Archive of Our Own

Ohh, when you're close to me

The world feels right

Every heartbeat is singing your name

Rollercoaster, better hold on tight

Ain't nobody ever taking you place

Got me falling slow motion

From that look on your face

It was an afternoon like any other, mild and bright, the sun sliding slowly through the still slightly bare branches of the trees along the road that led from the school to the playground. Yun Da-eun was clutching the hand of her godfather, Baku, who, as always, walked with a confident, exaggerated stride, as if he wanted to show off an unstoppable energy. The little girl, however, moved with shorter steps, her gaze lowered and thoughtful, something that did not go unnoticed by Baku, who usually saw her skipping and chattering nonstop as soon as the school gate closed behind them.

“Hey, sweetheart” he asked, bending down a little toward her: “what’s on your mind? You’ve got that math face!”

Da-eun bit her lip, as if she were deciding whether to speak or not. Then, in a tiny voice, she asked:
“Samchon… how does a pregnancy test know if someone is pregnant?”

Baku froze on the spot, as if someone had slammed a foot on the brake. He had never seen that coming. He, who felt ready to handle fistfights, school trouble, even teenage drama, suddenly found himself disarmed in front of the disarming simplicity of an eight-year-old’s question.

“What? Why are you asking me something like that?” he tried, raising an eyebrow and scratching the back of his neck.

Da-eun shrugged, still glancing around with an almost guilty air. “Today Min-jun brought a pregnancy test to school. He said he’s going to have a baby brother soon. But the teacher got really mad and took it away from him. I didn’t really understand…”

Baku barely managed to stifle a laugh, biting his lip to keep from bursting out. That Min-jun was a name he heard often from Da-eun, and more than once the boy had reminded him of himself at the same age: a little hurricane ready to stir up chaos wherever he went.

“Oh, I see…” he muttered. Then, sighing deeply, he realized he couldn’t just brush it off with a shrug. The little girl was staring at him with those big, dark, honest eyes that left no room for lies.

So, he began, stumbling over words and gesturing far too much: “Well… let’s say that when a person is expecting a baby, their body produces… um… some extra things. hormones, that’s it. And that stick, the test, is made to detect them. You pee on it and poof! It tells you if there’s a baby or not! It’s like it has a sensor inside that goes, ‘Hey, there’s more stuff than usual here!’ And then some lines appear that give you the answer!”

He spoke in a jumbled way, trying to simplify, ending up waving his hands around as if he were explaining a magic trick rather than a biological process. But, surprisingly, Da-eun followed him attentively, and when he stopped, unsure of how successful he’d been, the girl gave him a huge toothless grin, full of gratitude.

“Ew, pee on that thing! Now I get why the teacher scolded Min-jun! But thank you, Samchon Baku!” she exclaimed enthusiastically, squeezing his hand tighter.

Baku relaxed, letting out a sigh of relief. “I pulled it off” he thought to himself, “nothing embarrassing, and the little one even understood.”

They were almost at the playground now, the swings and slide already visible in the distance. He really believed he had dodged the worst when Da-eun’s little voice struck again, innocent yet sharp as an arrow: “Samchon… do you think daddy and papa will ever give me a baby brother?”

Baku’s eyes widened, caught completely off guard. This time there were no hormones or tests to explain, this was an emotional minefield, and above all, a conversation he absolutely did not want to have. Clearing his throat, he blurted: “Oh, look!” he shouted, pointing toward the shiny slide and the swings swaying in the wind. “First one there wins a double ice cream!”

Before the girl could insist, he let go of her hand and gave her a playful push on the back to send her running toward the park. Da-eun laughed and sprinted off, forgetting her question in her light, quick steps.

Baku lingered behind for a moment, hands shoved into his pockets, shaking his head with a half-smile on his lips.

“Sex ed? With me? Not happening…” he muttered. Then, watching the little girl already laughing on the slide, he felt that, in his own way, he was doing the right thing after all: letting her live her childhood, full of games and questions, without answers too heavy for her to carry.

The afternoon flowed sweetly, marked by the slow melting of Da-eun’s ice cream in her hands. Sitting on a bench in the playground, Baku held his cone, now almost finished, while the little girl tried hard not to make a mess, even though a streak of chocolate was already running down her cheek.

“So” he said, chewing the bottom of his cone as if it were a matter of life and death, “you don’t happen to have homework to do, right? Because we skipped after-school today…”

Da-eun shook her head a little too quickly, her eyes sparkling with studied innocence. “No! Or… well, yes, I should’ve done some math exercises, but it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh really?” Baku raised an eyebrow. “And why doesn’t it matter?”

The girl licked her ice cream proudly, as if she had the perfect answer. “Because the teacher is leaving tomorrow! She’s getting married and moving abroad. So tomorrow we’ll meet a new teacher!”

The young man almost choked on the last bite of his cone. He swallowed quickly, trying to buy time. “Wait, wait. Your teacher’s leaving just like that?”

“Yes.” Da-eun nodded vigorously. “Today she said goodbye and told us she was happy for us, but that now we’ll have to learn with someone else.”

Baku scratched the back of his neck, thoughtful. “And are you sad that your teacher is leaving?”

The girl, as she often did, shrugged. “Not really. She was strict and scolded us a lot.”

And yet, despite her words, her face clouded over. The ice cream was still huge, chocolate dripping, but she seemed to forget all about it.

Baku studied her and tilted his head. “Then why that little grumpy-kitten face?”

Da-eun bit her lip, then shrugged again. “What if the new teacher is even meaner?”

Those words, so simple, pierced Baku. His own school years came rushing back, the rigid hallways, the blackboards filled with numbers and reprimands, the shouts of teachers who demanded excellence from children far too young to understand what it meant. He remembered well the teachers’ eyes, always measuring who was “good” and who was “useless” as if classrooms were laboratories full of guinea pigs to observe and select. A feeling that still made his stomach burn.

He looked at Da-eun: her anxious wide eyes, her furrowed brow, the fragility only an eight-year-old can have when imagining the future. He couldn’t stand the thought of her being crushed by that same system.

He reached out and ruffled her hair with a gentleness unusual for him. Then, leaning forward slightly, he fixed her with the sincerest gaze he could muster.

“Listen, sweetie. If that new teacher ever tries to treat you badly, you tell your Samchon right away. I’ll make sure to set them straight, got it? Nobody, and I mean nobody, treats my little girl badly!”

Da-eun looked at him in surprise, then her face lit up with a smile that chased away her fear. A smile that warmed Baku’s heart more than any September sun.

By then, the chocolate ice cream was dripping all over the girl’s hand, but she didn’t care. She was holding tight to her Samchon’s promise, and that was sweeter than anything else.

***

In front of the elementary school gate, the usual bustle reigned. Busy parents, mothers exchanging confidences, fathers distractedly staring at their phones, Baku, on the other hand, stood there like a beacon in the middle of the crowd, recognizing faces and greeting everyone with an enthusiasm that seemed inexhaustible.

“Annyeong, Mrs. Park! New haircut, it looks wonderful on you!”
“Mr. Kim, congratulations on your son’s victory at the game, I heard about it!”

Every greeting came with a smile and an exuberant gesture: no one could miss that contagious energy. He even stopped to listen to two mothers who, lamenting their daily lives, confessed they didn’t even have time for a trip to the hairdresser. Baku nodded gravely, as if it were a matter of state.

Then the bell rang and chaos swelled. Baku strode closer to the gate and began giving high fives to every child coming out. One after another, the little ones rushed up to him with joyful cries of “Bakuuuuu!” and he greeted each of them with the same warmth, as if each one were special. The air filled with laughter and small hands slapping into his.

And yet, among all those smiles, his eyes lit up only when he saw her: Da-eun. But she wasn’t alone. She was walking hand in hand with an adult. Baku, too focused on the girl’s face, didn’t immediately notice who it was. He froze when he realized Da-eun’s cheeks were streaked with tears.

Without a second thought, he dropped to his knees, oblivious to the stares turning his way. His booming voice rose above the noise:
“My little darling! Samchon’s honeypie! Come here!”

Many parents turned, some amused, others embarrassed. But Baku didn’t care. Those words were only for her.

Da-eun lifted her face, her eyes swollen and red, and when she recognized her godfather’s voice, she instantly let go of the man’s hand. She ran toward him like a tiny arrow, throwing herself into his arms. The embrace was fierce, desperate, with her sobbing into Baku’s chest. He held her with all the protection he had inside him, stroking her hair.

“Hey, what’s wrong, sweetheart? Who made you cry?”

He rose slowly, keeping the little girl tight against him, as if that small body were the only certainty he could cling to. Then his gaze finally lifted and landed on the man who had been holding Da-eun’s hand a moment earlier. His breath caught in his chest, his heart leapt into his throat as if he had just recognized a ghost.

Na Baek-Jin.

The very name thundered in his mind, heavy with memories and unresolved questions. He couldn’t believe his eyes: the man’s figure was right there, tangible, real, and yet it seemed out of place against the ordinary backdrop of a school gate. He wore a striped black-and-white sweater over a light shirt, his hair neat, his gaze hidden behind thin glasses that caught a glint of light. His posture was composed, almost elegant, but no less threatening in Baku’s eyes.

He was the last person Baku would have imagined finding there, at that entrance, in the role he least expected: beside Da-eun, in a closeness that felt jarring, almost unacceptable. Why him? Why with her?

A flash of distrust cut across Baku’s eyes, sharpening them into a vigilant, hard blade. Every fiber of his body tensed, ready to protect the girl from whatever danger lurked. His fingers clenched around her as if to shield her from a shadow that, by itself, evoked more threats than he was willing to admit.

Baek-Jin appeared calm, almost absorbed, but Baku wasn’t fooled. The past that man carried wasn’t a mere scar: it was a wound that could reopen at any moment. A pang stabbed his stomach as he feared Baek-Jin had hurt his goddaughter, that his presence marked the beginning of some greater, silent, unseen danger.

Time seemed to stop in that courtyard, suspended in a silence heavy with tension, as two gazes locked: Baku’s, hard, suspicious, ready to strike, and Baek-Jin’s, enigmatic, difficult to read, as if guarding a truth no one was ready to discover.

Baku saw him adjust his glasses on his nose, looking just as incredulous. His eyes widened, his face pale with surprise.

“Na Baek-Jin…” Baku hissed, his voice betraying restrained anger.

The other lifted his chin, almost defending himself behind his usual arrogance. “I should have known it was you, with all that noise you were making just now.”

Baku ignored the provocation, tightening his grip on Da-eun.

“What happened? What did you do to her?”

The girl, her little nose runny and her cheeks still wet, rushed to intervene: “Samchon Baku! He’s my new math teacher. Teacher Jin didn’t do anything to me! Don’t be mad at him!”

Baku hesitated, studying her closely, then wiped her cheeks with both hands, his face still tense in a scowl. Only after pressing a kiss to her forehead did he turn back to his former best friend.

“So?”

Baek-Jin shrugged, with an expression almost awkward. “She dropped the candies I gave her for doing well on her exercises. She was so upset she started crying. Inconsolable, even though I told her I’d bring more tomorrow.”

Those words hit Baku like a slap. Sweetness? Candies as a reward? An almost fatherly tenderness? It was the exact opposite of the image he kept in his memory: the proud, cold boy with his eyes always set beyond, ready to scorn the world in order to get rich and run away. He had always imagined Baek-Jin becoming a snobbish diplomat, wrapped in elegant suits and immersed in shady dealings.

And yet there he was, standing before him with a grade book under his arm, a rumpled jacket, and the look of a man who had made his goddaughter cry only because her candies had fallen.

“Oh…” was all Baku could manage, his mouth half-open, his mind blank. It was as if the sight of Baek-Jin had sucked the words and the air right out of him.

The other stared at him for a few seconds more, silent. Then, with a deliberate gesture, he turned toward the last children leaving through the gate: he checked that each had run into their parent’s arms, that none were left behind or alone. Only then did he open the grade book under his arm and start leafing through it, as if to buy time, or perhaps to put the distance of school protocol between them.

“Do you have authorization to pick up Yun Da-eun?” he asked flatly, fingers running through the pages.

Baku felt his pride pierced, as if stabbed in the chest. He lifted his chin, puffed out his chest.
“Of course I do! I’m her godfather!” he shot back, his tone wavering between offended and triumphant.

Da-eun, who by then had stopped sobbing and wiped her nose on her sleeve, turned toward her teacher. She gave him a small, melancholy smile, the kind only children know how to use when they’re trying to defend someone they love.

“Teacher Jin, Daddy Su-ho and Papa Sieun are always working at this time. Samchon Baku is the only one who can come pick me up. He’s good, you can trust him!” she said brightly, as if to erase every doubt. Baek-Jin raised both eyebrows, making no effort to hide all the sarcasm he would have used if it hadn’t been a child telling him to trust Park Hu-Min.

Then, without restraint, she added with devastating innocence: “He often skips after-school with me and takes me to the playground, he even buys me a huge ice cream!”

Baku swelled with pride. It was as if those words had restored the dignity he’d lost moments earlier. He turned to Baek-Jin and flashed his biggest smile, almost a challenge: Go on, try to say something bad now.

The teacher Baek-Jin merely lifted his eyes, his lips curved into an ambiguous expression, halfway between sarcasm and resignation. “Typical of him” he muttered, barely audible but perfectly clear, with a coldness that made the air vibrate between them.

Baku bit his tongue. He wanted to explode, to lash back with all the fury piled up through years of silence and resentment. But one look at Da-eun, her eyes still swollen, was enough to remind him she wasn’t used to seeing him angry. He forced himself to breathe, swallowing his frustration.

Baek-Jin, meanwhile, leaned slightly toward the girl. His voice softened, almost fatherly.

“All right, Da-eun. Don’t cry anymore. You did really well today, and you’ll do even better tomorrow. Now go home and rest.”

Those words, that kindness, hit Baku like a blow to the face. They unsettled him, left him confused: he didn’t recognize this man, this wasn’t the Baek-Jin he remembered.

Then the other straightened up and, with a slow, icy movement, closed the grade book under his arm. His glasses slipped slightly down his nose and he adjusted them with a familiar gesture.

“Have a good day, Hu-Min.”

His real name spoken like that, with surgical coldness, stabbed deep into his chest. Baek-Jin didn’t wait for a reply. He turned and walked away, without a nod, without looking back.

Baku stood frozen, dazed, holding his goddaughter close, his heart in turmoil. That name echoed inside him like a bomb that had never truly gone off, as he watched the figure of his former childhood friend recede, smaller and smaller among the crowd of parents.

***

Dinner at Sieun and Su-Ho’s house carried that familiar taste of simplicity and intimacy: steaming soup in a large ceramic bowl at the center of the table, kimchi arranged in small dishes, white rice rising like soft clouds. The lights were low, a warm lamp cast a cone of light over the table, and voices intertwined like threads of an old blanket: familiar, comfortable, yet tense beneath the surface because of the new piece of news. Da-eun was already asleep, clutching her stuffed toy on the couch, unaware of the conversation revolving around her new teacher.

Su-Ho set down his fork and almost burst out laughing, though his eyes betrayed a worry he couldn’t conceal.

“We’re talking about that Na Baek-Jin, the very same one that not even my husband’s razor-sharp deductive logic and Baku’s brute strength together could take down? THAT Na Baek-Jin?” He pronounced the name as one utters a painful legend.

Sieun fixed him with that cutting calm he had shown years ago, back when he had scolded him with a pen still in hand: a gaze that promised both famine and justice. “Yes, but we defeated him in the end. Why do you have to make it sound as if we were incompetent?” he answered, voice steady.

Gotak huffed and spoke in the tone of someone fishing up an unpleasant memory. “The same Na Baek-Jin who smashed my knee, forcing me to give up on taekwondo!” He grimaced, as if reliving the pain.

Juntae, hands on his temples, adjusted his glasses and shook his head in disbelief. “Unbelievable… I wonder how the school could have even hired him…”

Baku, who just moments earlier had been retelling the school gate scene with exaggerated gestures worthy of a seasoned entertainer, leaned back in his chair and grew serious.

“It’s not that unbelievable” he said, scanning the faces of his friends. “At the group home, the little ones called him hyung and adored him, I remember it clearly. He brought them food, warm clothes, even though now we all know where that money really came from. He was a bastard, yes, but only with us. With the children… he was always different, the perfect big brother.”

Sieun rested his chin on his fingers, thoughtful. “Maybe even then he was recruiting his recruits…” he murmured, more to himself than to the others, but the word sowed a streak of unease through the room.

Su-Ho wanted to cut the tension with a joke, but since it involved their daughter, his voice wavered.

“What did you really think of him? Da-eun has been talking about him nonstop for a whole week, ever since she got a new teacher.”

Sieun spoke before Baku could answer. “From what our daughter tells us, he seems truly good with the children. Not the type who treats them like prodigies to be molded into future geniuses at all costs… he listens to them, plays with them, treats them with respect…”

Baku nodded, and in his voice slipped a warmth he never imagined he’d use while speaking about that man.

“Even today, he seemed kind with Da-eun, though with me he was the same old bastard, like we hadn’t seen each other in just a couple of days instead of years…”

Juntae clapped his hands, as though confirming a rare fact.

“It’s really rare to find a teacher like that. Especially here: they’re far too strict with kids… only to become completely disinterested once they grow up and maybe aren’t the brightest.”

Gotak grimaced. “That’s why I always hated going to school. The way they made you feel was… humiliating.”

Sieun and Su-Ho exchanged a look and squeezed hands beneath the table, a small yet full gesture. Then Sieun turned to the group with determined air: “So we shouldn’t intervene? We just let Na Baek-Jin continue being her teacher?”

There was a pensive silence. The clinking of cutlery was the only sound in the living room. Baku felt his chest swell with a mix of pride and protectiveness. He got up for more rice, and when he sat back down, everyone’s eyes were on him, as if demanding a strong answer.

“Don’t worry” he burst out, with that cocky flair that sometimes came to him so naturally, “I’ll keep an eye on him myself. If he steps out of line, I’ll take care of it, no mercy!”

The laughter that followed chipped away at the tension like a gust of air. But not all of it was entirely genuine: Sieun barely smiled, and his hand squeezed Su-Ho’s harder.

“Baku” he said, with a tone that was both warning and affectionate, “there’s no need to use your fists. If you go too far… remember we’re talking about my daughter and her school. Don’t give her a bad reputation right from the start!” His smile carried that same etched warning as his gaze: in a second he could have pulled out a pen to drive the message home.

Baku laughed, though the weight of responsibility pressed heavy inside. “I know, I know. No useless brawls. First we watch. Then, if necessary, we set up a meeting: you all want to come too? That way we can figure out who Na Baek-Jin really is now and what he intends to do with the kids…”

Gotak struck a theatrical pose. “So we’re officially a parental surveillance committee?” Laughter erupted again, freer this time.

But Juntae grew serious for a moment and suggested cautiously: “We could also try to gauge his intentions with small steps: attend a school event, propose a group activity where we can observe how he interacts with the children. Nothing invasive, just… vigilance.”

Sieun nodded in approval. “And maybe we should talk to the other parents too, hear what their kids are saying about him…”

Baku smiled, already sketching out plans in his head: “accidentally” bumping into the teacher, pretending to bring Da-eun something she had forgotten at home just to watch a lesson… Organizing a field trip and getting himself elected parents’ representative.

But then his expression softened. His eyes fell on the photo on the shelf, an old picture of them together, the friends from forever, and he remembered also the boy Baek-Jin used to be: proud, difficult, but with a good side hidden somewhere. Deeply hidden, but never truly invisible to him.

“What if” he murmured quietly, almost to himself, “this Baek-Jin really has changed? Maybe he deserves a chance. Better to keep our eyes open… but not lock our hearts completely shut.”

Su-Ho sighed and smiled faintly. “Especially since I fear Da-eun already adores him too much to accept having to see him go…”

And so, between laughter, the sorbet Sieun brought for dessert, and a plan drawn halfway between seriousness and lightheartedness, the evening ended with the feeling that, whatever happened, they would not face it alone. They had Da-eun to protect, but they also had each other: a net made of old friends, unspoken promises, and the unshakable certainty that, when needed, they would march together.

Baku glanced at the couch where Da-eun slept, stood, went to her, and bent down to press a light kiss on her forehead.

“Your Samchon will always protect you” he whispered. Then he lifted his gaze to his friends, determination lighting his face: “Tomorrow morning, I’ll take Da-eun to school myself. I’ll take a few hours off from the station.” No one contradicted him, so Baku carefully lifted Da-eun into his arms and carried her toward her bedroom to tuck her under the covers.

But just as he laid her on the bed, Da-eun stirred slightly, clutched Baku’s shirt with her tiny hands, and opened her half-closed eyes, still heavy with sleep. “Samchon…” she murmured in a faint, drowsy voice, “please… my favorite story.”

Baku remained still for an instant, surprised and moved. A gentle smile curved his lips as he stroked her face.

“The usual one?” he asked, already knowing the answer. In that moment, the thought that the protagonist of that fairy tale was the very man he had met again after so many years tightened his heart with a strange knot, hard to untangle.

“Yes, Samchon, please…” the little girl replied, rubbing her eyes and trying not to let go of his shirt.

With a sigh, Baku settled down beside her, making space on the bed. Da-eun immediately nestled against his stomach, just as she always had since she was very small, and closed her eyes in expectation, wearing that serene smile only children can hold onto halfway between wakefulness and sleep.

Then Baku began, his voice low and measured, carrying the memories back and reshaping them into something different: not harsh reality, but a softened version, turned into a fairy tale.

“Once upon a time there was a fox so unfortunate that he had always grown up without love… His name was Jin.”

Da-eun yawned, but quickly opened one curious eye. “Like the math teacher!” she said, her voice amused though faint.

Baku smiled and stroked her hair, lowering his tone. “That’s right.” He said nothing more, leaving the coincidence as a little secret between the two of them. Then he went on with the story.
“His life was hard, and one ordinary day, when some stupid mean monkeys were picking on him, he met the one who would become his best friend…”

Da-eun’s enthusiastic squeal interrupted him, though muffled by the sleep still wrapping her: “Baku-bau! The bravest dog in the world!!”

Baku’s smile widened, and with an instinctive gesture he pulled her closer, as if to protect her not only from bad dreams but from reality itself. “Yes… that’s him” he murmured.

He kept on telling the story: how the huge puppy had saved the fox from the monkeys, how the two of them, though so different and seemingly distant, managed to become friends. He told of the adventures they shared, of how they ran hidden through the forest to escape dangers and at the same time discover new wonders. Every detail was painted in vivid colors, but never frightening ones: dangers became challenges to overcome, hardships turned into springboards for new discoveries.

Da-eun, her eyes growing heavier, listened in rapture. Every now and then she lifted her head just enough to ask, “Then what happened, Samchon?” And he, with infinite patience, went on, weaving old memories with tender inventions, adding a flower never seen before, a river that sparkled like crystal, a sky full of stars guiding the two friends through the dark.

Time slipped by slowly, and Baku realized he was sharing not only a fairy tale, but a part of himself, of what he had been, of what he had lost and, in some way, found again. He glanced sideways at Da-eun as she struggled against sleep, her eyelids falling and rising like little curtains.

But before he could finish the third adventure, while describing how the dog and the fox crossed a frozen lake to reach a tree of light hidden deep in the forest, Baku’s voice softened almost to a whisper. The little girl no longer answered, her grip on his shirt had slackened, and her breathing had grown deep, rhythmic, peaceful. Her long lashes lay gently against her cheeks, her lips slightly parted in the faintest smile, as if she were still dreaming of the brave dog and the unlucky fox.

With almost ritual slowness, Baku pulled the blanket up over her shoulders and, before getting up, lingered a while longer beside her. Da-eun’s small, soft hand still clutched his shirt, even in sleep. He didn’t have the heart to move it. He let himself be, lying on his side, watching her sleep.

A thought flashed across his mind like sudden lightning: telling that story, that very night, after seeing Jin again… it hadn’t been by chance. That tale had been born from real memories, even if disguised as a fairy tale for a child. He and Jin had truly lived together, had truly fought, eaten, and laughed in those days when they had recognized each other as two wounded beings still able to keep one another standing.

And now here he was, telling the story of that fox to a little girl who saw him only as a kind math teacher.

“I wonder if your teacher remembers the same things, sweetheart…” Baku thought, sighing softly, with a shadow of melancholy.

He stroked her hair once more, with a tenderness that seemed out of place on his big hands, scarred from blows given and received. Then, with a slow effort, he gently freed his shirt from the little girl’s grasp and stood up, remaining a moment beside the bed.

He turned off the star-shaped night light, leaving only the moon filtering through the thin curtains, and stepped out of the room on light feet.

Outside, in the hallway, he found Sieun waiting, arms crossed and gaze tender.

“She wanted her favorite story, didn’t she?” he asked softly.

Baku nodded, scratching the back of his neck a bit awkwardly.

“Yeah. The usual one.”

Sieun smiled with a sweetness tinged with melancholy.

“You do realize you really are a hero to her, don’t you? Baku-bau, the bravest dog in the world.”
He lowered his gaze, hiding his emotion with a half-smile.

Then, the two of them returned to the living room, where the others were still waiting with warm cups of tea and the last chatter of the evening. But in Baku’s heart remained the vivid feeling that the fairy tale was not yet finished: the fox and the dog, in one way or another, were about to meet again.

***

The morning sun lit up the school gate, and Baku moved with his usual overwhelming energy that set him apart. He greeted parents with wide smiles and improvised jokes, raising a few eyebrows but always winning the hearts of children and adults alike.

“Annyeong! How are you today?” he shouted, giving high-fives to the little ones running out of the gate.

Among the streams of children and parents, his eyes landed on Min-jun, who was chatting with his mother. Without a second thought, Baku walked up to the boy, ruffling his hair and giving him a conspiratorial wink. Min-jun giggled, shaking his head, while his mother blushed slightly.

“So, have you found out the baby’s gender yet?” Baku asked with his trademark curiosity. The woman smiled awkwardly and cast her son a gentle reproachful look. “Not yet!” she replied softly.

“And you, Min-jun, would you rather have a little brother or a little sister?” he continued, bending down to meet the boy’s eyes. The child shrugged indifferently and went back to staring at the ground. Baku laughed, scratched the back of his neck, and looked around as if searching for someone who clearly wasn’t there.

The bell rang, cutting their banter short. Da-eun came over to greet her godfather, but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

“No, today I’m walking you all the way to class” he said with a smile. “So, you can show me where you spend your day!”

Da-eun’s eyes lit up, and without wasting a second, she dragged him into the school. The hallways bustled with sounds and the smell of glue and notebooks, while Baku scanned for Baek-Jin. But there was no trace of the teacher.

So, he let her proudly show him her drawings pinned up on the classroom board, commenting enthusiastically on every color and every line. When she finished, Baku hugged her tightly and said goodbye, promising he would pick her up after school.

As he left, the gate was already half-empty. Baku was about to cross the street when a black car came speeding by, missing him by an inch. Instinctively, he stepped back and opened his mouth to shout, when the car stopped and, with an almost disdainful calm, out stepped Baek-Jin.

“What am I, invisible? You could have run me over!” Baku yelled, rushing toward him.

Baek-Jin looked at him without the slightest flicker of emotion. “Good morning to you too, Hu-Min.”

Baku was fuming. Baek-Jin’s icy calm only irritated him more as he watched him walk calmly past, heading toward the school entrance.

“Good morning, my ass!” Baku burst out, chasing after him. “I don’t care if Da-eun adores you, if you’re an asshole who’s planning to hurt her-”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence” Baek-Jin cut him off, turning with a sharp, serious gaze. “You know nothing about me. I studied for years for this job, and I won’t let the first guy who comes along question me.”

Baku gasped, his heart pounding. “The first guy who comes along? Do you even realize what you’re saying? I probably know you better than anyone else…”
Baek-Jin took a step forward, narrowing his eyes.

“No. You knew a boy. Years went by without either of us knowing what the other was doing, so you don’t know me at all.”

“And whose fault is that?” Baku snapped, planting his hands on his hips.

Baek-Jin rolled his eyes and turned his back on him again, heading toward the school. “I’m late for work.”

Baku followed at a quick pace, blocking his way. “Who stopped talking and switched universities overnight?”

“I’m late, Park Hu-Min” Baek-Jin repeated flatly.

“If anything happens to Da-eun, you’re finished-” Baku threatened, his face tense, his voice vibrating with anger and protectiveness.

Baek-Jin smiled, with that same infuriating calm.

“Then I can rest easy. That little girl adores me!” he mocked, before stepping through the gate and signaling the guard not to let Baku follow.

Baku’s heart pounded wildly. His fists clenched, his eyes fixed on his former friend, he shouted into the void: “I don’t believe it! I don’t believe you’re acting like this!” But Baek-Jin had already disappeared into the school corridors, leaving Baku furious, powerless, and ready to hatch his next plan to protect Da-eun at all costs.

It was a suspended moment, charged with tension, anger, and memories of a past neither of them seemed willing to forget. And as Baku walked away from the gate, his thoughts raced: how would Da-eun’s school day turn out? And above all… how much more would that calm, infuriating teacher manage to drive him mad?

***

The bell had just called the students back from their post-lunch chatter, and the classroom filled with the noise of scraping chairs and unzipped backpacks. Baek-Jin entered with a steady stride, the register and his manual tucked under his arm, and in a calm voice said: “Come on, everyone to your seats. Take out your notebook and math book.”

The students’ eyes followed him for a moment, then small hands got to work. All of them… except one. Yun Da-eun was bent over her sheet of paper, her tongue caught between her lips in concentration, the crayon moving decisively. She was drawing as if she were alone in another world.

Baek-Jin walked slowly between the rows, observing the children as they settled. When he reached Da-eun’s desk, he stopped and bent slightly forward. With two fingers, he tapped lightly on the wooden surface, a small gesture, but enough to draw her attention.

Her big eyes darted up to him and immediately lit up. “Teacher Jin!” she exclaimed, with that genuine smile that disarmed him more than he wanted to admit.

“Didn’t you hear, Da-eun? Take out your notebook and math book” he told her gently, though his gaze involuntarily fell on the colored sheet.

He froze for a few seconds. On the page, drawn with a child’s hand but brimming with life, stood a huge, furry dog with kind eyes. Beside him, a fox with a sly muzzle and pointed ears. Above them, two shaky names: Bakubau and Jin.
Baek-Jin’s eyebrows arched, the slightest sign of the turmoil crossing his face. Just then, Da-eun obeyed, setting her book and notebook on the desk, and noticed the teacher was still staring at her drawing.

Instead of seeming intimidated, the girl straightened proudly and offered it to him with both little hands.

“Who are they?” Baek-Jin asked, trying to mask his curiosity behind a neutral tone.

The answer came quickly: “They’re my favorite characters from the story Samchon Baku tells me every night before I fall asleep!” Her eyes sparkled. “Do you like them, Teacher Jin? The fox has the same name as you…”

Those words hit him straight in the gut. He stayed silent longer than he should have, his eyes fixed on that drawn fox, which now looked like a mirror of awkward, heavy memories, of a past he had tried to bury.

That idiot Hu-Min… had he really turned their story into a fairy tale? And told it to Sieun and Su-Ho’s daughter, of all people?

He bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to shake it off. He couldn’t let himself slip in front of the children. He inhaled, then curved his lips into a measured, practiced smile.

“It’s a very well-done drawing” he conceded softly. Then, more firmly, he added: “But now pay attention to the lesson, all right?”

Da-eun nodded eagerly, as if she had just received the greatest compliment in the world, and opened her math notebook with gusto.

Baek-Jin straightened up, the drawing still vivid in his mind, and walked back toward the desk with measured steps. But inside, a subtle unease gnawed at his stomach: why, after all these years, had that fox and that dog come back to cross his path now?

Baku walked with a staggering gait, his hands spread out as if he needed to keep his balance with every step, while uneven laughter slipped from his lips, still flavored with beer. A couple of paces behind him, Baek-Jin followed calmly, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He watched him closely, half amused and half on guard, ready to step in if his friend swayed too far.

Halfway home, Baku suddenly stopped in front of a small street stall lit by a yellow bulb. There, among dozens of colorful phone accessories, his eyes lit up like those of a child. “Jin! Come here! Come onnn!” he shouted, flailing his arms wildly.

Baek-Jin walked over, brow furrowed, letting out a faint sigh. “What is it?”

“Look, it’s us!” Baku exclaimed, pointing at two little phone charms: a dog and a fox, both with comically cute faces. With clumsy hands, he grabbed them and held them right up to Baek-Jin’s face, so close their noses nearly touched. “Jin, your eyes… they’re just like the fox’s, see?”

Baek-Jin bit his tongue, struggling to hold back a smile. “So you’d be this scruffy mutt?”

“Mh… yeah,” Baku chuckled, tilting his head.

“It really does look like you,” Baek-Jin went on, finally letting a trace of a smile slip onto his lips.

Without another word, he pulled out his wallet and handed two bills to the woman at the stall. Then he calmly took the charms from Baku’s hands and, ignoring the alcohol-slurred protests, clipped the fox to his own phone. “Give me yours,” he said, in a tone that allowed no refusal.

Baku obeyed, curious, and watched as Baek-Jin carefully fixed the little dog charm onto his phone. “There. Happy?”

Baku stared at his phone for a moment, then at Baek-Jin’s, and finally into his eyes. A wide, genuine smile spread across his face, lighting him up.

“Let’s go home, Hu-min,” said Baek-Jin, almost hiding the tenderness in his voice behind its firmness.

“Yeah,” Baku replied, clutching his phone to his chest as if it were a treasure, “let’s go home, Jin.”

The period ended, and the classroom gradually emptied of the sounds of closing notebooks and chairs scraping the floor. Baek-Jin, ever methodical, gathered his books and register, stacking them neatly before leaving. His mind was already on the next class, ready to vacate the desk, when he felt a small tug on the fabric of his jacket.

He turned, and his eyes met Da-eun’s wide, shining ones.

“Teacher Jin!” she said brightly, though with a hint of hesitation. In her hands she clutched a sheet of paper, holding it as though it were the most precious treasure in the world.
Baek-Jin didn’t need to ask. He already knew what was coming, but he still found himself smiling at her, letting her gather courage.

“Since you liked my drawing so much” the little girl began, cheeks flushed with emotion, “I wanted to give it to you… and thank you for being so kind. The old teacher wasn’t so nice, and I’m really happy you’re our new math teacher!”

Her arms stretched toward him, timid but resolute. Baek-Jin felt his stomach tighten into an unexpected knot: that disarming sincerity, that blind trust… it was like a punch in the gut. It reminded him, harshly, of why, despite everything, he had chosen this path.
He lowered his eyes to the sheet, then looked back into hers and reached out to accept the gift.

“Thank you, Da-eun” he said softly, with a smile that, for once, wasn’t forced.

“I wanted to give it to Samchon Baku” she added, giggling and bouncing slightly on the spot, “but I decided I’ll make him another one! This one’s for you!”

Then, with a little bow that was more play than formality, she ran back to her desk, leaving him there, the drawing in his hand and an unusual warmth burning in his chest.

He pulled himself together just enough to close the lesson with a few words to the class and left for the teachers’ lounge. Once there, he sank into a chair, set his books on the table, and for an instant allowed himself to let his guard down. He unfolded the sheet and looked at it again: the fox and the dog, their names above them, the vivid colors clashing against the black-and-white memories of his past.
Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he muttered to himself: “Of all the children…” He let out a sigh that was more like a lump in his throat.

“Why did she have to be the sweetest one?”

As he carefully folded the paper to slip it between the pages of his register, he realized that, despite the unease, a stubborn smile refused to leave his face.

***

The classroom had a different air than usual: no childish chatter, only the subdued, cheerful murmur of adults, mixed with the scraping of chairs and the scratching of pens on planners.
Baek-Jin advanced with measured steps, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed a nervousness he couldn’t disguise. He hadn’t wanted this role, hadn’t asked to be the teachers’ representative for this class, but his colleagues had practically pushed him into it: “the children trust you, it’s only natural it should be you.” Professional as he was, he couldn’t refuse.

But even before crossing the threshold, a voice cut through him like a rusty nail: that loud, full laugh, too alive for those walls. Baku. His enthusiasm resounded in the classroom like a stage performance, and the parents laughed, captivated, as if he were the one leading the meeting.

As soon as he entered, Baek-Jin was greeted with a chorus of “good afternoon, teacher” and cordial bows. He responded with a polite smile, but the moment his eyes met Baku’s, the smile vanished. The other man returned the look with mocking air, that usual flash of challenge.

“I’m only here out of formality” Baek-Jin said, his voice calm but cutting. “Please proceed without distractions… everything has its place. Even comedy shows.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Baku only curled his lips into a smirk, as if the jab had been a disguised compliment, and sat back down with the other parents, resting one arm over the chair’s backrest, filling the space with his usual exaggerated ease.

Ignoring him, Baek-Jin began explaining the procedure: “We will listen to whoever wishes to stand as a candidate, gather the names, and proceed with a secret ballot. Once counted, we will announce the new parents’ representative.”

A few volunteers came forward: a mother with a calm but firm tone, a father who spoke of his experience with school associations. Baek-Jin noted the names neatly on the blackboard. Then, a louder whisper among the group forced him to look up: someone had suggested the very name he had never wanted to write.

Baek-Jin froze for a moment, chalk in hand, jaw tight. Then he slowly turned to the group.
“Excuse me” he said with utmost composure, “this person is not legally the parent of any child in this class. Are you certain you wish to nominate him?”

He hadn’t finished when a father intervened firmly: “You mean Baku? Teacher, he knows the children better than anyone else, he’s part of their daily lives, and we all respect him. He’s the most natural choice…”

The general approval was clear: they nodded, smiled. Baek-Jin pressed his lips into a thin line, his dark eyes fixed on Baku, who, from across the room, grinned smugly and gave him a slow, mocking little wave.

With a heavy breath, the teacher wrote his name on the list as well, and the voting began. One by one, parents approached the desk, leaving folded slips of paper in the small box prepared for the occasion, under Baek-Jin’s watchful gaze.

When it was Baku’s turn, the atmosphere seemed to shift. Baek-Jin, seated at the desk, was scrolling through his phone to check the time, as if he had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of a glance. But when he looked up, their eyes locked.

Baku advanced with calm, almost theatrical steps toward the box. With an exaggeratedly slow and deliberate gesture, he showed Baek-Jin the slip between his fingers, then slid it through the slot with a smile that said everything: “We both know how this will end. I’ll be your nightmare. Get ready.”

The paper disappeared into the box, and Baku walked back, chest puffed, strutting like an actor at the end of his finest performance.

Baek-Jin remained still, eyebrow arched, hands tightening around his phone. Only one certainty echoed in his mind: from that moment on, this classroom would never again be just a workplace.

“Seventeen votes for Park Hu-Min out of twenty-three.” Baek-Jin’s voice was flat, almost bored, as if he were reading a shopping list.

Warm, genuine applause filled the room. Baku rose from his seat with a radiant smile, clasped his hands together in a theatrical gesture of thanks, and approached the desk. Standing beside Baek-Jin, he turned to the parents with a proud tone: “Thank you all for your trust. I will do my best to represent you.”

Then, almost naturally, he turned toward Baek-Jin. He held out his hand, his eyes glinting with an ambiguous spark.

“It will be a pleasure working together for the children’s sake.”

Baek-Jin hesitated. His gaze flicked from the open hand to Baku’s smiling face, then back to the hand. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he shook it.

The instant the other’s skin touched his, a shiver ran through him: a sudden jolt that started in his palm, raced up his arm, and stopped at the nape of his neck. Baek-Jin’s jaw clenched imperceptibly. He hated him. Hated him because, despite everything, Baku always had the same effect on him. Still.

It took ten long minutes to see off every parent, answer the last questions, and close the meeting with the usual formality. Finally, the classroom emptied, leaving only the two of them.

The silence was heavy, broken only by the creak of a chair being moved. Baku was the first to speak, his tone already carrying the weight of a proposal.

“You know, I was thinking of asking if you’d be willing to organize a sports day. Something to help the kids discover new passions. We could do it on a Saturday, or Sunday, when there’s no-”

“Don’t you have a job?” Baek-Jin cut him off curtly, without even looking at him.

For a moment, Baku was silent. Then he studied him with amused air, raising an eyebrow, and finally rolled his eyes.

“Of course I do.”

“I mean… besides making my life like hell” Baek-Jin shot back, biting.

Baku laughed, loud, his voice filling the empty classroom.

“Yes, I have time for another job too.”

Baek-Jin crossed his arms over his chest, assuming that closed-off posture he knew so well, the one he used to shield himself from anyone who tried to get too close. He stayed silent, his gaze fixed on Baku, waiting.

With a sly smile, Baku leaned slightly forward and mimicked him, modulating his voice in a shameless imitation:
“You know, Hu-Min, I’d be very curious to know what you do with your life. Maybe… we could talk about it over coffee.”

Baek-Jin’s eyes widened, caught off guard by the insinuating suggestion, and he quickly turned away, his back to him. He bent down to fuss with some notebooks that didn’t need any tidying.

“Forget it. I don’t want to know anything about you.”

His tone was firm, but the stiffness in his shoulders betrayed the opposite.

Baku grabbed his arm, gripping it hard enough to force him to turn. Eye to eye, his voice hoarse with anger and surprise: “Is that what you told yourself when you disappeared?”

Baek-Jin grimaced, his upper lip curling slightly, as if the question burned his throat.

“That’s what I told myself when you decided to shack up with her without telling me a damn thing.”

Baku’s eyes widened. The answer hit him like a punch to the gut.

“…What?”

“Forget it. I don’t want to talk about it.” Baek-Jin bent down to grab his things, shoving the notebooks hastily into his bag. He strode toward the door, determined to end the conversation there.

But Baku’s voice chased after him, full of disbelief: “You’re saying you stopped being my best friend because I started seeing some girl whose name I don’t even remember?”

Baek-Jin stopped short. His breathing grew heavier, uneven. He turned back, furious, challenging Baku with every fiber of his being.

“Kim Ha-Yoon.” He spat the name like poison. “That was her name. And you and I weren’t best friends. But if that’s the little lie you’ve chosen to comfort yourself with all these years, who am I to change your mind?”

He turned abruptly, intent on leaving, but Baku was faster. He grabbed him again, this time by the wrist, gripping tightly as if afraid he might slip away once more.

“Na Baek-Jin, stop running away!” Baku’s voice trembled, more with anger than fear. “Tell me what your problem is. I think it’s about time, don’t you?”

Baek-Jin closed his eyes, his breathing ragged, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. He had never thought that, after all these years, he would be dragged back into that black hole of memories and unhealed wounds. And all because of a damned school.

When he spoke, his voice was broken, but loaded with truth.
“I’m not the one who ran, you know? You and I… we were more than just friends, or do you not want to remember that now? You’re the one who decided to take up with some girl you didn’t care about just to avoid facing who you really were. I… I only tried to protect myself from your choices. And now, after years, it’s a damn tragedy to find myself here, with you pretending everything’s fine, that we can just go back to being good friends.”

Baku slowly loosened his grip, letting his wrist slip free. He looked him in the eyes, shaken.
“We were just kids, Jin…”

“Kids who had already been through too much” Baek-Jin cut in, his voice cracking. “But you still didn’t care about using me and then hurting me.”

“I never used you. Nor did I want to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

Those three words fell between them like stones. Baek-Jin stepped back, distancing himself. With one hand he grabbed the doorknob, inhaling sharply as if to shake off the weight pressing on his chest.

“As for the children… organize that sportive day. Bring me a guideline of your ideas and we’ll discuss them with the parents.” His voice was cold again, distant, as if he had retreated into his armor.

One last breath, a sidelong glance that never quite reached Baku’s eyes.

“Good evening, Hu-Min.”

And he left, the only trace his departure the sound of the door closing, and a silence that screamed louder than any shout.

Baku walked with his hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed straight ahead, but in truth, he wasn’t seeing anything. The city around him was a muffled noise: traffic, voices, the chatter of shopkeepers… it all slid off him like water on glass. Inside, though, Baek-Jin’s words kept burning.

He had never been good at thinking about the past. He had never had the courage. But now he couldn’t stop.

After high school, after that last battle, after the defeat of the Union and of Baek-Jin… he had believed it was really over. A full stop. Final, painful, inevitable. He had tried to convince himself it was better that way: to walk away, forget, let life flow on. And for a while, he had managed.

And yet, two years later, there he was again. Baek-Jin. Different. Calmer, more mature. He was no longer the boy who would challenge anyone just to save face, no longer the charismatic, arrogant leader who fed off the approval of others. There was something in his eyes now, maybe a shadow, but also a light Baku didn’t remember seeing for years. Getting close to him had been a risk, a temptation the child inside him screamed not to suppress.

How many times, in the past, had he repeated to himself that he hated him, that he despised him for all the crap they had gone through together. How many times had he convinced himself that anger was the only way not to be sucked back in. And yet, ever since that final battle, ever since Baek-Jin had fallen along with the Union, it was as if the slate had been wiped clean. No more winners or losers. There was only him, Baku, and in front of him Baek-Jin: a boy who no longer wanted to dominate anyone, who no longer spoke of power or money, but who seemed to be searching, almost urgently, for something simpler.

Baku had looked at him for a long time, trying to recognize himself in the other’s eyes. And he had found it. He had seen his friend again. The one with whom he spent afternoons talking about everything and nothing, with whom he laughed and fought, with whom he pushed himself to the limit on a basketball court. Even the way they argued, heated, stubborn, irreconcilable, he had missed. It was a part of them, like breathing. And now that Baek-Jin no longer wore the armor of the untouchable leader, Baku had glimpsed again that fragile, real boy he had always cared for.

So, he had taken a step toward him. Not a big one, not a dramatic one. A timid, careful step, but enough. And he had never regretted it. It hadn’t been simple, of course: at first there had been silences, moments when neither of them knew quite how to act. But it hadn’t been hard either. It was as if an invisible thread had always bound them, and all it took was a tug for it to start vibrating again.

They had started small: conversations about classes, comments about professors, jokes about the absurdities of university life. Then, without even realizing it, they were back to how they used to be. Baek-Jin even started laughing again at his stupid jokes, bowing to the obvious truth that with Baku, no defense ever held. And sometimes, when he looked at him, he had that direct, clear gaze, as if he wanted to really see him for who he was, without masks, without walls.

He seemed once again like the boy Baku remembered with fierce nostalgia: the one who ran with him breathless until sunset, the one who pushed him to dream yet kept him anchored to reality. And that thought stole his breath.

From there, it had been a natural, spontaneous restart. A beer after class, then two, then too many. A video game match that stretched late into the night. A cohabitation that began almost as a joke, with the excuse of sharing expenses, but was really just a way to stay even closer. The apartment was cramped, messy, full of piles of clothes tossed around by Baku and patiently folded by Baek-Jin, who couldn’t stand chaos. Their days tangled together in sudden laughter, serious talks, endless impromptu basketball games outside, and last-minute dinners of instant ramen.

And inevitably, there had been more. They hadn’t said anything, hadn’t asked anything. They had never defined it. But between them, it had happened. A caress that lingered a moment too long, a stolen kiss that became two, then ten, then entire nights. A trail of rumpled sheets and ragged breaths, wedged between exams, between tension and the desperate need to let go.

For Baku, at the time, it had been simple. Friendship and sex, without labels, without questions. He didn’t want to look in the mirror and face what it meant. He didn’t want to admit to himself what he felt, what he was. It was enough just to live in the moment, without bearing the weight of consequences. And so he had never said anything. Never asked anything. Never stopped to think that, for Baek-Jin, it might be different.

Until one day, Baek-Jin left. Just like that, without explanation. A new university, a new life. No message, no word. Only emptiness.

Baku had patched it over as always: a girl, a couple of forced laughs, another lie told to himself. At the time, it seemed a way to avoid facing the monster inside. To pretend everything was normal. But now, years later, he understood. He understood that in protecting himself, he had hurt the most important person in his life.

His chest ached, a dull, persistent pain, like a fist left there to hollow him out. He had never thought of Baek-Jin in those terms, as “the one I loved” as “him, more than anyone else”, but now reality pressed down on him with brutality.

He had been a fool. A coward. He had thrown away the only thing that, in their own way, had been real.

And now? Now that he stood before the same boy grown into a man, now that Da-eun adored him, now that their lives had crossed again… how could he make amends? Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe there was no remedy.

He stopped halfway home, staring at the reflection of his dark face in a shop window. Red eyes, clenched jaw.

“What the hell have you done, Hu-Min…” he muttered to himself, barely audible.

Then he started walking again, with the weight of the past pressing on his shoulders, heavier than it had ever been.

***

Baku was walking briskly, a little too fast, almost as if he were committing a small crime: letting Da-eun skip after-school class. He had planned to take her out for ice cream, to give her a breath of freedom from those endless hours of study and homework. With a satisfied smile, he was already picturing the joy on the little girl’s face when, suddenly, a voice stopped him from behind.

A voice he could never mistake.

“Hu-Min.”

The blood in his veins turned cold. His hands began to sweat so much that he rubbed them against his jeans without even realizing. He turned slowly, his heartbeat quickening. There, only a few steps away, stood Baek-Jin.

The teacher approached with his usual composure, steady steps, controlled expression. He greeted him with that courteous coldness that made every word feel like an act of pure formality, devoid of warmth. Then, in a neutral tone, he asked: “Have you thought about the organization for Sports Day?”

Baku scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed, suddenly feeling like a kid caught red-handed. He stammered: “Yeah… I mean… no. I had… uh… some problems, a lot of work. But I swear I’ll give you everything in a couple of days!”

Baek-Jin nodded slowly, as if acknowledging the excuse without giving it much weight. He took half a step back, ready to leave, but suddenly stopped and came closer again. His eyes locked onto Baku’s, head tilted slightly.

“What are you doing here at this hour?”

Baku stiffened. He hadn’t prepared an answer. He stammered again, trying to deflect, but Baek-Jin, one eyebrow raised and arms crossed, left him no room.

“Da-eun can’t skip after-school this often.”

The tone was that of a reprimand, and Baku huffed, annoyed.

“She’s eight years old, Jin! She needs to play, to laugh, to live her age, not just sit hunched over a desk.”

“If she keeps this up, she’ll fall behind the other kids.”

“Impossible. I help her, personally, to catch up on her homework.”

Baek-Jin’s lips curled into an ironic little smile, almost amused, with a shadow of derision glinting in his eyes.

“You?”

Baku shot him a glare.

That faintly mocking smile was enough to make his temper flare. He was about to burst into yet another argument when the classroom door burst open.

Da-eun came running out. Her braids bounced like playful ropes as she shouted their names in excitement: “Samchon Baku! Teacher Jin!”

She stopped abruptly in front of them, looking up with a suspicious expression.

“Why do you look angry, Samchon?”

Baku crouched down to her level, ruffled her hair affectionately, and smiled, hiding the irritation still burning inside him.

“Me, angry? No way! I’m super happy because we finally get to spend some time together.”

As he said it, he shot Baek-Jin a cheeky glance, as if to underline that he knew how to make the girl happy.

But Da-eun wasn’t distracted. She turned to her teacher with bright eyes.

“Teacher Jin, do you still have work to do?”

Baek-Jin shook his head, simple, measured. The little girl clapped her hands in delight.

“Then why don’t you come get ice cream with us?”

Baku’s eyes widened in shock. He rushed to intervene: “Wait, Da-eun, I don’t think-”

But Baek-Jin’s calm voice cut him off without hesitation. “Alright.”

Baku’s world seemed to stop for a moment. He turned sharply toward him, glaring, because he knew perfectly well that he wasn’t doing this for the girl, he was doing it to put him on the spot. To barge right into a space Baku wanted to keep just for himself and Da-eun.

Meanwhile, the girl hopped with joy, then dashed back into the classroom to grab her things. The sound of her footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving the two men standing face-to-face.

They ignored each other for a few seconds, frozen in place, like two strangers forced to share the same space. The air between them was tense, heavy, but neither seemed willing to back down. Baek-Jin, arms still crossed and gaze impenetrable, seemed to consider something. Then, with the faintest, almost imperceptible smile, he broke the silence.

“What bothers you so much, Baku? Weren’t you the one who wanted to have coffee and talk?”

The question hit him squarely, and Baku shot him a fierce glare, jaw tightening.

“You only hear what you want. I told you, if I find out you’re using Da-eun for some kind of game of yours-”

“Using?” Baek-Jin interrupted, tilting his head slightly, as if the word itself amused him. “I’m her teacher.”

Baku stepped forward, eyes locked on him. “And you didn’t agree to come with us just to make things harder for me?”

Baek-Jin’s smile grew sharper, mocking, a spark flashing in his dark eyes.

“Baku… do you really feel cornered? You?”

That provocation was enough to ignite him. Baku moved in closer, stopping just a breath away from his face. He could feel his slow, steady breath, could see every detail of his features, as if studying a puzzle.

“Yes. Because of you.”

Baku’s voice was low, almost hoarse, thick with anger, and something else he didn’t dare name. They stared at each other, neither flinching. Each man’s eyes searched the other’s, as if trying to decode hidden thoughts. The tension was electric, taut like a wire about to snap. They looked like two boxers ready to strike at the first signal… or two lovers a breath away from surrendering to what they had been suppressing for far too long.

Then, like a bucket of cold water, came Da-eun’s cheerful voice from the far end of the hall:
“Samchon! The teacher says she has to see you first, or else I can’t leave!”

The magic, or the threat, shattered instantly. Baku pulled back sharply, stepping away as if burned. He drew in a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding in his chest, then turned toward his goddaughter.

With a wide smile and a cheerful voice, as if nothing had happened, he walked over to her. At the classroom door he greeted the teacher with exuberance, joked with two kids who called to him, and laughed as if he were in his natural element.

Baek-Jin stayed behind, watching him from a distance. He said nothing, but a sigh escaped his lips. Running a hand through his hair, he lowered his gaze to the floor, aware that he was playing with fire, and that fire, sooner or later, would consume them both.

“Teacher Jin, but what flavor is licorice?” asked Da-eun, sitting on the bench between the two men, her little face smeared with chocolate and strawberry.

Baku burst into loud laughter at the spontaneity of the question, while Baek-Jin lowered his gaze first to the child’s ice cream cone and then to Baku’s, an improbable mishmash of flavors that clashed just by looking at them. In another situation, he would have thrown in a sarcastic remark, but in front of Da-eun his sternness softened. Calmly, he picked up a bit of his black ice cream with the plastic spoon and held it out to her.

“Da-eun” he said in a gentle voice, “before you judge something, you need to try it. Otherwise you risk getting the wrong idea, and that little idea might change the course of your life without you even noticing.”

Baku felt his body stiffen all at once. That wasn’t just a lesson for the child, it was a dart aimed straight at him, and he felt it. Pressing his lips together, he stayed silent as he watched Da-eun accept the spoon and taste it.

She immediately made a face, scrunching her nose. “Bleah! I don’t like it!”

Baku laughed again, shaking his head in satisfaction, while Baek-Jin, amused, gave her a kind smile. “And yet, now you know. You don’t like it, yes, but you’ll never be left wondering.”

Da-eun nodded firmly and went back to her cone, making an even bigger mess. But a few moments later she lifted her bright eyes again, with that innocence that always lit up her face. “Samchon, do you like licorice?”

The question caught him off guard. Baku froze mid-gesture, tongue ready to lick the cone, and immediately knew this wasn’t going to end well. “No!” he answered sharply.

“Have you ever tried it?” she pressed, innocent but relentless.

Baku wanted to lie, but he couldn’t with her. He gave the slightest shake of his head, embarrassed, swallowing hard.

The child’s eyes sparkled, and she immediately turned to the teacher. “Teacher Jin! Make him taste it!”

“There’s no need…” Baku tried, raising a hand, but Baek-Jin had been waiting for exactly that. With studied ease, he filled the spoon and held it out.

Baku reached for it, but Baek-Jin pulled it back with a mischievous glint in his eyes. It was clear he wanted the last word. Baku rolled his eyes in exasperation, his ears already burning, and finally let himself be fed like a child.

He swallowed, pretending nothing happened. “It’s nothing special” he muttered, trying not to blush too much.

“But at least now you know!” Da-eun retorted naturally.

That simple, innocent line was enough to make both men burst out laughing, for a moment united in the same fragility.

When Da-eun finished her ice cream, she ran off happily toward the playground rides, leaving them alone on the bench. The silence that fell was different from the earlier tension: this one had a subtler weight, made of memories and things unsaid.

Baek-Jin spoke first, his eyes following the little girl bouncing on the swings. “She’s a very bright child. You can see right away she’s different from the others.”

Baku nodded. “I know. But she’s still just a child.”

“With the right guidance, she could achieve great things. She has a rare talent for math, not many kids her age have that kind of natural logic.”

Baku sighed and turned toward him. “She’s still little, Jin. She needs to live her age, to play, to get her hands dirty with sand. She’s already been through enough for ten lives, believe me.”

Baek-Jin stared at him, intrigued. He wasn’t used to seeing Baku so serious. Something in his tone pushed him to want to know more, but he remained silent.

Baku stayed still for a moment, as if weighing whether it was right to open up. Then he spoke, softly: “Her father didn’t want her. When her mother died in childbirth, she grew up surrounded by neglect and mistreatment… It was hell. Thankfully, the social workers took her away from that house, and Su-ho and Sieun fought tooth and nail to get custody.”

Baek-Jin lowered his gaze, shaken. He watched the child again, laughing happily on the rides as if none of that past had ever existed. He remained quiet for a while before adding, “Maybe that’s why I felt a connection with her right away.”

Baku turned suddenly, catching the streak of melancholy on his face. It wasn’t the usual coldness, it was an old pain, one he recognized instantly.

“She was very lucky” Baek-Jin went on, finally lifting his gaze to him. A faint smile softened his features.

Baku nodded slowly. Then, unable to hold back, he let the words slip out. “Once, you said the same about yourself, remember?”

Their eyes locked, and in that instant there was no park, no children playing. Just the two of them, and that past knocking stubbornly, ready to be heard again.

"Yes, I remember, Hu-Min".

Baek-Jin offered to drive them home, and Da-eun squealed with joy, skipping as she squeezed Baku’s hand. He, despite his usual scowl, couldn’t find the strength to refuse: her smile was disarming, her enthusiasm made him defenseless.

Once in the car, Da-eun sat in the back, right in the middle, so she could see both of them. As soon as Baek-Jin started the engine, the child bombarded him with questions. “Teacher, how does the car know where to go? And how does the steering wheel make the wheels turn? And why are there three pedals? I thought there were two! And if the car breaks, do you know how to fix it?”

Baek-Jin, with surprising patience, answered every one. Sometimes he simplified with words suited to her age, other times he slipped into slightly more technical explanations, spicing them with funny examples.

“See, Da-eun, the steering wheel is like holding a dog’s leash: if you pull gently left or right, it follows you. The pedals, instead, are like game controls: one makes it start, another makes it stop, and the third… well, that’s a little secret for grown-ups!”

Da-eun laughed heartily, clapping her hands, and immediately pressed on: “And you, teacher, have you ever gotten a ticket? Because Daddy Su-ho says when he drives too fast, the police get mad!”

Baku, who had been silent until then, bit the inside of his cheek not to burst out laughing. He almost wanted to chime in, but kept listening.

Baek-Jin, on the other hand, didn’t miss a beat: “Once, yes. But not for speeding. I was late for school and parked badly. You know how embarrassing it was when they gave me the ticket in front of all the kids?”

“Really?!” Da-eun’s eyes widened in disbelief. “And did the kids laugh?”

“Some did, others told me that next time I should park in the schoolyard so the police couldn’t find me!”

He told it with a light laugh, and his tone was so natural, so easygoing, that the little girl couldn’t stop asking him questions. It was a cascade of curiosity and answers that filled the car, making the ride livelier and more cheerful than Baku had expected.

Sitting beside him, Baku found himself glancing sideways now and then, watching Baek-Jin’s profile lit by the city lights. It wasn’t just the patience in his answers, but the way he modulated his voice, the spontaneous smile, the genuine attention he gave to every word from Da-eun. There was no act, no facade: that was truly who he was, kind, bright, genuine.

And as Da-eun kept chattering happily, Baku couldn’t help but think that the children at the group home had been right to call him hyung, to follow him like an older brother, a steady point. Now he saw it with his own eyes: Baek-Jin really was wonderful with children.

That awareness left him with a strange feeling, a mix of admiration and annoyance, as if accepting it meant surrendering to something he didn’t want to admit. So he just looked out the window, hoping neither of them would notice how much he’d been moved.

In front of Su-ho and Sieun’s house, the car engine went silent and an abrupt hush fell inside the vehicle. Da-eun was the first to unbuckle and hop out, cheerful as always. Baku gave her a light pat on the shoulder, urging her to go in. “Go on, sweetheart, I’ll be right there.”

The girl turned to the teacher, bowing her head slightly in a formal gesture that betrayed her respect for him. “Thank you for the ice cream, Teacher Jin!” she said in her chirpy voice.

Baek-Jin smiled and ruffled her hair, with that natural ease he reserved only for children. “Don’t forget your homework, Da-eun.”

“Promise!” she answered, before running toward the door, leaving the two men alone, wrapped in a much heavier, charged atmosphere.

Baku stood there, hands shoved into his pockets, watching Baek-Jin already heading back to the car.

“Thanks for the ride” he murmured, lowering his gaze a little.

Baek-Jin only shrugged slightly, as if to say it was nothing. “Good evening, Hu-Min.” He turned to get into the car, but Baku’s voice stopped him.

“I’m sorry I hurt you” he blurted out suddenly, almost breathless. “Back then… I really didn’t know what I was doing.”

Baek-Jin’s fingers froze on the car door. He turned slowly, studying him deeply, as if trying to read his soul. Then he nodded softly, and an enigmatic smile softened his features.

“Do you know now, Hu-Min?” There was no challenge, no venom: only a sincere request, an open path, a fragile white flag.

Baku felt his stomach tighten, his heart hammering against his ribs. It was as if all the unspoken words, all the hidden thoughts, were there, ready to choke him.

Baek-Jin opened the briefcase on the car seat and pulled out a sheet of colored paper. He stepped toward Baku, holding it out. “Look.”

Baku’s eyes widened. It was a drawing by Da-eun: a fox and a big dog, smiling, surrounded by flowers. A fairytale told with a child’s hands.

“You told her about us… through a story?” he asked in a thin voice, incredulous.

Baku didn’t answer immediately. Baek-jin waited for him to react, his eyes steady, intense, as if he wanted to carve that truth deep within.

“You know you’ve always been important to me…” Baku whispered, stammering, unable to hold back the emotion.

Baek-Jin shook his head slowly. “I didn’t know. You never said it.” The words were flat, but carried a weight that fell on Baku like a boulder.

Suddenly he remembered the talk about licorice. About not knowing without trying. About leaving things unresolved out of fear. He had done the same with him, and his disappearance had been the price to pay. His tongue burned, ready to speak, to confess everything. But instead, he bit his lips, trying to hide the torment behind an awkward smile. He scratched the back of his neck, like he always did when he didn’t know how to face something. “Jin…”

The name hung in the air, fragile and incomplete.

Baek-Jin took the drawing back from Baku’s hands, folded it carefully, and placed it back into the briefcase. Then he shut the lock with a sharp click.

“Organize the sports day, Hu-Min.” His voice was calm, but final.

He got into the car without another word. With one last look, not cold, not distant, he started the engine and drove off, leaving Baku standing on the sidewalk, with the sound of the car fading away and Da-eun’s drawing still burning in his eyes.

***

The sports day, awaited for weeks, arrived under a blue sky and a sun that warmed without being suffocating. The schoolyard had been transformed into a small village of activities: colorful ribbons marked out the tracks, balls bounced from one side to the other, children’s laughter mixed with the voices of parents chatting with each other, relaxed. There was truly everything: a sack race, an improvised obstacle course with cones and ropes, the basketball court full of kids challenging each other to score, and even a volleyball net that a group of moms and dads enjoyed using, laughing like children.

Su-ho and Sieun were sitting on the grass, with Da-eun hopping in front of them, undecided about where to go first. Seizing the lighthearted mood, Su-ho immediately started teasing his husband.

“You know, when your daddy was young, he couldn’t run more than a hundred meters without looking like an old man” he told Da-eun with a mischievous smile.
Sieun shoved him at once. “That’s not true! And anyway, I ran fast enough to get noticed!”
The little girl’s eyes widened. “Did you like watching him sweat and run slow, papa?” she asked with such innocence that everyone burst out laughing.

“He liked being the fastest of all!” Sieun shot back, blushing slightly, while Su-ho enjoyed provoking him even more.

Baku, who was drinking from a water bottle nearby, seized the chance to add: “Oh, but how you ran that day, Sieun, when the call came!”
The silence that fell for a moment was heavy with memories. Everyone knew what he was referring to: the moment when Su-ho had woken up from the coma and, upon receiving the phone call, Sieun had bolted like never before, running desperately and with a joy the others had struggled to catch up to.

To break the emotion, Sieun jabbed Baku in the ribs, making him laugh, while Su-ho threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close in a spontaneous hug.

“I’d never run like that again for anyone else in the world” he said softly, but with a firmness that made Sieun blush again.

Meanwhile, Da-eun still couldn’t decide among the countless activities, looking right and left, torn between the track or trying the obstacles. Then, suddenly, she saw him. Teacher Jin, in sportswear, elegant even in simple clothes, was talking with a group of children near the basketball court, ball in hand, smiling.

“Teacher Jin!” the little girl shouted, running toward him without a second thought.

Baku followed her quickly, but he couldn’t help noticing. Jin held the ball with ease, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his hair slightly tousled by the wind. And Baku’s stomach tightened as if someone had punched him, a familiar emotion he no longer knew how to contain.

Baek-Jin looked up and saw him approaching. For an instant, the courtyard noises faded, and between them there was only a long exchange of glances. From afar, they smiled at each other, a hesitant smile, heavy with everything they couldn’t say.

Su-ho, who didn’t miss the moment, commented loudly enough to be heard: “In the end, whatever kind of person he was in high school, that Baek-Jin has become someone you can rely on. No wonder the kids adore him and keep calling him hyung.”
Sieun nodded, silently agreeing.

Baku took a deep breath, but instead of looking away, he kept his gaze fixed on Baek-Jin, letting the words spill out without thinking too much.
“He’s the best teacher she could have gotten.”

His words struck not only Baek-Jin, who remained still, staring at him with a shadow of surprise in his eyes, but also Su-ho and Sieun behind him, who exchanged a knowing glance. They weren’t surprised at all. After all, they had always known: there was much more between those two than they ever admitted.

Baek-Jin tossed him the ball with a sharp, precise gesture, as if throwing an invitation to come home. Baku caught it on the fly, felt it compress under his fingers, and, without overthinking, got into position.
“Show these kids how a proper direct pass is done” Baek-Jin said, with that calm voice that could turn every command into a friendly challenge.
Baku nodded, smiling, and began to distribute passes one after another. His movements were broad, natural: wrists relaxed, arms pushing the ball with decision, feet carrying him at just the right pace. The kids formed a circle, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, and with every throw they erupted into little bursts of applause.

They worked together as if they had never stopped. Baek-Jin, with his trademark composure, shielded passes with light feints, teaching the children not to be fooled by an opponent’s eyes, and whenever one of them made a mistake, he never scolded, but corrected their stance with a light touch on their hands or shoulders.
“Bend your knees a little, like this… good. Now try again” he said, his voice low but encouraging.

Baku, on the other hand, did the opposite: explaining loudly, gesturing wildly, using goofy and improbable examples. “Imagine the ball is a hot potato, hold it too long and you’ll burn your hands! Pass it right away!” he yelled, pretending to scorch his palms, making all the kids laugh and copy him exaggeratedly.

One child hesitated, clutching the ball with a confused look. Baek-Jin approached with a smile. “Don’t look at your feet, look at me. Like this. Breathe in, relax… now pass it.” The boy threw it and, for the first time, managed a proper pass. Baku clapped his hands enthusiastically. “See? You’re a natural champion!”
Baek-Jin sighed with a faint, ironic smile. “Don’t exaggerate, Hu-Min. Otherwise they’ll think they don’t need to train anymore.”

“Let me do my job, Mr. Serious Teacher!” Baku shot back, winking at a group of kids who burst into laughter again.

The bond between them was instantly clear: their movements synchronized without words. Baek-Jin anticipated the direction of a pass with a glance, Baku understood and was already moving. When the circle of children grew too crowded, one of them diverted the trajectory smoothly, as if they still shared that silent language only they knew.

At one point, during a quick drill, their hands brushed together on the ball as they both reached for it before it hit the ground. It was a brief, innocent touch, but enough to send a shiver running down both their arms. Baku held his breath, immediately shifting his gaze toward the kids, while Baek-Jin recomposed himself with a faint cough. Neither of them commented, but that fleeting contact thickened the air between them, charged with something that went far beyond the game.

A child raised his hand. “Teacher Jin, can I try with Samchon Baku?”
Baek-Jin nodded and let Baku take the center of the circle. Baku crouched down, ready to receive the ball, and said: “Careful, kid, don’t let my secret moves trick you!” He pulled off an exaggerated feint, almost theatrical, drawing laughter from everyone.

“This isn’t theater, Hu-Min. It’s concentration” Baek-Jin corrected, but couldn’t help smiling when the boy still managed to intercept the pass and shouted with joy.

In that instant, surrounded by laughing and learning children, it was as if nothing had changed: they were once again two boys speaking the same language, the one made of sports, challenges, and an understanding too natural to ignore.

Da-eun cheered the first time Baku passed her the ball precisely, bouncing with joy and shouting,

“Wow, Samchon Baku!” as if he were her personal hero. Around them, the children crowded together, jostling to imitate, to replicate that gesture that seemed so effortless for the two adults.

“Teach us! Teach us!” they cried in unison, laughing and stumbling in their excitement.

Su-ho and Sieun, seated on a blanket not far away, exchanged a look. Sieun’s eyes were shining but his smile was proud; Su-ho watched him with amusement and almost disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite grasp that their little girl was surrounded by such warmth. Some parents applauded, others recorded videos with their phones; the atmosphere was warm, joyful, yet laced with that subtle tension born from the glances Baek-Jin and Baku kept exchanging.

Later, Baku called out a harder drill: “Now let’s see who’s really got stamina! Quick passes, one-two, with lateral movement. No breaks!” he shouted, clapping his hands to get attention. The kids immediately formed a circle, curious and a little intimidated by his energy.

Baek-Jin took the ball first and did it with his natural precision: measured dribble, sharp pass, smooth side step as if he were dancing. “Like this, quick but controlled. Don’t let the ball control you” he explained, never breaking rhythm.
Baku mirrored him with the same speed, but in a completely different style: louder, more theatrical. “Come on, faster! Pretend the ball’s a burning pie, you can’t hold it too long or you’ll scorch yourselves!” he yelled, sending the kids into fits of laughter. Each of his moves was exaggerated, yet he never lost the game’s tempo.

The two kept moving opposite each other, passing the ball so fast the kids followed with wide eyes. Sweat began to bead on their foreheads, breaths grew shorter, but neither Baku nor Baek-Jin showed any sign of slowing down. When the ball slipped from a child’s hands and rolled away, everyone burst out laughing at the clumsy chase that followed.

Baek-Jin was quicker: he scooped it up with an elegant move, then, without warning, threw it back with a sudden feint toward Baku, who had to react instantly. Instead of catching it properly, he let the ball hit his chest and staggered backward, pretending he had been knocked out.
“Hit! Ahhh, I can’t go on!” he groaned theatrically, collapsing almost to his knees like an actor in a tragic scene.

The children erupted in raucous laughter, clapping and shouting, “Again, again!” Even Baek-Jin, who usually kept a certain composure, couldn’t hold back a genuine laugh, shaking his head. “You never change, Hu-Min” he remarked, with a tone that mixed amusement and tenderness.
Baku sprang back up and winked at him. “Admit it, you missed having such a creative partner.”
Baek-Jin looked at him for a moment, still smiling, and replied softly, as if only for him: “Maybe… A little less, I missed seeing you strut around every two seconds."

That brief exchange, hidden beneath the laughter and the children’s cries for another turn, revealed how natural their connection had become again. No need for many words: just a pass, a feint, a shared laugh, and everything felt like it once had.

As the sports day went on smoothly, the passes grew ever more fluid, their energy contagious. The children learned, ran, fell, and got back up; the parents chatted happily. And amid that joyful noise, Baku and Baek-Jin kept exchanging small signals, a nod, a smile, like two teammates who had found, at least for one day, the same language again.

***

In the afternoon, when everyone had moved to the gym to continue with other activities, the atmosphere was light, almost festive. Teacher Jin had organized some exercises and, at the end, asked a small group of children to help him put some equipment back in the storage room. Baku, seeing them struggling with badly folded mats and plastic cones too big for their arms, immediately offered: “Let me do it, I’ll go. They don’t need to get dirty.”

Baek-Jin stopped him with a sharp wave of his hand. “No, Baku. This is part of their job too. They need to understand that after fun comes responsibility. They can’t grow up thinking there will always be someone else to clean up after them.”

Baku laughed, raising his hands in surrender. “See? You’re still the same neat freak as always. You haven’t changed one bit.” Baek-Jin only smiled faintly, without denying it.

Time slipped by peacefully until, all of a sudden, two children came running toward them. They were covered in dust, their faces distraught, their eyes filled with tears. “Baku! Baku!” they shouted in chorus, breathless. “Teacher Jin! Hurry, he’s in danger!”

Baku didn’t need further details. Those words, the name Jin alongside “danger”, were enough. His heart leapt violently, his stomach tightened as if he’d been punched. Without hesitation, he let go of Sieun and Su-Ho and bolted after the children, sprinting down the gym corridor.

When he flung the storage room door open, the scene froze him for an instant: a row of old, rusty, unstable lockers had toppled with a deafening crash, filling the small space with dust and a sharp smell of iron. The children pointed with trembling hands right underneath them.

Baku ran his hands through his hair, eyes wide. “Where’s Da-Eun?!” he shouted, his voice breaking.

One of the children, stammering, explained that when the lockers started to fall, Teacher Jin had thrown himself in front of her to protect her, shielding her with his body. Both had been trapped under the collapsed structure.

Baku’s ears started ringing, a shrill buzz clouding his thoughts. A wave of dizziness hit him, but he forced it away. Adrenaline surged through his body like a burning tide. This was his job, saving people in danger. But the knot in his chest was tighter than any emergency he’d ever faced, because it was always different when the lives at risk were those you loved.

He dropped to his knees, frantically searching with trembling hands for a gap among the bent metal. With his face near the floor, he glimpsed a strip of dark fabric, then strands of hair. “Jin! Da-Eun!” he called desperately, his voice cracking, repeating their names over and over like a mantra.

At that moment, Su-Ho, Sieun, and other parents rushed in, drawn by the screams and commotion. They saw the scene, and Su-Ho, driven by instinct, immediately tried to grab one side of the lockers to lift them.

“No!” Baku stopped him, gripping his wrist hard. “We can’t move them like this! If the weight shifts the wrong way, we could crush them even more.”

“Then what do we do?!” Sieun cried, his voice breaking with panic.

Baku took a deep breath, forcing himself to think clearly. He pulled his phone from his pocket with hands that trembled only slightly and called his station, demanding immediate intervention from the fire brigade. His voice over the phone was hard, professional, without hesitation, but his heart was pounding wildly, each beat like a deafening drum in his ears.

As soon as he hung up, he bent back down toward the gap, pressing his face almost against the metal, trying to make himself heard. “Jin! Da-Eun! Hold on, please… I’ll get you out, I swear I’ll get you out!” His voice cracked in places, but he didn’t stop calling for even a second.

Around him panic was rising, children crying, parents whispering frantically, but to Baku everything else was muffled. There was only that heap of iron and the lives of two people he loved trapped beneath it.

When the rescuers arrived, the scene instantly turned into a whirlwind of orders, tools unloaded in a rush, voices overlapping. Two firefighters tried to pull Baku away, explaining that his worry made him more of a hindrance than a help. But still crouched, calling out for Jin and Da-Eun, he sprang up and, eyes bloodshot, refused.

“Don’t even try! I’m staying here!” His voice was broken but resolute.

The team exchanged glances, hesitating. They all knew him, they all knew how good he was at handling emergencies and how respected he was. Finally, their chief laid a hand on his shoulder. “Then get changed, Baku. Put on the suit and come help us properly. But I want you clear-headed, understood?”

Baku nodded hard, as if that order had given him back his breath. He ran to the locker room and, in moments, put on his rescue gear. When he returned, the gym was being cleared. Parents were being ushered outside, children crying.

Sieun and Su-Ho tried to stay. “Please, let us stay inside!” Sieun begged, clutching Baku’s arm in despair. “She’s our daughter!”

Baku clenched his jaw, but his voice was steady, almost icy, to hide the storm inside. “I’ll bring Da-Eun back safe and sound. Trust me.”

But doubt gnawed at him. Every time he’d called for Jin and the child, there had been no answer. A silence that was consuming him. Yet he repeated to himself, like an obsessive mantra: they’re alive. They must be alive.

As the team prepared ropes and levers to lift the lockers, Baku suddenly raised his hand. “Everyone stop! Silence!” His voice rang out like an absolute command. Breath was held all around.

Baku bent again toward a gap, his heart pounding in his chest. “Jin! Da-Eun?”

For a moment, there was only dust and the groan of metal. Then, a faint voice, broken by sobs: “Baku… samchon… hurry… Teacher Jin won’t wake up…”

Baku’s blood surged faster, his throat dried, but new strength filled his arms. Da-Eun was alive. But Jin… Jin was unconscious. That thought tore his heart apart.

“Hold on, sweetheart, hold on! We’re coming!” he shouted, trying to mask his fear with a reassuring tone.

The team, energized by hearing the girl’s voice, resumed work with even more determination. The ropes creaked, tools were set in place, and slowly the lockers were lifted one after another. Time seemed to stretch, every second an eternity.

Finally, only the last locker remained, the one under which Baek-Jin’s motionless body could be glimpsed, bent over the child. Baku moved closer, his breath ragged. “Now!” he shouted, and together with two colleagues pushed with all the strength he had, veins bulging in his neck, muscles burning. The locker gave way and was hauled aside.

Paramedics rushed in. Baek-Jin lay sprawled on the ground, his body completely covering Da-Eun. She coughed, her face streaked with tears, her dress covered in dust. “Teacher! Teacher!” she cried between sobs.

Baku knelt beside her, cupping her face in his hands. “Sweetheart… are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m scared…” she sobbed. She had only a few scratches and a slight scrape on her arm, but she was alive. A paramedic lifted her into their arms, carrying her away, while Baku shouted: “Take her to her parents, now!”

When he turned back, his heart sank. The two paramedics working on Jin were bent over him, trying to resuscitate him. “He’s not breathing!” one cried. “Oxygen levels crashing!”

Baku felt his legs buckle, the world shake. He stumbled closer, eyes wide, throat burning. “How is he?!” he shouted, his voice already breaking with tears.

The female paramedic looked at him, her face grave with pity. “He still has a heartbeat, but it’s weak. We need to get him to the hospital immediately. His lungs are compromised.”

Baku drew a deep breath, but the air seemed to vanish. Tears streamed down his face as he looked at the man he had loved in silence for years, lying motionless in the rescuers’ hands. “No, no, no…” he murmured, shaking his head.

When they lifted Baek-Jin onto the stretcher and carried him toward the ambulance, Baku didn’t hesitate for a second. He ran after them, climbed inside, and sat beside him, grasping his cold hand and squeezing it with all his strength.

“Don’t leave me, Jin… not now… please.” Tears fell freely, his hands trembled. He prayed, inwardly and aloud, praying nonstop.

Baku couldn’t lose him again.

***

The hours dragged by, endless. Baku hadn’t moved a muscle from that hard plastic chair, his gaze fixed on the doors of the operating room, which opened and closed only to let busy nurses through. His firefighter uniform was stained with dust and smudges, his skin marked by exhaustion, his eyes bloodshot. Every now and then Su-Ho and Sieun came closer to offer comfort, but he never replied, as if he couldn’t hear them: his entire world had been reduced to that waiting.

Finally, when the doctor appeared and asked for him, Baku jumped to his feet as though not even a minute had passed. His heart pounded so loud it drowned out every other sound, his eyes devouring the man’s expression, desperately searching for a signal, any sign.

The surgeon gave a faint smile, a slow nod. “He’s out of danger. The surgery was successful. He’ll remain under anesthesia for a few more hours, but the nurses are already bringing him to his room.”

Baku’s legs almost gave way, a sob tore through his chest. He buried his hands in his hair, bending forward, laughing and crying all at once, as if a boulder had been lifted from his soul.

“Can I see him? I need to… I need to stay with him until he wakes up.”

The doctor looked at him with a mixture of seriousness and a touch of paternal warmth. He patted his shoulder. “Of course you can. But first, wash your face and hands, otherwise you might truly scare him when he opens his eyes.”

Baku laughed through his tears, a broken, trembling sound, and nodded repeatedly before rushing toward the bathroom.

When, minutes later, he stepped into the room, his heart was pounding again like in a race. There, on the hospital bed, lay Baek-Jin: motionless, pale, his chest rising slowly beneath the white sheet, lips parted in steady breaths. There were tubes and machines, lights blinking, but to Baku, it was enough just to see him alive.

He approached quietly, almost afraid of breaking him, and sat beside him. His trembling fingers sought his hand, found it cold but real, and held it with a grip that refused to let go.

The tears began flowing again as Baku slumped to his knees, his forehead resting on the mattress beside Jin’s still body. His breath became a mix of sobs and nervous laughter.

“Oh, for fuck's sake, Jin… you scared the hell out of me.” His voice shook, broken. “You can’t do this… not to me. Not now.”

He stayed there, speaking softly, never stopping, spilling everything he’d held back for years: regrets, nights spent thinking of him, the fear of never seeing him again. Every word poured out unfiltered, as if that forced silence had burst a dam.

"For a moment, I thought it was too late to tell you everything I feel. For a moment, I truly believed I had lost you, this time for good, as if the chance to reach you had slipped away forever. The thought tore me apart, Jin... the idea of waking up tomorrow and not finding you by my side, of not hearing your voice or seeing your eyes light up when you look at me. Don’t leave me again, not now, not ever. I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything in my life. Without you, I’m nothing but a shadow of myself, an echo without meaning. Stay with me, Jin… you’re the only thing that makes this life whole."

“So… you’re a firefighter, after all.”

Those words, weak but clear, struck like lightning in the silence of the room. Baku’s head shot up, eyes wide and wet with tears. Baek-Jin was awake. He didn’t know for how long, didn’t know how much of his desperate confession he had heard, but the fact that he was smiling, a faint, tired smile, with a slow tear tracing down his cheek into the pillow, made Baku’s heart tremble.

“Hey… easy, don’t strain yourself!” Baku replied, his voice cracked. His hand, still clasped around Jin’s, released only for a moment to brush his hair back in a protective, tender gesture.

Baek-Jin winced lightly, as though even smiling cost him. “Always trying to be the hero… your job suits you.”

Baku laughed, a laugh broken by tears, and shook his head while leaning to grab the water glass on the nightstand. “Listen who’s talking… the man who threw himself under a row of iron lockers without a second thought.” He brought the straw to Jin’s dry lips, helping him drink slowly, supporting his head with care.

Baek-Jin coughed faintly, but the burning in his throat seemed to ease. “Da-Eun… is she okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse but steadier.

Baku breathed in deeply, almost with relief, and nodded reassuringly. “Thanks to you, yes. Just a few scratches, nothing serious. She’s already with her parents.”

Jin’s eyes welled with fresh emotion, another tear slipping free. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have put the children in danger.”

Baku silenced him with a shake of his head, stroking his hair again. “Shut up, you neat freak. What matters is that nothing irreversible happened.”

They stayed like that, gazing at each other, in a silence heavy with unspoken things, yet more eloquent than a thousand words. Baek-Jin was the one to break it, whispering: “Hu-Min…”

The true name, so familiar and intimate, made Baku raise a brow. “Is everything you told me just now true?”

A shiver ran through him. He bit his lip, uncertain. “You heard all that? Were you pretending to sleep or what?”

Baek-Jin let out a faint laugh, cut short by a cough that bent him to the side. Baku sprang up, flustered. “Easy, Jin, damn it!” he scolded softly, holding him until he settled.

“The anesthesia was strong…” Jin murmured with a half-smile. “But my mind was awake. I heard you.”

Baku averted his eyes, suddenly vulnerable. “Can you… pretend you didn’t hear any of it?”

A shadow of disappointment crossed Baek-Jin’s face, though he kept smiling, even as his eyes betrayed something deeper. “Why?”

“Don’t get me wrong, damn it!” Baku ran a hand through his hair, restless. “It’s just… I want to do things properly. To tell you everything looking you in the eyes, not while you pretend to be on your deathbed just to listen to me.”

A long silence fell between them, broken only by the steady beeping of the machines. Then Baek-Jin nodded slowly, his smile warm, relieved, as though it dissolved all the tension. “Alright. Then I’ll wait for that moment.”

Their hands tightened again, firmer. They looked at each other for a long time, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. Baku leaned forward slightly, heart in his throat, ready to finally bridge that distance, but fate was not on their side.

The door burst open with a joyful cry. “TEACHER JIN!!! YOU’RE OKAY!” Da-Eun rushed into the room, followed by her parents, barely managing to hold her back. The girl’s tear-swollen eyes sparkled with relief at seeing her teacher alive.

Baek-Jin, surprised, chuckled softly, while Baku quickly pulled himself together, wiping his face with his uniform sleeve. The fragile suspended moment was broken, but not lost: it remained etched, vivid, in their hearts.

Da-Eun darted toward the bed, little hands outstretched. Her parents stopped her just short, fearing she might jostle the injured man, but Baek-Jin opened his arms with what little strength he had.

“Come here, sweetheart.” His voice was hoarse, but gentle.

The girl wriggled free from Su-Ho’s hands and clumsily climbed onto the edge of the bed, hugging her teacher with surprising delicacy for her age. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her breath still ragged from emotion.

“I thought… I thought you’d never wake up again!” she sobbed against Baek-Jin’s chest.

He stroked her hair with his free hand, his gaze veiled yet shining. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, little warrior.”

Da-Eun squeezed him tighter, while her parents couldn’t hold back their own tears, both moved and relieved. Baku watched them, his heart melting and breaking at the same time. In that embrace, he saw everything: fragility, hope, the love he had feared losing forever.

“Everything’s alright now” Baku interjected firmly yet gently, bending toward the girl. “Teacher Jin is tough. You were brave, Da-Eun. You gave him the strength to hold on.”

The little one looked at him and smiled through her tears, then reached out a hand to him, as though to include him in that embrace. Baku clasped it softly, and for a moment, the three of them remained united: an invisible thread of life binding them, stronger than fear.

Baek-Jin, his eyes struggling to stay open from fatigue, watched the scene. His gaze lingered on Baku, filled with a gratitude that needed no words.

“No more tears now” he murmured at last, trying to lighten the mood with a tired smile. “I wouldn’t want you to mistake me for a weakling…”

“Too late” Baku quipped with a half-smile, though his eyes couldn’t hide their trembling emotion.

And the room filled with an unexpected warmth, of muffled laughter and quiet sobs, a fragile yet precious balance no one dared disturb.

***

The following day, Baku returned to the hospital carrying a bouquet of pink roses and a box of chocolates, striding with determination toward Baek-Jin’s room. When the teacher saw him, his expression shifted from disbelief to surprise, while Baku stood firmly at the doorway, a clear scowl on his face.

“What? I looked online for the best gift for a speedy recovery… flowers and chocolates. I didn’t know which to choose” Baku said, trying to justify himself, the bouquet trembling slightly in his hand.

Baek-Jin held back a laugh, pressing his lips together. Baku huffed, stepping forward toward the bed with resolute steps, sliding the flowers onto the nightstand. “You make me regret every romantic gesture I try to make” he scolded, pouting.

“Romantic?” Baek-Jin retorted with a teasing smile that lit up his face as he raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, shut up! Do you even like them?” Baku insisted, his serious expression betraying the need for reassurance.

Baek-Jin nodded slowly, his eyes still glimmering with amusement. The delicate, harmonious pink roses stood in ironic contrast to the fiery, rough-edged nature of both men, yet Baek-Jin’s simple act of looking at them calmly made Baku smile.

“Let me taste a chocolate” Baek-Jin asked, reaching a hand toward the box.

Baku quickly opened the lid, letting the glossy chocolates glisten under the room’s light. “Pick whichever you want” he said, offering the whole box, as if he wanted Baek-Jin to take all the time in the world.
Baek-Jin picked a cherry chocolate, carefully unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. Baku watched him closely, every move marked as though it were the most precious thing in the world.

“Good?” he finally asked, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.

Baek-Jin gave a mischievous little smile, tilting his head toward him. “Taste it yourself” he replied, though his gaze wasn’t directed at the box of chocolates but at Baku's lips.

For a moment, Baku froze, his heart hammering in his chest, then he moved without hesitation. As if he had been waiting for this moment forever, he leaned in, meeting Baek-Jin’s lips with a naturalness that made them both tremble. The room, time, everything seemed to stop around them: the scent of the flowers, the sweet aftertaste of chocolate, the warmth of their bodies drawing closer.

The kiss was long, sudden, intense, filled with all the waiting, the fear, and the relief accumulated over the past days. When they finally pulled apart, breathless, both were flushed, eyes shining, their smiles fragile but full of emotion and complicity.

“All right…” Baek-Jin murmured at last, still close, lowering his forehead against Baku’s, “maybe you’re not so clumsy with romantic gestures after all.”
Baku laughed, a mix of relief and triumph, holding him tightly. “Only for you, Jin… only for you.”
And for a brief moment, in that hospital room, the rest of the world disappeared, leaving only their bond, fragile yet strong, that had finally found its balance.

***

At discharge, the doctor ordered Baek-Jin not to stay alone and to get help for his treatment and recovery. With his usual pride, Baek-Jin was ready to downplay it, to refuse any help and face everything alone. His jaw clenched, gaze fixed, he prepared to say he could manage without support.

But Baku, seeing his partner’s hesitation and stubborn determination, intervened immediately. “Don’t worry, doctor” he said in a steady yet calm tone, “Baek-Jin will be staying with me. He’ll have all the help he needs, he won’t be alone.”
Relieved, the doctor nodded and left the two of them to prepare to leave the hospital, while Baek-Jin stared at him in silence, unable to reply.

Once alone, Baek-Jin finally took a breath and addressed the most important matter. He called Baku closer, and Baku, calm and warm, took his hands in his own, feeling the heat of Baek-Jin’s skin and the slight tremor that betrayed how vulnerable he was.

“I’ll be staying with you?” Baek-Jin asked softly, uncertain, vulnerable.

“No?” Baku replied, surprised and confused, tilting his head.

“With you…?” Baek-Jin insisted, his expression a mix of curiosity and hesitation.

Baku frowned, trying to understand the meaning behind his words.

“Hu-Min, it feels like déjà vu, doesn’t it? It’s happened before… aren’t we moving too fast?” he added, knowing that Baku’s reaction could easily be to pull away. Indeed, Baku released his hands, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to mask his trembling voice with a bit of irony.

Baek-Jin looked at him intently, his face calm but resolute, hoping to convey his determination not to doubt either him or what they were building together in these few days. Baku felt his heart tighten.

“You need help during recovery… it’s the least I can do for the person I- love” he stumbled over the last word, his face red, awkward but sincere.

That simple, genuine declaration, disguised as good intentions and kindness, struck Baek-Jin straight in the heart. He couldn’t hold back: he leaned in, cupped Baku’s face in his hands, and kissed him, not with passion, but lightly, filled with gratitude and affection, carrying all the words he hadn’t yet spoken aloud.

Baku raised an eyebrow mischievously. “The kiss is because I said I love you?”

Baek-Jin smiled, lowering his head. “Maybe…”

“So, if I said come live with me forever because I can’t imagine another day without you, what would you do?” he teased, letting irony and sweetness blend in his voice.

Baek-Jin burst into laughter, touched and happy. “Let my lungs get their strength back, and you’ll see what I’ll do…” he replied in the same playful tone.

Baku, more carefree now, kissed him on the cheek, then the temple, and held him tenderly. “Let’s go home, Jin” he said calmly and firmly.

“Yes, let’s go home” Baek-Jin answered, and for the first time in a long while, they walked together, united, with no more doubts, toward the safety and warmth of what home meant for both of them, not just a place, but being at each other’s side.

***

The classroom was buzzing. One by one, each child had proudly shown their colorful posters or presentations filled with images of famous superheroes. Batman, Spiderman, Iron Man, Wonder Woman… the room was a parade of paper capes and masks.

Da-Eun, however, sat gripping her desk. Her cheeks were flushed, her heart racing: what she had prepared looked nothing like theirs. When Teacher Jin called her, she hesitated, eyes wide. He gave her a small, encouraging smile and a nod, as if to say: you can do it.

Slowly, Da-Eun stood up. Her steps toward the front were timid, almost uncertain. But a quick glance at the door gave her courage: behind the round glass window, Baku’s face was there, smiling at her like a boy, giving her a big thumbs-up.

The little girl cleared her throat, brought a fist to her lips, then, with a deep breath, declared: “I didn’t prepare a poster or anything. My favorite superhero isn’t imaginary. He’s real.”

A murmur of curiosity rippled through the class as she went on, more and more confident: “Sometimes he lets me skip after-school study and takes me to the playground, buying me ice cream because he says I’m eight years old and I should never forget to have fun. He helps me with homework too, because otherwise Daddy scolds both of us. He always tells me bedtime stories to help me fall asleep, makes up amazing adventures, and… even does special effects with his voice! And he promised to train me to become a professional basketball player, since he’s really, really, really good!”

Her voice trembled with emotion, but her smile lit up her face. “He’s simply super! I can always count on him, he’s like a much, much older big brother. Samchon Baku, you can come in now!”

The door opened with a small creak, and Baku entered in his firefighter’s uniform, helmet tucked under his arm. The thick, dark fabric of the suit, marked by faint traces of smoke and the wear of his work, wrapped him in an imposing presence. The reflective bands caught the classroom light, making him stand out like a heroic figure straight out of a story. His broad shoulders, confident bearing, slightly cocky air despite the emotion glistening in his eyes, every detail spoke of him, of the everyday courage and strength he always carried with him.

He had listened to everything from outside, and now his eyes shone brightly, struggling to hold back tears while a lump tightened his throat. His voice was broken when he spoke, but it never lost that warm note that always found its way straight to the heart: “You didn’t tell me you were going to introduce me like that, little bug! Then why did you make me put on the uniform?”

Sitting on the teacher’s desk, Baek-Jin stopped laughing for a moment. He studied him carefully, and it was as if he were seeing him anew: imposing in his uniform, fragile in the way he let himself be touched by a child’s affection, beautiful in the contradiction between strength and vulnerability. The corner of his lips curved into a sweet yet ironic smile, while inside him that dizzying feeling only Baku could stir came rushing back. In that classroom full of children, between applause and laughter, his heart realized that he, too, was looking at his hero.

Da-Eun clapped her hands excitedly, her face glowing. “Ah yes, he’s my hero also because he’s a firefighter! He puts out fires, saves kittens stuck in trees, and… he saved me and Teacher Jin when those super heavy lockers fell on us!”

A thunderous applause filled the classroom, the children clapping and laughing in excitement: everyone adored Baku, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

Still sitting on the desk, Baek-Jin was quietly chuckling, amused by the scene. Baku shot him a mock glare, which quickly shifted into a mischievous spark as he turned back to the class.

“Of course!” he said theatrically. “What more could I add to what my sweetest Da-Eun has told you? Well… I could give you a live demonstration of how to rescue kittens when they’re trapped somewhere very, very high!”

The children’s eyes lit up like fireworks. Baek-Jin, however, stopped laughing at once and fixed his gaze on him, raising an eyebrow. What is he up to now? he thought, watching every move with a mix of concern and amused curiosity.

Baku wasted no time: he bent down toward Da-Eun and, in a conspiratorial tone loud enough for all to hear, whispered:

“Want to be my assistant? There’s a big fat cat trapped on the teacher’s desk right now.”

He winked and tilted his head toward Baek-Jin, who widened his eyes and began shaking his head firmly.

“Park Hu-Min, don’t you dare…” he warned in a low, threatening voice.

But the class was already bursting into laughter, carried away by the excitement. Da-Eun covered her mouth to stifle her giggles, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she looked at her teacher.

“What do I have to do?” she asked eagerly, turning to her most trusted shoulder.

Baku struck a serious pose, as if explaining a procedure straight out of a manual.

“Well then… the first step in rescuing a trapped cat is to calm it down. You need to speak in a soothing, reassuring voice. If it gets scared, it’ll climb even higher, and that’s dangerous. Da-Eun, you try: say something to our big kitty.”

The girl slowly turned toward the teacher, pressing her lips together to keep from laughing.

“Teacher Jin, you won’t run away, right? Otherwise, you’ll make me look bad during my presentation…”

Baek-Jin let out a long sigh, swallowing down every curse he wanted to hurl at the idiot who had dragged him into this circus. At last, he muttered through clenched teeth: “Fine…”

“You did great, Da-Eun!” Baku exclaimed, clapping along with the girl. Then he raised a finger as if struck by revelation. “Oh, but our kitty is so typical… he talks! Da-Eun, see if you can get him to meow.”

“Park Hu-Min…” Baek-Jin growled, his jaw already tight.

“Teacher Jin” the girl urged with wide, innocent, pleading eyes, “say meow! Pretty pleeeeease”

A heavy silence stretched across the classroom, then Baek-Jin closed his eyes and, in the faintest voice, let out: “…meow.”

An explosion of laughter filled the room, but Baku immediately pressed a finger to his lips, deadly serious.

“Quiet! Don’t make too much noise, or the cat will get scared!”

The children fought heroically to stifle their giggles, while Baku continued his demonstration with exaggerated, theatrical slowness.

“And while one person calms him, the other… from behind… climbs up slowly…”

Baek-Jin was already glaring daggers, following his every move.

“And once you’re sure you can grab him safely…”

He said no more. In one swift motion, Baku scooped him up, one arm under his knees, the other around his waist, lifting him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The class erupted in a roar of laughter and applause, while Baek-Jin, held close, instinctively wrapped his arms around Baku’s neck, his face dangerously close to his. He shot him a look promising revenge.

“We’ll settle this later” he hissed under his breath. Baku grinned, mischievous. “Anything you want, Jin-ah. Totally worth it, I’d even accept death!”

The scene was surreal: the classroom in an uproar, Baku triumphantly parading the “big kitty” before the children as if he were the prize of a grand mission.

“Now put me down” Baek-Jin ordered, trying to regain composure. But Baku, feigning concern, countered: “This cat still won’t meow.”

“He doesn’t meow, but he scratches if you don’t put me down.”

The firm reply made Da-Eun burst into giggles, though she quickly covered her mouth with both hands when she caught her teacher’s glare.

“Sorry, Teacher Jin!”

Baku laughed out loud but finally set him down gently. Baek-Jin straightened himself quickly, smoothing his clothes and shooting him a murderous look. Then he bent toward Da-Eun, patting her head.

“You did wonderfully. Now go back to your seat.”

But when he lifted his gaze again, he moved toward Baku, slowly, until his lips were close to his ear. His voice was a whisper, warm and sharp at the same time: “Get out of my sight. Now. But keep that uniform on… I’ll be joining you shortly.”

Baku bit his lip to stifle a laugh, winked at him, then gave the children an exaggerated wave, blowing a kiss toward Da-Eun. He left the classroom with the air of a conquering hero, leaving behind a room full of kids cheering him like a true superhero, and a Baek-Jin struggling in vain to remind himself that murder was still a crime punishable by law.

***

A few weeks later, Baek-Jin and Baku were at the group home together with Da-Eun, Sieun, Su-Ho, Juntae, and Gotak, immersed in a day of joy and sharing. They had organized everything carefully: used clothes, toys, and little gifts collected by the children from Da-Eun’s school had been brought to give to the younger ones, so that they too could feel special. The atmosphere was sparkling, full of laughter and the voices of children running from one room to another, eager to discover every surprise.

Da-Eun wandered among a group of kids, proudly showing her old toys and enthusiastically telling the stories behind them. “This little train was my favorite!” she said, handing it to a younger child.

“But it won’t break, right?” another asked, and Da-Eun shook her head with confidence. “No! I only picked the toys that still work. I even put in new batteries, try it, go on!” The children laughed, captivated by her certainty and the joy she radiated.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Baek-Jin stirred a steaming soup, focused but smiling. Next to him, Baku carefully chopped vegetables, every now and then sneaking a conspiratorial glance at the teacher.

“You’re going overboard with the salt” he teased with a grin, while Baek-Jin looked at him with mock indignation.

“Me? Never! Just a pinch… maybe two” Baek-Jin replied, laughing and shaking the ladle. Baku shook his head, amused.

“Two extra pinches and this soup turns into a bomb” he said, and the two of them chuckled.

Between them was a clear intimacy, an unspoken harmony that showed even in the smallest gestures: passing pots, stirring together, exchanging advice and corrections.

“Careful not to spill the flour on the floor, we could slip” Baek-Jin warned, but Baku’s laughter made him give in.

“Every artist leaves a trace!” Baku joked, letting a bit of flour fall, which Baek-Jin watched with a sly, resigned smile.

During a pause, as they arranged the plates on the counter, they drew closer. Baek-Jin gently took a dish from Baku’s hands and, without breaking eye contact, said with a mischievous smile: “You know… cooking together like this isn’t bad at all.” Baku looked at him intently, a half-smile betraying both admiration and amusement: “Yeah… and without too much damage, I’d say.”

Their hands brushed while moving the pots, and that brief touch was enough to send a shiver down both their spines. Without thinking, they shared a sweet, slow kiss, almost suspended in time, while the clatter of spoons and dishes seemed to fade around them. For a moment, the world outside the kitchen no longer existed: there was only them, the scent of food, and the warmth of that touch that made them smile without words.

Baku pulled back slightly, running a hand over his neck and lowering his gaze with a mischievous grin.

“You really need to stop distracting me!” he whispered, his voice husky, tinged with laughter.

“Besides being a damn charming teacher, you’re irresistible as a cook too.” Baek-Jin’s smile spread to his eyes as he replied with a teasing tone: “Ah, so I should cook more often, just to distract you every day?”

Baku chuckled, overwhelmed by the sudden tightness in his chest. “Careful… I might get used to these distractions” he said, and without waiting for another provocation, brushed Baek-Jin’s lips with another kiss, short but intense, while their hands kept searching for and holding each other.

Just then, Da-Eun walked into the kitchen without knocking, her eyes sparkling with amusement and not the slightest hint of surprise. The two took half a second to separate, flustered and unsure of how to explain themselves. She simply shrugged: “I always catch papa and daddy doing the same thing” she commented innocently, while the two adults, still dusted with flour, blushed to their ears.

“So… are you going to give me a cousin soon?” the girl then asked, completely ignoring their embarrassment.

Baku stammered, his voice strangled with awkwardness. “A cous… what?”

Baek-Jin burst out laughing under his breath, watching the scene with eyes full of affection. “Yes, Samchon Baku. I don’t exactly mean a cousin that comes from a pregnancy test, but here there are lots of children hoping to find a family soon!”

Baku, deeply moved by her words and sincerity, wrapped Da-Eun in a warm hug, overwhelmed by a wave of emotions that softened and touched him deeply. The girl looked at him with shining, innocent eyes, while Baek-Jin affectionately ruffled her hair before turning a meaningful gaze toward Baku, filled with unspoken dreams and promises.

Baku understood everything with just one look: it didn’t matter if things were moving fast, it didn’t matter how much time had passed or what uncertainties lingered; they were on their third chance, and this time it was right. Their hearts walked together in perfect sync, and the feeling of completeness was so overwhelming that every dream suddenly seemed possible.

In that moment, in that kitchen, surrounded by the scent of food and the joyful noise of children, Baku realized they had created something greater, something they would continue to nurture and grow: not only a love rediscovered, but a true family, made of care, complicity, and shared dreams. Just by looking at each other, without words, they knew this was their place, their moment, and that together they would face whatever life brought, with hearts full of hope and happiness.

***

Da-Eun was curled under the covers, her face lit by the soft glow of the lamp beside the bed. She nestled against her godfather, seeking warmth and comfort, her eyes still wide with excitement as she gazed at him with that pure curiosity only children possess.

“Samchon, will you tell me the story of Bakubau and Jin the fox?” she asked, her voice sweet and hopeful.

Baku pulled her close, gently stroking her hair, his palm warm and tender against her head as she snuggled even closer.

“All right” he began, his voice low and melodic, as if he had already turned the room into a world of magic. He told the same story as always: Jin the clever, brave fox, and Bakubau, the loyal, playful dog. But this time, he decided to add a new detail: a little bird, a yellow-and-black oriole, slightly clumsy and distracted, who had hurt its wing.

“And then what does Fox Jin do?” the girl asked, her eyes filled with anticipation.

“Fox Jin takes care of the little bird” Baku explained. “He carefully tends to its wing, while Bakubau brings it food to keep it strong.” The child sighed happily, completely immersed in the story, as if she herself were part of that enchanted world.

“And what’s the bird’s name?” Da-Eun asked, curious, shifting a little in bed to look at his face.
Baku tapped her nose gently with a finger, tickling her slightly, and answered with a smile: “Eunie, of course!” Da-Eun’s face lit up with delight, as though sleep were the farthest thing from her mind.

“Eunie! Samchon, tell me what happens to Eunie! Don’t stop!”

Baku chuckled, amused by her excitement, and went on with the tale, describing the daily little adventures of Fox Jin, Bakubau, and Eunie: their games in the forest, their funny challenges, and the tender moments when they cared for each other. Each word came alive with gestures, as though he were animating the story right before her eyes.

Meanwhile, Baek-Jin lingered at the half-open door, arms crossed and a tender smile on his lips. He watched silently, his heart brimming with affection and amusement. Seeing Baku tell the story, watching Da-Eun so happy and immersed in it, reminded him how precious their little family was, and how moments like these, so simple and ordinary, were truly the most meaningful.

Da-Eun snuggled even closer to her godfather, sighing with contentment and pleading for more: “Samchon, please… don’t stop! I want to know what Jin does next! And Bakubau! And Eunie!” Baku shook his head, laughing, but he didn’t stop, continuing to weave the adventures of her favorite characters with the unique tenderness only he could give. The outside world faded, the room filled with magic and soft laughter, and Baek-Jin stayed there, watching and smiling, grateful for every single moment.

When Da-Eun had finally fallen asleep, her breathing slow and steady and her little hands resting on Baku’s stomach, he had tucked her in more comfortably, made sure she was covered, and tiptoed to the living room, where Baek-Jin was standing near the sofa. The atmosphere was intimate: dim lights, the scent of tea that had gone cold on a tray, a few open chocolate boxes on the table, and here and there signs of the day, crumbs, an apron hanging up, a forgotten plush toy.

He approached quietly, wrapped his arms slowly around Baek-Jin’s waist, and pulled him close, his warm hands resting on his side. Baek-Jin leaned back against his chest, his head turned slightly, and for a moment they stayed like that, counting each other’s breaths. Baku kissed his neck in small touches, and Baek-Jin sighed, his body melting with the comfort of being able to surrender in those arms.

“Is she asleep?” Baek-Jin asked softly.

“Yes” Baku replied, his voice hoarse with tiredness. “It was hard… but she made it.”

Baek-Jin chuckled quietly, then gave him a small affectionate scolding: “Of course. How did you think she’d relax if you invented a character based on her?”

Baku looked guilty and amused at the same time. “Were you spying on us?” he asked, his eyes laughing.

Baek-Jin nodded, smiling. “What can I say? I’m always curious to hear you talk about us in such a sugar-coated way…”

Baku pressed his nose against Baek-Jin’s neck, breathing him in. “It was my way of keeping you with me, all these years…” he confessed, the words finally free, without the usual sarcasm to cover them.

Baek-Jin closed his eyes, smiling. He turned to face him, his expression tender and a little vulnerable.

“I’m glad I found you again, Hu-Min.”

Baku took a deep breath. “So it’s no longer a bother that it happened?” he tried to joke, masking his emotion.

Baek-Jin teased him back with that brand of affectionate bluntness that was his own: “You’re a bother in every possible case, but what would life be without bothers?”

Baku made a face, then pushed him lightly, theatrically. “Oh yeah? Well, this bother wants to set a new record and drive you crazy!” he threatened, and while laughing, tried to cover every part of his face with kisses.

Baek-Jin tried to resist with mock dignity, gently pulling him back, but finally gave in, kissing him, long and unrestrained, with that almost timid certainty that made him irresistible. When they pulled apart, both were breathing hard, and Baku murmured: “Don’t make noise, or Su-Ho and Sieun will never let me keep Da-Eun overnight again.”

Baek-Jin stroked his cheeks, fingers brushing his warm skin. “You’re the one who can’t stay quiet!” he scolded, his eyes smiling.

“Me? You were the one the neighbors nearly heard last time, if my ears remember right…” Baku retorted, pouting in a completely fake sulk.

“Park Hu-Min” Baek-Jin chided playfully, raising an eyebrow as if to call him to order.

“Exactly, you were yelling my name just like that!”

Then began a playful chase down the hallway: Baku leapt away, took a step toward the bedroom, pretending to flee, while Baek-Jin followed close behind, with the look of someone ready to settle scores but smiling wider than ever. They ran in small circles, trying to catch and dodge each other, laughing quietly, having fun like two teenagers.

At last, Baek-Jin managed to grab his wrist, pulling him toward him with a firm yet gentle tug, and Baku stumbled against him, back to the wall. For an instant they froze, breathless, eyes locked on one another. Jin’s smile softened, became more intimate, as his hand slipped down to intertwine with Baku’s.

“Got you” he whispered, his voice low and husky.

“You just gave in to the charm of this bother” Baku shot back, laughing, his heart racing wildly.

They clung tightly to each other, their heartbeats chasing like their recent run, and the hallway became the most private place in the world. Soon after, hand in hand, they crossed the threshold of the bedroom, still carrying their laughter and the warmth of that innocent game turned into certainty: no matter how many times life had torn them apart, they had found each other again, and this time it was to stay.

If you want it all take what you can

Just let me hold your hand

If you say the words darling I'll be your man

Just let me hold your hand

Oh what a feeling

Oh what a time

All that I'm needing

Is your hand in mine

Just like this forever

Over and over again

Just let me hold your hand

Epilogue

Da-Eun sat at the kitchen table with her math notebook open in front of her, pencil in hand and a look of concentration on her face. Beside her, Baku leaned in proudly, determined to prove how good he was at helping her. “All right, little one, look here: if you take this shortcut… zap! You get straight to the answer!”

Da-Eun furrowed her brows, following his calculations on the paper, then smacked the pencil on the table. “That’s not how Teacher Jin taught us!” she scolded firmly, puffing out her cheeks.
Baku widened his eyes, offended. “Damn Teacher Jin!” he burst out, crossing his arms. “Tell him! Tell him this is the Baku method! And if the result is correct, it can’t be wrong!”

“That doesn’t count!” the girl retorted, pointing her finger at him. “He told us math isn’t just about the answer, it’s about understanding the process! You skip everything and make it confusing!”
Baku pouted, leaning toward her. “Confusing? Me? With my methods you could graduate at ten years old, you little rascal!”

“I like Teacher Jin better!” Da-Eun shot back, crossing her arms in perfect imitation of him.

“Little evil traitor!” Baku cried dramatically, clutching his chest as if he had been stabbed in the heart.

Their bickering went on like that, voice against voice, pout against pout, as both stubbornly defended their point of view. From the sofa, Su-Ho and Sieun watched silently, exchanging a glance somewhere between amused and bewildered.
Sieun sighed, shaking his head.

“Sometimes I wonder which one of them is the real child in this house.”