Work Text:
By the time the twins are three, evenings in the Han household follow a very specific rhythm.
Dinner chaos. Bath negotiations. Pajamas that somehow end up backwards at least once.
Then… homework.
Not real homework, of course. Preschool homework. The kind that exists less to educate and more to gently terrify parents into realizing their children are now people with opinions.
Tonight, Haneul and Areum are seated at the low coffee table in the living room, legs tucked under them, feet bare, pajamas mismatched but beloved. Haneul wears a soft sky-blue pajama top patterned with clouds and tiny stars while Areum is wearing a pale yellow, dotted with cartoon moons. Both have socks abandoned somewhere unknown to science.
Zoey sits on the floor with them, cross-legged, back against the couch, sleeves of her hoodie pushed up. She has a crayon behind one ear and a worksheet in her hand, squinting at it like it personally offended her.
“…Okay,” she says slowly, suspiciously. “This one is serious. You gotta think.”
Haneul leans so close her nose nearly touches the paper. Areum is chewing on a green crayon.
Zoey gently removes the crayon from Areum’s mouth without even looking. Muscle memory.
“This,” Zoey continues, tapping the paper, “is your hero question.”
Both twins perk up immediately.
Behind them, in the twins’ bedroom down the hall, the sounds of drawers opening and closing echo faintly.
Rumi’s voice floats out. “Why are there socks in the art bin?”
Mira answers without missing a beat. “Because they’re creative socks.”
Rumi sighs. Deeply.
Back in the living room, Zoey clears her throat dramatically.
“Question one,” she announces. “‘Who is your hero?’”
She slides the worksheet closer, offering the chunky purple crayon.
Haneul doesn’t hesitate. She grabs it with both hands and writes carefully, tongue poking out in concentration.
“Appa.”
Areum peers over, nods, and adds her own contribution beneath it in slightly crooked letters.
“Appa.”
Zoey freezes.
She stares at the page. Then at them.
“…Oh,” she says softly.
Her eyes immediately get suspiciously shiny.
“You— you mean me?”
Haneul nods enthusiastically.
Areum claps once.
“Yes!” they say together.
Zoey presses a hand to her chest like she’s been struck by a noble blade.
“Oh no,” she whispers. “I’m gonna cry on the homework.”
She wipes her eyes quickly and straightens up. “Okay. Okay. I can do this. Appa is strong.”
From the hallway, Mira calls, “Zoey, don’t emotionally scar them with your dramatics.”
“I AM BEING NORMAL,” Zoey yells back.
Haneul pats Zoey’s knee. “Appa normal.”
Zoey sniffles. “Thank you, baby.”
She refocuses on the worksheet.
“Question two,” she reads. “‘Why do you consider this person your hero?’”
She slides the paper back to them.
Haneul answers first, voice proud and clear. “Appa is brave!”
Areum nods hard enough that her pigtails bounce. “Appa fight monsters.”
Zoey’s jaw drops.
“…I do?”
“Yes,” Haneul says solemnly. “Night monsters.”
Zoey swallows.
“Those monsters,” Areum adds seriously, “very scary.”
Zoey straightens, puffing up slightly.
“Well,” she says, trying very hard not to cry again, “someone’s gotta do it.”
She scribbles their answers down carefully, heart pounding like she’s just been knighted.
From the bedroom
“Why do they have three jackets in one drawer?” Rumi mutters.
“Because they believe in layering,” Mira replies.
Zoey glances toward the hallway, then back to the twins.
“Okay,” she says. “Last question.”
She reads it aloud, unaware she is about to be betrayed.
“‘Is there anything your hero is frightened of?’”
The twins don’t even look at each other.
They answer instantly.
“Eomma and Umma.”
Zoey’s soul leaves her body. She stares. Blinks once. Twice.
“…Excuse me?”
Haneul points down the hallway. “Eomma.”
Areum adds helpfully, “Umma.”
Zoey gasps dramatically, clutching her chest again. “I am not afraid of your Eomma and Umma!”
The twins exchange a look. The look of children who know the truth.
At that exact moment
From the twins’ room, Rumi calls out, voice sweet and deadly calm.
“Zoey? Can you come in here for a second? I need you.”
Zoey stiffens. Her eyes dart to the hallway. Then she crosses her arms defensively.
“I’m— I’m busy,” she says loudly. “I’m helping my pups with their homework.”
From the bedroom, a pause.
Then
“Zoey,” Mira’s voice cuts in, sharp and perfectly controlled.
“Han Zoey.”
Zoey deflates like a punctured balloon.
Her shoulders slump. Her spine bends. Her soul returns only to immediately sit down.
“…y-yes, my love,” she says meekly. “I’m coming.”
She looks back at the twins, pointing weakly.
“This conversation,” she mutters, “isn’t over.”
Haneul waves. Areum grins.
Zoey trudges down the hallway, already complaining under her breath.
“I just said I wasn’t afraid. This is slander. I fight monsters—”
Her voice fades into the bedroom. Inside, Rumi stands with her arms crossed. Mira is holding a tiny sock like it personally offended her.
Zoey stops in the doorway.
“…What did I do.”
Rumi tilts her head. “Why are you teaching them that you yell at me?”
Zoey opens her mouth. Closes it.
“…They inferred.”
Mira raises an eyebrow. Zoey sighs, defeated. “I’m sorry.” Back in the living room, the twins finish their homework.
Areum carefully adds one more sentence at the bottom.
“Appa brave,” she says proudly.
Haneul nods. “…but listen to Eomma and Umma.”
They high-five.
From down the hall, Zoey’s muffled voice protests—
“I SAID I’M SORRY, I WAS IN MY FEELINGS—”
Rumi’s voice, calm and victorious “Homework done?”
The twins grin. “Yes!”
The homework gets presented like evidence.
Haneul holds the paper with both hands, arms stretched out, very serious.
Areum stands beside her, chest puffed up with pride.
“Eomma,” Haneul says.
“Umma,” Areum adds. “Look.”
Rumi and Mira lean down to read it.
Rumi scans the page first
Who is your hero? Appa.
She nods once, approving.
Mira reads the next answer
Appa is brave.
Another nod. Soft and Fond.
Zoey, standing behind the couch, crosses her arms smugly. “See? Bravery. Canon.”
Then Rumi’s eyes move to the last line.
She pauses. Mira pauses too. Silence. Heavy. Pregnant with doom.
Rumi slowly looks up and Mira follows.
Both raise an eyebrow. Not angry. Not loud. Just
Really?
Zoey immediately panics.
“I— I’m not afraid!” she blurts out. “That’s taken out of context. Extremely out of context.”
The twins look up at her.
Haneul tilts her head. “Appa loud.”
Areum nods. “Then quiet.”
Zoey wilts. Rumi crosses her arms. “Oh?”
Mira smiles. Sweet. Dangerous. “So you’re not afraid?”
Zoey laughs nervously, rubbing the back of her neck. “Haha… of course not. Why would I be afraid of the loves of my life?”
The eyebrows remain raised.
Zoey folds instantly.
“But um—” she steps forward, hands clasped together dramatically, eyes pleading, “I love you. So, so much. Deeply. Profoundly. With my whole soul. You are my courage. My light. My everything.”
She leans in a little. Lowers her voice.
“…please don’t make me sleep on the couch.”
Haneul gasps while Areum giggles.
Rumi finally sighs, shaking her head, and hands the paper back. “You’re lucky they think you’re brave.”
Mira pats Zoey’s cheek. “Very lucky.”
Zoey exhales in relief, immediately wrapping an arm around both of them.
“I survived,” she whispers dramatically.
////
The twins are already half-asleep by the time Zoey finishes brushing their teeth.
Haneul is curled up in her bed like a sleepy cat, hugging her stuffed cloud. Areum keeps blinking slowly, fighting sleep with all the determination a three-year-old can muster which is to say, not much.
Zoey pulls the blankets up carefully, tucking them in with reverence, like she’s handling sacred artifacts.
“Okay,” she whispers. “No more monsters. Appa already scared them away.”
Haneul’s eyes open just a little. “Even Eomma monsters?”
Zoey freezes.
“…Yes,” she says, a bit too fast. “Especially those.”
Areum giggles softly. “Appa brave.”
Zoey smiles, but it’s fragile. Earnest. Still recovering from the emotional ambush that was preschool homework.
She leans down and kisses their foreheads, one by one.
“Goodnight, my pups,” she murmurs. “Appa loves you.”
As she turns to leave, Haneul’s tiny voice stops her.
“Appa?”
Zoey turns back instantly. “Yeah, baby?”
Haneul thinks very hard. “…Don’t yell Eomma.”
Zoey exhales, defeated. “…Yes, ma’am.”
Areum claps once, satisfied, and immediately passes out.
Zoey stands there for a moment longer, just watching them breathe. Then she quietly pulls the door closed.
She barely makes it three steps down the hall before
“Well,” Rumi says pleasantly, leaning against the wall. “That went smoothly.”
Zoey groans and drags a hand down her face. “Please don’t.”
Mira, sitting on the couch with her arms folded, smiles without looking up. “They listen to you.”
“Yes,” Zoey mutters. “Because they think I’m brave.”
Rumi tilts her head. “Aren’t you?”
Zoey opens her mouth. Closes it. “…I am selectively brave.”
Mira finally looks up, eyebrow raised. “Selective how?”
Zoey drops onto the couch between them dramatically. “I fought night monsters. Imaginary ones. In the dark. I deserve credit.”
Rumi hums. “But one raised eyebrow and you folded.”
“That was psychological warfare,” Zoey protests. “You both do it.”
Mira reaches over and gently flicks Zoey’s forehead. “You begged not to sleep on the couch.”
Zoey covers her face with both hands. “They were watching.”
Rumi laughs softly and leans in, resting her head on Zoey’s shoulder. “You know they adore you, right?”
Zoey peeks through her fingers. “…Even after witnessing my complete collapse?”
Mira leans in from the other side, pressing a kiss to Zoey’s temple. “Especially then.”
Zoey sighs, melting between them. “I’m never living this down.”
Rumi smiles. “Oh no.”
Mira’s grin widens. “We’re absolutely bringing this up at their graduation.”
Zoey groans again, but she’s smiling now.
From the twins’ room, a soft snore echoes faintly.
Appa is brave. Just…not immune to Eomma and Umma.
The room is dark except for the warm glow of a bedside lamp. Rumi is already half-buried under the blanket, hair loose, glasses off, one arm draped possessively over Zoey’s waist. Mira is on Zoey’s other side, face smushed into a pillow, breathing slow and even.
Zoey lies there staring at the ceiling. Wide awake. Thinking dangerous thoughts. She turns her head slightly, whispering like she’s sharing state secrets.
“…You know.”
No response. Rumi hums sleepily, tightening her hold. Mira does not move.
Zoey continues anyway, because self-preservation has never been her strength.
“…the twins were really cute tonight.”
Mira shifts. Barely. Zoey smiles to herself. Encouraged.
“And I was just thinking,” she adds softly, “that maybe… maybe….one day—”
She doesn’t even finish the sentence when a pillow slams directly into her face.
“No.” Mira’s voice is muffled, exhausted, and absolute.
Zoey sputters, pulling the pillow off her head. “HEY—”
Rumi groans and rolls slightly, eyes still closed. “Zoey,” she mumbles, “it is midnight.”
“I said maybe,” Zoey defends herself weakly. “I didn’t even say when!”
Mira sits up just enough to glare at her through half-lidded eyes. “You say ‘maybe’ the way disasters say ‘soon.’”
Zoey pouts. “Wow. Hurtful.”
Rumi sighs, finally cracking one eye open. “You suggested babies yesterday.”
Zoey counts on her fingers. “Okay but—”
Another pillow. Softer this time. Still accurate.
Zoey groans dramatically and collapses back into the mattress. “I’m being silenced.”
Mira flops back down. “You are being put to sleep.”
Rumi shifts closer, tucking her chin into Zoey’s shoulder. “We love you,” she murmurs. “But if you mention babies again tonight, I will move you to the couch.”
Zoey freezes.
“…Okay,” she says quickly. “Absolutely no babies. None. Zero. I choose life.”
Rumi relaxes immediately. Silence settles again. Breathing evens out. Five seconds pass.
Zoey whispers, “But hypothetically—”
Mira doesn’t even look.
She just throws the pillow again.
Lights out.