Work Text:
Aside from his art kit, Gyeong-seok did not take work home with him. The easels were kept in the fourteenth storage shed, just several booths away from the carousel. It was a bit of a walk to where the caricaturists would set up, but a few years back, they were stationed somewhere closer to the carousel, and no one had bothered to switch which shed they would use since they relocated.
So when wrapping up for the day, he would make the walk back to stow his easel, art board, and bristol paper pad with the rest of the park supplies. Then sometimes he'd circle the long way 'round Seoul Land to pick up Na-yeon from the puppeteer booth who always had a show right at closing—if she wasn't asleep with Gyeong-seok himself. The art kit, pencils and brushes and charcoal and half-used paper stubs were the only things he carried back with him in his free hand.
He found himself one day with his art kit and his art board all at his car. Na-yeon was finishing off her lollipop, given to her by his patron who had vanished after a half-completed portrait. Said portrait was now staring at him from against his car trunk.
Gyeong-seok looked down at his daughter, who pointed at the paper with her other hand. “I like her,” said Na-yeon, wisely in her young age. She returned to licking the lollipop.
He stroked her hair once, twice again. Her hair. Six months past hell itself and his daughter had a full head of hair. Then he popped open the trunk, stowed his kit and board. He’d just keep it in his car and if she showed up again this week, great.
The art board became an extension of his car.
Time passed and things moved back and forth from the trunk. Stroller, picnic basket, a new art table, thrifted bookcases as he redid Na-yeon’s room, half-empty paint cans as he covered up some of her scribbles on the wall. (Of course he’d let her draw on the wall. It could always be fixed later. The already-healed wound in his side did like to complain every so often when he had to do big paint jobs, though, even though he tried to put it from his mind.)
The portrait did not move through it all. Groceries, art camp projects, clothes shopping—Na-yeon was growing so fast—and still it sat there.
Honestly… he should’ve gotten rid of it a while ago. But it really didn’t take up much space. It was nicely tucked away and Na-yeon was happy every time she saw it, and of course, he couldn’t resist that. The lollipop lady had made her smile.
Gyeong-seok tucked his daughter into bed a night after she’d spent the hour before bedtime doodling on a poster board. She snuggled into her covers with a happy giggle, still wide awake.
“Papa,” she said, pressing her lips together in that sweet smile. His heart clenched. He smiled right back, reaching over to her new (used) bookcase to her favorite story of the week. Not surprisingly, it was another bunny story.
She pulled the book close to her to turn the thick cardboard pages herself. “That’s the red bunny,” she said, pointing to said red bunny on one of the pages in the middle of the story. The scene itself was a bit sad; like many children’s stories, in Gyeong-seok’s humble opinion, it masked a painful message in something simple and tasteful for children to digest.
“This was a white bunny,” he told her. “Remember?”
Na-yeon nodded, flipping to the beginning. “A white bunny that got red spots until it was all red.”
It made his side twinge, hearing that.
“But even after all that, still the same bunny,” he said, and Na-yeon nodded again, even if she didn't seem like she understood his point.
He read to her for a couple minutes—the story never took longer than that. At the end, she had a thoughtful look on her face. She’d heard this story a few times now. “Why do some of the bunnies turn different colors?”
Gyeong-seok pinched her cheek. “Maybe as they grow up, they can paint themselves different colors.”
“I like pink,” said Na-yeon. Her eyelids drooped a bit.
He kissed her forehead, put the book back, turned the light off, left just the nightlight. His side still thudded with a slight distant ache.
As he stepped outside, his phone buzzed on the coffee table. Adjusted hours for the next day at the park because of the nonstop rain, so instead of full caricatures, they would just stick to simple face paintings so customers wouldn’t carry around paper. He sighed and changed slippers to outdoor shoes for the quick walk to his car, face paints in hand.
Gyeong-seok popped the trunk open, pulled the art kit closer and replaced the charcoal with face paints and markers, which he normally kept home anytime Na-yeon wanted to use them. As he tucked it away, his shadow cast from the streetlamp moved—there was the caricature of the lollipop lady sat in his car.
Imagine if she showed up tomorrow, he wondered. It wouldn’t happen.
The next morning was dreadful. An annoying light drizzle, periods of heavy downpours. He wished it would just pour rain and close the park for the day, money be damned.
Na-yeon didn’t mind the weather. She insisted on her little umbrella stuffed into her bookbag, despite already being dressed up in her rain boots and poncho. As they walked up to her school, she gripped his hand and said, “When it rains, there’s no parade!”
The mascot parade. She was looking forward to it. While she would be at kindergarten today—which he signed her up for after her treatment—he’d go to work at the park, and in his head at that moment he decided to check on the mascot schedule before heading to his booth space. Na-yeon would be dropped off with him once school was done. She was already thinking forward to joining him in the park even in the temperamental rain. Happily, she added, “They all go to Tomorrow Land!” One of the sections of the park, it housed a big event hall for any larger schedules. Or when things got rained out. Like today. Na-yeon loved the hall, where everything seemed so big and grand to her.
“Yes, and they’ll be there all day,” said Gyeong-seok as they approached the entrance to the school. He looked down at his daughter, who couldn’t see him from under her poncho unless she looked up. She kicked her legs as high as she could to see how far the water droplets would fly off her boots with each kick.
Soon he found himself on his own, back home and climbing into his car, and before he knew it, he was pulling into a spot at Seoul Land. The rain was currently light, misting onto his hands as he grabbed his art kit, taking care not to let any of the mist get onto the portrait in his car. The mascots were indeed making the long trek to the event hall as he approached, also pushing extra supplies for the photo center along with them for when they would set up in one room and spend the rest of the day taking pictures with any children who stopped by. Two mascots per half hour, changing shifts constantly.
He sped up and joined them briefly, just to pose a question. It would take him the long way, but he had to stop at the storage shed near the carousel anyway. He specifically asked if the pink bunny’s shift would line up with when Na-yeon arrived.
“Only before two in the afternoon,” said the ginger elf mascot in green, already sweating with his costume head off and on the cart with other supplies. “I’ll ask again, though.”
Annoyed, but knowing there was nothing more he could do, he thanked the mascot and headed off to grab his set up (and reminding himself to grab one of the laminated face painting binders).
That was that, for a while. With the moody rain on a weekday, no one wanted anything on their faces anyway, save for a handful of children who were going back for the inside performances. Things picked up in the late afternoon as parents brought their kids along after school, and lucky for him, a steady rain had slowed to a light drizzle. Moody weather, absolutely, but it knew when to benefit him.
“Papa!” came his daughter’s voice. He was in between face painting, changing foam brushes, and Na-yeon ran up, waving a hand goodbye at the daycare member who had brought her in. “I drew this!” she said, delighted, and promptly dropped her bookbag onto the one dry thing under his space’s umbrella—the customer chair. She tried her best to open it but he helped unzip it when it kept getting caught on the edge. Bouncing on her feet, she reached in and pulled out a once-folded piece of printer paper.
He unfolded it. It was really nothing special, hard black lines made with marker, something vaguely resembling a hat on the head of a girl. There was a suspiciously well drawn star next to it, with a line stuck on the bottom. Someone at the daycare clearly drew that part at Na-yeon’s direction. It only took him a second, though. This was—
“That’s a lollipop!” said Na-yeon.
—her version of the caricature in his trunk.
Somehow, the hard, unstable press of the marker felt more lifelike to him than the one sitting in his car.
“I love it,” he said, and she beamed. “I love it even more than the one I did, honey.”
“Really?” she cried.
“Really!” he said, laughing, and then suddenly the rain picked up and he had to stuff her drawing back into her book bag and zip it up before the rain blew into it. He checked the time. Half past four. He wouldn’t be on break for another hour for dinner, so he’d take Na-yeon to the event hall with him and see if the pink bunny had managed to plan for a shift around then.
Na-yeon wandered the surrounding booths as normal once the rain slowed down again after the initial downpour, keeping under her small floral umbrella. He was just finishing up and taking payment of a face painting of two slightly older twin girls, accompanied by their eldest sister, who did nothing but complain about the rain.
They just barely walked away when Na-yeon’s voice lit up in excitement. “Hello! Hello! Hello!”
Gyeong-seok looked up, and his daughter, who had been heading his direction, had taken off past him to someone he couldn’t see. He stood up, making sure she wouldn’t go too far—”Na-yeon,” he called out, expecting to have to put himself on break early, but she heard him and turned back around, rushing up to his space.
“She’s here!” said Na-yeon.
He knelt down, looked past her. His hair was getting wet and sticking to his forehead. He awkwardly pushed it back, though it refused to stay, and his bangs began to fall over his forehead, annoyingly enough. The nice thing about a sunny day was keeping his hair out of his eyes with his hat.
Still, he looked past, through wetter and wetter bangs. Admittedly, he wouldn't have recognized her immediately, but Na-yeon focused intensely on people she liked, and after a moment, he saw what she saw.
I’ll come back another time. And she did.
What a time she had come back. Infuriating half-assed weather, with only his face paints available. He stood up, let Na-yeon lead him to the table where she was sitting under a canopy by one of the outdoor eateries, still wearing a baseball cap, but under a rainjacket hood this time for the weather—and not alone. At her side… a girl only two or three years older than his daughter. The little girl looked meek and thin, but happy.
“Mister Park,” said the quiet voice he recognized, and he felt bad, all of a sudden, that this woman knew all about him and Na-yeon and he knew nothing about her despite their time as coworkers, whenever that had been.
“Hello, ah… it’s so nice to see you again,” he said, awkwardly letting Na-yeon pull his finger. “Although—I don’t think you came for your portrait again…”
She didn’t say anything, so he added, feeling like his tongue was tripping just as much as before, “Because of the weather, you know.”
Her eyes left his. She seemed to take in the weather for the first time. “But you’re doing face painting.”
“Ah! Yes. I am.”
She looked down to the girl at her side. “This is my daughter. Han Song-i.”
“Very nice to meet you,” said Gyeong-seok, squatting down, trying not to get his knees wet.
“Hello,” said the grade schooler, Song-i, bowing for a couple seconds at her seat beside her mother.
“I’m Park Gyeong-seok, and this is my daughter,” he said, and looked to his own daughter. Na-yeon smiled, suddenly a bit shy, but she introduced herself all the same.
“Do you want to get your face painted?” said Song-i’s mother.
Song-i nodded immediately, and they stood up together. Gyeong-seok led them back to his space. Thankfully, the rain at that moment had decided to take a break. Na-yeon ran with excited steps in her rain boots to the stand, but Song-i clung a hand tight in her mother's.
He looked back at the mother-daughter pair. She had no eyes for him right now. Just for Song-i, who she watched walk at her side much like he had earlier in the day with Na-yeon while dropping her off at kindergarten. Gyeong-seok opened his mouth as they approached his booth, but his nerve got the better of him. She would have introduced herself by now, surely. Right? Should he even press it? They had been coworkers (even if they had never properly crossed paths), so he could ask someone else who had worked with her for her name. Right? A dilemma was running through his head, now, about how to ask for her name, and the longer time passed with each step on the wet pavement, the more he thought how stupid it was that he didn’t ask for her name so that he could at least make sure he could deliver her unfinished portrait from the back of his car in case she had never returned, but that was a moot point, now, because she had returned, and—
“These are all the designs?” she said, while her daughter sat in the chair, looking excited despite having to let go of her mother’s hand. Na-yeon happily sat on a collapsible stool beside his own chair. Shown to him all of a sudden was the binder of face painting designs..
“Ah, you can request something else, if you like,” he said, awkwardly moving past her to get to his seat. “I can do a mix of two designs, or something new, or you can show me a picture, or…”
She gave the binder to Song-i. “Which do you like?”
“I don’t know,” said Song-i. She looked curiously at Na-yeon. “Which one do you like?”
Na-yeon rocked on her feet. “I like any of the cherry blossoms! They’re pink!”
“I like green, too,” said Song-i. “Can I get both?”
“Why don’t I add some leaves?” Gyeong-seok said, pulling out his paints and scooting closer. Song-i smiled wide.
As he started (and offered a chair to her mother), Na-yeon spoke up. “Papa, can I go to Tomorrow Land for the pink bunny?”
Oh, no—he’d completely forgotten about that. “I’m so sorry, honey, I don’t know if the pink bunny is here today.” He took a thin brush and began to draw the branches around Song-i’s temple and eyebrows.
Na-yeon deflated. She tried her best to seem not to bothered by it, but the event hall photo booth days were rare for her.
“I can take her,” said Song-i’s mother, all of a sudden. “I haven’t shown Song-i yet.”
He blinked. “Are you sure? I’m almost on my break.” He dotted a round foam brush in a green ombre and began to decorate with leaves. Song-i was still under his hand but he could feel she wanted to swing her legs back and forth since she was just short enough to not reach the ground.
“Yes, I’ll take them both and bring Na-yeon back around,” she said.
When he cast a glance at Na-yeon, she was looking like the sun had just come out even though the clouds were once again growing darker.
His break crept up and the three of them were still gone, presumably to Tomorrow Land for the event hall. Gyeong-seok closed his kit and wondered briefly if he should wait for them or head to them himself. They were supposed to come back, but…
Either way, his feet took him to Tomorrow Land, all the way across the park. The rain was a steady pour, as he’d expected, and he was wearing a silly themed poncho the workers were all given for the day. His came with little dog ears that flapped against the plastic of the rest of the poncho. But when he arrived, to his surprise, he certainly saw the pink bunny with both Na-yeon and Song-i near the photo area. A shoulder cramp he didn’t even register in his body suddenly vanished at the sight, and his steps felt lighter.
He hurried over to the kids. It wasn’t the best idea—he had a very vague twinge again, the same place as always, where he had been shot months ago. But it would go away.
Song-i saw him first and pointed over Na-yeon’s head, and they both looked over to him along with the pink bunny. His hand immediately touched Na-yeon’s hair when she tugged on his pant leg, but first… “Thank you,” he said, bowing to the bunny. “I know you weren’t supposed to have any shifts past two.”
Song-i giggled, and at that, Na-yeon joined her. She tugged harder on Gyeong-seok’s leg.
The bunny bowed its head. He squatted and looked at the two girls. “Did you take a photo together?”
“Yes, with my mom’s phone,” said Song-i. Gyeong-seok looked around. Her mother wasn’t in the photo center.
The girls giggled again. There was some sort of language going on only little girls were able to speak, here. A prank in action?
“Let me grab one on my phone, too,” he said, “and then we’ll look for your mother, Song-i.”
“You’re so silly, papa,” said Na-yeon, and Song-i shushed her, though she clearly also found it funny. But Na-yeon was well on her way to revealing the prank. “She’s hiding!”
Song-i covered her mouth with her hand. “Yes, hiding,” she said. “Maybe you can find her.”
Both girls stood on either side of the pink bunny, who held them close with big, fluffy arms. Gyeong-seok took a photo and stuffed his phone away, and said, “Can you girls give me hints?”
“Not me!” said Na-yeon. “The pink bunny helped her hide. So I don’t know where she is.”
He looked up. Na-yeon returned close to him, and over her head, he saw Song-i pointing repeatedly to the bunny and mouthing, “Here, here”.
Ah.
Things slotted into place. Gyeong-seok got it now. “Maybe Song-i can translate the pink bunny’s hint and we’ll go look for her mom.” All to keep the magic for Na-yeon. Something was at work here, Song-i’s mom in the bunny outfit, keeping the secret from Na-yeon so the bunny was still a bunny. Who… who was she?
Song-i piped up. “The bunny says my mom went to get her face painted to match mine!”
Na-yeon immediately pulled on Gyeong-seok’s finger. A laugh escaped him, and he picked her up, then motioned to Song-i. “Then let’s go find your mom back over there… if you like, of course,” he added, and saw the pink bunny nod.
Gyeong-seok took their time (and an alternate route) getting back to the artists’ area. His old wound spot thanked him, even though it had theoretically healed ages ago. They arrived just after he saw Song-i’s mom sit down at the chair from a distance. Na-yeon pulled on his finger again and was off to say hello, and Song-i followed her.
“Someone told me you want a face painting,” he said, pulling off the silly poncho. It dripped on the pavement and made his hands wet enough again that he had to wipe on his already somewhat damp shirt.
“Just a small one,” she said.
“What would you like?”
“Song-i, what would I like?” she asked her daughter.
“A blossom just like mine!” said Song-i. “Or… or a sunset, just like your name, mama.”
That was it. The moment was hammered into him in an instant. “I never caught your name, actually,” said Gyeong-seok.
A peculiar look crossed over her. “Really…” Then she looked at Na-yeon again before back up at him. “Kang No-eul.”
No-eul… yes, he did know her. The reticent and lonely worker he'd only heard about from park employee gossip, the one who always kept to herself. And, now even more unsurprising to Gyeong-seok, she was the pink bunny then, too.
“Park Gyeong-seok,” he said, stupidly, and she just looked at him. “Oh, you… you knew that.”
He picked up his palette and some various paints. “A sunset, then?”
“Mama, do both,” said Song-i.
No-eul agreed to it, and he started with the sunset first, a yellow orange into a fiery red into a deep purple. She had a small scar where he was painting on her cheekbone. Her lips were chapped. She wore no makeup. How old was she? He could hear Na-yeon flip through the binder of designs and ask Song-i for other favorites, but right now his mind was in overdrive, thinking about the pink bunny, Na-yeon’s favorite. Her favorite. No-eul was Na-yeon's…
He drew a branch for the base of the blossoms, and she looked away from the girls to him. “Sorry,” he said, sheepish. “The paint can be cold.”
She didn't say anything.
“Thank you for earlier, in the bunny suit,” he said—he didn't mean to, but it was in his head now, and he couldn't stop himself. “You used to work here as the pink bunny, right? Na-yeon's always loved you. Ah—I mean—the bunny. Ack, not that I don't mean—”
“She's very special,” said No-eul. “I'm happy she's doing better.” She was looking at Na-yeon with something unreadable… and he wanted to put his finger on it, but didn’t know how.
Gyeong-seok set the thin brush down and started on the blossoms with a white and pink contrast against the vibrant sunset. Each press of the brush would feel a bit less cold than the last.
An ache thudded dully in his body, near the same place as always. He winced and had to lift his brush to keep from messing up the design.
“Still?” said No-eul, and then she froze—more than she had already been.
He rubbed at his side and frowned. Huh?
She looked at him, lips firmly shut. The girls were in their own world. Song-i was very patient with his daughter.
“Still?” he parroted, bemused.
No-eul opened her mouth, took a spare second. “You seemed like you were in pain the first time I was here.”
He had? Well, it wasn’t like he remembered. It came and went, and he couldn’t help it, but he did think he was quite good at ignoring it now. Strenuous activity, even slight, could cause a bit of discomfort, so he kept it pretty light at the gym and mostly stuck to walking nowadays. If she had noticed the first time when she’d come by for her unfinished caricature, she certainly hadn’t said anything.
“You should see a doctor if it gets worse,” she continued. Perhaps the most words he’d heard her speak at once.
“It’s already better,” he said before he could help it, going back to dabbing the finishing touches on her design.
She didn’t say anything at that. Suddenly, Gyeong-seok felt foolish at mentioning the hint of any issue. And he didn’t like thinking about it to begin with. The farther away his mind from that week, the better. He had already been exceedingly lucky for being delivered back to Na-yeon with his life intact.
He finished the last blossom and leaned back. “All done.” He held up the mirror.
No-eul looked into it far longer than he thought she would. Her daughter stood up from where she was with Na-yeon and moved closer. “Mama, we’re matching!”
“We are matching,” said No-eul, smiling. Song-i returned to Na-yeon, and No-eul handed the mirror back. She stood up after a moment, pulling out her wallet and handing him few bills. He immediately declined.
She left it on her chair silently, fully intending on walking away without it.
“You did a lot for Na-yeon today,” he said weakly, standing as well, taking the money and trying to give it back to her. When he picked it up, it was more than he was expecting. A lot more. “Hey, w-wait. This is… this is way too much!”
“For your wound,” she said. “Song-i, are you ready to go?”
Gyeong-seok stood awkwardly with too much money in his hands. “For my…”
“Okay, mama,” said her daughter, and No-eul, now effectively ignoring him, reached into her bag to pull out another lollipop. Iit was a flower-shaped one this time. She squatted and gave it to Na-yeon, who was now fully distracted from the face painting binder.
Na-yeon beamed and took the lollipop.
“Wait,” he said. “I still have your portrait in my car. The rain’s likely gone for the day, I—”
“I’ll come back another time,” said No-eul.
He stood there, mouth open like a fish. But she was still waiting. Song-i helped Na-yeon open her lollipop.
“Ah….” Gyeong-seok felt his neck grow warm. “Okay. Then… then I’ll see you and Song-i again.” He watched her nod, take her daughter by the hand, and walk away on the still-damp pavement.
“This one tastes even better, papa,” came Na-yeon’s voice from his side, and he sat back down to look at the lollipop properly. “Like a candy-cane.”
“It has peppermint,” he said, tapping her nose.
“Peppahmint.”
He ruffled her hair, then looked at the bills in his other hand, still dumbfounded, and increasingly so. What was this for, again? She’d said something. For his wound—that was it. But… he’d never… it was one thing if he looked in pain, but he never said anything about…
Just who…?
Eventually, he gave up and stuffed the bills into his fanny pack. The evening grew into night as closing hour approached, and once he’d put everything away and was carrying a sleeping Na-yeon back to the car, he found himself better able to think. Today had been a whirlwind, but it seemed… Na-yeon had a new friend. And as for him…
He carefully set her in her carseat to keep her from waking before depositing his art kit in the trunk. At the last second, he hesitated in closing the door, and pulled out a pencil. The portrait wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, but at least he could make some progress today. He unclipped the bristol from the art board and flipped it over, writing “To Kang No-eul” on the back, before clipping it back on.
Not for the first time, he wondered when she’d be back.