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The kitchen was a battlefield of flour and laughter.
Haerin sat on her knees on a chair, brows knitted in serious concentration as she shaped her songpyeon dough, the pale green edges folding neatly over the sweet sesame filling. “Mine have to be the prettiest,” she declared, eyeing her father’s clumsy attempt beside her. “Papa, yours looks like a squished dumpling.”
Jay looked genuinely offended. “Excuse me? This—” he held it up, sticky fingers pinching the edge of something that looked like a sad jellybean “—has character.”
“It has wrinkles,” Haerin corrected, flattening hers with expert precision.
Across the table, Haru was much less concerned with presentation. His small hands kept grabbing for more dough than his little palms could manage, ending up with a white, sticky mess coating every finger. Every few minutes, he’d sneak one of the half-formed pieces into his mouth, chewing guiltily until Jungwon caught him again.
“Haru, baby, that’s not ready yet,” Jungwon warned gently, taking the dough from his hand.
“But it’s yummy,” Haru said, cheeks puffed out.
Jay laughed. “You’re raising a rebel, Jungwon.”
“I wonder where he got that from,” Jungwon muttered back, sliding his palm across Jay’s flour-dusted forearm on his way to retrieve more filling.
Jay’s grin turned sly. He swiped a fingertip through the scattered flour on the counter and, without warning, drew a streak across Jungwon’s cheek.
“Jay!” Jungwon gasped, half laughing, half scandalized.
“What? Tradition says you have to share the flour spirit,” Jay said with mock seriousness.
“Oh yeah?” Jungwon leaned over, his voice low and playful. “Then here.” He brushed his thumb along Jay’s jawline, leaving a matching mark. Jay caught his wrist for a second, smiling, before Haerin’s voice cut in.
“Appa, Papa! You’re wasting it! The dough is for eating!”
They both bit back laughs.
By the time the songpyeon were finally arranged on trays, the kitchen looked like it had snowed inside. A fine mist of white covered the counter, the floor, even Haru’s hair. Jungwon snuck one lopsided piece into his mouth—the one Haru had made and left unattended—so the boy wouldn’t realize it was gone. It was chewy, undercooked, and too thick with filling, but it tasted like sugar and pride.
When they’d cleaned up as best they could, the kids were sticky and streaked with flour, Jay’s shirt had fingerprints on it, and Jungwon’s apron was past saving. They all sat on the kitchen floor for a moment, catching their breath.
“I think we made enough for the whole neighborhood,” Jay murmured.
“Only if they like ugly ones,” Haerin said, smugly dusting her hands.
Later, after baths and giggles and bedtime stories, Haerin and Haru begged, “Can we stay up? Just a little? Pleaseee?”
Jungwon tucked the blanket up under Haerin’s chin. “Tomorrow’s the big day, remember? You’ll need all your energy for the games.”
Jay leaned over to kiss both kids goodnight. “We’ll save the prettiest ones for you to eat first thing in the morning.”
The lights dimmed, the rice cake trays cooling on the counter, and the sound of their laughter still clung faintly to the flour-scented air.
The morning drifted in soft and golden, the air cool enough that the windows fogged faintly at the corners. Jungwon woke to the scent of roasted chestnuts wafting from a neighbor’s house—earthy, sweet, and unmistakably Chuseok. The hum of early traffic and faint laughter from down the street blended with the rustle of leaves outside their apartment window.
He yawned, stretching until the blanket slipped off his shoulders, and blinked blearily toward the door. From the kitchen came the faint, uneven hiss of oil and the clatter of a spatula.
Jay.
Jungwon smiled to himself.
When he padded in, still half asleep, he found Jay already standing at the stove, reheating jeon from last night. His hair was flattened on one side, sleeves rolled up, and the hem of his t-shirt had come untucked, showing the faint curve of his waist where the morning light caught him.
Jungwon didn’t say anything at first—just slipped his arms around Jay’s middle and pressed his face into his back.
Jay laughed softly. “You always sneak up on me like that.”
“Mhm,” Jungwon mumbled, voice muffled against him. “You smell like sesame oil.”
“That’s because I’m cooking,” Jay said, turning the jeon with a spatula, then leaned back slightly so Jungwon’s chin rested on his shoulder. “Want coffee?”
“Want you to come back to bed,” Jungwon murmured.
Jay chuckled, reaching down to brush flour off Jungwon’s wrist—leftovers from last night’s songpyeon chaos still somehow lingering. “You said that yesterday too.”
“I meant it yesterday too.”
Before Jay could answer, the sound of little feet pattering across the hall broke their quiet moment.
“Is it morning yet?” Haerin’s voice rang out, followed by Haru’s groggy shuffle and the drag of his blanket along the floor.
Haerin climbed straight onto one of the kitchen stools, hair sticking up in every direction, her excitement already overflowing. “Can we eat the songpyeon now?”
Jungwon kissed the top of her head as he passed. “Not yet, sweetheart. We’ll have breakfast first.”
“But I want the pretty ones before anyone else eats them!” she insisted.
“They’ll still be pretty after breakfast,” Jay said, plating the warm jeon with practiced ease.
Behind her, Haru trudged in, rubbing his eyes. His blanket trailed behind him like a cape. “I don’t want rice cakes,” he mumbled, barely awake. “I want the sweet pancakes.”
“Hotteok?” Jay asked, hiding a grin.
“Mhm. The syrupy ones.”
“Of course you do,” Jungwon said, ruffling his hair.
Soon the kitchen was alive—the sizzle of jeon, the soft pop of fruit skins being peeled, and the overlapping chatter of the kids arguing about which cousin was better at the games they’d play later that day.
“Jaeho cheats,” Haerin declared.
“No, he’s just fast!” Haru countered, mouth full of pear.
He pulled Jungwon into his lap without ceremony, still mid-bite. “Say cheese,” he murmured, turning the camera toward them. Jay sat down, balancing his phone in one hand and Jungwon in the other’s reach.
Jungwon laughed, half hiding his face in Jay’s shoulder as the kids posed behind them, Haerin flashing a peace sign and Haru holding up his pancake. The photo came out slightly blurred, all motion and warmth—just the way mornings in their house always felt.
The house was a whirl of half-buttoned shirts, missing socks, and tangled hair.
“Haerin, sweetheart, that’s Appa’s belt, not yours,” Jungwon said, crouching to tie the sash around her hanbok skirt properly. She was already glancing at herself in the hallway mirror, turning this way and that, a proud smile lighting her face.
“But it looks nice!” she protested, holding the ribbon out dramatically.
“It does,” Jungwon admitted, smoothing the fabric, “but you’ll trip if it’s that long. Let’s use yours, okay?”
On the other side of the bedroom, Jay was wrestling a very squirmy Haru into his own tiny hanbok. The boy had managed to wriggle one arm out three times already.
“Haru, buddy, stop moving—just for one second,” Jay pleaded, laughing despite himself.
“I don’t like the pants,” Haru whined. “They’re itchy!”
“That’s because you’re wearing them backward,” Jay said, flipping him around with practiced patience. “See? That’s the tag.”
“Nooo,” Haru pouted, kicking lightly at Jay’s knee.
“Okay, okay, truce,” Jay said, holding up both hands. “What if I let you pick the socks?”
Haru’s eyes lit up. “The shark ones?”
Jay sighed, smiling. “The shark ones.”
By the time everyone was dressed, the bedroom looked like a dressing room after a concert—clothes everywhere, half-packed gift boxes on the bed, and Jungwon trying to herd everyone out the door before someone lost another shoe.
“Okay,” Jungwon called out, gathering his bag and checking the food containers stacked on the counter. “Jeon, japchae, fruits… Jay, did you grab the songpyeon?”
Jay held up the covered tray like a trophy. “Right here.”
“And the kids’ jackets?”
“Already in the car.”
Haerin skipped ahead toward the door, proudly holding a small wrapped box. “This one’s for Halmeoni! I helped tie the ribbon.”
“Of course you did,” Jay said, watching her beam as he locked the front door behind them.
The drive was filled with chatter, the hum of the car blending with the crisp rhythm of September wind against the windows. Haerin was the first to speak. “Do you think Junho and Jaeho are coming?”
“They always come, remember?” Jungwon said from the passenger seat, glancing back with a smile. “They’re probably already there.”
Haru kicked his feet against the car seat. “Jaeho, the one who cheats in the games,” he declared.
Haerin gasped, scandalized. “He does not! He’s just faster than you!”
“He’s older than me!”
Jay, driving, smothered a grin. “You’re both right. He’s older and fast. That’s how he wins.”
“Unfair,” Haru muttered, crossing his arms.
Haerin leaned toward the window, her hanbok ribbon fluttering. “Uncle Ni-ki said he’s gonna help me fly a kite this year!”
“Oh, did he?” Jungwon asked. “You sure he didn’t mean he’d fly the kite while you hold the string?”
“No, he said I could do it by myself! He promised.”
Jay glanced over with a fond look. “Then he’ll keep his promise.”
They drove in comfortable chaos—Haru humming softly to himself, Haerin chattering about which cousins were best at yut-nori, and Jungwon turning halfway in his seat to hand out sliced fruit from a small container. As they passed familiar streets lined with gold leaves, Jungwon pointed out the fluttering banners near the neighborhood square. “Looks like they’ve already set up for the festival show tonight.”
“The one with the drums?” Haru perked up instantly.
“And the lion dance!” Haerin added. “Halmeoni said we can watch after dinner.”
Jay smiled at the rearview mirror reflection of their two excited faces. “I heard Halmeoni made her chestnut tteok again this year,” he said.
Jungwon’s eyes softened. “She only makes it on Chuseok.”
“Then we’ll have to eat twice as much,” Jay teased.
Haerin gasped. “Papa! You’ll make yourself sick!”
Jay feigned innocence. “Worth it.”
They laughed, the sound filling the car as the road curved toward Jungwon’s parents’ house. The autumn sun slanted through the windows, catching on Haerin’s ribbons and Haru’s drowsy smile, the world outside warm and golden with the promise of a long, noisy, love-filled day ahead. The car had barely rolled to a stop before the back doors burst open.
“Halmeoni!” Haerin shouted, bolting toward the house, her hanbok ribbons streaming behind her. Haru tumbled out after her, tripping slightly on the driveway but too excited to care.
“Wait—shoes!” Jungwon called, but it was too late. The front door had already opened, and laughter echoed from inside as the kids disappeared into a flurry of hugs and greetings.
Jay chuckled, getting out slowly. “You’d think we were invisible.”
“Feels like it every year,” Jungwon said, hefting one of the food trays from the trunk.
Jay took the rest of the containers before Jungwon could protest. “I got these. You take the gifts.”
“I can carry—”
“You cooked half of this,” Jay interrupted, bumping his shoulder gently against Jungwon’s. “Let me do something heroic.”
Jungwon smiled despite himself. “Heroic would’ve been convincing Haru to wear his shoes properly.”
“Touché.”
They started toward the house, the crisp air carrying the scent of roasted sesame, simmering broth, and the faint sweetness of chestnuts from somewhere down the street. The afternoon sun slanted gold through the trees, scattering light across the driveway. As they walked, Jungwon slipped his arm through Jay’s, tugging him a little closer.
“It smells like every Chuseok I’ve ever had,” Jungwon said softly.
Jay glanced over, smiling. “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”
Jungwon nodded, his expression softening with nostalgia. “When I was little, my grandmother used to make hotteok on that old cast-iron pan—burnt edges, too much syrup. My mom still can’t get it the same way.”
“I remember that year she tried. Your dad and I almost chipped our teeth.”
Jungwon laughed, quiet and genuine. “And you still told her it was perfect.”
Jay’s grin turned teasing. “Of course. I’m the favorite son.”
Jungwon scoffed, eyes narrowing playfully. “You’ve been saying that since we got married.”
“Because it’s true.” Jay lowered his voice as Jungwon rolled his eyes. “Your mom always gives me the biggest helping of japchae. Can’t argue with evidence.”
“Or maybe she just feels bad for you.”
Jay tilted his head, feigning offense. “Bad? For being the perfect son-in-law?”
Jungwon laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
“You know,” he said softly, “we’ve spent almost every Chuseok here. Your parents’ house. I don’t think I’d want it any other way.”
Jungwon turned to him, the sunlight catching the soft smile on his face. “Me neither. Feels like home.”
“Remember our first one?” Jay said. “We were still dating, and you made me bow wrong in front of your grandmother.”
Jungwon burst into laughter. “You bowed too low! She thought you were making fun of her.”
“I was trying to be respectful!”
“She still brings it up,” Jungwon teased. “Says you nearly kissed the floor.”
Jay grinned, squeezing his hand. “Worked out fine. She adored me by the end of dinner.”
“She adored your appetite,” Jungwon corrected.
Jay leaned in a little closer, voice dropping into that familiar warmth. “And you adored me. Still do.”
Jungwon smiled, eyes softening. “Unfortunately.”
Jay laughed under his breath, brushing his thumb along Jungwon’s knuckles before their moment was interrupted by a sudden shout from the porch.
“Lovebirds!” Jungwon’s sister called, leaning out the doorway with her hands on her hips. “Are you two gonna stand there all day, or are you planning to help in here?”
Jay and Jungwon both jumped, stifling laughter.
“Coming!” Jungwon called back, face flushed as Jay tried—and failed—to smother a grin.
Jay leaned in as they started walking again. “You know she only calls us that to get under your skin.”
“Then it’s working,” Jungwon muttered, tugging him by the arm toward the house.
Jay only chuckled, letting himself be pulled along, their joined hands swinging lightly between them as the warmth and noise of the house grew closer.
The living room was already buzzing when Jay and Jungwon finally stepped inside—shoes off, arms full, warmth and chatter wrapping around them like a blanket.
“Look who finally decided to show up!” Heeseung called from the couch, one arm slung over the backrest, a plate of tteok in hand. Beside him, Jake was crouched down trying to keep his golden retriever, Layla, from pawing at the twins’ snack bowls.
“Layla, sit,” Jake warned, laughing as Junho—one of Sunoo and Sunghoon’s boys—giggled and fed her a piece of sweet potato anyway.
“Hey!” Sunghoon barked from across the table, but his tone was ruined by the smile tugging at his lips. “No feeding the dog people food!”
“It’s okay, Uncle Jake said she likes it,” Jaeho protested, his cheeks puffed out as he munched on his own snack.
“Yeah, and Uncle Jake also said to sit,” Jake said, eyes narrowing teasingly as he ruffled the boy’s hair.
From the kitchen doorway, Ni-ki peeked out, apron already dusted in flour. “Finally! Jay-hyung, Jungwon-hyung—your mom’s been waiting for you. She said not to let the jeon burn this year.”
Jay groaned, laughing. “That was one time.”
“One smoky time,” Jungwon corrected, nudging him toward the kitchen.
But before they could even make it that far, Haerin’s voice rang out—“Halmeoni!”—and the crowd seemed to part just enough for her to throw herself into her grandmother’s arms.
Jungwon’s mom crouched down to meet her, the bright print of her hanbok shimmering under the warm kitchen lights. “Aigoo, look at you,” she cooed, holding Haerin’s face in her hands. “You get prettier every Chuseok. Did you grow again?”
Haerin nodded earnestly. “Appa says I’m taller than Haru now.”
“Well, your appa’s right,” she said, eyes twinkling. “And what’s this?”
Haerin grinned and held out a small, carefully wrapped package from behind her back. “I made this for you with Appa! It’s a bracelet. So you don’t forget me when I’m not here.”
Jay and Jungwon both smiled, watching the moment unfold—Jay with quiet fondness, Jungwon with that look that always softened him when it came to his mom and daughter together.
Jungwon’s mom gasped softly, opening the little box. Inside was a slightly lumpy clay bead bracelet, clearly handmade. “It’s beautiful,” she said, slipping it on immediately. “Now I’ll think of you every day.”
Haerin beamed, throwing her arms around her neck. “You have to wear it forever.”
“I promise,” she whispered, smoothing Haerin’s hair down before glancing up—and her whole face lit up again, this time at Jay.
“Jay-yah!” she exclaimed, standing and reaching out to take his hand. “You look so thin! Are you eating properly? Why do you get more handsome every year?”
Jay blinked, already laughing. “Uh, I—thank you, Emoni.”
“I saved you the crispy jeon pieces,” she said, tugging him toward the counter like he hadn’t just walked in holding a tray full of them. “No one else touches them before you.”
Behind them, Jungwon frowned theatrically, lowering his voice to mutter, “Um, hello? Your actual son right here.”
His mom didn’t even look back. “You live nearby. I see you all the time.”
Jay tried—and failed—not to snort. “She’s got a point.”
“Traitor,” Jungwon said, bumping his hip against Jay’s as they set down the rest of the food.
“Oh, don’t pout,” Jay murmured, leaning in just enough for his words to only reach Jungwon. “You’re still my favorite.”
Before Jungwon could reply, his mom called out again, “Jay-yah, you’ll help me with the grill, right? Jungwon always burns the meat.”
Jungwon groaned. “It was one year!”
As Jay stepped toward the grill, Jungwon’s eyes flicked toward the patio, taking note that Jay’s parents were already there, quietly watching the kids run around and chatting with a few of Jungwon’s relatives. He remembered now that his mother had called them ahead of time, letting them know she had invited Jay’s parents since, as far as she was concerned, they were a part of the family too.
Though Jay’s parents had a reputation for being slightly stuck-up and pretentious—something Jungwon had witnessed firsthand when he first started dating Jay—they had gotten better over the years. Especially, he realized, for the sake of their grandchildren. He could see it now in the careful, gentle way they interacted with Haerin and Haru, the subtle softening of their usual formalities.
Jungwon’s thoughts drifted back to those early days, remembering how awkward it had always been when his parents and Jay’s parents were in the same room. Ho tense every interaction felt. He shook his head slightly, exhaling through his nose. “Things are… better now,” he murmured to himself, squeezing Jay’s hand lightly as the two of them approached the grill together.
Jay gave a small, knowing smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Better… but I’m still tense,” he admitted softly.
Jungwon chuckled under his breath, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “I know. But you’ll survive. Just follow my lead.”
Jay’s parents melted immediately at the kids’ energy. Jay’s mom lifted Haerin slightly, holding her at arm’s length to admire her hanbok. “My goodness, look at you! You’ve grown so tall!” she said, her voice warm. Haru’s dad tousled his hair affectionately. “And you, little man, still as lively as ever!”
Jungwon stepped forward, bowing lightly but smiling. “It’s wonderful to see you both again.” He guided Jay to stand beside him, slipping his hand into Jay’s for reassurance.
Jay’s parents smiled at him too. “Jay, good to see you again,” Jay’s dad said warmly. “You’ve been taking such good care of our grandchildren.”
Jay let out a small laugh, tension easing as he replied, “I try my best.”
The kids jabbered excitedly about the day so far, and Jay’s father handed over two envelopes. “For Haerin and Haru,” he said, handing them each one. “A little Chuseok gift.”
The children tore into the envelopes with wide-eyed excitement, bills and coins jingling inside. Jungwon quickly scooped them up to make sure nothing got lost, handing them back safely so the kids could admire their gifts.
The yard buzzed with that familiar pre-meal chaos—the sound of sizzling meat from the grill mixing with laughter and conversation that overlapped in warm, happy waves. Smoke curled lazily into the late afternoon air, carrying the scent of soy and garlic. Jay stood by the grill with Jungwon’s dad and uncle, flipping slices of marinated beef while Jungwon’s cousins carried out platters of lettuce and kimchi from the kitchen. A table under the awning groaned with banchan dishes—each one slightly uneven, all of them made with love.
The kids darted across the yard in colorful bursts of hanbok fabric, shrieking with laughter as they played tag. Haerin’s braids flew behind her as she chased Junho and Jaeho, who were already plotting how to outsmart her, while Haru stumbled after them with the determination of a puppy, face flushed and hands sticky from the rice cracker he refused to let go of.
A few of Jungwon’s cousins’ children had joined the chaos too—Minseo, who proudly declared herself “team Haerin,” and little Jiwoo, who kept forgetting which direction they were running in and somehow always ended up tagging herself. The lawn became a swirl of bright colors and loud giggles.
Then Layla, Jake’s golden retriever, barked once—just once—and instantly became the new center of the chase.
“Layla, no—!” Jake barely managed to warn before the dog bounded forward, tail wagging furiously, weaving between the kids as they screamed and laughed.
“She’s gonna mess up their hanboks!” Sunoo cried, clutching his phone in one hand and waving the other dramatically. “No, no, no, not before pictures!”
“Layla, come here, baby!” Jake called, trying to sound stern but clearly failing as the dog ran circles around Haru, who squealed and tried to catch her tail.
Junho and Jaeho doubled over laughing while Haerin clutched her chest, shouting between giggles, “She’s so fast! She’s faster than Uncle Jay!”
“Impossible,” Jay muttered from the grill, flipping meat with exaggerated offense.
“Haerin, careful!” Jungwon called out from the porch. “You’ll get your hanbok dirty before pictures!”
“I’m not!” she yelled back, tripping over a pebble and laughing as she tumbled onto the grass.
Jay chuckled under his breath as Jungwon sighed, muttering something about accepting defeat. “You know,” Jay said, nudging the grill tongs toward him, “she gets that stubborn streak from you.”
“She gets the running around part from you,” Jungwon shot back, but the corners of his mouth were twitching.
Jungwon’s cousins cheered the chase on from the porch, phones out to record, while Sunoo hovered helplessly. “Oh my god, you’re all going to be covered in fur and grass stains—stop running, stop running!”
Minseo screamed with delight as Layla darted past her again, ears flopping. “She wants to play too!”
Sunghoon, lounging by the porch rail with a drink, laughed. “I think you’ve lost control of the situation, Sunoo.”
“I never had control!” Sunoo shot back, already crouching to scoop up Jiwoo before she fell over again.
The kids dissolved into another round of laughter as Layla finally flopped onto the grass, panting and happy, letting all five of them smother her with pets and hugs.
At one of the picnic tables, Jungwon’s aunt poured tea for a few of the older relatives, while a cluster of cousins leaned in toward Jay and Jungwon, eager for gossip.
“So, Jay,” one of them began, her tone teasing, “you’ve been working with all those idols lately, right? Anyone we’d know?”
Jay glanced up from the grill, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You mean aside from the ones you already stalk on Instagram?”
A chorus of playful protests followed. “Oh, come on! Just give us a hint!”
He pretended to think, flipping a piece of meat with practiced ease. “Hmm… can’t really say names, but—one of them made me try their homemade protein shake last week. It was… an experience.”
“Was it good?” another cousin asked.
Jay shook his head. “No. It was green and it fizzed.”
The group broke into laughter, and one of the cousins fanned herself dramatically. “Okay, fine, you don’t have to name names. But if any of them ever need background vocals—call me.”
“Sure,” Jay said smoothly, “as long as you can hold a tune better than Jungwon in the shower.”
That earned a round of delighted ooohs, and Jungwon, who had just finished arranging the side dishes, turned to glare at him. “Excuse me?”
Jay grinned. “You sing like someone stepped on a cat.”
“You’re lucky it’s Chuseok,” Jungwon said, narrowing his eyes but clearly fighting a smile.
Before anyone could tease them further, another cousin piped up. “Jungwon, what about you? You’ve interviewed so many celebrities lately. You have to have stories.”
Jungwon raised a brow, pretending to think. “Hmm. I interviewed one actor who spent the entire time talking about his skincare routine.”
“Was it helpful?”
“Oh, incredibly. I learned he doesn’t wash his face with soap.”
The table erupted into laughter again, and Jungwon leaned back, satisfied. Jay was watching him with that quiet fondness he always got when Jungwon was mid-story, the kind that made Jungwon blush if he thought about it too much.
Meanwhile, Haerin came darting up to the porch, hair slightly frizzed and hanbok sash untied, clutching a chestnut in each hand. “Appa! Look! I found the prettiest ones!”
Jungwon crouched down to admire them, his smile soft. “You did, huh? Perfect for the table.”
From the grill, Jay added, “Or your pocket, knowing you.”
Haerin gasped, clutching the chestnuts protectively. “You can’t have them! They’re mine!”
Jay shook his head, amused. “Nah. This is the calm before the storm anyway.”
“This is the calm?” Jungwon asked dryly.
Jay chuckled, leaning closer to nudge him. “Chuseok wouldn’t be Chuseok without at least one disaster before dinner.”
Jungwon made his way toward the patio where his mom and sister stood chatting near the grill, both fanning away the smoke that drifted from sizzling meat. His mom had one hand on her hip and the other balancing a plate of banchan, laughing at something his sister said.
“Eomma,” Jungwon called, stepping closer with a grin. “Should we start taking pictures before the kids get their hanboks dirty? Haru’s already tried to roll on the grass twice.”
His mom’s eyes darted toward the backyard where Haerin and Haru were running after Layla, Jake’s golden retriever, squealing as the dog looped around the picnic tables. “Aigoo, you’re right. Look at them!” she said, half exasperated, half delighted. “If we wait any longer, they’ll have grass stains and cookie crumbs all over.”
Jungwon’s sister laughed. “Too late for crumbs, I think.”
Jay came over then, holding two juice pouches, slightly winded. “Your son is fast,” he said, pressing one into Jungwon’s hand.
“He gets that from you,” Jungwon teased, before raising his voice toward the rest of the yard. “Okay! Everyone—pictures before the feast!”
There was a collective groan from the cousins and kids, but soon, people were lining up, fixing hair, and wiping smudges off faces. The camera flashed through different combinations: each respective family, the grandparents with the kids, the cousins in a big group.
Heeseung, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Ni-ki, and Jake joined Jungwon and Jay for their own set of pictures. Jay crouched slightly to make sure he was in the frame with Jungwon, joking with Heeseung about whether they should all make silly faces or keep it serious.
Jungwon rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop laughing when Ni-ki grabbed Junho and Jaeho and shoved them into the middle of the group for maximum chaos. Sunoo fussed over the twins, straightening collars and fixing their hair while muttering, “If anyone blinks, we’re doing it again.”
“Sunoo, you’re worse than the photographer,” Sunghoon said, laughing, an arm slung around his husband’s shoulders.
Finally, it was Jay and Jungwon’s turn. They started herding Haerin and Haru over, each holding one of the kids’ hands. Jay crouched to fix Haerin’s bow, Jungwon smoothed down Haru’s vest, and they stood together, picture-perfect.
After the meal, the family spilled out onto the patio, laughter and chatter carrying over the crisp September air. The yutnori board was set up, and soon everyone was crowded around, ready for games.
Haerin stomped her foot in mock determination. “I’m definitely beating Uncle Ni-ki this time!” She grabbed the sticks and tossed them with a flourish, inventing new rules on the spot. Ni-ki raised his eyebrows but laughed. “Alright, little champion. Let’s see these new rules of yours.”
Jay crouched beside Haru, straightening his vest while the boy fidgeted with excitement. Jungwon leaned down to adjust Haerin’s hanbok, brushing a stray ribbon from her shoulder.
From the side, Jungwon’s sister couldn’t resist chiming in. “Jay! Really, sneaking in extra turns again? You’re supposed to be the adult here!”
Jay threw her a mock glare. “I have standards, I swear. I’m just… testing my strategy skills.”
She snorted, shaking her head, and Jungwon stifled a laugh behind them. “You’re hopeless,” he whispered, brushing Jay’s arm gently.
Meanwhile, the grandparents had collapsed into easy laughter, watching the twins, Junho and Jaeho, who were snacking on sticky honeyed treats and promptly managed to smear syrup all over their hanboks. Sunoo fussed loudly, brandishing a mountain of wet wipes. “How many times am I going to have to say—watch the hanbok! Laundry! Laundry!” he muttered under his breath as he wiped the boys down for the fifth time.
Off to the side, Sunghoon and Jake had found a quiet corner and were stuffing handfuls of sweets into their mouths, thinking no one could see them. Jungwon didn’t miss a moment. Camera in hand, he captured Uncle Heeseung had Haru perched on his hip, laughing as he tried to balance while Layla, the dog, darted around and nearly knocked him over. The moment was pure motion—Heeseung leaning back, one foot slipping slightly, Haru giggling uncontrollably, and Layla’s tail whipping like a furry metronome. Every shot was a perfect little slice of their hectic, joyful Chuseok.
Haerin waved her yutnori stick victoriously. “I am the champion! Nobody can beat me!”
Jay rubbed the back of his neck, a grin tugging at his lips despite the chaos. “This is… a lot,” he murmured to Jungwon.
Jungwon leaned closer, his hand brushing Jay’s. “It’s perfect,” he said, voice soft but sure. “Exactly the way it should be.”
The kids shrieked, the dog barked, and the family’s laughter rang out across the yard—messy, loud, and entirely, wonderfully, Chuseok.