Work Text:
Single dad Seungcheol was barely hanging on by a thread.
As he juggled a demanding office job, a five-year-old daughter who refused to eat anything green, and trying to keep his apartment from looking like an explosion of glitter and candy, he was exhausted all the time.
Thus, when he signed Eunchae up for an online preschool class, he expected chaos.
What he did not expect, however, was the teacher.
Teacher Jeonghan—or teacher Hannie to the kids—was warm, impossibly patient and somehow capable of getting an overexcited five-year-old to sit still by simply smiling at the camera.
He managed to remember each of his students’ favorite color, laughed at corny dad jokes like they were genuinely funny and always noticed when Cheol looked half-dead in the mornings.
Everything started small.
First with Eunchae insisting to log into the AirClass ten minutes earlier because “Teacher Hannie likes hearing about daddy’s cooking disasters!”
Then, Jeonghan privately messaging Cheol after class because his daughter fell asleep on her desk and asking gently, “Did you two have a rough night?”
The late-night text messages about homework slowly turned into conversations about favorite films, parenting struggles and Jeonghan admitting that he only chose to teach children because they were easier to understand than adults.
One particular evening, Cheol accidentally joined the AirClass with the camera still on as he carried his daughter through the apartment—hair a complete mess, singing a terribly off-key lullaby.
The following morning, Jeonghan quietly told him: “Your daughter talks about you all the time. Mostly about your burnt pancakes. I think she loves you a whole bunch.”
And Cheol—as sleep-deprived and flustered as he was—was hyperaware of just how pretty Jeonghan looked even through a grainy webcam.
“Maybe her dad loves you a whole bunch, too,” he murmured to himself.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
The first time Cheol heard Jeonghan laugh outside of the online classroom, it was entirely by accident.
Eunchae had stolen his phone from the coffee table and started a video call with the teacher using the AirClass app.
By the time Cheol had noticed, Jeonghan was already smiling through the screen.
“Teacher Hannie, daddy burned the fish again,” Eunchae reported, a serious look on her tiny face.
“I did not burn it,” Cheol argued from the kitchen.
Jeonghan’s shoulders shook with laughter. It wasn’t the polite kind, not the professional teacher kind. It was real—warm and helpless and so, so pretty that Cheol forgot that the pan was still on the stove.
“You know,” Jeonghan said once his laughter died down. “You’re nothing like how I imagined.”
Cheol cocked an inquisitive brow. “And how exactly did you imagine me?”
Jeonghan smiles fondly. “Taller.”
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
One stormy afternoon, class got cut shorter than usual because of unstable internet connection.
Cheol expected Eunchae to throw a dramatic tantrum but, instead, she sighed and said, “Daddy, teacher Hannie is probably lonely right now.”
Cheol brushed her bangs away from her forehead and said, “Sweetheart, I think your teacher will be capable of surviving thirty minutes without you.”
“No,” she insisted. “You should keep him company.”
Before Cheol could even respond, Eunchae grabbed his phone from the coffee table and fitted up iMessage. She sent Jeonghan one sticker after another, then somehow started a conversation.
By the time Cheol was able to wrestle the phone free from his daughter’s hands, Jeonghan had already replied: “Your daughter is very persuasive, Mr. Choi.”
And, for some reason he couldn’t quite name, he replied: “Unfortunately, she got that from me.”
The typing bubble appeared and disappeared, and then—
“Oh? Prove it.”
Cheol stared at his screen for a full minute while Eunchae watched him carefully before saying, “Daddy, you have a crush.”
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
Jeonghan visited the Chois for the first time because the preschool was dropping off activity kits for the students.
Cheol unwittingly opened the apartment door for him. He wore dark-gray sweatpants and thick-rimmed glasses with his hair in disarray—clearly he was fresh from a nap beside his daughter.
Jeonghan froze at the archway.
Cheol blinked slowly, sleepily. “Uh…hi?”
Jeonghan paused, the silence lasting just a little too long.
Then Jeonghan blurted out, “You look very domestic.”
Cheol tilted his head, lost. “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know,” Jeonghan replied weakly. “I just think if someone saw you carrying groceries they’d immediately want to marry you.”
Silence fell upon them. Complete, utter silence.
Then, from inside the apartment, Eunchae yelled, “Teacher Hannie said he wants to be my other daddy!???”
Jeonghan dropped the activity kits, sending them scattered on the carpeted floor.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
The first time Cheol realized he was genuinely in big, big trouble was during bedtime.
Eunchae was laying half asleep on his chest while he scrolled through the iMessage exchanges between him and Jeonghan—stickers, emojis, photos of classroom crafts, complaints about difficult parents, and a blurry selfie of Jeonghan buried in stuffed animals after a long day of work.
The teacher captioned it “Eunchae made me wear a plastic tiara for three hours, did you know that?”
Cheol smiled before he ever could stop himself. Then Eunchae opened one eye and murmured softly, “You smile at teacher Hannie differently, daddy.”
Cheol stilled, fingers stopping at another blurry selfie of Jeonghan. “Different how?”
Eunchae yawned, arms extending to hug her father tighter. “Like how cartoon princes look at princesses.”
Somehow, hearing such words from a five-year-old felt more pleasantly terrifying than any confession ever could.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
Cheol began looking forward to mornings.
It was embarrassing, really.
Usually, he would have to drag himself out of bed purely out of responsibility, surviving merely on caffeine and determination to tend to his daughter and earn a living.
Lately, however, he often caught himself fixing his hair before logging Eunchae into the AirClass app.
…Just in case the camera accidentally switched on.
One glorious morning, Jeonghan noticed Cheol efforts, saying, “You look extra awake today, Mr. Choi.”
“I’m always awake,” Cheol replied, gently scoffing.
Jeonghan squinted at him suspiciously, humming. “That’s…interesting. Because last week you fell asleep during phonics.”
“In my defense,” Cheol clipped. “The letter of the day was very boring.”
“It was B.”
“Exactly.”
Jeonghan laughed breathily, eyes turning into cute little crescents—and Cheol suddenly understood why children trusted him so easily.
Because being around Jeonghan felt warm and safe…like being chosen gently.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
Jeonghan found out that Cheol was one who skipped meals constantly. Not because the single father told him so, but because Eunchae innocently mentioned it to him during class.
“Daddy says coffee is breakfast,” she said.
Jeonghan slowly turned toward the camera with an expression of deep concern.
Cheol, who was passing behind the screen, froze.
“Traitor,” he mouthed at his daughter.
That evening, Jeonghan messaged him: “Mr. Choi, you can’t survive on coffee alone.”
“Watch me,” Cheol replied.
“That seemed threatening.”
“I’m a single dad. Everything I do is threatening.”
“Did you eat dinner?”
“Possibly…”
“MR. SEUNGCHEOL CHOI,” Jeonghan replied in all caps.
Cheol chuckled under his breath, replying, “Why do I feel like I’m being scolded by the prettiest person alive?”
The typing bubbles appeared, then disappeared, then appeared once again—
“Go eat your dinner…please.”
Cheol noticed that Jeonghan never denied what he said.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
One particular weekend, Eunchae convinced Cheol to bake cookies for her teacher.
The kitchen, as expected, became a disaster zone within minutes—flour everywhere, eggshells on the counter, a bag of chocolate chips mysteriously missing.
At one point, Eunchae Facetimed Jeonghan so that the teacher could “supervise” the baking process. But the call quickly turned into Jeonghan laughing himself breathless as Cheol tried and failed to stop his daughter from feeding raw dough to Kkuma.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” Seungcheol accused, eyes narrowing at Jeonghan.
Jeonghan grinned from the screen, bright and mirthful. “You’re very cute when stressed.”
Cheol very nearly dropped the mixing bowl while his daughter gasped theatrically.
“Teacher Hannie flirted with daddy!”
Jeonghan promptly hid his face behind his hands as Cheol stared at him through the screen—his own ears burning red.
Then, very softly, Cheol said: “Say it again.”
Jeonghan peeked through his fingers and smiled.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
Jeonghan fell asleep during a call one particular night. He’d been exhausted the whole week—the children had been difficult and more so were the parents. Jeonghan looked tired even while smiling during class.
That night, he went on Facetime with Cheol so he could help Eunchae in finishing an art project. an d, at some point, his voice grew quieter, slower.
Until, eventually, he fell asleep right atop his desk, cheek squished against his arm.
Eunchae whispered to her father, “Teacher Hannie is sleepy…”
Cheol nodded but neither of them hung up.
For a long moment, Cheol just watched Jeonghan—the soft rise and fall of his breathing, the messy long hair falling into his eyes, the peaceful expression he rarely saw during busy mornings.
Eunchae looked at him seriously, a knowing look on her face. Then—
“Daddy, you love teacher Hannie already, huh?”
Cheol opened his mouth to protest but the words never came out.
Because honestly? He thought she might be right.