. Seokjin must’ve seen it because he sends Jinyoung a thankful smile that makes Jackson want to roll his eyes because it’s not like he wasn’t about to become a single father less than three minutes ago.
Jackson shrugs, then gives his friend a half-hearted side eye. “Just know that whatever you say can and will be used against you. And if you continue to heckle me, then I’m telling my son to go for your kneecaps.”
“Darling, don’t use Jun as an attack dog,” Jinyoung scolds, but there’s no heat behind his words, “Use Jihyun. She’s scarier.”
Namjoon promptly shuts his trap, and rightfully so because the open threat of being on the receiving end of Jihyun’s Jinyoungian rage will give a man nightmares. Jackson should know, he’s had a few of them himself.
The sound of a high pitched, glass-shattering squeal pierces through the air, and, immediately, Seokjin braces himself for the incoming impact of a little body running at breakneck speed.
“Insu-ah!” Hanseo shouts. She’s dashing from the playground with Jun following closely behind her, both of them taking long strides that instantaneously make all the parents wary.
Apprehension isn’t a foreign feeling amongst the four of them, it hasn’t been since the day Jun and Hanseo learned how to walk and ended up sporting matching bumps on their foreheads from stumbling into a wall. Jackson is as well-acquainted with the feeling, the uneasy churn of his gut any time Jun does anything potentially harmful, that his body welcomes it like a family member at the Thanksgiving table, like the unwanted uncle nobody likes but can't seem to kick out.
Jinyoung is half-way out of Jackson’s lap before he’s calling, “Jun-ah, don’t run so fast!”
“Hanseo-ah, baby, slow down!” Namjoon cries. He’s wearing that wild look again, a direct imitation of Seokjin’s.
Neither child listens and, similar to that day seven years ago, they both stumble over their own feet and collide full tilt with each other. Hands attempt to find purchase of lost balance, clawing at the air only to find an absence of stability, then they fall over themselves in a haphazard pile of ungraceful limbs. At once, Jun is jumping to his feet and helping Hanseo to hers, dusting off her shirt, her leggings, fixing her messy bangs. Jun gently cups her face in his palms, asking if she’s okay, to which Hanseo nods then copies the action, squishing Jun’s cheeks in her hands and wiping at a smear of dirt across his chin. Without missing a beat, all of them, even Insu in his baby, drool-covered glory, coo.
“I don’t think they’re ever going to find another friend like each other,” Namjoon says, using his professor’s voice, the one he reserves for when he wants to cause a bit of emotional damage to his students or otherwise. “It’ll be physically impossible to duplicate whatever they have. It's special, this kind of bond happens only once in a lifetime. It’s like they’re cut from the same cloth and were sewn back together after finding each other, their threads connecting in ways no one but them will understand.” He pauses, his eyes going soft, then, “It’s like they’re soulmates.”
“Okay, Mr. Hallmark, would you like me to send this to the producers? It's very Christmas time-esque,” Jackson jokes, knowing fully well he was hanging onto every word Namjoon said. “I can see the previews now, ‘Childhood friends who lost contact years ago are reunited by the holiday spirit just in time for the annual winter festival.’ It'll be a hit, recorded on every suburban mom’s DVR.”
Jinyoung pinches his cheek, but he presses a kiss to Jackson’s shoulder, hiding his grin. Jackson is thrilled to know he can feel it through his shirt.
“You know, I think I’ll take back what I said earlier,” Seokjin sighs happily. “Those two are sweet, sweeter than any of us could ever be.”
This is something both Jackson and Namjoon can agree with wholeheartedly.
The kids walk the remainder of their way to them with linked hands and twinned stains. Jinyoung and Seokjin sigh upon seeing the dirt, grass, sand, and what Jackson hopes is mud caked onto their clothes. He wonders if there’s a hose around here somewhere so he can spray them down before getting into the car.
“Insu-ah!” Hanseo exclaims. Her brother immediately lights up brighter than a fireworks show and makes grabby hands in her direction. Seokjin doesn’t waver in leaning down so she can peck Insu’s cheek. “Appa, what are you doing here? Are you going to play with us?”
“Yeah, Uncle Jinnie! Play with us!” Jun’s bouncing again, but with one tug of his hand, he quickly quiets down and settles for making silly faces at Insu.
“Not today, sweetheart. I was bored at home, but now I have something to do.”
“You do?” Namjoon asks, curiosity piquing in his voice.
Seokjin fondly smiles at him and removes Insu from his carrier, thrusting him into Namjoon’s arms. He unbuckles the straps and shimmies the contraption off, switching his gaze from his husband to Jackson’s. “I’m going out with Jinyoungie.”
Both Jackson and Namjoon give very intelligent ‘huhs?’ at the same time Jinyoung laughs, his eyes crinkling in enjoyment at the sudden declaration of an outing. He stands from Jackson’s lap and Seokjin prances over to him to link their arms at the creases of their elbows, looking like they’re ready to run away together. Which they are.
“Today might be the only day both of us are free, so I’m not going to waste it. I need to seize every opportunity that I can! Right, Jinyoungie? Tell me I’m right.”
“You’re right, hyung,” Jinyoung supplies, affection dripping from his voice like a leaky fact.
Jackson is jumping to his feet like someone’s lit a fire under his ass and that someone is Seokjin. “Namjoon-ah, your husband is stealing my Jinyoungie. Make him stop.”
“Yeah, Namjoon-ah, make me stop,” Seokjin drawls. For all the ways fire is destructive and all-consuming, Seokjin’s fire is worse. Like, a hundred times worse. Silence rings in their little bubble of the crowded park, before Seokjin runs a hand through his hair and settles Namjoon with a pointed stare. His mouth curves up into a slicing grin and Namjoon’s Adam’s apple bobs.
“No thank you, I choose life,” he says instead. “Hope you two have fun!”
Jackson huffs, defeated, because there’s no use in stopping either of them once they make up their minds. Plus, he doesn’t think he can go up against both Seokjin and Jinyoung and live to tell the tale. Namjoon’s right, life is a beautiful thing and Jackson would like to enjoy his a little longer.
“Please bring him back in one piece, preferably by tomorrow.”
Seokjin’s grin sharpens. “I make no such promises on either notion.”
“Namjoon!”
“Just promise us you’ll be safe, please.” Namjoon switches Insu to his other arm, the carrier dangling from his shoulder, and reaches towards Seokjin with an outstretched hand to cup his nape, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Kids, say bye to your appas.”
Jun and Hanseo jump into their fathers’ arms, pushing their little faces into Jinyoung and Seokjin’s necks. Normally, goodbyes are worth a low-lipped pout and the saddest puppy eyes Jackson’s ever bared witness to, but surprisingly, neither child is saddened to let their dads go. Jun probably knows Jinyoung’s normally apathetic attitude towards anything involving the words “going” and “out” are nonexistent in Seokjin’s presence, thinking since he got a day with his best friend, then Jinyoung deserves one too.
But Seokjin isn’t Jinyoung’s best friend, it’s him. Jackson. Jinyoung’s husband. The love of his life. Jackson’s his best friend and he’ll fight anyone who thinks otherwise.
“We’ll call you guys later,” Seokjin promises, eyes sparkling against Insu planting a wet, sloppy kiss to his cheek.
“Please do. Jihyun’ll want to say goodnight before she goes to bed.” Jackson hugs Jinyoung close, rests his nose behind Jinyoung’s ear and lets himself sink into the familiar smell of his shampoo.
“If Yugyeom gives her back, that is. You know she has extra clothes at his house, he’s probably keeping her until Monday.”
“Great, so I got both my husband and daughter stolen from me? What next, my house and home?”
“You still got me, Baba!” Jun leaps from the ground like a goddamn jackrabbit and sprawls himself over Jackson’s back, wrapping his arms and legs securely around his upper body. Jackson laughs delightfully into the changing summer air and bunts their heads together.
Jinyoung grins. “I love you both. I’ll see you later.”
“I love you too,” both Jackson and Jun says.
“Don’t worry, Jack, I’ll take good care of him!” Seokjin says sincerely, hooking an arm around Jinyoung’s wasit and eyes softening at the corners, so much like the way Jinyoung’s do that Jackson instantly remembers how they’re friends.
They go off in the direction of Seokjin’s car, turning around one last time to wave to their families, then they’re lost in the throng of people mulling around the park. Namjoon adjusts Insu in his arms, the kid’s head is lolling around in the early moments of sleep, slumping to the side until Namjoon catches him and gently tucks him into his neck.
“Well, I guess that’s our cue to get going too. C’mon, Hanseo-ah, say goodbye to Jun-ah.”
“Actually,” Jackson interjects, “we’re not doing anything for the rest of the day.”
“But today’s cleaning day. You never miss cleaning day.”
How Namjoon knows that is beyond him. “Tomorrow can also be cleaning day.”
Namjoon squints at him. “Jackson?”
Jackson croches down so he’s eye-level with the kids, then he asks, “Do you guys wanna have a sleepover?”
Namjoon is unprepared for the exuberant chorus of ‘yes, yes, yes!’ and ‘Baba, can Hanseo-ah sleep over at our house? And can we watch Spirited Away tonight? And have dino nuggies for dinner? And can Hanseo-ah sleep in my room? We can make a fort on the floor and—
Hanseo squeezes Jun’s fingers to tamper down his ramblings that has Namjoon looking like he’s ready to bolt, but Jackson’s heavy hand clamping on his shoulder keeps him in place. Jackson beams at him, Namjoon pouts—an honest to God pout.
“I was just about to be free of you.”
“You can never get rid of me, Joonie. Not as long as those two are glued to each other.” As if to prove a point, Jun and Hanseo stand shoulder to shoulder and smile so sweetly that Jackson’s teeth ache.
“All of you will be the death of me,” Namjoon says, faux-gravely. Insu momentarily stirs, clutching his bottle close to his chest and drooling over Namjoon’s shoulder. “Yeah, you too.”
It’s easy to pack up when you have two kids eager to go home. Jun is frantically hurrying them because he thinks every second it takes to walk from the park to their cars is a second lost in their precious sleepover time. Hanseo is right beside him, hands held tightly together, listing all the things they’re going to do once they’re at the house, but Namjoon’s announcement of showering the moment they’re home makes both of them hang their lips so low they can clean floors with them.
“Can we make a fort after?” Hanseo asks, letting Namjoon buckle her into Jackson’s car.
Jun nods along, wiggling in his seat. “Yeah, I wanna make a big one! Like a fort kingdom!”
“A kingdom fit for a prince,” Jackson says, ruffling Jun’s hair.
“And a princess,” Namjoon adds. Jackson looks at him with big eyes, hopeful, and bounces on the soles of his feet, but Namjoon shoots him down before he can get a single word out. “I’m not building a fort with you.”
Jackson opens his mouth to speak.
“Or sharing a bed. You have a guest room for a reason.”
Jackson shuts his mouth with a peevish click of his tongue. “You’re no fun.”
“There’s nothing fun about being used as a body pillow to a human heater all night. You almost suffocated me in our sophomore year.”
“I don’t do that anymore, promise.”
“Lying is bad, Baba.”
Jackson boops Jun’s nose and slams the door shut, ignoring both his and Namjoon’s chuckles. They depart from the park, Namjoon saying he’s going to run home and gather an overnight bag for his kids, so Hanseo better behave while he’s gone. Jun promises that he’ll take good care of her until Namjoon arrives at the house, and something in Jackson tells him that Namjoon would trust Jun with his daughter more than he does any capable adult, Jackson included. Jackson isn’t surprised, he feels the same about Hanseo anyway.
It’s a quiet ride home once the kids fall asleep, the gentle rumbling of the car aiding in their nap and the only sound filling the silence coming from the radio playing a repeat of the same newest pop song Jackson’s heard for the past week. Jackson smiles to himself as he looks at them in the rearview mirror, finding joy in comparing the two of them to sunflowers at how they naturally lean towards each other.
It’s simple science. Sunflowers follow the sun, Jun and Hanseo follow each other. Jackson has never seen something as easy to understand until he looks at them. Jun thrives under Hanseo’s beaming rays of yellows and oranges, seeking her sunshine to aid in the growth of blooming petals, warm and radiant, golden like a summer’s day. Hanseo glows bright enough for the both of them, and when she doesn’t, she seeps into Jun’s reserves and pockets a handful of brilliant petals to keep for herself.
In the back of his mind, Jackson thinks, maybe they are soulmates. Namjoon’s been right on more than one account and he’ll be proud to know that he’s correct on another one, adding an additional tack to the board that he swears he hasn’t been keeping track of (but Jackson knows he does). Though, it doesn’t take a genius like him to see Jun and Hanseo together and come to the obvious conclusion that they’re meant to be in each other's presence like the almighty deities wrote their stories with the same fountain pen, on the same page of their lives.
It’s not until ten minutes later when Jackson pulls into the driveway and opens the backseat door does the soulmate idea seem more than plausible because when Jackson looks at them, sees how they innately tried to move closer to one another despite the seat belt’s restraints, how their fingers fit perfectly in the spaces of their hands, it all becomes clear:
Jun found his person.