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The last time Soobin bleached his hair had been his sophomore year of college. His little sister, Sora, had been studying to become a licensed hairdresser, and she’d spent days begging him to let her practice. He finally caved.
It looked awful.
His dad hated it, which made Soobin love it.
And now, seven years later, he does it again.
He’d only started talking to Sora about a month ago—small messages at first, awkward hellos, delicate little tests of the air between them. She has her own salon now. A real one, with her name on the window. And when she asked him to come by, he said yes.
He wasn’t sure why. Or maybe he was. He's a dad now, that changes things.
He sits in her chair for the hour and a half it takes to bleach, tone, cut. Sora moves with quiet confidence, the kind that comes from years of work, from carving out a life on her own terms.
And when she finally washes the bleach from his hair, her fingers gentle behind his ears, neither of them say anything about the tears gathering in Soobin’s eyes. They pretend it’s the shampoo.
Sora squeezes his shoulder once, brief and warm.
“There,” she says softly. “You look good, oppa.”
Soobin nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat.
He thanks her, hugs her stiffly, promises he’ll visit again soon. He means it. Then he goes home. And everything goes to hell in under five seconds.
He barely has his shoes off at the front door, before he hears Beomgyu's voice from the living room, “You look hot.”
Soobin rolls his eyes immediately, “Hi baby.”
“Like really hot,” Beomgyu calls back lazily. “Like if you came home looking like this when I first moved in…”
Soobin steps into the living room, shrugging off his jacket. “You’re ridiculous.”
Haneul is asleep on Beomgyu’s chest.
The toddler is sprawled like a tiny starfish, one chubby cheek squished against Beomgyu’s collarbone, his soft dark hair sticking out in every direction. One of his socks is missing, which means it’s probably somewhere under the couch again.
Beomgyu has one hand resting protectively over the middle of his back, absently rubbing slow circles that make Hanuel’s breathing deepen even in sleep.
Soobin's heart feels too big for his chest, he loves them so much.
“Oh,” Beomgyu says again, quieter this time. “No wait. Seriously. Wow.”
Soobin makes a face. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“I’m just appreciating the view.”
“You’re being weird.”
“Hyung, you look like really hot, actually. Wanna make a baby?” His voice does that thing where Soobin can't tell if he's actually horny or just being whiny.
Soobin scoffs and bends down to find the sock Haneul's missing, “You don't even want anymore kids, we've talked about this, one Bug is enough—”
Haneul stirs.
His tiny nose scrunches, mouth opening in a little sleepy pout as he wakes up the way all toddlers do—confused like they're startled by their own conciousness.
“Hi Buggy.” Beomgyu says gently, still rubbing his back in a practiced motion.
Haneul blinks groggily, his big dark eyes drift around the room, looking so much like Beomgyu it makes Soobin's chest hurt.
His eyes land on Soobin, and Soobin's face slips into a warm smile, and immediately his son's entire face crumples, a loud wail leaving his mouth in seconds.
Soobin startles so hard he almost drops the sock he’d just picked up, “Wh—hey, Bug, what's wrong?”
Haneul is suddenly thrashing in Beomgyu’s arms, tiny fists pushing against his chest like he’s trying to escape the situation entirely.
“Whoa, whoa,” Beomgyu says, startled.The only response is loud hiccuping sobs, pitiful and heartbreaking.
Beomgyu looks up at Soobin, a panicked expression on his face, fully expecting his Alpha to fix it because he fixes everything.
“What did you do?” Beomgyu hisses out.
“I didn’t do anything!”
Haneul points a tiny furious toddler finger right at Soobin. Then he buries his face into Beomgyu’s shoulder like he’s seen something deeply upsetting.
“Bug?” Soobin says cautiously.
This only makes things worse, Haneul peeks again hearing his appa's voice, but not seeing him. Then he cries even harder.
Soobin’s jaw drops, “Oh my god. Baby, I don't think he recognizes me.”
“Haneul-ah, it's Appa.” Beomgyu says it gently, bouncing him a little, the practiced sway of someone who has spent two years instinctively adjusting his body to the weight and moods of a small child. Normally that voice works like a spell. Normally Hanuel melts the second Beomgyu starts that low soothing murmur.
Not today.
Haneul lifts his head just enough to peek. His eyes are wet, lashes clumped together, cheeks flushed pink from crying, Soobin can feel his heart shattering. He looks straight at Soobin again and his little face crumples again.
“Nooooo!” He shoves his face back into Beomgyu’s shoulder like the sight physically hurts.
Soobin just stands there, frozen, sock still clutched in his hand, “Oh my god,” he says weakly.
Beomgyu presses his lips together, clearly fighting something.
“Don’t laugh,” Soobin warns immediately.
“I’m not—”Beomgyu snorts.
“You’re laughing.”
“I’m trying not to!”
Haneul hiccups loudly between sobs, clutching fistfuls of Beomgyu’s shirt like he’s afraid of being abandoned in a world full of strange platinum-haired impostors.
Soobin crouches down slowly, trying to lower himself into Bug’s line of sight again. “Hey, Bug,” he says softly. “Buddy, it’s me.”
Haneul peeks again. His eyebrows draw together in deep, serious concentration. The crying pauses for half a second. Soobin feels hope spark in his chest. Then Haneul lets out a terrified squeak and buries himself again.
Beomgyu loses his fight and laughs, not loudly, because their son is still upset, but it spills out of him anyway in wheezy little bursts.
“I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I’m sorry—”
“You’re not sorry,” Soobin says flatly.
Haneul hiccups miserably.
Beomgyu rubs his back in slow circles again. “Shhh, Buggy, it’s okay.”
Soobin rises slowly from his crouch, looking betrayed. “I cannot believe my own son thinks I’m a stranger.”
Beomgyu glances up at him again, “Okay wait,” he says.
“What?”
“Come a little closer.”
“Why?”
“Choi Soobin listen to your husband and come here.”
Soobin steps forward, Beomgyu angles Haneul slightly so he can see again, still holding him securely against his chest.
“Look,” Beomgyu murmurs to the toddler. “See? Appa.”
Haneul sniffles, very slowly he lifts his head, “Noooo.”
“Hi Bug.” Soobin says softly, tentatively reaching out to touch his son in a way he hasn't since those first weeks when he was still scared of breaking him.
Haneul frowns, deeply. His little lips pouting in a way that looks all too much like Beomgyu.
It’s the most intense expression a one-year-old can produce, his little brain visibly working through the problem.
Beomgyu whispers, barely containing his amusement, “He’s processing.”
Haneul leans forward suddenly, a tiny hand reaches out.
Soobin instinctively leans closer, and Haneul grabs a chunk of his hair and pulls, hard.
“Fuck,” Soobin hisses out before he can stop himself.
“Language.”
“You try getting your scalp ripped out,” Soobin mutters, wincing.
But Haneul is staring, not quite crying anymore, just staring very hard at Soobin’s face now that he’s leaned closer, his little brows scrunched together in deep concentration, still clutching the handful of hair like evidence.
Soobin doesn’t move.
Slowly, cautiously, he reaches up and gently covers Hanuel's tiny fist with his hand.
“Hey,” he murmurs softly.
Haneul blinks and sniffles, his lower lip trembles a little like he’s considering another meltdown.
Soobin’s heart climbs into his throat.
“Hey,” he says again, softer. “It’s still me.”
Very slowly, he leans forward the last few inches and presses his nose gently to Haneul's temple, the way he always does. It’s instinct, the quiet little nuzzle that makes Bug giggle nine times out of ten, the one that usually ends with sticky toddler hands grabbing his face. Too obsessed with the sweet smell of his baby, the smell of home.
Haneul stiffens, sniffles again, his little nose crinkles. Because under the strange bright hair and the confusing visual betrayal, the scent is the same, the warm scent of home and safety and the person who carries him when he’s sleepy.
Haneul pulls back slightly, stares at Soobin again.
“Appa?” he says uncertainly.
Soobin’s entire chest caves in with relief.
“Yes,” he breathes. “Yeah, Bug. Appa.”
Haneul studies him for another second, then he bursts into tears again.