Work Text:
“Baby, we need to start early if we want to finish shopping by evening,” Mark says, standing just outside the washroom while Junior rinses and wrings out his shirt.
“Yes, I’ll be done in ten minutes. You get him ready first,” Junior replies from inside. Mark only shakes his head and goes to sit beside Jummo. The little boy is already bathed and dressed, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, completely absorbed in his nursery rhymes.
“Mo baby,” Mark says softly, brushing fingers through Jummo’s hair. “Do you have something in mind? What would you like to be tomorrow?”
Tomorrow is Jummo’s career day at school— his first real event, the first of many milestones they will prepare for as his parents.
Mark watches his son, already six months into kindergarten, it feels like only yesterday he had dropped Jummo off on his very first day of school. The tiny backpack that kept sliding off his shoulder no matter how many times Mark fixed it. The neatly ironed uniform that still smelled faintly of detergent. His hair combed flat, his water bottle clipped on, his little hand gripping Junior’s finger, reluctant but brave.
Mark had teared up shamelessly while Junior waved until their little boy’s retreating figure disappeared behind the school gates. Jummo had been shy and timid at first. Now, according to his teachers, he’s mischievous and somehow the leader of a tiny gang. Still, he has always been respectful and kind, so Mark doesn’t mind. He’s got his daddy’s never-ending energy and Mark wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.
“Spiderman,” Jummo says, not even glancing away from the TV.
Mark rubs his temple. He’s asked multiple times already and Jummo keeps giving the same answer.
“But baby, you were Spiderman on your birthday. Everyone saw you in that outfit,” Mark reasons gently. “Don’t you think you should try something different? And Mo… career day is about what you want to be when you grow up. Do you want to be a doctor? Or an engineer like Dadda?” He points at himself for emphasis.
Jummo finally looks at him… eyes sharp and judging in a way no four-year-old should be. Mark feels faintly embarrassed, realizing that must be how he looks when he judges people.
“I want to be Daddy,” Jummo declares. Mark nearly melts on the spot.
“You want to be an actor like Daddy?” Mark asks, smiling softly.
Jummo nods, suddenly shy.
“Come here, my naughty baby,” Mark says, pulling him into a hug and peppering kisses all over his face. “Did you forget Dadda is also an actor? Or does only your Daddy count?”
“But you said you are enniyeer,” Jummo argues between giggles, wrestling adorably with the word.
“Yes,” Mark laughs. “Dadda is everything.” he says, nibbling his cheeks.
“Mark, I’m done,” Junior calls, stepping out with damp clothes clinging to him. “I’ll take a quick shower and then we can go.”
“Okay,” Mark replies, setting Jummo back on the sofa.
“Listen, he still hasn’t decided,” Mark says, following Junior towards the bedroom as Junior picks up a towel and fresh clothes. “What about a chef? A doctor or an engineer feels too common.”
“Okay, darling,” Junior says easily. “But can’t he be Spiderman? He still has the costume.”
Mark’s eyes go wide. “I am the one who birthed him! Why is he completely like you? He’s been saying that since yesterday. I finally convinced him it’s not suitable for career day, and now here you are saying the same thing!” he finishes exasperated.
“How about we have another one with your traits?” Junior grins, wiggling his eyebrows as he steals a quick kiss. Mark swats him away, flustered.
Junior heads for the bathroom, then pauses at the doorway and turns back, unbuttoning his shirt. “So he didn’t say anything other than Spiderman?”
“He did say actor. Like ‘his Daddy,’” Mark replies, making air quotes. “But that’s not suitable either.”
“Well… maybe you confused him with the degree you never got to use,” Junior says lightly. “And sometimes you love acting like your dad. What’s wrong with being an actor now, Mark?”
“That’s not it,” Mark says quickly. “How do you even shop for an actor costume? He should wear something with a uniform.”
Junior doesn’t insist further. He just hums and steps into the shower. They can check the mall first and decide.
At the shopping mall, the kids’ section overwhelms Mark instantly. The sheer number of options is enough to give him a headache. By the time they reach their second mall, fans start spotting them.
Jummo waves loudly as Junior turns around on the escalator, momentarily confused by the gathering crowd before smiling and gently asking them not to crowd the area. Mark watches from one step above, worry creeping in as he grips Jummo’s tiny bag. But after Junior speaks, the crowd disperses.
They make Jummo try on so many outfits that the kid finally gets irritated and starts pestering them to go home. Mark scrolls through the pictures and finally settles on a pilot uniform– a white shirt with yellow stripes and black pants.
“What do you think?” Mark asks Junior. “Isn’t he adorable in this?”
“He’s so cute I almost texted Louis to ask about the requirements to become a pilot,” Junior jokes, swaying an increasingly annoyed Jummo. “But don’t you think he’ll get it dirty? The event starts at noon. I don’t trust this little menace.”
“Yes, but so will other uniforms, na, P’Ju,” Mark replies.
“Okay, okay,” Junior concedes. “Let’s just buy it and go home.”
The next morning, they have to drive across town for the Melody of Secrets shoot. Jummo is dropped off at school first, his excitement bubbling over while Junior fusses over him one last time. Mark eventually has to tug his husband away before he starts cooing all over again.
In his tiny pilot uniform, Jummo looks heartbreakingly adorable— the crisp white shirt tucked neatly into black trousers, polished shoes gleaming under the sun, a small cap perched proudly on his head. The tie sits slightly crooked by the time they leave but neither parent has the heart to fix it again.
Filming wraps up earlier than expected, leaving them with an hour before they need to rush back for the event. Their car is gone— Force and Book borrowed it to visit a nearby waterfall after inviting them along but they were still worn out from yesterday’s shopping and decided to skip it. They sit at the set, plastic chairs tilted back lazily, sipping fresh coconut water while the crew dismantles equipment around them when Junior’s phone rings.
“Ah? What—!” Junior jolts upright as soon as answers.
Mark’s on his feet instantly, dread settling deep in his chest.
Jummo’s teacher explains that he had been drinking his chocolate milk when another child bumped into him, causing it to spill all over his shirt. He’s been crying and asking for his parents ever since.
“Okay. Okay. Put him on the phone,” Junior says, switching to the speaker.
“Dadda…” Jummo’s voice breaks, followed by loud sobs.
Mark is already tearing up. “Mo baby, it’s okay. Calm down. Daddy and I are coming.”
“My shirt… dirty… choco… choco…” Jummo wails.
“Hey, Spiderman,” Junior soothes. “It’s okay. Daddy will fix it. Please stop crying, baby.”
“Come, Dadda… please come,” Jummo pleads before his teacher gently takes the phone back.
Mark and Junior don’t hesitate. Force is too far away, and the company van isn’t available. Junior spots a grey motorbike parked nearby. It must belong to someone from the crew.
Ten minutes later, they’re speeding down the road with helmets on, Mark clinging tightly and reminding Junior to slow down, while Junior can think of nothing but Jummo.
“Okay, listen,” Junior shouts over the wind. “You’re wearing a white shirt. What if we make Jummo wear yours?”
“Are you crazy? He is four!” Mark scolds.
He is mentally rummaging through Jummo’s wardrobe for anything usable. Mark had intentionally never bought him white clothes— this was the first. Any stain and Junior would end up sitting in the bathroom for hours scrubbing it clean. Even when Junior insists he doesn’t mind, Mark wants to save even five minutes of his husband’s time if he can. So he never lets Junior buy anything completely white for Jummo.
“We can fold it and tuck it in neatly,” Junior continues. “You’re not that big anyway.”
“This isn’t the time to joke, P’Ju! Stop it, focus on the road, and let me think!” Mark snaps.
That’s when Mark notices the blue-striped T-shirt Junior is wearing. When the production team had provided matching shirts for Force and Junior, Mark had liked it so much that, despite it being partly white he went out and bought a similar one for Jummo.
Mark’s brain sprints.
“P’Tay gave Mo a ukulele!” Mark screeches into Junior’s ear.
“Oh God, Mark. What does that have to do with anything right now?” Junior asks, unable to understand what his mate means.
He had hidden the ukulele one morning when Jummo wouldn’t stop playing it and Junior had completely lost it.
“No, listen, baby—” Mark starts.
And Junior knows. His husband has a plan. Which means he just has to execute it.
They drive straight home.
Mark runs to the wardrobe to grab the shirt while Junior climbs onto the kitchen counter to retrieve the cursed ukulele.
Junior pulls a pair of chopsticks from the rack and tapes them together, trying to make them look like a violin bow. Meanwhile, Mark grabs Jummo’s silver watch.
When they’re done, Mark holds the shirt and the makeshift bow as Junior wastes no time getting them to the kindergarten.
The sight that greets them almost breaks their hearts. Jummo is sitting in the corner, watching the other kids in their costumes play. His little hat is tilted to one side, his shirt pulled out of his trousers with a large blotch of chocolate milk staining the front.
Junior’s vision blurs instantly. The moment Jummo sees them, his eyes grow big and watery, lips trembling as he pushes himself up.
Junior barely holds it together when he scoops his son into his arms and the sobbing finally spills out. Mark’s right beside them, gently wiping Jummo’s face and stroking his hair.
“Sorry, Daddy,” Jummo sniffles, looking up at him. For someone so young, Jummo is wise beyond his years.
“No, baby. We’re sorry we’re late,” Mark says, voice thick as he takes Jummo from Junior.
“Okay, Spiderman, listen,” Junior continues, crouching in front of him. “We brought you something else, so don’t cry. The speech Dadda prepared? You don’t have to give it.”
He takes the shirt from Mark’s hand.
“Wear this,” he says, as seriously as possible. “And just blow a kiss. That’s all. Got it?”
Jummo nods, determined. Giving up is not something this family knows how to do. They always find a way.
Junior and Mark take him to the side, gently removing the stained shirt before helping him into the sky-blue striped white T-shirt. They tuck it in neatly.
Mark fastens the watch around his small wrist, wipes the last of the tears from his face, and presses a kiss to his forehead.
“Here.” Junior hands him the ukulele, gently adjusting it under his chin so it looks like a violin, then places the handmade bow in his small hand. All Jummo has to do is go on stage, say his name, and blow a kiss.
It’s time for the event, so Junior and Mark take their seats among the audience. Surrounded by neatly dressed parents, calm and prepared, they feel oddly out of place with their messy hair and sweat-damp clothes. On any other day, Mark would have cared. Today, he cares only about his son.
Force and Book spot them and come over to sit nearby. Mafox is dressed as a baker, looking unbearably cute.
Force’s eyes widen the moment Jummo walks onto the stage, and Book nearly screeches beside him.
Naturally inheriting his Daddy’s confidence, Jummo walks with short, determined strides. He stops in front of the microphone and takes his position, holding his “violin” exactly the way his parents taught him. For a full second, he closes his eyes. Then he opens them and scans the crowd, searching.
“Jummo! My son!” Junior shouts, already pulling out his phone to record.
“P’Ju, calm down,” Mark hisses, noticing other parents and teachers turning to stare.
“That’s my kid, krub!” Junior shouts again before finally sitting down.
Jummo spots them. A big, toothy smile spreads across his face as he grips the microphone.
“My name is Jummo. I… I am dressed as Daddy today,” he says, bending carefully to place the violin on the floor. He blows a flying kiss with both his little hands. From the side, his teacher softly supplies, “Actor.”
Jummo freezes.
His eyes widen. He grabs the microphone again.
“I am actor today! I want to be han–ome like Daddy!” he declares before snatching up his violin and running off the stage.
Junior and Mark sit there, stunned. Junior lets out a breathless laugh, a proud smile stretching across his face as his eyes shine. Mark lowers his phone, his own lips trembling into a soft smile before he leans over and rests his head against his husband’s shoulder.
After the event, Force posts a picture of Jummo and Mafox in their costumes, along with a clip of their little speeches. The internet immediately melts over the tiny duo.
“Why is Jummo dressed like Force?”
“But he said ‘Daddy’ in his speech…”
The comments start flooding in.
That’s when the four of them realize— Junior’s character reveal is scheduled for tonight. They all share a horrified look. Then collectively facepalm. Force deletes the photos and video within seconds. Management calls almost immediately, and they get a proper earful. But none of them really care when they remember how happy Jummo had looked, running after Mafox in his oversized shirt, clutching his chopstick “violin bow.”
Late at night, Mark turns in his sleep, still unable to rest. He looks at his husband and his child. Jummo sprawled across Junior’s chest, his habit of climbing onto Junior still intact, one tiny hand fisted into Junior’s shirt as if afraid the world might steal him away. Mark smiles softly.
Today was filled with chaos, yet he can’t sleep. Maybe because he realized, once again, how Junior and Jummo are his whole world. It was just as hard to see Junior panicking as it was to see Jummo crying.
His perfect husband— who trusts him more than anyone and always listens to him and his clever and understanding little boy, just like his daddy.
His heart feels too full. Today, they had saved Jummo’s first career day… from chocolate milk disasters to the motorbike dash across town… just like they had survived his very first day at school. Another milestone protected. Another memory stitched carefully into their little family’s story.
Somewhere online, photos and short clips from the event including Jummo running with his chopstick violin bow and Junior and Mark racing on the motorbike with his clothes in hand are already circulating. Teachers are laughing, kids are clapping, and a tiny boy is proudly declaring he wants to be “handsome like Daddy.”
The comments flood in:
“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“He wants to be like his daddy… I’m crying.”
“The way they rushed for him… best parents ever.”
“Protect this family at all costs.”
Mark giggles softly at the edits of Junior and Jummo side by side, quietly saving every single one of them. The support feels endless. He places the phone aside and presses gentle kisses to both of their cheeks and scoots closer, wrapping his arms around them.
Whatever it takes, I’ll protect you both, he thinks, dropping one final kiss onto Junior’s head before finally drifting off to sleep.