Work Text:
At first, Jin-woo had thought being in outer space wouldn't be that much different from the time he'd spent in the dimensional rift.
How wrong he had been.
Being a brother and a son was fundamentally different from being a husband and a father. He missed his family in a way he'd never missed anyone before, and the loneliness felt more acute than it had in the dimensional rift – more so after he'd lived a relatively peaceful life surrounded by everyone he loved.
He almost welcomed the endless battles; they occupied him enough to block out every thought that wasn't battle strategy. And a battlefield was all he saw for those long years. He saw bloodshed and monsters, Gods and Apostles, and, towards the end, a break in the monotony like the breath of fresh air he hadn't drawn in many years: Images from earth, thanks to Beru gaining power. He saw Suho most of all, older than when Jin-woo had last seen him; Hae-in looking as beautiful as she was deadly on the battlefield; his father and mother, their faces more lined and weathered than he remembered; Jin-ah and Jin-ho, as determined to help and support as they had always been.
As much as he appreciated seeing them, however, it could never compare to seeing them in the flesh. It made the distance feel larger – the knowledge that he could see them through Beru's eyes, and that was the extent of it. He could not reach out to touch them, to say a simple greeting, and they could not so much as see him in return. His little trick with the illusion was the closest he'd come to interacting with Suho, and it made him impatient, made him want to get this war done and over with so he could return home to his family.
A dangerous feeling, one he squashed instantly. He hadn't calculatively fought a war for five years only to squander it with impatience right at the end.
And when the final battle was fought with his son at his side, and the war was finally over, Jin-woo looked at earth with something like disbelief. He had fought in the dimensional rift for twenty seven years – five years were nothing in comparison.
So why had it felt so long?
The answer was obvious.
As Jin-woo and Suho descended to the solid ground of earth, Jin-woo cast a glance at his son. He had measured his growth, of course, but with all imminent threats now out of the way, he could afford to look past that and instead focus on the boy beneath. Not so much a boy anymore, but a young adult. Jin-woo spared a thought for the years they'd lost, but he had never been one to dwell much on what he couldn't change. There was only the way forward now.
Suho felt his attention on him, and turned to hold his gaze.
"What is it?" he asked, somewhat self-consciously, when Jin-woo said nothing.
He looked down with a small smile, casting his gaze towards the people waiting beneath them. "I was just thinking of when I last saw you," he said.
"The morning before school?"
Jin-woo shook his head. "You were at school, actually. Walking your friend home."
Suho frowned in confusion, then pinpointed the memory. "You would have been at the precinct, though. What were you doing at the school? I didn't see you."
Jin-woo scratched his cheek, ducking his head. "You did." He hid a smile as Suho's confusion only increased. "In your dream."
Suho paused, gaped at him, then ducked his head to hide his embarrassment. Jin-woo couldn't help laughing a little. His son's expressions had always been as easy to read as Hae-in's.
He clapped a hand onto his shoulder, almost an apology for the teasing, although he didn’t feel too bad about it, really. He had five years to make up for, after all.
They reached the ground then, and Jin-woo's gaze found Hae-in's as if they were two opposing magnets. Before he could start in her direction, Suho said, a little tentatively, "Hey, Dad?"
Jin-woo turned to look at him. Suho looked unsure, vulnerable, so at odds with the confident fighter Jin-woo had seen on the battlefield. In this moment, he was just a boy reuniting with his father after five long, uncertain years.
After a moment, he offered him a smile. "I'm glad you're back."
Jin-woo felt a rush of affection for his son, and he noted wryly that Suho was now too tall for him to ruffle his hair the way he used to.
Every day in outer space, he'd longed to be back with his family. Having never been particularly articulate with words, however, Jin-woo did not know how to put the extent of his feelings into words.
"I'm glad to be back," he settled on saying, and he might have said more, except Hae-in had finally reached them.
"What your father means is, he missed you too," Hae-in said, doing a quick once over of both of them to check for injuries. She was such a worrier, Jin-woo thought fondly.
Suho laughed, then, taking note of the way his parents gravitated towards each other, quite abruptly excused himself to rejoin his friends.
They both watched him go, then exchanged a look.
"Teenagers," Hae-in said wryly.
"He's not a teenager anymore," Jin-woo said mildly, turning to face her.
And then, whatever tenuous hold they'd both been keeping on themselves seemed to snap. Hae-in's nose scrunched the way it did when she fought tears, and Jin-woo smoothed the lines forming in her forehead before folding her into his arms. Hers winded around his back, her face burrowing into his neck, and they stayed that way for minutes or maybe hours. Jin-woo could've stayed like that for years. He hadn't known a soft touch in so long. He hadn't seen Hae-in's beautiful face, or heard her low, clear voice, or held her in his arms. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder, and after a while, felt tears soaking into his skin as she silently cried.
Eventually, Hae-in lifted her face. Jin-woo looked at her – really looked at her. Took in all the little changes over the last few years. Took in all the things that were as familiar as always. He raised a hand to cradle her jaw, and her eyes closed as she lifted her own to lay it over his. He leaned in to kiss her, and it was like coming home. The slant of her lips under his said welcome back; the shaky inhale between kisses said I missed you; the parting of their lips said I love you; and his arms drawing her closer, tightening almost painfully, said I'm never leaving you again.
It felt too soon when Hae-in pulled away, and when Jin-woo tightened his hold to keep her from moving, she inclined her head to where the rest of their family waited. "I don't want to stop either, but even if you suddenly decided you don't mind giving our family a show, our son is also there."
"He's old enough," Jin-woo grumbled. "He knows how he was made."
Hae-in gaped at him. Jin-woo chuckled, leaning in to kiss her one last time before stepping back.
Hae-in huffed. "I hope Suho won't some day torment some poor girl the way you torment me."
"Torment seems like a stretch," Jin-woo said, tangling their fingers together as they started towards their family.
Hae-in grumbled in protest, but she was smiling as much as he was, her eyes crinkled in the corners and practically shining. Their family fell upon them immediately, and they were caught up in tight hugs and too many words to catch everything all at once.
Taking a step back, Jin-woo looked at all the people surrounding them, smiles on every face. He was back home, finally. The world was not the same as the one he'd left five years ago, but that was no matter: He would protect everyone as he always had, except this time, he wouldn't have to do it alone.