Chapter Text
By the time the last parents had filtered out, the room felt different, emptier and quieter in a way that made every sound linger. Chairs scraped softly as Seungmin stacked them, the clatter of plastic toys dull and familiar in his hands. The smell of tempera paint still hung in the air, sweet and faintly chemical, mixed with the lingering warmth of a day well used.
Hyunjin was nearby, crouched by the sink, rinsing paintbrushes one by one. Water ran steadily in a low, soothing sound, and he hummed under his breath without realizing it. Little flecks of dried paint freckled his sleeves and cheek, like he’d been absorbed into art time just as much as the kids had.
Seungmin’s eyes drifted, as they often did, to the small table near the window.
Jeongin sat there alone.
His legs didn’t quite reach the floor, sneakers swinging absently as he pushed two dolls across the tabletop. One was missing an arm and the other wore a crooked paper cape taped together with more enthusiasm than precision. Jeongin made quiet sound effects under his breath, brows furrowed in concentration, fully immersed in a world he’d built himself.
Seungmin’s chest tightened.
Jeongin had been the last one here a lot lately. Not every day, but often enough that Seungmin noticed. Often enough that it stopped feeling like a coincidence. There was something especially heavy about seeing a child alone in a room meant to be loud and shared, waiting long past when the waiting should have ended.
He abandoned the toy bin mid-sort and crossed the room, lowering himself beside the table so he was at Jeongin’s eye level.
“Hey,” he said gently. “What’s going on over here?”
Jeongin looked up, eyes brightening just a little. “The’re going home,” he said, nudging the dolls closer together. “But this one’s scared.”
Seungmin picked up the caped doll, turning it slightly in his hands. “Yeah? Maybe they don’t have to be scared if they go together.”
Jeongin considered this seriously, then nodded. He pushed the dolls side by side, satisfied. They played like that for a moment, Seungmin letting Jeongin lead, responding only when invited, the way he’d learned to do.
After a while, Seungmin glanced toward the clock. “Hey, buddy,” he said softly. “Do you want to start getting ready? The way you’ll be all set when your mom gets here.”
Jeongin shook his head immediately.
“My mom isn’t coming,” he said. It wasn’t dramatic, and there was no waver in his voice. Just simple certainty.
Seungmin stilled, the doll pausing in his hand. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully. “Is someone else coming to pick you up today?”
Jeongin shrugged, already turning back to the dolls. “She’s not coming,” he repeated, as if that was the end of it, and resumed his game.
Something cold settled low in Seungmin’s stomach.
He stood slowly and looked over at Hyunjin. “Hey,” he said quietly, keeping his voice light for Jeongin’s sake. “Did Jeongin’s mom mention anything this morning? About his grandmother, or his aunt coming today?”
Hyunjin straightened, frowning. “No. Nothing different. Why?”
Seungmin shook his head. “I’m not sure.”
Jieun wasn’t the most involved parent, she missed drop-offs, and ran late more than she should, but she was involved enough. Enough that Seungmin never felt bad calling. Enough that this… didn’t line up.
“I’ll check the file,” Seungmin said.
He pulled Jeongin’s folder from the cabinet and flipped it open as he walked, eyes skimming the familiar pages of emergency contacts, and allergy notes. Everything was exact;y where it should be, until it wasn’t.
The authorized pickup section had been updated.
Seungmin stopped walking.
Written neatly beneath Jieun’s name was another.
Lee Yongbok
He stared at it, reread it, then read it again.
“Hyunjin,” he said slowly, “do you know a Lee Yongbok?”
Hyunjin leaned over his shoulder, then shook his head. “No. Should I?”
“I don’t think so,” Seungmin murmured, then trailed off as a soft knock sounded at the door.
Both of them turned as the door opened, and the man who stepped inside looked like he had wandered into the wrong universe.
Long blond hair fell past his shoulders in soft waves, catching the late afternoon light. His clothes were immaculate, tailored and expensive yet understated in a way that spoke of intention. He looked entirely out of place among finger-painted walls, tiny cubbies, and low tables smeared with glue.
Recognition hit Seungmin immediately.
Lee Felix. Lee Yongbok. Model. Voice actor. Hyunjin had just been talking about his Vogue shoot last week, phone shoved in Seungmin’s face with barely contained excitement.
Felix hesitated just inside the doorway, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. His eyes swept the room, nervous and searching, until they landed on Jeongin.
“Jeonginnie,” he said. His voice was soft and careful, almost like he was afraid of breaking something.
Jeongin’s head snapped up. For one suspended second, his face went blank with surprise, then everything about him lit up.
“Appa!”
He was out of his chair and running before Seungmin could even react, sneakers skidding against the floor as he launched himself forward.
Felix dropped to his knees just in time to catch him, arms wrapping around Jeongin’s small body as he collided with him full force.
Felix laughed, breathless and unguarded, holding Joengin tight as the child clung to him, face buried against his neck.
“I missed you,” Jeongin said, voice muffled.
Felix closed his eyes, pressing his cheek to Jeongin’s hair. “I missed you too, baby.”
For a heartbeat, the room exists in a kind of stunned quiet.
Then Hyunjin explodes.
“Oh my god—oh my god,” he blurts, hands flying to his face as he stares openly at Felix. “You’re—you’re Lee Felix. Like, that Lee Felix. Vogue Lee Felix. The fall spread with the silk coat and the wet hair? And your voice, I literally listen to your audiobooks when I can’t sleep, it’s–”
“Hyunjin,” Seungmin says automatically, though even he doesn’t quite sound reprimanding. It’s too surreal for that.
Felix laughs, startled and bashful all at once, the sound warm and a little breathless. A blush creeps up his cheeks as he ducks his head, long blond hair falling forward like a curtain.
“Ah—thank you,” he says quickly, bowing slightly without thinking. “That’s, uh, really kind of you.”
Hyunjin looked like he might pass out. “Your outfits,” he continues weakly. “Your photoshoots. The way you stand—”
Felix rubs the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed, then glances down at Jeongin.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he adds, sincerity threaded through his voice. “I’m still not very used to driving myself everywhere yet.”
Seungmin blinks. “Driving yourself?”
Felix nods, sheepish. “I just got my license here. Before this, my security team usually handled transportation.”
Hyunjin exhales something between a laugh and a sigh. “That’s so cool.”
Seungmin barely hears him.
Something about the way Felix said before this lingers in his mind. He hesitates, then asks gently, “Where’s Jieun-ssi today?”
The shift is immediate.
Felix’s shoulders stiffen, and the warmth in his expression dims like someone lowering a light. He looks down at Jeongin, softening instantly, voice gentle and careful. “Hey, Innie,” he says. “Why don’t you go grab your things from your cubby while Appa talks with your teachers, okay?”
Jeongin’s face brightens. “Okay!” He twists out of Felix’s arms and dashes across the room, sneakers squeaking against the floor as he goes, humming to himself.
Only once Jeongin’s attention is elsewhere does Felix step closer.
“Did… she not tell you?” he asks quietly.
Seungmin and Hyunjin exchange a glance before both shake their heads.
Felix exhales sharply through his hose, a tired, humorless sound. “Yeah, that tracks.”
He folds his arms loosely, then drops them again, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “Jieun and I have been in a custody battle for the past year,” he says. “Yesterday, I won.”
Seungmin feels the weight of the words settle into his chest.
“I have full custody of my son now,” Felix continues, voice steady but strained. “I’m his sole caregiver.”
Hyunjin’s eyes widened. “Wait, full custody?”
Felix nods once, no celebration or relief, just resolve.
“That’s—” Hyunjin swallows.”Are you going to have help? I mean, with your career and everything?”
Something sharp flickers across Felix’s face, not anger exactly, but something protective and fierce.
“I’ll quit everything if I have to,” he says flatly. “If it means being there for him.”
The room suddenly feels very small.
“That was her argument,” Felix adds quietly. “That I was too busy and too visible. That I couldn’t be present,” His jaw tightes. “So I’m taking a break. I want Jeongin-ah settled. I want him safe. That matters more than anything else.”
Before Seungmin can find the right words, anything at all, Jeongin comes running back, coat dragging behind him.
“Appa!” he says, breathless “Can you help me?”
Felix’s entire posture changes in an instant.
“Of course,” he says warmly, crouching down. “Come here.” He helps Jeongin slip his arms into the sleeves, smoothing the fabric, fingers gentle and practiced. “Did you have a good day?”
Jeongin nods enthusiastically. “We painted! And Seungmin played dolls with me.”
Felix looks up, meeting Seungmin’s eyes. There’s gratitude there, quiet and genuine. “Thank you,” he says.
Seungmin nods, throat tight. “Anytime.”
Felix zips the coat, then lifts Jeongin easily into his arms. “Okay,” he says softly. “What do we say?”
“Bye!” Jeongin waves energetically. “Bye, Hyunjin! Bye, Seungmin!”
Hyunjin waves back, still dazed. “Bye, Innie. See you tomorrow.”
Felix pauses at the door. “What time should he be here in the morning?”
“Eight-thirty,” Seungmin replies.
Felix nods, committing it to memory. “Thank you—for everything.” He offers a small smile. “Have a good night.”
“You too,” Seungmin says.
Felix steps out into the evening, Jeongin’s arms looped securely around his neck.
The door closes softly behind them, and Seungmin exhales slowly, staring at the empty space they left behind.
-
The bar is warm and loud with low music humming under layered conversations, glasses clinking, and laughter spilling a little too freely now that the workday is over. Seungmin sits with his friends in a corner booth, jacket shrugged off, and hands wrapped around a sweating glass he’s barely touched.
Hyunjin is practically vibrating across from him.
“I’m telling you,” Hyunjin says for the third time, phone held between both hands like a sacred object, “he’s even prettier in person. Like, unfairly so. Cameras don’t do him justice. And his hair? That blond? I swear it glowed.”
Changbin snorts into his drink. “You’re acting like you met a deity.”
“I did,” Hyunjin insists. “And he was holding a kid. His kid. I think my soul left my body.”
Jisung leans over Hyunjin’s shoulder, scrolling. “Okay, but listen to this, apparently the divorce got finalized months ago, but the custody stuff dragged on forever. Like, brutal. She really took it to the press.”
Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, I saw that. She kept saying he was ‘too busy’ and ‘too unstable’ to be a full-time parent. Which is wild, because he literally rearranged his entire career.”
Changbin taps his phone, frowning. “She was relentless. Every other week there was a new article from anonymous sources or leaked statements. She really went after his character.
Seungmin listens, quiet. He watched the condensation trail down his glass, watching it pool against the coaster. The words wash over him—divorce, custody battle, media circus—but none of them quite match the image stuck in his head.
Felix, kneeling on the classroom floor. Felix, zipping Jeongin’s coat with careful hands. Felix’s entire face softening the moment his son said Appa.
Jeongin is a good kid. He’s thoughtful and observant. The kind of child who notices when someone’s tone shifts, and who gravitates toward calm and consistency. He’d clock the troublemakers in class from day one, instinctively steering clear. He’d taken one look at the temporary aide they’d had for a week, the one who’d smiled too much and listened too little, and never warmed to him.
And today?
Today, Jeongin had run into Felix’s arms like he belonged there.
If Felix were truly a bad man, if there were something dark or wrong beneath the polish, Seungmin didn’t think Jeongin would have reacted that way. Kids like Jeongin always knew. They felt things adults talked themselves out of.
More than anything else, that’s what matters to Seungmin. That when his day ends, when he locks the classroom door and turns out the lights, Jeongin goes somewhere safe and loving.
“Seungmin?”
He blinks, realizing the table has gone quiet.
Jisung is watching him now, head tilted. “You’ve been awfully quiet. What do you think?”
Seungmin exhales slowly, fingers tightening around his glass. “I think it was fine,” he says carefully. “I just wish Jieun had told us something was happening. We’re with Jeongin-ah all day. It would’ve helped to know.”
Hyunjin nods immediately. “Yeah, that was kind of messed up.”
“And,” Seungmin adds, brow furrowing, “I still don’t understand how none of us knew Jeongin was Felix’s son.”
Changbin scrolls again, then pauses. “Actually, here, that might be why.” He turns his phone so they can see. “Originally, the custody arrangement gave full custody to the mother. Felix barely had visitation rights at first. Looks like everything was kept very quiet.”
Seungmin’s frown deepens. "He seems like a good dad,” he says, the words leaving him before he can overthink them.
The table goes still again, just for a second.
Then Seungmin pushes his glass away and stands. “I’m tired,” he says. “I’m gonna head home.”
No one argues. They know that tone.
The night air is cool when he steps outside, the city humming softly around him. His walk home is familiar, the same streets and the same storefronts, but tonight, his thoughts won’t settle. Halfway down the block, he stops.
A massive illuminated ad fills the side of a building across the street. Felix.
He has perfect skin, a soft gaze, and his lips are parted slightly, makeup artfully smudged like something intimate caught mid-moment. His name gleams at the bottom beside a sleek logo, larger than life and untouchable.
Seungmin stands there longer than he means to.
He thinks of that image, and then of Felix, crouched on the classroom floor, blond hair falling into his eyes as he listened to Jeongin talk about paint and dolls.
He wonders which version is real. Or, if somehow, impossibly, both are.
Seungmin exhales, turns away, and continues walking home, still unsure what to think, but knowing one thing with absolute clarity:
Tomorrow morning, Jeongin will be back, and Seungmin will be watching.
-
When Seungmin unlocks the front door, the street outside is still half-asleep, the air cool and quiet enough that the sound of the key turning echoes softly. Inside, the daycare smells faintly of yesterday, cleaning solution layered over crayons and glue, and a lingering warmth that never quite leaves. He steps in, flicking on the lights one by one, watching the classroom slowly come to life under their glow.
This was his favorite part of the day. The stillness and the promise of what’s to come.
He shrugs off his jacket, washing his hands, and ties on his apron, moving with the ease of a routine long settled into his bones. Morning snacks come next, apple slices carefully portioned, crackers counted out, and cheese tucked neatly into small bags. He lines them up with quiet precision, the simple repetition easing the low hum of nerves he doesn’t want to admit to himself.
By the time the last bag is sealed and set aside, the door opens behind him.
“Morning,” Hyunjin calls out cheerfully, already halfway out of his coat.
“Morning,” Seungmin replies, glancing at the clock and offering a small smile. Right on time.
They fall into their usual rhythm, Hyunjin wiping odeon tables while Seungmin sets out cups and napkins. The familiarity is grounding, something solid to hold onto as the day begins to stir.
Soon, the first families arrived.
Minseo clings to his mothers leg, eyes still heavy with sleep until Seungmin kneels and compliments his dinosaur shirt, earning a shy grin in return. Yura bursts through the door moments later, talking a mile a minute about a dream she refuses to let go of, her father laughing softly as he signs her in. Taehyun bows politely before lining up his shoes with careful attention, his grandmother giving Seungmin a warm nod before leaving.
Each greeting is gentle, practiced, and sincere. Yet still, Seungmin’s gaze keeps drifting back to the door.
He tells himself not to worry. Transitions are hard, yes, but not all change is bad. Still, he can’t help but think about Jeongin, about his first night in a new home, under a new roof, and with a parent he clearly adores but hasn’t lived with full-time before. Seungmin has seen too many children struggle after nights filled with uncertainty to ignore the knot in his chest.
He checks the clock again.
8:29
At exactly 8:30, the door opens.
Felix steps inside wearing a black mask, long blond hair pulled back loosely with the morning light catching in the strands that escape. Jeongin is tucked securely against him, one arm wrapped around Felix’s neck, face bright with excitement even before his feet touch the floor. His eyes scan the room and then they widen.
“Beomgyu!” Jeongin squirrels, twisting eagerly in Felix’s arms.
Felix laughs, the sound warm and unrestrained. “Hey, hey, hold on,” he says gently, tightening his grip just enough. “I need a kiss first.”
Jeongin doesn’t hesitate. He leaned in and pressed a loud, enthusiastic kiss to Felix’s masked cheek. “Bye, Appa!”
Felix’s eyes crease with his smile. “Have a good day, aegi-yah.”
The moment Jeongin is set down, he’s gone, running toward Beomgyu with unfiltered joy, the two colliding in a flurry of laughter and half-formed words.
Seungmin feels the tension in his chest finally loosen.
Felix puts Jeongin’s things in his cubby before straightening. For a moment, he simply stands there, taking in the room, the colors, the noise, the tiny chaos, until his gaze lands on Seungmin.
Felix lifts a hand in a small, tentative wave before walking over. “Hi,” he says. “I realized yesterday that I never got your name.”
“Seungmin,” he replies. “I’m one of the lead caregivers.”
Felix nods, repeating it softly like he wants to remember. “Seungmin.” His eyes flick briefly toward Hyunjin. "And you’re Hyunjin, right?”
Hyunjin grins. “Guilty.”
Felix bows his head slightly, gratitude written plainly across his features. “Thank you, both of you. Jeongin-ah talked about you all night. He was very excited that Seungmin played dolls with him.”
Warmth creeps up Seungmin’s neck. “It really wasn’t anything special.”
Felix smiles anyway. “It was to him.”
After a brief pause, Felix shifts, suddenly a little unsure. “Could you show me how to add people to the authorized pickup list?”
“Of course,” Seungmin says, already reaching for the clipboard.
Felix follows him to the desk, carefully writing names as he explains that his security team or manager might pick Jeongin up occasionally depending on schedules. Seungmin listens, nodding, watching the care with which Felix approaches every detail.
“That’s completely fine,” Seungmin assures him. “Thank you for letting us know.”
Felix exhales, visibly relieved. “Thank you.”
He turns toward the door, then hesitates, as if something’s caught on the edge of his thoughts.
“Can I ask you something?” Seungmin says before he can stop himself.
Felix turns back. “Yeah?”
“Who named you Yongbok?”
Felix freezes just for a second, then laughs quietly, cheeks coloring beneath the mask. “My grandfather,” he admits, a little shy.
Seungmin smiles. “It’s a good name.”
Felix’s eyes soften, pleased in a way that feels genuine. “Thank you.” He bows his head once more. “Have a good day, Seungmin.”
“You too,” Seungmin replies.
Felix leaves as quietly as he arrived, the door closing softly behind him.
Seungmin watches the space for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to the room, where Jeognin is laughing freely, already deep in play.
The rest of the morning unfolds the way it always does, carried along by small hands and smaller movements.
Circle time comes first. Seungmin sits cross-legged on the rug while the kids gather around him, voices overlapping as they sing their good-morning son. Jeongin presses close to his side, unusually chatty today, interrupting himself more than once to add little observations that don’t quite fit the lesson.
“My Appa makes brownies,” he announced suddenly, apropos of nothing, swinging his legs. “They’re really chocolatey.”
Seungmin smiles and nods. “That sounds delicious.”
“They’re the best,” Jeongin insists, proud. “He says it’s a secret recipe.”
Later, during free play, Jeongin builds a tower of blocks and informs Seungmin very seriously that from his new home, you can see really far. “Like the whole city,” he says, spreading his hands wide. “And there’s lights at night. Appa let me stay up to see them.”
Each comment is small and armless. But Seungmin hears the thread running through all of them, the quiet, persistent joy of a child who has something new and wants to share it with the world.
At lunch, Jeongin eats more than usual, chatting between bites about how his dad packs fruit differently and how their fridge makes ice “all by itself.” Seungmin listens, responding when needed, filing away the details without meaning to. It’s not unusual for kids to fixate on changes at home, but there’s something about Jeongin’s tone—bright and certain—that eases the last of the worry Seungmin had carried into the day.
When nap time finally comes, the room dims and settles. Mats are laid out, blankets tucked around small bodies. One by one, breathing evens out, the quiet broken only by the hum of the heater and the faint sounds of the city outside.
Jeongin falls asleep quickly.
Seungmin and Hyunjin sit at the small table near the wall, speaking in whispers as they jot down notes and sip lukewarm coffee. It’s peaceful.
Then a sound cuts through it.
It isn’t loud at first, just a sharp, broken hitch of breath that doesn’t belong in a room full of sleeping children. Seungmin’s head lifts instinctively, his body already reacting before his mind fully catches up, and then he sees Jeongin sit bolt upright on his mat as if yanked awake by something unseen.
Jeongin’s face crumples, eyes wide and unfocused, his hands twisting the edge of his blanket as though he’s trying to hold onto something slipping away. The cry that tears out of him is raw and panicked, too big for the quiet room.
“No—no, Appa,” he sobs, voice cracking. “Appa—where are you?”
Seungmin is moving before the sound has even finished echoing, crossing the room in long, silent strides. He drops to his knees beside Jeongin, one hand settling firmly between the boy’s shoulder blades, the other gently grounding his wrist so he doesn’t claw at himself.
“Hey,” Seungmin murmurs, keeping his voice low, steady, something meant to anchor. “You’re okay. You’re here. You’re safe.”
But Jeongin doesn’t seem to hear him.
His cries only grow more frantic, breath stuttering in harsh, uneven pulls as he curls inward, calling for his dad again and again like it’s the only word he knows. His small body shakes with it, the kind of fear that comes from somewhere deeper than the dream itself.
Hyunjin is suddenly there too, hovering just behind Seungmin, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ve… I’ve never seen him like this.”
Neither has Seungmin.
Usually, when Jeongin has bad dreams, he goes quiet or withdraws. He presses his face into a pillow and lets the fear burn itself out slowly. This—this desperation, this reaching—feels different. It feels like something has been ripped open.
“Call his dad,” Seungmin says quietly, the decision settling in his chest with certainty.
Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate. He’s already turning, already grabbing the phone from the desk with hands that shake just a little. The ringing feels unbearably loud in the silence, each tone stretching out too long.
Felix picks up on the first ring.
“What’s wrong?” he asks immediately, his voice alert, already braced for bad news.
“It’s Jeongin,” Seungmin says when Hyunjin presses the phone into his hand. “He had a nightmare. He’s… he’s really scared.”
There’s no pause on the other end of the line, no questions asked. “Put him on,” Felix says, firm and gentle all at once.
Seungmin brings the phone close to Jeongin’s ear, careful not to startle him. “Your appa’s here,” he whispers, his thumb brushing soothing circles against Jeongin’s wrist.
Jeongin’s sobs hitch when he hears Felix’s voice, his cries still pouring out but softer now, threaded with desperate little gasps as he leans toward the phone like it’s a lifeline.
Felix speaks quietly at first, words meant only for his son, too soft for Seungmin to make out. And then his voice shifts, lowering into something melodic.
He starts to sing.
It’s barely above a hum, a lullaby carried through the phone speaker, warm and steady and impossibly calm. The sound fills the space around them, wrapping itself around Jeongin in a way Seungmin has never seen before.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Jeongin’s body begins to loosen.
His cries break apart into soft, uneven whimpers. His shoulders stop trembling so violently. His breathing evens out, shallow at first, then deeper, steadier, as though the fear is being gently pulled out of him note by note.
Seungmin watches, stunned, as the change takes hold.
After a minute—or maybe longer; time feels strange here—Jeongin presses the phone closer to his ear, eyes squeezed shut, tears still tracking down his cheeks.
“Appa,” he whispers hoarsely. “Can you come get me?”
There’s a quiet sigh on the other end of the line, heavy with something like regret and resolve all at once.
“Yes,” Felix says softly. “I’m coming, baby. I’ll be there.”
When Seungmin pulls the phone back, Jeongin doesn’t protest. Hyunjin scoops him up gently, cradling him against his chest as Seungmin brings the phone back to his ear.
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Felix says. “Thank you for calling me. Thank you for taking care of him.”
“Of course,” Seungmin replies, though his voice feels tight in his throat.
When the call ends, Seungmin remains kneeling there, one hand still resting on Jeongin’s blanket, his heart pounding.
He’s never seen Jeongin calm down like that. Never seen a nightmare dissolve so quickly, so completely. Normally, when fear takes hold of him, all they can do is stay close and wait for it to burn itself out.
For Felix to reach him so easily—through distance, through a phone, through a song—feels nothing short of startling.
And as Seungmin waits for the door to open again, he realizes he’s just witnessed something sacred.
Felix arrives less than ten minutes later.
He’s dressed sharply, hair styled, mask off like he’d just stepped away from something important. The moment he walks in, Jeongin spots him and breaks free from Hyunjin’s arms, running full-tilt across the room.
“Appa!” he cries, and Felix catches him effortlessly, holding him close as Jeongin buries his face against his chest and starts crying again, quieter this time, but just as intensely.
Felix murmurs to him, hand rubbing slow circles into his back. “I’ve got you,” he whispers. “You’re okay. I’m here.”
Seungmin watches from a few feet away, stunned.
Jeongin doesn’t freak out often, but when he does, it’s usually enough that the caregivers can only stay nearby and wait it out. Watching him melt so completely into Felix’s arms, watching Felix hold him without hesitation, without uncertainty, feels like witnessing something deeply private.
Seungmin catches fragments of Felix’s murmured reassurances, enough to piece together that the nightmare was about Jeongin’s mom, though he doesn’t hear the details. The realization only adds to his confusion.
After a moment, Felix looks up at him, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m going to take him home.”
Seungmin nods immediately. “I’ll grab his things.”
He moves quickly, quietly, returning with Jeongin’s bag and jacket so Felix doesn’t have to let go. As Seungmin adjusts the jacket around Jeongin’s small shoulders, he realizes the boy has already fallen asleep again, cheek pressed against Felix’s collarbone.
Felix exhales softly. “Thank you.”
Seungmin shakes his head. “Of course.”
Felix gives a brief wave as he leaves, careful not to jostle Jeongin. The door closes just as the lights come back on and nap time officially ends.
-
That night, Seungmin lies on his couch long after he should have gone to bed, the apartment dark except for the dim glow of his phone.
He knows he shouldn’t be doing this.
He knows it crosses a line of professional boundaries, ethical gray areas,and all the things drilled into him during training. Felix is a parent. Jeongin is a child in his care. None of this is Seungmin’s business once the classroom lights go off.
And yet, he scrolls anyway.
The search bar fills itself in the moment he types the first few letters of Felix’s name, autofill offering up headlines that make his stomach twist before he even opens them. Divorce. Custody battle. Public fallout. He clicks one, then another, then another, the dates blurring together as he sinks deeper.
Jieun’s words are everywhere.
Quoted cleanly. Repeated endlessly. Picked apart and reassembled by people who don’t know any of them.
She calls Felix unreliable. Claims he’s selfish, more invested in fame than fatherhood. Suggests, thinly veiled and sharp, that he can’t possibly raise a child properly when he’s “barely settled” in the country. There are digs about his accent, his grammar, his pauses when he speaks. One article paraphrases her implying that Jeongin shouldn’t be raised by someone who “still thinks in another language.”
Seungmin’s jaw tightens.
He thinks of Felix kneeling on the daycare floor, speaking softly and carefully, choosing his words not because he doesn’t know them, but because he does. He thinks of how gently he had sung through a phone, his voice steady enough to pull a child back from terror.
None of that matches what’s written here.
Seungmin scrolls faster, anger simmering low and unfamiliar in his chest, until a thumbnail catches his eye, a video embedded halfway down a page, older than the rest.
The title is innocuous. Something like Behind the Scenes on Set.
He hesitates, then taps it.
The video opens shakily, clearly filmed on a phone. The lighting is bright and artificial, the background a mess of equipment and people moving just out of frame. And there, right in the center, is Felix, younger, hair shorter, crouched low with his arms outstretched.
Jeongin toddles toward him. He can’t be more than a year old, unsteady on his feet, laughing breathlessly as Felix encourages him, voice warm and melodic even through the tinny audio.
“That’s it, baby,” Felix says, clapping softly. “You’ve got it. Slow—slow—yeah, just like that.”
Jeongin stumbles, nearly falls, and Felix lunges forward instantly, catching him with practiced ease. He laughs, presses his forehead to Jeongin’s, murmuring something too quiet for the mic to catch.
Seungmin feels strange watching it.
This moment was never meant for him. It happened in the middle of a workday, on a set Felix didn’t choose to bring his son to, but did anyway, because he wanted him close. There’s something intimate about it that makes Seungmin’s chest ache, like he’s intruding on a memory that belongs to someone else.
And yet he doesn’t stop the video.
Felix’s voice does something to him, low and gentle and unguarded in a way it hadn’t been at the daycare. It flutters under Seungmin’s ribs, unsettling and warm all at once, and he hates that he notices it at all.
More than that, he watches the way Felix watches his son.
Not distracted. Not performative. Fully present, and eyes locked on Jeongin like nothing else in the room exists. Like this is the most important thing he will ever do.
The video ends too quickly.
Seungmin sits there for a long moment afterward, phone heavy in his hand, the earlier headlines feeling distant now, hollow, and wrong.
Whatever Jieun told the press, whatever narrative she spun to keep control, this isn’t a man who didn’t want his child. This isn’t a man who needed blackmail to care.
Seungmin locks his phone and finally stands, the quiet of his apartment pressing in around him. He goes through the motions of getting ready for bed, brushing his teeth, changing, his thoughts still tangled in soft singing and small hands and the way Jeongin had run into Felix’s arms without hesitation.
When he finally lies down, staring up at the ceiling, sleep comes slowly.
And somewhere between one breath and the next, Seungmin realizes he’s stopped wondering if Felix is a good father.
Now he’s wondering how anyone ever convinced the world he wasn’t.
-
The next morning carries a weight Seungmin can’t quite shake.
He goes through the motions of unlocking the door, turning on the lights, and setting out the day’s materials, but everything feels faintly off, like the world is tilted just enough to keep him on edge. His thoughts keep drifting back to the night before: headlines scrolling past his thumb, cruel words dressed up as quotes, and that grainy video of Felix crouched on a set floor, arms open, voice soft with encouragement.
By the time Hyunjin arrives and the first parents begin trickling in, Seungmin has schooled his face back into calm professionalism. This is his job. This is where he is solid.
Still, his eyes keep flicking to the clock.
8:28
8:29
At exactly 8:30, the door opens.
Cold air rushes in, followed by Felix, bundled against the winter chill, a black mask covering the lower half of his face and a knit beanie pulled low over his blond hair. Jeongin is tucked against him, wrapped in layers, one mittened hand fisted in Felix’s coat as if he hasn’t quite let go of the morning yet.
Jeongin spots Seungmin immediately.
“Seungmin!” he calls, face lighting up.
Felix laughs softly, the sound warm even through the mask. “Good morning,” he says, voice a little rough, like he hasn’t been awake very long.
“Good morning,” Seungmin replies, and something in his chest tightens at how natural it feels.
Felix sets Jeongin down carefully, crouching to straighten his scarf and brush snow from his shoulders. Jeongin chatters nonstop about breakfast, about a truck they passed on the way here, about how Appa slipped on ice but didn’t fall, and Felix listens like every word is precious.
When he finally straightens, his eyes meet Seungmin’s.
There’s a moment there. Brief, quiet, charged with everything they don’t say, yesterday’s panic, last night’s research, the unspoken relief of seeing Jeongin smiling and whole this morning.
“Thank you again,” Felix says quietly. “For yesterday.”
Seungmin nods. “Anytime.”
Jeongin hugs Felix quickly and then runs off toward Beomgyu, already laughing, already gone. Felix watches him for a moment longer than necessary, something tender and unguarded in his gaze, before pulling himself back into the present.
“Have a good day,” Seungmin says.
Felix nods. “You too.”
When the door closes behind him, the room feels subtly altered, as if warmth lingers in the space he’s left behind.
The day moves forward in gentle pieces.
They paint snowflakes and read stories curled together on the rug. During free play, Jeongin drifts close to Seungmin, talking while he builds and draws, little thoughts spilling out unprompted.
“My appa isn’t used to snow,” Jeongin says matter-of-factly, carefully lining up toy cars. “But he plays anyway. He says it’s fun.”
Seungmin smiles. “Is it?”
Jeongin nods firmly. “Yeah. Eomma didn’t let me play outside. But Appa does.”
There’s no bitterness in his voice. Just the truth.
Something warm and steady settles in Seungmin’s chest.
When lunchtime ends and the snow outside thickens, the kids press their faces to the windows, breath fogging the glass. Laughter bubbles up, excitement contagious.
Seungmin meets Hyunjin’s eyes.
“Snow day?” Hyunjin says hopefully.
“Snow day,” Seungmin agrees.
Bundling the kids takes time—mittens lost and found, hats pulled down too far, and scarves tangled—but soon they’re outside, boots crunching into fresh snow. Jeongin throws himself into it completely, cheeks flushed, laughter bright as he tries to catch snowflakes on his tongue.
Seungmin watches him, heart full.
This is what childhood should be.
But, then he sees them.
Two figures beyond the fence. Phones raised, their lenses angled unmistakably toward the playground.
The joy drains out of Seungmin in an instant.
“Inside,” he says sharply. “Everyone inside. Now.”
The kids freeze, confused by the sudden shift, but Hyunjin is already herding them toward the door. Jeongin looks back once, brow furrowed, before following the others inside.
The moment the last child is through the door, Seungmin turns back, fury roaring to life.
He strides toward the fence. “What do you think you’re doing?”
One of them lowers their phone slightly, unapologetic. “We heard that Lee Felix’s kid goes here.”
“You are taking pictures of children,” Seungmin shouts. “On private property. I can have you arrested for this.”
They start to protest, but he cuts them off, voice shaking with barely contained rage. “I will be informing every parent here. If you don’t leave right now, I will press charges.”
They retreat quickly, muttering as they disappear down the sidewalk.
Seungmin stands there for a moment longer, chest heaving, then turns back inside.
The kids are clustered together near the door, eyes wide and uncertain. Jeongin steps closer instinctively.
“It’s okay,” Seungmin says gently, forcing his voice to soften. “You’re all safe.”
Jeongin nods, leaning into him just a little, and Seungmin rests a steady hand on his shoulder.
The rest of the afternoon settles into something as peaceful as a daycare can get. After the tension of the incident, the classroom felt quieter, not subdued, but steadier, like everyone has collectively exhaled.
Jeongin eats his snack without fuss, curls up on his mat when nap time comes, and to Seungmin’s quiet relief, falls asleep quickly and stays asleep. No tossing, no murmured protests, just slow and even breathing with his small hands tucked beneath his cheek.
Seungmin smiles at the sight, whatever fear had followed him into yesterday hadn’t followed him into sleep today, and that alone feels like a victory.
By the time nap time ends and the room fills again with voices and stretching limbs, the day is already winding down. Jackets are lined up, and cubbies slowly emptying as parents trickle in. Seungmin is helping Minseo with his zipper when the phone at the desk rings.
The sound makes his heart jump, and he wipes his hands on his apron and answers. “Hello, this is Seungmin.”
“Oh–hi,” Felix’s voice comes through the line, warm and unmistakable. “Sorry to call so late. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”
Seungmin straightens instinctively. “Of course. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Felix says, and there’s a soft laugh beneath the word, like he’s genuinely amused. “I’m fine. I actually wanted to talk to you about earlier. One of my security team members is going to pick up Jeongin-ah today, and he’l want to talk to you about the paparazzi situation.”
Seungmin’s stomach tightens. “Are you, uh, are you alright?” he asked before he can stop himself. “And how did they even find the daycare?”
Felix hums thoughtfully on the other end. “That’s the part we’re still figuring out. But really, thank you. I heard what you did.” His voice drops slightly, more sincere and intimate. “Not everyone would’ve stood up like that. Especially for kids that aren’t theirs.”
Seungmin feels heat rush straight to his face.
“I–uh,” he stammers, suddenly very aware that Hyunjin has angled himself closer, openly eavesdropping. “It was–it was nothing. Just my job.”
Felix chuckles softly. “Still. I admire it.”
Hyunjin’s eyebrows shoot up. He mouths admire it? exaggeratedly, barely containing his grin.
Seungmin shoots him a warning look and fails miserably to cool the flush creeping up his neck. “Th-thank you,” he manages. “Your–your security should be here soon, then?”
“Any minute,” Felix says. “I’ll talk to you later, Seungmin.”
The call ends, and Hyunjin immediately leans in. “So,” he says innocently, “what was that about?”
Seungmin refused to meet his eyes. “Nothing.”
Hyunjin snorts. “Sure.”
The door opens less than a minute later.
The man who steps inside looks apologetic before he even speaks, broad-shouldered with his dark hair slightly mussed like he rushed to get here. He’s dressed neatly but practically, coat still dusted with snow, and eyes scanning the room with a careful and protective awareness.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says immediately, bowing his head slightly. “Traffic was worse than expected.”
Before Seungmin can respond, a familiar voice cuts through the room.
“Channie-hyung!” Jeongin lights up like someone flipped a switch. He bolts forward, and Chan barely has time to crouch before Jeongin launches himself into his arms. Chan laughs easily as he catches him, lifting him up and jostling him playfully.
“Hey, buddy!” Chan grins. “Whoa, you get heavier every time I see you!”
Jeongin giggles, arms looped round his neck. “We played in the snow! And I took a nap! And Seungmin yelled at bad people!”
Chan raises his brows, amused. “Yeah? Sounds like a big day.”
He listens attentively as Jeongin rattles off every detail, nodding along like nothing in the world matters more, before setting him down gently. “Why don’t you grab your stuff, champ? I’m gonna talk to your teachers.”
Jeongin nods and darts off.
Chan turns back to them and offers a hand. “I’m Chan. Felix’s personal bodyguard.”
Hyunjin goes visibly red. “Oh,” he says faintly. “Hi.”
Chan smiles politely, then focuses on Seungmin. “Felix told me what happened earlier. You handled it exactly right. Thank you.”
Seungmin blinks. “I–I just didn’t want the kids scared.”
“And that’s exactly why it mattered,” Chan says firmly. He pulls out his phone and taps a few times. “Here. This is my number. If anyone like that shows up again, call me immediately, and do exactly what you did today.”
Seungmin saves the number ,fingers steady despite the lingering nerves. “Should we expect more of this?”
Chan exhales slowly. “Honestly? I don’t know. But for what it’s worth, the internet’s on your side. People are furious about adults targeting kids. They’re defending you and defending Jeongin-ah.”
Seungmin absorbs that quietly.
A moment later, Jeongin returns bundled up and ready, and Chan lifts him once more. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah!”
As they head for the door, Chan pauses, glancing back at Seungmin. “Oh–and,” he adds casually, “Felix really likes you.”
Seungmin freezes.
Chan grins and leaves before Seungmin can form a single coherent thought, with Jeongin waving enthusiastically as they disappear into the evening.
Hyunjin stares at Seungmin, eyes alight. “So,” he says slowly. “Felix really likes you.”
By the time Seungmin locks up for the night, his head is still spinning. Hyunjin’s laughter still rings faintly in his ears, far too amused by Chan’s parting comment, but Seungmin manages to escape with only a halfhearted wave and a muttered goodnight. The cold bites at his cheeks as he walks home, breath fogging in front of him, boots crunching against slush that hasn’t frozen solid yet.
He tells himself not to check his phone.
He makes it all the way to his apartment before giving in. Inside, the familiar quiet wraps around him, a comfort he usually craves after long days. He drops his keys in their dish, shrugs out of his coat, and sinks into the couch with a tired exhale. Only then does he glance down at the screen.
Notifications bloom across it like something alive, mentions, tags, and message requests. His stomach flips unpleasantly as he taps one at random, bracing himself for criticism, for scrutiny, and the kind of attention he never asked for.
Instead, he freezes, because the internet is exploding.
A shaky video clip, unmistakably him, standing in front of the playground fence has been reposted everywhere. The angle is bad and the audio is grainy, but the intent is unmistakable. Comments scroll endlessly beneath it, voices loud and furious and overwhelmingly on his side.
@Snowy_Owl15: That is how you protect kids. No hesitation or politeness. Just “get away from them.”
@tjtigertwt: Taking photos of children without consent should be jail time, actually. Good on this caregiver.
@trixielxie: Every daycare needs someone like this. Calm with kids, feral with adults who cross the line.
Seungmin swallows hard, his throat tight. He scrolls again.
@jayscape143: Man went full doberman mode. You don’t mess with a doberman guarding its pups.
That one makes him snort despite himself.
The replies spiral from there.
@jokeruponoc: DOBERMAN ENERGY FR. Stood there like “try me”.
@meochatas: Felix must’ve bee losing his mind watching this. I’d be crying if someone protected my kid like that.
Seungmin’s ears burn. He keeps scrolling, even though some instinct tells him he should stop.
@smininnotes: Okay but be honest… this is exactly felix’s type.
Seungmin nearly drops his phone.
“What?” he mutters loud, staring at the screen like it’s personally betrayed him.
The replies are worse.
@80sfilmclub: Protective, calm, doesn’t yell at kids but WILL yell at grown adults? Yeah. That’s his type.
@taeyongielove: How often do they even interact??? Because the chemistry is already there
@WinterSoldier95: New ship just dropped and it’s “daycare doberman x single dad celebrity.”
@HereToReadMiso: Felix watching that like: 😳💓
Seungmin’s face feels like it’s on fire.
He locks his phone with a sharp tap and drops it onto the cushion beside him, palms pressed flat against his knees as if grounding himself. His heart is racing, not with fear exactly, but with something hotter and more disorienting.
“This is ridiculous,” he says to the empty room. “Completely insane.”
He has no business being part of anyone’s narrative. He’s a caregiver. Felix is a parent. Jeongin is a child entrusted to him during the day, nothing more. The idea of people dissecting his behavior, projecting romance onto it, pairing him up with a man he’s known for barely more than a handful of days, it’s absurd.
And yet, his thoughts betray him without warning.
Felix’s laugh, low and easy, warm even through a mask. The careful way he listened when Jeongin talked, the way his voice softened instantly when speaking to his son. The memory of that same voice humming through a phone speaker, steady enough to pull a child out of a nightmare, curls uncomfortably in Seungmin’s chest.
He groans, dragging a hand down his face.
“Stop,” he mutters to himself. “You’re being stupid.”
He reaches for his phone again, hesitates, then decisively turns it face-down on the table instead. He stands, forcing himself into motion, washing up, changing clothes, nd moving through his small apartment with deliberate purpose so he doesn’t linger on the thoughts threatening to spiral.
Felix is just a parent. Jeongin is just one of his students.That’s where this ends.
By the time Seungmin crawls into bed, the room is dark and quiet, his body heavy with exhaustion. He stares at the ceiling for a long moment, jaw tight, before finally rolling onto his side and pulling the blanket up around his shoulders.
“Don’t think like that,” he tells himself firmly, eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t be weird.”
Sleep comes slowly, and right before it does, one traitorous thought slips through anyway, soft and persistent and impossible to ignore:
Felix really does have a beautiful voice.
Seungmin groans quietly, shoves his face into his pillow, and resolutely forces his mind elsewhere, determined, at least for tonight, to pretend this isn’t becoming something he can’t quite control.
-
The next morning, Seungmin is helping a child with their coat when he hears it, two parents near the cubbies, voices lowered but not nearly enough. He doesn’t mean to listen, but the words catch anyway, sharp and unmistakable.
“...just don’t think it's appropriate,” one of them murmurs.
“With everything going on,” another adds, glancing pointedly toward Jeongin’s cubby. “I mean, my kid didn't sign up to be part of some celebrity mess.”
Seungmin’s spine goes rigid. He straightens slowly, already preparing to step in, when the front door opens and cold air rushes through the room. Felix walks in with Jeongin tucked close, bundled in layers, and cheeks pink from the cold. Felix’s smile is soft and automatic, the kind he offers the world to keep it calm, but it falters almost immediately.
Seungming see’s it happen.
Felix hears them.
Jeongin doesn’t notice a thing, thankfully. He wriggled out of Felix’s arms, chattering excitedly about something he saw on the wya in, already halfway across the room toward his friends. Felix watches him go, pride flickering across his face, but the earlier tension doesn’t leave. His gaze drifts back to the parents, then to Seungmin, uncertainty settling into his expression like a bruise.
“I’m sorry,” Felix says quietly, once they’re close enough that Jeongin can’t hear. “If this is causing issues.”
The words hit harder than Seungmin expects. He hates how much Felix seems to shrink as he says it, how practiced the apology sounds, like it’s been carved into him by repetition. Seungmin swallows the sharp flare of emotion rising in his chest and forces his voice steady.
“Jeongin-ah isn’t a problem,” he says firmly. Felix looks at him, startled. “And neither are you. We’ll keep all the kids safe, and that includes him. You don’t need to apologize for being here.”
Something in Felix’s shoulders loosens, just a fraction. “Thank you,” he murmurs, though doubt still lingers in his eyes.
Seungmin tells himself that reassurance should be enough.
It isn’t.
The near-miss happens just after lunch.
The kids are transitioning back inside, energy high but manageable, when Seungmin notices a man lingering too close to the entrance. He’s pretending to scroll on his phone, but his attention keeps snapping up, tracking the movement of the children with an interest that makes Seungmin’s stomach drop.
When their eyes meet, the man smiles too quickly.
“Sorry,” he says lightly. “Just waiting for someone.”
Seungmin doesn’t respond. He ushers the kids inside with calm efficiency, locks the door, and only then does his heart start pounding hard enough that he has to brace himself against the desk. His hands shake as he reaches for the phone, dialing a number he hoped he wouldn’t need.
Chan answers on the first ring.
Seungmin explains what happened, words tumbling over each other despite his efforts to stay composed. Chan listens without interruption.
“You did the right thing,” Chan says when he finishes. “We’re sending extra security until the days ends. Felix is on his way so he can pick Jeongin-ah up early.”
Relief and dread collide in Seungmin’s chest. “Thank you,” he manages.
Felix arrives during nap time.
The room is dim and hushed, the children all curled beneath blankets, breathing slow and even. Felix moves quietly, but the moment his eyes land on Seungmin, something shifts. He sees the tension Seungmin hasn’t managed to shake in his tight jaw and restless hands.
“Hey,” Felix says softly, crossing the room. “Are you okay?”
Seungmin nods too quickly. “Yeah. Everything’s handled.”
Felix doesn’t push. Instead,he reaches out, fingers brushing Seungmin’s wrist in a brief, grounding touch. “Thank you,” he says, voice low and sincere. “For protecting him. For protecting all of them.”
Heat floods Seungmin’s face. “I just did my job.”
Felix studies him for a moment, conflict written plainly across his expression. “I’m going to try another daycare,” he admits quietly. “At least for now. One that’s better equipped for… this. For the sake of the other kids.
The words land like a punch.
Seungmin’s chest tightens painfully, fear flaring before he can stop it, not just at the thought of Jeongin leaving, but at the sudden, aching realization that Felix will be gone too. He forces himself to nod, even as the room feels emptier already.
“I hope it works out,” he says carefully. “Jeongin-ah is always welcome here. Anytime.”
Felix’s eyes soften, gratitude and regret tangling together. “That means more than you know.”
Jeongin doesn’t wake as Felix gently lifts him from his mat, cradling him close. Seungmin watches silently as Felix adjusts the blanket, presses a kiss to his son’s hair, and carries him toward the door.
Felix pauses once, glancing back. “Thank you,” he says again.
Then he’s gone.
Seungmin stands there long after the door closes, staring at the empty space where Jeongin had been sleeping, his chest aching with a loss he hadn’t prepared for. He tells himself this is how it should be, that safety comes first, always.
Even so, the quiet that settles afterward feels unbearable.
That night, Seungmin lets himself be dragged out of his apartment despite wanting nothing more than to disappear into the quiet.
The bar is loud in the way that it always is with too many voices layering over each other fighting with the music in the background, but it does nothing to soothe the ache sitting heavy in his chest. He listens more than he talks, nursing the same drink far longer than usual, his thoughts circling the same images no matter how hard he tries to steer them away.
Felix carrying Jeongin out of the daycare. Jeongin, asleep against his shoulder. The way Felix had looked back at him before leaving, gratitude and regret tangled together in his eyes.
Seungmin tells himself that it;s just concern for a student. That’s all it is.
He does not examine the way his chest tightens when he thinks about not seeing either of them again.
Hyunjin, unfortunately, has no restraint.
“I just want to say,” Hyunjin announces dramatically, leaning back in his chair, “that is is deeply unfair that the hottest man I’ve seen in years is no longer going to walk into our workplace.”
Changbin snorts. “You’re talking about Felix again.”
“No,” Hyunjin says, scandalized. “His security guard. Chan. Tall, broad, and an apologetic smile? The universe is cruel.”
Jisung laughs into his drink. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m mourning,” Hyunjin insists. “And now I’ll never see him again because Felix is switching daycares."
Seungmin flinches at the word never, fingers tightening around his glass.
While the others bicker, his phone ends up in his hand almost without him noticing. He tells himself he’s just checking the time. That he’s not doing that again.
The screen lights up anyway. The comments are still coming in waves, threads branching and spiraling as the story refuses to die down.
@juleslovesmnsng: the daycare worker handled that perfectly. Calm, firm, zero patience.
@maximoffzinha: that man said ‘not today’ and meant it. Absolute king behavior
And then—
@goldenminhyung: i’m sorry but felix x the daycare doberman?? i see the vision
Seungmin groans quietly, scrolling faster.
@_bencharmer_24: felix likes gentle but protective people. this is literally his type.
His ears burn. He’s halfway through locking his phone when it's suddenly yanked out of his hands.
“Hey!” he protests.
Jisung is already squinting at the screen, grin spreading across his face. “Oh my god. Are you reading shipping comments?”
Hyunjin lunges across the table. “Let me see! Oh. Ohhhhh.”
Seungmin drops his head onto the table with a dull thud. “Please stop.”
Changbin laughs,” You have a crush.”
“I do not,” seungmin muffles into the wood.
“You absolutely do,” Hyunjin says cheerfully. “And it’s tragic, because noe neither Felix nor his hot bodyguard are coming back.”
Seungmin exhales shakily, the muir draining out of him despite himself. “It doesn't matter,” he says quietly. “We’re not going to see them again anyway.”
The table goes a little quieter at that.
Jisung gives him a look but hands his phone back without another joke. Seungmin doesn’t open it again.
-
The next morning comes too quickly.
The daycare feels different without Jeongin.
Seungmin notices it immediately, even before the kids arrive, the empty cubby, the missing jacket hook, and the way the room feels just slightly off-balance. He goes through the morning routine on autopilot, greeting kids, smiling at parents, and keeping everything moving.
At 8:30 on the dot, his body stills. He looks at the door without meaning to.
It stays closed.
No rush of cold air, no soft laugh, no small voice calling his name.
The clock ticks forward, indifferent.
Seungmin swallows and forces himself back into motion, reminding himself that his is normal. Kids leave, families change. That’s how this job works.
Still, as the day unfolds, through story time and snack time and laughter, there’s a quiet absence that lingers, a space that doesn’t quite fill no matter how busy the room becomes.
When he catches himself glancing at the door again later, he turns away quickly, pretending he doesn't feel the loss settling deeper than he expected.
He moves through the drag of the day because he’s trained himself to keep going even when something feels wrong, but the absence presses in on him from every corner of the room. Jeongin’s cubby sits empty, too neat, like it’s waiting for someone who just stepped away fro a moment. Seungmin catches himself glancing toward it more than once, fingers hovering before he remembers there’s nothing to straighten, nothing to check.
At the end of the day, Hyunjin leaves early, apologizing as he shrugs into his coat. “Dance class,” he says, trying to sound upbeat. “You sure you’ll be okay locking up?”
When the last parent leaves and the door clicks shut behind him, Seungmin gets to work. He wipes down the tables that are already clean, lines up chairs that don’t need lining up, and drags the end of day routine out longer than necessary because he’s not ready to face how empty the room feels.
Eventually, there’s nothing left to do but lock up.
He turns off the lights one by one, the room dimming until only the soft glow from the hallway remains, and reaches for his keys. That’s when he hears it.
Footsteps, and the door opening again.
Seungmin turns, already prepared to politely explain that they’re closed, and freezes.
Jeongin is standing there.
For a split second, Seungmin thinks he’s imagining it, that his brain has finally betrayed him. Then Jeongin’s face breaks open into the biggest smile Seungmin has ever seen.
“Seungmin!” Jeongin runs.
He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t slow down, and doesn’t look back. He barrels across the room and crashes straight into Sseungmin, arms wrapping as far as they can reach like he’s afraid to let go even for a second. Seungmin drops instinctively, knees hitting the floor as he catches him, arms circling Jeongin’s small body without thinking.
“Hey–hey,” Seungmin breathes, stunned. “What are you–”
Jeongin presses his face into Seungmin’s shoulder, voice muffled and urgent. “I no want to stay,” he says. “I cried. I said I wanted you.”
Seungmin’s chest tightens painfully, and he looks up to see Felix standing just inside the doorway.
Felix looks exhausted. Not the kind of tiredness that comes from lack of sleep, but the kind that settles into your bones after too much worry and too many decisions made too fast. But beneath it, there’s relief, raw and unmistakable, in the way his shoulders finally relax when he sees Jeongin in Seungmin’s arms.
“He refused,” Felix says quietly, stepping closer. “They tried everything. New toys, new teachers, everything. He just kept asking for you.”
Jeongin tightens his grip, like he’s afraid Felix might take him away again.
Felix crouches in front of them, eyes soft but serious. “I can’t do that to him,” he says. ‘I won’t force him through another separation when he’s already been through so much.”
Seungmin swallows hard. “Felix, I—I don’t understand–”
“I want to ask you something,” Felix says gently, cutting them off. “And I need you to know this isn’t pressure. You can say no.”
Seungmin nods slowly, heart hammering.
“I want you to be Jeongin’s personal nanny,” Felix says. “Full time.”
The words don’t land all at once, they echo and reverberate, like the room has suddenly become too big and too small at the same time.
“What?” Seungmin whispers.
Felix doesn’t rush him. “I’ve watched how he responds to you,” he says. “How you protect him, how you calm him. How safe he feels with you. I’ve never seen him attach to someone like this outside of family.”
Seungmin's arms tighten unconsciously around Jeognin, who has finally lifted his head to look between them, eyes wide and hopeful.
“I want the best for my son,” Felix continues, voice steady despite the emotion beneath it. “And right now, that’s you. I already have someone ready to take over your position here if you choose to leave. This won’t hurt the other kids. I made sure of that before I came.”
Seungmin shakes his head faintly, overwhelmed. “You… you planned all this?”
“I wouldn’t ask otherwise,” Felix says simply.
Jeongin tugs at Seungmin’s sleeve. “You come with me?” he asks softly.
Something inside Seungmin gives way completely. He looks at Felix, at the father who fought for his child, who sang him out of nightmares, and who is standing here offering trust without demands, and then back at Jeongin, warm and solid and clinging to him like home.
“Yes,” Seungmin says, voice shaking just slightly. “I’ll do it.”
Felix exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days. “Okay,” he says softly. “Okay. Thank you.”
He stands, pulls out his phone, and hands it to Seungmin. “My number.”
The exchange phone with a few taps and a vibration in Seungmin’s hand.
Felix smiles, relief and something gentler shining through. “I’ll text you.”
Jeongin finally loosens his grip enough to beam up at Seungmin. “You’re coming home with me.”
Seungmin lets out a breathless laugh, still dazed. “Looks like it.”
Felix shepherds Jeongin back toward the door, pausing once to look back at Seungmin. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
They leave, the door closing softly behind them.
Seungmin is still standing in the middle of the room when his phone buzzes.
Felix: see you tomorrow at 8:30.