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The hallway floorboards usually creaked in the winter, but Jimin knew exactly where to step to keep them silent. He was fresh out of the shower, hair still damp and smelling of his favorite shampoo, wanting only to collapse into the soft duvet of his shared bed. But the soft, golden light spilling from the nursery door stopped him in his tracks.
He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, staying hidden in the shadows of the hall.
Inside, the room was warm. The humidifier hummed a low white noise in the corner, smelling faintly of lavender and little boy. Yoongi was squeezed into the twin-sized bed, his back propped against the headboard while their son was curled up tight against his side, head resting on Yoongi's chest.
Yoongi held a large, colorful picture book open in his lap. It was clearly a book about construction trucks, but Yoongi was ignoring the text completely.
"But why didn't they move?" a small, sleepy voice whispered, the child tracing the wheel of a cement mixer on the page.
Jimin smiled. He crossed his arms over his chest to listen.
"Because they were made of porcelain," Yoongi’s voice was a low rumble, the kind of deep tone that usually sent shivers down Jimin’s spine but now just sounded like home. "They were wind-up toys. They had big metal keys in their backs. And nobody had wound them up in years."
Yoongi pointed solemnly to the cartoon cement mixer. "See? Just like that. Stuck on a very high, very dusty shelf."
"For a long time?"
"For years," Yoongi said. "The Piano Player sat at his bench with his hands frozen over the keys. And the Dancer stood opposite him with his arms up in a circle. They just collected dust."
Jimin felt a heavy warmth settle over him. He watched Yoongi turn the page to reveal a bright yellow bulldozer.
"But then something strange happened," Yoongi continued, leaning his cheek against the top of their son's head. "One day, when the sun was hitting the shelf just right, the Dancer spoke."
"Toys can't talk, Appa."
"The Piano Player didn't think so either," Yoongi chuckled softly. "He was so shocked he almost fell off his bench. The Dancer had never said a word. But suddenly, the Dancer whispered that he missed dancing. He asked if the Piano Player might try to play a song for him."
"But he couldn't play," the child yawned, shifting to get more comfortable under Yoongi's arm. "He wasn't wound up."
"That is exactly what the Piano Player thought," Yoongi agreed. "He thought it was preposterous. He told the Dancer that they were only toys and they were stuck. But the thought was already in his head. And once an idea is in your head, it is very hard to get it out."
Jimin bit his lip, leaning his head back against the doorframe. He remembered the nights in the studio, the way he would beg Yoongi to play one more melody, even when they were both running on empty fumes.
"So what did he do?"
"He tried," Yoongi whispered. "He focused all his energy on his tiny porcelain hands. He strained, and he pushed until..."
Yoongi tapped his fingernails lightly against the hardcover book. Click. Click.
"His finger moved. It was stiff, and it made a little cracking sound. But he pressed down on a key. And soon, tiny, beautiful notes tinkled out into the dusty room. The Piano Player was so proud. He looked up to share his happiness with the Dancer."
"Was the Dancer happy?"
"He was moving," Yoongi said, his voice taking on a wistful quality as he turned the page to a picture of a crane. "He was doing slow, graceful pirouettes in place. But when the Piano Player looked at his face, the Dancer had a bittersweet smile. He looked like his heart was hurting."
"Why?"
"Because he was glued to his stand," Yoongi explained gently. "He could spin, but he couldn't go anywhere. He wanted to be free. The Piano Player saw that. And he decided that if he could move his fingers, maybe he could help the Dancer break free too."
"So he played louder?"
"And he played faster," Yoongi added. "He played so hard that his little porcelain fingers started to chip. He wanted to give the Dancer enough courage to break the mechanism holding him down."
The room was silent for a moment, save for the hum of the humidifier.
"And then there was a loud snap," Yoongi said, flipping the book shut with a soft thud for dramatic effect. "The Dancer spun so hard that he broke right off his metal stand. He was free. He could have jumped off the shelf and gone to see the other toys. He could have run anywhere in the whole world."
"Did he run away?" the child asked, voice barely a whisper now, eyelids drooping.
"No," Yoongi said, tightening his arm around the small shoulders. "He didn't run away."
"Where did he go?"
"He walked right over to the piano bench," Yoongi said softly. "And he sat down next to the Piano Player as he played. The Dancer said that being free was more fun when there was music to dance to. So he stayed with the Piano Player, even past the last note."
Jimin felt tears well in his eyes. He wiped at them quickly. It was such a simple story, disguised by a book about construction vehicles, but it felt like Yoongi was reading pages right out of Jimin’s heart.
"That's a good story," the child mumbled, sleep finally winning the battle. The boy snuggled deeper into Yoongi's side, burying his face in his father’s shirt. "Love you, Appa."
Yoongi kissed the top of the messy hair.
"Love you too," Yoongi whispered.
"How much?" the child slurred, a familiar nightly ritual.
Yoongi smiled, a soft, gummy expression that Jimin couldn't see but could feel radiating from across the room.
"I love you past the last note," Yoongi said solemnly.
"Love you, pasta note," the child whispered back sleepily.
Yoongi paused.
"The cheesiest pasta?" he asked, amusement tinging his words.
"Mmhmm, real cheesy," the child sighed, smacking his lips slightly.
Jimin had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing. The weight of his day dissolved instantly. It was the highest compliment their child could give. Nothing was better than his favorite comfort food.
"Okay, sweetheart," Yoongi whispered, kissing the sleepy child on the forehead again. "Keep those dreams easy and cheesy."
Yoongi carefully extricated himself from the cuddle pile. He moved slowly, sliding off the bed without jostling the sleeping boy. He pulled the blanket up to the child's chin and smoothed it out.
He walked out into the hallway, pulling the door shut until it clicked softly.
When he looked up and saw Jimin, his face lit up.
Jimin didn't move. He just looked at Yoongi, his eyes crinkled into crescents, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
"You're home," Yoongi said, his voice tired but warm. He pulled Jimin into a hug, reaching up to rub the tension from the back of Jimin's neck. "Did you catch any of that?"
"I heard the part where the Dancer stayed," Jimin whispered against Yoongi's shoulder. "And then it got pretty cheesy."
Yoongi pulled back just enough to look at him. A small smile touched his lips.
"I was trying to be poetic," Yoongi grumbled, though his eyes were fond. "And he made it about carbohydrates."
"He's your son," Jimin teased softly. He reached up to cup Yoongi's cheek. "Food is his love language."
Yoongi huffed softly, leaning into Jimin's touch. "You smell good. Like coconut." He turned his head to press a kiss to Jimin's palm. "Ready for bed?"
Jimin smiled, letting his hand slide down to rest against Yoongi's chest. "In a minute."
Neither of them moved.
In the quiet of their home, a Piano Player and a Dancer stood in the dim hallway, swaying to a song only they could hear.