Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was colder this time around, colder than last year when Hongjoong had dragged his boys to the local fun house. Not as big as the one in Seoul, but enough to keep the kids distracted and give him a few minutes to breathe.

It had become an annual tradition, a small ritual every Christmas season to clear his mind before the holiday stress set in.

He tugged his hat lower over his face and gently nudged the stragglers forward as he opened the door. Wooyoung shot ahead, pressing his nose against the glass that separated them from the play area.

“Dad. Dad! They have a new slide!” he shouted as if from a mile away, hammering his finger against the glass.

“Patience, kitten. I have to buy the tickets first. Be a good boy for Santa and come here.” Hongjoong shot a warning glance at his youngest, who seemed poised to ruin Christmas for his brothers by loudly declaring that Santa was actually their neighbor in a fake beard.

Wooyoung shuffled back, taking his hand with exaggerated resignation. “I wanna do the new slide!”

“You can. Just wait five more minutes, alright?”

His son grumbled, pulling a face while the older twins bickered over something Hongjoong didn’t have the patience to untangle. They headed  straight to the counter and he could already smell the paper of his book he would finally read after months of anticipation and interruptions. 

Only one family ahead in line. Wooyoung stuck his tongue out at the girls in front of him, and one of them started crying. The boy rolled his eyes as his father muttered an apology to the frazzled mother, who was probably wishing for a few quiet hours as well.

“Woo, what did I tell you about sticking your tongue out at strangers?”

“Only to doctors and assholes,” he recited earnestly, like a Boy Scout.

“Exactly. And is this girl an asshole?”

Wooyoung wrinkled his nose. “Well…She looks like one.”

Hongjoong sighed as the family finally moved forward. At the counter, he greeted the woman in a yellow shirt with the fun house logo. “Good morning.”

She smiled as if he was her favourite customer. “One adult, three kids… Do you, by any chance, have a daycare?”

Her smile widened, clearly a question she heard often—probably because he asked every year.

“No, sir. I’m afraid we still don't,” she said like every year and handed him the tickets. But before he could grab them, Wooyoung snatched them from her hand and darted toward the ticket barrier.

“Just this week,” Hongjoong muttered to himself. “A few days, and they’re her problem.”

He’d have his sons for Christmas; New Year’s Eve they would be with his ex-wife and her new boyfriend, leaving him a solitary retreat in the mountains with massages, hot springs, and a book.

Three days just for himself. And it couldn’t come soon enough.

He followed his kids through the barrier, and the woman at the counter kindly reopened it, since Wooyoung had snatched his dad’s ticket as well. Hongjoong gave a thankful bow before scanning the hall for his runaways.

Probably the new slide.

Bingo!

As expected, he heard Wooyoung’s delighted shrieks echo across the room, followed by the twins tumbling behind him. They landed in a heap, screaming and laughing, and he braced for at least one bloody nose today.

How did his ex manage to deliver three unharmed children each time, while weekends with him seemed to guarantee bruises and scoldings on her part? Probably deserved.

The twins were manageable—curious but calm in nature, easy to handle. Then came Wooyoung, and everything turned upside down.

He was the most chaotic child he'd ever met, always egging his brothers into mischief and minor crimes. Yet he wouldn’t trade him for the world. When not wreaking havoc, Wooyoung was the sweetest, most affectionate boy, clinging to him for extra cuddles during bedtime. 

Hongjoong would linger after reading to the twins, holding his youngest tight, thanking the universe for this blessing in disguise.

Settling near the parents’ area, far enough to avoid judgmental looks, he opened his book and thermos of hot chocolate, casting one last glance at his boys causing mayhem on the tunnel slide before turning to his dog-eared page.

He was just about to meet the first suspect in his crime novel when a voice reached his ear—soft, yet somehow cutting through the background of screams and chatter he had learned to tune out.

“Yeosang, dear, please don’t lick that—it’s not clean. Jongho, stop pulling your little brother’s leg; you know he’s gullible.”

A loud cackle followed, then the patter of footsteps rushing past him, and finally a long, weary sigh—the kind only a parent could muster.

“May I join you, sir? The parent’s area is already overflowing.”

“Sure,” Hongjoong muttered without raising his eyes.

He went back to his story, interrogating the maid in the office of her murdered boss, when a faint scent of baby powder and vanilla coffee drifted toward him. Curious now, he finally looked up, half expecting a middle-aged woman in a Chanel costume.

Instead, a young man, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, was placing Tupperware with sliced fruit on the table beside him. His groomed brows furrowed slightly as he inspected the mango, muttering something about forgetting the oranges.

“I have sliced orange!” Hongjoong blurted before he could stop himself. The young man looked up, blinking in surprise.

“Our kids can share them,” he added quickly. “They’re your kids, right?”

Suddenly, the man’s eyes lit up, softness spreading across his expression at the mention of his sons.

“Yes,” he said with a small smile, scanning the area until his gaze landed on the ball pit. “The three of them—oh, dear…” he muttered as one of the boys started nibbling on a red plastic ball.

“Yeosang, sweetie, that’s not edible!” he turned to Hongjoong with an apologetic smile. “Excuse me, I have to go scold my kids again.” He hurried toward the ball pit. “Jongho, we’ve talked about this… Yeosang, this is not an apple.”

He retrieved the red ball and tossed it aside, giving the older boy a scolding glance.

“Not my fault if he believes everything,” the little boy said, his round eyes full of angelic innocence.

“Do that again and I’ll tell Santa about your behavior. I’m sure he won’t appreciate it.” The boy pouted and turned away, and their father sighed before returning to the bench.

“As I was saying,” he continued, as if nothing had happened, “mine are the three boys to the left. San, my eldest—mostly a good kid, a bit clingy at times. Jongho, the middle child, surprisingly independent for his age, but talks a lot of nonsense. And Yeosang, my youngest… very blue-eyed, and unfortunately believes everything his brothers tell him. It’s a miracle he hasn’t choked on something yet—or gotten abducted.”

He cut himself off, a slight blush rising as he noticed Hongjoong’s gaze. “They’re good kids,” he hurried on. “Coping with loss in their own way.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for oversharing. You probably just want to read in peace.”

“Ah, no,” Hongjoong said, waving him off. “I could listen to you talk all day.”

The man gave an indecisive look, brows furrowing once more. “No need to be rude, sir,” he muttered, moving a little aside and turning back to his fruit slices.

Hongjoong felt heat creep up his neck. “No—uhm,” he cleared his throat, embarrassed.

Single for quite a while, he hadn’t had much practice with flirting. His last serious relationship—a marriage lasting only a few years—had ended when they were simply too young for both marriage and children. They divorced before their youngest was even born.

“I’m sorry if that came out wrong. Please, I just think…” What exactly did he think?
That this man in front of him was very attractive?
That he exuded an aura that somehow made him feel at ease?
That his voice was very soothing, probably perfect for bedtime stories?

Probably all of it.

The heat spread into his cheeks as the other man studied him with narrowed eyes.

“You seem… quite nice,” Hongjoong finally managed, shifting nervously. He closed his book and put it aside, offering a sheepish smile. “Please, let’s start again. My name is Kim Hongjoong. The boys hitting each other with pool noodles are mine.”

He chuckled, watching them fondly for a moment.

“Park Seonghwa,” the other replied.

Hongjoong raised his head as the soft voice broke through his daze. The young man was smiling now, faintly, but undeniably. “I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions… I, uhm…” He laughed softly, eyes dropping to the sprinkled linoleum floor.

“I’m not used to men flirting with me. And your attempt… Well, it was rather awkward.”

Hongjoong blinked, ears burning a dark red now.

Seonghwa looked up, shoving a mango slice between his teeth. Nice teeth. Maybe his parents were dentists.

“But sweet,” he added. “I’m sorry. I’m off my game lately. Haven’t really dated in a while.”

Hongjoong just smiled awkwardly, because same here.

“Anyway,” former continued, a gentler expression softening his eyes, “thank you for the offer. My oldest loves oranges—would pout for the rest of the day if he didn’t get some.” He sighed again. “A good kid… but easily upset. Needs a lot of attention ever since his mom left us...” His voice trailed off. “Never mind.”

Hongjoong nudged the slices toward him. “Take one. They’re really good.”

Seonghwa gave a small smile and reached for one. “Thanks.”

They chit-chatted for a while, until Wooyoung came barreling toward them, eyes wild with excitement. “Mingi said you’ll take us to Lotte World for Christmas!?”

His son’s eyes shone so brightly Hongjoong didn’t have the heart to call out the lie.

Seonghwa, apparently sensing his dilemma, offered one of his own Tupperware slices. “Mango, dear?”

“Thanks, but Dad says I must not take gifts from strangers.”

“STRANGER DANGER!” Mingi shouted from behind, running in frantic circles and drawing curious glances from nearby parents.

Hongjoong quickly hushed him. “It’s okay this time. I’m here.” 

Immediately, the twins pounced on the mangos like predators. “Slowly, boys! Leave some for the rest. These aren't ours.”

“It’s fine,” Seonghwa said kindly. “I have enough.” He waved his sons over. “Come on boys, time for your daily vitamins.”

“Vitamins!” Yeosang echoed, scrambling out of the ball pit. But Jongho was faster, snatching the last piece and leaving his little brother teary-eyed.

“Haribo,” Seonghwa sighed, brow furrowed. He was about to scold him again when his eldest reached out a hand.

“You can have mine, Yeosangie.” 

His little brother’s wide eyes lit up as San dried his tears with the sleeve of his Christmas sweater.

“Thank you, Sanie.”

“Not for that, Puppy,” he replied, then turned to Jongho and punched his arm. “Be nicer!”

“Hey, hey, please no hitting—” But Jongho had already retaliated, and soon the boys broke out in a full-on brawl, Wooyoung and Mingi cheering them on.

Only with combined effort did the two fathers manage to separate them.

“Alright,” Seonghwa huffed, breathless. “Time out. For both of you. No TV for you tonight!”

Soon, after peace was made, snacks emptied and tears dried, they sent their boys back to play. Hongjoong took a deep breath, rolling his tense shoulders.

“Wow,” he said. “Honestly, how do you manage, Mr. Park?”

Seonghwa’s brows furrowed slightly as he watched Wooyoung steal Jongho’s ball and bolt away with an excited shriek, Jongho giving chase with a glare that promised nothing short of death.

“Well…” A soft, slightly overwhelmed smile crossed his lips. “I pray. A lot.”

Hongjoong nodded in understanding. Maybe he should try that sometime.

“To be honest,” Seonghwa continued, noticing the flicker of uncertainty on his face, “I got lucky. My wife… she did most of the heavy lifting while I was working. And afterward… Well, they turned out fine. I just make sure they eat and sleep enough, and don’t turn into…” He trailed off, searching for the word.

“Assholes?”

“Yes.” Seonghwa chuckled, ears flushing as he brushed a strand of hair from his face.

So pretty.

“Unfortunately, I can’t say the same,” Hongjoong admitted quietly. “Sometimes I think we weren’t meant to be parents. We just were… I don’t want to say unlucky, but—”

“Children are a blessing,” Seonghwa interrupted with gentle firmness.

“Right. Yes, of course.” Hongjoong cleared his throat, a bit embarrassed now. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I love my kids. Every single one of them. It’s just… Some people are meant to be parents. Like you and your wife. Others are careless, and the kids end up paying for it. I’m not saying I regret them, I just—”

Please, just shut up!

Heat burned in his eyes as he bit down on his lip, falling silent. Why was he yapping so much today? Maybe he should return to his book, let this man enjoy his peace before completely ruining his reputation. Or worse, landed a visit from social services.

It wasn’t that bad. He managed. Most of the time. This stranger just made him feel… strangely comfortable. Eager to share the weight.

A quiet huff sounded beside him. Hongjoong turned, ready to justify again, but stopped when he met a warm smile. Understanding even.

“I have those days too,” Seonghwa said quietly, eyes drifting to the trampoline area where San and Yunho were competing in a jumping contest, the other boys watching from the side, waiting for their turn.

When Wooyoung tried to join, he was immediately tackled by Jongho and Mingi, and dragged off amid loud protests. Yeosang, the youngest of the group, only about five years old, crouched nearby, absorbed in a small pile of marbles.

“Sometimes on bad days I wanna go into the woods and just leave them there,” Seonghwa admitted quietly, guilt in his voice. “And then I feel like a monster.”

“You’re not a monster for wanting to breathe,” Hongjoong said carefully. “I promise you, every parent I’ve met has had thoughts like that at least once.”

He reached for Seonghwa’s arm, stopping himself just in time.

“It doesn’t mean we don’t love our kids… But we’re no superheroes. We don’t have to be perfect or have all the answers. Especially when we’re on our own.” His voice softened. “It’s okay to be overwhelmed at times… That's what we have our parents for,” he chuckled to himself.

Seonghwa blinked, gaze dropping to the floor. “Why does it look so easy with others,” he murmured.

“Because they’re lying,” Hongjoong said with a huff. He pulled out a candy bar he’d successfully hidden from his boys and offered it. The other hesitated, then took it with a small smile.

“Raising one kid and trying not to mess them up is hard enough,” Hongjoong continued, following Seonghwa’s gaze to where Yeosang and Wooyoung now played marbles together, mostly in peace.

“Now make it three boys, minus one parent,” he added lightly, “and you’re in for a treat.”

That earned him a laugh. For a moment, Seonghwa’s shoulders loosened, tension easing.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “Christmas just somehow makes everything heavier. I’m just getting sentimental this time of year.”

“Who doesn’t– Oh my god, Wooyoung, no biting! We’ve talked about this.” Hongjoong scrambled to his feet. “I’m so sorry,” he added under his breath and hurried over to the boys.

“Yeosang asked me to,” his youngest insisted. “How could I say no?”

“Do not lie to me, young man!” His tone was unusually sharp. He hated to scold his sons, especially in public. It always proved his parents right, and everyone saying he wasn’t fit to raise these kids on his own. 

“I’m not lying!” Wooyoung’s shrill protests echoed through the hall, drawing judgmental glances. 

San had left the trampoline, already hovering, ready to fight the abuser of his darling baby brother. 

“Why would he possibly ask you to bite him?” Hongjoong demanded. “Explain that to me.”

He caught sight of Seonghwa approaching, clearly coming to check on his youngest.

“Mr. Park, again, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s alright,” he said gently, inspecting Yeosang’s arm, which thankfully showed no real sign of real damage. “My little boy is rather gullible. He very well might have asked him to.”

Their gazes drifted at the same time toward the maknae of the group. Yeosang sat there with an innocent pout, while Wooyoung, arms crossed, looked equally offended by the accusation and terrified of getting beat up by the two older brothers, lingering nearby, faces still dark.

“He said it would be fun,” Yeosang mumbled, rubbing his arm.

“See!” the other boy exclaimed in relief, dramatically throwing his hands up. “I told you, I’m not a liar, Dad!”

Hongjoong let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Alright. I’m sorry for calling you one.” He crouched down to his level. “But we’ve talked about this, Kitten. Asking or not, biting people is not okay.”

Wooyoung scrunched up his nose. “But, Mom would have—”

“Your mom is not here!” Hongjoong cut in, tone sharper than intended. He pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration creeping in. It was tiring, always having her dragged into this.

“And I’m sure, she also wouldn’t have been happy about it…” He silently counted to ten to calm himself. Shouting got them nowhere. “Listen, I know you want her here, especially on Christmas. But we discussed this, I have you this year and you’ll see her after the holidays. You’ll spend New Year’s Eve with her and Minho, alright.”

“I don’t like him, he’s boring. He never wants to play with us.” Wooyoung sniffled with a small pout. A small hand reached for his, putting a colorful marble into his palm.

“I play with you.” Wooyoung turned his head to look at Yeosang and the frown turned into a tiny smile.

Seonghwa padded his son’s head with a proud smile and stood. “Why don’t we get a coffee and let them play for a while.” Hongjoong nodded, gently kissing Wooyoung’s head before he stood as well and followed.

🍪

On their way to the car, the older boys rushed ahead, but Yeosang padded, always close, along beside him, tiny feet working hard to keep up. He was chattering nonstop, still riding the sugar high from the slushies Hongjoong had bought them later on.

“He was nice.”

“Who was nice, sweetheart?”

“The man. Wooyoung’s dad.” The boy licked some leftover slushie from his palm.

“Wooyoung?” his dad asked, amused. “The unruly kid who bit you?”

“Yes. He’s my best friend now,” he added and beamed up at him

“Well, that was quick,” Seonghwa said with a soft chuckle, though he felt a quiet relief. He was glad his youngest had made a friend today. Yeosang was usually shy, hesitant to approach other children, and his world could be lonely. He often found himself wishing for someone kind enough to take this boy under their wing.

Maybe that someone had finally appeared in the form of a gremlin. Even though he himself had gravitated toward one of the twins. Yunho, perhaps. He seemed gentle. Safe enough for someone like Yeosang.  But at nine years old, probably a little too old for him. 

Maybe a fit for San. He seemed to get along well with the twins.

“Yes. We’re friends now. He said so.”

“After he bit your arm?” Seonghwa laughed. Odd kid.

Jongho impatiently hammered his fist against the car window, signaling his father to hurry up, while San, equally high on sugar, bounced up and down on the pavement.

“Patience is a virtue, boys,” Seonghwa implored calmly, guiding his middle child away from the car. “And Sanie, please stop jumping. You might hurt yourself.”

He knew he was being overbearing sometimes. But ever since he’d been raising them on his own, the fear that something might happen to them never really left. His parents’ constant urging him to remarry, that the boys need a mother, only added to the weight pressing down on him.

He wasn’t ready to marry again. Not now. Maybe someday.

Once they were settled, he helped Yeosang into the car, buckling him into his booster seat. “If you boys behave for the whole ride,” he said lightly, “I might have left three cookies in Meemaw’s cookie jar.”

“Three for each of us?” San’s eyes lit up, and Seonghwa couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, dear. You’ve had enough sugar for today. One will do.”

San’s expression instantly turned into a full on pout and before he could manipulate his gullible dad into more cookies, Seonghwa closed the backdoor and got behind the wheel. 

Back home, he managed to get the boys inside without another snowball fight breaking out between his oldest. He helped Yeosang getting out of his snow booties while San darted towards the kitchen, shoes still on. “Cookies!” 

And there was nothing his dad could do about it. Seonghwa tried not to scold. He was just an excited kid and it was kind of his fault for promising the treat.

As soon as Yeosang was free of snow and wearing his reindeer slippers, their dad followed his boys into the kitchen and reached for their Meemaw’s cookie jar.

But it was empty. Not a crumb in sight.

He stared into it for a long second, then slowly turned his head toward San and Jongho, who were suddenly very invested in examining the ceiling.

“…You ate them,” he said flatly.

The eldest winced. His brother didn’t even pretend. “They were getting stale,” he offered helpfully.

“Your grandma baked them two days ago.”

“Yes,” Jongho nodded. “Exactly. Very risky.”

Seonghwa closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. Yeosang peeked into the jar, lower lip wobbling. “But you promised, daddy…”

Why was he the one feeling guilty now? He shot his two eldest a scolding glance. But he was not in the mood to reprimand them. It was almost Christmas after all.

“Okay,” he sighed, setting the jar aside. “Plan B. We’ll bake new ones.”

And soon, the usually squeaky clean kitchen turned into a battlefield. Flour dusted every surface, including Jongho’s hair, San’s sweater, and Yeosang’s entire face. Someone spilled sugar on the floor, but he didn’t mind. It was part of the magic, right?

San licked the spoon despite explicit instructions not to, Yeosang insisted on cracking the eggs himself, resulting in exactly one successful egg and one dramatic splatter on the tiles.

It’s part of the magic! Chaos is fine. It’s fine!

“Cooking is about teamwork,” Seonghwa reminded them gently, wiping batter off the counter.

“It’s about speed,” Jongho argued, aggressively rolling the dough.

“It’s about art,” his eldest countered, carefully shaping a cookie that was probably supposed to look like some kind of feline.  

When it was time to decorate, all order disbanded: Sprinkles exploded like confetti. Icing ended up on fingers, cheeks, and somehow the fridge handle. Yeosang beamed proudly at a cookie so overloaded with sugar pearls it sagged in the middle.

Yet he insisted it was art and no one had the heart to disagree. Not even Jongho.

Seonghwa leaned against the counter, watching them fondly, but slightly exhausted, heart full and kitchen utterly ruined.

Later, as the decoration was drying and the boys sprawled on the floor waiting impatiently, Yeosang looked up at him and asked, very casually, “Do you think Wooyoung likes sugar cookies?”

His dad paused, then smiled softly. “Yes, sweetheart, I think he does.”

Dinner was only mildly successful.

Seonghwa counted it as a victory that everyone ate at least something, even if Jongho had attempted to negotiate for dessert again, and San had declared vegetables “emotionally unnecessary.” The sugar from earlier, however, was still very much alive.

Getting the boys ready for bed felt like herding cats.

“Pajamas are not optional,” Seonghwa reminded them calmly for the third time, gently steering Yeosang away from the hallway. San was already in his pajamas but running laps around the living room, while Jongho had disappeared entirely.

“I’m brushing my teeth!” his voice echoed from somewhere that was definitely not the bathroom.

Seonghwa found him two minutes later, balancing on a kitchen chair, hand in the cookie jar. “Teeth!” he repeated, pointing toward the sink.

Eventually they were all washed up, pajama-clad, and wrangled onto the couch and Seonghwa picked up the storybook they were currently reading. “Tonight,” he announced, “we’re continuing with the pirate captain. Do you remember where we ended last night?” 

“When he got lost on the deserted island,” Jongho blurted out. “Chapter four.”

San scooted closer as Yeosang crawled into his dad’s side, small and warm, while Jongho leaned against the armrest, small feet swinging in anticipation. 

When the pirate finally met the mermaid who had pulled him from the waves, Seonghwa lowered his voice, the chapter coming to an end. Yeosang’s breathing slowed first. And by the time the pirate realized he was in love, San was blinking sleepily, and Jongho was fighting it with admirable stubbornness.

Seonghwa closed the book quietly and carried Yeosang to his room, tucking him in before smoothing hair from his forehead. “Sweet dreams, little fish. I love you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple.

San and Jongho were already halfway down the hall, pretending not to be tired. Their dad gently guided them back into their shared room. “Blankets,” he instructed. “Head on the pillow.”

Jongho flopped down dramatically while San was already curling in on himself like a sleepy cat, the favorite plushy tucked under his chin.

Seonghwa tugged the blankets up, one by one, lingering a bit longer. “Goodnight, my brave pirate,” he whispered. Then, quieter, “Goodnight, troublemaker,” to Jongho, earning a sleepy grin. “I love you, sleep tight.”

He turned off the light, leaving the door cracked open, and stood there for a moment longer than necessary.

Finally quiet.

Then he walked back into the kitchen and took in the chaos with a heavy breath. It looked like a crime scene. He surveyed the damage before rolling up his sleeves. Sprinkles crunched under his worn panda slippers his wife had got him for their last Christmas together.

He slipped his headphones on before the quiet could settle in. Something he tried to avoid this time of year.

The music filled his ears, drowning out the void that always followed bedtime. For three years now, this house had gone silent like this, too big, too empty once the boys were asleep.

Seonghwa started gathering plates, wiping counters, stacking bowls with sticky with icing. He washed dishes methodically, almost like a mantra. A sugar-smudged apron hung forgotten on a chair and flour smudged the edges of the counter, tiny fingerprints in it.

Sometimes the silence felt heavier than the noise ever had.

He leaned against the sink for a moment, eyes closed, breathing in the scent of vanilla and sugar. The music played on, a barrier between him and thoughts he didn’t want tonight.

Tomorrow would be chaotic again. Raising three little kids on his own, it certainly never got boring, keeping him busy. Distracted. And he was thankful for it.

When Seonghwa was done, he poured himself a glass of wine. A daily habit by now. Especially around Christmas time. 

He didn’t dwell on it. He told himself it was the cold, or the exhaustion, and not the empty chair at the table. Not the silence that crept up on him once the boys were fast asleep. It wasn’t really about her anymore. It was about the loneliness she had left behind. 

Seonghwa carried the glass with him to the bathroom and turned the tap, steam rising and fogging the mirror as the tub slowly filled. When the water was hot enough, he slipped in, letting the heat loosen the tightness in his shoulders.

He closed his eyes and tried to still his thoughts. They didn’t listen. Did they ever?

Instead, they drifted back to the fun house. To the stranger who had offered him orange slices so San wouldn’t go unhappy. Out of the kindness of his heart. And it lingered.

What was his name again?

Hongjoong.

The way he’d laughed, fond and equally tired, eyes always tracking his kids.

The awkward attempt at flirting. Sweet. Genuinely sweet. The way his voice had softened whenever he spoke to the boys.

Seonghwa sank deeper into the bath, a smile sneaking up on him. It had been a long time since someone had made him feel… comfortable. Not on guard, just kind and understanding. Like sitting in the same boat. 

Two pirates, each one lost in their own way. 

He pictured the twins with their pool noodles, Wooyoung declaring friendship like a lifelong pact. Something he’d always wanted for Yeosang. His little boy had looked so happy. Happy like he hadn’t seen him in a while. Something that lingered even past the moment. 

It had felt cozy. It wasn’t a word he used often, but this time it fit. Seonghwa leaned his head back against the ceramic, letting the water lap gently at his chest.

The thought surprised him enough that his breath caught. He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling through the haze of steam, suddenly very aware of the steady thrum beneath his ribs. 

His heart was beating faster than it had any right to. Not from the heat of the bath. Not from the wine… but something else. Or someone?

The realization made his stomach twist. It had been quite a while since anyone had drawn that kind of reaction from him. Suddenly and uninvited, with nothing more than a shared afternoon and a kind word.

He shifted in the water, embarrassed despite being alone, and immediately stilled himself.

No. That was ridiculous.

He barely knew that man. A few exchanged words. Kids running wild. Orange slices and awkward flirting. That was not a reason for his body to react like this.

Seonghwa reached for the wine instead, fingers closing around the cool glass as if it could anchor him. He took a sip. Then another, letting it ground him.

“Get it together,” he murmured. And still, the image lingered. He sank a little deeper into the bath, cheeks warm now for entirely different reasons, and tried very hard to think of anything else.

It took longer than he liked to admit.

🐴

Christmas was coming very quickly and Hongjoong had barely any presents together.

So on a grey morning just a few days before the holidays, he dropped the boys off at his parents’ place. And the moment he stepped into his childhood home, he was greeted by the smell of tea, gingerbread and parental judgment.

His mother barely waited for the door to close behind him.

“They’re getting so big,” she said, cupping Wooyoung’s face like she planned to keep him. “Really, Hongjoong, these boys need a loving hand. Especially at this impressionable age... And let's be honest, you could need one too.”

Here we go.

“They’ll turn out fine,” he replied mildly, slipping off his shoes.

His father hummed from behind the newspaper. “That’s debatable.”

The twins bolted toward the grand living room, Wooyoung close behind, already narrating some dramatic version of the fun house incident. Hongjoong lingered just long enough to make sure no one was bleeding.

His mother followed him like a shadow. “You work too much. They need stability. A woman’s touch.”

“They have you,” he said dryly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He smiled tightly, checking his watch. “I have to go. Christmas shopping. Very important business. Before I lose my will to live.”

His mother sighed, clearly preparing another argument, but Hongjoong was already halfway to the door. He bent down, pressing kisses to three heads.

“Behave, boys,” he warned. “No crimes above a misdemeanor. Yunho, you make sure your brothers don’t burn this house down.”

The older twin saluted. “No promises.”

His dad gave him a quick thumbs up and fled before his mother could tell him about her friend’s pretty daughter. 

The cold air outside was a relief. He exhaled, shoulders dropping as he walked towards his car, mind already shifting to gift lists and wrapping paper and maybe a gingerbread house. It was tradition after all.

And, annoyingly, to a certain man with soft eyes and a voice made for bedtime stories… Or other things involving a bed. 

He shook his head, starting the engine. Focus. Shopping first. Inappropriate thoughts later.

Christmas was coming whether he was ready or not.

Hongjoong navigated through the Christmas chaos. With a coffee in one hand he pulled out his phone, scrolling through half-finished notes and vague reminders. Yunho likes books now. Mingi wants something loud. Wooyoung… everything.

He started with Mingi.

The toy store assaulted him immediately, shelves screaming color and chaos. Mingi was easy to please. Always had been. He gravitated towards speed, things that crashed into walls. Hongjoong spotted the automatic race car halfway down the aisle, already imagining the grin, the immediate request for batteries, the inevitable collision with furniture.

“That’s one,” he murmured, placing it into his basket.

Yunho took longer. He lingered in the bookstore, the noise of the mall fading as he stepped between shelves. Yunho had surprised him this year, asking for books instead of toys. Hongjoong ran his fingers along spines until something caught his eye, a thick hardcover with illustrations and enough adventure to keep a kid interested.

He smiled to himself. Yunho would pretend not to be impressed, then read it cover to cover in two days.

Two down.

Now Wooyoung.

He stared at his basket like it might offer answers. Wooyoung was a storm in child form. Loud, affectionate, chaotic, impossibly sweet. He liked everything and nothing all at once. He already had too many toys, too many things, yet somehow still managed to look at him with wide eyes every Christmas morning like this was the first miracle he’d ever witnessed.

He wandered aimlessly for a while, past plush toys and building sets, costumes and gadgets. Nothing felt right. 

Finally, he stopped near a display for younger kids. He noticed a set of story cards, illustrated with pirates and sea creatures.

He paused. Wooyoung loved bedtime stories. Always sitting too close, interrupting with questions, insisting on one more page even when his eyes were already drooping. Hongjoong picked up the box, turning it over in his hands.

A pirate ship. Characters to invent together, keeping that little head busy. That might work.

Now he stood in the middle of the mall, three gifts down, six more to go. And he was utterly lost.

Wrapping paper, right. Maybe stockings. Batteries. Definitely batteries. And then… something else he was forgetting.

“Legos always work,” a gentle voice said beside him. “At least for mine.”

Hongjoong froze. That voice.

He turned his head and there he was. Park Seonghwa was his name, right? Pretty face, soft voice, a bit strict maybe, but certainly kind. 

Wool coat buttoned up neatly, scarf tucked just so, a shopping bag in hand and for a second, Hongjoong forgot how to speak.

“Mine will eat them,” he finally said, blinking. “Not on purpose. Just… experimentally.”

Seonghwa’s lips curved into a smile. “That sounds familiar.” He chuckled. 

“What are the odds,” Hongjoong added, gesturing vaguely around them. “Of this mall. This exact day.”

The other one tilted his head. “Christmas magic?”

“Or terrible planning,” Hongjoong said. “I left wrapping paper for last.”

Seonghwa laughed quietly. “I’m on emergency stocking stuffers. Someone ate all the cookies… again.” He let out a tortured sigh. 

“Tragic. Happens to the best of us.” Hongjoong glanced down at his basket, then back at Seonghwa. “So. Legos…”

“They come in many levels of danger,” the other said thoughtfully. “You can choose your risk.”

The younger one huffed a laugh. “Would you— Would you mind helping me pick something? I’m outnumbered at home and my knowledge of Legos is basically equal to zero.”

Seonghwa studied him for a brief moment, his eyes lighting up. Then he nodded.  “I’d never say no to a Lego store. So let's get busy.”

After the third Lego display and a very serious discussion about age recommendations, they ended up with boxes big enough to keep six boys occupied well into the holidays. 

At the checkout, Hongjoong glanced at the growing stack and let out a laugh. “These might actually buy me a few hours of silence.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Seonghwa said, with an amused huff. “But they’ll try.”

Outside, the air was pleasantly chilly against the stuffy mall. Across the plaza the annual Christmas market was set up. Fairy lights and people shuffling around drunk on Christmas spirit or something else. 

Hongjoong hesitated only a second before speaking. “I kinda owe you a thank-you, Mr. Park.”

Seonghwa looked at him, curious.

“Eggnog,” former added, nodding toward the stalls. “Right there. For saving my ass.”

The other smiled a little surprised. “I don’t usually say no to eggnog… And you can call me Seonghwa. We've been through a lot together.”

Hongjoong chuckled quietly and they crossed the street, bags in hand. The vendor handed them two cups, obviously way too hot, the scent of nutmeg already warming their bones.  He raised his cup. “To Legos. The real holiday miracle.”

Seonghwa clinked his cup against it. “And to surviving December. Hopefully.”

Hongjoong shifted his cup between his hands. “I’m really sorry about Wooyoung. About… the biting I mean.” A faint, embarrassed laugh slipped out. “We’re still working on impulse control… At six years old.”

Seonghwa blinked, then smiled softly. “Honestly?” he said. “I’m just glad Yeosang made a friend.”

Hongjoong looked at him, surprised.

“He doesn’t, usually,” the other one continued. “He’s sweet, but very shy. Keeps to himself. That day…” He paused, thumb brushing the rim of his cup. “He talked about Wooyoung all evening. Even the biting.” A quiet chuckle followed. “Said it meant he was chosen or something. Like some sort of hero for a quest.”

Hongjoong winced. “That sounds… very Wooyoung.”

“Biting is apparently a bonding ritual,” Seonghwa concluded dryly. Then his smile softened. “So really. No harm done.”

The other hummed quietly. “I blame his mom. She used to nibble at his toes after bathing time. It made him insanely happy somehow. Couldn't stop giggling.”

They walked for a while, sipping their cups before Hongjoong added, “Single parenting is…” he searched for the word. “A lot.”

Seonghwa hummed in agreement. “You’re never fully off-duty.”

“Even when you’re alone.” 

That earned him a thoughtful look. Seonghwa took another sip of his eggnog before speaking again. “My wife passed away,” he said quietly. “Almost exactly three years ago… So it’s especially hard during Christmas time.”

Hongjoong stilled.

“It was sudden,” the other went on, voice small all of a sudden, like caught in a memory, pleasant and painful at the same time. “One day she was there, worrying about lunchboxes and bedtimes. The next…” He exhaled softly.

“And suddenly I was doing all of it alone… And the boys are still acting out, each in their own way. San got scared, clingy almost. Jongho turned somewhat distant and Yeosang… He just retreated into his own little world. Sometimes he barely reacts when addressed. Sometimes I worry I won’t be able to handle their grief.”

Hongjoong’s heart grew almost unbearably heavy, imagining his own boys had to go through something like this. “I’m sorry,” he said shyly.

Seonghwa nodded. “They were so young. They still are. Some days I feel like I’m doing okay. Other days…” He shrugged. “I worry I’m not enough.”

Hongjoong knew this feeling all too well. It was one of the worst things a parent could feel. Not being enough despite everything. 

“You are,” he said. “From what I’ve seen… you really are.”

Seonghwa met his gaze, something flickering there, gratitude, perhaps. And this time neither looked away.

They kept walking between people hustling for last minute presents and drunk laughter. Seonghwa seemed glum for a while and Hongjoong didn’t dare to interrupt his thoughts. 

“We were high school sweethearts,” he suddenly began, his eyes still glued to the floor, as if looking at him felt too vulnerable. “One of those couples people swear will end up together.”

“And you did.”

“For a while… I always knew she was the one. From the very first smile. My parents loved her and hers loved me… We got lucky.”

“You were fortunate,” Hongjoong muttered. His marriage went differently. 

“Was I?”

“Yours seemed to be a love story for the ages.”

“My love story was cut short,” Seonghwa huffed quietly, breath rising into cold air.

“But it was real, wasn’t it?”

The other smiled, thoughts still somewhere else. “She loved taking care of others… She always wanted to have kids. So we got married straight out of high school. We both got a job, me at my uncle’s company, a boring nine to five, but I really wanted to provide for her. She worked at one of those fancy boutiques, and she was good at it.” He sighed, emptying his drink.

“We had San in our early twenties. She loved being a mom, doting on him every minute. So I went back to work, while she stayed home with him. Then came Jongho, then Yeosang… She loved them so much... She just wanted Christmas to be perfect…"

He cut himself off, his voice trailing off into the distance. “Never mind.”

“You clearly still miss her.”

“I do. Every day. But sometimes I think she would’ve wanted me to move on. And I try… It’s just…” He laughed awkwardly. “Everyone I meet, bounces as soon as I mention my kids.”

“Mmh,” Hongjoong hummed knowingly. “First it’s like: Aw, cute, how many? Girl or boy?”

“...Then I say three boys and they’re gone faster than Jongho’s toys break.”

They laughed, loud and unguarded and suddenly a thought occurred to Hongjoong, and he started fiddling with his half-empty mug.

“You could—” he started, then stopped, then tried again before he lost his nerve. “You could come over for Christmas. You and your boys. Just… dinner, gingerbread, nothing big.”

Seonghwa looked at him, genuinely taken aback.

“I mean, I already have the kids, and it gets loud, and it might be nice to not do it alone. And the boys seemed to get along, and—” He cut himself off, heat rushing to his face. “Sorry. That was sudden.”

But Seonghwa’s expression softened. “That’s really kind,” he said carefully. “Truly. I just… I can't, I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Hongjoong said, too quickly. “Yeah. Of course.”

“I appreciate it,” the other added, gently. “But Christmas is… complicated for us.”

Of course it was. He barely knew this man. A few conversations, a shared drink, some Lego boxes. What had he been thinking?

Idiot.

“That was silly,” he said, forcing a laugh. “Sorry. Just ignore me.”

Seonghwa reached out, fingers briefly brushing his sleeve. “It wasn’t silly,” he said. “It was kind.”

Hongjoong smiled, tightly, but the sting lingered. He took another sip of eggnog he no longer wanted, mentally cataloging the embarrassment for the next few years. But at least he tried. That counted for something right?

They passed a vintage carousel half-hidden behind strings of fairy lights, its painted horses rising and dipping in slow circles. Music drifted through the cold a little off-key.

Hongjoong slowed, thoughtfully. “You want to take a ride?” he asked, already grinning to ease the lingering awkwardness. “It might be prohibited for adults, though.”

He didn't really mean it, but to his surprise, Seonghwa stopped as well and eyed the carousel with too much curiosity for his taste. His eyes lit in a way Hongjoong hadn’t seen before, bright and unguarded.

“Yes,” his companion said. Then almost shy, “I haven’t been on one in… Years.”

That settled it and minutes later Hongjoong found himself astride a wooden horse, knees tucked in awkwardly, coat flapping with every turn. He felt ridiculous. He surely looked ridiculous. 

He opened his mouth to complain, but caught Seonghwa laughing beside him, gloved hands gripping the brass pole. “I forgot how much fun this is!”

The music swelled as lights, smiles and judgmental glances by onlookers blurred and this time they didn’t care.

By the second round Hongjoong was laughing too, ears warm despite the cold. Seonghwa reached for his hand and squeezed it, just for a second before it disappeared again. And somehow he wished it had stayed because for a moment it had all felt easier.

When the carousel slowed to a stop, Seonghwa looked at him, cheeks flushed, hair touseld, his smile still lingering. “Thank you,” he said, like it meant more than just the carousel.

“Always here to keep that smile alive,” Hongjoong said with a tiny bow and an even tinier smile, his heart still light from the brief touch.

They parted ways when the first dusk set it, having lingered longer than intended, babysitter and grandparents waiting to be released. He gave Seonghwa his phone number, in case he might change his mind about the invitation, somehow hoping he would.

❄️

The road home turned into narrower streets as Seonghwa sang along to the Christmas carols for the first time in a while, heart strangely light.

Should I have said yes?

The blush on Hongjoong’s face from cold, or eggnog or something else. His voice had been stumbling over itself, hands clasping his coat awkwardly. He seemed unsure, often. Not really knowing how to handle himself. And somehow it was… utterly endearing.

Seonghwa huffed out a quiet laugh at the thought, then realized he was smiling. He imagined the chaos. Six boys. Too much food. Noise. Oh, god, so much noise. Someone crying over nothing, Yeosang’s weirdly content face when someone was biting him again. And somehow the thought didn’t exhaust him the way it should have.

It felt warm and… cozy. There it was again.

His fingers twitched, drifting toward his phone before he realized what he was doing. He could still call. Say yes. 

Then reality caught up. His parents. Her parents. The plans were made weeks ago. It was tradition, to keep her memory alive. He’d always liked it and so did the boys. Yet somehow…

Seonghwa let his hand fall back to his lap, the phone untouched and the sudden disappointment surprised him. 

Maybe another time.

The babysitter was already herding the boys toward the hallway when he pulled into the driveway.

“Hide and seek!” she announced, clapping her hands, the moment the door opened. “I’ll count, you hide. Go, go, go!”

That was all it took. The boys scattered instantly, laughter echoed as San dove behind the couch and Jongho made a beeline for the curtains. 

Yeosang gave his dad a conspiratorial grin before toddling off to find a hiding spot far too obvious, half his bum still peeking out of the cupboard.

Seonghwa mouthed a grateful thank you as he stepped inside, arms already straining under the weight of shopping bags. She winked and turned back to counting out loud, giving him the gift of distraction.

He didn’t waste the opportunity and carefully, he dragged the bags down to the basement. The space was already stuffed, boxes tucked away, decorations that hadn’t been used in years.

He knew it was a lot. Too many boxes. Too much effort. Too much wanting to make things right in a way that gifts could never really could.

Still, once a year, he let himself spoil them shamelessly. Making up for the space she left, where there should've been two where only was one. And so he compensated, telling himself that one day of excess was allowed.

He straightened, dusting his hands on his coat, and listened to the muffled sound of giggles drifting down from upstairs.

“Found you!” someone shouted.

Seonghwa smiled to himself. He could at least give them this.

Once the babysitter had left and the house turned mostly quiet, Seonghwa tucked his youngest in for his nap.

Yeosang had already crashed out, curled up in his bed, one Mickey Mouse sock missing and his favorite blanket bunched under his chin. Seonghwa stayed to smooth his hair back, pressing a quiet kiss to his forehead before pulling the door mostly shut.

In the living room, Jongho had conquered the couch and the Xbox, clutching the controller, growling whenever San got near it. 

At least the kitchen was calm. Seonghwa’s own little kingdom. He set out the ingredients for bibimbap, rice already steaming. Vegetables washed and ready. Gochujang set out of reach.

San hovered beside him, sleeves rolled up with a seriousness that made his dad smile.

“Good job, sweetheart. Did you wash your hands?”

“Yes!” San lifted both arms like he’d won a trophy.

“Great. So, first rule,” Seonghwa said, handing him a knife. “Fingers like this.” He curled his own fingers back, demonstrating how to grab a sharp tool. “It’s your friend, but a treacherous one.”

San nodded solemnly, mirroring the motion with his own knife.

They worked side by side, his dad guiding him and San imitating what he saw. He was his most impatient child, and he had to gently hold him back from adding ingredients, more than once. 

“This smells good,” his eldest said, bouncing on his toes.

“It tastes better now that you help,” Seonghwa replied, glancing at him with a smile. He wanted his sons to be independent as soon as possible. The past proved how quickly things could change.

From the living room, Jongho cursed at the screen. Seonghwa called out without turning. “I heard that, Haribo! Please, take a break if you’re frustrated.”

A pause. Then, quieter game noises.

San grinned. “As if, Dad. He’s glued to that thing. FIFA has been controlling his life since he was Yeo’s age.”

Seonghwa returned the grin. “Probably. I just don’t like how nervous it makes him. Why don’t you play a bit of Animal Crossing with him. It’s relaxing.”

“Animal Crossing?” He raised a brow. “He’s not a six year old girl, Dad… Or you.”

Seonghwa chuckled quietly. “Go, get your brother and start setting the table. Dinner is ready soon.”

While San and Jongho fussed with the plates, he tasted the dish one last time. “Perfect.” As he was about to leave for the living room, his phone buzzed on the counter. Frowning, he picked it up. His in-laws.

“Hello?” he answered, trying to keep his tone light.

“Seonghwa, dear! How are you?"

"Good, good. A bit stressed, but good. What can I help you with?"

"Wonderful. But listen, we just got invited by friends to a ski retreat over Christmas,” his mother-in-law came straight to the point. “We know you’ve been planning to spend the holiday here, but we thought we’d let you know. Of course, you can come by later if you like.”

He blinked. Lunch, perfectly timed. Boys, happily occupied. And now Christmas plans, suddenly in flux.

“Oh,” he said, voice neutral. “I see. Well… thank you for letting me know.”

“Just wanted to give you a heads up!” she added. “We know it’s a big deal with the boys.”

Seonghwa nodded, looking down at the steaming dinner in front of him, feeling a bit of relief. For the first time in years, Christmas might be less glum.

He hung up, setting the phone aside, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Guess it’s just the Parks this year,” he murmured, turning back to the table.

Seonghwa began dishing out the food, just as San appeared, holding a sleepy Yeosang in his arms. Carefully, he lowered his baby brother into his high chair, before gently mussing his hair.

Yeosang blinked up at him, rubbing his eyes, and Seonghwa scooped a spoonful into his bowl. The boy dug in immediately, his small hands eager and slightly messy.

“Prayers first,” his dad implored gently, taking his little hand. “Jongho, spoon down, you know the rules.”

His son groaned. “I don’t know why we’re still doing this. Mom was the believer–”

“Because traditions are important. Stop making everything an argument and do what I tell you.” It came out sharper as intended and he apologized instantly.

“Please, boys. This is important to me.”

They obeyed wordlessly and closed their eyes as their dad spoke the prayer. 

“Wonderful. Thank you. Now dig in.”

Once everyone had a portion, he cleared his throat and tried to ease the lingering tension. “So, about Christmas… I just spoke to grandma Yang. They’re going away this year, which means we’ll be spending the holidays with my parents.”

Everyone nodded but neither said anything. He rarely got loud with them and he felt incredibly sorry every time he did. It had just slipped out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be nasty…” He began, facing Jongho now. “Keeping her memory alive means a lot to me.” He cleared his throat as still no one answered.  “Also… I met Hongjoong again today. Wooyoung’s, Yunho’s and Mingi’s dad. You may remember. He says hi.”

Yeosang’s eyes immediately lit up. “Can we go to Wooyo’s house for Christmas? Please? Please, Daddy? They always build gingerbread houses on Christmas! He says they have a big house and a huuuge tree. I wanna have a tree for Christmas.”

“A way cooler tradition than praying,” Jongho mumbled into his food and San gave him a warning kick under the table. Seonghwa chose to ignore the comment. Instead his eyes softened. Yeosang’s excitement was infectious. The way his big eyes practically sparkled, tugged at something he hadn’t expected.

“Well,” he said carefully, smiling down at him, “You really like your new friend, don’t you?”

Yeosang beamed, turning to his brothers for validation. “Sure why not. Yunho said they have a Switch,” Jongho shrugged.

Seonghwa chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m happy you made friends. But we barely know them and I really don’t want to impose. Besides, your grandparents are already looking forward to seeing you.”

“We see them every other weekend,” San carefully chimed in. “Maybe we could spend Christmas with the Kims and the rest of the holidays with Meemaw and Gramps.”

Seonghwa let out a defeated sigh. He knew when he had to admit defeat. “ Alright. Let me think about it.”

🎄

Hongjoong leaned back against the arm of the sofa, mug of lukewarm cocoa in hands, watching chaos spread around the Christmas tree like a very loud, very sparkly flower.

The tree was enormous. His parents’ doing. Something about tradition and proper Christmas trees that nearly scraped the ceiling. It glittered half-finished, lights already tangled, ornaments unevenly distributed according to height, favoritism, and sibling alliances.

“Stop putting all the pretty ones at the bottom,” Yunho complained, standing on his toes and pointing accusingly upward.

“They’re not pretty,” Mingi shot back. “They’re strategic. Santa needs a clear landing zone.”

Wooyoung snorted. “You’re not Santa. You’re barely an elf.”

That was all it took. Mingi lunged and Wooyoung shrieked dramatically, clutching his ornament to his chest as if shielding it from emotional damage.

“Twins,” Hongjoong warned mildly, not moving. He knew better than to interfere.

Wooyoung stuck his tongue out at them just as Hongjoong’s phone began to ring. He frowned at the screen. Seonghwa.

His heart did a small stutter. He stepped a few paces away, ducking behind the tree as if it might offer privacy. “Hello?”

There was a brief pause on the other end, the soft sound of a car door closing. “Hi, this is Seonghwa… Park Seonghwa.” His voice carried that same warmth, like the last time they met. 

“I only know one Seonghwa,” Hongjoong said lightly, hiding a grin.

A soft chuckle answered. “I hope this isn’t bad timing.”

“No. Not at all. We’re just… committing crimes against interior design.”

“That sounds about right.”

Another pause followed. Longer this time and Hongjoong held his breath without meaning to.

“So, I was wondering,” Seonghwa continued, hesitating, “if your invitation for Christmas was still… open.”

Hongjoong blinked. “Really?” The word slipped out just a bit too loud.

“Yes,” the other said, and there was a smile in his voice now. “My in-laws changed plans, and the boys have been very persuasive. Especially Yeosang.”

As if summoned by name, Wooyoung peeked around the tree, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Dad? Why are you smiling like that?”

Hongjoong covered the phone with his hand. “Go harass your brothers!” he whispered.

Wooyoung gasped, scandalized, then scampered off anyway.

“So,” he said, grounding himself, “you and the boys will come over? Tomorrow morning’s fine, or later, whatever works. No pressure. Really.”

“We’d love to,” Seonghwa said. “Thank you again for asking. I think… I need this.”

Hongjoong swallowed. “Yeah… Me too.” He swallowed, smiling at the blinking tree lights. “Then it’s settled,” he said. “We’ll have too much food, too much noise, and absolutely no control over the toy situation.”

Seonghwa laughed, louder now. “Perfect. We’ll be there tomorrow around 12 sharp.”

When the call ended, Hongjoong stood there for a moment, phone still warm. Behind him, the twins had somehow wrapped Wooyoung in tinsel.

“Daddy!” he yelped. “They’re conspiring against me!”

His dad turned back to them, grin wide, heart lighter than it had been in a while.

“Boys,” he announced, clapping his hands once. “We’re having guests for Christmas.”

Three heads snapped toward him. Wooyoung’s eyes went impossibly bright. “Mr. Park?! It was him, wasn’t it?”

His dad nodded and the living room erupted. “BEST FRIEND-FAMILY CHRISTMAS!” his youngest shrieked, throwing his arms up and dropping an ornament somewhere near the rug.

Hongjoong smiled as Wooyoung ran up to him and threw his arms around his waist. “No grandma and grandpa this year?” He asked, hopefully beaming up to him. 

They loved their grandkids dearly, if slightly overbearing and way too much cheek pinching.

“No, they invited friends to some kind of snow retreat this year. It’s just the eight of. Mr. Park, me and… six… little boys… Oh heavens.” 

Lord, what have I done?

Christmas morning arrived loud, rattling the house awake with plastic clattering against hardwood and a distant, high-pitched whiiirr–crash that suggested at least one wall had been personally attacked.

“Please,” the nanny pleaded from somewhere down the hall, voice already fraying. “Pants first. Then Legos.”

“No,” Yunho replied calmly, eyes never leaving the sprawl consuming the living room floor. “The Legos need supervision.”

Mingi sat cross-legged in the middle of the chaos, controller clenched in both hands, steering his new race car with a concentrated frown. The vehicle zipped across the floor, engine howling before it slammed into the leg of the coffee table. “It’s drift mode!” he announced proudly.

Wooyoung lay flat on his stomach, tongue poking out as he snapped pieces together into something that vaguely resembled a dragon wearing a Santa hat. “You can’t rush art,” he said with conviction.

Hongjoong watched the chaos unfold from the doorway, morning coffee in hand. “Boys,” he tried, halfheartedly. He knew he had no chance. He’d been way too lenient with them. “We have guests coming soon.”

“That’s exactly why,” the nanny said, shooting him a helpless look. “They need to get dressed, sir.”

As Hongjoong retreated to his walk-in closet the nanny waged the final battle. 

He dressed simply. A light knit sweater, sleeves pushed up just enough to be effortlessly chic. In a way that looked like he hadn’t tried, even though he absolutely had. He paused at the dresser, eyeing the lineup of colognes like they were making eye contact.

Citrus? Too sharp.
Clean linen? Too boring.

What does Seonghwa like?

He blinked. The thought made him laugh at himself. Barely knew the man, and yet here he was, scent-planning his entire existence.

He went for the woody one. Sprayed once, then hesitated.

From the hall came another electronic whine, followed by a crash. “Mingi,” the nanny called, exasperated. “Not the tree!”

“It’s fine!” he shouted back. “The car survived!”

Hongjoong smiled, smoothing his sweater, Christmas was about to get interesting. 

Once everyone was dressed neatly, the doorbell rang, slicing through the grand house and instantly, the boys snapped into formation: The three of them stood in a straight line near the entrance, hands folded, as if they were awaiting royalty. Wooyoung even cleared his throat importantly.

Hongjoong paused, taking them in. “Why do you look like that?”

“We’re welcoming,” Yunho said.

“Properly,” Mingi added.

Hongjoong shook his head. “My proper boys,” he sighed fondly and opened the heavy door.

Four faces stared back at him. Seonghwa stood at the back, bundled in a dark coat and a scarf way too big, eyes wide as they walked past Hongjoong into the marble hallway. Behind him, San looked equally stunned, Jongho squinted as if assessing square footage, and Yeosang’s mouth fell open in a little o.

Seonghwa blinked once. “So,” he said slowly, “you’re rich… If I’d known that earlier…” He grinned.

Hongjoong laughed slightly embarrassed. “It’s just an old house… Well, my great-great grandfather built it back in the 19. Hundreds."

Before Seonghwa could respond, Wooyoung launched himself forward. “YEOSANG!” he yelled, grabbing his tiny wrist. “LET’S GO!”

The chaos erupted anew and all six boys vanished down the hallway in a flurry of laughter and screams.

“Hey, no running!” Hongjoong called after them, already knowing it was futile.

The two men stood there for an awkward moment, coats still on, the echo of laughter drifting back toward them.

Seonghwa let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well. That went… efficiently.”

“They’ve been waiting all morning,” Hongjoong said, suddenly very aware of how close they where standing. “Do you want to come in? I have, coffee, wine and eggnog.”

“Yeah,” his guess said. “Sure. I need something warm. Chocolate would be nice. I’m not a big coffee person.”

Legos were littering the floor, the electronic race car zigzagging between furniture, barely escaping destruction. The boy’s voices blended in excitement, negotiations, and very serious disagreements about rules that had been invented thirty seconds prior.

On the sofa Seonghwa lounged, legs casually crossed, as he watched the boys with a somewhat distant smile.

Hongjoong returned from the kitchen with two mugs. He handed one over like a peace offering. “Hot cocoa with a little something,” he said. “...And marshmallows. I figured… seasonal.”

His guest accepted it with both hands, eyes lighting up. “You’re a lifesaver… I do have to drive though… Or will you lend me your chauffeur?”

Hongjoong froze for a moment, confused. “I only have a nanny, a housekeeper… and a gardener…” he mused. “But I could call you an Uber.”

“Yes… Right. I was joking,” Seonghwa said a little flustered, sipping his drink.

“Ah, sorry, yeah. My bad.” Hongjoong’s ears warmed instantly. “I have enough bedrooms… Just in case you wanna stay longer.”

Seonghwa shot him a suspicious look.

Oh no. Again, too much, too quickly. 

“Uhm, I mean the boys… playing. You know how time flies when it’s fun.” He cut himself off and buried his face in his drink. He should’ve added more booze. But Seonghwa just smiled knowingly, letting him sit in his embarrassment.

They sat there, both staring very intently at the children as if they were a nature documentary. Hongjoong searched his mind for a safe topic. Something neutral. Something that absolutely did not involve children, former spouses or ghosts of holidays past.

“So,” he began. “The weather’s been… cold lately.”

Seonghwa turned toward him, brows lifting just slightly. “Yes,” he said kindly. “Very… cold.”

Hongjoong nodded. “Colder than usual, I think. Or maybe it’s just one of those years where winter feels… extra wintery.”

His guest pressed his lips together, before a laugh slipped out, low and fond. “A for effort.” 

“I’m trying.”

“That was very cute, though,” Seonghwa added and Hongjoong felt heat rush to his ears. 

He wrapped his hands around his mug, marshmallows already melting. “I panicked.”

“I noticed.” the other man smiled at him like it was nothing, like he was actually enjoying his presence. “It’s okay. I do that too. I once tried to bond with someone over the quality of supermarket tangerines.”

That earned a laugh, tension easing from their shoulders. “And?”

“They were mediocre,” Seonghwa said solemnly. “It didn’t work out.”

They settled into something quieter, watching the kids play. Wooyoung and Jongho argued over Lego ownership, San tried to mediate and Yeosang narrated the race car’s journey like a commentator. Yunho quietly rebuilt something that had already been destroyed twice, his patience wearing thin.

The peace didn’t last for long and soon voices rose. “Stop hitting my tower or I’ll hit you!”

Hongjoong recognized the signs like an incoming storm. “I’ll just—” he said, already halfway up. “Check on the food.”

He casually walked into the kitchen, leaving the chaos to Seonghwa. He was probably more capable anyways. 

His personal chef hovered by the counter, rearranging platters without a care in the world “All good out there, sir?” she asked, unbothered.

“Define good,” Hongjoong muttered, peeking at the mounds of cheese.

Seonghwa appeared shortly after, face slightly flushed. He closed the door like sealing away the chaos. He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Conflict successfully postponed,” he announced. “Someone cried. Someone apologized… Someone lied about apologizing.”

“Mine or yours?”

“A little bit of both...Mostly mine.”

Hongjoong laughed, tension easing. “You’re good at that.”

“Years of experience,” the other said dryly, leaning against the counter.

Hongjoong turned back to the food, gesturing vaguely at the spread. “So. I’m trying something new this year. Fondue. The boys watched some western Christmas movie with melted cheese and now they’re convinced it’s a core holiday requirement.”

Seonghwa blinked, then smiled. “That actually sounds kinda perfect.”

“Right?” Hongjoong said, relieved. “I figured it keeps them seated and distracted. Cheese does wonders for discipline.”

His guest chuckled. “We usually do the traditional spread. But I like the idea of something interactive.”

“Less arguing over portions,” Hongjoong added. “More arguing over cheese.”

“That I can handle.”

From the living room came a distant shout, followed by a shushing voice.

They shared a look. “Truce?” Hongjoong offered.

“Temporary,” Seonghwa replied, smiling.

The chef muttered something about more white wine and left for the pantry, while Hongjoong tried to avoid awkward silence again.

 “Last year they tried to eat the gingerbread ornaments off the tree,” he said. “I had to explain structural integrity to a five-year-old. Wooyoung did not have it. It was the first time I heard him swear. Surprising, it took him so long with a brother like Mingi… And mostly a dad like me. I guess I’m to blame as well.”

Seonghwa smiled, elbow resting beside him. “We stopped hanging candy canes after Jongho hid them in his pillowcase. He said it was strategic planning… Or having trees all together.”

They fell silent for a moment, not knowing what to say next. “Your chef makes good cocoa,” he added a bit more quietly.

“I actually do that myself,” Hongjoong admitted shyly. “Like my grandma used to. My boys go feral for it.”

Seonghwa smiled and laughed softly. “The magic grandparents bring into our lives,” he muttered. “It lingers even after they’re gone.”

Hongjoong realized, a second too late, how close he was. Close enough that he could smell the faint trace of vanilla in his cologne. 

Seonghwa’s smile softened, then stilled, breath hitching just slightly. “You make good cocoa… keeping the tradition alive… You’re a good dad, Hongjoong.”

“Thank you… That’s very nice to hear,” he muttered. “I don’t… I don’t hear that very often.” They were not quite touching, not pulling away either, lingering in each other’s spaces. 

Hongjoong’s heart thudded against his ribs. His gaze dropped, involuntarily, to Seonghwa’s lips, then flicked back up, caught and slightly embarrassed. It was ages ago since he felt like that. Like a teen with a silly crush.

Seonghwa swallowed. “Hongjoong…” His voice was low, maybe a bit uncertain.

He leaned in, breath already mingling. He felt his warmth on his face and his heart jumped–

“DAD!”

Wooyoung burst into the kitchen like the most unwanted guest. “When’s lunch? I’m starving! Also Mingi said cheese doesn’t count as a vegetable but I think it does.”

His dad jerked back so fast he nearly knocked into the counter. Seonghwa startled too, eyes wide before he laughed breathlessly, turning away.

“Incredible timing,” he muttered.

Hongjoong cleared his throat, cheeks burning. “Uh... Lunch, soon, dear.”

Wooyoung squinted between them. “You look weird… Why are you standing so close?” He frowned, a mix of curiosity and annoyance.

“We’re fine,” his dad said too quickly. “Mr. Park had something in his eye… I helped him find it…” He was a bad liar and an even worse example.

“I'm fine now,” Seonghwa added, smiling down at him, clearly flustered. “My eyes are fine.”

The boy nodded, not really convinced. “Whatever, can we eat the cheese now?”

Seonghwa and Hongjoong exchanged a look. “Soon,” his dad said softly.

“Okay. Then I’ll tell Yeosang he can eat the Legos. He’s been contemplating it for a while now.”

“What?!” Seonghwa yelped, panic immediate. He spun on his heel and bolted out of the kitchen, his voice echoing down the hallway. “YEOSANG! DO NOT EAT THE LEGOS!”

Hongjoong winced, then turned slowly toward his youngest. “You didn’t actually do that, did you? You know firsthand one can choke on those.”

“I was joking,” Wooyoung said, rolling his eyes.

“Do not roll your eyes at me, young man.”

Wooyoung’s expression hardened. “Then don’t kiss other people in mommy’s kitchen!” he snapped, before storming out of the room with all the righteous fury his small body could muster.

“It’s my kitchen—” Hongjoong started, but the words died on his tongue as the door swung shut.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. The boy wouldn’t have listened anyway.

The fondue was a hit. Mingi claiming the best spot for his plate, Jongho insisting on a “cheese rotation,” Wooyoung declaring Yeosang had taken too much—but their dads exchanged amused glances, knowing better than to intervene.

When the meal ended and the dishes were cleared and licked clean, Hongjoong rose, stretching slightly. “You know what’s next,” he said, voice conspiratorial.

Seonghwa grinned. “The gingerbread station?”

“Yes. Annual Kim household tradition. Time to see how much sugar and glue we can legally allow these kids to handle.”

They gathered the supplies on the big dining room table: gingerbread cut outs, frosting in every color, sprinkles, candy canes, chocolate figurines. Seonghwa placed the pieces down, while Hongjoong prepared the icing piping bags.

“Okay, boys,” he called. “Station's open!”

The kids swarmed immediately, grabbing frosting tubes and candy pieces, shrieking in delight. Yeosang tried to stick a candy cane to his face, Mingi tried to engineer a “gingerbread racetrack”, and  Jongho demanded edible flags for every tower. 

San attempted some semblance of architectural order and Wooyoung was just gleeful chaos, sprinkles landing in a five meter radius.

Seonghwa bent next to Hongjoong, picking up a misplaced gumdrop. “You know,” he murmured, smiling, “this is my favorite part of Christmas.”

The other glanced at him, warmth rising in his chest. “Watching them destroy my home?”

The other laughed softly. “Watching them be happy. Sharing time with someone their age. It’s been mostly grandparents and stuffy living rooms over the past few years. This… this is good.”

Hongjoong felt a tug at his heart. “Cheesy,” he drawls. “But yeah, I get it.” He searched for his gaze, relieved he didn’t return it, his heart still thudding.

As the boys went wild with frosting and candy, Seonghwa turned to the host: “So… that bedroom offer,” he said casually, tilting his head. “Does it still stand? Because I’m at the time of day where I would go for that wine.”

A smile crept onto Hongjoong’s face, happier than he should have been.  “Yeah, sure. Come along.”

They slipped out of the room and down the hall, stepping onto the grand balcony that overlooked the city, a quiet breeze ruffling their coats.

Hongjoong poured two glasses, handing one over without meeting Seonghwa’s eyes. He sipped, trying not to think about the easy way he had settled next to him, always a bit too close, too warm, too present.

And somehow he liked it.

Seonghwa took his own glass, eyes on the city below. “Nice view,” he said, casually brushing his arm as he moved into a more comfortable position.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong murmured. “Nothing like it.”

They talked about nothing in particular. The ridiculous price for cheese these days, how to get wine stains out of silk and Seonghwa laughing since he didn’t possess anything made of silk, calling him a chaebol. 

He then shifted slightly closer, leaning against him, just enough to feel each other’s warmth in the chill.

And Hongjoong felt it: the soft tingle where their arms brushed, impossible to ignore. His mind skittered.

I wanna know what he tastes like.

The thought hit him suddenly and awkwardly. His ears warmed, his cheeks burning under the winter light. He glanced sideways, almost certain that Seonghwa had noticed the sudden heat in his face, the way his fingers gripped the glass just a little tighter.

His big eyes were on him now, calm and observant, and Hongjoong’s stomach fluttered nervously. He tried to shove the thought aside, focusing on the city below, the wine in his hand, on anything that wasn’t… him.

He dared not look at him directly, afraid he might somehow read his mind, embarrassment, and longing spinning.

It had been way too long since… Stop it!

So he forced a casual smile, tilted his head to the lights below.

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

Hongjoong froze as Seonghwa's eyes pierced him. That came rather unexpectedly. Or did it? For a moment he just stared at him, utterly unprepared. He had never met someone so pleasantly direct.

Seonghwa tilted his head slightly, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. 

Oh, those lips.

“You clearly want to. So why haven't you?”

Why haven’t you? But the words didn’t leave his mouth.

Because before they could, Seonghwa leaned in, giving him time to meet him halfway, his body impossibly close.

“Dad!” Yunho’s voice cut through the tense silence as he barreled through the balcony door, cheeks flushed from excitement.  “Just thought you wanted to know that Yeosang‘s trying to climb the Christmas tree. Yapping something about the pretty candy cane.”

“What?!?“  Seonghwa went pale, the ghost of a memory flickering in his eyes.  “Oh god, not again. That’s why we don’t have trees!“

He stormed off inside to save his youngest from certain death.

Not again?

“Dad?” Yunho looked up at him. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, dear. You did everything right.” He turned back to the door. “Good job, Puppy. Now, let’s save Mr. Park from mental exhaustion.”

The rest of the day unfolded in chaos. Snowball wars in the front yard ending with a truce and hot chocolate in front of the TV.

By bedtime, the boys were exhausted, sprawled across blankets or tucked into their beds. Hongjoong lingered at Wooyoung’s side tucking him in. 

“Yeosang said his mom got eaten by a tree,” he whispered. “I didn’t know trees eat people… And you let us near them. Irresponsible, daddy!”

Hongjoong fought a smile. All the fuss about Christmas. At least now he understood.

“She wasn’t eaten by the tree, Kitten. She simply had an… accident. It was unfortunate,” he said with quiet reassurance. “Trees are mostly harmless. No need to be scared.”

His son seemed mostly convinced and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

“Alright, time to sleep.”

But Wooyoung’s eyes followed him like searchlights, studying him. Finally, he tilted his head, voice quiet. “Dad… do you like Mr. Park?”

Hongjoong froze for a second. He didn’t answer, simply leaning down to press a soft kiss to his tousled hair.

“Dad!” he insisted, frowning. “You have to say no!” The frown wasn’t scolding, exactly, but it carried a stubborn insistence, a small, determined force that demanded acknowledgment.

His chest tightened. He wanted to say something clever or reassuring, but the words lodged somewhere in his throat. He stayed quiet, brushing the hair back from Wooyoung’s forehead.

What even was he supposed to say?

“I already have a mom,” the boy said, eyes serious, “I don’t want someone else.”

Hongjoong sighed softly. “I know Kitten. I’m not trying to replace her.” He kissed his head a second time. “Sleep now. Your toys are waiting for you in the morning.”

Wooyoung stretched his arms out towards him. “Good night cuddles?” he said in a tiny voice and his dad lay down beside him, holding him for a while, breathing in the familiar scent of tooth paste and baby lotion. 

Only when the breathing evened out, he carefully removed himself with a soft sigh and left the room. 

While Seonghwa was tucking his boys in for the night, Hongjoong padded quietly into the kitchen, switching on the light with a faint buzz.

The chef had already retired, so he poured himself a nightcap. He carried the scotch to the sofa and sank into its cushions, with a quiet huff before he let the silence and the alcohol settle into his bones.

Wooyoung’s words still echoed in his mind. And then there was Seonghwa on the balcony, the kitchen, leaning close. The almost-kiss that had been interrupted. Twice.

The proximity, the faint brush of lips that never met. Hongjoong sighed, setting the glass down and rubbing his face with both hands. He wanted his sons to be happy. Always. That was non-negotiable. They were the reason for every choice he made since they were born.

But didn’t he deserve some happiness, too? Could he allow himself to want something for himself?

The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. He wrapped his hands around the glass again, and leaned back. He barely registered Seonghwa’s quiet footsteps until the soft voice broke through his thoughts. “Your feet look cold.”

Hongjoong glanced down, realizing he wasn’t even wearing socks. He shrugged, muttering something about having been too occupied with the boys, but before he could protest further, the other sat down in the armchair opposite him.

The warmth of his hands was immediate, and it made him tense, heart skipping as Seonghwa carefully held his feet in his warm hands. Too intimate. Way too intimate for a third meeting. And yet he let it happen. 

The craving was impossible to ignore. It had been way too long since he had been touched. So incredibly long. 

Ever since the divorce, since Wooyoung was born, he’s been sporadically on a few dates. But the majority didn’t make it past the first meeting.

Seonghwa’s touch was gentle, careful, as if waiting for permission in Hongjoong’s stiffened posture. He cupped the bare feet, letting his warmth seep through, and Hongjoong found himself exhaling without thinking, melting into the gentle touch.

The closeness said more than any word could. They both seemed to crave it, the knowledge both terrifying and thrilling him. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself exist in the warmth and quiet longing.

After a while, Seonghwa shifted, taking a seat beside him on the sofa. They didn’t speak, just shared a small, awkward smile that said everything and nothing at the same time.

Hongjoong’s chest tightened, his pulse racing. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned in. No kids in sight. Just them, silence and the undeniable tension that had been simmering between them since the Christmas market.

Seonghwa’s lips were warm and incredibly soft with a faint trace of minty toothpaste. He let himself sink into the touch, his taste, letting the warmth spread through his body, sinking into every bone and for a blessed moment, everything else faded into background noise.

When they finally parted, Hongjoong let out a nervous chuckle, then immediately pressed a hand to his forehead. Words tangled in his throat, and he sank back into the sofa, suddenly quiet.

“I…” he started. “Wooyoung… I– I have to think about my kids first. I don’t wanna mess things up for them.”

Seonghwa placed a warm hand on his arm. “Hey,” he said softly, a smile grazing his lips. “I get it. We don’t have to decide everything tonight. Let’s not rush this. We have time.”

Hongjoong looked at him, uncertainty warring with desire.

“Why not start small?” Seonghwa continued, thumb brushing lightly over his wrist. “Go on that first date that has been long overdue? We’ll figure the rest out later.”

Hongjoong exhaled, slowly relaxing. And as he looked at him with that easy smile on his face he felt somehow lighter. A small laugh escaped him, soft and shaky. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I think… I think we should do that.”

Seonghwa’s smiles widened. “Great. I could use a sugar daddy– I was joking!” he hurried with a laugh as he noticed his irritated expression. “I think… I like you. Enough to give it a try. I want to see where this is taking us.”

A sudden but not entirely unwelcomed warmth spread inside him. “I’ll be gone for New Year’s Eve, but I’ll call you as soon as I’m back in town,” Hongjoong said, moving a little closer into his warmth.

“I’d love that.” Seonghwa leaned back in and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, his presence lingering.

“Then it’s a date,” Hongjoong smiled, savoring the feeling of someone else’s closeness.

“It’s a date.”