Work Text:
Chan's classroom was louder than usual that morning. Chairs scraped, pencil boxes clattered, someone laughed too loudly for no reason at all.
Chan sat at his desk near the window, feet swinging because they never quite reached the floor. He was busy. Busy lining up his crayons even though art class wasn’t until after lunch.
He liked things neat.
It made his head feel neat too.
“Okay, everyone, settle down,” the teacher said, clapping twice. The noise softened into whispers, then into expectant quiet. Chan looked up, chin resting on his hands.
“We have a new student joining us today.”
That alone made the room buzz again. New meant interesting. New meant something different.
The door opened, and a girl stepped inside.
She stood close to the teacher, hands folded in front of her dress, shoulders a little stiff like she was holding herself together very carefully. Her hair was dark and neatly tied, a few strands escaping near her ears. She looked around the room slowly, eyes big and curious and nervous all at once.
“This is Sora,” the teacher said gently. “She’s transferred from Japan.”
The girl, Sora bowed, small and polite, like she’d practiced it a hundred times. When she spoke, her voice was soft and careful, each word chosen.
“Hello,” she said. “My name... is Sora. I… I am happy to be here.”
There was a pause. A few kids smiled. Some whispered. Someone waved.
Chan didn’t move at all.
He just stared.
It wasn’t like the movies he sometimes watched with his mumma, where everything went slow and dramatic. It was quieter than that. Warmer.
Sora smiled, relieved when the teacher nodded encouragingly.
“She speaks English quite well,” the teacher continued, “but she’s still learning our language. So I’ll have her sit next to someone who can help.”
The teacher’s eyes scanned the room. “Chan,” she said.
Chan blinked. Once. Twice. He sat up straighter without realizing it. “Yes, Ms. Min?”
“You speak very good English, don’t you?” the teacher said. “I think you’d be a great help. Sora, you can sit next to Chan.”
Sora turned. Her eyes found him, and she smiled. Chan forgot how to breathe. She walked down the aisle between desks, steps small and quiet.
As she got closer, Chan noticed the tiny star stickers on her bag, the way she clutched her bag strap like it was an anchor. When she reached his desk, she paused.
“Uhm,” she said softly, “hello.”
“H- hi,” Chan replied, voice cracking just a little. He cleared his throat quickly, embarrassed, and tried again. “Hi. I’m Chan.”
She smiled at him. Not a big smile. Just a gentle one, like she was grateful. “Sora,” she said again, like she wanted to make sure he remembered, as she sat down.
Their desks were close enough that Chan could see the neat handwriting on her page, the careful way she copied the date from the board. Every so often she glanced sideways at him, shy, checking if she was doing it right. And each time she did, Chan felt something flutter in his chest, light and confusing and very important.
When the teacher started the lesson, Chan leaned over just a little. “If you don’t understand,” he whispered, “I can help.”
Sora nodded eagerly. “Thank you. Your English is… very good.”
Chan’s ears went red.
The rest of the class passed in a blur of chalk sounds and page turns, but Chan remembered everything else clearly. The way Sora smiled when she understood something, the way she whispered oh when a word finally made sense, the way she said his name like it was something special.
By the time the bell rang, Chan was certain of only one thing.
Something had changed.
He didn’t know what it was called. He didn’t have the words for it yet. But he knew, very deeply, that sitting next to the girl felt like the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Lunch was usually loud.
The garden lunch area was full of kids sitting in little groups on benches and on the grass. Chan sat cross-legged on the grass with his lunch balanced on his knees, barely touching it.
“And,” Yugyeom said, biting into his sandwich, eyes sparkling in a way that meant he knew something. “He didn’t blink in class today.”
Chan frowned. “I blink.”
“Not when she walked in,” Yugyeom replied calmly.
Chan’s ears immediately turned red. Across from them, Yongbok paused mid-bite. Slowly. Very slowly. She looked up.
“Who?”
Chan swallowed. “The new girl.”
Yugyeom hummed, nodding like a wise man. “Sora. That's her name. She sits next to him.”
“Next to Channie?” Yongbok repeated.
Chan nodded, smiling without meaning to. “Yeah. Teacher said I should help her because she speaks English good. And she’s really nice. And she bows when she says thank you. And she has this star sticker on her notebook-”
Yongbok slammed her juice box down a little too hard. “Okay,” she said. “Enough.” Chan blinked at her, as the girl groaned. “Enough talking about her,” Yongbok said, lips pursed. “You didn’t even talk this much about Wolves when you liked them.”
“I still like wolves,” Chan protested.
“But now you sound like you like her more,” Yongbok shot back.
Yugyeom watched the exchange with a grin, eyes darting between them. He leaned back on his hands. “You were smiling in class,” he said to Chan. “Like… a lot.”
Chan shrugged, trying very hard to look normal. “She’s just… different.”
Yongbok’s stomach twisted.
Different.
But...
Chan had always been hers. He was her best friend. Her cousin. Her big brother. The person who always waited for her before running, who shared snacks even when he didn’t want to, who listened to her stories like they were the most important things in the world.
They were soulmates. Everyone knew that. Even if they didn’t know the word, Yongbok felt it in her bones.
And now there was a new girl.
“She can sit somewhere else,” Yongbok muttered.
“She doesn’t know anyone yet,” Chan said immediately. “And she gets confused with some words. Today she asked me how to say ‘eraser’ and I showed her-”
Yongbok crossed her arms.
As lunch went on and Chan kept smiling to himself for no reason at all, and Yongbok stayed pressed close to his side, shoulder to shoulder, juice box shared between them, just in case.
Because new girls might come and go.
But Chan?
Chan was hers.
After the last bell rang, and the classroom slowly emptied into the hallway, Chan lingered by his desk, carefully packing his books like he always did, neat and slow.
Sora stood beside him, holding her bag with both hands, waiting.
She watched the room like she was afraid of stepping in the wrong place, eyes curious but cautious, posture straight, movements small and polite.
When Chan finished, she bowed a little, just like she had all day. “Thank you… for helping me,” she said, the words careful, practiced. “I will… try more.”
Chan smiled, warm and shy. “You’re doing great.”
Then he spotted Yongbok near the door, hopping from one foot to the other, clearly waiting.
“Yongbok!” he called, waving.
She came over instantly.
Chan straightened, suddenly feeling very important. “Uh... this is Sora,” he said, gesturing between them. “She’s the new girl. She moved here today.”
Sora bowed again, deeper this time. “Hello,” she said softly. “I’m Sora. It's nice... it's nice meeting you.”
Yongbok blinked. The girl wasn’t loud. Or flashy. Or trying to take Chan away. She was just… nice.
Chan beamed. “And this is Yongbok,” he added quickly, voice bright. “She’s my cousin, my best friend. My little sister.”
Best friend.
Little sister.
Yongbok felt it instantly. Like warmth spreading through her chest, like something clicking perfectly into place. The tight feeling from earlier disappeared so fast she almost laughed.
She lifted her chin proudly. “Oh,” she said, smiling now. A real smile. “Then you’re safe.”
Sora tilted her head. “Safe?”
Yongbok nodded seriously. “Channie’s really good at helping people. He’ll help you study. And talk. And stuff.” Chan blinked, as Yongbok turned to him, eyes bright. “Obviously. That’s your job.”
Chan laughed, the sound light and easy. “Okay. I’ll do my job.”
Sora smiled too, small and genuine. “Thank you… Chan. Thank you, Yongbok.”
Yongbok watched them for a second. No tug in her chest. No jealousy. No worry.
Chan stood just a little closer to her without thinking, shoulder brushing hers, like he always did. Like he always would.
She stepped forward and held out her hand to Sora. “My name is Yongbok. I'm... five. We can be friends.”
Sora’s eyes widened before she carefully took it. “Yes. Thank you. I’d like that.”
Chan looked between them, relief softening his face, his smile brighter than before. And as they walked down the hallway together, Yongbok skipped once, light and happy.
Chan hadn’t changed.
He’d just grown his world a little bigger, and there was plenty of room.
Chan sat in the backseat of the car with his legs tucked up, leaning slightly toward the middle like he always did. Yongbok sat beside him, humming under her breath, swinging her feet that barely reached the edge of the seat.
Jisung drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting comfortably, music playing low.
Chan stared out the window for a long moment. “Dada?”
“Yeah, buddy?” Jisung glanced at him in the mirror.
“How did you feel… when you first met Mumma?”
Jisung smiled without thinking. A real one. “Well,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, “it felt like you saw a future with them without any expectations... you know... like your favorite flower bloom all bright and glowing, and your heart goes boom.”
Chan’s eyes widened.
“And you don’t even touch it yet,” Jisung continued, amused, “but you already know you want to take care of it forever.”
Chan’s mouth fell open just a little.
“And it makes everything else quieter,” Jisung added. “Like the world pauses and says... this is important.”
There was a long pause.
Chan leaned closer to Yongbok and whispered, voice trembling with awe, “That’s exactly how I felt.”
“Weird,” Yongbok stared straight ahead. “How even time slows when one person meet another?” she said.
Chan laughed softly. “You’re just not romantic.”
“I’m smart,” Yongbok corrected.
Chan hummed, then said very seriously, “You’ll meet your one too.”
Yongbok turned to him slowly. “He better be nice.”
“He will,” Chan promised.
“He better treat me like Uncle Han treats Auntie Honey,” Yongbok went on, counting on her fingers, “and like Papa treats Mommy. And how Grandpapa treats Grandmama. Maybe more efforts than all of them combined.”
Chan nodded, solemn. “That’s a lot.”
“It should be,” Yongbok said firmly. “It. Should. Be.”
Chan looked at her, eyes full and soft. “Your standards are very high.”
“They should be,” Yongbok replied, satisfied.
Jisung listened to all of it through the mirror, smiling quietly, watching his son talk about love for the very first time, and Yongbok already knowing exactly what she deserved.
Chan had spread himself on the floor like a starfish, socks kicked off somewhere unknown, tummy pressed to the cool tiles. He hummed under his breath, a tune that didn’t really go anywhere yet.
Yongbok sat a little distance away at the small table, legs swinging. Her pencil moved carefully, tongue poking out in concentration as she sounded out words in her homework.
Chan sighed. “I think,” he said slowly, like he was testing the words, “when I grow up… I’ll make music.”
Yongbok nodded without looking up.
“I’ll have a big room,” Chan continued, eyes fixed on the ceiling fan spinning lazily. “With computers. And guitars. And lots of buttons you can press.”
“Mmhm,” Yongbok said, erasing something hard enough to almost tear the paper.
“And people will come to me,” Chan went on, kicking his feet gently, “and I’ll help them make songs. Happy ones. And sad ones. And loud ones.”
Yongbok finally glanced at him. “Can I still press the buttons?”
“Yes,” Chan said immediately. “You can press all of them.”
Satisfied, she went back to her homework. Chan smiled to himself. “And,” he added after a moment, voice dropping like it was a secret. “I’ll marry a girl as pretty as Mumma.”
Yongbok paused.
She looked at him properly now. “Okayyy,” she said, not very impressed.
Chan frowned a little. He turned his head, confused. “That’s all?”
“What else?” Yongbok asked, genuinely.
Chan thought about it. He didn’t know. He just knew it felt important. “I think,” he said again, counting on his fingers, “from… twenty years from today… I’ll be married.”
Yongbok’s pencil stopped. She squinted at him, thinking very hard.
“To?”
Chan’s brain stopped working. His feet froze mid-air. His humming stopped. He blinked once. Twice. Slowly.
“I…” His mouth opened. Closed. “I don’t know.”
The words felt strange. He’d never not known something like that before. Yongbok watched his face carefully. His eyes were big. A little lost. Like when he couldn’t find his shoe.
She climbed down from her chair, walked over, and patted his shoulder softly. “It’s okay,” she said, very serious. “You’re only seven.”
Chan looked at her like this was brand-new information.
“Yes,” Yongbok nodded. “You don’t have to marry anyone yet.”
“Oh,” Chan said.
He lay back down, staring at the ceiling again, heart doing something fluttery he didn’t understand.
Yongbok went back to her homework, swinging her legs again.
After a while, she added, without looking at him, “But I’m still your best friend. And best friends help each other figures things out.”
Chan smiled.
He's not alone.