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Lee Heeseung didn’t dislike kids. Not exactly. He just… didn’t understand them.
They were unpredictable, crying one minute, laughing the next. They needed constant attention, like tiny suns around which an adult’s life had to orbit. Heeseung was more comfortable with his own quiet mess. Late-night gaming, mismatched socks, stacks of takeout containers that never seemed to leave the kitchen counter. He had convinced himself long ago that fatherhood, or really anything that required long-term responsibility, wasn’t in his future.
Heeseung’s life was simple, messy, and comfortably his own.
Until the phone rang.
<><><><>
The phone rang at 11:37 PM. Heeseung almost didn’t pick up. But the second he heard his cousin’s shaking voice, he sat upright in bed.
“There’s been an accident,” she said. “It was Heesa and-”
Heeseung froze, staring at the wall as his cousin’s words tumbled into his ear. His sister. His brother-in-law.
Heeseung didn’t remember much after that. Just fragments. His sister’s name. The word fatal. The sound of his own heartbeat rushing in his ears. His hands were numb as he sat on the edge of the bed, phone pressed to his cheek like maybe if he held on tight enough, the words would change.
They didn’t.
By the time he made it to the hospital, it was too late. His sister and her husband were gone.
And suddenly, five-year-old Riki was clutching a stuffed bunny in the waiting room, wide-eyed and lost. Heeseung knelt down, throat raw, arms shaking as the boy stared up at him.
“Uncle Hee?” Riki whispered, voice trembling.
Heeseung swallowed hard. He opened his arms, and Riki launched into them, small arms winding around his neck. Heeseung held on tighter than he ever had to anything in his life.
<><><><>
The problem of custody came next. On paper, it was simple. Riki would go to his grandparents, Heeseung’s own parents. They had money, a big house, the “stability” social workers liked to see.
But Heeseung knew better.
There was no love in that house. His parents raised him with rules, not love. Their home was neat, silent, and suffocating. They had expectations, never affection. He could still remember nights lying awake as a child, wishing desperately that someone, anyone would just give him a hug. No one but his sister ever did.
The thought of Riki, already grieving, growing up like that? It made Heeseung’s stomach twist.
So he fought.
It shocked everyone, maybe even himself. Heeseung, who could barely show up to appointments on time, suddenly spent weeks filling out paperwork, attending hearings, and standing in front of lawyers and judges and explaining why he should be the one to raise his nephew. His parents’ lawyers said he was irresponsible, unfit, barely able to care for himself.
And they weren’t wrong. But Heeseung never backed down. Every time he felt like giving up, he thought of Riki’s small hand holding onto his sleeve, the way his voice wavered when he asked for his mom.
Heeseung swore he would not let him down.
Against all odds, the court sided with him.
<><><><>
Life after that was chaos.
Riki moved into his apartment, and the small space became unrecognizable. Toys spread across the living room. Shoes littered the hallway. Crayon scribbles appeared on the wall one day, and Heeseung stared at them for a long time before deciding he couldn’t bring himself to clean them off.
Meals were… interesting. Heeseung had never had an interest in cooking, but he tried once. Riki took one bite and pushed the plate away. “It tastes funny.” They ate ramen instead.
Bedtimes were battles. “Just one more story!” Riki begged every night, eyes wide, bunny clutched tight. Some nights he cried himself to sleep, and Heeseung sat helpless on the edge of the bed, rubbing his back, whispering, “I know, I miss her too,” into the dark.
Heeseung didn’t know what he was doing. He was clumsy, forgetful, and often overwhelmed. But every morning, when Riki crawled into his bed and snuggled against his side, calling him “Uncle Hee” with sleepy affection, he knew he’d made the right choice.
<><><><>
They met Sunghoon at the community center.
Riki had begged to go play in the kid’s area one Saturday, and Heeseung, feeling guilty for how cooped up they’d been, agreed. He sat awkwardly on the sidelines, scrolling through his phone, when his attention caught on the young man kneeling by a circle of children.
He moved with calm confidence, showing the kids how to build a tower of blocks without knocking it over. His voice was soft, steady. The children listened. And when Riki approached shyly, still clutching his bunny, Sunghoon’s smile was immediate and warm.
“Hey,” he said gently. “Want to help me build this one?”
Riki nodded, his eyes brightening in a way Heeseung hadn’t seen in months.
From then on, Riki wouldn’t stop talking about him. “Sunghoon hyung said I’m good at soccer!” Sunghoon hyung makes the best drawings!” “Can we go see Sunghoon hyung again?”
It was unfair, really, how effortlessly Sunghoon made Riki laugh, how easily he coaxed him out of his shell. Heeseung, meanwhile, stumbled through every interaction, tongue-tied by Sunghoon’s kind smile and soft eyes. Every single conversation he acted like a teenager with a stupid crush. It was humiliating.
And then, of course, Riki noticed.
“You like him like Mommy liked Daddy,” Riki said one evening, matter-of-fact, while coloring at the table.
Heeseung nearly dropped the pan he was holding. “What-- no, I--”
Riki grinned. “You look like a tomato when he talks to you.”
Heeseung groaned.
<><><><>
From then on, Riki schemed.
He invited Sunghoon to dinner. (“Uncle Hee’s food is bad, but you cook good!”) He asked Sunghoon for homework help. (“He’s better at math than you, Uncle Hee.”) He “forgot” his bunny at the community center so Sunghoon would come by to drop it off.
Heeseung wanted to be annoyed, but the truth was that he didn’t mind.
Because the more time Sunghoon spent with them, the lighter things felt. Heeseung found himself laughing more. Riki’s smile grew brighter. And late at night, when Riki was asleep, Heeseung and Sunghoon sat on the couch, talking about everything and nothing.
One night, Heeseung admitted, voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m scared I’m going to mess him up.”
Sunghoon’s gaze was steady, kind. “You’re doing better than you think. He knows he’s loved. That’s the most important thing.”
Something cracked open in Heeseung’s chest then. Something he hadn’t let himself feel in years.
<><><><>
It happened quietly.
Riki had “fallen asleep” on the couch, though his grin betrayed him. Heeseung and Sunghoon sat side by side, the soft glow of the TV painting the room in shadows.
“You’ve changed,” Sunghoon said softly. “Since I first met you. You’re… lighter, somehow.”
Heeseung laughed quietly, bitter and soft. “I don’t feel lighter. I feel like I’m barely holding it together.”
“Maybe,” Sunghoon said, eyes on him. “But you’re not alone anymore.”
The words lingered in the air. And then, before he could think better of it, Heeseung leaned in. The kiss was tentative, trembling, but full of everything he hadn’t dared to say.
“Finally!”
Both men jumped. Riki sat up, clapping his hands, bunny tucked under his arms. “I knew it! You like each other!”
Heeseung groaned, face buried in his hands. Sunghoon laughed, warm and unshaken.
And Riki, eyes sparkling, declared proudly, “Now we can be a family!”
<><><><>
It wasn’t perfect after that.
There were still tears, still nightmares, still moments when the loss felt too heavy to carry. Sometimes Heeseung sat awake long after Riki fell asleep, staring at the ceiling and missing his sister with an ache that never dulled. Sometimes Riki would crawl into his bed and whisper, “Do you think she sees us?” and Heeseung would hold him close, throat too tight to answer. He knew, though, that if Heesa could see them, she’d be happy with what she saw.
But even with all of that, there was laughter. Bedtime stories that ended in giggles. Soccer games at the park. Sunghoon taught them how to cook without burning the kitchen down. There were warm mornings with Riki squeezed between them, his bunny squished against his cheek.
It was grief and joy, hand in hand. Messy and beautiful.
And one evening, as Heeseung watched Riki fall asleep with Sunghoon’s hand gently resting on his hair, he realized something.
He hadn’t asked for this. He hadn’t planned it. But somehow, through loss and love, he had found a family.
A place to land.
And for the first time in a long time, he felt whole.