You're My Boy, My Boy, My Boy

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/26119609.

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: Gen
Fandom: 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Relationship: Kim Taehyung | V & Min Yoongi | Suga, Kim Taehyung | V/Min Yoongi |
Suga
Character: Min Yoongi | Suga, Kim Taehyung | V, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope, Jeon
Jungkook, Park Jimin (BTS), Kim Seokjin | Jin, Kim Namjoon | RM
Additional Tags: Kid Kim Taehyung | V, Min Yoongi | Suga is Bad at Feelings, No
Romance, Family Dynamics, You'll want to smack Yoongi on the head,
but Yoongi is trying his best, Adorable Kim Taehyung | V, Tsundere Min
Yoongi | Suga
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2020-08-26 Completed: 2023-06-25 Words: 191,805
Chapters: 32/32

You're My Boy, My Boy, My Boy

by chestnut_ghost

Summary

Min Yoongi left Daegu at eighteen to escape his dysfunctional family and pursue his music
dream in Seoul.

He didn’t expect to return five years later for the funeral of his estranged sister. Neither did
he expect his sister’s five-year-old son, Taehyung, to be shoved under his care.

For Yoongi who is used to the crude freedom of life without familial attachments,
navigating the sudden addition of Taehyung to his life is proving to be a steep learning
curve. But as the little boy begins to soften the walls Yoongi has built around himself and
worm his way into Yoongi’s heart, all the struggles and sacrifices might be well worth it.
 Chapter One
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The bus deposited Yoongi and trundled away, grey fumes sputtering out of its exhaust pipe. He
stood next to the rusted metal pole that was the bus stand and took in the road before him. When
the road was being constructed back in the 70s, two decades before he was born, a town meeting
had been held to discuss a name for the road. The name that the residents eventually decided upon
reflected their lack of creativity and their narrow minds. Main Street was the only real road in this
town, paved with asphalt and therefore unlike the other thoroughfares that could only be
considered dirt paths at best.

When he was a child, Yoongi had wondered why more roads hadn’t been built. Rain had often
turned those dirt paths into uneven ground of slippery mud that soiled his shoes and forced him to
be extra careful where he stepped next if he didn’t want to land face-flat on the puddles of gritty
rainwater. Then he grew older and he understood that building roads meant raising money and
people in this town preferred to pinch every penny than to contribute for the greater good. Then he
grew even older, and he realised that their reluctance made sense because no amount of asphalt
road would make a difference to this godforsaken town.

To get to the funeral home, he had to walk a distance up Main Street and make a left turn. But he
adjusted the backpack hanging off his shoulder and headed in the opposite direction instead.

On one side of the road was a field of tall grass and wildflowers that perfumed the air with their
heady scent; on the other side was a row of shops that were either closed for the day or
permanently boarded up. The latter was more likely. People didn’t thrive here, much less
businesses.

Yoongi stopped at the sundry store, the only shop that stayed open throughout the years.
Housewives in the town dropped by every day for necessities — salt, rice, canned tuna, toilet paper
— and for the freshest gossip exchanged over flapping fans or warm tea, depending on the season.
Now the outside benches under the overhanging roof were unoccupied, the air empty of chatter.
There was only a boy standing in front of the ice cream freezer that hummed abnormally loud in
the summer heat. Yoongi walked past him and went into the store.

Stepping into the store felt like going back in time. The interior had not changed since his earliest
memory of it. The walls and floor were still the same grey concrete. The cool space was still dimly
lit by a couple of bare light bulbs strung on exposed wires. Even the layout of the metal shelves
was the same. The only difference was that a flat-screen TV had replaced the previous chunkier
one. At least one thing had progressed.

He grabbed a bottle of orange Fanta from the fridge and noticed another difference. The person at
the register was not the ahjumma with the mole below her left nostril. It was instead a teenage girl
whom he didn’t recognise. She must be one of the ahjumma’s grandchildren forced to help out at
the store. She didn’t seem to recognise him either. After all she couldn’t have been older than ten
when he left this town five years ago. She grumpily collected his money and went back to her
cellphone, probably dismissing him as just the occasional, luckless traveller who happened to
stumble upon this town. Her ignorance was an unexpected stroke of good luck in his favour. He
had been prepared for the ahjumma to swoop down on him like an eagle that had sighted a fat
mouse and squeeze him dry for the latest gossip material.
Outside, he sat down one of the benches and drank his Fanta. The shade and the cold fizz cooled
him down. He half-expected someone to walk past, recognise him, offer condolences they didn’t
really mean and then proceed to judge him in their mightier-than-thou manner.

How could you be in the mood to drink Fanta so leisurely after what happened to your sister?

Fuck off and get on with your life, he would tell them.

But no one walked by so he didn’t have to swear, even though he would have welcomed the
opportunity. That would have taken off some of the steam in his chest that had nothing to with the
heat and everything to do with the fact that he was back in this town when he had sworn that he
would never return.

Halfway through his drink, with his thirst quenched, he realised that the same boy hadn’t moved
from his spot before the ice cream freezer. Yoongi observed him out of the corner of his eyes. He
didn’t know much about children — his most recent experience with one was the toddler whose
persistent wails had threatened to split his skull on the bus ride here and at that time he had sat as
far from the screaming demon as he could — but the boy before him seemed to be about four or
five years old. He wore a pastel green T-shirt with pastel pink and purple sleeves. His shorts were a
faded mustard.

Was he lost?

Yoongi swatted the thought away. There was a higher possibility of a road being built than a child
being lost in this town. The boy’s mother would surely turn up soon and drag him away by the ear.

He took another swig of the Fanta. It had lost a fair bit of its fizziness. Up in the sky, the clouds
shifted, and the area of shade under the roof diminished as the sunlight encroached. Being further
in, Yoongi remained in the cool shadow, but the boy was now fully in the sun’s glare.

Yoongi expected the heat to drive the boy into movement, either into the shade or back home. That
didn’t happen. The boy stood as though he was glued to the spot. A moment later Yoongi put his
bottle on the bench, rose to his feet, and went to the ice cream freezer.

The boy didn’t register his presence. He was staring at the time-bleached images of the different
types of ice cream emblazoned across the front of the freezer. There was something forlorn and
dazed about him.

Yoongi slid the top of the freezer open and grabbed the first cup ice cream his hands came into
contact with. He went inside the store, paid for the ice cream, and came back out. He strode to the
boy and extended his hand, wordlessly offering the ice cream and the wooden paddle spoon.

The gesture had the boy blinking slowly, the first sort of movement Yoongi had seen from him.
The boy tipped his chin a fraction down to stare at the ice cream, then lifted his face to look at
Yoongi. Yoongi noticed a couple of things about the boy at that moment. First, the boy was short;
he barely reached Yoongi’s mid thigh. Second, the boy had very large eyes. Third, he had pretty
large ears too.

The boy didn’t move a muscle. He stared at Yoongi, his matchstick arms hanging by his side.
Yoongi glanced at the ice cream in his hand. Chocolate chip mint ice cream. Did children these
days not like mint ice cream?

If he was someone who loved children, he would probably break into a wide smile and coddle the
boy into taking the ice cream. But he was Min Yoongi, so he only glanced once between the ice
cream and the boy, and raised an unamused eyebrow. The boy didn’t move immediately, as though
he was trying to wrap his head around what exactly was going on. Yoongi was starting to get
impatient when the boy finally moved and took the ice cream from him with slow and uncertain
hands.

That’s right, kid, you don’t reject free ice cream.

“You should get in the shade.” Because Yoongi’d be damned if he got blamed for turning a blind
eye while the boy overheated under the sun. He returned to the bench, and picked up the Fanta.
The condensation had left a dark ring on the pale wood.

The boy plodded into the shade and sat down on the other end of the bench. Yoongi watched
covertly as the boy clumsily peeled the lid off the cup. He held the spoon in his fist, dug into the
ice cream and delivered a small mound into his mouth. A flicker of delight danced across his face
and he took the next bite with greater relish. Maybe children did like mint ice cream after all.

“Do you know that it’s dangerous for you to accept ice cream from strangers?” Yoongi said. “Did
your eomma not teach you that?”

The boy’s dangling legs, which had just begun to swing idly, stiffened.

“The ice cream could be drugged. When you’re knocked out, I could toss you into the back of a car
and take you to a warehouse where I’ll lock you up for days as I extort your parents for ransom.
And when I don’t get the amount I want, I’d sell you to traffickers who’d cut your arms at the
elbow and your legs at the knees and make you beg on the streets of an unknown country while
they take every cent you earn.”

The boy stared at Yoongi, spoon sticking out of his mouth, his eyes wide and terrified.

Yoongi felt like a jerk all of a sudden, the worst kind that feed nightmares to children and cause
them to so wake up bawling in the middle of the night.

“I’m just saying that you should be careful with strangers.” Yoongi said. It was a half-hearted
attempt at trying to execute some degree of damage control. Everything he’d said was true. It was a
big bad world out there and everyone should be cautious, including children.

“You’re lucky it’s me today. I have no interest in child exploitation.” He looked out ahead. The
field of tall grass across the road swayed in a warm breeze, but other than that everything was still.

“Then again that kind of thing doesn’t happen around here. As much as terrible town as this town
is, it’s safe.“ He realised the moment he said it that it wasn’t entirely true. “It’s safe as long as you
don’t have any dreams of grandeur,” he amended, a corner of his lips ratcheting in a cynical sneer.
He turned back to the boy. “So it’s still safe for you.” He nodded at the ice cream in the boy’s
hand. “Go on, continue eating your ice cream.”

The boy surprised Yoongi by obeying instead of running off to look for his mother and complain
about the strange man at the sundry store. The boy continued to eat his ice cream, though his
earlier enthusiasm had deflated and he looked a lot more listless. Yoongi kept his mouth shut after
that.

By the time Yoongi emptied his drink, the clouds had gathered before the sun again. The noise
coming from the store’s TV had switched from the chaotic chatter of a variety show to the sombre
dialogue of a makjang drama. It was time to make a move. Staying any moment longer was
equivalent to stalling for time. He wasn’t a coward like that.
He got up and tossed his bottle into the blue trash bucket. The boy scrambled to his feet too.
Yoongi paid him no heed. He didn’t think anything was odd until halfway up the Main Street, he
realised a set of footsteps trailed after him.

The boy was following him.

When he slowed his pace, the boy slowed his pace too; when he picked up speed, the boy picked
up speed too, his tiny feet slapping a hurried rhythm against the asphalt.

Finally Yoongi stopped and squinted over his shoulder at the boy. The boy startled, his shoulders
rucking up.

“Do you live this way?” Yoongi asked irritably. The boy looked downward, maybe at his feet or at
the half-finished ice cream in his hands. Great, now Yoongi felt like he had just kicked a puppy.

Yoongi hoisted his knapsack up his shoulder and continued on the street.

Whatever, he decided. The boy’d go away on his own when he got bored. And if he didn’t, Yoongi
would just scare him away. A cold glance would do the job. He was good at giving glances of that
sort.

Yoongi turned left where the asphalt abruptly ended and the sandy path began. Unlike the sundry
store, some of the houses along the path boasted more obvious changes in the five years he was
gone. The Yangs had swapped their red brick enclosure for a trendier sandstone wall, the Parks
seemed to have turned a corner of their barren yard into a garden of sort, and the Lees had gone to
the extreme of completely tearing down their old house and building a modern bungalow in its
place.

What about the Min’s residence? Had his parents renovated their house, and hopefully also
renovated their mindsets along the way?

Yoongi smirked humourlessly, knowing that he was being ridiculous for even entertaining that
possibility in the first place.

The funeral home came into view ten minutes after he had made the turn. The roof peeked above
the trees, the curved grey tiles overlapping on their edges as they sloped downwards. The funeral
home had been repurposed from an old Buddhist temple when religions in the town diversified and
the temple could no longer cater to the different spiritual beliefs about the afterlife. Naturally there
had been resistance when the change was proposed, but eventually, just like how people had little
problem twisting their beliefs to suit their narratives, it was agreed that because Buddha was
benevolent and magnanimous, he wouldn’t mind sharing. So even though the building retained its
old facade, the funeral rites performed here are multi-religion — Christianity, Buddhism, Taoism,
or even a mishmash to suit the needs of the family involved.

Yoongi stepped into the compound and halted. Through the building entrance, he saw a few people
milling about inside.

What religion would Seungah’s funeral follow? He searched his dusty memory for a time where
he’d talked to her about gods and came up blank. Maybe like him, she didn’t have any religion.
That wouldn’t surprise him. It was difficult to believe in gods of any sort when you grew up in the
Min household.

Someone came out of the building. Yoongi would recognise her anywhere — nervous stride, timid
shoulders, silver-streaked hair parted down the middle and twisted into a bun at the nape of her
 neck. His mother startled when she saw him, her hands jumping before her chest.

“Y-yoongi,” she said from the top of the small flight of stairs, “you made it back.”

He felt his jaw tightening, and a stiff nod was all he could give.

Then she looked at a lower spot beyond him. Even before Yoongi turned to look over his shoulder,
he already knew that the boy was there. He had somehow forgotten that the boy had been
following him. Yoongi stared at the whorl on top of the boy’s bowed head. The boy was still
holding the ice cream cup, though the ice cream had melted and some of it had spilled over his
hands.

Yoongi turned back to his mother. The sun shifted and their gazes connected.

She tried to smile, but it was more like a grimace, as if things hadn’t gone quite as she’d planned.

“I see you’ve already met Taehyung,” she said.

TBC

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

I hope your interest is piqued. ;) Title borrowed from Tae's solo, Inner Child.
 Chapter Two
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

That evening, Taehyung was the last child left at the preschool. Baek-seonsaengnim sat at the play
table, looking up from her novel every now and then to peer out to the gate.

“Taehyungie, did your eomma say that she’ll be late today?”

From the play mat where he was stacking building blocks into a tower, Taehyung shook his head.
“Eomma doesn’t like to be late.”

Baek-seonsaengnim stood up.

“I’ll be right back.”

He heard her voice talking on the phone in the next room, but he couldn’t catch the words that
were said.

She was gone for so long that Taehyung became bored with the building blocks. He put the blocks
back into the bucket and the bucket back onto the toy’s shelf.

He picked up the tiger balloon the nice hyung at the zoo had magically twisted into existence. He
had so much fun just now. He saw so many animals — elephants, giraffes, penguins, bears,
monkeys and many others the name of which he’d forgotten. His favourite was the tiger. It looked
as cool as a king. His least favourite were the snakes. They didn’t look friendly.

He bounced the tiger balloon across the squares of the play mat, pretending that it was a real tiger
sprinting in the savannah. But that made him only a little bit happy, so he carefully put the balloon
next to his backpack where he wouldn’t forget to take it home with him later. Then, he went to the
window and stood on his toes.

Where was Eomma?

He really wanted to go home. He had sweated a lot at the zoo just now and his arms and legs felt
sticky. Eomma had promised him that he could have a bubble bath that night because he had been
good at eating his carrots and broccoli. He couldn’t wait to blow bubbles and squirt water with
Gomumu, his rubber octopus.

He heard Baek-seonsaengnim returning to the room. He turned to her. She was looking at him
weirdly with shiny eyes.

“Where’s Eomma?” He asked.

“Oh, Taehyung.” She knelt and threw her arms around him. His chest hurt a little from her squeeze.

“Where’s Eomma?” He asked again.

“I’m so sorry, Taehyung. I’m so so sorry.”

Even after the sky darkened from the blue of Taehyung’s favourite crayon to a deep purple, she did
not answer Taehyung’s question.
Taehyung went home with Baek-seonsaengnim that night. She made him dinosaur nuggets and
french fries for dinner and let him sleep on her bed. Her bed was softer than the one he and his
eomma shared. As he curled up under the covers, he thought of his mother. He wanted his eomma
so much that he felt like crying, but he bit down on his teeth so hard that he wouldn’t. His eomma
didn’t like it when he cried. She said that his tears broke her heart and he didn’t want to break his
mother’s heart, so he tried not cry unless he absolutely had to.

The following morning Baek-seonsaengnim told him he didn’t have to go to school. After
breakfast, the doorbell rang. Baek-seonsaengnim opened the door and Seungwan Noona came in.
She was one of his favourite people in the world. She often brought clothes, toys and cookies for
him. She also had a really pretty smile.

But she was not smiling today. Her eyes looked pink like a rabbit’s.

“Noona,” he tugged at her skirt, “where’s Eomma?”

She put a hand on his head. “Your Eomma…s-she…” Her voice sounded strange. She bit her lips,
then tried to smile at him, but it wasn’t that pretty smile. “It’s going to be okay, Taetae. You’re
going to be okay.”

He didn’t know what she was talking about.

He sat on the couch and played with his tiger balloon as Seungwan Noona talked to Baek-
seonsaengnim. The tiger had become smaller over night, and he felt sad he hadn’t had the chance to
show it to his eomma yet.

He left with Seungwan Noona after she finished talking to Baek-seonsaengnim. At the door, Baek-
seonsaengnim gave him a small goody bag that contained a chocolate bar, a lolly pop, some fruit
gummies and a sheet of shiny Pororo stickers. He said thank you.

“I don’t know what else I can do for him,” she told Seungwan Noona.

When they were in the car, he asked Seungwan Noona where they were going.

“I’m taking you back to your house,” she said.

That was the best thing he’d heard in a very long time. “Is Eomma at home? I want to show her my
balloon!”

Seungwan Noona was quiet for a long time. “No, your Eomma isn’t at home. I’m taking you home
to pack some of your things and then we’re going to my place. You like coming to my place, don’t
you?” Her voice was chirpy. “Gom’s been whining a lot these days. I think he misses you a lot!”

His chest had suddenly become heavier. “But I want Eomma.”

“Your eomma…she…something happened and she can’t be here with you right now.”

He stared at his lap.

The car stopped at a traffic light and Seungwan Noona turned her head over her shoulder to look at
him in the backseat. “Does Taetae not want to spend time with Noona? We’re going to have so
much fun.” She grinned. “We’ll play cards, do finger-painting and watch cartoons. I’ll make you
caramel popcorn too if you want. So don’t be sad, okay?”

He wanted to say that it wasn’t okay, but his eomma had told him that it was rude to hurt another
person’s feelings. So he clenched his hands and stared out of the windows at the passing trees until
the uncomfortable feeling behind his eyes went away.

At his house Seungwan Noona packed his clothes were into a small suitcase. She told him that he
could bring five of his favourite things with him, so he went to the bathroom to get Gomumu and
put it into the suitcase, along with his mini toy car, his crayons and his drawing paper. He took the
picture he’d drawn of his eomma and him standing in front of a ferris wheel down from the
refrigerator door, folded it carefully, and put it into his backpack because that picture was his most
favourite.

They went to Seungwan Noona’s house after that. She let him choose what he wanted to do, so
they baked cookies, played Snake & Ladders and went to the park where he played catch with
Gom. Gom ran very fast. Every time Gom caught him, Gom would tackle him to the grass and lick
his face and make him giggle. He had so much fun that he stopped thinking about his eomma for a
little while. That night he laid next to Gom on Seungwan Noona’s bed and fell asleep as soon as his
eyes closed.

But when morning came, the heavy feeling in his chest returned. He wasn’t very good at counting
so he didn’t know how much time had passed, but it felt like very long since he had seen his
mother. He supposed it felt like forever, because forever was a long time too. He knew that
because his eomma’d told him once that forever was bigger than a thousand, and a thousand was
very very big.

So he wasn’t very happy on his second day at Seungwan Noona’s house even though they did
many fun activities just like they had on the previous day. He asked her a few times where his
eomma was, but she would talk about something else every time — his favourite colour, what he
wanted for lunch, the cloud that looked like a chicken leg. He didn’t like that she didn’t answer his
question. Throughout the day the uncomfortable feeling at the back of his eyes kept returning, and
it took longer and longer for it to disappear.

After dinner that night Seungwan noona sat next to him on the living room sofa while he ate the
apple slices that she had cut for him.

“Taetae, a really nice lady is going to come tomorrow morning and take you to Daegu.” She was
smiling like that was a very good thing, but her voice didn’t sound like it was.

Taehyung stopped poking at his apple. “Daegu?”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded. “They’re very famous for hodu-gwaja. You like hodu-gwaja, don’t you?”

“Is Eomma going too?”

The smile on her face became strange, like she was trying to smile even though it was difficult.
“Do you know that your haraboji and halmoni there? Aren’t you excited to meet them?”

“Haraboji?”

“Yes! And your halmoni.”

Taehyung thought about his best friends at school, Sungmin and Pochu. Their haraboji and
halmoni often picked them up. Sungmin’s haraboji often had a lollipop in his pocket for Sungmin.
Pochu’s halmoni often took out a wrapped slice of cake from her purse for Pochu. Taehyung
thought harabojis and halmonis were like magicians. He wanted his own haraboji and halmoni too.
He had told that to his eomma once but she had looked so sad at that time that he didn’t mention it
again.

“I have a haraboji and a halmoni?” Taehyung asked.

“You do!” Seungwan Noona replied.

“I’m going to meet them tomorrow?”

“Yes you are.” She beamed and patted his head. “Say, why don’t we make them something and
give it to them tomorrow? I’ll help you.”

That sounded to Taehyung like a very good idea. He took out his crayons and drawing paper and
drew a tiger for his haraboji and a swan for his halmoni. He used his favourite blue crayon for the
tiger and the swan. Seungwan Noona helped him colour within the lines. After he was finished, he
carefully folded the drawings and put them in his backpack, together with the drawing of his
mother and him.

He couldn’t sleep that night, just like how he couldn’t sleep that night before he went to the zoo.
He couldn’t wait to meet his haraboji and halmoni and give them the drawings.

The next morning Seungwan Noona packed his suitcase and held out his backpack for him to
wriggle his arms into. At the door she asked him if he had left anything behind. When he shook his
head, she took his hand and they went down the stairs to the street outside, where a woman waited
in front of a black car. The woman smiled and waved at him.

“Taetae, say hello to Yeri Noona,” Seungwan Noona said, giving his hand a gentle tug.

Taehyung did as he was told. He gave Yeri Noona a quick glance then looked away. Seungwan
Noona and Yeri Noona talked, their voices too high up and too soft for him to catch their words.
He looked instead at the cat curled under the nearest lamppost. Its fur was dull orange and he
wondered if it was good at catching mice.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him,” Yeri Noona seemed to tell Seungwan Noona.

“Hello, Taetae!” Yeri Noona bent so she became the same height as him, and he had no choice but
to look at her. Shereminded Taehyung of the princess in a cartoon he’d watched. “I hope you don’t
mind me calling you Taetae too. I’ll be taking you to your haraboji and halmoni. We’re going to
take a train later. Do you like trains?”

Taehyung looked up at Seungwan Noona, and she nodded for him to answer.

“Maybe,” he said, looking down at his shoes. “I’ve never taken them before.”

“There’s a first time for everything, but I’m sure you’ll like them,” Yeri Noona said. “Shall we
go?”

They put his suitcase at the back of the car and Yeri Noona opened the door for him. Before he got
on the car, Seungwan Noona knelt before him and held him by his arms. She wasn’t smiling
anymore.

“Your haraboji and halmoni are going to love you the moment they see you. They’re going to love
you as much as your eomma did because how could they not?” She bit her lips and her eyes
became shiny. “You’ll grow into a big, strong and happy boy, the kind of boy your eomma is going
to be so proud of.” She pulled him into a very long hug and Taehyung could smell the strawberry in
her hair.
When he got into the car and Yeri Noona drove off, he looked through the rear window until he
couldn’t see Seungwan Noona anymore. During the ride Yeri Noona talked to him and asked him
questions, but he was mostly quiet. He didn’t really like talking to people he’d just met. Besides he
felt sad that Seungwan Noona didn’t come along.

But he forgot all about being sad when he reached the train station and saw trains for the first time,
big metal boxes linked together further than his eyes could see. They moved very fast too, he
realised, when a train pulled into the station and the wind messed up his hair. During the train ride
he looked out of the window and watched the small houses, cows and wide fields that passed by
outside. Then he thought about his eomma and how he wished she was here with him, and he
became sad again.

Yeri Noona and he got off the train a long time later. They took a taxi next. Along the way
Taehyung dozed off against her arm.

“Taehyung, wake up.” She shook him gently. He roused and looked around. The taxi had stopped.
“We’ve arrived,” she said.

At the gate of a house, Yeri Noona rang the doorbell. The gate opened a short while later and a
woman stood in front of them. She was much older than Yeri Noona, Seungwan Noona and even
his eomma. He knew that because of the silver in her hair and the lines around her eyes and lips.

“Hi, my name’s Kim Yeri. We talked on the phone yesterday. This is Taehyung. Taehyung, this is
your halmoni.”

Taehyung looked at his halmoni, and she looked right back. He waited for her to pat his head or
cheek like how Pochu’s halmoni often did to Pochu. But his halmoni did not do that.

“I’d never have thought that Seung-ah had such a big boy,” she said, her eyes sad,

“I’m immensely sorry for your loss,” Yeri Noona said.

His halmoni shook her head. “I should invite you in for tea after you’ve gone through all the
trouble to bring him here. But there are many things for the wake that we need to take care of…”

“Oh no, please don’t say that. And bringing Taehyung here is no trouble at all. He’s very well-
behaved. I’m sure you’ll find him a joy to have in your life.”

His halmoni nodded. She wiped her hands on the front of her long skirt and took the suitcase from
Yeri Noona. “Shall we go inside, Taehyung?”

They bade Yeri Noona goodbye and crossed the gate into a sandy yard. Taehyung followed his
halmoni up the stone steps. They took off their shoes outside a room that looked like a living room
and went in.

“Take a seat. You must be thirsty. I’ll get you a drink.” His halmoni said without looking at
him.After she left the room, Taehyung sat on the edge of the sofa and kept his arms by his sides so
that his hands wouldn’t touch the things he weren’t supposed to. Then he remembered that he had
something for his halmoni. He brought his backpack onto his lap, carefully took out the drawing of
the swan and unfolded it.

His halmoni returned with a glass of water.

“H-halmoni…” He said. The word made his mouth feel strangely dry.
“Yes?” His halmoni said as she put the glass of water on the table in front of him.

With both hands he held out the drawing to her. She stopped moving and stared downward at the
swan.

“That…That’s very nice, Taehyung. Did you draw it?”

Taehyung nodded shyly.

“Is it for me?” She asked.

He nodded again.

“Why, thank you. I like it very much,” She said. But when she took the drawing from him, she did
not take a closer look. She didn’t ask him questions like ‘Why did you choose to color it blue?’ or
‘How long did you spend on it?’ or ‘Does our Taehyungie want to become an artist in the future?’,
like his eomma would ask every time he gave her a picture. Instead his halmoni folded his drawing
back up and put it under a vase. “I’m sorry, Taehyung, but we must hurry. Please finish your drink
and we’ll leave for the funeral home.”

Taehyung finished the glass of water as fast as he could. If he listened to his halmoni and did what
he was told quickly, then maybe she’d like him and his drawing better.

His halmoni brought him to a temple. He knew it was called a temple even though it looked
different from the temple his eomma sometimes took him to pray. But after he went inside, he
thought he might be wrong and the temple might not be a temple at all because there weren’t any
buddhas. Instead there was a very big picture of his eomma, surrounded by so many white flowers
that he couldn’t possibly count.

“There you are, Bokja.” A man came toward his halmoni and him. His footsteps were loud and
angry. The wooden floor shook under Taehyung’s feet. “Why took you so long?”

The next moment, the man looked down at Taehyung. Taehyung’s heart squeezed in his chest. The
man didn’t look friendly, and Taehyung was terrified.

“Taehyung,” his halmoni said, “this is your haraboji.”

Taehyung knew he should be a good boy and greet the man, but the word haraboji seemed to be
glued to his throat.

His haraboji narrowed his eyes. “I suppose I shouldn’t get my hopes up and expect manners from
her child.” He turned to his halmoni. “Come to the office when you’re done idling around. There
are some bills waiting for us to settle. This is more trouble than it’s worth,” he muttered as he
stalked off.

His halmoni was about to follow when the question squeaked out of Taehyung, like he was a
mouse.

“Where’s Eomma?” He asked.

His halmoni looked at him, then at the picture of his mother, then back at him. Her eyes had
become a lot sadder. “I’ll explain to you later, Taehyung. Be a good boy, stay here and don’t ask
any more questions, especially not in front of your haraboji. I’ll be back shortly.”

Then his halmoni was gone and he was left all alone in the hall with the picture of his mother. He
moved closer to the picture and stared at his mother’s face. The smell of the flowers tickled his
nose. He wiped at his eyes, then wiped his wet hands on his shorts.

A while later people came into the hall one after another. His haraboji and halmoni had returned
some time before. He sat next to his halmoni and watched as the people bowed before his mother’s
picture before turning to talk to his haraboji and halmoni. Many people looked at him like he was
an animal in the zoo, but they didn’t say hello. He didn’t say hello either, because he didn’t know
them and his halmoni didn’t tell him who they were.

After the sky got darker, his halmoni brought him to another room for dinner, and he realised that
the people he had seen in the hall were gathered here. His halmoni and him sat at a table in a corner
of the room. There was rice, seaweed soup, kimchi, and egg rolls on the table. He ate even though
he wasn’t hungry.

“Is that Seungah’s son?”

“What a poor thing to lose his mother at such a young age.”

“I don’t think she was married? Forgive me for saying so, but birthing a child out of wedlock
comes with its own karma.”

So many people were talking. Their voices hurt his head. He put his hands over his ears, like he
had always done when he saw lightnings in the window.

His halmoni noticed. She took his wrists and pulled his hands away from his ears. “I’ll take you
home after you finish your dinner,” she said quietly.

He ate quickly, this time not because he wanted his halmoni to like him but because he really,
really wanted to go home. His eomma would surely be waiting for him there. He wanted to run into
her arms, sit between her legs, and tell her about the terrible time he’d had without her. He didn’t
want to go on adventures ever again, if all adventures were like that. He rather stayed by her side.

His heart sank when he realised that the ‘home’ his halmoni brought him back to wasn’t the
‘home’ he wanted to go back to. This was his halmoni’s house, not the house his mother and he
shared. He stood at the gate, his eyes burning and his hands wrapped around the hem of his shirt.
He wanted to ask his grandmother if he could go back to his real home instead, but she had already
gone inside, leaving him behind.

His suitcase was outside the living room where she’d left it just now. She pulled it two rooms
down the corridor and slid the door open.

“This used to be your eomma’s room,” she said, even though it felt like she was saying that to
herself rather than to him.

He peeked into the room. It had a bed, a dresser and a desk.

His halmoni sighed, shaking her head. She carried his suitcase into the room and laid it on the
floor. She squatted and unzipped its top.

“Let’s get you clean and to bed. Where are your pyjamas?”

In the bathroom his halmoni put his pyjamas on a rack.

“Do you know how to wash yourself?” She asked.

He nodded.

“The soap’s here.” She pointed to a bar of soap under the tap. “Use the water here.” She pointed to
the very big bucket filled with water. A scoop floated on top. “I’ll leave the towel here.” She
looked around the bathroom. “Well, shout for me if you need anything. I’ll go prepare your bed.”

Taehyung bathed himself like his eomma had taught him. It wasn’t very easy. The water was a
little cold and the bar of soap jumped out of his hands a few times. But he tried his best and when
he was done, he dried himself, changed into his pyjamas and went back to the room.

After drying his hair, his halmoni tucked him into bed. She sat by the bedside and looked at him
for what seemed like a long time. Taehyung wanted to ask her if he would see his eomma when he
woke up tomorrow morning, but his eyes growing heavy.

“Good night, Taehyung,” his halmoni said. She smiled for the first time that day, though her smile
looked sad too. She touched his head gently and it made him think that she was starting to like him.
“I hope your eomma visit you in your dreams.”

He closed his eyes and fell asleep immediately.

When morning came, Taehyung changed into a new set of clothes and his halmoni brought him
again to the place that had the big picture of his eomma. Like the day before, people came and
bowed to the picture. As he sat on the side with his halmoni, he tried his best to be as still as a rock.
His haraboji on his halmoni’s other side, and Taehyung was sure that if he so much as move, his
haraboji would notice and give him a terrible look that made his heart stop and his hands cold.

He was relieved when his haraboji left to go somewhere. He tugged timidly at his halmoni’s dress
and asked if he could go to the restroom. His halmoni said yes, even though it felt to him like she
hadn’t really heard his question because she was distracted by the new people walking up to his
mother’s picture.

He went to the restroom anyway. He didn’t return to the hall after he was done. His haraboji was
terrifying and the other people always looked at him strangely. He went to the trees that grew
around the yard and looked at the sky through the leaves. He was on his haunches, observing the
little flowers that grew at the bottom of the trees, when the grass rustled and a squirrel scurried into
his vision.

The squirrel stilled and looked at him, a nut between its paws. Taehyung stared back at the
squirrel.

“Hello.” He gave the squirrel a tiny wave. He tried to speak as softly as he could. He didn’t want to
scare the squirrel. “My name is Kim Taehyung, but my eomma calls me baby bear and Seungwan
Noona calls me Taetae. You can call me whatever you want if you become my friend. Do you
want to be friends with me?”

The squirrel stayed where it was. Taehyung smiled.

“Okay, we’re friends now. This is for you.” Taehyung plucked a flower and put it on the grass
between the squirrel and him. “Squirry, did you come here with your eomma? It’s been very long
since I saw my eomma. I miss her a lot. Do you know where my eomma is?”

A car swerved loudly and suddenly into the yard. The squirrel started and took off. Not wanting to
lose his newest friend, Taehyung shot to his feet and ran after the squirrel.

The squirrel was very fast so Taehyung ran as fast as he could. Sometimes it waited for him.
Sometimes all he could see was a blur of its tail before it disappeared into taller grasses and
reappeared seconds later. Then the squirrel scampered up a very tall tree and he couldn’t follow.

“Squirry?” He called up into the tree. The squirrel ignored him as it perched on a thick branch and
gnawed at its nut.

Taehyung’s shoulders slumped. He felt very sad, but he didn’t forget that his eomma had told him
that he should always be polite.

“Squirry, thank you for being my friend for...” He paused, frowning as confusing numbers bounced
through his head. “For fifteen minutes,” he decided, nodding. “I hope that next time you can be my
friend for...” he paused again. “Twenty minutes.” He nodded again, satisfied that he wasn’t asking
too much. “Bye bye, Squirry.”

He turned away from the tree, took a step and stopped again.

He whipped his head left and right. The temple was nowhere in sight. He had no idea where he
was. His stomach lurched. The uncomfortable feeling behind his eyes returned.

“When you lose your way, what should you do, Baby bear?” His eomma had tested him one day.

“I should ask a policeman for help,” he had replied obediently.

“And if there is no policeman nearby?”

“I should find a shop and borrow their phone and call Eomma and tell Eomma where I am.”

His eomma had smiled widely. “That’s my boy.”

There was a shop across the road. He walked bravely over. He didn’t feel like crying anymore
because he was going to talk to his eomma soon. He couldn’t wait to hear her voice!

The noona at the counter didn’t look friendly, but Taehyung clenched his hands and gathered his
courage.

“E-excuse me,” he squeaked.

The noona glanced over at him.

“My name is Kim Taehyung. I’m five years old. I lost my way. Can I borrow your phone and call
my eomma?” He repeated the words his eomma had taught him.

The noona looked at him without saying anything. It made him nervous. A moment later she
nodded at the phone on the counter. “Go ahead,” she said, then went back to using her own phone.

He wasn’t very tall, so he had to stand on his toes to push the number buttons. He waited for a long
time for his eomma to answer, but she didn’t. He tried again. By the third time, he was getting so
anxious that he felt like crying again.

“Your eomma didn’t pick up her phone?” The noona asked him.

He shook his head.

She tilted her head to the side. “Why don’t you wait outside? I’m sure she will eventually walk by
when she notices that you’re gone.” She shrugged. “It’s a tiny town. No one really gets lost around
here.”
 Taehyung nodded, rubbed his eyes, went back out and stood by the side of the road. Halfway
through the waiting, he became thirsty and he noticed the ice cream freezer next to the shop
entrance. Pictures of ice cream were printed on the freezer. He saw the blueberry-vanilla-chocolate
chip ice cream that his eomma usually bought for him on Mondays.

Was today a Monday?

The days were difficult to count and he didn’t have a calendar to help him. He really wanted an ice
cream right now but he had neither his eomma nor any money. Would the noona inside notice if he
opened the freezer? But his eomma had told him before that taking something from a shop without
paying was stealing, and stealing meant that he was a thief. He didn’t want to be a thief because
that would make his eomma really really upset at him.

Then, as if his fairy godmother decided to rescue him from thinking some more, an ice cream
appeared before his eyes. It wasn’t the blueberry-vanilla-chocolate chip ice cream he wanted. This
one was in a green paper cup.

He looked up at the person standing in front of him.

Eomma.

Except the person wasn’t. The person’s hair was much shorter than his eomma’s. The person
wasn’t smiling. The person was a man. He looked like his eomma, but he wasn’t his eomma.

His eomma had told him many times that he should never take things from strangers, but the
longer the man held out the ice cream cup, the scarier his face became, so Taehyung timidly took
the ice cream from him. Besides he really wanted some ice cream.

He sat next to the man on the bench as he ate the ice cream. The ice cream tasted a little worse
than his strawberry toothpaste, but it was cold and it made his mouth feel like winter. The man
said some things that scared him, then he said some more things Taehyung couldn’t really
understand but those things made Taehyung feel like the man was not a bad man and Taehyung
became not so scared after that.

And the man looked like his eomma too. His eomma was the best person in the whole wide world.

The man got up from the bench a while later. Taehyung got up too even though he hadn’t finished
his ice cream.

The man wore black from head to toe, just like the people who visited the hall that had his
eomma’s picture. Maybe the man would bring him back to his halmoni.

So Taehyung followed.

TBC

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

I didn't want to keep you waiting for too long since this chapter is kind of tightly
related to the first chapter. Let me know what you think of the story so far! :)
 Chapter Three
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Seungah’s portrait at the altar was not one of those ID photos where the subject was forced to
present themselves professionally. It seemed, instead, to have been cropped out of another photo.
She looked different than he’d remembered. Her waist-length tresses had been shortened into a
practical cut that barely grazed her chin. She looked older, and she smiled at the camera in a way
that suggested she was delighted to have her photo taken. That struck Yoongi as odd. Seungah’d
never fancied having her photos taken.

At the straw mat in front of the altar, Yoongi got down to his knees and bent forward until his
forehead touched the ground. He straightened, then bowed two more times. He felt his father’s
glare from the side, where the immediate family of the deceased were stationed to welcome and
receive condolences from the guests.

Yoongi took his time to get back to his feet.

“Do you know when the funeral is? Tomorrow.” His father seethed. “How big is Korea that you
had to take two days to make it back? You might have as well not return at all.”

A smirk curved the corner of Yoongi’s lips. There was something about seeing his father angry
that pleased him. Maybe it’s the fact that anger increases the chance of a blood vessel popping in
the brain.

With a backward tilt of his head, Yoongi locked gaze with his father. Disgust was plain on his
father’s face, directed not only at the cheap suit Yoongi wore, but also his overall existence.

“Don’t worry, it won’t happen again,” Yoongi said with a nonchalant shrug. “I won’t be showing
up when it’s your picture up there instead of Seungah’s.”

His father’s arm jerked, as though in violent reflex to strike Yoongi. Yoongi neither flinched nor
recoiled. He cut his father a cold glance. If his father dared lay a finger on him, Yoongi would not
hesitate to sling a punch onto his face.

But his father kept his hands to himself. Of course he would, Yoongi thought mirthlessly. He had
an image to uphold for the public.

His mother stood between them, caught in their crossfire. Her eyes darted between her husband and
her son. “Please, don’t fight. Seungah wouldn’t like it.”

To an outsider, his mother would appear to be placating the both of them to each take a step back
before the tension became destructive. But years of growing up in this dysfunctional family had
taught Yoongi that every time he got into an argument with his father, his mother would take his
father’s side without fail. She wouldn’t scream at Yoongi, but she would, in her timid and servile
manner, plead Yoongi to relent.

Please don’t antagonise your father.

Please be a good son and do as your father says.

Please don’t make things any more difficult for me.

Five years had bled by and his mother had yet grown a spine.

Yoongi didn’t bother to hide his disdain when he looked at her. “I don’t think you knew Noona
well enough to know what she did or didn’t like.”

His mother flinched.

He would have taken pleasure in that if surprise hadn’t seized him briefly. The word noona had left
his lips so naturally and unthinkingly that it irked him. He pivoted on his feet and started for the
exit.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His father asked sharply.

Yoongi was the brother. He should imprison himself next to the altar and dutifully thank the guests
who had come to offer their regret. But being in the immediate radius of his parents suffocated
him, reminded him of all the reasons he’d left in the first place.

He ignored his father and continued on his way.

“Get back here this ins—”

A set of guests entering the hall cut his father off. Even with his back turned, Yoongi knew that his
father would be clearing his throat, making himself look smaller and sweeping his rage under the
false exterior of a distraught father.

Yoongi scoffed. Only fools would be fooled by his fathers’ act. Unfortunately that was most
people in this town.

Once outside, Yoongi huffed out a breath. Irritation hummed along his nerves. On the bus journey
here, he had resolved not to let his father get to him. His father didn’t deserve to have a hold over
him. It would be easy, he had thought, to stay unflappable in his father’s presence. Five years of
striking out alone in Seoul should have hardened him.

How wrong he was.

He stood on the elevated walkway that circled the temple and evened his breaths. The mid-
afternoon temple grounds was tranquil, and the pressure in his chest gradually lessened.

He was about to walk away when he spotted a small figure sitting a distance away, in the generous
shade of the impressive oak tree that stood off to the side of the yard.

It was that boy.

What was his name again?

His mother, the boy and he had stood in the yard just now, three points of an awkward triangle. His
mother had looked at Yoongi, and Yoongi had looked at the boy, and the boy, at his small feet. His
mother had been the one who broke the silence, sending the boy away to play somewhere.

After the boy had plodded away, his mother cast a quick glance over the surroundings to check
that no one was close by to overhear. Then, in lowered tones, she filled Yoongi in.

The boy was Seungah’s son. He had lived with Seungah in Gwangju, until a few days ago,
Seungah met with a fatal traffic accident. Seungah’s body was transported back to Daegu because
their parents were the principal family members listed in the registry. Over the course of two days,
the boy had been passed from person to person until he, too, winded up in Daegu, to be under his
grandparents’ care because there was no father to be found.

Was Yoongi shocked to learn that Seungah had a kid, much less one who was already five years
old? A little, but that was because he hadn’t given Seungah much thought. Whatever she did with
her life had been none of his business.

Taehyung.

Yoongi remembered now. The boy’s name was Taehyung, Kim Taehyung.

Yoongi sneered. Not Min Taehyung, but Kim Taehyung. Only his sister was foolish enough to let
her child take the family name of the man who, Yoongi was certain, had abandoned her.

The boy bore little resemblance to Seungah too. He did not have the narrow eyes, pale skin and thin
lips that ran in the Min family. His eyes were much larger, his skin tanner, his lips fuller.

Yoongi observed the boy a little more. The boy didn’t seem to be aware that Yoongi was there. His
legs dangled over the edge of the walkway, his head drooped low like a sunflower bloom after a
battering rain. Everything about him screamed dejection and loneliness. Even his pastel-coloured
clothes failed to give an impression of cheeriness, only made him seem woefully out of place in the
temple’s drab atmosphere.

If Yoongi was a good uncle, he would approach the boy , perform a few magic tricks or do
whatever it was that uncles did to cheer their nephews up. But Yoongi had no intention to be one.
After the funeral tomorrow, he would return to Seoul, and he didn’t plan to come back again. He
wasn’t going to be an uncle to the boy other than in name.

Yoongi walked away and left the boy alone.

::::::::::

The last night of the wake saw many guests coming to pay their final respects to Seungah. Yoongi
avoided all of them. He whiled his time away on a stone bench in an obscure corner of the temple
compound.

By the end of the night he sported several mosquito bumps on his neck and hands, but that was
better than having to deal with hypocrites, who came not because they were lamented Seungah’s
death, but because their attendance would show that they were sympathetic people who supported
others in their time of grief. Besides how could they miss out on opportunity for gossip? He still
remembered the nasty rumours the mouthy housewives had spread about Seungah when she’d run
away from home.

His mother found him after all the guests had left. Nervously, she asked him if he minded keeping
vigil for Seungah for her last night while she and his father went home to rest. He agreed. The
longer the distance between his parents and him, the better.

So Yoongi found himself alone in the hall deep at night, sitting on the floor an angle away from
the altar. In the background, a low, unobtrusive chant of buddhist scriptures floated out from the
player.

He had intended to pass the night working on songs on his phone, but he’d overestimated his focus.
In his head, it wasn’t the usual tunes he heard; it was his last conversation with Seungah.

“How are things at home?”

“Fuck off, Seungah,” Yoongi hissed into the phone. “Don’t pretend that you care.”

“Yoongi,” Seungah’s voice was quiet, “you know why I had to leave.”

“You didn’t have to. You chose to.”

“I know you’re hurt. But me leaving home doesn’t mean our relationship have to change. We can
stay in contact. I’m still your noona. You’re still my dongsaeng.”

Yoongi snorted. “What kind of noona leaves her dongsaeng behind for a random guy?”

“Jaehyun is not a random guy.”

“Wait till he cast you aside like a piece of old clothing.”

There was a pause. “You went too far.”

“And you left me all alone!” Yoongi yelled before he could stop himself. He hated how weak he
sounded, hated how his eyes burned.

“I told you I’ll still be your noona. I —”

“You know what,” Yoongi said. “You made your decision and I’ve made mine too. I’ll be fine
without you. Don’t call me again.”

“Yoon—”

Yoongi hung up.

Had it really been six years since then?

Seungah had called more times after that, sent messages too, all of which Yoongi ignored. But she
was unfazed, and her persistence finally prodded Yoongi to the end of his tolerance.

He didn’t remember much about that day, only that it’d been a particularly bad one where his
mood was fouler than usual, and he wished death upon anybody who so much as glanced at him.
He was cycling home when his phone buzzed. He stopped, pulled it out from his pocket and saw
that it was Seungah calling, again. In a pique he hurled the phone into a nearby pond where it
disappeared with a plonk.

Since then Seungah vanished completely from his life, until two days ago he received a call from
his mother to tell him that Seungah had died.

He stared at the altar. The candlelight from the lotus bowls arranged along its length cast a shifting
glow on her portrait.

Who would have thought that the first time he saw Seungah in six years would be at her wake?

A sharp bark ruptured the quiet of the night and startled Yoongi. He cursed the dog and untucked
his numb foot from underneath his thigh. He was stretching out the tight muscles of his shoulders
when he noticed a book laying carelessly on a corner of the altar. He reached for it.

In the middle of the cream-coloured cover was a rectangular picture of Seungah. Beneath the
picture, the word LOVE was embossed in swirling font. As Yoongi opened the book, a handwritten
note fell onto his lap.
Dearest family of Seungah,

We are terribly sorry at your loss. Seungah was a kind friend, a valued member at her workplace
and most of all, an amazing mother. Our hearts break for the untimely departure of such a
wonderful individual. We understand that this is a difficult time for you, but we hope that this little
album we’ve put together would ease some of your devastation and give you a memorabilia to
remember Seungah fondly by.

With all our love and condolences,

Single Mother Association of Gwangju

Yoongi flipped through the album. In the photos Seungah looked older, wiser and steadier, a
record of her life in her most recent years. There were photos of her alone or her with other women,
but most were of her and that little boy called Taehyung, and it was in these photos that her face
glowed with a happiness Yoongi’d never seen before.

He paused when he came across the original photo of her portrait at the altar, and the delight on her
face finally had an explanation. In the uncropped version, Taehyung was in it too. They were
standing at the entrance of a theme park. Seungah had a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder, while
Taehyung pressed close to her legs, the smile of his face shy but content.

Yoongi turned to the next page. This time his eyes landed on a photo taken on the sly. Seungah
seemed to be fiddling with something — a toy? a balloon? — as Taehyung sat beside, his head
angled up toward her, his lips pouting in anticipation, his face trusting and reliant.

With every photo Yoongi saw of Seungah and Taehyung, the book grew heavier in his hands.

Yoongi had always viewed life as a series of choices that led to consequences, and consequences
that led to even more choices, more consequences. If Seungah had known that her series of choices
had led her to her premature death at twenty-four, would she have made another choice? If she
could have turned back time, would she have chosen to live her life differently?

He had briefly toyed with these questions after receiving the news of her death, then batted the
questions away because they were futile, and because he didn’t care about Seungah enough to let
those questions plague him.

But the album answered the questions.

Seungah loved Taehyung. Her life was happy with Taehyung. She wouldn’t have changed a thing
if that meant she had Taehyung.

Yoongi tightened his jaw against the flash of anger in his chest.

He wanted Seungah to repent and admit that she was wrong in leaving him behind in a loveless
family.

He wanted Seungah to regret.

TBC
 ::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

a short chapter, but worry not because the next is going to be a pretty big one. ;D
 Chapter Four
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

A light rain fell from the grey sky and darkened the neat rows of tombstones with spots of water. A
Buddhist monk presided over the funeral, chanting prayers as a string of rosary beads moved
between his fingers.

The Min family stood a few feet away from the casket. Behind them was a sparse smattering of
other people from their town, mostly the middle-aged housewives whose days had become idle
after their children had become adults and left home.

As the monk’s chant neared the end, the metal frame that supported the casket buzzed . The casket
began to lower into the deep rectangular hole dug into the ground underneath.

On the side his father had his head bowed. His mother sobbed, and two women stepped forward to
squeeze her shoulders. Yoongi stood as he would in a line at a grocery store, his face blank, his
eyes dry. He was aware of the few surreptitious glances cast his way . He could already imagine
what the owners of those glances would say.

Can you believe it? The brother didn’t shed a single tear.

I have always known he’s cold-blooded. Just look at his eyes. Those are eyes of the devil.

Do you think he’s a psychopath?

I wouldn’t be surprised.

But most of the furtive attention was on Taehyung. If anyone was expecting distraught bawling,
they would be disappointed. The boy stood obediently next to his grandmother. Unlike the day
before, he was wearing a white T-shirt and black shorts that had no doubt been chosen for him. His
face looked confused and lost, his eyes wandering, as though he had no idea what was going on but
didn’t dare to ask.

The buzzing stopped. The casket now laid at the bottom of the hole. The monk finished his chants
and led everyone to bow three times. The funeral was over after that. Later, the hole would be
filled and grass patched over the bare soil. In a day or two, the grave would be marked by a
tombstone identical in shape and size with all the other tombstones around it. Yoongi wouldn’t be
here to see that.

The guests left first, trudging one by one down the hill. His father went next, triggering his mother
to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief and hurry after him. Taehyung looked like he didn’t know if
he should follow. He tilted his head at Yoongi. Yoongi ignored him.

For a while they stood there, only the two of them, separated by the grave. When Yoongi was
certain that the others were a good way ahead and there was little possibility of them ambushing
him to offer their fake condolences, he turned and began to make his way down. The boy jumped
into movement and followed trippingly, his legs working fast to keep up with Yoongi’s longer
strides.

A chartered minibus waited at the foot of the hill. Most of the people that came for the funeral had
already boarded. Yoongi took the seat right in front, just behind the driver, as far away as he could
be from anybody. His desire to be left alone was blown to smithereens when Taehyung got on the
bus and climbed into the seat next to him without any hesitation.

So many other seats and this kid decided to invade his space.

Yoongi exhaled, gathering his patience.

The boy better not be expecting any attention from him.

Yoongi’s mother appeared on the bus, her face panicky. “Did anybody see Tae— Oh.” Her strung
shoulders sagged in relief when her eyes found Taehyung. “There you are. I was so worried for a
moment.” Her eyes flitted to Yoongi next, and surprise stole across her lips. “Sitting with
Samchon, are you?”

Yoongi sensed the delight emanating from her, and it annoyed the hell out of him. It was as if she
was expecting them to become best buddies. To drive home the point that that wasn’t going to
happen, Yoongi turned away, propped his elbow on the window and stared out of the glass. But he
didn’t become any less irritated because now he felt like a fucking teenager whose main method of
showing his displeasure was through sulking..

The cemetery was in another town, and the drive back to their own would take about an hour and a
half. The boy turned out to be a rather pleasant seat partner. He was quiet, not the breed of children
who brimmed with grating curiosity and endless questions. He didn’t squirm or fidget either. As
much as Yoongi hated to admit it, he got used to the boy’s presence fifteen minutes into the
journey.

The bus bumped along huge expanses of tilled rice paddies, squat houses and uncultivated fields.
After living in the city for five years, the scenery drifting by carried a certain nostalgic charm. In
Seoul, you could never see so much sky at one glance.

“You might want to put the seat belt on for the kid.”

It took a moment for Yoongi to realise that the bus driver was looking at him through the rearview
mirror. Yoongi turned his head toward Taehyung and found that the boy had dozed off. His body
swayed dangerously, and his head nodded like he was a baby chick pecking at grains.

Children, Yoongi muttered in his head.

He reached over and pulled the seat belt across Taehyung’s waist. As he fastened it, Taehyung
opened his eyes sleepily and looked at Yoongi through a bleary gaze. He made a soft,
unintelligible sound much like the mewl of a newborn kitten. Then his eyes fluttered close again
and he fell promptly back to sleep.

Yoongi turned back to the window. The next minute passed uneventfully. Just as he assumed that
was how the rest of the bus ride was going to be, a weight fell on his shoulder.

The boy’s head.

Yoongi stiffened. It probably wouldn’t be a big deal to most people, but he was not fond of
physical contact. His skin thrummed, and the spot where the boy rested his head felt uncomfortably
warm. He prayed for patience and counted the seconds to when the boy’s head would droop away
from him.

That didn’t happen. The boy slept on without a care in the world, as if Yoongi’s shoulder was the
most comfortable pillow he’d ever known.
Would it be that bad if he pushed the boy away? Just a slight, gentle push that—

For the second time Yoongi caught the driver glancing at him through the mirror. The driver
looked unimpressed, as though he could read what Yoongi intended to do and found that
distasteful.

Yoongi looked at his watch. Just an hour more to go.

Fine, whatever. He would bear with it, but he would certainly take back his words about the boy
being a pleasant seat partner.

::::::::::

It turned out that Yoongi wasn’t able to catch a bus back to Seoul on the same day. By the time
they arrived back at their town, the only city-bound bus scheduled for the day had departed. He
could stay a night at a guesthouse, except there were no such establishments in this town where
few tourists visited.

He was frustrated at the prospect of returning to his family home and spending the night under the
same roof as his father. But then again, Yoongi had endured him for eighteen years. What was one
night?

Yoongi’s room had changed little — a single bed shoved against the wall, a wardrobe at the foot of
the bed, a faded poster of Dynamic Duo with curling corners tacked onto the wardrobe. The coin-
sized dent in the wall from when his father had smashed his Yamaha keyboard had not been
smoothened over with plaster either.

Yoongi sat cross-legged on the floor and pulled out the cardboard box tucked under the desk. It
contained the CDs he had scrimped and saved to buy when he was a child. He hadn’t been able to
take them with him when he left.

Lee Sora, Kim Wan Seon, Seo Taiji & Kids, Drunken Tiger.

He was browsing through them when two knocks sounded and the door opened to reveal his
mother.

“I’ve brought you fresh bedsheets,” she said.

Yoongi nodded noncommittally and returned his attention to the lyrics book in his hands. Age had
softened it, and its pages clung precariously on the threadbare spine.

It took a few moments for Yoongi to notice that he hadn’t heard his mother leave the room. He
glanced over his shoulder and caught her looking at him. She started, embarrassed, then gestured
awkwardly at the CDs.

“You’ve always loved music as a child,” she said.

Yoongi stared at her. A familiar anger rose in him. She had no right to talk to him about music
when she hadn’t tried to protect his dream back then.

She seemed to sense that she had touched a raw nerve. Her eyes fluttered away from him and
scanned his room uncertainly, as though searching for another conversation starter. She nodded
uncertainly at the bedsheets she’d placed at the foot of the mattress.

“Should I help you with this?”

“I can do it on my own. Thanks.” His voice was clipped, his thanks curt enough to let anyone know
that the conversation was over.

His mother’s bony shoulders dipped in resignation. Until yesterday, Yoongi hadn’t seen his mother
for five years, but she seemed to have aged more years than that. Her already slight frame had
shrunk even more, and her wrist was birdlike in its slimness. A bald spot showed in her hairline,
stark among the pepper-grey strands.

“I’ll leave you to rest then,” she said, forcing a smile. “Dinner should be ready in an hour.” She
walked toward the door. Before she closed it behind her, she said, “I wish our reunion had been
under better circumstances, but it’s still good to have you back in this house again, Yoongi, even if
it’s only for one night.”

After she left, Yoongi resumed poring through his ancient album collection, but his focus flickered
and waned. His mother’s words hindered him, not because of what she’d said, but because of how
she’d said them.

He still remembered that night before he left home five years ago. Just like today, he had been
sitting on the floor when she came into his room. She started by asking him if he needed help and
telling him that Seoul was a cutthroat city and that he should take good care of himself. Then, as he
was packing the last of his things into his duffel bag, she began wiping her eyes and begging him
not to leave.

That was something Yoongi couldn’t understand: After all the things that went down in this
household, how could she believe that begging and crying would make him change his mind? And
if it truly hurt her to see him leave, then why, throughout the years of his growing up, had she not
given him a reason to stay? She could have at least been a good mother.

His mother confused him back then, and she confused him now, too. It’s good to have you back, he
recalled her words. He hated how sincere she had sounded.

Knocks sounded on his door again some time later. They were much lighter this time, and Yoongi
almost missed them. He waited for the door to open. When it didn’t, he dropped the CD in his hand
back into the box and got to his feet. He opened the door and saw no one outside, until he lowered
his gaze and found Taehyung standing there.

“What do you want?” Yoongi asked. His voice, though perfectly normal in his opinion, must not
have sounded friendly to the boy.

The boy dropped his eyes to his toes. The cowlick from his earlier nap on the bus still curled away
from his head. “H-halmoni said dinner’s ready.”

Yoongi realised that this was the first time he had heard Taehyung speak. His childish voice was
the timid, slow breed of shy, diffident children.

Yoongi considered telling the boy that he wouldn’t be joining, but his stomach rumbled. The
closest takeout was a few miles away. Who knew if they were still open?

So he sighed inaudibly and said, “Coming.”

They walked side by side along the walkway to the living cum dining room. A plate of stir-fried
vegetables, japchae, and braised chicken had already been laid out on the round dining table. His
mother emerged from the kitchen bearing a bowl of soup. Even though she tried to hide it, she
looked pleased, and a little surprised, that Taehyung had managed to bring Yoongi.
She offered Yoongi a tentative smile as she set the bowl at the center of the table. “I made your
favourite soup,” she said.

Yoongi nodded, then looked away, pretending to be interested by something on the TV shelf. Like
his room, the living room hadn’t changed much — the same TV with the same loveseat fitted with
the same flowery covers. The manifestations of his father’s superstition in fengshui remained too.
A shelf displayed a formation of jade-coloured qilin, strategically positioned to turn tides in the
owners’ favour. Above the loveseat and pasted high up on the wall was a square of red paper that
had been rotated so that it looked diamond in shape. On the paper was the hanja for ‘fortune’, and
the character was inverted to bid the arrival of fortune.

Cynically, Yoongi wondered if there was some kind of fengshui for cultivating human decency.

Yoongi, his mother and Taehyung had just sat down at the table when his father marched in, his
face dark as a murderous storm, muttering and cursing about the cost of funerals. His irate entrance
chased away any shred of peacefulness. His mother sprang back to being the timid woman she was
around him, her shoulders bunching up in tension, her neck shrinking back as though she wished
she was a goddamn turtle so that she could retreat into her shell.

Yoongi watched with disinterest. He was right. Nothing about this family had changed.

His father sank angrily onto the remaining dining chair. He picked up his rice bowl and chopsticks
in the same forceful movement, shoved rice into his mouth and chomped.

“Let’s eat,” his mother said to Yoongi and Taehyung, her voice thin, her smile strained.

His father did not say a word. He puffed out heavy, angry breaths between mouthfuls, nostrils
flaring. It was his way of showing that he was in a foul mood, his strategy of intimidating the
people around him because if he wasn’t having a good time, no one should either.

Yoongi savoured the food. His father didn’t deserve any attention, much less any fear. If there was
something under this roof that had changed, it was him. He was no longer that child who cowered
with every shadow that crossed his father’s face.

“Where are your table manners?” His father barked suddenly. “Did your eomma not teach you?”

For one disorienting moment, Yoongi thought that the outburst was directed at him. But his
father’s glare was not pinned on him but on Taehyung. Grains of rice littered the area around the
boy’s bowl. Yoongi looked at the clumsy, unsteady grip the boy had on his chopsticks. They were
too long and unwieldy for his small hand.

His father’s loud voice had startled Taehyung. In the short time Yoongi’d known him, the boy had
been quietly downcast and understandably cautious in the new environment, but right now he
looked outright terrified. His large eyes had blown even wider. His lips quivered.

“Beomseok…” Yoongi’s mother began.

A withering glance from his father silenced her.

“You gave birth to a wretched woman.” His mother flinched from the words that twisted out of her
husband’s mouth. “I clothed and fed her and gave her an education. How did she repay me? She ran
away with a man and brought me disgrace. Now I’m expected to pay for her funeral and care for
her child after she got herself killed, her little bastard child who doesn’t even have the etiquette to
eat properly.”
Taehyung trembled. He might not understand the hateful words at his tender age, but children have
a way of sensing when they were disliked or deeply loathed upon.

Yoongi’s father stabbed at a piece of chopped chicken and brought it to his mouth. “Just my luck
to be stuck with parasites. All you good-for-nothings, one disappointment after another...”

Yoongi knew, rationally, that he should keep his mouth shut. Miraculously, he wasn’t his father’s
target. He knew exactly why his father had chosen Taehyung to vent his frustration: Yoongi could
retaliate but Taehyung couldn’t. His father was a coward, picking out the most defenceless of the
lot to bully. That irked Yoongi, and words left his mouth before his brain caught up.

“I guess apples don’t fall far from the tree.”

The piece of chicken stopped an inch from his father’s mouth. He stared at Yoongi.

Yoongi shrugged nonchalantly, as though he was amused. “Maybe we’d have turned out to your
liking if you had better sperm in the first place.”

“Yoongi, please—” His mother began helplessly, but was, once again, cut off by his father.

“The Min family has always been a respectable family for generations,” his father spat, spittle
flecking his lined mouth. “Your great grandfather, your grandfather and I were dignified
businessmen. We raked in money and had companies as far as in China—”

Yoongi snorted. “And all that went to dust when the baton was handed to you. You like to believe
that you do, but you had no acumen for business, not even a speck of it in your largest bone.”

“I was doing well before you came along and jinxed and destroyed everything I had worked hard
for,” his father spat, throwing his chopsticks down. Speckles of gravy flew everywhere when one
of it jabbed into the plate of braised chicken like a failed javelin throw.

Taehyung jumped, releasing a whimper out of reflex as his own chopsticks clattered to the floor.

Yoongi regarded at his father with a cool gaze. “Then you should’ve listened to the advice of that
fengshui master you’re so fond of and have another son. No, wait,” a corner of his lips lifted
cruelly for the final blow, “I forgot that you’re infertile.”

The chair screeched against the tiles as his father shot out of his seat, an arm swinging out. But
Yoongi was younger, quicker and stronger. He popped to his feet in a flash and caught his father’s
arm before it could connect with his skin. With his other hand, he pushed his father back. His
mother gasped.

His father stumbled backward. The wall behind broke his fall. He steadied himself, then looked at
Yoongi with an expression of outrage and disbelief.

Blood roared through Yoongi’s ears. The moment felt surreal. In all the eighteen years he had
spent in his household, he had never once physically retaliated against his father. Why hadn’t he?

But that didn’t matter; he had done it now. He’d shown his father that the tactics he had used to
terrify child-Yoongi had lost their effectiveness. Yoongi was no longer someone to be trifled with.

“The next time you dare raise a hand or fist at me,” Yoongi said slowly, dangerously, “I’ll do more
than just shove. Of course, you’re welcome to find out.”

::::::::::
Taehyung had never been so scared in his life. His stomach hurt, his heart pounded, and his eyes
felt like someone was poking at them with many needles. He was back in the room he’d slept in
yesterday after he had taken his shower. He sat on the bed and blinked and rubbed his eyes again
and again, but still he saw his haraboji’s angry face.

He hadn’t meant to make his haraboji so mad. He had tried his best to eat neatly like his eomma’d
taught him, but he didn’t know how to use chopsticks other than the pair he had at home. Maybe
his haraboji would have been less angry if Taehyung had said sorry for making a mess, but he
couldn’t find his voice at that time.

Did Sungmin’s haraboji get so angry at Sungmin too? Were all haraboji so scary?

The door opened suddenly. Taehyung jumped, his heart doing that weird thing where it seemed to
fall all the way to his stomach.

“It’s only me,” his halmoni said.

It was only his halmoni, but Taehyung looked nervously behind her for any sign of his haraboji.
He felt slightly better only after she closed the door behind her.

She came to sit on the bed with him.

“Uri Taehyungie, you must have been so scared just now,” she said. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t do
anything for you.” She paused for a very short while, then continued, “It was wrong of your
haraboji to shout, but you must know that your haraboji is not a bad person. He’s just in a very bad
mood today. He loves you.”

Taehyung looked away from her and down at the tiny triangles printed on the bedsheets. He
thought his halmoni was lying. His eomma had told him before that love was wanting that person
to be happy and accepting them even when they did something bad, so he knew that his eomma
loved him because she always smiled at him and never raised her voice at him even when he did
bad things like not putting his toys back into their box. But his haraboji didn’t do all that. He must
not love Taehyung.

His halmoni rested a hand on his head.

“How about I make you a glass of warm milk with honey? It’s delicious and it’ll make you feel
better. Would you like that?”

He shook his head.

“How about some milk biscuits?”

He shook his head again.

His halmoni stayed quiet for a moment. “Are you tired then? Would you like to turn in for the
night?”

Taehyung nodded this time. He wasn’t sleepy yet, but he didn’t want to make his halmoni angry
too. His halmoni helped him lie on the bed and unfolded a blanket to lay it over him. The blanket
scratched uncomfortably against his skin.

“Halmoni,” he said. His voice didn’t feel like his own. His throat didn’t feel like his own either,
like someone had stuck a rock there.
His halmoni looked up from smoothing the blanket. “Yes?”

“Where’s my eomma?”

The smile she had on her face disappeared. When she smiled again, her smile looked weird, like
she didn’t want to smile but had to do it.

“She…she went to a faraway place.”

“Where?” When his halmoni did not answer, he asked again, “Is it Antartica?”

“Farther than that.”

Taehyung picked at a stray thread on the bedsheet. He was confused because in his mind there was
no farther place than Antartica.

“When will eomma come back?”

“Your eomma…s-she…” She paused, took a deep breath, then smiled at him again. “Taehyung-ah,
why don’t you sleep? Tomorrow, tomorrow will be a better day.”

Taehyung’s heart fell. He nodded and turned on his side, away from his halmoni and toward the
wall. He didn’t want to look at her face for one more second, because her smile made her looked
more sad than happy.

“Sleep well, uri Taehyungie.”

He felt her hand patting his arm, the way his eomma always did when it was bedtime. But his
halmoni wasn’t his eomma, and so he couldn’t fall asleep even though he kept his eyes closed.

Some time later, his halmoni left the room, and Taehyung opened his eyes again. His halmoni had
turned off the lights but left the bedside lamp on. Its orange light made shadows on the wall.
Taehyung thought one looked like a ghost, with flowing robes, hooded head and eyes like slits. He
shivered.

Curled on his side, he clutched a pillow close to his stomach. He thought his halmoni might be
lying when she said that this used to be his eomma’s room because the pillow smelled strange,
nothing like his eomma. Still, he pressed his face into the softness. He pressed so hard that his
tears had no room to escape.

Maybe if he didn’t cry, his eomma would know that he had been a good boy, and she would come
back from her faraway place to take him home again.

::::::::::

Yoongi sat on the bed with a pillow propped behind his back as he tinkered with a half-formed tune
on his phone.

Music was his sanctuary, his safe place where he slipped easily into when he needed to calm down.
But tonight, the calm was elusive. The adrenaline from the scuffle with his father still pumped
through his blood. His mind warred with two voices, both his own. One spouted expletives, while
the other tried to placate him.

Bastard of a father. He doesn’t deserve to be called a man. He’s better off dead.

Calm down. You’re understandably angry, but he wins if he knows that he’d riled you up to this
extent .

It took a while before the second voice drowned the first. Yoongi managed to gather his focus, but
he had barely done so when a knock sounded on his door again.

His concentration broke. He cursed under his breath.

“Yoongi, are you asleep?” His mother’s voice came through the wood, thin and tremulous, as
though she was nervous that someone would catch her visiting his room.

He had half the mind to ignore her and pretend that he’d turned in, but the lights in the room was
still on, and the glow diffusing through the crack under the door would have given him away. He
tossed his phone onto the mattress and got out of bed. The push-button lock popped free as he
turned the knob. He had a habit of locking his door whenever he slept.

His mother stood at the threshold in her nightdress. Her hair bun had been undone into a loose
ponytail that hangs before one shoulder like thin waterfall of grey.

“I cut you some peach,” she said.

He looked down at the small dish in her hand. The ivory flesh of the fruit glistened in the backlight
from his room. The town prided themselves on their peaches, touting it the sweetest in the region.
It was now June, and they were in season.

However he said, “I don’t want them.”

“Oh.” The hands that were holding the dish dipped in disappointment.

“Anything else? If not I’m going to bed.” He made to close the door.

“Wait,” she said hurriedly, “can we talk?”

For the umpteenth time since his return to Daegu, irritation surged through him.

“Save your breath if you’re going to tell me how I shouldn’t have pushed my father,” he snapped.

That was what happened in the past. Whenever he got mouthy or snarky with his father when he
was a child, or whenever he got into a yelling match with his father when he was a teenager, his
mother would come to his room at night and explained to him why he shouldn’t have behaved that
way. His younger and more naive self thought his mother cared about him, but as he grew older, he
knew better.

His mother reeled back. The peach slices wobbled on the dish. “No, not that. There’s…there’s just
something I need to discuss with you. Please, it’s important.”

Yoongi tried to read from her face what it was that she wanted from him. They hadn’t been in
contact for five years. There was nothing in common they could talk about except the past, and the
past, so full of hurt and resentment, was better left alone. He considered closing the door on her,
but his curiosity won.

“Make it quick,” he said.

She followed him into the room and closed the door behind her. The worn wooden bedframe
squeaked as he settled on the edge of the mattress. She left the dish of peach slices on the desk and
took the nearby chair, her back ramrod straight and rigid. In his memory, that was how she’d
always sat, as if she was bracing herself to take flight or spring to her feet to extinguish her
husband’s flames any moment.

The air between them was fraught. Her fingers twisted on her lap. She tried for a smile, but it came
out the very opposite of what a smile should be. Sad instead of joyful. Wobbly instead of steady.

“It’s hard to believe it’s only been three days after everything that’s happened,” she said. “I never
thought that Seungah had such a big boy.”

She confirmed his suspicion that, like him, Seungah hadn’t kept in touch with their parents since
she’d left home.

“He’s such a sweet child, don’t you think?” His mother asked. He grew wary. She sounded too
much like a hopeful saleswoman trying to make a sale.

This will suit your needs perfectly, don’t you think?

That matches well with your pants, doesn’t it?

“I just tucked him in with no hassle at all,” his mother continued. “He’s so quiet and obedient.
Seungah did such a good job at raising him despite her circumstances as a single mo—”

Yoongi interrupted, “Why are you telling me all these?”

His mother looked at him. He stared right back. Under the green-veins of her spindle-like neck, her
throat moved. She drew in a breath, then said, “I want you to take Taehyung with you back to
Seoul.”

He ran the words through his head thrice and found no other way to interpret his mother’s
suggestion. The idea was so ludicrous that he snorted.

“Is this some kind of vacation you’ve cooked up to help that kid get over his mother’s death?”

“No, not a vacation. I want him to move to Seoul with you. Permanently. I want you to take care of
him, to be his legal guardian.”

What on earth is his mother spouting? Throughout his life, he had attached many labels on his
mother — gutless, timid, flighty, meek — but nonsensical was not one of them.

“I’ve thought this over and over. Taehyungie’d be better off with you. I know you have no
experience with children, but after spending some time with him, I can tell that he’s easy to care
for,” she babbled on. “Most importantly, he likes you. I can sense it.”

Yoongi suddenly recalled the look that had crossed her face on the bus that afternoon, when she
saw Taehyung sitting next to him. So this was what she’d been thinking.

“Whether he likes me or not has nothing to do with me,” he said. “I have no place for a child in my
life.”

“Is this about your finances?” She asked anxiously. “I can send you a cheque every month to help
you with getting a nanny and sending him to daycare.”

Yoongi forced himself to breathe. The hot anger gathering in his chest was smothering him.

His mother had assumed that he hadn’t carved out a substantial living for himself in the five years
he was away from home. But what had dealt his pride a severe blow was that she had assumed
right. Between delivery jobs, bar stints and composing jingles for trashy variety shows, he earned
barely enough to sustain a frugal lifestyle and set aside a paltry sum of money into his savings so
that in a few more months or so, he could finally get that digital audio workstation that he’d been
eyeing for god knows how long.

A cold fury rose from the cracks in his pride and pulsed along with his heart. He locked gaze with
his mother. Whatever it was that she saw in his eyes, it made her cow away from him.

“I will not take the boy with me,” he said, his voice low and flat. “You will not make that boy my
problem.”

Desperate tears filled his mother’s eyes. “Please, Yoongi, I’m begging you. Take the boy. There’s
no childhood for him if he stays with us. You know your father’s temperament. You saw how
terrified Taehyung was at dinner. After you leave there’ll be no one left to protect him.”

“Maybe there will be someone for him if only you’d stop being a coward and grow a backbone.”

She froze. “I-I…I can’t.”

“You can. You just don’t want to.”

She shook her head. “Yoongi, you don’t understand—”

A cord in Yoongi snapped.

“I understand enough to know you’ve failed utterly as our mother. A snake coils round its eggs and
attack other animals that come close. A cat claws out the eyes of their predators when her kittens
are in danger. But you, what have you done as a mother? What did you do when your husband took
out his anger and frustration on us? You stood by and watch. You made excuses for him. You told
us to bear with it, said that the same things happen to other children in other households. You did
nothing, nothing to protect us when protecting us is what you should do.”

Yoongi shook. His fingernails dug into the flesh of his palms. The tiny capillaries in his eyes
popped and tore. It was supposed to be about Taehyung, but it had become about Seungah and
himself. He couldn’t help it. The words had ripped themselves free from his chest, borne along by
a pressure that had accumulated for years.

Memories of his childhood flooded him: Seungah and him throwing hopeful, pleading glances at
their mother whenever their father erupted over something trivial they did or didn’t do; their mother
giving them a pained smile but doing nothing but shake her head slightly. Maybe she couldn’t have
stopped her husband, but if she’d tried, they’d have known that she cared.

“It would’ve been enough if you’d been on our side. But no, every time something happened
between him and us, you took his side,” Yoongi gritted fiercely. His head pounded. His jaw hurt.
“Every single fucking time.”

Her tears had broken free of their dam. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands, but still
the tears wended down her face.

“I’m sorry. This is not going to be enough, but I’m sorry for everything I put you and Seungah
through.” Her breath shuddered as she tried to breathe through the wetness. “I’m a weak woman
who should have never become a mother. You’re right. I didn’t protect you and Seungah when the
both of you needed it. But know this, Yoongi, I love you and Seungah. Maybe not in the way you
needed or expected, but I love the both of you. I love the boy too. So I can’t let him go through the
same childhood as you and Seungah did just because his grandmother is too much of a coward to
stand up for him. I already did wrong by you and Seungah. I’m begging you not to let me repeat
the same mistake thrice. Help me, please. Take Taehyung with you. Give him a better childhood
than I ever could.”

::::::::::

Moonlight filtered in through the window and imprinted a parallelogram of light on the floor.
Yoongi laid on the sheets that smelled of detergent and mothballs, his eyes wide open. Despite the
shadow, he could make out the mark on the wall where his keyboard used to be.

A scrap of cloud drifted across the full moon, shrouding the room in temporary shadow. He
reached for his phone under his pillow and awakened its screen. Three-oh-nine. He should really
try to sleep. He hadn’t caught more than a wink for two nights straight. He turned on his side and
squeezed his eyes shut, determined to keep his mind blank until sleep claimed him.

Sleep didn’t.

Fuck.

He threw the thin blanket off his body. The bed released a sharp squeak as he swung his legs over
the edge. He pulled the door open and stepped out.

For a moment he stood on the threshold, his old room behind him, the yard in front, and the
walkway extending to the living room on his left but dropping off to an end on his right. The wood
was dry and smooth under his bare feet, its varnish worn away by years of feet traversing to and
fro. It was warmer out here, a sticky blanket of humidity already cloaking his arms.

He moved two steps forward, stopped when he reached the boundary, then lowered himself to sit
on the edge of the walkway. He adjusted himself and rested his leg against the pillar that rose to
meet the roof. He folded one of his up before his chest, while the other dangled over the edge, its
toes barely brushing the yard’s soil.

The house was quiet. All the lights had been turned off, save for the one at the gate. In the relative
darkness, Yoongi stared at the room directly across the yard from him, half expecting the door to
creak open any time for Seungah to tiptoe out onto the walkway and sit like he had.

On many summer nights when they had been much younger, Seungah and he had crept out of their
rooms when they were supposed to be asleep, just to hang out together. Sometimes it was telepathy
— the both of them opening their doors at the same time; but more often than not, one of them
would shine a torchlight through the window of the other’s room, signalling that a midnight
rendezvous was available if sleep eluded.

Yoongi’s room was at one end of the U-shaped house, and Seungah’s was at the other, so they
usually sat on their own sides, the length of the sandy yard between them. They hardly went over to
the other person. The distance and turns through the walkway seemed too long, and taking the
shorter path through the yard meant the hassle of washing the dust off their feet later. Only when
they felt like playing chess or othello would they gather close, but even that would be prefaced by
bickers of who should go over to whose side. Back then, it felt impossible to push their childish
pride aside because the person who had to make his or her way over inevitably felt like a servant at
the beck and call of the other person.

They didn’t play games a lot, though. They mostly talked, with an openness and frankness they
didn’t have in their parents’ presence.
They talked a lot for two people who were as different as the sun was warm and the moon was
cold. Seungah liked craftwork; Yoongi thought that folding animals out of paper was lame. Yoongi
wouldn’t hesitate rolling up the cuff of his pants and waddling into a muddy stream to catch some
fish; Seungah would hang back and pull her face in disgust because “who knows what’s in the
mud”. When they grew older, the differences in their personalities became even more pronounced.
Among the teachers at the same school they attended, Seungah was known as the nicer sibling; she
had ready on the tip of her tongue the words that brighten people’s day. Yoongi was the cynical
one; he shoved the truth unapologetically in people’s faces.

Yet different as they were, their father scorned them equally. Seungah, because she wasn’t the
baby boy he had expected. Yoongi, because his birth jinxed the family and caused his father’s
business to go bust, or so his father believed. Their parents had wanted to try for a third, but a
sudden infection rendered their father impotent. His loss of virility bruised his masculinity, and in
its aftermath, he treated Seungah and Yoongi twice as harshly.

Seungah was eighteen when she left. That year, Yoongi was sixteen. The story was a cliched one
— girl met boy; girl fell in love; girl decided to move out to the city with the boy. Their father,
predictably, flew into rage. In his traditional mindset, it was scandalous for a man and a woman to
live together before marriage.

His objections didn’t change Seungah’s mind. Neither did their mother’s pleas nor Yoongi’s heated
attempts to make Seungah realise her departure was equivalent to a betrayal.

You can’t leave me alone here.

I’m your brother. How can you put me beneath a guy you’ve just met?

If you leave I’ll hate you forever, I swear.

Hate her he did.

But tonight he thought he hated himself more. As he sat outside his old room in the dead of the
night, the memories that screamed the loudest weren’t his final quarrels with Seungah before they
went their separate ways. The memories that returned tonight and refused to be cast away were the
pieces of his childhood with Seungah.

Before Yoongi grew older and understood that crying was a sign of weakness, Seungah was the
one who wiped his tears away. When a jade qilin slipped from his mischievous and buttery fingers,
Seungah was the one who inserted herself between him and their father and stood unbudgingly
amidst the broken pieces, claiming that she was the culprit. When he lost his textbook and didn’t
dare tell their parents, Seungah was the one who emptied her piggybank and bought a new one for
him.

He would like to believe he had done as much for her, but he would be delusional. Their
relationship was not so much one of codependency than him nestling in the shadow of her
protection. Any happiness and steadiness he could find in his childhood, he owed it to her.

Mosquitoes weaved around his arms and legs, tickling his skin. He lifted his head to the sky salted
with innumerable stars. The constellations Seungah and he’d identified as children revealed
themselves to Yoongi instantly, as though no time had passed between then and now.

Returning to this house, staying a night here, had been a mistake. Look what he’d gotten himself
into. He should have gone to a guesthouse in the next town or sleep on the bench outside the
sundry store.
 In his mind, he cursed his father for being a sorry excuse of a man. He cursed his mother for her
weakness, Seungah for dying too soon, and the boy with large eyes and ears for being too small
and too defenceless to stand up for himself. Then he cursed himself for what he was about to do.

“I’m doing this for you,” he said aloud to the sky. “After this, we’re even.”

Above him, the stars blinked.

TBC

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

what a day of good tidings and celebration, what with bangtan's billboard achievement
and the maknae's birthday! i hope this update sweeten your day further!

comments/kudos are not necessary, but are certainly very much appreciated. please
enjoy the chapter and i'll see you next time <3
 Chapter Five
Chapter Notes

Last update, someone informed me that the "Kim Taehyung | V / Min Yoongi | Suga"
tag indicates a romantic relationship between the two characters. For platonic
relationships, I should use "Kim Taehyung | V & Min Yoongi | Suga" instead. It was
new knowledge for me. I have thought long and hard about it, but I've decided to keep
the / tag on top of adding the & tag, mainly so that this story can reach more people. I
hope that's okay for you.

But I'll clarify this: despite the slash tag, this story is going to have absolutely zero
romance!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Yoongi scanned the room one last time to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind. His eyes
landed on his desk, where Seungah’s memorial album rested, its cover curling back in the
humidity. He’d taken it from the altar on a whim yesterday, certain that it’d be chucked out if left
there. Even Seungah didn’t deserve to be belittled that way.

He stared at the album for a good while, then walked the three steps to his desk. He grabbed the
album and crammed it into his bag. The boy might want the album even if Yoongi didn’t.

Yoongi zipped his bag, left it on the bed, and headed out of the room.

With the sun fully out, the morning managed to be oppressively stifling in both heat and humidity.
Rays hit the leaves of the tree in the corner of the yard, transforming the foliage into a blend of
yellows and greens.

As Yoongi approached the living-dining room, he heard the ddu-ddu-ddu-ddu of the gas stove, the
muffled whoosh of the flame igniting, and the metallic clang as a pan was set over the stove. He
didn’t need to peek into the kitchen to know his mother was in there. He didn’t expect her routine
to change, what with having a husband who found it beneath him to set foot in the kitchen.

Common sense advised Yoongi that he should probably talk to her first, but he didn’t feel like
dealing with her first thing in the morning. So he passed the kitchen by and continued along the
walkway to the other end of the house, where Seungah’s old room was.

He stopped, raised his fist to the door, about to knock when he held himself back.

What if the boy was still asleep?

Yoongi snorted. He was being absurd. If the boy was still asleep, he just had to wake him up. He
rapped his knuckle against the wood two times and pushed the door open.

His mind had been so preoccupied with the boy and his state of wakefulness that he hadn’t
expected what stepping into Seungah’s old room would do to him. The sight of the old furniture,
still in their original layout, brought about a dizzying moment where the past flashed across his
eyes.
He saw Seungah sitting at the desk, head bent over her drawing, her hair tucked behind her ear on
one side and hanging like a glossy curtain on the other. Her fingers were stained grey with
charcoal. The door opening had her lifting her head and, upon seeing Yoongi, she slapped her
hands over her drawing and shot him a look both annoyed and panicky. Later, he would know that
the thing she was secretively working on was a lifelike drawing of him standing between his
favourite rap stars, a slice of dream she would gift him for his fifteenth birthday.

The picture would later be ripped out of its frame and torn to shreds a week after Seungah left
home.

Yoongi closed his eyes to reorient himself and regain his sense of now. He wasn’t here to
reminisce the past. There was something more pressing to be done.

He looked toward the bed. Taehyung was already up, sitting on its edge, his feet suspended a
distance from the floor. He watched Yoongi timidly, the bottom half of his face hidden behind the
pillow he was hugging against his chest.

Yoongi cleared his throat.

“You should pack your things,” he told the boy. “We’re leaving in an hour.”

Taehyung perked up. He cast the pillow aside and slid off the bed. His feet thudded an eager
rhythm as he pattered to Yoongi. When he looked up at Yoongi, his eyes were bright and hopeful.

“Are you taking me to my eomma?”

Yoongi furrowed his brows in confusion. Then he remembered the boy’s puzzled eyes, his lack of
tears, the questioning glances he had angled at the adults throughout the funeral proceedings.
Dread pooled in Yoongi’s stomach.

Fuck. No one had told the boy what had happened to Seungah, had they? Suddenly Yoongi
regretted not talking to his mother first. He would have let her handle this if he’d known.

Yoongi looked at the boy, his throat suddenly too dry.

“No,” he said. “I’m not taking to your eomma. I’m taking you to Seoul.”

A small frown appeared between the boy’s eyebrows. “What about my eomma?”

“She’s not coming.”

“Why?”

“She can’t come.”

“Is it because she’s in a faraway place? Halmoni told me eomma went there.”

Yoongi breathed. There it was, the familiar spike of irritation toward his mother. So she had
already been confronted with this situation, and she had chosen to avoid it.

“Yes…” Yoongi said slowly, despising himself for playing into his mother’s lie. “Yes, your
eomma went to a faraway place.”

The boy puckered his lips. “When will she come back?”

“Not anytime soon.”

“Why?”

God, boy, stop asking questions.

“It’s difficult for her to come back where she is.”

“But she can take planes,” the boy said, a stubborn insistence in his voice. “Eomma told me before
that planes can take us anywhere.”

“Your eomma told you wrong, okay? There aren’t any planes in the place she went to.”

Taehyung’s shoulders seized at the impatient edge in Yoongi’s voice. His chin dipped toward his
thin chest, his fringe sweeping forward. In the shaft of sunlight arrowing through the window,
Yoongi noticed Taehyung’s hair was more brown than black.

“But I really want my eomma.”

The nasal hint of tears in the childish voice intensified Yoongi’s sense of foreboding. The idea of
backing out of the room, shutting the door, putting as much distance as possible between the boy
and him beckoned at Yoongi. This was becoming more trouble than he’d expected. He didn’t sign
up for this.

Ugh. Screw it.

If he was going to have to do this, he’d do it his way. There’d be none of those faraway place
bullshit.

Yoongi dropped onto one knee so that he was now the same height as Taehyung.

“Look at me,” Yoongi said. He winced internally. He hadn’t intended for it to come across as a
clipped command. The boy recoiled slightly, but did as he was told.

Yoongi sucked in a breath. “Do you remember where we went yesterday? That place on a hill with
many rectangular stones?”

The boy nodded uncertainly.

“And do you remember we stood in front of a big black box that eventually disappeared into the
ground?”

Taehyung nodded again. He pulled at the hem of his shirt sideways and wrapped his fist around the
fabric.

“Your eomma’s inside that box, and the box is now deep underground. That’s why she can’t come
to Seoul with us. Do you understand now?”

Taheyung’s thumb brushed compulsively at the small lump of cloth jutting out of his fist. “Why’s
eomma in the box?”

“Because she died.”

Taehyung tilted his head to the side. “Like she’s sleeping?”

“Except she’s not going to wake up anymore. Dying is not like sleeping.” When the boy still
looked confused, Yoongi levelled a finger at the left side of the boy’s chest. “Everyone has a heart
here. It pumps blood to the rest of our body every second of the day. It works even when we’re
asleep. But it stops beating when we die. Your eomma’s heart has stopped beating. She’s dead.
She can’t move anymore so she can’t wake up.”

The boy wore an expression of intense thought, with knitted brows and bottom lip pushing out.

“What’s going to happen to eomma in the box?”

Yoongi hadn’t thought that far. How tightly was the casket sealed? What was the process of
decomposition? How long does it take for formaldehyde to lose its effect?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe the maggots will get to her, eat her flesh, turn her into white
bones.”

Yoongi realised he’d gone overboard when Taehyung took a backward stumble in alarm. He’d
forgotten he was talking to a five-year-old who probably thrived on diabetic happy endings and not
the morbidity of the afterlife.

“Maybe she’ll stay the way she is,” Yoongi added hurriedly, “You know, just like sleeping
beauty.”

The boy seemed to be gripping at the hem of his pyjamas with all his force. His knuckles had
turned white.

“Will I see eomma again?”

Yoongi hesitated. “No.”

“Never ever?”

“Never ever.”

Taehyung’s voice went a pitch higher in desperation. “Not even if I’m a good boy and brush my
teeth every day?”

Yoongi shook his head.

“Not even if I draw her lots and lots of pictures and fold her lots and lots of planes?” Taehyung’s
eyes quivered, wild with disbelief. Yoongi could see that the boy was approaching hysteria.

“No,” Yoongi said quietly, “not even then.”

The tears that Yoongi so feared was back, no longer contained to the boy’s voice, but spilling out
to fill the boy’s eyes.

“I’ll take care of you,” Yoongi said. He had no idea why he thought that would comfort the boy
when, to the boy, he was as good as a stranger. Sure enough, the boy wasn’t pacified.

“But I want my eomma!”

The boy’s obedience and carefulness of the past few days disintegrated, and he broke down like
any five-year-old would have a long time ago, his face scrunched up, his mouth open, his small
body shaking violently with the tears he could no longer hold back

I know you want your eomma, Yoongi thought, but we don’t always get what we want. That’s the
way life is.
“Eomma,” Taehyung cried, shoulders hitching with hiccups. “Eomma.” The sound landed square
on Yoongi’s chest like unfaltering punches.

Yoongi had always known that the world was an unfair place. The rich overstuff themselves while
the poor starve; the powerful get away while the weak doubled as scapegoats. But how cruel did
the world have to be to burden the little boy in front of him with such magnitude of loss?

Yoongi put a hand on the boy’s head.

“Cry all you want,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

::::::::::

The floor beneath his feet felt like sponge as Taehyung followed his halmoni stumblingly out of the
room, where his samchon waited.

Taehyung knew the man was his samchon because his halmoni had told him so. But Taehyung
didn’t really understand what that meant. Was Samchon a person who gives ice cream to children?
Or was Samchon someone who gets into scary fights with a haraboji? Maybe a Samchon was both.
Taehyung had wanted to ask his halmoni, but he’d kept forgetting because his eomma had been all
that filled his small mind.

“Here are his things,” his halmoni said as she rolled his suitcase to his samchon.

His samchon took the suitcase over from his halmoni. He looked at Taehyung. “Did you take
everything with you? We’re not coming back.”

Like all the times before, there was something unfriendly in his Samchon’s voice that squeezed
Taehyung’s heart and made his mind go blank. His halmoni answered on his behalf.

“He did, Yoongi. I checked.”

The sun shone right at Taehyung on the walkway. His eyes which were already hurting hurt even
more. He had cried too much just now. He had cried so hard that his eyeballs felt like they were
going explode in his head.

His samchon had watched him cry. His halmoni appeared some time later to put a hand on his back
and tell him that everything was going to be fine. Taehyung wished for them hug him, like his
eomma had done when he took a tumble and scraped his knee. But he was crying so badly that he
couldn’t tell his samchon or his halmoni that.

After he had stopped crying, his halmoni and his samchon left the room. He heard them talking
outside, but he didn’t know what they were talking about. His ears felt stuffed, like how they had
whenever he took a bubblebath and decided to put his face underwater to check how long he could
hold his breath. His halmoni returned a while later with a warm towel, a sandwich and a glass of
milk. She wiped his face with the towel and asked him to eat. The sandwich was difficult to
swallow. The milk made his stomach feel strange.

As he ate, his halmoni folded his clothes and put them into his suitcase. She said some more
things. He couldn’t remember what she said. He thought only of his eomma, even though thinking
about her made his chest hurt more than that time he fell face-down at the playground.

“We should go,” his samchon said.

His halmoni walked them to the gate. There, she lowered herself in front of Taehyung so that he
could see the thin lines around her eyes. Her hands came up to hold either side of his shoulders.

“Uri Taehyungie.” She smiled that sad smile again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t spend more time with
you, but this is what your eomma’d want. Promise me you’ll listen to your samchon and grow up
happy. I’ll pray for you every day.”

In his daze, Taehyung realised that his halmoni wasn’t coming with him.

Was he never going to see his halmoni again too?

He felt a little sad at that thought, but not as sad as not seeing his eomma ever again. He was sad to
say goodbye to his halmoni, but he was happy to leave his haraboji. He also thought he liked his
samchon more than his halmoni and his haraboji, even though his samchon had a scary face and a
scary voice. His samchon bought him ice cream, his samchon looked like his eomma, his samchon
let him sit next to him on the bus, and his samchon answered all his questions even though the
answers weren’t nice.

On the way to the bus stop, his samchon walked a little in front and he walked a little behind.
Taehyung walked faster than he normally would so that he wouldn’t be left behind. He tripped over
a bump in the road twice, but his samchon didn’t know because he did not look back. Taehyung
wanted to hold his samchon’s hand, but he didn’t think his samchon would like that.

He was focused on keeping up with his samchon and not falling over that he forgot about his
eomma for a little while.

At the bus stop, he stood next to his samchon. The day was bright and it was difficult to fully open
his eyes. His shoulders were tired because of the bag he was carrying. He looked at the sundry
store down the road, then at his samchon, wondering if his samchon would buy him an ice cream
today too. But his samchon looked straight ahead.

Taehyung was starting to feel really sad again when something moved on the other side of the
street. He glanced up and saw a squirrel scuttling and stopping, scuttling and stopping, bouncing
happily through the tall grasses. Taehyung’s heart leaped. It might be his friend Squirry.

“Squi—”

“The bus’s here,” his samchon said just as Taehyung was about to wave.

A blue and yellow bus came up the street. Taehyung dropped his arm, disappointed that he
couldn’t greet his friend.

The bus stopped in front of them. Its door opened with a hiss. His samchon gestured for him to get
on first, then carried his suitcase up the bus. Taehyung wandered down the aisle of the empty bus
and chose a seat somewhere in the middle. He looked out of the window, but he couldn’t see
Squirry anymore.

After paying the bus driver, his samchon came and sat next to him.

With another hiss, the door closed and the bus started moving. Taehyung sat on the edge of the
seat, his eyes glued to the window. He saw many things that interested him, and he had many
questions.

What is moving in the field? Are they cows?

Why is the lamp post crooked?

What is the car that the ahjussi is driving?

Why is the dog walking alone? Where is it going? Won’t it get lonely?

He turned his head, about to ask all of them when he remembered it wasn’t his eomma sitting next
to him. It was his samchon, and his samchon was looking the other way.

His samchon had told him that he would never see his eomma again, but he wanted his eomma so
badly at the moment that he felt the tears in his nose again. If his eomma were here, she would
answer all his questions, even point out to him the little things he had missed. She would pull him
close to her and keep an arm around his body so that he would be safe even if the bus stopped
suddenly.

The feeling of needles and pins were back in his eyes. He sat back into the chair and put his hurting
head against the window. He closed his eyes.

Without his eomma, Taehyung didn’t think he loved bus rides that much anymore.

::::::::::

The cheapest route from his family home in Daegu to where Yoongi lived in Seoul involved an
hour bus ride to Daegu’s main terminal, a four-hour bus ride thereon to Seoul Station, followed by
another thirty minutes on the subway and a twenty-minute walk. By the time they emerged from
the subway exit, ropes of copper and shades of pink had decorated the sky.

Yoongi cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder. Taehyung plodded listlessly behind him.
Yoongi could tell that the boy was tired. His footsteps dragged and his thin shoulders sagged. It
was a long journey even for adults, much less children, even much less for children who were
dealing with the fresh grief of losing their mother. On the bus ride, Taehyung had cried some more,
his tears so silent that Yoongi hadn’t realised he was crying until a sniffle escaped. Yoongi hadn’t
known what to do, so he just let the boy cry until the tears sapped him of energy and he dozed off.

The boy slowed down, so Yoongi slowed his pace too for the boy.

“We’re almost there,” Yoongi said, partially in hope that the boy would not simply drop onto his
butt in the middle of the road, kicking and screaming about wanting to be carried.

The boy looked at Yoongi with unfocused eyes, then nodded and continued to put one dogged foot
in front of the other. On the asphalt, their shadows lengthened in the light from the setting sun, one
shadow twice the length of the other. The wheels of the suitcase Yoongi was pulling for the boy
rattled, filling the silence between them.

Yoongi lived in an old neighbourhood. Thick power lines strung between street lights instead of
being reworked underground. The houses on either side of the street weren’t considered decrepit,
but weren’t well-maintained either. Paint was dulled or flaked, cracks snaked on walls, and the
accordion gates that guarded most of the property whined when touched. The demographics
reflected the age of the neighbourhood. By eight at night, most of the residents would have turned
in, a fact that provoked a number of complaints aimed toward Yoongi before he had soundproofed
his room.

Yoongi’s place loomed into view. His apartment was a two-room studio constructed like an
afterthought on the rooftop of his landlady’s house. A rackety metal staircase attached to the side
of the house should have meant that he could go for days without seeing his landlady, but Madam
Lee happened to be a nitpicker that also happened to be a miser.
Yoongi stopped quietly at the foot of the staircase. Beside him, Taehyung stopped too. Yoongi
craned his neck and peered over the low walls that surrounded the house. Through the gauzy
curtains, he spied movement on the television screen and the back of Madam Lee’s permed head
resting against the sofa.

He slid the suitcase’s telescopic handle down and switched to hold the smaller top handle. He
lifted the suitcase and put his foot as silently as he could on the first step of the stairs.

“Be as quiet as you can,” he told Taehyung.

Yoongi had no wish to deal with Madam Lee or her petty complaints about him forgetting to turn
off his lights the other day. Worse, if she came out now, she would see Taehyung, and that would
engender an interrogation and more troubles. Today was long enough already.

For the first five steps, they did a commendable job at stealth. But on the sixth step, a rubber sole
squeaked against metal, followed by a clonk that rattled the staircase. Yoongi snapped his head
back and saw the boy down on one knee, his small hands planted forward on the next step to break
his fall. The boy resembled a deer caught in headlights as he stared up at Yoongi with trembling
lips and frightened eyes.

Yoongi held his breath until the vibration through the staircase waned off. When he did not hear
any movement from below, he grabbed Taehyung by the upper arm, hoisted him to his feet, and
pulled him up the remaining stairs. At the entrance of his apartment, he fumbled a little with the
lock, opened the door, swept the boy and the suitcase inside before going in himself and closing
the door behind him.

With his back against the door, he exhaled.

Taehyung looked him, but his eyes fell meekly when Yoongi returned the gaze.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Yoongi asked.

There was the smallest pause, then the fervent shaking of the head.

Yoongi stared at the boy. Without the noise of the suitcase’s wheels grinding against asphalt, the
silence between them was so complete that it buzzed.

What now?

Their bodies heated up the narrow entryway, and the small space became increasingly stuffy.
Yoongi noticed a smear of dirt near the hem of the boy’s shirt and the faint tear tracks on the boy’s
face. At one of the rest stops earlier, Yoongi had told the boy to ‘wash your face’ at the bathroom.
The boy’d obeyed, but apparently hadn’t done a thorough job.

“Why don’t you take a shower first?” Yoongi suggested.

Taehyung nodded.

Yoongi helped the boy put his shoes away and led him into the house.

The apartment layout was somewhat of an oddity. There was a small kitchen off the side of the
entryway. The living room contained a square dining table and a mounted TV on the wall trailing
wires to the socket. The living room also had a single-sized bed, a flimsy zip-up wardrobe and a
chest of drawers — furniture that would have no business in the living room had the only bedroom
not been repurposed into a music studio by Yoongi.
Yoongi laid the suitcase on its side at the foot of the bed and unzipped it.

“What do you wear to bed?”

The boy squatted tentatively next to him and pointed.

Yoongi assembled a pair of underwear, a long-sleeved shirt with a patchwork elephant stitched
across the belly, a pair of mint-green long pants imprinted with innumerable aliens riding in UFOs.
He handed the clothes to the boy. Taehyung clutched the clothes to his chest as he followed
Yoongi to the bathroom.

Yoongi ushered Taehyung into the bathroom. He stood outside, his hand on the knob.

“Take your time,” Yoongi said.

He closed the bathroom door and left, releasing a breath. With the boy out of sight, breathing
seemed to come easier to him. In the living room, he stood between his bed and the dining table,
and basked in his short-lived solitude. Who would have known being alone could be so precious?

Beyond the window, the sky had lost its pinkish hue and was gaining darkening shades of blue.

Yoongi gathered himself, picked up his phone and called the takeaway service he frequently
patronised. The person on the line informed him that yes, we have kids’ meal. He ordered that for
Taehyung and jajangmyeon for himself.

After he hung up, he assessed the living room. There was only one bed, but he had a spare mattress
somewhere to lay over the floor. The mattress were thin and knobby in some parts, but that’d work.
The boy could take the bed while he took the floor.

Just as Yoongi thought he had everything under control, a loud crash turned him cold.

The bathroom.

Yoongi dashed to the bathroom and threw its door open.

“What’s goin—”

Yoongi took in the scene before him, his heart thumping in his chest.

Water ran from the shower head. The boy, wet and naked, shivered in the corner and looked like he
was about to cry. Yoongi’s eyes trailed to the bottles lying on the tiled floor and the fallen rack. It
didn’t take much imagination to know the boy had probably tried to reach for the soap on tiptoes
but ended up dislodging the rack because he wasn’t tall enough. The clothes hook were too high up
for Taehyung too, for he had resorted to putting his clothes on the toilet lid instead.

You should have asked me for help, Yoongi almost said, but didn’t when he remembered he was
the one who had left the boy in a haste upon glimpsing a breather.

For the second time that day, Yoongi asked, “Are you hurt?”

And just like the previous time, Taehyung shook his head.

Yoongi sighed. He guessed it couldn’t be help. He stepped into the bathroom.

He took the shower head off its bracket and realised that the water was cold. The lever for the
water heater was at least a foot and a half too high for the boy. He pulled it on and waited for a bit
 till the water heated up, aware that the boy was watching him.

“C’mon,” he told Taehyung, “I’ll help you.”

The boy edged uncertainly out of the corner.

“Arms up.”

“Close your eyes.”

“Turn around.”

As Yoongi washed the suds off the boy, he noticed an oval-shaped bruise above the boy’s elbow.
He turned the water off, straightened, looked at the clothes hook. He had forgotten the towel.

Great. Fucking great. He was really doing a fucking stellar job at taking care of the boy.

“I’ll be right back,” he uttered and left the bathroom to retrieve a towel from his bottommost
drawer.

By the time Yoongi had dried Taehyung off, dressed him, reinstalled the fallen rack, dinner had
arrived. He seated Taehyung at the dining table and took the chair across from him. Taehyung
picked at his kid’s meal of kimchi rice balls and egg rolls, chewing with as much enthusiasm as an
old tyre.

The black-bean noodles tasted like sawdust in Yoongi’s dry mouth. He ought to be hungry, but any
appetite he had had disappeared without a trace. He swept his gaze across the living room and the
rooftop area that the living room opened out to.

How could a space so ample for one person shrink so much with the addition of a tiny human
being barely three-feet tall?

Yoongi stared at Taehyung.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

TBC

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

bye Daegu and hello Seoul! tae is finally going to start his new life with his samchon!

i have the next four or five chapters planned out and i can't wait to write how yoongi
bumbles through his new, monolithic responsibility. I also can't wait for you to meet
the new characters who, I promise, will be a lot more likeable than the halmoni and
haraboji.

another thing, thank you so much for the comments you left last chapter. they put a
smile on my face. if you would, please continue to engage with the story. it means a
lot to me <3
till next time!
 Chapter Six
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

When he was in elementary school, Yoongi’d once been summoned into the principal office after
accidentally shattering a window while playing soccer. That principal office had drab grey walls, a
faded carpeted floor with flyaway threads, and the musty smell of old papers a result of years of
hoarding. That principal office was a far cry from the one he was currently in, which was bright
and airy and had a spotless white floor.

Unlike Yoongi, who, with his dirty sneakers and ripped jeans, was out of place in the room, the
principal fit right in. She appeared to be in her early fifties. She wore a crease-free white blouse and
had an expensive-looking scarf tied around her neck. Her hair was coiffed, not a strand out of place.

From behind the gold-rimmed glasses perched low on her nose, she considered Yoongi. The air
freshener on the wall hissed out a plume of jasmine-scented aerosol as she folded her arms on the
glass desk.

“So I heard from my staff that you’re keen to enrol your nephew in our school.”

Yoongi wasn’t someone who attached much significance to first impressions, well aware that the
first impressions he gave others were by no means stellar. He was curt and unsmilingly. The people
he crossed paths with often commented to each other on his aversion toward people in general.
That was an inaccurate assessment. To dislike people denotes a certain degree of emotional
investment that he couldn’t be bothered with. So it wasn’t that Yoongi didn’t like people; he just
didn’t care very much about them.

But sitting across the glass desk from the principal, Yoongi found that his dislike for the woman
was increasing with every second in her presence.

He hadn’t missed the way she’d appraised him when he entered the office, or the way her lips
pursed subtly in disdain after she was done, as if she had measured him against a set of criteria and
found him sorely lacking. He would have walked out if it weren’t for the fact that this kindergarten
was the nearest to his place.

He answered her.

“That’s right.”

She looked out of the glass wall that separated her office from the rest of the kindergarten.
Taehyung was outside, sitting on a neon-green round stool and playing with an abacus-like toy the
lady staff from earlier had handed him to keep him occupied. Taehyung didn’t look like he was
having fun.

When Yoongi had envisioned how the day would unfold that morning, he’d expected a
straightforward process of walking into the kindergarten, completing some enrolment paperwork,
going home, and then taking the boy back to the school the next day so that he could finally return
to work.

The kindergarten had a spacious interior with pale wood floor and fluffy round rugs in pastel green,
blue and pink. The children were in the classrooms when Yoongi arrived with Taehyung, but
through the windows that were low enough for parents to look in but too high for the children to
look out, Yoongi noticed the children wore neat little uniforms with striped bow ties.

A lady staff had come out to receive them. After communicating his intention, she sat him down at
one of the two adult-sized tables in the room and handed him a form to fill. Things had gone
exactly as he’d imagined, until he wrote Uncle under the field Relationship to child. That prompted
a series of questions regarding the whereabouts of Taehyung’s parents, all of which Yoongi
answered without much thought. In hindsight he probably shouldn’t have been that truthful. The
congenial smile on the staff’s face had gone stiff. She disappeared for a good fifteen minutes
before returning to inform him that the principal would like to have a chat, if that was quite all
right with him.

That was how, almost a decade and a half later, Yoongi found himself in a principal office for the
second time in his life.

“I’ve also been told that he’d just lost his mother?” The principal asked. The question was as
matter-of-fact as it could be, without any suggestion of sympathy.

“That’s right too.”

“How long ago was that?”

“A little more than a week.”

“How is he coping?”

Yoongi thought about it carefully.

“Bravely,” he said after a few moments.

The principal raised an unconvinced brow. “How so?”

“He eats, he sleeps and he carries on through the days despite having been uprooted from his old
life. If that isn’t brave for a five-year-old, I don’t know what is,” he deadpanned.

The edge in his voice didn’t faze her. She neither contradicted nor agreed with him as she moved
on to her next question.

“Is he seeing a therapist?”

“For what?”

“To help him deal with his loss.”

“I told you he’s coping as well as he possibly can.”

She released a short sigh, as though praying in the same breath for patience. “It’s not my intention
to undermine what you’ve said, but we often blindly believe that we know our children the best.
Unless you’re a certified therapist,” she paused, cool gaze taking in his face, “which I don’t think
you are but feel free to correct me, your observations don’t hold much water.”

Yoongi held his decorum together enough to prevent profanities from peppering his speech. But
barely.

“What has that got to do with enrolling the kid into kindergarten?”

She joined her hands, fingers locked against one another, and leaned forward an inch. “Children
who are grieving can behave in a myriad of unpredictable ways. They may appear fine on the
outside but you’ll never know what’s going to set them off.”

“What you’re saying, is that you and your group of teachers, despite the qualifications and
experience that must have landed you the job in the first place, are not well-equipped to handle a
five-year-old who has just lost his mother, and whom you’re baselessly believing might have a
meltdown so unlike anything you have ever seen and thus couldn’t manage. Is that right?”

The corners of her lips tightened, accentuating the fine lines that had appeared in her makeup. She
might be older than what he’d pegged her to be.

“My concern is far from baseless, Min Yoongi-sshi,” she said tersely. “As the principal of this
school, it is my responsibility to uphold its prestige and ensure an optimal environment for our
students’ growth and learning, which means minimizing distractions and disruptions. To do any
less would be a betrayal of the parents’ trust in us. I believe you’d understand that.”

What a load of crap.

“In any case,” she continued, “our school is currently fully enrolled. If you’d like, we can put you
on the waiting list and contact you when a spot opens up. I hope that poor little thing feel better by
then.” She pulls out a drawer next to her and produced a piece of paper. She pushed it across the
desk to him. “In the meantime, you might want to take a look at our table of fees.”

Not a pamphlet boasting the facilities in the kindergarten or its curriculum, but a fucking table of
fees printed with numbers trailing with tails of zeros.

Yoongi saw a gesture for what it was — a pointed, tacit hint that even if the kindergarten was
willing to accept Taehyung, Yoongi wouldn’t be able to afford a monthly school fee as high as his
monthly income. And then there was the cost of the school uniform. For fuck’s sake, were they
designer wear or what?

Yoongi should feel insulted — the truth was, he did — but greater than that was the unmistakeable
sense of liberation. Since there was no way Taehyung was coming to this exorbitant school,
Yoongi no longer had any need to keep his manners in check.

He rose from his chair and slid the paper back to the woman.

“Why don’t you take this back and shove it up your sagging ass?”

::::::::::

Yoongi knew the doorbell would ring seconds before it actually did.

The thing about Jung Hoseok was you often heard him before you saw him. He was the kind of
person who thrummed constantly with energy, the type who didn’t need any downtime. In
crowded bars, one only needed to trace the animated voice and laughter rising above the
background din to find him chatting heartily with people he might or might not know. Even when
he was alone, he didn’t stop producing sounds.

Case in point: now.

The metal staircase thumped out a cheerful rhythm as he loped up its length like a carefree deer
instead of ascending it like a normal person. Then again, even if his footsteps were silent,
Yoongi’d still hear him because Hoseok whistled and hummed when his mouth wasn’t in use for
talking.
Yoongi opened the door just as the bell rang. He was momentarily blinded by the hot-pink polo
shirt Hoseok was wearing.

“Wow,” Hoseok breathed, amazed. “I swear we have telepathy going on between us, for you to
answer the door as quickly as you did.”

“I don’t remember inviting you,” Yoongi said.

“Not a bother. I can invite myself. Anyway, did you see my message?” Hoseok shouldered past
Yoongi into the apartment. “There’s an underground band in urgent need of players. Their
drummer and keyboardist came down with a nasty case of food poisoning. I haven’t promised
them anything because I was worried you were still in Daegu, which by the way, shame on you for
not responding to my messages.” He shot Yoongi a look of censure as he kicked off his shoes, and
swept them to the side of the entryway with his feet. “But now that you’re back, we can join their
performance tonight. The setlist is nothing we haven’t done before.”

Yoongi had met Hoseok in his second year in Seoul, through a gig where they had to stand in as a
keyboardist and a drummer respectively for a band. They bumped into each other in similar
settings a couple more times after that, but they didn’t find camaraderie until months later, when a
bar owner refused to pay them the amount initially agreed upon. Yoongi had been ready to bring
out his fists, but Hoseok got to it first. Instead of physical violence, however, Hoseok suggested the
owner to think again, listing the things that would be done to the bar by his brother-in-arms if the
agreement wasn’t honoured. Hoseok spoke as though he was talking about rainbow popcorn and
glimmering unicorns instead of smashed tables and shattered bottles. He made his point
nevertheless, because even though he wore an amiable smile the entire time, the smile didn’t touch
his eyes.

“I lied,” Hoseok admitted to Yoongi over shared drinks afterward. “I believe the miserly worm
suspected as much, but he wouldn’t risk getting his bar smashed over a petty sum of money in case
my threats turn out to be true.” Hoseok laughed. “That’s how you handle people like him, putting
things into perspective for them with a dash of deceit. You don’t really think I belong to a gang, do
you?”

“Of course not,” Yoongi had said. Hoseok didn’t need to know that was a lie, or that Yoongi now
viewed him with a begrudging sense of respect. Hoseok’s method had been leagues more elegant
than Yoongi’s original plan of letting fists do the talking.

An unlikely friendship formed between the two of them after that, even though Yoongi hadn’t
intended to make friends or build relationships in Seoul because the process demanded more
energy than Yoongi cared to give. It turned out Hoseok had enough of such energy to compensate
Yoongi’s lack thereof.

Hoseok’s over-the-top vivaciousness drained Yoongi occasionally, but all in all, Hoseok made a
good friend. Like Yoongi, Hoseok wanted to make a career out of music. They appreciated and
criticised music over beers, even though the stuff they liked and created were as similar as night
and day — Yoongi’s dark and gritty as his outlook on life, Hoseok’s bright and hopeful as his
tireless disposition. The fact that Hoseok had enough connections to land Yoongi bar gigs every
now and then was a sweet bonus.

A bonus which had become inconsequential in light of recent events.

“Count me out,” Yoongi said. “I can’t go.”

“What do you mean you can’t go? It’s your day off today, isn’t it. And you never say no to a—”
Hoseok came to an abrupt halt one step shy of stepping into the living room. He turned stiffly to
Yoongi. “Are my eyes playing a trick on me, or is there a kid in your house?”

“There’s no one to take care of him if I go tonight.”

Hoseok looked back into the living room. Yoongi came up beside Hoseok. Taehyung was on the
floor, where Yoongi had left him when he went to answer the door. Taehyung had stopped moving
his mini toy car around to stare at Hoseok, taken aback by his sudden presence.

“Tell me you haven’t kidnapped a child,” Hoseok muttered out of the corners of his lips.

“He’s my nephew,” Yoongi deadpanned at Hoseok’s penchant for the theatrical.

“I didn’t know you have a nephew.”

“It’s a long story.”

Yoongi gave Hoseok a look, and Hoseok understood from Yoongi’s expression that the details of
how things came to be should preferably not be shared in the child’s hearing radius.

Hoseok squared his shoulders, cleared his throat, straightened his invisible tie and marched over to
Taehyung. He carried himself as though he was approaching the country’s president and not a five-
year-old. He dropped onto one knee before Taehyung.

“Hello!” Hoseok gave Taehyung a small wave, his voice uncannily high. “What’s your name?”

Taehyung’s eyes flitted uncertainly to Yoongi. Without realising it after he had done so, Yoongi
tipped his chin to give his okay.

“Kim Taehyung,” Taehyung mumbled softly, dropping his head.

“That’s such a cool name! Can I call you Taetae?”

Taehyung smiled shyly. A pleased blush spread across his cheeks. He nodded. It occured to
Yoongi that this was the first time he’d seen a hint of happiness on Taehyung.

“Then Taetae it shall be! Taetae, do you want to be friends with me? My name’s Jung Hoseok. You
can call me Hobi Hyung.”

“More like Hobi Ahjussi.”

Hobi ignored Yoongi. “Don’t listen to your samchon,” he said.

Once again, Taehyung looked at Yoongi, eyes confused. This time, Yoongi kept his face
impassive. The boy couldn’t possibly expect Yoongi to tell him what he should or shouldn’t do for
every single little thing. Yes, the boy was only five, but that was old enough to decide for himself
how he wanted to address Hoseok.

“Hobi Ahju—

“Hobi Hyung,” Hoseok emphasized. “Hobi Hyung.”

Yoongi suppressed a smirk.

“Hobi... Hyung,” Taehyung complied.

Hoseok broke into a megawatt smile, unbothered by the hint of uncertainty in Taehyung’s voice.
He plopped down onto his butt next to Taehyung.

“What are you playing with? Is that your car? Can I take a closer look?”

Taehyung nodded and put the car on Hoseok’s open palm.

“Wow,” Hoseok appraised the toy car as a jeweller would a 36-carat diamond, “this must be the
coolest, swankiest car I have ever seen in my life.”

Taehyung’s face brightened with pride. He edged closer to Hoseok. “It’s the fastest car in the
universe. It can fly too,” he informed Hoseok in a small, shy voice.

Hoseok gasped. “This car is a million times more awesome than I already think it is.”

Goosebumps rose on Yoongi’s arms as Taehyung lapped up all of Hoseok’s antics. Was this what
children responded to? Fawning voice, overdone theatrics and exaggerated language? Yoongi
wouldn’t be able to achieve that. Not that he wanted to.

Sensing that he’d become an extra, Yoongi left Hoseok and Taehyung alone and slipped into the
kitchen. On one of the counters was the plastic bag of necessities he had bought at a hypermart on
the way back from the kindergarten. He took the items out and put them away — the boxes of
animal biscuits into the pantry (just in case the boy needed a snack), the stepping stool under the
bathroom sink and the kid-sized toothbrush and orange-flavoured toothpaste above it.

In the living room, Hoseok and Taehyung had moved on to a game. They sat facing each other on
the floor, separated by the length of the bed. The rule seemed to be for Taehyung to push the car
into Hoseok’s cupped hands. Juvenile, but delight danced on Taehyung’s face.

Yoongi passed them by and went into his studio, closing the door behind him. He hadn’t
appreciated Hoseok’s presence more than he did now. It’d only been one day since they’d returned
to Seoul, but Yoongi already felt stifled. His interactions with the boy were awkward at best. He
didn’t know what to do with the boy other than making sure he ate, showered, and had a place to
sleep. He didn’t know what to say to the boy beyond “Eat”, “Wash your hands”, “Put on your
shoes. We’re going out”.

With Hoseok entertaining the boy, the pressure of having to be around Taehyung was lifted from
his shoulders for the time being.

He pulled out the swivel chair and sat behind his workstation. A flat screen rested atop an audio
interface, sandwiched by two boxy speakers. The headphones lazed where Yoongi’d left it the day
he left for Daegu. A MIDI keyboard stood on its stand by the side, jammed into the space between
the desk and a part of the wall that jutted.

The studio wasn’t what he had in mind when he envisioned his dream studio, but it was where he
felt most at ease in the whole of Seoul.

He powered on the computer. After waiting the five minutes his antiquated computer took to
awaken and run, he put on his headphones and opened his music files, slipping into another world
where things were unpredictable in ways that excited his heart rather than brought him dread.

He was so absorbed that he barely noticed Hoseok coming into the room god-knows-how-long
later.

“He’s taking a nap,” Hoseok announced as he sank into the couch Yoongi had scavenged from a
secondhand furniture sale. “He’s so tired. Did he sleep well last night?”

Who was Hoseok talking about?

Then the next second pulsed and Yoongi remembered. Right, the boy. His stomach pulled with the
familiar lurch. He ignored it.

“Must be the new environment,” Yoongi said noncommittally. “I didn’t know you’re this good
with children.”

“It’s a skill you naturally hone when your parents decide to surprise you with a triplet of baby
brothers the year you turn thirteen. But let’s not compare Taehyung to those little devils. So,”
Hoseok kicked his legs straight and slouched halfway down the couch, loose-limbed as always,
“what exactly happened in Daegu?”

Yoongi gave Hoseok a watered-down account of events. He glossed over the angst. He told
Hoseok about Seungah’s passing but not his resentment toward her. He told Hoseok his parents
weren’t able to care for Taehyung but not why, letting Hoseok assume that old age was the reason.

Hoseok had sat back straight by the time Yoongi was finished. He was silent for a grim moment.

“I can’t imagine how Taehyung must be feeling. He shouldn’t have to go through something like
that. No child should have to.” Hoseok rubbed at his own chest and blew out a breath. “This shit
hurts.”

“So you know why I can’t join you for band gigs tonight. Or for that matter, any nights in the near
future. I have to take care of the boy.”

The gigs were the closest thing Yoongi had to making money doing the thing he loved. Having to
give them up stirred his frustration. But Hoseok didn’t seem to have notice the bitter edge in
Yoongi’s voice. He dismissed Yoongi with a wave.

“Just focus on Taehyung. He’s now your priority.”

The words chafed, and Yoongi wondered if irritation fleeted across his face. But if Hoseok’d
noticed it, he didn’t point it out.

“What’s your plan now?” Hoseok asked.

“Find the boy a school and send him there so that I can go back to work.”

“How’s that going?”

“Fine.”

Yoongi saw no point in telling Hoseok about his unsuccessful run-in with the kindergarten earlier
that morning. That was the first school he had gone to, and he hadn’t researched much about the
kindergarten before he visited. But now he knew to find kindergartens within his budget,
kindergartens hopefully less snobby. Everything was going to work out.

“Do you have experience with children?” Hoseok asked.

“Do I look like I have experience with them?”

“Joke’s on me for even asking in the first place,” Hoseok muttered. “You have a lot to learn, but I
suppose you’ll do so along the way. If I were you, I’d start by childproofing the house. Cover up
the sockets, keep the small items out of reach, cushion the corners and whatnot.”

“Should I bubblewrap the floor and the wall for the boy too?”

Hoseok looked unamused. “Don’t take this lightly. Taehyung doesn’t seem like the mischievous
type, but accidents can still happen. One of the triplets fell in the way of a table once. There was so
much blood it scared the hell out of me.”

“Anything else I need to watch out for?”

“Plenty. I’ll text you when they come to mind. If you need any help, you’ll text me too, okay? I’m
by no means an expert, but I’m better and more experienced than you at this.”

“Thanks for giving me the boost of confidence I didn’t know I needed,” Yoongi said sarcastically.

“I’m going to help you whether you like it or not.”

For Yoongi, life before the boy was by no means glamorous or fulfilling. In the day, Yoongi
delivered goods around the city in his company van; at night, he returned to his studio and worked
on pursuing a dream that floated farther and farther out of reach with every passing year. But he
only had himself to think about. He was self-sufficient. He got by without any help from anyone,
Hoseok included. If a portal opened and offered him the chance to return to that life, he’d jump
right in without second thoughts.

Without such portal, his next best bet was finding a school for the boy. If he could get the boy out
of his sight even for a small part of the day, his life would perhaps go back to some semblance of
normal.

“And Yoongi?” Hoseok broke Yoongi away from his thoughts.

There was a hard, unflinching light in Hoseok’s eyes that reminded Yoongi of the time Hoseok
confronted that bar owner. This version of Hoseok demanded others to not only listen, but also take
him seriously.

“This may be difficult for you to swallow, but I get the sense that you don’t like Taehyung very
much, like you want put as much distance as possible between you and him. You haven’t once
uttered his name. It’s always the boy this or the boy that. His name’s Taehyung, Yoongi. Use it.”

Yoongi flattened his lips and said nothing.

“Your resistance to Taehyung is valid,” Hoseok said fairly. “All of a sudden there’s this child you
have to make accommodations for. It’s challenging for anyone. You have your life, your lifestyle
and your dreams, but did it ever occur to you that Taehyung only has you right now?” He paused to
let the words sink in. “Children are more sensitive than we think they are. Honestly, don’t let him
believe even for a moment that he’s a burden to you or that you dislike him. I’ll fight you to the
ends of earth if you ever make him feel that way.”

::::::::::

Hoseok’s words stayed with Yoongi the way sweat sticks to the skin on a humid summer day.
Annoying and intolerable.

He woke up early the next morning, changed quietly and slipped out of the house to the nearest
mart. When he returned twenty minutes later, Taehyung was still asleep, curled like a cooked
shrimp, his hand balled into a fist above his head.
Yoongi went inside the kitchen. From the cupboard beside the refrigerator, he took out the pan he
barely used and put it over the stove. He reached for the bottle of cooking oil he owned and
squinted at the label. The expiry date had faded. He unscrewed its cap and took a whiff. It smelled
fine. He would buy a new bottle later, but this would have to do for now.

He had just cracked two eggs into the sizzling pan when he heard the bed creak. Taehyung poked
his head timidly into the kitchen, his body half-hidden behind the wall. A thick tuft of hair stuck
out from the top of his head, somehow managing to taper into a pointy end. It brought Astro Boy to
mind.

So it began, another day with the boy. Yoongi kept his sigh to himself.

“Why don’t you go brush your teeth? You know how to do that, don’t you?” Last night Yoongi
had helped Taehyung with it before putting him to bed. “Use the same toothbrush and toothpaste
we bought yesterday. Take the stool out from under the sink and stand on it to reach the tap.”

Taehyung nodded and disappeared.

As Yoongi slid the cooked eggs onto the plate and cooked up the hotdogs next, he kept his ears on
the sounds coming from the bathroom. Fortunately there was only the uneventful gush of water.

Taehyung reappeared in the kitchen doorway, sporting whitish toothpaste stains on his pyjamas. He
looked at Yoongi with his large eyes. Barely ten minutes had passed since Taehyung’d woken up,
but Yoongi felt a sigh rising in his chest for the second time.

“Why don’t you go sit at the table? I’m almost finished with breakfast.”

Yoongi was beginning to see a pattern. Talking to Taehyung was always prefaced by Why don’t
you, followed by an instruction. How long would it take for the boy to outgrow his need to be told
what to do or where to go? Wasn’t this bordering on over-reliance?

He pushed the thoughts away before he drove himself into an uncharitable mood. At least the boy
was obedient.

Taehyung’s eyes lit up when Yoongi put the breakfast before him. The plate bore two sunny-side
ups, a couple of wieners sliced to resemble octopus after they cooked, and some pieces of smiley-
face potatoes.

“Eat,” Yoongi said, then went back inside the kitchen.

He made himself a mug of coffee from cheap instant powder and glued two slices of bread together
with peanut butter. That was his default breakfast because of its efficiency. It was also the
breakfast he fed Taehyung yesterday morning, which Taehyung hadn’t looked like he enjoyed it
very much.

Yoongi returned to the dining table and noticed Taehyung hadn’t touched his plate of breakfast.

“What are you waiting for?” Yoongi asked, his voice gruff. “Do you not like this as well?”

Taehyung’s face crumpled. He shook his head vigorously. His lips quivered in a mumble. Some of
what he said was inaudible, but Yoongi caught the words eat with Samchon.

Yoongi didn’t know what to say to that. He sat down across from Taehyung, tearing off a chunk of
his peanut butter sandwich with his teeth.
“Eat,” he said.

Taehyung perked up, his butt scooting forward in his seat. He picked up the fork and started from
the wieners. After the first bite, his face bloomed with delight and he began to dig in in earnest.
Yoongi couldn’t remember seeing Taehyung eat with this much gusto before.

Hoseok should be here to witness this, just so he’d realise whatever concerns he had over Yoongi’s
ability to take care of a child were unfounded. Yoongi might not be an expert, but he wasn’t that
dismal either.

Somewhere between finishing his second piece of wiener and his first piece of potato, Taehyung
somehow got into his head that if he enjoyed his food, then Yoongi should enjoy it too. He speared
a potato and held the fork out to Yoongi.

Yoongi stared at the holes in the potato that, in his opinion, made up a rather creepy face. His
instinct was to cringe away and refuse, but there was only so much he could lean back with the
chair in the way. And damn, why did the boy have to look at him with those eyes?

Fighting his instincts, Yoongi plucked the potato off the fork, popped it into his mouth, gave a few
hasty chews and swallowed.

Taehyung watched him expectantly.

What now?

“It’s...” Yoongi dragged out the sssss as he weighed his word options. “It’s delicious,” he said
eventually.

A joyful smile appeared on Taehyung’s face. His happiness seemed to travel right down to his legs
as he began to swing them.

In hindsight, Yoongi probably should have said that the potato tasted awful. Encouraged by
Yoongi’s evaluation, Taehyung had proceeded to give him a wiener, a floppy slice of egg white,
and a second potato, all delivered on the fork. In all honesty, as far as breakfasts composed mostly
overly processed food went, the breakfast tasted pretty good. It was the intimacy that made Yoongi
queasy. He wondered if Taehyung was used to doing this with Seungah.

Next time, Yoongi decided as he swallowed the potato, he’d downsize Taehyung’s breakfast so that
the boy would be less inclined to share.

But all in all, it wasn’t a bad way to start the morning.

::::::::::

After the table was cleared, Yoongi told Taehyung they were going out and he should change out
of his pyjamas. Yoongi could tell from Taehyung’s pattering footsteps that the boy was in a good
mood.

Halfway down the stairs on their way out, Yoongi stopped suddenly. There the landlord lady was
squatting, pruning the pots of flowers she’d placed outside her gates. Next to him, Taehyung raised
his face at Yoongi in confusion.

Yoongi’s first thought was to turn back. He’d managed to avoid Madam Lee for two days so far,
and he intended to prolong his streak. But he was too slow; she had seen him. She dusted off her
gloved hands, rose from her haunches and approached.
Just his luck.

Yoongi steeled himself and walked down the rest of the stairs, Taehyung in tow.

“Joeun achimimnida,” Yoongi said with the energy of a soggy cardboard.

Madam Lee didn’t deign to reply.

She rested one knuckle on her hip and pushed her round belly forward, her default way of standing
that seemed intended to make her appear more imposing than her four-feet-five stature originally
allowed. She wore the kind of fashion fancied by women her age: her loose-fitting pants as flowery
and gaudy as her round-neck blouse. Although her eyes were shaded by the visor on her head,
Yoongi could feel her gaze taking Taehyung in. The boy shifted uncomfortably and pressed
himself closer to Yoongi.

“So you’re keeping a child in the house.” She narrowed her eyes at Yoongi. “I knew there was
something fishy going on with you when I heard two sets of footsteps going up and down the stairs
instead of one.”

She sounded proud of her eavesdropping talent. Yoongi staved the urge to roll his eyes.

“Who is he to you?” She asked.

“He’s my nephew.”

“How long is he going to be here?”

“He’ll be living with me from now.”

“What happened to his parents?”

“It’s a personal family matter.”

Her lips pursed. “Our lease agreement states that you’re to be the only inhabitant. I have the right
to evict you. And I probably should, considering you seem to intend to hide the boy’s existence
from me. That’s dishonest.”

“He came only two days ago,” Yoongi muttered. “I was busy settling him in.”

She tsked. “I live just downstairs. You could have come to me any time. Nevertheless, I’m not an
unfeeling person and throwing you two out is the last thing I want to do. The thing is,” she looked
meaningfully at Yoongi, “an extra person means that extra electricity and water will be used...”

Yoongi should have known it was coming down to this. “I’ll pay more rent. How about that?”

“Good.” She tapped her fingers against her side, swift calculations taking place in her mind.
“That’ll be an additional 150,000 won per month.”

“150,000 won?” Yoongi echoed incredulously. “What are you trying to be? A robber?”

“Watch your tone, young man,” she said haughtily. “I’ll have you know 150,000 won is perfectly
reasonable. It includes maintenance on top of utilities. Children are messy and destructive, worse
than pets. Who knows what I’ll need to replace when you leave? If you feel the amount’s unfair,
feel free to move out. After you experience how difficult it is to find a place with a child in tow,
you’ll come to realise how generous I am.”
Yoongi hated that he didn’t have the leverage to bargain. He had more to lose than Madam Lee
did. He didn’t know if it was indeed difficult to find another place to stay now that he had a child
with him, but he had no wish to find out. Moreover moving out meant losing his studio after having
painstakingly soundproofed its walls.

He clenched his jaw. “Fine. 150,000 won it is.”

She nodded smugly. “A wise decision. Don’t be late with rent,” she said, even though Yoongi had
never once been remiss about paying on time.

As she sashayed back to her flowers, Yoongi hoped she would trip and fall, preferably face flat on
the abrasive asphalt.

“Samchon?”

Yoongi glanced down at Taehyung. The boy had a worried frown between his eyebrows.

“Let’s go,” he said tersely. He stalked off, leaving Taehyung to catch up.

The rest of the day went downhill from there.

::::::::::

Yoongi’s eyes lingered on the various dimensions and colors of corner covers on the display rack,
but his mind was miles away.

Numbers clouded his head: his income, the increased rent, Taehyung’s would-be school fees, the
monthly expenses now that he had a new mouth to feed. In the best case scenario, he had enough,
but just enough. There would be no buffer for unexpected expenditure. Who knew what else the
boy would need?

Yoongi weighed his options. Asking for a pay raise was out of the question; as it was, his boss was
already unhappy with his having to take urgent days off to return to Daegu and now to settle
Taehyung in. Finding an additional job to supplement his income was unlikely too. If he worked at
night, who would take care of Taehyung? He supposed he could call his contact at the TV station
to see if any shows needed theme jingles, but that’d mean lesser time for his own music…

So be it. He had signed himself up for this. He’d do whatever he needed to do to keep the boy
alive, one day at a time. Other than some songs uploaded on SoundCloud and a miserable number
of playbacks and followers, it wasn’t as if he had achieved any breakthrough with his dream in the
five years he was in Seoul. Maybe Taehyung was Life’s way of telling him to give up.

Frustrated, Yoongi decided to stop thinking for now. He ripped a dozen of corner covers off the
hooks and tossed them into his shopping basket.

What else did Hoseok say was needed to childproof the house?

Yoongi navigated through the Saturday crowd in the multistory budget lifestyle store, scowling
when a few teenagers bumped their bulky bags into him. In the next aisle, he found the socket
covers. One floor up, he decided to grab the anti-slip bath mats and an additional rack where
Taehyung could put his own shampoo and soap.

He was about to ring up his purchase when he passed by a rack hanging with kid-sized cutlery —
forks, spoons, chopsticks — in a multitude of designs. Some had handles that ended in shapes of
animals; others were printed with vibrant illustrations of trains, cottages and grinning stars. Yoongi
found himself childishly envious. He didn’t own such fancy cutlery in his childhood. Then again,
he didn’t think his parents cared.

Yoongi recalled Taehyung’s small hand wrapping around a fork too big for him at breakfast this
morning. He should probably buy a new one for the boy, and get a spoon, chopsticks while at it,
possibly one of those plates with different compartments for different dishes too.

“Which design do you like?” Yoongi asked as he scrutinised a training chopsticks conjoined at the
top by a panda’s head.

The shy, prepubescent voice didn’t float up from below.

Yoongi got a little annoyed. He picked a fork-and-spoon set at random to show the boy.

“How about—”

His voice died. The spot next to him, where he’d assumed Taehyung would be, was empty. He
whipped his head around. The boy was nowhere in sight.

“Taehyung,” he said.

For a moment he expected the boy to come shuffling out from the neighbouring aisle. He strained
his ears for footsteps amidst the background sound of shoppers going about doing their thing.

“Kim Taehyung.”

This time, he sounded louder and more forceful. Maybe the brewing anger in his voice would draw
the boy out, let the boy know that there’d be consequences if this was his idea of a prank.

It didn’t.

Yoongi retraced his steps. Ice crystallised from the base of his spine when he realised he couldn’t
recall when was the last time he saw Taehyung. With the thoughts pinging around in his head, he
hadn’t paid the boy much attention. He’d simply assumed that the boy would tag behind him
wherever he went.

His brisk steps built up into a jog and then a run as his search remained unfruitful. He called
Taehyung’s name and peered over the top of shelves, but he did not glimpse Taehyung.

Where could the boy be? Did he even follow Yoongi into the store?

He did, Yoongi reassured himself. He vaguely remembered the boy slowing down and craning his
head when they passed the toys’ section. He also remembered the boy’s anxious footsteps as he
rushed to catch up with Yoongi when he realised Yoongi’d gone ahead.

Yoongi made a dash to the customer service counter. He gave the staff a description of Taehyung
and took off again.

Customer announcement. We’re looking for a five-year-old boy. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and
dark blue shorts and is carrying a striped backpack with a stuffed polar bear keychain. If you’ve
seen this child, please notify the nearest staff. Thank you.

In the time it took for the announcement to play five times, Yoongi covered the stationery section,
the toys’ section, the party section and the garden section. People parted automatically to give him
way when they saw him. He must have appeared a madman to them.
But everywhere he went, he couldn’t find Taehyung. His heart pounded. Blood howled in his ears.
He had lost the boy.

::::::::::

Yoongi saw Taehyung before Taehyung saw him.

The boy stood by the customer service counter, eyebrows anxiously furrowed as his eyes swung
about and his neck craned left and right. As he finally spotted Yoongi cutting through the people
and coming toward him, tension left his narrow shoulders and relief unfurled across his face.

He was about to take a step in Yoongi’s direction when Yoongi cut him a stony glance. Taehyung
froze, at a loss what to do. What did the boy expect? Yoongi to smile at him and coddle him and
assure him everything was okay? The boy didn’t deserve that. He was the one who wandered
away.

Yoongi ignored the boy as he approached the counter.

“The staff found him on the third floor,” the customer service officer informed out of obligation.
“He was anxious to find you too.”

Taehyung had sidled close to Yoongi’s legs. Yoongi’s blood bubbled. He grounded down on his
teeth and fought his desire to shake the boy off.

At Yoongi’s thin-lipped silence, the smile on the officer’s face grew strained. She must be
expecting a profusion of gratitude like she would have received if it had been other parents. But
Yoongi wasn’t like other parents, wasn’t a parent at all. To her credit, she composed herself
quickly and refreshed her smile with professionalism.

“Would you be getting those?” She nodded at the shopping basket Yoongi’d left at the counter
earlier on. “The cashier’s at—”

“We’re going home,” Yoongi said brusquely.

He grabbed Taehyung by the wrist and stormed off, dragging the boy behind him. The boy worked
his legs quickly, half-running, half-tripping to match Yoongi’s pace.

The subway ride home did little to calm the waves roiling in Yoongi. Next to him, the boy was
more subdued than usual. He kept his eyes on his shoes instead of people-watching like he had on
the way to the store. At their station, the subway doors parted to a tidal influx of people. Yoongi
held tighter onto Taehyung as he shoved his way out onto the platform. He’d be damned if he had
to search for the boy again.

Yoongi could have waited until he got home, but somewhere between the first bend and the second
corner on the walk back, his emotions came to a head. On the asphalt road under the glare of the
noon sun, he stopped abruptly and spun around, releasing Taehyung’s arm.

The boy jerked to a halt before he could crash into Yoongi’s thighs. He tilted his head back, his
eyes scared.

“Next time you run away,” Yoongi said slowly, each word cold and deliberate, “I will not look for
you.”

Tears sprung to Taehyung’s eyes. “E-Eomma...” He whimpered. “I-I saw Eomma.”

“Your eomma is dead.” Yoongi seethed. “You’ll never see her again. Haven’t I told you? Which
part of that do you not understand?”

Taehyung’s head lowered. Teardrops splattered onto the ground, seared immediately away by the
heat.

“I’ll say this only once. Look for your mother all you want, but don’t expect me to bring you back,
or anyone else to do the same for that matter. If you decide to go off on your own, I will not care
where you end up. I will not care what happens to you.”

::::::::::

Taehyung had been happy when the day began. His samchon made him a nice breakfast instead of
giving him the peanut butter sandwich from yesterday morning. He didn’t tell his samchon, but he
didn’t like that sandwich very much. It was too dry and he didn’t have any milk to chase it down
with. This morning, there were delicious eggs, wieners that looked like octopus, and his most
favourite — the smiling potatoes!

The food made him happy, but his samchon eating the food he put on the fork and gave him made
him happiest. He was as happy as he’d been yesterday when Hobi Hyung came and played with
him. Maybe even a little happier than that. His eomma had told him that a good boy is someone
who shares nice things with other people, so Taehyung felt really proud of himself for sharing nice
food with his samchon!

After Taehyung finished his breakfast, his samchon told him they were going out. He worried for a
bit that they were going back to the school from the day before. He didn’t want to return to that
school. when they left yesterday, his samchon had a scary look on his face. He hated it when his
samchon looked scary. It made his stomach feel a little painful and his legs a little heavy.

But his samchon didn’t look so scary today. Maybe they weren’t going to that school. Maybe they
were going to a park instead! That thought put a spring in his steps as he moved to his suitcase to
pick out the clothes he’d wear for the day. He put on his favourite shirt, the one that had a baby
tiger stitched on the left side of the chest.

They met the ahjumma on the way out of the house. She reminded Taehyung of a potted plant with
the way her short permed hair fluffed out from the top of her visor. She didn’t look friendly. He
moved closer to his samchon.

Taehyung didn’t understand a lot of things the ahjumma and his samchon talked about. But he
knew they were talking about money, and the money was related to him. They sounded angry.
They must not be friends.

After the ahjumma left, he and his samchon went on their way. His samchon had become unhappy.
Taehyung knew that because his samchon walked faster, and he had to walk faster too to make sure
he wasn’t left behind.

Taehyung was determined to be the best boy he could so that he wouldn’t make his samchon even
more unhappy. On the train, when he saw a girl his age holding a colourful unicorn doll and
wanted to tell his samchon about it, he pushed his lips together so that he wouldn’t. It was very
difficult, but his samchon didn’t look like he wanted Taehyung to disturb him.

They arrived at a big store. Taehyung thought it was the biggest store he’d ever seen. Escalators
went up each floor, and people came and went around him. He felt tiny under the bright lights and
tall display racks and shelves, so he stuck close to his samchon. At the toys section, a robot caught
his attention and he wanted to take a closer look. He was disappointed when his samchon
continued forward without slowing down. He didn’t think that the things his samchon wanted to
see or buy were very interesting.

While his samchon shopped for boring things, Taehyung entertained himself by looking at people.
He saw a very small boy whose shoes squeaked and flashed with lights as he waddled next to his
mother. He saw a big and muscular ahjussi whose hairless scalp was so shiny that Taehyung
thought his head might be a light bulb. He also saw a noona with pretty purple hair and matching
nails.

Then, he saw an ankle-length skirt the colour of navy. Small, bright red flowers decorated its hem.
He looked upward and saw a white blouse, then short hair that ended at the nape of the neck.

Taehyung’s heart stopped.

Eomma.

She didn’t see him. She took something from a shelf and started to walk away.

No, no, no.

Taehyung gave chase.

“Eomma,” he called, but his voice was too small in the big space. He moved as fast as he could,
but there were too many people around him and she was faster.

Somewhere ahead, she made a turn and Taehyung saw the side of her face. He stopped, his shoes
squeaking against the floor.

It wasn’t his eomma. It was someone who dressed like her.

He felt like a balloon that’d lost all its air.

He should go back to his samchon. He turned on his feet, but froze before he could take a step. He
glanced left and right. Something cold spread in his stomach when he realised he had no idea
where he was. He couldn’t see his samchon anywhere.

Baby bear, don’t panic when you’re lost. Remember what I told you? His eomma’s voice said in
his head.

Taehyung nodded to himself. He ignored the rock in his chest and took two brave steps toward a
noona who looked friendly. He puffed his chest out and tried not to feel nervous. But just as he
opened his mouth, she left in the other direction. Just like that, the courage Taehyung’d gathered
disappeared with a poof.

He tried asking for help a few more times after that, but to no success. The people around him were
so busy. Everyone moved with their eyes fixed forward. Nobody saw him. He was too short. By
the time Taehyung walked up to them, ready to ask for help, they’d already gone on their way.

He was getting really scared when a noona came up to him and told him she was going take him
back to his appa and eomma.

He shook his head, drawing away from her. “N-no, not eomma. Samchon.”

“I see. Did you come with your samchon? I’ll take you to him.”
Taehyung hesitated. His eomma had told him to never leave with strangers.

The noona must have superpowers, because she seemed to have read his thoughts.

“Noona works here,” she said. “See, this is my uniform. If you look there, you can see other
hyungs and noonas wearing the same uniform too. And this is my name.”

She pointed to the rectangular badge pinned to her apron. Even though Taehyung could write his
own name, he couldn’t read very well yet. But the strokes, circles and squares on the badge made
up three characters that indeed looked like a name. He decided he could trust her.

The noona brought him to a counter and handed him to another noona. With a kind smile, the
second noona told him his samchon was coming for him really soon. Taehyung waited. He’d
begun to wonder if the noona’d lied to him when he finally saw his samchon coming toward him!

The knots in Taehyung’s guts loosened instantly. He wanted to run to his samchon and throw his
arms around his samchon’s legs. He’d taken the first step to do just that, but the terrible expression
on his samchon’s face stopped him cold.

His samchon was angry. Very angry. As angry as that time he fought with his haraboji, where
chopsticks were thrown and chairs were toppled. Taehyung shuddered.

When his samchon spoke to the noona at the counter, Taehyung moved as close to his samchon as
he could. After that, his samchon grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the store. His grip hurt
Taehyung’s wrist a little, but he didn’t want his samchon to let go. He didn’t want to be lost from
his samchon again.

Like on the train ride to the store, his samchon didn’t say a word on the train ride home. But the
previous silence was a thinking silence. This current silence was an angry one.

Taehyung knew it was his fault that his samchon was so angry. He’d spoiled his samchon’s day.
He kept his eyes on his shoes. He counted the holes on his left shoe where the shoelaces looped
through. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Then he moved on to the right shoe. When he was
finished, he started with the left again. He repeated the counting over and over again so that he
wouldn’t cry.

But when his samchon stopped suddenly on their walk home and scolded him, Taehyung could no
longer hold his tears back.

I will not look for you. I will not care where you end up. I will not care what happens to you.

If his samchon didn’t want him, what would happen to him? He didn’t have his eomma anymore.
Would he be sent back to his halmoni and his haraboji? But he didn’t want to go back there again.
His haraboji terrified him.

For the rest of the day his samchon ignored him. He gave Taehyung the awful peanut butter
sandwich for lunch and shut himself in the room, the room full of things Taehyung didn’t know the
names of but knew not to touch. He knew what was inside the room because he took a curious peek
inside the previous night when his samchon was in the bathroom.

Even though Taehyung was too distressed to be hungry, he swallowed down the sandwich.

He stayed in the living room alone. Time became a tortoise. Playing with his car didn’t make the
tortoise go faster. A few times, he tiptoed to his samchon’s room. Through the slim gap between
the door and the wall, he glimpsed the back view of his samchon working at the computer. He
wanted to go in and be closer to his samchon, but his heart rose in his throat at the thought of
making his samchon even more displeased with him.

He trudged back to the living room and waited. He cried a few more times. Each time his tears
came, he quickly wiped them away with the back of his hands, went to the bathroom, and stood on
the stool before the sink. He washed his face and his hands. He didn’t want anyone to know he’d
cried again.

After what seemed like a thousand years, his samchon came out of the room. Taehyung shot to his
feet eagerly, hoping that his samchon had stopped being mad at him. He deflated when his
samchon moved past him into the kitchen without looking at him.

Dinner was the kimchi rice balls and egg rolls from the same takeout store again. Taehyung felt
better when, unlike lunch, his samchon sat down at the table and ate with him.

But Taehyung didn’t feel better for very long. His samchon’s face remained scarily stony, and he
didn’t look at Taehyung even once, not at dinner, not as he helped Taehyung shower, not as he
towelled Taehyung dry. After Taehyung changed into his pyjamas, his samchon told him to go to
bed. To Taehyung’s dismay, his samchon went back into the room, leaving Taehyung alone in the
living room again.

As Taehyung climbed onto the bed, miserable, he suddenly realised something — he hadn’t said
sorry to his samchon.

Was that why his samchon was still angry with him? Because he hadn’t said sorry?

His eomma’d told him before that you should say sorry when you made someone upset. He had
made his samchon upset, so he should say sorry to his samchon. If he said sorry, his samchon’d
stop being angry at him!

He sprang out of bed and rushed to the room. He was about to push the door open when he became
doubtful if disturbing his samchon was the best way to go.

His burst of bravery left him. His hand fell away from the door.

He went to his suitcase and took out his drawing paper and crayons.

::::::::::

As Yoongi came out of his studio, the flat of his foot came into contact with a piece of paper. He
bent over to pick it up. He leaned back into the studio, borrowing its light. The waxiness of the
liberally applied crayons gleamed.

On the paper was a drawing of a sun more oval than circular, a slanted house with equally slanted
windows, a zigzag line of grass at the paper’s bottom periphery. The rest of the paper was
populated by Korean consonants and vowels, crooked and disproportionate in size. When he held
the paper at eye level and stared at it long enough, the strokes resolved into four discernible
characters.

I-AN-AE-O.

Yoongi squinted at the gibberish.

He had to subject his mind to a series of mental acrobatics before he decrypted the boy’s note (who
else would have left it outside his studio?).
MI-AN-HAE-YO.

Sorry.

Yoongi lowered the paper.

He turned off his studio lights and headed out. The lights in the living room was still on, but
Taehyung had fallen asleep, just as Yoongi had calculated. He had been deliberate in when he
should come out of his studio so that he could put off having to interact with Taehyung.

Frankly, his anger had already quelled when he came out for dinner just now. He let Taehyung
believe he was still angry because he didn’t know how to talk to the boy, how to respond to the
hopeful looks the boy sent his way, or how to apologise. Yoongi’s eyes took in the drawing once
more. Taehyung was a much braver person than he was.

He spotted a yellow crayon on the floor. He went over and picked it up. The box of crayons laid
carelessly on top of the clothes in Taehyung’s suitcase. He took the box, slid out its tray and placed
the yellow crayon in the only empty slot. Some of the other crayons had been reduced to stubs. He
made a mental note to get the boy a new set.

His movement didn’t rouse Taehyung. A subtle frown pinched the boy’s eyebrows as he slept. His
thin chest rose and fell.

Yoongi hadn’t been fair to the boy, that much he’d realised as he hid himself away in the studio the
entire afternoon. If Taehyung thought he’d seen Seungah, his natural course of action was of course
to follow. Yoongi should have kept an eye on him. He wasn’t entirely blameless.

He had been terrified when he thought he had lost the boy. To him, terror was an utterly foreign
feeling to him. It made him vulnerable, and of all the emotions the average human has been
conditioned to feel, Yoongi detested feeling vulnerable the most.

So he transformed his terror into anger instead. Years of being angry — at his Seungah, at his
parents, at his bad fortune in general — had instilled in him a default response when anger kicked
in. When he was angry, his reflex was to inflict cruelty on the other person, to hurt, no matter that
the other person in this scenario was a mere child of five.

There was no better way to put it than this: Yoongi had taken his frustration out on Taehyung, who
couldn’t retaliate, like how his father had done the same to him many years before.

Yoongi thought he was better than his father. He wasn’t.

Taehyung was unlucky enough to end up someone like him.

::::::::::

Taehyung was back in the store. He was alone, again. The crowd streamed around him. He wanted
to ask for help, but no one heard him. Everyone was moving so fast that their faces were a blur.

A man approached him from out of nowhere. Taehyung wanted to back away but found that he
couldn’t move at all. The man told him he was going to take Taehyung to his eomma. Taehyung
shook his head. He knew the man was lying because his samchon’d told him his eomma was dead
and he’d never see her again.

But the man insisted. The more Taehyung said no, the angrier the man became. Eventually the
man got so angry that he lifted Taehyung off the ground and threw him onto his shoulder.
 Taehyung screamed and kicked, but his cries fell on deaf ears. Nobody came to his rescue. The
man carried him out of the store, to an underground carpark where he threw Taehyung into the
back of a car. Taehyung was certain the man was going to chop off his arms and legs sooner or
later.

Taehyung jerked awake. His heart was a rabbit that kicked frantically in his chest.

It was dark around him. He wasn’t in the back of a car, was he?

No, he wasn’t. He was in the living room. His suitcase was at the foot of the bed. The mattress was
soft under him. His samchon was on the floor next to him, an arm thrown across his eyes.

He looked at the shadows around the room and trembled. The man could be hiding anywhere,
waiting to catch him again.

Eyes wet, Taehyung slid off the bed and dropped himself onto the space next to his samchon. He
curled as close to his samchon as he could, his hand closing around the fabric along the side of his
samchon’s shirt.

If the man appeared again and wanted to take him away, his samchon would wake up and protect
him, right?

Taehyung closed his eyes. A tear ran down his cheek. He tried to feel safe.

TBC

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

i was debating if i should upload a shorter chapter first or just take more time to finish
a longer one first. in the end i went with the latter because i thought the flow and
transitions would be smoother. sorry for the long wait.

plenty of things went down in this chapter. writing yoongi was such a process, i swear
lol. i hope as unlikable as he may be to you, you still find parts of him worth
sympathising. then we have taehyung, who, frankly, gives me quite the heartbreak to
write.

i hope you've enjoyed this chapter. as usual, please tell me what you think. the
comments i received for the previous update made writing this chapter a lot less
lonely.

till next time!

 Chapter Seven
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The laundromat was situated in an area of the neighbourhood where foot traffic was sparse. Till
today Yoongi hadn’t known it existed, but was nonetheless relieved when Naver Map revealed that
it was only a short ten-minute walk from his apartment. Lugging damp bedsheet for any more than
that — or worse, having to take public transport — would not only be unpleasant; it’d downright
suck.

Yoongi skipped the washing machines and went to the row of dryers arranged along one wall.
He’d washed the bedsheets before coming. The thought of contaminating communal equipment
with a child’s pee had seemed thoughtless to him.

He dumped the bedsheet into middle dryer and popped in enough coins for a twenty-minute run.
As the machine whirred to life, he made a silent wish the boy wouldn’t wet the bed for the third
night in a row. He owned only two sets of bedsheets, and the first was still airing dry on the rooftop
after yesterday’s uncooperative weather.

Besides Taehyung and him, there was a man and a woman in the laundromat. They sat on the wide
waiting bench placed in the center of the shop, the man reading his newspaper, the woman
scrolling on her phone, her basket of clothes by her feet.

Yoongi settled on the side of the bench that allowed him to keep an eye on his chosen dryer, but far
enough from the man and woman that they wouldn’t think of striking a conversation with him.
Taehyung climbed into the space next to Yoongi.

Yoongi glanced down. Taehyung was toying listlessly with a rubber octopus toy, his face
downcast.

The first time the boy’d wet the bed, Yoongi’d felt a spark of annoyance. But only a spark, one that
he brushed off swiftly as he tugged the bedsheet off the mattress corners. Isn’t bed-wetting one of
the many incidents of childhood?

This morning when he woke up to the smell of ammonia again, his eyebrows had furrowed tighter.
He looked at Taehyung, and Taehyung looked away, shrinking deeper into the corner, shame
rolling of him in waves. The harsh words on the tip of Yoongi’s tongue vaporised into a sigh.

“It’s okay,” he’d said instead.

He didn’t fully mean it, it wasn’t an entire lie either. The boy soiling the sheets was an
inconvenience, but not a majorly disruptive one. The laundromat was just nearby, he could get
more bedsheets (he saw cheap ones at the store the other day), and isn’t there some kind of spray
specifically geared toward disinfecting and deodorising mattresses?

Honestly, a child’s bedwetting ranked low among his other worries.

He was on the verge of losing his job.

Yesterday over the phone, his boss’d told him in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t return to work
by the following Monday, he’d be fired. The ultimatum was unfair. Yoongi still had annual leave
to spare, leave he was entitled to under labour laws. But in a capitalistic country where the
economy is prized over human rights, those laws protect employers more than they do employees.
Benefits came with conditions. Yes, he had the right to go on leave, but after his boss’s approval.

If this’d happened in the past, Yoongi would have told his boss to fuck off and gone on to find
another job, having too much pride to bend to someone else’s every whim. The thought of flipping
his boss off and seeing him hopping mad made Yoongi’s fingers tingle with vengeful pleasure. For
now, the thought alone would have to suffice. Saddled with a child to provide for, he didn’t have
the luxury to be reckless. He needed this job and the five-percent-a-year salary increment he’d
accrued over the past three years. Starting a new job meant beginning from scratch or, worse still,
exchanging whatever meagre benefits his current company deigned to give him for nothing at all.

The thing was, if he wanted to keep his current job, Taehyung had to go to school. That had turned
out more complicated than Yoongi’d imagined.

If there was anything the whole school-searching ordeal had taught Yoongi, it was that there were
two kinds of kindergartens in Seoul: the private ones with prohibitive school fees and snobby
principals who looked down at you from their high noses (all right, he was generalising from one
experience), and the public ones he could afford but had a despairingly long waitlist (whatever
happened to the alleged low birthrate)?

He’d put Taehyung’s name on the waitlists of more public kindergartens than his fingers could
count, including some located in further districts. He hadn’t heard back from any of them.

The red digits of the timer turned to zero and beeps went off. Yoongi got to his feet and went to the
dryer. He took the bedsheet out, realised it was still a little damp in some places, and put it into the
machine again. He fished his pockets for coins and pushed them through the slot. The dryer started
to vibrate and he turned away.

He stiffened, the sight before him arresting his feet.

Taehyung wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary; he was still playing with his rubber octopus
with the same troubled pout on his lips. But Yoongi felt as though the ground had fallen out from
beneath him. This was what looking at the boy did to him sometimes, this breath-snatching
moment where out of a sudden, he was reminded that this was real, that there was someone
depending on him, that he was grotesquely out of his element, a fish trying to swim through a
desert.

Yoongi buried his panic and dropped his gaze before Taehyung could sense him staring, raise his
head, and proceed to look at Yoongi with those eyes that seemed to ask Did I do something wrong?
Am I in trouble again?

No, boy, if there’s anyone in trouble, it’s the both of us.

Finding a school wasn’t about Yoongi wanting space away from Taehyung anymore. It determined
whether or not they survived in this city.

Yoongi returned to his spot on the bench, guts squelching queasily. He pulled his phone out of his
pocket and activated its screen. He was certain he’d contacted all the kindergartens he could
reasonably send Taehyung to, but still he searched the internet. Maybe there was a school he’d
missed, maybe a new school had been magically established in the few hours he was away from
the internet, maybe there was divine help somewhere and he just needed to discover it.

Foolish, he knew.
But foolish hope, it seemed, was the only thing he had going for him.

::::::::::

Yoongi should have checked the name flashing on the screen before he answered his phone. It was
too late by the time his mother’s voice came through the line. His hopes that it was a kindergarten
calling crashed. From its rubble, irritation rose.

“Yoongi,” she was breathy with relief, “you answered.”

His hand tightened on his phone. “What do you want?”

“I-I just want to check on you and Taehyung.”

“We’re doing fucking fantastic, thank you very much. You have your answer. I’m hanging up.”

“Wait!”

His nostrils flared, but he didn’t hang up.

“I-I’m glad that you two are doing well,” she said. Yoongi hadn’t succeeded in tricking her. She
sounded more doubtful than glad. “Seoul is such an expensive place to raise a child. Food, housing
and transport cost more, and everything’s a rat race. I imagine people have to hire last-minute
babysitters to look after their children if something urgent at work crops up because they can’t drop
them off at a neighour’s with how weak the community spirit is in Seo—”

He cut off her ramble. “What are you driving at?”

She was quiet for a few beats. “I just want to help wherever I can.”

“How about you take him back to Daegu and care for him yourself?”

“Your father—”

“Don’t talk to me about him.”

She sighed. He imagined her backing away in surrender from an imaginary boundary he’d set, one
she’d no choice but to play by.

“I can’t help you take care of Taehyung, but I can help you in other ways,” she said. “If you’d just
give me your account number or tell me your address, I can transfer you some money or send you a
cheque every month. I know you have enough,” she added hurriedly to salvage his dignity, but the
damage had been done and the wrong buttons had been pushed. “You may not need the money but
I want you to have it. I want you and Taehyung can live more comfortably. Take the boy shopping.
Buy him nice food and clothes. It’d make Seungah happy.”

Yoongi shut his eyes. He felt as though the top of his head was going to blow off like the lid on a
pot that’d built up too much steam.

“Yoongi,” his mother said uncertainly into the prickly silence, “are you still there? Did you hear
what I—”

“I heard everything just fine.” A quake fissured his words. It was barely detectable, but he drew a
deep breath and steadied his voice before he said more. He was too proud to let her know she had
that kind of effect on him. “Firstly,” he began slowly, “if Taehyung needs nice food or clothes, I
can buy them for him myself. Secondly, if you are doing this to redeem yourself, save it. Don’t use
Taehyung to make yourself feel better. Lastly, if you think you could maintain contact with us by
giving us money, you’re wrong. You’re the last person we want in our life. Go do your charity
elsewhere and don’t you dare call again.”

Yoongi didn’t give her the chance to get another word in. He cut the line.

::::::::::

“Taehyung.”

On floor of the living room, the boy raised his head. He was hunched over a piece of paper. From
where he was, Yoongi couldn’t make out what Taehyung was drawing.

With the boy’s attention on him, Yoongi suddenly felt awkward. He cleared his throat. “I have
something to tell you.”

Taehyung rocked back onto his heels as Yoongi approached. Yoongi sat next to Taehyung and
crossed his legs. He glanced at the paper. On it was a green blob with six blue lines sticking out of
it.

A sci-fi flea? An overweight caterpillar wearing blue stockings? An exotic fruit?

He decided he could live with not knowing the mysterious blob’s identity. He moved his gaze
away from the paper.

“I’m going back to work on Monday,” he told Taehyung.

The boy blinked twice, slowly. His eyes seemed dull and tired. “Monday?”

“Yes, Monday.”

“When is Monday?”

Maybe the boy hadn’t learned the days in a week. Maybe the boy’d stopped keeping track because
the week since he’d come to Seoul was a congealed mass with days that bled indiscernibly into one
another. Either way, he couldn’t blame the boy.

“Today’s Saturday and tomorrow’s Sunday, so Monday is the day after tomorrow. Two days from
now,” Yoongi explained.

Taehyung’s eyebrows were somewhat scrunched and his lower lip jutted out, but he nodded, albeit
uncertainly. Yoongi took that as a sign to continue.

“So while I’m go to work, someone will come to take care of you.”

Yesterday’s phone call with his mother was infuriating, but it rekindled the idea of hiring a nanny
for Taehyung. He’d thought about it before but had struck it off when he realised how out of his
budget the average nanny was. Now, he was desperate enough to try looking for one again.

After hanging up on his mother, he searched the net and came upon a website designed for nannies
and babysitters to market their services for parents’ consideration (“Bringing Childcare Services to
Your Door!”). The list of nanny headshots and profiles was endless, loading automatically
whenever he thought he’d reached the end. He scanned rather than perused, the rock in his stomach
growing heftier as one after another, the hourly cost displayed for each nanny exceeded what he
could afford.
Frustrated, Yoongi tapped the three lines at the top right corner of the page. Filter options appeared
and he sorted the list from the cheapest to the most expensive.

The cheapest nanny appeared at the top of the list. She had no headshot, and her profile simply
stated that she was skilled in taking care of children between ages 3 to 12. She had no reviews yet,
which, Yoongi reasoned, could mean she’d just started out on the platform, not necessarily that she
was lying about her experience or that she was bad at her job. The important thing was her hourly
cost. It was 5000 won lower than her next cheaper counterpart, and barely half as much as the
majority of the nannies on the site.

Yoongi did the sum. Hiring the nanny would still cost considerably more than sending Taehyung
to school. He’d have to eat into his savings, but that was better than staying at home and losing his
job, right? Besides it was only temporary. Once a place in a kindergarten opened up for Taehyung,
he’d drop the nanny. Feeling he had things figured out for the month ahead, he signed up for an
account on the portal, messaged the nanny and left his contact information.

The call from the nanny came this morning as he was doing the dishes after breakfast.

To put it nicely, the nanny was agreeable. She said yes to Yoongi’s proposed start date and yes to
the start and end time for each day. But her informality rubbed him the wrong way.

“You’re the boss.” She chuckled, her laugh rough like sandpaper. “Have the boy speaking French
in a month, make him grow ten cm overnight, groom him into our next president, I’ll do anything
you want as long as you pay me on time.”

Yoongi fought the urge to hang up on her. It’s only temporary, he told himself. It wasn’t as if he
had many options, what with his situation and finances.

So it was set: the nanny would come while he went to work. The last thing Yoongi had to do was
tell Taehyung.

“Someone will take care of Taetae?” Taehyung asked almost blankly.

Yoongi had no idea why he felt nervous talking to Taehyung about this. He clutched his phone, its
acrylic shell still warm from his call with the nanny a few minutes ago.

“That’s right,” he said.

“Not Samchon?”

“No, not me. Someone else. I have to go to work. A ahjumma will take care of you.” The nanny
did sound like an ahjumma over the line.

Taehyung’s nostrils quivered. His eyelashes fluttered as his gaze swept downward.

“Samchon doesn’t want Taetae anymore?”

“No, no, no. You got it wrong,” Yoongi said, the beginnings of panic stirring in him when he heard
the quaver in Taehyung’s voice. “The ahjumma will come only when I’m at work. When my work
ends I’ll come home and take care of you.”

Taehyung looked up. “So Samchon still wants Taetae?”

The question caught Yoongi off guard.

How about you take him back and care for him yourself?

Yoongi’d said something along that line to his mother. The words had left his lips so naturally,
without an ounce of hesitation between its materialisation in his mind and its eventual vocalisation.
Did he harbour the hope that his mother had changed her mind about leaving Taehyung in his car?
Or had he said that out of spite, knowing it wouldn’t matter whether he meant it or not because that
was never going to happen?

Until he figured that out, Yoongi couldn’t answer the boy truthfully. Would he really give
Taehyung up the first chance he got? Dump the boy on someone else like he was a ball and chain
shackling Yoongi and holding him back? Yoongi’d like to think he was better than that, but he
couldn’t deny that he desired to reclaim his old life.

Seconds lengthened the moment of limbo, and fear began to tarnish the hopefulness in Taehyung’s
eyes. Not for the first time, Yoongi felt like a terrible person. So he nodded in response to the boy’s
question. He might be lying, but Taehyung didn’t need to know that.

A relieved smile bloomed on Taehyung’s face. “I want to stay with Samchon too,” he said.

Happier, the boy reached for his tray of crayons and exchanged the blue crayon he was holding for
an orange one. He crouched over the paper again and began filling the periphery of the mysterious
blob with the new colour, his back curved like a little knoll.

The boy’s innocence and sincerity stabbed at Yoongi. Guilt burgeoned like a balloon in him. If
only the boy’d known what Yoongi’d been really thinking.

It is what it is, Yoongi said to himself. I can’t control what I feel.

He shelved his guilt away. He was getting sidetracked.

“As I’ve said, an ahjumma will come and take care of you on Monday. Are you okay with that?”

Excellent. Now, on top of feeling like a terrible person, he also felt like one of those hypocritical
parents who pretend to seek their child’s opinion after they have already decided on something.

Taehyung’s crayon-holding hand stopped moving. He frowned and looked troubled.

“Will she play with Taetae?”

“Yes, of course.” God, Yoongi hoped the nanny do.

“Will she like Taetae?”

“Yes,” Yoongi said again. If the nanny didn’t like children, what business did she have with being
a nanny? But to be safe, he considered writing the nanny a to-do list that included Adore the boy
and Keep him entertained. His interaction with the nanny over the phone didn’t exactly inspire
confidence.

Taehyung puckered his lips reluctantly. He fiddled with his crayon, his index finger rubbing
against its tip, dyeing his skin with an orange hue.

Somewhere in Yoongi’s mind, an image flared of Taehyung flinging the crayon against the wall in
a fit of tantrum.

That didn’t happen. Thank god.

Instead Taehyung asked, wide eyes seeking assurance, “Samchon will come home after work,
right?”

Finally something Yoongi could promise with absolute certainty.

“Yes,” he said.

When Taehyung nodded, Yoongi had the impression that he was trying to be brave.

“Taetae will be a good boy,” he said. “Taetae will wait for Samchon to come back.”

::::::::::

Came Monday, Yoongi woke up to discover Taehyung had wet the bed again. But that wasn’t the
worst part of the morning.

The nanny was late.

Yoongi sat at the dining table in his company’s polo tee, his eyes darting every few seconds to the
clock above the TV. Taehyung, already showered and changed into changed into fresh clothes,
picked moodily away at his peanut butter sandwich. Yoongi had intended to make Taehyung
scrambled eggs for breakfast, but between having to put the bedsheet to wash and hustling the boy
into the bathroom, time ran short.

Yoongi reached his phone, thumbed through his call log for the nanny’s number, and dialled. His
call went unanswered. He jogged his knee up and down, a bad habit he had mostly broken but
would make a return in highly stressful situations.

What now?

Across from him, Taehyung had peeled his sandwich apart and proceeded to nibble at each bread
slice, as though a different method of consumption would render the breakfast more palatable. The
exposed peanut butter smeared against his chin, leaving a trail that arced downward like a comet’s
tail. It annoyed Yoongi.

He reminded himself that he shouldn’t take his frustration out on children. It wasn’t the boy’s fault
the nanny was late.

At 8.20 a.m., twenty minutes after the nanny was supposed to arrive and Yoongi was supposed to
leave for work, the doorbell rang. Yoongi shot to his feet. Fucking finally.

The nanny was wide; that was Yoongi’s first thought as he swung the door open. She filled the
narrow doorway, the sides of her body nearly grazing the frame. She’s a chronic smoker; that was
his second thought. The smell of stale cigarette smoke wafting off her wasn’t a passing wisp that
merely tickled the nostrils; it was pungent and cloying, as if it’d crawled into the layers of her skin,
the cuticles of her hair and the fibres of her clothes and clung there.

“Annyeong,” she said in a singsong voice. She was slightly younger than he’d thought, not quite an
ahjumma but not that far from becoming unquestionably one.

Yoongi stared at her and waited. Three seconds passed before he realised, incredulous, that she had
no intention of offering an apology or an explanation.

“You’re late,” he said.

The irritation spiking through his tone didn’t bother her. She shrugged and chuckled. “It’s not my
fault the traffic on the way here was horrendous. Mind you, I almost changed my mind about
coming. Now where’s the boy?”

She shouldered her way in without waiting for him to step aside, her tote bag swinging and
bumping from her shoulder. Yoongi stood on his toes and flattened himself against the wall to
make way for her.

Taehyung had got up from the dining table. He edged close to the wall where the entryway opened
into the living room, meekly observing the nanny.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi said, “this is the ahjumma I told you about. She’s here to take care of you.”

“Oh, hello, there you are,” the nanny said. She spared Taehyung a brief glance and smile before
she waddled past him, as though Taehyung was worthy only of her fleeting interest.

If disbelief could unhinge jaws, Yoongi’s would have hit the floor. He hadn’t expected her to be as
flamboyant and fawning as Hoseok’d been in greeting the boy, but wasn’t such degree of
nonchalance too bizarre for a nanny?

Taehyung arrowed an anxious glance Yoongi’s way. Yoongi pretended he didn’t notice. He
followed the nanny into the living room.

She put her bag on the dining table, where Taehyung’s half-eaten toast remained on a plate. Her
eyes wandered around the space. “A bed in the living room? So odd.” Her nose crinkled.

Yoongi drew in a breath and tamped down his irritation. As long as she did her job, she could
comment on the layout for all she wanted.

He flicked a glance at the clock and jolted.

“I have to go,” he said, grabbing his bag from the floor. “There’s a spare key here,” he nodded at a
glass bowl on the dresser. “You can use it if you need to leave the house. And by the way, the
bedroom is out of bounds.” When her stumpy neck craned curiously in the direction of the studio,
he added, “I’m serious. It’s out of bounds.”

“Yes, yes,” she said.

At the entryway, he put on his shoes. Just before he opened the door, as his hand curled around his
door handle, he looked over his shoulder. The nanny and Taehyung stood a few feet away,
watching him leave. A sense of finality slammed into Yoongi. He was leaving Taehyung under the
care of this woman he barely knew and didn’t quite trust.

“Is everything going to be okay?” He asked.

The nanny’s hand flapped in a shooing motion. “Don’t worry. How difficult can taking care of a
child be?”

Yoongi’s gaze dropped to Taehyung, who stood rigid and tense, one hand rucking the side of his
pants. It’s been a week since the boy’d been shoved under his care. As inexperienced as Yoongi
was, he had kept the boy alive, four limbs still intact. It was impossible that the nanny would do a
worse job than he did, right? Things would be okay.

Quieting his misgivings, Yoongi nodded stiffly. He pushed the handle down and opened the door.
Footsteps pattered up from behind as Yoongi took a step out the door. A force stopped him from
taking another. He glanced down and behind him. Taehyung was looking up at him anxiously,
knuckle paling as he gripped Yoongi’s shirt hem.

“I want to go with Samchon.”

Dread turned Yoongi’s stomach. This was the kind of situation he had intended to avoid when he
had decided to tell Taehyung beforehand about having found him a nanny. If the boy was mentally
prepared, he’d less likely kick up a fuss the day of. Had he been too optimistic in his reasoning?

“We’ve talked about this, Taehyung.” he said. “You said okay to staying at home while I go to
work, remember?”

Taehyung’s gaze fell away guiltily, but his hand remained latched onto Yoongi’s shirt. He appeared
torn between keeping his promise and denying it. In the end he shook his head stubbornly.

“I want to go with Samchon.”

“Listen, I really don’t have time for this.” Yoongi tugged at his shirt to free the cloth from
Taehyung’s grip, but Taehyung’s strength surprised him. “Let go.”

Despite the command in Yoongi’s voice, the boy didn’t yield, face set in mulish determination.

The nanny sashayed forward. She closed her meaty hand over Taehyung’s fist and dislodged it
from Yoongi’s shirt the way one would pluck a stubborn suction cup off a wall. Taehyung
whimpered as she dragged him none too gently to her side.

“Now, Now, Taeyong—”

“His name’s Taehyung,” Yoongi said abruptly, his mood turning fouler. “At least get that right.”

She gave him a dismissive wave. “Yes, Taehyung. I was close enough anyway. Taehyung, let your
samchon go. Imo will take care of you.”

Standing next to her boulder-like body, the boy looked small and insubstantial as a wisp, like he’d
vanish if Yoongi so much as blinked. His eyes were fearful and a little teary, the peanut butter on
his chin dried to a gritty smudge.

The hard pang in Yoongi’s chest came unannounced. Why did it feel like he was betraying the boy
by going to work?

“I’ll come home as early as I can,” Yoongi found himself saying. The boy’s chin wobbled, but he
didn’t rush forward to stop Yoongi from leaving again.

As he closed the door behind him and descended the stairs, he realised he hadn’t said the word s to
pacify. They were a promise he intended to keep.

::::::::::

If Yoongi was completely honest to himself, his first day away from Taehyung wasn’t as liberating
as he’d expected. Between delivery locations, as he cruised along the highway or halted at traffic
lights, his mind drifted to the boy. He wondered what Taehyung was doing, if he was drawing yet
another picture or playing with his flying car or his rubber octopus. He wondered if Taehyung’d
warmed to the nanny yet.
Lunch was spent in his delivery van, parked under a leafy tree in a secluded parking lot. The air
conditioner hummed, mixing with DJ’s voice from the radio. Yoongi unwrapped the discounted
tuna mayo rice ball he’d grabbed from a nearby convenience store, took a chomp that bulged his
cheeks, and reached for his phone on the dashboard.

How are things?

He sent the text to the nanny.

No response had arrived by the time he was finished with lunch. His eyes flicked frequently to his
phone as he drove to the next address.

Two hours later, she replied: Great! You won’t find a better deal of a nanny than me.

::::::::::

Taehyung appeared in the entryway the moment Yoongi unlocked the door. He rushed to Yoongi
and clung onto Yoongi’s thigh, nestling his cheek into the fabric of Yoongi’s jeans. Unused to
physical contact and Taehyung’s display of neediness, Yoongi tensed.

The nanny waddled into sight, mouth gaping in a dramatic yawn. The seams of her dress strained
as she interlocked her fingers and pushed her hands overhead.

“You’re back earlier than agreed.” Mid-yawn, her voice sounded garbled. “I hope you’re not
thinking of deducting my pay. Not my fault you decided to come home early, eh?” She laughed,
then disappeared and reappeared a few seconds later with her bag over her shoulder. Yoongi
steered Taehyung and himself away as she came toward the door, ready to leave.

“Next time please reply my messages promptly,” Yoongi said as she wriggled her bloated feet into
her too-small pumps. “I’d also prefer to hear about the child than you.”

“Oh,” she said after a moment of thought, “you’re talking about the text message you sent me this
afternoon, are you not? You should relax, you know? Don’t be one of those people who are
unnecessarily anxious over their children. Those people are also the same ones who end up
lamenting that their children aren’t independent enough. Well, what did they expect when—”

Yoongi interrupted. “Just do as I say.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Your child, your call. Just don’t blame me if he doesn’t turn out well.”
She shrugged. “I’m off. Bye, Taehyungie. Imo will see you tomorrow.” Again, that singsong voice.

Taehyung didn’t return the goodbye, only pressed deeper into Yoongi. The door closed behind her.
Her ponderous weight thumped deep and dull down the stairs.

Yoongi sighed and stared down at the top of Taehyung’s head, at the silky strands of hair sprouting
from the whorl in his scalp. The nanny irritated Yoongi, but he might have given her less credit
than she was due. Yes, she appeared flippant, lacked awareness, probably had a smoking addiction,
and was dismal at replying to text messages, but at the end of the day when Yoongi returned home,
Taehyung was still in one piece. That mattered the most, right?

Yoongi patted Taehyung’s head. The boy looked up without tilting his face, making his eyes
appear larger.

“Why don’t we order dinner?” Yoongi said.

The evening passed just like any other evenings that came before it. They had a quiet dinner
(steamed white rice, steamed egg and fermented soybean stew), after which he helped Taehyung
shower, then showered himself.

Yoongi dumped their clothes into the washing machine and set it to spin. He went out to the
rooftop and collected from the laundry rack the bedsheet he’d washed that morning. The vicious
summer heat had dried it well.

After fitting the bedsheet over the mattress, he looked around the living room for anything else that
needed to be done. Taehyung was fed and clean, and was now sitting on the floor, rolling his toy
car back and forth. The dishes at the sink were all washed. There was still some time before the
laundry was done.

Yoongi stepped past Taehyung and slid into his studio. He parked himself behind his desk and
began to work on a jingle for a cable channel he’d not heard of. That was how impactful his music
was, he thought snidely as he yawned a few times in a row, eyes tearing. He hadn’t expected to be
so tired. He’d thought going to work would be less tiring than being around the boy twenty-four-
seven. Then again, perhaps the culprit was the compounding effect of working in the day and
caring for the boy at night.

Elbow on the armrest of the swivel chair and head propped against his knuckle, Yoongi was about
to doze off when the door behind him creaked open (he kept forgetting to oil the hinges). The
uncertain footfalls that followed could only belong to one person. Yoongi waited, all traces of
sleepiness gone.

But Taehyung didn’t come to him. The telltale whine of springs informed Yoongi that the boy had
crawled onto the couch instead. Yoongi moved his mouse and opened a new file, pretending that
he hadn’t felt the weight of Taehyung’s gaze on the back of his head.

Moments of silence passed. Curiosity got better of Yoongi. He turned his swivel chair — just
slightly, nothing too great of a motion that’d alert Taehyung — and observed the boy out of the
corners of his eyes. Taehyung sat on the edge of the couch, legs hanging. If he’d been staring at
Yoongi previously, he wasn’t now. He’d taken to running his toy car along the cushion piping, up
the mound of his lap, then down to the cushion on the other side.

Yoongi was at once relieved and annoyed. Relieved because Taehyung hadn’t come seeking his
attention; annoyed because Taehyung being oblivious made Yoongi wonder if he was one-sidedly
experiencing the awkward tension in the room. Not to mention the boy was invading his space.
The studio was the only spot in the house where the four walls safeguarded the last vestige of his
former life, a life where he was free to live however he wanted.

Sure, he had left a gap in the door, but that was for Yoongi to keep an ear on what Taehyung was
up to in the living room and rush out at the sound of trouble. The opening wasn’t an invitation for
the boy to welcome himself into the studio.

He had opened his mouth to tell Taehyung off when the boy clambered onto his knees on the
couch. Unaware of Yoongi’s eyes on him, he began rolling his car against the top of the backrest,
down vertically, and along the armrest. His eyes had an engrossed brightness and the edges of his
lips turned up instead of down.

That moment, Taehyung wasn’t the anxious child whose eyebrows frequently crumpled into
frowns. That moment, he was just like any other child, drawn into a world created by his boundless
imagination, where the car in his hand probably wasn’t just a car, but a super jeep, and the worn
couch probably wasn’t just a couch, but a landscape with impossible terrains that the jeep must
overcome. That moment, he was having fun.

Yoongi suddenly didn’t have the heart to chase the boy out.

Was sharing the space with Taehyung that unbearable? Taehyung entertained himself and was as
quiet and unobtrusive as he always was. Why did it matter if he was outside in the living room or in
here?

Yoongi faced the computer screen, settled his mind, and began to work.

::::::::::

The shape of Madam Lee holding a watering can bobbed in the distance. Yoongi decelerated, each
stride taking twice as long.

Don’t look this way, you miserly old woman. Get back inside your house right now so I don’t have
to greet you.

What transpired next was proof Life often found it funny to give you the exact opposite of what
you wished for. The landlady caught sight of Yoongi. Backlit by the evening sun, she planted her
feet purposefully apart as he came up the road, as if her being outside at this time wasn’t
coincidence but deliberate design, and she was in fact lying in wait to catch him.

What did she want?

She was at the foot of stairs when he arrived. Her eyes darted up the steps then back at him. She
cocked her head.

“You hired someone to look after the boy?”

Having been on the receiving end of her snooping capabilities, he didn’t bother to ask how she
knew. He nodded.

“Just as I’ve thought,” she said. Against Yoongi’s expectations, she didn’t appear smug to have her
guess confirmed. Her tight curls bounced as she shook her head in disbelief. “That woman, a nanny
for goodness’ sake. I might have let it slide if you told me she’s here to clean your house or tend to
your plants. But a nanny!” Spittle flew out from the gaps between her teeth, as if saying the word
nanny left a rotten taste in her mouth.

A sense of foreboding mixed with anger thrummed under his skin at the possibility that this was
about money again. If she mentioned so much as one word about increase the rent, Yoongi swore
he’d pull out all the resources he had in his arsenal and fight her.

“Do you know she smokes like the cranky old stove I used to have and that she brays like horse?”
She demanded.

“So?” Yoongi said irritably. “Are those against the rules in the lease agreement?”

Her jaw dropped. When she recovered, she looked like it took all her control not to leap into the air
and whack Yoongi’s head on her way down. “I’m telling you the so-called nanny you’ve hired
isn’t doing her job properly and the first thing you can think of is the lease? I pity the boy!”

His heartbeat quickened in small part shame and big part dread. “What do you mean she’s not
doing her job properly?”
“What do I mean? What do I mean?” She repeated dramatically. “She’s incompetent, that’s what I
mean. She’s out on the rooftop smoking and talking and laughing on the phone for a good few
hours every day. When she does that, who’s keeping an eye on the boy? Are you that dense?”

The landlady didn’t trouble herself with lowering her voice. Yoongi glanced up the flight of stairs,
half expecting the nanny to barrel out and mount a defense against the accusations.

Yoongi looked at Madam Lee again. “Are you sure?” He asked.

If she were a frilled-neck lizard, her skin collar would have flapped outward with a flourish,
provoked.

“Why would I waste my time talking to you if I aren’t sure? What are you accusing me of? I don’t
have to do this, but I happen to be a decent human who thinks it’s only right to warn you. But
whether you decide to act or sleep on it, it’s none of my business. If you don’t care about the boy,
why should I?”

She spun on her feet and huffed off. The gates to her house clanged and rattled as she slammed
them close.

::::::::::

That night after the eventful conversation with Madam Lee, Yoongi did something it had never
occured to him to do. He asked about Taehyung’s day. Almost a week had passed since the nanny
was hired.

“Taehyung, what do you do at home while I’m at work?” Yoongi asked at dinner.

The boy looked up from his bowl, a grain of rice tacked on his cheek. “I wait for Samchon to come
back.”

Yoongi’s chest constricted. That must be a physiological response brought about by the more-
acidic-than-usual pickled radish. The boy’s innocent honesty definitely wasn’t the cause of it.

“I mean what do you really do? Waiting for me doesn’t count.”

Taehyung looked unsure. Yoongi changed tactics.

“What do you do while you wait for me to return?”

The confusion on the boy’s face evaporated. “I draw lots and lots of pictures and play with
Gomumu and colour my books,” he recited. He didn’t sound excited.

“Does Imo do all that with you?”

Taehyung dropped his chin and shook his head in disappointment.

“What does Imo do at home then?”

“Imo talks on her phone and falls asleep. Taetae is quiet when Imo is sleeping because Imo doesn’t
like it if Taetae is too noisy,” he mumbled.

“So Imo doesn’t do anything with you?”

There wasn’t a mirror in front of him, but Yoongi knew from the tension in his jaw that his
expression had darkened. Taehyung stiffened in panic, his eyes swivelling in their sockets.
“S-sometimes Taetae watch TV with Imo,” he stuttered.

“Oh? What do you watch?”

Taehyung scrunched his face in intense concentration. “A man shouting a-and a woman crying…”

“And you enjoyed that?”

Taehyung started to shake his head, but changed his mind halfway and nodded vigorously instead.
He looked worriedly at Yoongi, as if hoping that his answer had pleased Yoongi. Yoongi didn’t
know why he was plying and discomfiting Taehyung with questions he already knew the answers
to. It didn’t take much imagination to realise the nanny’d been watching one of those unnecessarily
lengthy soap operas.

“What about lunch? What did you eat?”

“Cereal.” An ominous cloud must have crossed Yoongi’s features, for Taehyung added hurriedly,
“Taetae likes cereal. They are yummy.”

Yoongi had a feeling he knew what cereal Taehyung was referring to. There was only one box of
cereal in the cupboard. Yoongi’d eaten it once or twice, then left it to languish because it had the
taste and texture of soggy rabbit hay. Also, had it expired?

“How about yesterday and the day before yesterday? Did you eat cereal too?”

Taehyung hesitated, then avoiding Yoongi’s eyes, he nodded.

That darn nanny.

Had Yoongi been mistaken to assume she’d naturally make lunch for the boy? But wasn’t it
obvious enough that she needed to do so? She was here for a good nine hours each day for
goodness’s sake. How could she think that cereal was sufficient to keep the boy satiated? Yoongi
had been guilty of feeding Taehyung peanut butter sandwich for lunch, but at least that had protein.
What did the cheap, probably expired cereal have?

Tomorrow, tomorrow Yoongi’d have a strong word with the nanny. He’d leave her some money
and ask her to whip up something nutritious for Taehyung’s lunch. No more cereal.

“I-is Samchon angry with Taetae?”

Yoongi looked at Taehyung. In Yoongi’s silence, the boy seemed to have wilted a few centimetres
down the chair. Of his face, only his worried eyes and anxious eyebrows were visible over the
edge of the table.

“No,” Yoongi forced the muscles in his face to soften, “I’m not angry with you.”

Taehyung relaxed visibly.

With his chopsticks, Yoongi grabbed a piece of egg roll (yes, from the same takeout place) and put
it into Taehyung’s bowl. That cheered the boy up a little. He sat straighter and stab his fork into the
egg.

“So do you like Imo?” Yoongi asked.

Taehyung stopped chewing. He stared at Yoongi with his huge, almond-shaped eyes. With one side
of his cheek stuffed, the boy looked comical, like a hamster caught redhanded while illegally
hoarding nuts in their cheek pouches.

Again, that same hesitation before Taehyung nodded, too fervently. His response didn’t bring
Yoongi any relief or satisfaction.

What had he hoped to achieve by asking the boy that? A peace of mind? That even though the
nanny was incompetent, she was redeemed because Taehyung found her likeable? And even if the
boy confessed that he didn’t like the nanny, so what? Until he found a kindergarten for the boy,
there was nothing much Yoongi could do.

“That’s great,” he said. There was no point in calling out Taehyung’s very patent lie.

::::::::::

At half past midnight, Yoongi rose from the swivel chair and stretched. On the couch, Taehyung
had fallen asleep, wedged against the corner with knees tucked to his chest and a hand under his
neck. Yoongi went over to the boy.

“Wake up,” he said. “You have to go back to bed.”

Taehyung slept on.

Yoongi considered trying one more time, but didn’t eventually, knowing it wouldn’t make a
difference. It wasn’t the first time the boy had dozed off in the studio. Those nights had ended with
Yoongi carrying the boy back to bed.

Sighing, Yoongi slid his hands under Taehyung’s armpits and lifted him up. Taehyung slumped
against his body as Yoongi moved his arms downward to support his bottom. The boy’s hair
tickled Yoongi’s neck. Yoongi shuddered. He’d really like not to be so close to the boy.

In the living room, he laid Taehyung on the bed and noticed the rubber octopus in the boy’s right
fist. Last night, it was the car. Yoongi unfurled Taehyung’s hand and extracted the octopus, then
left it next to the pillow. The boy shifted and curled on his side, a small line appearing between his
eyebrows as though he wasn’t pleased to have his toy taken from him. But he didn’t wake.

Yoongi put out his mattress on the floor. Before he laid down, he stared at Taehyung’s sleeping
face. The silly idea of finding a rope and bounding the boy to the bed came to him. It had happened
a number of times now, Taehyung abandoning a perfect fine bed in the middle of the night to sleep
next to Yoongi on the thin and knobbly mattress. He had the tendency of clinging onto Yoongi’s
arm like a baby koala, and the extra body heat was unwelcome on summer nights in a room where
an ancient air conditioner perpetually fixed at 27 degree celsius did little to eliminate the stuffiness.

Yoongi was annoyed at first, until he observed a pattern: Taehyung didn’t wet the bed on the
nights he slept next to Yoongi. Without the mad rush to get Taehyung into the bathroom and put
bedsheets to wash, that meant an extra fifteen minutes of sleep in the morning and a relieved
Taehyung.

In the end, as Yoongi got down to the mattress and drifted off that night, he still didn’t know how
he felt about Taehyung sleeping next to him.

::::::::::

Taehyung felt like he wasn’t a good boy recently.

First, he’d started to pee in the bed again. His samchon hadn’t scolded him at all, but that didn’t
make him feel better. His eomma had told him before that big boys know how to go to the
bathroom when they needed to pee at night. He used to be one of those big boys. He used to have
no problem waking up and going to the bathroom on his own. “My brave baby bear’s growing up
so fast,” his eomma would praise him in the morning after he told her he’d gone to pee alone the
night before. She would also ruffle his hair and give him a kiss on his head. But he had gone back
to being a little boy, and he thought his eomma would be very disappointed in him now. He didn’t
understand why this was happening. Every time his bad dreams ended and he woke up, the bed
would be smelly and wet. So sometimes, when he could wake up before his dreams became too
scary, he’d crawl out of bed and curl next to his samchon. Sleeping with his samchon made him not
so scared, and when he was not so scared, he didn’t wet the bed.

Second, he wasn’t a good boy because he’d almost broken his promise to his samchon. When his
samchon’d told him that someone else was going to take care of him, he’d thought his samchon
didn’t want him anymore. He thought his samchon was still angry with him because he’d walked
away on his own at the store the other day. When his samchon told him he was wrong, he was so
relieved. But then he became a little sad when his samchon explained that an ahjumma was going
to take care of him because he had to go to work. Taehyung understood what work was. Work was
something his eomma had had to do so that they could have a place to live in and she could buy
him ice cream and they could go to Pororo Park on special occasions. Work was also something
that kept him apart from his eomma because he couldn’t follow her to Work even though he really
wanted to. So Taehyung didn’t like Work very much, and he didn’t want his samchon to go to
work. But Work was important so Taehyung had to be brave. He promised his samchon he’d be a
good boy at home and wait for his Samchon to return. But when Monday arrived and Imo came
and his samchon was leaving for work, Taehyung was suddenly too scared to be brave. He grabbed
his samchon’s shirt and asked to go with him. His samchon said no. Imo pulled Taehyung back and
his samchon left. Taehyung kept his promise in the end, but he wasn’t happy because he thought
he’d made his samchon angry again.

Third, he wasn’t a good boy because he had lied. His eomma had said good boys don’t tell lies.
Taehyung must be a very bad boy because he told his samchon not one, not two, but three lies.
Three! He didn’t understand or enjoy the shows Imo watch, he didn’t think the cereal was
delicious at all, and he actually didn’t really like Imo. She didn’t smell nice, she’d rather talk on
the phone than play with him, she didn’t seem to like him very much.

So yes, he wasn’t a good boy recently. Maybe that was why his samchon like going to work better
than staying at home with him.

Time at home with Imo went by slowly. Without his samchon, his stomach always felt funny, like
that time when he’d drank too much apple juice at a birthday party at school. He drew pictures and
coloured his books. When his hands got tired from holding crayons, he played with his toys, but he
didn’t have a lot of toys because he hadn’t been able to take all his toys with him when he left the
house he’d lived in with his eomma. He thought he might like taking naps the best, because it
makes time go faster, but sometimes Imo fell asleep on the bed and he had no choice but to nap on
the floor. It was uncomfortable.

Every day, he was happiest when he heard keys tinkling. That sound meant his samchon was
home. The funny feeling in his stomach went away, and his heart stopped feeling like a bird that
didn’t know how to stop fluttering its wings. Everything became normal and right when his
samchon returned. They ate dinner together, his samchon helped him shower and then… his
samchon went into the room with the computer.

Taehyung didn’t like the last part very much. The living room was always a little scary after the
sun went to sleep, and he had been separated from his samchon for the whole day already. So on
the first night his samchon came back from work, Taehyung took a deep breath and tiptoed into the
room with the computer and other things he could not name. He sat on the couch, his fingers
wrapped around his car. He kept as still as he could, worried that his samchon would chase him
out. But his samchon didn’t, not even after Taehyung got bored and started playing with his car.
That made Taehyung really happy! Every night after that, Taehyung went into the room and played
on the couch while his samchon sat at the desk. His samchon always looked serious in front of the
computer, so Taehyung was careful not to make any noise.

But strange things started happening too. His eyes would grow heavy on the couch, and the next
thing he knew, he would wake up on the bed from another bad dream. Did a monster from his
dream snatch him away from his samchon while he was sleeping?

He wanted to ask his samchon, but it was scary to talk about his dreams.

Today, Imo came again. Before his samchon left for work, he talked to her at the door. Taehyung
heard the words control your smoking, pay more attention to the boy, and make him real food for
lunch. His samchon looked unhappy.

“You are going to grow up too dainty for your own good,” Imo said to him after his samchon left.

He didn’t know what Imo meant, but he knew it wasn’t good. Her face wasn’t kind when she said
the words, and after that she walked around the house like an angry dinosaur.

Some time later, Imo told him to wear his shoes. They walked to a store where she bought meat and
vegetables. Her mood hadn’t become better (she grumbled under her breath and threw the meat and
vegetables into the shopping basket instead of neatly putting them in), but he was happy. The store
had huge refrigerated shelves that he could stand in front of and get cool. It also had many snacks
and candies in many colours. Although he was a little disappointed that Imo didn’t buy him any of
them, he still thought coming to the store was better than staying at home all day. He hoped she’d
bring him here again tomorrow.

Imo disappeared into the kitchen after they got home. Taehyung took out his crayons and colouring
book, sat on the floor, flipped to the page with the drawing of a bear he hadn’t coloured, and began
to fill its ears with purple.

He was colouring its belly (yellow) when he heard a noise coming from the kitchen. It sounded a
little like snakes, and a little like fish breathing bubbles (bloop bloop bloop), just very fast. He
looked around him. Imo was out on the rooftop talking on her phone again. He got to his feet and
went to the kitchen.

The noise was coming from the pot on the stove. Blue flames moved under the pot. He frowned,
worried. He’d watched his eomma cook in the past. Sometimes she’d even let him help her beat
the eggs or stir the chopped vegetables in the pan. He remembered her telling him it was dangerous
to have the flames on and not pay it any attention.

Was Imo paying attention to the flames?

He looked over his shoulder. Outside, Imo was walking back and forth and talking at the same
time. She didn’t look like she was paying any attention. He looked back at the pot.

And Baby bear, you shouldn’t go anywhere near the stove on your own, all right?

He hesitated.

But he had done this before. He knew how to turn off the flames. His eomma’d taught him that
time they made pancakes together.

He approached the stove carefully. His heart beat quickly in his chest, as if he was about to do
something he wasn’t supposed to do. He was a little short, but when he stood on his toes, he could
see the two knobs, even though he couldn’t see what was inside the pot. The mark on one pointed
up, and the mark on the other pointed at a tiny picture of a big flame. He reached for the second
knob. It was warm between his fingers. He turned it so that it’s mark pointed the same way as the
first knob.

The flames disappeared. The noise stopped a second later.

See! He could do it! It wasn’t dangerous at all! And now Imo could talk as long as she wanted on
the phone!

“What are you doing so close to the stove?!”

The screech startled Taehyung. He flinched. As he did so, he knocked into the pot’s long handle.
The pot crashed onto its side. The water it held came spilling down.

:::::::::::

Yoongi burst into the clinic. He immediately spotted them on the chairs in front of the counter.

The nanny saw him and jumped to her feet, flashing a forced smile in his direction as he
approached. “You came quick. I didn’t think you’d get here this fast. We just finished seeing the
doctor and we’re now waiting to get the medicine. The doctor said the scalds aren’t anything too
serious.”

Yoongi brushed past her in mute fury and lowered himself before Taehyung. He counted three
bandaged areas on the left side of Taehyung’s body: the first on the forearm, the second and the
largest on the calf, and the third around his barefoot. The boy’s face was drawn and pale, his eyes
dazed and wet. Yoongi was right in front of the boy, but motionless as the boy was, he wasn’t sure
if the boy actually saw him.

Behind Yoongi, the nanny was still running her mouth.

“The doctor said it was great that I knew to run his arm and leg under cool water immediately. The
wounds would’ve been a lot trickier to deal with if I hadn’t. I brought him here as soon as I could,
carried him over the two streets—”

Yoongi rose in one sharp movement and whipped around. “Should I give you a fucking medal?”

The nanny blinked, shocked. Other patients turned their heads. The middle-aged woman manning
the counter shot Yoongi a reproachful glance. Yoongi forced himself to calm down.

“You’re dismissed,” he said. He turned his back on the nanny. If he looked at her one moment
longer, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t lose control and commit a crime.

“What? Why? It’s not my fault he scalded himself. This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t
asked me to cook. And he was playing with the stove—”

“You’re supposed to keep an eye on him!” Yoongi shouted.

Taehyung jumped and whimpered.

 “I’m going have to ask the two of you to quit it or take your fight outside,” the woman behind the
counter said sternly. “You’re scaring the child.”

Yoongi looked at Taehyung. The tears that had been pooling in the boy’s eyes cascaded down his
cheeks. Yoongi clenched his hands, urged his anger to retreat.

“Get lost,” he told the nanny, his voice low and rough. “Never let me see your face again.”

Indignation crossed her features. “Fine.” She folded her arms across her chest. “But I’m not leaving
before you pay me what I’ve earned.”

He stared the nanny dead in the eye. “Get lost,” he repeated, “before I report you for child abuse.”

She staggered. Her fear pleased him. “You wouldn’t dare,” she sputtered.

“Try me.”

The nanny left the clinic muttering a string of violent curses. Yoongi blew out a breath. He was
aware of the curious glances the handful of patients in the clinic were shooting him. He let them
be, suddenly weary. He sank onto the chair the wretched nanny had vacated. Taehyung sniffled.
The white of his bandages stung Yoongi’s eyes.

“Does it hurt?”

Yoongi realised how stupid his question was the moment it left his mouth. Seungah and he had
once tried to build a campfire out of dried leaves and twigs, and he had burned his fingers when the
leaf he’d used as the fire starter was consumed by the flame quicker than he could let go. Tender
and painful, his fingers hadn’t felt like his own for days afterward.

But despite the redundancy of his question, Taehyung nodded. His throat wobbled. He started to
cry, fresh tears surging into his eyes and falling down his face with abandon, as though his shell of
shock had finally cracked and terror found an outlet. He crawled into Yoongi’s lap and wrapped
his arms around Yoongi’s neck. Pressing his small body as close against Yoongi’s chest as he
could, he sobbed, his cries piercing the air. People looked uncomfortably away.

“T-Taetae,” the boy hiccuped, “Taetae didn’t play with the stove.”

Yoongi suddenly felt nauseated. The nanny had told him over the phone it was an accident. What if
it wasn’t? What if reporting the nanny for child abuse was something he should do, not just a
threat?Questions clawed at Yoongi, but he held them back. He couldn’t ask Taehyung, not in the
boy’s current state of distress.

His arms came up around the boy. He stroke the back of Taehyung’s head, a numbness spreading
outward from his breastbone as tears dampened his neck and shoulder.

“I know,” he murmured into Taehyung’s ear. “ Samchon believes you.”

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

another long chapter. i might have neglected real life while working on it :3
on a side note, this story has broken the 100 kudos mark! thank you so much for
giving this little gen fic a chance. <3 also a big thank you to the comments left for the
previous chapter. knowing that people are engaged with this story is always wonderful
and encouraging.

as always, let me know what you think about the story so far!

till next time!

 Chapter Eight
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Yoongi pegged the last piece of clothing and stepped back. On front rod of the laundry rack,
Taehyung’s small and cheery animal pyjamas contrasted against the loose white T-shirt and black
shorts that Yoongi used as sleepwear. On the rear rod, the sheet for the floor mattress cascaded
down. A breeze swayed the damp fabrics, teasing free the scent of detergent, but Yoongi still
smelled the pungent note of ammonia. He lifted his arm to his nose and sniffed. Maybe he should
take another shower.

That morning, Yoongi had woken up with the boy was curled snug against him. As sleep waned
and his sluggish mind sharpened, the dampness under him became too real to be dismissed as a
dream. He stiffened, then jolted and did a quick feel-around over the mattress with a frantic hand,
groaned. He laid on the soiled mattress for all of ten seconds, his shorts plastered against his legs
with the boy’s pee, wondering if he should begin cleaning the mattress, the boy or himself. In the
end he roused the boy, ushered him into the bathroom for a quick clean-up, and showered himself
before dealing with the mattress.

“We need to do something about this,” he told Taehyung as he worked the sheet off the mattress on
the floor. “You can’t carry on like this.”

He might have sounded a little weary, but he didn’t think he was fierce. Still, sitting on a corner of
the bed, the boy slumped his shoulders and avoided Yoongi’s eyes for the rest of the morning.

Later, as Yoongi followed the clinic’s instruction and changed the boy’s bandages, he would regret
his words. He would look at the garishly red skin on the boy’s arm, leg and foot for the first time
since the accident two days ago, and think that whatever the boy did to inconvenience him, he
should tolerate it without a word of complaint.

From where he currently was on the rooftop, Yoongi glanced at the sliding door that opened into
the living room. He could see Taehyung through the glass, sitting on the floor while a Sunday
children show played on the television. The scald wounds still caused Taehyung considerable pain.
Whenever they started acting up, the boy would frown and grow restless but he wouldn’t voice it.
Yoongi kept a close eye on him, monitoring the slightest changes on his expression and stepping in
to make the boy as comfortable as possible. Depending on the time of the day and which part of the
house Taehyung was in, the tactics included arranging cushions on the studio couch, tuning the
television to the kids’ channel in an effort to distract, or crushing prescribed painkillers into a glass
of milk and adding a teaspoon of honey to mask the bitterness before giving it to the boy.

Taehyung didn’t look like he was in discomfort at the moment. Yoongi looked away, casting his
gaze to the opposite side where the rooftops of other houses unfurled like a sea and transitioned
into taller buildings in the distance. Power lines sectioned the sky. The stained mattress draped
sloppily over a ledge, where the sun’s glare would hopefully dry the stuffed cotton and sear away
the smell.

The sky above him flung wide and boundless. There were people who believed looking at the sky
puts one’s troubles into perspective, make them appear smaller and more manageable. Those
idiots. No amount of skywatching was going to make Yoongi feel better about his plight.
Taehyung and he were back to square one. No, scratch that. They were worse off. At the
beginning, the boy hadn’t had his skin nearly scalded off his bones, and Yoongi’d had hope that
things would work out in due time.

That due time had long since been overdue. The doors of kindergartens remained stubbornly
closed, he was stuck at home with the boy again, and he had pissed his boss off by requesting even
more time off. He was surprised when he hadn’t been fired on the spot. That was a bright side, he
guessed, though it could also just be delaying the inevitable.

Everything was spiralling into hell. Yoongi had no idea what more he could do.

He squinted up at the clouds. If there were any silver lining, he could not see it.

::::::::::

Hoseok unapologetically swept into the house the moment Yoongi opened the door. He gasped
when he saw Taehyung on the floor, his bandaged leg propped on a cushion. The massive paper
bag in Hoseok’s hand landed on the floor with a shocked thud.

Taehyung, whose spirits had been low since he’d hurt himself, perked up. “Hobi Hyung.” Eagerly
but clumsily, he made to get up from the floor.

“No, no, stay where you are. Hobi Hyung will come to you.”

Hoseok fluttered to Taehyung and took his hand. Horror seeped across Hoseok’s face like ink as he
noted the bandages on Taehyung’s limbs. “What happened to you, Taetae?” He breathed.

Taehyung looked morosely at the floor. “Hot water poured down on Taetae. But Taetae didn’t play
with the stove.”

Hoseok flicked a puzzled glance at Yoongi.

“He scalded himself in the kitchen,” Yoongi said.

“How the hell did that hap—” Hoseok caught himself and shook his head, as if realising there was
something distasteful about asking for details in front of the child. “Never mind, we’ll talk about it
later.”

Wearing a smile, Hoseok turned his attention back to Taehyung. He tugged the boy’s hand gently
but playfully. Taehyung raised his drooped head. “Taetae’s such a brave boy. If hot water poured
down on Hobi Hyung, Hobi Hyung’d be crying like a baby all day every day.”

Hoseok pulled an exaggerated crying face. Taehyung giggled. The sound tinkled in Yoongi’s ears.

“And you know what brave little boys deserve?” Hoseok let his question hang in suspense.
“Presents!” He popped to his feet. Taehyung’s huge eyes followed Hoseok curiously and
expectantly as Hoseok went to paper bag he’d brought.

From its top, Hoseok pulled out a toy truck. “Ta-da!”

Taehyung’s face lit up. He received the truck from Hoseok with both hands and brought it close to
his chest, awed and reverent.

Hoseok crouched next to the boy. “This is a magical fire truck. See this button here? Something
happens when you press it. Go on, try it.”

Taehyung did as he was told. His chest hitched in delight when the truck emitted a lower-pitch
rendition of real-life sirens. The transparent light bar on its truck roof flashed, cycling through a
rainbow of colours instead of sticking to the standard red. Perhaps the multicolour lights was what
made the truck magical, Yoongi thought.

Hoseok walked Taehyung through the truck’s other features — the zigzag ladder that could be
unfolded and extended, the trick that allowed the truck to launch forward by first dragging it back.
Wonder glimmered in Taehyung’s eyes.

“Does Taetae like the truck?” Hoseok asked.

Taehyung nodded, hard, without peeling his eyes away from his new toy. Hoseok ruffled the boy’s
head fondly. Some moments later, certain that Taehyung’s attention was fully occupied by the
truck, Hoseok drew away from Taehyung and mentioned that he needed a drink. As he rose, he
shot Yoongi a look that signalled Yoongi to follow.

“What are you doing here?” Yoongi asked once they were in the kitchen.

“Thought I’d bring Taehyung some of the toys and books the triplets had outgrown. Also to check
how you’re coping.” Hoseok grabbed a mug from the dish rack. As he filled it with tap water. his
eyes slid sideways to Yoongi. “Not very well, apparently,” he said in disdain. “How did Taehyung
even hurt himself?”

Yoongi had no wish to talk about it. Every time he thought about the nanny, he’d have the insane
urge to hurt somebody. But he knew how insistent Hoseok could be.

“I hired a nanny and she didn’t take good care of the boy,” Yoongi said, hoping but knowing it
wouldn’t be enough for Hoseok.

The mug paused midway to Hoseok’s mouth. Over the mug’s lip, his eyes narrowed. “You hired a
nanny?” In the seconds that followed, Yoongi could see Hoseok’s mind spinning with all sort of
possibilities. A murderous look hardened his face. He slammed the mug onto the counter so hard
that water sloshed out. “Did she do this to him? I swear to god, if it’s child abuse—”

“I told you Taehyung scalded himself, not the nanny scalded him,” Yoongi said irritably. “She’s
incompetent, but she’s not a child abuser.”

That was the conclusion Yoongi came to after speaking to Taehyung. In his agitation when
explaining what had happened, the boy’d had trouble expressing himself. But through the bits and
pieces that Yoongi could make sense of, he understood the boy’d just been trying to turn off the
stove when he knocked into the pot.

“Taetae didn’t play with the stove,” Taehyung had insisted more than once, as though afraid to be
labelled a naughty boy.

When Yoongi proceeded to ask Taehyung if the nanny had hurt him in any way, the boy’d shaken
his head. Yoongi reflected on the times he helped the boy shower and couldn’t remember seeing
any bruises. Taehyung’s scalds must be a one-off accident. It must be. The opposite was
unthinkable. Unbearable.

“And you didn’t sense that she was incompetent when you hired her?” Hoseok asked.

“She said she was skilled at taking care of children,” Yoongi muttered.

“She said?” Hoseok question, tone rising sharply. “You just took her word for it?”

Yoongi stared mutely at the sink. Hoseok exploded.

“I can’t believe you! You’re supposed to check her references, confirm with her previous
employers that she’s indeed as capable as she says! What if she isn’t merely incompetent? What if
she had been an abuser or worse, a pedophile? Could you live with that?”

Something in Yoongi broke, violent and unforeseen.

“What else could I have done?” Yoongi snapped. “I was at my wits’ end, okay? No kindergartens
had a spot for Taehyung and I needed someone to take care of him so I could go back to work
before I lose my job. Do you think I need you to list out all the what-ifs for me, as if I hadn’t
tortured myself with them already? Do you think I need you to tell me off? Do you think I wasn’t
mad at myself?”

Anger crashed through Yoongi, bled his vision red. It spun in him, rattled his insides, but he
deserved no release because everything was his damn fault. The red flags had been so obvious
from the get-go: the nanny’s obvious disinterest in the boy, the landlady’s warning, the relief
washing over Taehyung’s face whenever Yoongi arrived home. Yoongi had deliberately looked
away from all these signs, convincing himself that even if he acknowledged them, there was little
he could do. It must be punishment, the way his eyes hurt and his lungs ached every time he
looked at Taehyung now.

The house became oddly still in the aftermath of Yoongi’s outburst. The sounds made by the toy
truck had stopped. Shooting Yoongi a glare, Hoseok went to the doorway and stuck his head into
the living room. His voice was cheerful when he spoke.

“Did we scare you, Taetae? We’re so sorry. Your samchon and I are practising our voice
projection. We’re definitely not fighting. Why don’t you continue playing with the truck?”

As the sounds from the living room restarted, Hoseok pulled back into the kitchen. Any trace of
sunniness he’d reserved for Taehyung vanished the moment his eyes landed on Yoongi and turned
steely.

“Have you calmed down?” Hoseok demanded.

Yoongi said nothing. He braced his arms on the counter and tried to even out his breathing.

“Good,” Hoseok said. “Now listen to what I have to say and don’t you dare interrupt. You’re right.
It’s your fault that Taehyung’s injured. You never learn your lesson, do you?”

Now, that was unfair. What lesson was there to learn when it was his first time taking care of a
child? Yoongi opened his mouth to argue.

“I said, don’t you dare interrupt,” Hoseok warned, holding a hand up and coupling the gesture with
a glare. He waited a moment until he was satisfied he’d shut Yoongi up. “There’s something I just
don’t understand. Why are you so allergic to receiving help from others? Haven’t I told you plenty
of times to let me know if you’re in trouble? The other time you were so stubborn about handling
your own problems, your fever nearly developed into full-blown pneumonia if I hadn’t sent you to
the hospital in time, remember? This time, you’re again too stubborn. I’ve specifically told you to
let me know if you need help with Taehyung, but you didn’t. See what happened? Taehyung got
hurt and now you’re mad at yourself. When will you learn your lesson?”

Yoongi scoffed. “Unless you can find a school for Taehyung, I don’t think your help would have
mattered.”

“As a matter of fact, I can.”

Yoongi stared at Hoseok. He wasn’t sure if Hoseok had said that out of spite or if he was being
serious.

“My mother, she used to work at a kindergarten before she retired,” Hoseok said coolly. “If I
remember correctly the principal owes her some favours. I can ask her to put in a word for you. I’m
sure they’ll be able to do something if they understand how screwed you are if you can’t find a
school for Taehyung.”

Yoongi was surprised enough that he wasn’t the slightest bit irritated at Hoseok for taking a jab at
him.

“Oh,” was all he managed to say.

“What else?” Hoseok asked.

“What?”

Hoseok rolled his eyes, as though Yoongi was the dumbest person he ever had the misfortune to
talk to. “What else do you need help with? Don’t tell me nothing because you and I know that’s a
lie. You look ghastly stressed out.” His gaze swept down to Yoongi’s hands on the counter, where
the fingernails’d been bitten to the quick.

“Try having a child to take care of and see if you could still look fresh as a flower.”

“I’d at the very least look better than you,” Hoseok refuted smoothly.

“He wets the bed. I have to clean the bedsheets and his clothes almost every morning. This
morning I had to clean mine too because his pee got onto me. Do you know how much time I waste
on laundry these days?”

Immediately Yoongi wished he hadn’t said that. What was he trying to accomplish? Convince
Hoseok that Taehyung was a difficult child to care for? He sounded petty and whiny. He was petty
and whiny. Amidst other matters and events, how much time he spent on laundry was trifling. To
Hoseok’s credit, he didn’t point that out to Yoongi.

“What have you done then? Did you try to solve it?” Hoseok asked. “Talk to him about his sleep,
or make sure he goes to the bathroom before going to bed? Or did you just approach the problem
like an ostrich and hope it magically goes away?”

Yoongi studied a smudge on the microwave door.

Hoseok made a noise of frustration and disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”

He picked up his mug, took an impatient gulp, and returned it onto the counter with a clonk.
Without a word to Yoongi, he headed out of the kitchen. Yoongi followed.

Taehyung was on the floor where they had left him. He was trying to balance his rubber octopus
on the fire truck. Hoseok got down before Taehyung, switching into his energetic persona.

“Taetae,” Hoseok said, “Hobi Hyung’d like to talk to you for a tiny bit. Do you think you can put
away your toys for now?”

Taehyung’s lower lip pushed out. He nodded reluctantly. “Okay,” he said in his delicate voice,
pushing the toys aside.
From where he was standing, near the kitchen doorway, Yoongi could tell Taehyung was pleased
when Hoseok said thanks and ruffled his hair.

“Now, Hobi Hyung has a question for Taetae. Does Taetae sleep well at night?”

Taehyung dipped his head. His left thumb rubbed against his index finger, a tic Yoongi had come
to know happened when the boy was nervous, confused, or unsure. Taehyung looked like he was
about to nod when Hoseok said in a careful voice, “Taetae knows Hobi Hyung will be very sad if
Taetae tell lies, right?”

Taehyung startled. Shame crumpled his face. Hoseok gave Taehyung an encouraging nod.

“No.” The boy’s voice was a scared mewl. “Taetae doesn’t sleep well.”

“Why not?”

“Taetae has bad dreams.” Taehyung scratched the back of his ear in frustration. “Taetae hates bad
dreams.”

“What kind of bad dreams?” When Taehyung pressed his lips together into a round pout, Hoseok
probed, “Are they about monsters under the bed and ghosts in the cupboard?”

Taehyung nodded, terrified. “And bad man wanting to catch Taetae.” His shoulders quivered. His
voice turned small and shaky. “And worms eating Eomma.”

Hoseok reeled back with a frown. “Worms eating your Eomma? Why do you think that?”

Taehyung’s eyes drifted involuntarily toward Yoongi and darted away the next instant, as if
suddenly guilty that he was selling Yoongi out. But shrewd and observant as he was, Hoseok
caught on. He shot Yoongi a withering glare.

What the hell? He mouthed angrily.

“He wanted to know what was going to happen to his eomma after she died,” Yoongi muttered.

“You and I, we are going to have a talk later,” Hoseok said through gritted teeth.

Hoseok whipped his attention back to Taehyung, who seemed completely unaware of the exchange
that had passed between the two adults. The boy hung his head, sniffling, as if talking about his
bad dreams was too much for him.

Hoseok shifted into a cross-legged sitting position, patting his thigh. “Come here, Taetae,” he said.
As Hoseok reached for Taehyung and settled the boy on his lap, Yoongi worried that Hoseok
would accidentally aggravate Taehyung’s injuries, but Hoseok was swift and gentle, and Taehyung
neither winced nor whimpered.

“Taetae, do you know that your samchon only told you half the story? Do you know a person is
not made up of just a body, but also a soul?”

Taehyung angled his chin to look at Hoseok with wet, puzzled eyes. “A soul?”

“Uh huh. Let’s see…” After a quick glance around, Hoseok tipped his torso sideways and reached
for the toy truck. “Take this magic truck for example. Would you hold it for me, Taetae?”

Taehyung obliged.
“Thank you. Now, Taetae likes this truck a lot, right?”

Taehyung nodded.

Hoseok grinned. “The part of you that is holding the truck is your hand, and your hand is part of
your body. However, the part of you that likes the truck is your soul. Because you have a body and
a soul, you can touch the truck and you can like the truck. In this way,” he tapped Taehyung’s nose
affectionately, “everybody has a body and a soul. Even though we can see the body but not the
soul, the soul is very important, maybe even more important than the body.”

Hoseok’s arms locked loose around Taehyung, and he scooped the boy closer to him. “Now, when
we say that somebody has died, we mean that their body has stopped working. But do you know
that their soul is still alive? Their soul usually stays with the person they love the most. So, Taetae,
who does your eomma love the most in the world?”

Taehyung gave the question a momentary thought. “Eomma says she loves Taetae the most.”

“That’s right,” Hoseok nodded. “Do you understand now, Taetae? Even though your eomma has
died, her soul is still watching over you because you’re the person she loves the most.”

Careful hope glimmered in Taehyung’s eyes. “Eomma’s still here with me?”

“Yes.” Hoseok smiled down at Taehyung. “Even though you cannot see her or talk to her, she’s
still here with you. And you know what? If you sleep very well at night, she might even visit your
dreams.”

::::::::::

At the visit to the kindergarten, Taehyung was whisked away for a sample class while Mrs Yang,
the school principal, gave Yoongi a tour around the school.

The kindergarten followed an open plan where low shelves instead of walls marked out the
different spaces. The main activity area was the largest and the first area people saw after they
took off their shoes and walked through the entryway. Children mostly learned here, but every day
at three in the afternoon, the tables would be pushed to the sides, and the children’d get their
pillows from their own lockers, roll out spongy mats on the cleared space and lay down for a 45-
minute nap. Further toward the back were a reading nook and a music corner with a piano. There
was a dining space with tables lower than Yoongi’s knees and chairs that looked impossibly tiny.

“And this is our kitchen where Madam Baek, our very good cook, prepare the children’s meals.”
Mrs Yang told Yoongi. “What’s for snack this morning?” She asked conversationally into the
kitchen.

“Chocolate cookies and malt drink,” the cook announced jovially as she pulled out a tray from a
cabinet and started arranging little cups on it.

“Sounds we’re in for a treat today.” Mrs. Yang turned back to Yoongi. “Every day, the children
have a snack break at ten in the morning, lunch at twelve-thirty, and a tea break at four. We try to
feed them enough to keep their energy up, but not so much that they get sleepy.”

Yoongi peered into kitchen. A big pot bubbled away on the stove, leaving steam on the tiled wall.
On the counter were rolls of kimbaps waiting to be sliced. Maybe that was lunch.

“Come,” Mrs Yang said. “Let’s go this way next.”

They went down a short corridor that led to the backyard. Before they went down the short steps,
they put on the slippers left at the side for communal use.

“Here’s our playground,” Mrs Yang said as they emerged into the morning. “The children’s
favorite place but certainly not the teachers’.” She chuckled. “There’s something incredibly
stressful about having to keep our eyes on all the children at once, making sure they’re using the
equipment the way they’re supposed to be used. You’ll be surprised how creative children can
get.”

The centrepiece of the playground was the two slides, one tunnel and one open, conjoined by a
bridge. A swing set, a see-saw, a few spring riders surrounded the slides. The originally vibrant
colors of the playground equipment had faded, but they still looked sturdy.

“That’s about it for the tour. As you can see, we aren’t a big kindergarten, but our children are
happy here.” Pride was clear in Mrs. Yang’s voice.

The kindergarten definitely wasn’t as fancy as the other one Yoongi had visited weeks ago, but
Yoongi would take Mrs. Yang over the other principal any day.

The two of them stood in a moment of quiet. The air was damp and earthy from the brief downpour
earlier, as was the ground, largely bare with dirt save for the patches of grass here and there.

Just before the silence grew awkward, she spoke again. This time she sounded grim and sad. “I
heard what happened to Taehyung’s mother. I’m terribly sorry for your loss and his. Please rest
assure that my teachers and I will do everything within our ability to make sure he’s comfortable in
this school. Every child deserves a happy childhood.”

As they strolled away from the playground and rounded the building toward the main entrance,
Mrs. Yang asked Yoongi about Taehyung — the boy’s personality, his likes and dislikes, and how
he’d been coping after Seungah’s passing. Talking to the principal was easy. She gave off a steady
calm and patience, a non-judgemental air, as though nothing could ruffle her feathers.

They took off their slippers at the door and went inside. In the main activity area, Taehyung was
seated at a table with the rest of the children, doing art and craft under the guidance of two
teachers. Taehyung looked somewhat shy and uncertain, but the kid next to him — a boy with
round eyes, a rounder head, and a set of bunny teeth — was helpful. He enthusiastically
volunteered to get Taehyung the colours he wanted from the container placed for sharing at the
center of the table.

In a small room off the principal’s office, Mrs. Yang gave Yoongi a rundown of the kindergarten
schedule, fees and the major yearly events. Yoongi then filled out an enrolment form for
Taehyung. By the time Yoongi was done with everything, the children’s art class was over.

Before Yoongi and Taehyung left, Mrs. Yang handed Taehyung a small plastic bag with two
cookies. The bunny-toothed boy pattered out to the door to wave Taehyung a spirited goodbye.
Taehyung waved back.

“Did you make a friend already?” Yoongi asked as Taehyung and he stepped out of the gates and
made a right turn down the way to the bus stop.

The boy was holding the paper-plate flower he had made at the art class, his fingers wrapped
around the flower’s chopstick stalk. Its petals were coloured blue and purple with a yellow smiley
face drawn at the center. The bag of cookies he was given dangled from his wrist.
“His name is Gukkie,” Taehyung informed helpfully. There was a bounce in his steps. Although
the bandages were yet removed, the boy’s scalds were healing well. Except for the occasional
whimpers when he overstretched himself or bumped into something, Taehyung didn’t seem like
his injuries bothered him that much anymore.

“So…” Yoongi began. “What do you think of the school? Do you like it?”

Taehyung bobbed his head readily. Yoongi didn’t know he’d been nervous until he felt relieved.

“Do you think you can come to school while I go to work?”

The way Taehyung deflated, it was as if he were a swimming float and someone had taken a needle
to it. Even his paper-plate flower seemed to wilt with him.

“Every day?” Taehyung asked.

“Almost. Monday to Friday, and half a day on Saturday. It’s like that time when Imo stayed home
with you while I went to work.”

Taehyung shook his head. “Taetae doesn’t want Imo.”

“I know. That’s why Hobi Hyung found you this school.”

The green man on the traffic light at pedestrian crossing started to blink. They stopped at the edge
of the pavement as the red man appeared. Taehyung hadn’t said anything. Who knew what was
going on in his head?

Yoongi didn’t think it was likely, but he asked, “Is this your first time going to school? Is that why
you’re worried?”

Taehyung shook his head so hard that it sent strands of his hair flying. He tugged uncertainly the
hem of his own shirt and closed his hands around the cloth.

“Will Samchon come and take Taetae home from school every day?”

Yoongi nearly scoffed. All the buildup of suspense for a concern this anticlimactic. “Of course.
Who else is going to pick you up if not me?”

Taehyung lifted his face toward Yoongi. “Okay,” he said. “Taetae will go to school.”

“Great,” Yoongi said, pretending he hadn’t seen the small, worried crinkle between the boy’s
eyebrows. He knew for a fact that Taehyung got anxious easily around new people and in new
environments, but he would be fine. The kindergarten was a lot more promising than that wretched
nanny after all.

Cars rolled to a stop at the crossing. The green man appeared a few beats later. Taehyung took
Yoongi by surprise when he thrust his small hand into Yoongi’s and latched on. For a split second,
instinct tempted Yoongi to fling it off, but reason caught up and he didn’t. The road wasn’t busy at
this hour, but the calibre of the people behind the wheel these days didn’t exactly inspire
confidence. Heaven forbade if the boy hurt himself again.

So Yoongi held onto Taehyung’s hand, and they crossed the road.

::::::::::

The day before Taehyung started school, Yoongi took the boy shopping. In the multipurpose
budget store, Taehyung took a long time picking out his own pencil case, pencils, erasers and water
bottle. He eventually settled on everything blue and patterned with drawings of yellow trains.
Yoongi also replenished the boy’s drawing paper and crayons, and grabbed some colouring and
connect-the-dots activity books on sale.

On their way out of the mall, Taehyung suddenly slowed down and eventually came to a stop.
Sensing Taehyung’s distraction, Yoongi stopped too. He followed Taehyung’s line of sight.

They were right outside a game arcade. At its entrance was a claw machine, one of the larger ones
Yoongi had ever seen. Fluorescent lights lit the machine from within. Three humongous plushies
laid behind the glass. They were all the same — a pale blue, egg-shaped lump with dots for eyes
and a line for mouth. If Yoongi didn’t understand the plushies’ appeal, Taehyung apparently did.
The boy hadn’t blinked since he laid eyes on the soft toy.

When Yoongi was a student, he had whiled his school hours away at the arcade on days he played
truant. He had watched as others tried their luck at the claw machines. Occasionally he gave the
game a go himself. Back then, he’d been a natural. He supposed he could play again for nostalgia’s
sake. Besides he had plenty of coins and it’d be an opportunity to rid his wallet of the weight. If he
managed to get the doll, it’d be a bonus. If not, then too bad for the boy.

Yoongi headed toward the machine. Taehyung jolted and hurried after him. As Yoongi neared, he
could see that the plushie had a darker-blue frill stitched along its back and that its bottom tapered
into a tail. It was meant to be a dinosaur, probably.

“Welcome!” A chirpy voice sang from the speaker as Yoongi inserted the coins. The voice’s
piercing tone stood out amidst the blend of sound effects — shooting, car racing, explosions —
blaring out of the arcade. The colourful bulbs on the machine flashed to life.

The first time Yoongi tried, he missed the dinosaur entirely. The next two times, the plushie barely
moved. On his fourth and fifth try, he managed to lift the toy a few centimetres into the air before
the overweight bastard slid right out of the claw. The dinosaur’s seemingly harmless face started to
annoy Yoongi.

Next to Yoongi, Taehyung had plastered himself to the machine, standing so close that his nose left
a mark on the glass. The boy cycled through his own set of emotions. Every time the claw
descended, he would watch anxiously, holding his breath as the claw closed around the dinosaur. If
the claw managed to lift it, he would be happy for a split second, then tense again in anticipation as
the toy travelled closer to the drop hole. When the claw sprang open and the dinosaur fell before it
made it to the hole, his shoulders would sink and his disappointment would fog the glass in front of
him.

Yoongi lost count of how many times he tried. He used up his coins and exchanged his notes for
more. He might have cursed a few times. Finally he was down to his last four coins, just enough
for one more round.

“If we don’t get it this time, we’re going home,” Yoongi said. Spending more money on the
plushie than they already had would be absurd.

Taehyung nodded, but he seemed so dejected it was difficult to look at.

Yoongi turned back to the machine. Behind the class, the dinosaur seemed to be taunting him with
its clueless smile. Yoongi cracked his knuckles.

I’m getting you this time, you bastard.

Yoongi slid the coins through the slot. After a deep breath, he put his hand on the joystick. He slid
the claw first to the left, nudged it a little forward, squinted, then nudged it an inch backward. As
he hit the button, the claw opened and lowered, securing around the dinosaur. Up the dinosaur
went, then right, right, and right somemore…

The claw sprang apart close to the drop hole, but not close enough. The dinosaur fell, hit the plastic
partition that separated the hole from the rest of the chamber. For a frozen moment, the dinosaur
seemed to balance there. Then it wobbled, tipped and…

Into the hole it fell.

The breath Yoongi didn’t know he’d been holding whooshed out. He slammed a triumphant fist on
the machine. Taehyung squealed and clapped, bouncing on his feet.

Pulling the plushie out from the bottom opening took some effort. Taehyung squatted beside him
and watched with concern as Yoongi worked the dinosaur’s girth out of the too-small flap. He had
to squish, squash and yank, but he got the plushie out in the end.

Yoongi shoved the dinosaur under Taehyung’s nose. “Take it,” he said gruffly. There was no way
he was going to be seen in public with the plushie.

Taehyung wrapped his arms around the dinosaur. Giggling, he rubbed his face against the softness.
Outside the machine, the toy was bigger than Yoongi’d thought. The boy’s arms barely came a full
circle around it.

Taehyung peeked out from behind the dinosaur, smile wide and cheeks rosy. Yoongi’s heart
experienced the oddest glitch.

That was the first time in his life, Yoongi thought, that anyone had looked at him with such earnest
adoration pouring from their eyes.

::::::::::

Unlike Hoseok, Yoongi was a practical person. When it came to solving the problem of
Taehyung’s bed-wetting, instead of telling the boy a story about souls and bodies, Yoongi took the
approach of making sure the boy emptied his bladder before going to bed (even though that too
was Hoseok’s suggestion in the first place).

On this night, Taehyung had fallen asleep on the studio couch once again. He had tucked himself
against the plump dinosaur, whose name was Toka, as Yoongi had overheard when the boy talked
to it just now.

Yoongi shook Taehyung’s shoulder. Once, twice, thrice, before Taehyung’s bleary eyes fluttered
open.

“You need to go to the bathroom,” Yoongi said.

It took a bit before his words swam through Taehyung’s daze and reached the boy. When they did,
Taehyung shook his head petulantly and curled closer to his dinosaur. “Taetae doesn’t need the
bathroom now.”

“You don’t want to pee in the bed again, do you?”

“No, no,” Taehyung shook his head somewhat crankily. “Taetae’s a big boy.”
“Then you should get up.”

Eyes half-lidded, Taehyung wriggled sleepily off the couch. He lumbered and swayed en route to
the bathroom, dragging Toka behind him. Yoongi followed two steps behind, darting forward to
steer Taehyung by the shoulder and right his path whenever he sensed that the boy was about to
walk into a wall or a furniture. As they passed the bed, Yoongi tugged Toka out of Taehyung’s
hand and tossed it onto the bed. Taehyung made a small noise of protest.

“Relax,” Yoongi said, “it isn’t going anywhere.”

Taehyung usually went to the bathroom on his own with no problems. But in his barely-awake
state, he seemed to have lost his competence. Yoongi had to position the boy in front of the toilet
bowl and prod him along step by step (“Pull down your pants,” “Start peeing,” “Wash your
hands.”) Next time, Yoongi decided as he pressed the flush button, he would catch Taehyung
before the boy fell asleep. How much trouble that would save.

After washing his hands, Taehyung faced Yoongi and raised both of his arms, eyes already fallen
shut. Yoongi stared at him. In his memory, this was the first time Taehyung requested to be carried.

As he lifted Taehyung, the boy wound his arms around Yoongi’s neck. Taehyung’s wet hands left
small handprints on Yoongi’s shirt. On Yoongi’s shoulder, Taehyung’s head lolled and the scent of
the strawberry kids’ shampoo drifted to Yoongi’s nose.

“Only this once,” Yoongi muttered, never mind that this wasn’t the first time he had carried
Taehyung, never mind that unbeknownst to him, there would be many more times he would do so
in the days ahead.

Back in the living room, Yoongi dropped Taehyung onto the bed. Taehyung rolled onto his side,
flung an arm across Toka, and snoozed away. Yoongi pulled out his mattress and laid down. A
standing lamp stood in the corner. He had hardly used it in the past, but ever since he knew of
Taehyung’s nightmares, he kept it on through the night. In its orange light, Yoongi scrolled his
phone, checking new music releases and lurking on music forums as he waited for sleep to thicken
and claim.

Bedsheets rustled. Yoongi’s gaze slid away from his phone just as Taehyung climbed out of the
bed, clumsily swinging one leg off before sliding the other to the ground . He crumpled next to
Yoongi, squirmed closer, found a comfortable spot resting his head on Yoongi’s arm.

Yoongi stared — okay, glared — at the boy, channelling as much spikes into it as he could, hoping
that he would be able to get the boy off him through sheer force of will. The boy slept on without a
care in the world, his impossibly long eyelashes haloed in light, his pink lips currently fixed in a
pout. In petty revenge, Yoongi poked the boy’s cheek, letting his finger sink into the soft mound.
He thought of fresh bread.

The boy frowned. His lips moved. “Eomma….”

Yoongi tsked and gave the cheek a few more pokes. “It’s Samchon.”

In his sleep, Taehyung nodded slightly. “Samchon…” He slurred, nuzzling his face against
Yoongi’s arm.

On the bed, Toka laid on its side, smiling cluelessly, unaware that it’d been abandoned for the
night. Yoongi sighed. He had hoped the boy would stop sleeping with him now that he had the
dinosaur. No such luck.
 ::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

Toka

the last two scenes of this chapter had been on my mind for so long that i was so happy
i could finally get it out and share it! this chapter was enjoyable to write for many
reasons - the fluff, hoseok, tsundere yoongi and adorable taetae - so i hope you've
enjoyed it too. <3 i just have so much to gush over this chapter!

thanks for the kudos and comments left last chapter. as always, it's nice to hear what
you think! leave a comment if you feel up to it, but if not, i'll see you next time! <3

P.S.: I signed up for curiouscat a minute ago. You can interact with me there as well!
I'd appreciate it because, let's admit, sometimes writing does get incredibly lonely ...
Curiouscat
 Chapter Nine
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Yoongi’s mornings began at 6:30 with the trill of the alarm. After getting himself ready for the
day, he’d wake Taehyung up at 7, and the both of them would be out of the house hopefully by
7:30. Occasionally they could be spotted with toasts hanging between their teeth as they rushed to
the bus stop. They arrived at the kindergarten at about 8. Every day without fail, at the gates before
they said goodbye, Taehyung would remind Yoongi to pick him up after school. Yoongi would say
“I know,” and they’d go their separate ways after that — Taehyung skipping up the short terra-
cotta path and into the pastel-coloured building where the boy named Gukkie beckoned, Yoongi
walking back to the bus stop where he’d take a different bus to his company’s headquarters and
pick up his van.

Every evening at about five, Yoongi’d return to the kindergarten and take Taehyung home.
Evenings more or less followed a routine too — dinner, shower, housework and, when all of that
was done, retreating into the studio to play (Taehyung) or to work on some music (Yoongi) until it
was time for bed.

When the sun rose again, the cycle repeated.

As with every new life, there were parts Yoongi wished could be different. For one, it’d be great if
the boy was easier to wake in the morning; that would save him much stress over making it in time
for the bus. For another, it was bizarre that the kindergarten steered clear of homework for the
children but appeared to have no such qualms for parents-slash-guardians. The other night, just so
that Taehyung could make egg jellies at school, Yoongi had to pick a small hole in five raw eggs,
shake out the slimy yolk and albumen, rinse the shells until he got rid of the fishy smell, leave them
to dry, and in the morning, transport the brittle moulds to the kindergarten as carefully as he could
because he’d damned if he crushed the shells after all the effort. Then there was the time Taehyung
had to bring two empty toilet rolls and an empty tissue box to school. The school was possibly
trying to impress upon the children the importance of recycling, but Yoongi wondered if it was
truly eco-friendly when he had to pull out the core from perfectly-fine toilet rolls and deliberately
empty a tissue box for that purpose. A day later, Taehyung walked out of the kindergarten with the
rolls and box fashioned into a truck, complete with goggly eyes and a twirly tail. Yoongi barely
refrained from rolling his eyes, but the boy… Well, the boy looked thrilled.

Yoongi wasn’t saying that the kindergarten should abstain from doing any activities with the
children, but maybe they could cut back on those that required preparation work at home? Reduce
that to once a month? Or even once a year?

But as much as Yoongi had gripes about the way things currently were, they were acceptable trade-
offs to a peace of mind. Taehyung was happy at school, and Yoongi could make his deliveries
without worrying every other minute whether a nanny was doing her job.

And so, just like that, the days fell into a rhythm. Yoongi was far from marching to his own tune,
but he wasn’t struggling to keep up. He could breathe, and that was good enough for now.

::::::::::

Hoseok grinned at Yoongi, looking contented and accomplished.

“Taehyung’s looking more cheerful these days,” Hoseok said, “Nothing in life brighten our days
more than a happy child.”

They were sitting at the dining table in Yoongi’s apartment. Some distance away, Taehyung
crouched on some old newspaper that’d been laid over the living room floor, working away on a
picture. The finger-painting kit laid splayed open beside him.

“Are you sure?” Yoongi said distractedly, his eyes scanning through the dates and numbers on the
paper he was holding. “I can think of a few things right off the top of my head. Lower bills, for
instance.”

Hoseok ignored Yoongi’s sarcasm. “You should get Taehyung a table,” he said.

Yoongi refolded the bill he’d been scrutinising back into its envelope. As he reached for another
bill from the pile next to him, he glanced at Taehyung, who’d just pulled his fingers out of a tiny
container of paint and was proceeding to smear the color over the paper.

“Why? He likes the floor.”

“How do you know? He looks comfortable on the floor, but that doesn’t mean he prefers it over a
table. And you don’t want to risk his spine health.”

With his calves folded under his thighs and his back hunched over, Taehyung resembled a baby
tortoise. Yoongi pulled his gaze away, deciding to himself that Hoseok had a point. He made a
note in his mind to check out the budget store for play tables.

Hoseok went on to talk about other things. Yoongi listened with half a mind as he sorted his mail.

Ever since Taehyung started school, Hoseok had made it a point to swing by the apartment every
week. The purpose of his visits hadn’t been outrightly stated, but it didn’t take a genius to figure
that Hoseok was there to make sure Yoongi was doing right by Taehyung.

During his visit, Hoseok occasionally mentioned things he shouldn’t have known if he hadn’t had
an informant. For example, he congratulated Taehyung for receiving a ‘I am helpful!’ sticker at
school, and he reminded Yoongi to pack slippers and a change of clothes for Taehyung so that the
boy could take part in one Friday’s water games at school. Yoongi deduced that the information
had flowed to Hoseok through the conduit that was Hoseok’s mother, who in turn had probably
received the information from Mrs Yang, the kindergarten principal. Yoongi hadn’t met Hoseok’s
mother, but in his mind, she was one of those motherly women whose own children had turned out
well enough that they could afford the compassion and time to fret over someone else’s kid.

Yoongi had thought it would irk him to be the subject of someone else’s discussion. Back in his
hometown, he’d had his fair share of being picked apart and fed into the gossip mill to keep those
nosy housewives entertained. But with Mrs. Yang and Hoseok’s mother, he learned there were
decent people out there who spoke good things behind your back. Just the other day, Hoseok had
offhandedly commented, “Mrs. Yang reckons you must be doing a good job with Taehyung
considering how much he likes you.”

Yoongi had grunted, pretending the words had slid inconsequentially off him. Only he knew they
had replayed in his mind for the rest of the day and the next.

“Anyway,” Hoseok said, the word falling in heavy beats from his mouth as he signalled a change
in topic, “have you heard? Big Hit’s holding an audition to expand their team of producers.”

Yoongi frowned momentarily at a letter from the city hall informing him about medical subsidies
for the elderly before tossing it aside.

“Big Hit?” He asked. It was the first time he heard of the name.

“Bang Shihyuk’s new company.”

Yoongi glanced up at Hoseok, his hand pausing over his stack of mail. Hoseok’s lips lifted into a
smug smile, satisfied that he had got Yoongi’s undivided attention.

“He left SM a couple of months ago to strike out on his own.” Hoseok leaned forward and planted
his elbows on the table, alight with excitement. “This is our chance, Yoongi.”

Yoongi and Hoseok had different taste in music, but both of them transformed into ‘gushing
fanboys’ — as put by Hoseok, much to Yoongi’s ire — when it came to Bang Shihyuk’s works.
That man’s genius had left Yoongi awestruck on several counts, at the same time stoking a small
flame of professional jealousy in him. Why hadn’t Yoongi thought of using beats or layering bass
that way?

If they passed the audition, they could potentially work with Bang Shihyuk. That thought sent a
thrill through Yoongi, one that he killed almost instantly. Repeated rejections had taught him a
thing or two about raising his hopes. Open doors just meant they could be slammed shut in your
face.

“He rejected us in the past,” Yoongi said, playing it cool. He was pleased that he had managed to
keep any trace of grudge out of his voice. “Many times, in fact.”

“SM rejected us,” Hoseok corrected.

“That’s just a different way of putting it.”

“That’s just you convincing yourself Bang Shihyuk doesn’t like your music so there’s no point
making an effort and going for the audition.”

Hoseok should be thankful that Yoongi wasn’t holding a rock at the moment. He would have
lobbed it at Hoseok’s head and watched with pleasure as Hoseok toppled out of the chair into an an
unconscious heap on the floor.

Unaware of what was going on in Yoongi’s mind, Hoseok continued. “Remember our frequent
discussions about how Bang Shihyuk’s style never seemed to fit in with the rest of SM? If you
think about it, maybe he didn’t even get the chance to listen to our demos because he wasn’t
picked to be on the selection panel. Or he might have listened to our demos, liked them, but got
vetoed because he was the lone wolf. Who really knows?”

“You’re getting so carried away your theories sound foolish.”

The subtle insult was intended as retaliation, but Hoseok merely shrugged. Yoongi was once again
reminded that Hoseok neither took criticisms personally nor was personal when doling them out.
He said things as they were, even though the truth might cut. His openness and honesty was rare,
probably the reason Yoongi kept him around even though he infuriated Yoongi at times.

“Maybe I am,” Hoseok said, “but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m sending in my portfolio and
you are too.”

Yoongi’s gaze drifted to the living room floor. Taehyung had gotten down onto his belly, his legs
in the air and crossed at the ankles. Whatever art he was making, he seemed pretty pleased with it.
Yoongi looked at the boy’s stained fingers and wondered briefly if the boy had gotten any paint on
his clothes and if removing them would be a hassle. He then wondered how he could fit preparing
a portfolio in his life when he had a child to take care of.

Hoseok understood. “I can help you babysit Taehyung,” he said.

“That’s not fair to you,” Yoongi countered. “You have your music to work on.”

“What’s not fair is you letting your talent go to waste,” Hoseok said. An unexpected warmth filled
Yoongi’s chest at Hoseok’s fierce conviction in him. “Call it a hunch, but things are going to be
different this time. I can feel it.”

Still, Yoongi said, “I’ll think about it.”

“You’re going to think about it, and then you’re going to do it.”

The command in Hoseok’s tone annoyed and amused Yoongi at the same time. “If you think you
can boss me around, you better think twice.”

Hoseok rolled his shoulder. “Can’t help it. It comes with being the eldest sibling.” His lightness
faded the next second as he held Yoongi’s eyes in a steady gaze. “Seriously, Yoongi, don’t give
this up.”

For a moment, Hoseok seemed like he wasn’t referring to just the audition, but also music in
general. Between taking care of the boy and making ends meet, it’d been increasingly difficult for
Yoongi to hold on to his ambition of making it big with his music. The events in his life clamoured
at him to let go, because at least then he could refocus his energy on other things. Like sleep. He
needed more sleep.

Did Hoseok somehow sensed he was on the brink of turning his back on his dream? Had he been
that obvious?

“You’ll regret it if you let this opportunity go,” Hoseok said, expression sombre. “I know you. You
try to hide it, but I can see how excited you already are.”

::::::::::

Yoongi hated that Hoseok was right.

The following night, as he worked on one of his jingle assignments, all he could think about was
Bang Shihyuk and Big Hit’s audition. He had enough songs to assemble into a portfolio, but while
he had been satisfied with those songs at their point of completion, time had passed and revealed
the parts that didn’t sit right with his current music sentiments. The thought of sullying Bang
Shihyuk’s ears with them made him want to barf. No, there were plenty changes he had to make.
While he was at that, he might need to compose a couple more songs too, songs that would
showcase his versatility even though grittier music was his forte.

The question was: did he have enough time? The deadline for portfolio submission was a little over
two months away, but he wasn’t the fastest when it came to making music. He supposed he could
drop some of his jingle assignments, but that would mean tighter finances…

On and on, the thoughts circled in his mind. Like playing a game of whack-a-mole, he tried to
smack each thought away as soon as they appeared. He had a jingle deadline to meet, and all this
thinking slowed him down. Unfortunately, his determination to focus wasn’t all that successful.
More often than not, he became aware of the thought only after it’d carried him away for a good
ten minutes.

He finally found his groove after an hour at his desk, successfully pushing those badgering
thoughts to the back of his head. His world had shrunk around him, the computer screen, and the
music squiggles of the jingle displayed through the software. He could do this, ride on the smooth
stream of hard-to-come-by focus, finish the melody, submit it and work on the next one. Then
maybe he would have time to work on his portfolio.

A poke pushed at his upper arm. His concentration shattered.

He snapped his head sideways, dirty words about to explode out of him when he found himself
face-to-face with Taehyung. The boy was stood next to Yoongi’s swivel chair, wearing an
expectant expression. Yoongi reeled back his expletives and pushed his headphones down to his
neck.

“What do you want?” Yoongi asked, his rough voice reflecting his displeasure at being disturbed.

The boy didn’t seem to notice. Shyly, he moved his arms upwards. The drawing paper he was
holding rose past the arm of the swivel chair and into Yoongi’s view. Yoongi tried his best not to
groan.

Taehyung was a child who drew, a lot. His love for drawing was rather excessive in Yoongi’s
opinion, but Yoongi’d been fine with that because different people, children included, had different
fixations. What wasn’t fine, however, was the boy coming to Yoongi after every drawing, eager
for some form of appraisal.

Yoongi blamed Hoseok for that. It had begun on one of Hoseok’s visit, when Taehyung had
flounced to Hoseok’s side upon finishing a drawing. Yoongi would have been glad to be left out,
but Hoseok, after cooing and fawning over Taehyung’s work, suggested to the boy that he should
also ask Yoongi for his thoughts. Both Taehyung and Yoongi stiffened simultaneously. Then,
bashfully, Taehyung edged close to Yoongi and showed him his art.

“It’s…nice,” Yoongi had said, the two words as rigid as they could be. From Hoseok and
Taehyung’s conversation a second earlier, the drawing was supposed to be a crab and a jellyfish
making friends with each other under the sea. Yoongi just couldn’t see it.

Hoseok looked like he was about to turn purple trying to hold his laughter in.

“How can you be so bad with children?” Hoseok had later asked, wiping tickled tears from the
corner of his eyes after his guffaws waned.

“Look, you should appreciate that I made an effort to praise him instead of asking him how the hell
is that a crab,” Yoongi defended himself, keeping his voice to a harsh whisper so that Taehyung,
who had gone away to draw again, wouldn’t overhear. “How do you even understand what he’s
drawing?”

“I don’t,” Hoseok admitted as a residual laugh hiccuped out of him, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t
appreciate it or shower him with praises.”

It turned out Taehyung didn’t need to be showered with praises. Yoongi’s two-word praise was
validating and encouraging enough for the boy to make it a point to show Yoongi his every
drawing.

Which meant interruptions were inevitable. Like now.

 Yoongi glanced behind him, at the foldable play table — purchased off a secondhand furniture
shop — that he’d set up in the studio early that evening so that Taehyung could draw while Yoongi
worked on the jingles. The play table came with two tiny chairs, one of which was currently
vacated and the other occupied by Toka the blue dinosaur. Crayons littered the surface. Taehyung
treated his crayons preciously. If he hadn’t returned them to their box, it could only mean he was
that excited to show Yoongi what he’d drawn.

How could Yoongi be mad at that? He guessed he could spare five minutes of his time.

With an air of resignation, Yoongi took the drawing paper from Taehyung, rotated it twice until he
was certain that he got the correct orientation, and squinted. The swivel chair dipped a little
sideways and squeaked as Taehyung sidled closer in anticipation. His cheek came to rest against
Yoongi’s upper arm.

Yoongi supposed this was one of Taehyung’s more understandable pieces of work. He could make
out three people, though why their skin was blue, he had no idea.

“It’s great,” Yoongi said automatically, producing the praise with ease now that he’d had practice.
Taehyung bounced once, pleased.

Yoongi knew he had to ask questions next. Taehyung loved it when he was asked questions about
his drawing. But that was the difficult part because the boy would frown in disappointment when
Yoongi mistook a butterfly for a tree or a shoe for a boat.

Yoongi squinted at the drawing. The taller figures flanked a much shorter one. The figure on the
left might be wearing a skirt. The three of them seemed to be holding hands.

It hit Yoongi all at once what the drawing depicted.

He pointed at the shorter figure in the middle. “Is this you?”

Taehyung nodded happily. A rock formed in Yoongi’s throat.

“Is this your eomma?” Yoongi asked next.

Again, that happy nod. Yoongi’s eyes fell on the last figure on the right. Next to him, Taehyung
buzzed with anticipation of his next question. He felt sick.

“Is this your appa?” The word tasted bitter as ash on Yoongi’s tongue.

Taehyung shook his head. Yoongi drew back to look at the boy, surprised.

A shy, sweet smile spread across those small lips. “It’s Samchon.”

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

i can't really believe that this story has crossed 50k words? who would have thought i'd
have so much to write about a kid and his samchon ^^;;

this chapter is shorter than usual. it's bridging chapter, but still i hope you enjoyed it. i
smiled a lot when writing it because there's just something about the image of Yoongi
doing all those things for Taetae's classes that tickles me to no end. XD

as always, let me know your thoughts. till next time <3 *spoiler: bringing back some
angst next chapter :D*

Curiouscat
 Chapter Ten
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

After sending Taehyung off to school that morning, Yoongi went home instead of going to work.
In a rare move of generosity, his boss had given all employees that Thursday off because it was the
company’s founding anniversary. The stillness of the living room disoriented Yoongi for a moment
as he unlocked the door and stepped into the entryway. For the first time since Taehyung had
moved in, Yoongi had the apartment to himself.

For the first hour, he did the housework he had been putting off. He cleaned the bathroom and
wiped down surfaces. As he vacuumed beneath the bed, he found the green crayon Taehyung had
been mumbling about losing. Ample sunlight flooded into the house through the sliding doors that
opened to the rooftop. The light spilled across the top of the dresser, where Taehyung had placed
the various craftwork he had done at school — that paper-plate flower, the goggly-eyed truck, an
animal mask and a few others. Yoongi noticed some of their colour had become a little uneven.
Sighing, he cleared a space on a shelf elsewhere and moved the boy’s handiwork there, where the
sun wouldn’t bleach it.

He checked the time after he was finished. Ten in the morning. Six precious, uninterrupted hours to
work on his portfolio before he had to pick Taehyung up.

Mid-August had brought with it a vicious heat and humidity. With no air-conditioner installed and
a window that couldn’t be opened, the studio was stuffy. During evenings in the studio, he coped
with the heat using two electric fans, one aimed Taehyung and the other at himself. Now that
Taehyung was at school, Yoongi moved the boy’s fan away from the play table to the spot next to
his desk. After turning both fans on to full blast, Yoongi settled on his swivel chair.

As he waited for the computer to power up, his gaze landed involuntarily on the cork board slotted
behind the screen. The board used to be sprinkled with to-do lists or notes scribbled with
inspiration. Taehyung’s drawings now filled it, their corners and borders overlapping one another.
Yoongi supposed this was his own fault. When Taehyung had shyly told Yoongi the picture he’d
drawn of Seungah, Yoongi and himself was meant for Yoongi, Yoongi hadn’t known how to reject
the boy. So he took the drawing, awkwardly said his thanks, and pinned the paper on the board
with the intention of leaving it there temporarily. He hadn’t expected the gesture to delight the boy.
To his dismay, Taehyung gave him more and more drawings, and he’d wait in hopeful silence, not
returning to his play table until Yoongi put them up on the board. Yoongi would soon need to get
another of these cork boards, possibly those bigger ones he could hang on the wall. Thankfully
they weren’t expensive.

His eyes drifted to the ‘family portrait’ Taehyung’d drawn, pausing on the figure that bore no
resemblance to Seungah but was meant to be her. Alone in the lull, his mind wandered to Seungah.
He was surprised that thoughts of her didn’t stir up the usual waves of resentment. There was even
something poetic about Seungah — or an idea of her — being in his studio, a feeling of the cause
and effect having come a full circle.

When Seungah had left him behind in Daegu to run away with another man, Yoongi’d blamed her
for many things that happened after: their father’s evermore volatile temper, his increasing
tendency to nitpick on everyone and everything in the house, his inclination of unleashing his
frustration on Yoongi because he was the only punching bag left. But if Seungah hadn’t betrayed
him so utterly, Yoongi wouldn’t have encountered his first love.
It happened on a day he decided school was too much, with teachers droning incessantly about
history and theories that had little relevance in the real world. During a break between lessons, he
escaped to the school’s overgrown backyard, hoisted himself up the concrete wall and swung
himself over to the other side, kneecaps vibrating from the impact as he landed. As he threw his
bag over his shoulder and walked away, he felt a vindictive thrill. He remembered thinking to
Seungah, You’re the one who drove me to this. If he screwed his future up, Seungah was
responsible.

After leaving school, he rode the bus to a town forty-five minutes away. The town had a vibrant
area that was perfect for truants like him to kill time. Game arcades, internet cafes and eateries that
served cheap meals huddled along the street. As long as you paid and weren’t overly rowdy, the
staff in those establishments left you alone. They didn’t stare at your school uniform or question
why you were there and not at school.

Yoongi was on his way to the arcade when a melody stopped him in his tracks. It tinkled and
flowed, filled his mind with the image of a purple-painted sky and ocean at dusk. Yoongi strained
his ears, then began to follow, with the single-mindedness of a puppy sniffling the air to track
down the source of a delicious smell.

He found himself standing outside a store a few turns later. Daehan’s Musical Instruments, the
gleaming signboard read. Through the glass shopfront, he saw a reedy man sitting behind a piano.
The man moved his arms gracefully across the span of the piano, his fingers leaping and bouncing
from key to key with the lightness and enthusiasm of ballerinas. The music enfolded Yoongi like
pure silk, caressing and hushing him, quieting his anger and resentment.

That day, he understood what it was like to fall in love.

He went back to the shop more times after that, standing outside and listening on the sly as the man
played the piano. One day, so entranced by the music, Yoongi had inched unknowingly out of his
hiding spot behind an advertisement board. The man looked up when the music ended and saw
him. He came out of the shop and introduced himself as the owner. Instead of shooing Yoongi
away, he put on a kind smile and asked, “Do you like the song? Would you like to learn?”

Yoongi followed him into the shop. Everything in it felt too sparkly and pristine — the guitars on
the wall, the drum set in the corner, the collection of cellos propped on stands. The most beautiful
of all was the grand piano sitting in all its sleek and polished glory on the raised platform in the
middle of the room.

The owner invited him to take a seat at the piano. Yoongi had pretended like it wasn’t a big deal,
but a tremble shuddered through him as he sank into the upholstered bench. His heart palpitated
when the owner showed him how to position his fingers on the piano. But the first press of the
key, the crisp tinkle it produced, dispelled Yoongi’s doubt and swept him gently in.

That afternoon started a series of more afternoons spent at the shop. The owner offered to teach
him free of charge, but on the condition that Yoongi stopped skipping school. “I don’t teach
truants,” he said, more amused than reproachful. On the surface, Yoongi agreed begrudgingly, but
he knew his choice was a no brainer. He’d gladly tolerate school if it meant he could learn the
piano.

Yoongi tore through the basics, then simple nursery tunes, before proceeding to more complex
compositions. With a hunger he hadn’t known existed within him, Yoongi absorbed everything.
Even though he was a teenager and his fingers weren’t as pliant as children’s, he was learning with
astonishing speed, the owner’d said. The compliment buoyed Yoongi, but only a little, because he
honestly didn’t care if he was a fast or slow learner. Only music mattered. In music, he had a
friend. In music, he found his sanctuary.

His time at the shop came to an end three months later. In hindsight Yoongi should have seen it
coming. He rarely saw customers around, and good things never lasted for him. With sad and tired
eyes, the owner told him the shop had to be closed because there wasn’t enough profit to keep it
running. As if in a gesture of apology, the owner wanted Yoongi to have an old keyboard of his.

“It’d crush me,” the owner said, “if you stopped learning music because of this and let your talent
go to waste.”

Yoongi accepted the keyboard but rejected the owner’s offer to drive him home. He thanked the
owner, said goodbye for the last time, and left for the bus stop, the keyboard bundled on his back,
its stand lodged under his arm. His chest felt hollow, but his eyes were strangely dry.

Keeping the keyboard a secret from his father wasn’t difficult. He never came to Yoongi’s room
anyway. As for his mother, Yoongi managed to hide it from her for a couple of days before she
entered his room to deposit laundered clothes and found him fiddling with the keyboard’s volume
button. Her eyes darted nervously between the keyboard and him, but in the end she asked no
questions. Before she closed the door behind her, she said, “Be careful. Don’t let your father find
out.”

Every day after the school bell had chimed for the last time, Yoongi would hop onto his bicycle
and race home. He stayed in his room throughout the afternoon, practising and experimenting with
music on the keyboard, keeping a ear free for the sound of his father’s car grinding into the garage,
a sign that he should stop for the day. But even when his father was home, Yoongi didn’t stop, not
completely. Lovely sounds continued to flutter in his head like playful fairies. Lying on bed at
night with the keyboard tucked out of sight under the wardrobe, he would drum his fingers against
the mattress, playing a tune only he could hear.

His time at home became tolerable. There was a place in his mind Yoongi could slip off to
whenever his father was in one of his moods again. In the safe space, his father’s figure blurred
into a blob, his abusive words turned garbled, and music was the only that held Yoongi’s attention.

But Yoongi got careless one day. His father had returned home early. Lost to music, Yoongi hadn’t
heard the gritty crunch of tires against gravel. The next thing he knew, the door to his room had
flown open. His father barrelled in and shoved him to the floor. The stool he was sitting on toppled
onto its side. Yoongi barely registered the addition of his mother’s presence as his father accused
him of obtaining the keyboard through dishonest means. His father then picked up the keyboard
and smashed it against the wall, again and again, until its seam cracked, the plastic bent, and the
internal components scattered out like spare change.

After the damage was complete, his father rounded on him and spat, “Touch that thing again and
I’ll break your fingers. I will not have my son getting any funny ideas in his head that he could
make a living out of something this impractical. I will not have my son become a parasite.”

Yoongi stood amidst the broken parts long after his father’d slammed out of the room. His mother
said something to Yoongi. He couldn’t remember what, other than the fact that it was meant to
placate. Later, he would resent her useless, anxious presence even more, but at that moment, the
entirety of his hatred was aimed at his father. He imagined himself plunging a knife into his
father’s chest, pulling it out with a wet, satisfying squelch, then driving it in again. Again and
again, until his father was torn as his keyboard had been torn apart, until his father felt destroyed as
Yoongi was destroyed.

But Yoongi did not cry. He steeled himself and turned his hatred into fuel.
In the days that followed, he went to school during the weekdays and worked at a burger joint on
weekends, flipping patties and dipping basketfuls of frozen fries into bubbling oil. He maintained
acceptable grades at school, nothing so stellar that his father would be pleased, but nothing so
dismal that further stirred his father’s ire. A year passed. His savings grew. Then, over dinner one
night, he told his parents that he would be leaving for Seoul to pursue the very thing his father
despised — music.

That night hadn’t been any other night; it’d been the night before Suneung, the national exams
most Koreans believed made or break a person’s future, but to Yoongi was nothing more than an
over-elaborate system that assigns students their worth based on narrow measurements. He had
chosen that night to make his announcement because of its dramatic value. His father would be
most infuriated. The most damage would be inflicted.

Yoongi was right. Fists were slammed and threats were hurled. His mother had made a nourishing
soup with black chicken and ginseng purported to improve the concentration of exam-takers, but
that had gone to waste when his father’s violent kick to the table toppled the bowl and sent the
liquid spilling. His father was a storm of rage, but Yoongi didn’t flinch. He watched with the
satisfaction of someone who had gotten the revenge he had been patiently plotting and awaiting.

A light snow fell from the sky the next morning. Yoongi hefted his bag of belongings onto his
shoulder and left his childhood home without the intention of ever returning. He would make the
journey to Seoul and move temporarily into a shoebox-sized room he’d pay out of his savings. He
would not sit for his exam; neither would he officially graduate from high school.

Soon the word would spread in the community.

Did you hear? The Mins’ son has run away from home.

Didn’t the sister do the same thing not too long ago?

If it happens only once, maybe it was the child’s problem. Let’s be fair, sometimes children don’t
turn out well despite the parents’ best efforts. But for both of their children to do that? I starting to
suspect there’s something wrong with the parents and their upbringing.

The speculations would shame the Min family. For someone as proud as his father, there was no
better punishment.

::::::::::

Yoongi released a breath and leaned back into the chair, pleasure thrumming through his veins. He
couldn’t move his eyes away from the colourful bars on the screen, the visual representation of his
newest work. It was currently more a backbone than a fully polished composition, but it was more
than Yoongi had accomplished in weeks.

He had almost forgotten that it took time to coax and tease inspiration to life, much like the
painstaking process of striking stones to produce tiny sparks that would hopefully blow up into a
bonfire. How long had it been since he’d had the opportunity to sit in companionable silence with
his music, exploring it in multiple directions until the moment of eureka struck? These days, there
were always duties to perform, a child to tend to, and other thoughts cluttering his mind and
diluting his focus.

But today was golden. When inspiration came, it was in exhilaratingly huge waves. Like an expert
surfer, he rode them and courted every crest and dip. Snatches of melody came to him effortlessly.
All he had to do was to record and piece them together.
Just one afternoon and he had most of a song finished. If he kept it up, his audition portfolio would
be ready way before the deadline.

Beyond the window, pinpricks of birds were making their way across a sky still bright. As he came
down from the pleasure brought about by a sense of accomplishment, he registered a numb foot
and a dull ache in his back. He straightened, wincing as he interlocked his fingers and pushed his
hands into the air, popping joints and loosening the muscles that had knotted from hours of poor
posture. His throat was parched and his stomach emitted a rumble. He wasn’t surprised. Such was
the power music had over him. At its most possessive, music whisked him onto another existential
plane where bodily comfort was secondary and time became inconsequential.

A stutter seized his heart.

Time.

His gaze flew in sudden panic toward the computer clock.

6.34 p.m.

His blood iced over in horror. He shot forward, grabbed his phone from the side of the desk, and
awakened its screen. He had wished the computer clock had glitched, that he was still in time to
pick Taehyung up from school. The time on his phone dashed all hopes. There were a dozen
missed calls.

He scrambled out of his chair, stumbling on the foot assailed by pins and needles. He dashed into
the living room, grabbed his keys from the dresser and called the kindergarten at the same time. He
had just flung the door open when he pulled to a halt just in time to avoid crashing into another
person.

“Woah, watch it,” Hoseok said, dropping his finger from the doorbell he had intended to ring.

Yoongi blinked, chest heaving. He lowered his gaze and found Taehyung standing to Hoseok’s left.
The boy released his hand from Hoseok’s and launched himself at Yoongi, throwing his arms
around Yoongi’s legs and burying his face into Yoongi’s thigh. The force nearly knocked Yoongi
a step back.

“See, Taetae,” Hoseok said brightly, “Hobi Hyung didn’t lie to you when I say I’ll bring you to
your samchon.”

Uncharacteristically, Taehyung didn’t respond to Hoseok. He clung tighter onto Yoongi. Hoseok
extended an arm to ruffle the boy’s hair affectionately before turning his attention to Yoongi.

“The school called me when they couldn’t get hold of you,” Hoseok said, lowering his voice a
notch. Yoongi had indicated Hoseok as the secondary contact person when he enrolled Taehyung
in the kindergarten. “He was pretty pale and upset when I arrived. He asked me where you were
and I told him you’re probably home. Thank god you really are. He was close to losing it.”

Yoongi looked down. He could only see the top of Taehyung’s head, but small tremors shook
through his body. Instinctively, he put a hand on the boy’s head.

“What happened anyway?” Hoseok asked. “I thought you always pick him up from school straight
after knocking off work?”

“I had the day off today. I mean to pick him up myself but I was working on some music and—”
“And you slipped too far down the hole and lost track of time,” Hoseok finished.

Yoongi sighed. “So I did.”

Hoseok extended an arm toward Yoongi. A plastic bag bearing McDonald’s logo dangled from his
hand. “I got you some food on the way back. I don’t suppose you have made or ordered anything
for dinner yet. Why that skeptical look on your face?”

“Why are you so forgiving today?” Yoongi asked instead. “Shouldn’t you be going off on me for
being a dumbass again?”

Hoseok snorted. “If you could have seen yourself in a mirror, you’d understand. You already
looked guilty enough that exploding on you would just be plain cruel.” Hoseok shook the plastic
bag. “Take your food.”

Yoongi did so grumpily, more to hide his embarrassment than being genuinely annoyed.

“Anyway,” Hoseok said, “it should be pretty obvious but in case you don’t know because you’re
the dumbass you’ve admitted you are, the Happy Meal’s for Taehyung. Naturally, the toy’s for
him as well.”

At the words Happy Meal and toy, Taehyung whipped his head over his shoulder, though his arms
continued to constrict Yoongi’s legs. Hoseok laughed, bending at his waist and levelling his eyes
with Taehyung’s.

“Why do you think we stopped by McDonald’s just now? Of course it was to buy a Happy Meal
for Taetae. Taetae like Happy Meals, right?”

Taehyung nodded shyly. From his vantage point, Yoongi saw Taehyung’s cheeks raising into
small mounds with what could only be a smile.

Hoseok pinched Taehyung’s nose fondly and gave it a small shake. “There you go, you’re smiling
again.”

Envy coiled in Yoongi at how readily Hoseok was able to cheer Taehyung up, like he had a bag
full of tricks equipped to deal with children in any mood or situation. Yoongi was also beginning to
see a pattern of him unintentionally doing one thing or another that distressed Taehyung, then
relying on Hoseok to swoop in to brighten the boy’s mood.

Hoseok straightened. “All right, I gotta go. I’m running late for my gig.”

“I owe you one,” Yoongi said.

Hoseok flapped his hand in the air dismissively. “We’ve come too far to start keeping a tally now.”
Then to Taehyung, he waved. “Bye Taetae. If your samchon takes your nuggets or your toy, you’ll
tell Hobi Hyung, okay?”

Yoongi stood in the doorway and watched as Hoseok capered down the staircase, his steps
thumping against the metal. After Hoseok was gone, Yoongi swept his eyes downward. Taehyung
was staring with intent anticipation and curiosity at the fast-food bag in Yoongi’s hand, as though
his gaze could penetrate the Happy Meal box to the toy if he stared hard enough.

Yoongi worked up the words, but couldn’t seem to push them past his lips without awkwardness
seizing his throat. The boy, with all his attention soaked up by the fast food toy, didn’t look like he
would be listening anyway. Besides, Yoongi reasoned, it wasn’t as if he would make the same
mistake twice.

So instead of apologising to Taehyung, Yoongi said, “Let’s go in.”

::::::::::

Yoongi had hoped that he could continue on his momentum from the afternoon and perhaps finish
up his song, but the bulgogi burger and large fries proved too formidable a foe. The greasy meal sat
like a stone in his stomach, and drowsiness dulled his mind. On the couch, Taehyung played with
his new toy, a helmet-wearing penguin (Yoongi believed its name was Pororo) mounted on a round
base. The penguin spun merrily whenever Taehyung pressed a button, producing a clacking sound
that made Yoongi suspect maybe he wouldn’t be able to concentrate even if he hadn’t had fast food
for dinner.

Yoongi was about to doze off when the washing machine emitted a shrill tune signalling the end of
the wash. He yawned and got up from his chair, deciding that moving around doing some
housework would redirect some of the blood from his stomach to his brain.

As he stepped out of his studio, Taehyung slid off the couch and left the room too. Yoongi hadn’t
thought anything was strange until Taehyung followed him out to the rooftop after he’d collected
the clothes from the washing machine. The boy sat on the sliding door sill and played with his
penguin toy as Yoongi spread the clothes on the laundry rack, unaware of the glances Yoongi was
casting his way.

Weird, Yoongi thought as he shook out a crumpled T-shirt. Taehyung had always stayed indoors
doing his own things whenever Yoongi put the clothes out to dry. Come to think of it, hadn’t the
boy watched him as he threw the clothes into the washing machine earlier on? Did the boy have a
growing interest in laundry? Yoongi snorted sardonically to himself and shrugged the ridiculous
thought away. He pegged the last piece of clothing and went back to his studio. Taehyung
followed.

A little deeper into the night, Yoongi left the studio again, this time for the bathroom. Taehyung
had fallen asleep on the couch, tiny fingers loose around the penguin toy, his head hanging
sideways in a manner that looked highly uncomfortable. Yoongi grabbed a cushion from the side
and slotted it between Taehyung’s neck and shoulder.

Yoongi was on the toilet seat, going about his business and using his phone, when a sudden knock
came on the bathroom door. He jumped, but any scare he felt was dispelled when Taehyung’s
voice travelled in.

“Samchon, are you inside?” The boy sounded shaky and squeaky.

“Yes, I am. What’s the matter?” Yoongi said, somewhat annoyed. “Do you need the bathroom?”
He asked when no answer came, raising his voice so the boy could hear him better.

A meek reply came. “No.”

Odd, but Yoongi didn’t puzzle over Taehyung’s behaviour. Children are peculiar, their actions
hardly driven by logic. The other side had gone silent. Yoongi shrugged and continued using his
phone.

“Samchon, are you coming out soon?” The voice came again barely two minutes later.

Yoongi stared at the bathroom door, unsure if he should be irritated or amused that the boy was
still outside. “Just a moment more,” he replied. “Are you sure you don’t need the bathroom?”
“No.” The boy probably shook his head too.

Yoongi finished up quickly and flushed the toilet. As he washed his hands, he wondered if others
with children were subject to the same torture of not being able to take a dump in peace.

Taehyung was on the floor next to the bathroom, huddled like a ball with his knees sticking to his
chest. He shot to his feet when the bathroom opened, tense shoulders sloping downward with
obvious relief at the sight of Yoongi.

Yoongi frowned. “What’s wrong with you? Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” The way the boy
reacted, one would think he had been separated from Yoongi for days and not minutes.

Instead of answering, Taehyung sidled close to Yoongi’s legs and wrapped his fingers around the
hem of Yoongi’s shirt, his expression apprehensive and insecure.

Yoongi sighed. “Did you have a nightmare again?”

Taehyung’s eyes were glassy. He looked shaky. Yoongi patted the boy’s head twice to comfort.
“Nightmares are not real.”

They returned to the studio after that, but Yoongi barely got anything else done. After plodding
progress, he decided to call it a night. He went over to the couch and hoisted Taehyung into his
arms. The boy had finally succumbed to sleep after repeatedly nodding off and jerking himself
awake, probably unwilling to fall prey to another nightmare.

Yoongi sat on the edge of the bed, about to lay Taehyung down when he was met with whimpers
of distress as he tried to peel Taehyung’s arms off his neck.

“Want Samchon…” the boy said, his eyes scrunched shut, his voice lined with tears.

“How am I to go wash up if you don’t let me go?” Yoongi reasoned, exasperated.

Taehyung shook his head fervently. He squiggled closer and tightened his arms. Yoongi found
himself unable to summon any irritation at the boy’s neediness. Whatever nightmare the boy’d
had, it must have been pretty bad.

Yoongi gave up and let the boy clutch onto him. Brushing his teeth could wait.

::::::::::

The next morning tested every bit of Yoongi’s patience. It would have been fine if a stiff neck was
the only thing he had to deal with, but no, Taehyung just had to go through his morning routine at a
torturously slow pace. Waking Taehyung up had been a herculean task that morning; Yoongi
practically had to haul the boy out of bed and plant him onto his feet.

Yoongi had been halfway done with making breakfast when he decided to poke his head into the
living room to check on Taehyung’s progress. Still in his pyjamas, the boy was standing before the
dresser and staring blankly at the open drawer of clothes, behaving as though he had all the time in
the world to pick out his outfit and they didn’t have a bus to catch.

Yoongi was close to exploding. “What are you doing? Hurry up!”

Taehyung startled and glanced woefully at Yoongi, who felt only mildly sorry. The boy pulled out
the topmost T-shirt and shorts from the drawer, put them on the bed and started unbuttoning his
pyjamas. He moved with excruciating speed, like the air had become honey and there wasn’t any
way he could go faster.

Yoongi fumed, but tamped down his temper as he retreated back to the kitchen. Two minutes. If
the boy wasn’t done in two minutes, he better be ready for a reckoning.

They left the house ten minutes later than usual. Yoongi stalked ahead while Taehyung plodded
behind, picking and nibbling at the sugar toast he didn’t have time to finish at home.

For the third time on the way to the bus stop, Yoongi stopped and turned to look over his shoulder,
annoyed. “Can you walk faster?”

Taehyung lifted his gloomy gaze to look at Yoongi and slightly picked up his speed. But as soon as
Yoongi turned away, the boy slowed down again, his footsteps dragging heavily against asphalt. A
headache started to pulse in Yoongi’s temples. The boy’s uncooperativeness was getting under his
skin.

Miraculously, they got to the kindergarten at a decent time, even though achieving the feat had
involved Yoongi plucking Taehyung off the ground in exasperation and dashing with the boy in his
arms to catch their usual bus, which had fortunately arrived at the bus stop behind schedule that
morning. After alighting from the bus twenty minutes later, Yoongi gave Taehyung no chance to
dawdle. He grabbed onto the boy’s hand and forced the boy to match his pace as they hurried to
the school.

Most parents who took their kids to the kindergarten would walk them across the yard and right up
to the doorstep of the building. Yoongi was not most parents. At their usual spot five or six steps
past the gate, Yoongi let go of Taehyung’s hand.

“Go on,” he said, feeling a surge of relief and pleasure at having beaten the odds and managing to
deliver Taehyung to school on time.

The teacher on doorstep duty that morning was a young spindly woman who wore a smile so broad
Yoongi could see the white flash of her teeth from where he was. She greeted the children and gave
them high-fives as they stepped through the door. Strangely, Taehyung didn’t rush forward to
receive his high-five, as he usually would.

Yoongi glanced at the boy, puzzled. Taehyung stood unmoving, shoulders slumped and head
hanging so low his face was hidden.

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asked. Taehyung stared at the ground. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Taehyung shook his head. Just to be sure, Yoongi slid a palm between Taehyung’s fringe and his
forehead. The boy didn’t seem to be running a temperature.

Yoongi pulled his hand way and straightened. “If there’s nothing wrong, you should get going.
You’re going to be late if you don’t.”

A breeze fluted by, fluttering a few strands of Taehyung’s hair and swaying the polar bear
keychain dangling from his backpack. Other than that, Taehyung was still.

Yoongi inhaled and rallied his patience. “Come.” He grabbed Taehyung’s hand and attempted to
lead him to the kindergarten entrance.

“No,” Taehyung whimpered, driving his feet into the ground and putting his weight into his butt as
he resisted. “Taetae doesn’t want to go to school.”
“What on earth is wrong with you today?” Yoongi snapped.

“Taetae doesn’t want to go to school,” he said again, panic flashing in his eyes. “Taetae wants to be
with Samchon.”

Yoongi’s confusion deepened. Taehyung had been attending the kindergarten for weeks now, and
never had he behaved this way. The boy had always looked happy going to school. Why did he
look so terrified today?

Yoongi forced his voice to be even, reasonable.

“Taehyung, we talked about this before, remember? I have to go to work, that’s why you have to
go to school. And I thought you like school.”

The boy shifted his gaze away from Yoongi, his hands twisting his shirt nervously. He appeared to
be battling his thoughts. Yoongi glanced at his watch. His bus was coming in five minutes.

A pair of eager footsteps thudded toward them from the direction of the building. The bunny-
toothed boy Taehyung called Gukkie halted next to them. The boy bowed politely to Yoongi, then
turned to Taehyung, round eyes bright.

“Taetae, why are you taking so long today?” The boy asked, his question good-natured and
innocent. “I want to show you the robot I drew for you at home yesterday.”

Taehyung glanced hesitantly at Gukkie and looked as though he was about to be persuaded.
Yoongi seized the chance. “Yes, you should go. I’m sure a very nice drawing is waiting for you.”

At the compliment, a flattered smile bloomed on Gukkie’s face. “Let’s go, Taetae.”

What happened next, nobody saw it coming. As Gukkie took Taehyung by the hand and prepared
to lead him away, Taehyung let loose a shriek. The note pierced the peaceful kindergarten grounds,
seemed to silence all other sounds. Alarmed, Gukkie snatched his hand back and jerked back a
step, body stiff with fright.

The last shred of patience fled Yoongi. He rounded harshly on Taehyung. “What the hell was
that?”

“Taetae doesn’t want to go to school,” Taehyung repeated stubbornly, gaze his feet, his voice
taking on the thickness of tears. “Taetae wants to be with Samchon.”

“What’s going on?” The teacher at the door had come rushing to them. Her eyes darted from
Yoongi to Taehyung, then to Gukkie. “Is everything okay?” She rested a hand on Gukkie’s head.
The boy looked hurt.

Yoongi didn’t answer her. He laid his icy stare on Taehyung. “You will go to school today, Kim
Taehyung, whether you like it or not. You can walk inside on your own like a big boy, or you can
make a fuss and act like a baby while I drag you in. It’s your choice.”

Taehyung burst into tears. “T-Taetae doesn’t want to go to school! Taetae doesn’t want Samchon
to die!”

“What are you talking about?” Yoongi asked, perplexed and exasperated.

Taehyung cried harder, his head tipped back, his mouth open. “Eomma didn’t come pick Taetae
up. Eomma died. Taetae doesn’t want Samchon to die.”
The children inside the building had peered curiously out of the windows, their little heads lining
up like bowling balls on the sill. A few parent-child pairs still trickling across the yard slowed their
steps, attention attracted by the commotion. Mrs. Yang appeared at the door a few seconds later,
casting concerned glances in Yoongi’s direction as she hurried to put on her shoes.

Yoongi hardly saw any of them. In his eyes, there was only the distraught boy whose small body
were shaking with more than tears. Everything made sense now. Why Taehyung had been clingy
the night before, why he had been unwilling to let Yoongi out of sight, why he was reluctant to part
with Yoongi now, why he had always, always found the need to remind Yoongi to pick him up
from school.

Yoongi imagined Taehyung waiting for him at the kindergarten the day before, terror growing in
his chest every second Yoongi didn’t turn up. Had Taehyung felt like he was going through the
same nightmare again? And what did he tell the boy last night? Nightmares are not real. But they
are. One had already happened to the boy.

Yoongi glanced at the teacher. “Could you let me talk to Taehyung alone for one second?” His
voice didn’t feel like his own.

Despite her obvious confusion, she nodded. “Come, Jeongguk, let’s wait for Taetae inside.” She
rested a hand on Gukkie’s — Jeongguk’s — shoulder and guided him away. The boy followed
obediently, but not without looking at Taehyung over his shoulder with a mixture of concern, and
reluctance. Mrs. Yang, who was coming toward Yoongi and Taehyung, stopped to exchange a
word with the teacher. The principal hung back after that, lingering a few metres away just in case
Yoongi needed her. Yoongi was grateful for that.

Yoongi drew in a breath, but his lungs seemed to have gone rigid with a numbness. He got down to
one knee before Taehyung. Tears rushed furiously down the boy’s cheeks, but his wails had
ratcheted down to gasps and hiccups.

“Hey,” Yoongi said softly. “Look at me.”

It took a few moments for Taehyung to calm down and do as Yoongi requested. His shoulders
jerked and his chest heaved as he met Yoongi’s eyes with his teary ones.

“I’m not your eomma.” Yoongi said. “I’m your samchon. I’m not going to die. I’m going to take
care of you until you grow up, go to college, start working. That will take a long time, so I’m not
going to die anytime soon.”

Above in the sky, clouds shifted and the sun bore down brighter on the treeless yard. In the light,
Taehyung’s damp eyelashes glistened. Yoongi brushed the back of his fingers against the tear
tracks snaking messily down the boy’s face. First the left cheek, then the right.

“What happened yesterday was my mistake. I’m sorry for not coming to take you home. I won’t
make the same mistake again. Do you know what a pinky promise is?”

Taehyung nodded, sniffling. “It’s the most important promise in the world.”

“It’s the second-most important promise in the world,” Yoongi said. Curiosity piqued, Taehyung
stopped crying momentarily to look at Yoongi with his large eyes. “The most important promise in
the world is a pinky promise with a thumb kiss. Like this.”

Yoongi reached for Taehyung’s right hand and hooked the boy’s pinky with his own. Their
knuckles touched as Yoongi brought the pads of their thumbs together, an action somehow
 challenging because of how small and short Taehyung’s thumb was. Yoongi and Seungah had
invented the gesture when they were children. Even though they had taken equal ownership,
Yoongi was certain it had been his idea. Now, he wondered if Seungah had forgotten all about it
because she didn’t appear to have passed it down to Taehyung.

Taehyung giggled. A wet sound, but Yoongi had never been more relieved to hear it.

Keeping their hands conjoined, Yoongi said, “I won’t be late today. Not even a minute. I’ll come
pick you up on time.”

Taehyung looked at Yoongi worriedly. “Really?”

“I’ve made a promise to you, haven’t I?” Yoongi wriggled his thumb against Taehyung’s to make
his point. “It’d make me a really bad person to break a pinky promise with a thumb kiss and maybe
bad things will happen to me.”

Taehyung shook his head fiercely, sending a few drops of his stray tears flying. “Samchon’s a good
person. I don’t want bad things to happen to Samchon.”

A pang slammed against Yoongi’s breastbone. He didn’t deserve the boy’s unbudging affection
after all his screw-ups.

Yoongi released their hands and jerked his chin toward the school. “Will you go in now?”

“Will Samchon also promise with this hand?” Taehyung raised his left hand.

Yoongi obliged. He interlocked his pinky with Taehyung’s, pressed their thumbs together and let
go. “Do you want me to take you to the door?”

Taehyung swiped his hands hastily over his eyes and shook his head. “Taetae’s not a baby.
Taetae’s a big boy.”

Yoongi’s mouth went dry. The words he had used to threatened Taehyung earlier on, they had hurt
the boy.

Yoongi straightened and watched mutely as Taehyung bade him goodbye and began his brave walk
toward the school building. Mrs. Yang, who hadn’t moved, received the boy with a warm hug,
patting his head. She looked over to Yoongi and gave him an equally warm smile, as if telling him
that he had done a good job.

Yoongi wanted to throw up.

He waited until Taehyung had gone inside, until he couldn’t see Taehyung anymore, before he left.

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

The days between the last update and this have been tough in many ways. Writing this
chapter was tough, struggling with a lower back pain was tough, dealing with some
self-issues was tough too. Wherever you are, I hope you're having an easier time than
me. If not, I hope that this story provides you with a little escape from your problems.
Enjoy this chapter, and till next time <3

Curiouscat
 Chapter Eleven
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The first honest heartbreak in Yoongi’s life happened the day Seungah left Daegu. The second
happened the day his father destroyed his keyboard. The third happened this morning at the
kindergarten yard, when Yoongi realised the trauma of losing Seungah still plagued Taehyung. The
first two heartbreaks were somebody else’s fault. The third was entirely Yoongi’s.

The traffic light ahead flashed orange. Yoongi rolled his van to a stop at the crossing. Shifting in
his seat, he pulled in a deep drag of breath and let his lungs expand to their limit before expelling
all the air in one go. He did that one more time, then another. Still the ache in his chest persisted,
spiking every time he remembered how Taehyung had clasped onto him in his sleep last night.

How terrified had the boy been? Had he jerked awake throughout the night to check that Yoongi
hadn’t vanished from his life like Seungah had?

Two months had gone by since Taehyung’d moved in with him, not quite a long enough time to
know someone, even if that someone was a child. Yoongi could argue that was the problem. If he
had more time to get to know Taehyung better, the boy’s fears would have been apparent, and
Yoongi would have prioritised picking Taehyung up from school. But that was bullshit, Yoongi
knew. No matter how much time he was given, the same thing would happen because he hadn’t
cared enough for the boy.

Yoongi had noticed Taehyung’s odd behaviour last night. So why hadn’t he asked? Why hadn’t he
tried to understand? Why had he flicked the observation off as just the way children were, peculiar
and unpredictable?

He’d assumed that the boy’d had another generic nightmare. He had assumed because making
assumptions was easier than sitting down with Taehyung, patiently asking if anything troubled him
and trying to make sense of the boy’s answers. Yoongi wasn’t used to making such effort with
another person.

Yoongi glanced out the van window. To the right of the road, behind a neat line of trees, was a
playground. A mother was pushing her chubby toddler on the swing. The glass blocked the sound,
but Yoongi imagined squeals were spilling from the toddler’s toothily-grinning mouth.

Did Taehyung like going on the swing too? He wouldn’t know. He had never brought Taehyung to
the playground.

The light turned green. Yoongi stepped on the accelerator and the van started moving. He made
the last delivery slated before lunch, drove a short distance to a quiet street and parked by the curb.
The engine idled as he pulled out his phone.

How to raise a child well? He keyed into Naver’s search bar. It returned thousands of hits.

The article he clicked into listed tips and steps that made perfect sense but somehow has never
occured to him. Some were easy enough to implement — reduce TV time (he just had to keep the
remote control out of reach), ensure enough sleep (he could start whisking the boy to bed earlier),
have regular meals together (they already had dinner with each other every day). Then there were
the ones that made him balk. Teach a child about navigating emotions? How on earth was he to do
that when his default approach of managing his own feelings was shutting himself in the studio for
hours until he could pretend those feelings never existed in the first place? Be a role model for the
child? Who in the right mind would look at him and see a person worthy to be imitated? Teach
them to build relationships? Relationships were the kind of things he avoided in life!

His mind spun and his guts lurched queasily as he finished the article and pored through other
articles on the parenting website. One suggested read led to the next, and he soon found himself on
article titled Are you emotionally neglecting your child?

All of us could be guilty of it, the article began. Maybe you’re a 21st-century working parent with a
dozen of roles to fulfill and no time for your children. Maybe you were raised in a family where
feelings were disregarded and unbeknownst to you, you have imported that practice to your current
household. Emotional neglect is more common than you think. It may be a bitter pill to swallow,
but are you unconsciously ignoring the emotional needs of your young ones? Answering the
following questions might tell you.

Yoongi already knew. Still he scrolled onward.

Do you verbally abuse your child?

He had called Taehyung a big baby that morning, hadn’t he? Was that considered verbal abuse? He
supposed it was. The boy had been hurt. And there had been those other times he had lost his
patience and let harsh words fly.

When was the last time you hugged, kissed or comfort your child?

He remembered Taehyung shivering in his arms that day at the clinic after the boy had scalded
himself. Did that count as a hug? Even if it did, that had been more than a month ago, a far cry
from the recommended eight times a day mentioned in the article.

Do you ignore your child or give them the silent treatment?

After dinner and helping Taehyung shower every night, Yoongi would feel a weight sliding off his
shoulders. He would let Taehyung stay with him in the studio, but he’d rest in the idea that he was
done with his duty for the day. He stopped paying attention to the boy, gladly keeping to himself
unless the boy approached him.

Is your child your first priority?

Yoongi wanted to answer in the affirmative. Hadn’t he given up doing bar gigs so that he could
take care of the boy? Hadn’t he back-burnered his music and took on more jingle assignments so
that he could earn more and meet the boy’s needs? But saying yes would be delusional and
untruthful. All the sacrifices he’d made, he’d done it grudgingly because he hadn’t had other
choices. If he had been financially comfortable enough to hire someone else to watch over the boy,
he knew he would have gladly spent nights at the bar with a band, the boy pushed far out of his
mind.

Many times during their way home from the kindergarten and over dinner, Taehyung had
enthusiastically shared about his day at school. Yoongi nodded and grunted, registering snatches
here and there, but in general not listening because his own thoughts were more interesting than a
five-year-old’s drivel. And whenever Taehyung interrupted him to show him a new drawing,
Yoongi’d patronise Taehyung, all the while impatient for the boy to go away so he could get back
to his music.
Taehyung had never been his first priority.

Yoongi reached the end of the article. He tipped his head back against the headrest, his phone
falling on his lap. Outside, an elderly lady was pushing a walker and making her slow way down
the street. A ray lanced through the windshield and pierced his eyes, but Yoongi neither turned his
head away nor made a move to put down the sun visor. A heaviness weighed him down. The ache
in his chest seemed to have thickened in consistency, rolling to the rest of his body with deliberate
slowness so that every ounce of pain could make its statement.

What was it that Mrs Yang had told Hoseok? That if Taehyung liked him, he must be doing a good
job?

The notion was laughable. The fact that Yoongi had basked in the compliment was revolting.
Taehyung liking him had little to do with Yoongi’s performance and everything to do with the big
heart housed in the boy’s small body. Taehyung had always been the one to run to him with
sincerity sparkling in his eyes and adoration shining on his face, easily contenting himself with the
stingy scraps of attention Yoongi cared to toss him.

Yoongi kept the boy alive by feeding him and ensuring he was clean. He’d thought that was the
only thing he needed to do. But what about Taehyung’s other needs. Was Taehyung lonely? Were
there times he wished Yoongi would talk to him than spend copious amount of time before the
screen?

He swallowed. The lump in his throat remained. Reality had slapped him in the face. When it came
to the boy, he was doing a fucking awful job.

::::::::::

When Yoongi plucked Toka out of the play table chair that evening and put it on the floor so that
he could take the seat instead, Taehyung frowned, puzzled and somewhat bothered. He stared
forlornly at Toka, obviously not quite pleased with its exile.

“I’ll find another chair for him later,” Yoongi said. Taehyung moved his gaze away reluctantly.

Not designed for adults, the play table was uncomfortable. Yoongi shimmied the chair backward to
generate more space for his legs. On the table in front of Taehyung was a colouring book and his
crayon set. The book was splayed open to the page containing a drawing of some animals and a
girl outfitted in explorer’s gear. The setting was in a jungle.

“Are you colouring?” Yoongi asked.

Taehyung nodded.

“I’ll help you.”

Taehyung shook his head irritably. “Taetae doesn’t need help. Taetae’s a big boy.”

Earlier, Yoongi had kept his promise and picked Taehyung up from the kindergarten on time.
Although the boy had been visibly relieved to see him, he remained sullen and listless for the rest
of the evening, taking longer than usual to finish his dinner and was less cooperative during his
shower. One of the kindergarten teachers had told Yoongi that Taehyung had cried a few more
times in school. Perhaps the boy was just tired from all the crying.

“Yes, of course you don’t need help,” Yoongi clarified hurriedly. “But will you let me join?
Samchon’d really like to colour. It looks fun.”
He winced inwardly at his blatant lie. Who knew trying to spend time with a child could involve
begging, especially when the child was in a fussy mood? How did Hoseok always make it seem so
effortless?

Taehyung hesitated. He acquiesced eventually and reluctantly pushed the colouring book to a spot
on the table where Yoongi and he could share.

Yoongi soon realised that the crayons were too thick for an adult to easily colour within the lines,
much less for a child to do the same. But ifTaehyung was unperturbed about the crayons smudging
across the lines, then Yoongi wasn’t going to be picky about it.

“What’s your favorite colour?” Yoongi asked as he coloured the leaves.

“Taetae likes blue,” the boy mumbled.

Looking back, Yoongi realised most of the things Taehyung picked out for himself were blue. He
just hadn’t paid enough attention at that time.

“I see. What about animals? What’s your favorite animal?”

“Tiger and dinosaur.”

Yoongi asked a few more questions about Taehyung’s favorites. He commanded the answers to his
memory. There was so much he didn’t know about the boy, hadn’t bother to find out in the past.
But that was going to change. He was going to start somewhere.

As with his drawing, Taehyung had abstract sensibilities when it came to colouring. He shaded the
giraffe a deep red with yellow spots, filled the elephant with a green that was almost neon,
rendered the monkey in stripes grey and purple. In the scheme of things, Yoongi hadn’t thought
anything was odd when he put the blue crayon to the girl explorer’s arm.

“Not blue!” Taehyung objected, face scrunched in disapproval.

The blue crayon in Yoongi’s hand stopped a millimetre above the paper. There was something
rather humiliating about being chastised by a five-year-old. To make a case for himself, Yoongi
cocked his head toward the corkboard behind the computer where the boy’s past drawings were
displayed. “But didn’t you use blue for people in the past?” He was referring to the drawing of
Seungah, Taehyung and himself.

“Not blue,” Taehyung insisted. “Samchon should use orange.” Taehyung’s next words hit Yoongi
with the force of a wrecking ball. “Blue is only for Taetae’s favourite people.”

::::::::::

Breakfast for Taehyung on Sunday that weekend was a strawberry-jam-and-banana sandwich in the
shape of a bear’s head, achieved using the cutter mould Yoongi’d purchased at the budget store
yesterday. Yoongi fried up some frozen potatoes and arranged them on the plate too. The potatoes
were star-shaped this time because the mart had run out of the smiley-face ones, but the boy
seemed to be taken with it all the same. As he climbed into the dining chair, he kept his gaze fixed
on the plate, behaving as if the food would disappear if he so much as blinked.

Yoongi chewed the sides of toast left over from making Taehyung’s sandwich. He winced as the
sweetness of the jam and banana combined assaulted his tongue. The boy, on the other hand,
munched enthusiastically through the bear’s head, swinging his legs the whole time. Yoongi raised
his mug of black coffee to his lips and swallowed a gulp. The bitterness was welcome.
After Taehyung polished off the last morsel of his breakfast — he made Yoongi eat two of those
star potatoes — Yoongi asked, “Shall we go to the park today?”

::::::::::

Yeouido Park rests along a section of the Han River, spanning a length of 8.4 kilometres. To the
right is a Korean traditional forest and a historical pavilion overlooking a pond; to the left nests a
smaller ecological park and a related education center. Yoongi brought Taehyung to the middle
section of the park, where trees were sparse and the area open and unobstructed.

On the subway ride there, the boy could hardly keep still. Every other second or so, he would turn
to Yoongi with a question.

“Samchon, are there big slides at the park?”

“No, but you can see a big river.”

“Why is the river there?”

“It’s been there since a long time ago.”

“Even before Taetae was born?”

“Yes.”

“Even before Samchon was born?”

“Yes.”

“Then it must be very old.”

A short pause.

“Samchon, are we there yet?”

“Maybe in ten minutes.”

As soon as they emerged from the subway exit, the stink of boiled silkworms wafted over from the
store tents lined near the park entrance as soon as they emerged from the subway exit. Yoongi held
his breath, but Taehyung was less subtle. He frowned and pinched his tiny nose as they marched
past the offending store. The ahjumma manning the shop was unbothered as she emptied another
bucket of silkworm carcasses into the simmering pot.

They stopped five tents down, before a store that sold kites. Taehyung’s mouth fell open at the
vibrant display occupying all sides of the tent. There were kites in the standard diamond shape and
kites modelled after birds and planes, some with wingspans that seemed longer than Taehyung was
tall. The variety of colours were equally impressive, ranging from unicoloured kites to kites
carrying the entire spectrum of a rainbow.

“Go on,” Yoongi nudged Taehyung’s shoulder. “Choose one.”

Shyly, the boy shuffled closer to the stall. His enthralled eyes roamed the array of kites, like he was
Alice when she had first tumbled into Wonderland.

The opportunistic shop owner tried to force a butterfly kite onto Taehyung. From its sheer size and
its elaborate design, Yoongi could tell the kite was one of the most expensive in the shop. If
Taehyung had chosen that, Yoongi might have felt a pinch in his heart but proceeded to buy it
anyway. Yoongi’d told the boy he could choose, and Yoongi didn’t fancy taking back his words.
But Taehyung had his heart set on a small diamond-shaped kite that had a cartoon polar bear
headshot against a pale-blue background. No matter how the owner tried to sway him, Taehyung
remained staunchly faithful to the polar bear kite.

“Are you sure you don’t want the butterfly?” Yoongi asked, more for show than anything else.
Inside, he was secretively pleased and relieved that he was spared the fate of having to turn to
instant noodles for lunch the upcoming week.

Taehyung shook his head resolutely. “I want the polar bear.”

Yoongi had never been more thankful for polar bears.

“The polar bear it is then.” Yoongi shrugged like it couldn’t be helped.

The owner stopped being friendly after that. He disappeared behind the counter and reappeared a
moment later with a plastic packet containing the polar bear kite they had to later assemble by
themselves. He stashed the kite into a plastic bag along with a double-handled spool, accepted the
money from Yoongi, grouchily handed the bag over, and then moved on to the next customer who
had stopped by to browse.

It was the gentle kind of day at the park. The sky was blue and clear, the humidity of summer
dispelled by the breeze drifting in from the river. At this hour of the morning, there wasn’t much of
a crowd yet. Only a handful of picnic groups dotted the lawn here and there.

“Be careful,” Yoongi said, grabbing Taehyung’s shoulder before he could bump into a woman
pushing a pram. The boy had been too absorbed studying the kite in his hands to watch where he
was going. “When you’re walking, you should focus on walking. If not you’ll get into accidents.”

“I don’t want to get into accidents,” Taehyung said, lips jutting naturally into a disapproving pout.
“Accidents are painful.”

“What should you do then?”

With some unwillingness, Taehyung wedged the kite under one arm and slipped his opposite hand
into Yoongi’s. By now, Yoongi had gotten used to holding hands with the boy to be thrown off by
it. Taehyung’s fingers curled like a shell in his hand.

“Have you flown a kite before?” Yoongi asked as they walked in the direction of the river. On the
opposite bank, high-rise buildings gleamed in the sunlight, barely bigger than lego bricks from this
distance.

Taehyung shook his head.

“See those kites up there?” Yoongi pointed to the handiwork of other park-goers who were flying
their kites. Taehyung looked up at the multicoloured specks fluttering feet above the ground.
“We’re going to get our kite up too.”

“As high as all of them?” A note of marvel and excitement raised Taehyung’s voice a few notches.

“As high as all of them,” Yoongi said. “Maybe even higher.”

When Yoongi had been brainstorming activities he could do with Taehyung on Sundays, he had
particular criteria: the activities had to be economical and they had to be interesting. Yoongi looked
back on the things he did as a kid, belatedly realising that was synonymous with revisiting the
memories he had with Seungah. It was inevitable. Their childhood was inextricably entwined.

Growing up, the both of them didn’t own a lot of toys and games. What they had were mostly
secondhand, given to them by others or bought off the flea market with their pocket money. It
wasn’t because their family was poor, but because their father was tight-fisted when it came to his
abhorred children. So imagine Yoongi’s and Seungah’s thrill when one day, on their way back
from school, they spotted two kites trapped in a tree. Two! If that wasn’t a sign that the kites were
a gift from the sky for them, they didn’t know what was. Yoongi climbed the tree to retrieve the
kites. He scraped his knee in the process but to his adolescent mind, that was well worth it.

Some time later, at a field near their house, they discovered that Yoongi had a flair for kite-flying
while Seungah, Seungah was atrocious at it. Yoongi bragged about his own skill and teased
Seungah about hers. Kite-flying became one of the few things he did better than Seungah.

Hence when he had decided to take Taehyung kite-flying that Sunday, it might have been out of a
petty sense of sibling rivalry long bygone.

Yoongi and Taehyung chose a spot on the lawn nearest to the river and put their belongings on the
ground. A young couple lounged on a mat a distance off to their right, while a family of four
picnicked to their left. The family’s golden retriever — regally sitting Sphinx-like, its luscious coat
shimmering in the natural light — briefly distracted Taehyung. Getting a hold of himself, he
squatted next to Yoongi and watched Yoongi assemble the kite. At the end, Yoongi asked
Taehyung to hook the spool to the kite’s grommet. A simple task, but the boy took it seriously. He
looked proud of himself when Yoongi told him he did a great job.

Getting the kite into the sky didn’t go as smoothly as Yoongi had expected. Although the morning
had been a breezy one, the wind seemed to ebb the moment they were ready to fly the kite. The
kite fluttered to the ground every time.

“It’s not working because the wind’s not strong enough,” Yoongi said as Taehyung followed him
the few steps to fetch the fallen kite. “We have to wait for the wind to pick up.”

Taehyung nodded, but Yoongi could tell from the way he trudged that the boy was disappointed.

Yoongi raised his head to the flawless sky. The weird thought of Seungah looking down at them
crossed his mind. She might be laughing, gleeful that revenge had been served for all the taunts
Yoongi’d slung her way about her being “too uncoordinated to control kites.”

If you’re done gloating, Yoongi thought sourly, send some wind along or we’re going to end up
with a very pouty boy.

A current of wind rolled in from the river as if on cue. Yoongi worked swiftly, rewinding the
thread and releasing the kite in the direction the wind flowed. The kite wobbled clumsily and
descended sharply but did not hit the ground. Taehyung puffed his cheeks and started to blow at
the kite in earnest. He chased under it with his head tipped back and mouth puckered like a baby
bird in a nest. Yoongi was pretty certain that did little to keep the kite in the air, but the boy’s
naiveté was pure and adorable.

The wind steadied; so did the kite. It surfed higher into the sky as Yoongi tugged and released the
thread in his hand. Against the backlit of the sun, the polar bear turned translucent.

“Try holding this,” Yoongi said, holding out the spool for Taehyung.
The boy brightened and reached for it.

In the silver of moment between Yoongi letting go of the spool and Taehyung gaining a firm grasp
on it, a vehement gust swept in. The kite’s sudden spike in momentum knocked the spool out of
their hands and dragged the device along the grass.

“Samchon!” Taehyung yelled, panicked.

Yoongi darted a few strides and snatched the spool off the ground. He returned to Taehyung.
“Here.”

The incident hadn’t been a great deal, but affected by it, Taehyung made no move to take the
spool. His enthusiasm had been drained, and his arms hung limp and discouraged by his sides.

Yoongi lowered himself next to Taehyung, arms coming around the boy. “Put your hands on the
handles. One at a time. Go on. I won’t let go.” Cautiously, Taehyung did as he was told. Yoongi
overlapped his hands over the boy’s.

“Let’s make it go higher,” Yoongi said.

Kite-flying is an intuitive tango between loosening and maintaining enough tension on the thread
so that the kite rides further in the direction of the wind. Yoongi helped Taehyung control the
spool, reeling the thread back whenever the boy uncoiled too much of it. Further and further the
kite fluttered away from them.

“Higher, higher!” Taehyung squealed. Any nervousness he’d had earlier had been cast aside.

In the breeze, Taehyung’s hair tickled Yoongi’s cheek. Taking his eyes off the kite for a moment,
Yoongi glanced at Taehyung. His lips curled before he could help himself. Taehyung was the most
jubilant he had ever seen. For the first time, Yoongi noticed Taehyung had a rectangular smile that
revealed all his tiny teeth.

Soon, their kite overtook the other kites around them, rising until it became a speck in the sky. In
hindsight, maybe they should have gotten another colour. The kite’s pale hue blended with the
shade of the sky, rendering it a challenge to seek it out without squinting. But Yoongi looked at the
happiness and excitement radiating off Taehyung’s face and he thought: not everything needs to be
seen in order to be felt.

::::::::::

After leaving the park, Yoongi and Taehyung had lunch at a nearby eatery where they shared a two
kimbap rolls and a plate of rice cakes in black bean sauce. They chanced upon a temporary fair in
the area as they were walking from the eatery to the station, and they spent some time there. By
the time they got back to their neighbourhood, the late afternoon sun had elongated the shadow of
everything around them.

Taehyung bounced rather than walked, barely able to contain his high spirits. The helium balloon
handed out at the fair hovered above his head, its string tied around his wrist. He was as chatty as
he’d been on the way to the park, questions sliding out one after another.

“Samchon, when will we go fly a kite again?”

“If you want we can go again next week.”

“Then will we go to the fair again?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if it’ll still be there by then.”

“But I want to see the pony.”

“Fairs aren’t the only place with ponies. We can go to the zoo.”

Their place loomed into sight, and so did Madam Lee, who was at it with her pots of flowers again.
The last time Yoongi’d seen her, it had ended with her lambasting Yoongi for hiring the fraud of a
nanny.

Taehyung ran over to her, stretching his arms to show the carton of colourful popcorn in his hands.
“Taetae won this!” He said.

The landlady had gone as stiff as Yoongi had. The gardening scissors she was holding froze mid-
air. Yoongi’s eyes darted back and forth between the boy and her. His mind revved, but gave no
suggestion as to how he should react in this turn of events.

“Tae—” Yoongi began, but Madam Lee cleared her throat the same instant.

“Good job,” she said, rigid as a rod. “Congratulations.”

Taehyung stood with his back toward Yoongi, but Yoongi didn’t need to see the his face to know
that the boy had smiled — perhaps beamed — at Madam Lee’s compliments.

Taehyung had gotten the popcorn after tossing some hoops at a game stall at the fair. However,
truthfully speaking, he hadn’t won anything. The popcorn was given as a token of consolation to
anyone who’d paid for a round of the game but hadn’t managed to land any hoops. But no one in
the right mind would force that truth on a child.

In the ideal world, the sequence of events to happen next should unfold like this: Taehyung would
rejoin Yoongi and the both of them would head upstairs, while the landlady returned to her plants.
The episode would be brushed off as a one-off incident, the whim of a child in a stunningly good
mood.

But this wasn’t an ideal world. Instead of running back to Yoongi, Taehyung reached into the
carton, pulled out a popcorn and thrust it to an inch of the landlady’s mouth.

Yoongi stared, completely mortified. Madam Lee had frozen rock-solid, her sharp tongue useless
for once.

“Ahjumma, eat,” Taehyung said. His voice carried the hint of a nasally whine.

As though spellbound, the landlady opened her mouth without moving her gaze away from the
boy. Taehyung happily fed her the popcorn.

“Masitda,” she said, almost robotically.

She came to herself. Dropping her scissors, she rose to her feet and felt her pockets with flustered
hands, but didn’t appear to find what she wanted. Hastily, she snatched her scissors from the
ground and snipped a stalk off one of her flower pots.

“Take this.” She held the flower in front of Taehyung. “It’s a thank-you gift for your popcorn.” Her
words spilled forth in a breathless rush.

Taehyung looked over his shoulder at Yoongi, seeking permission. Yoongi nodded his head, still
trying to make sense of what exactly was happening.

“Yeppeuda!” Taehyung thudded back to Yoongi’s side to show him the flower. The bloom was
about the size of a palm. Tiny, stark red petals surrounded a yellow center.

“It’s pretty,” Yoongi agreed.

Taehyung brought the flower under his nose and sniffed. With curious but gentle fingers, he
stroked the petals fondly.

Over the top of the boy’s head, Yoongi glanced at the landlady and found that she was staring at
Taehyung. Her current expression was a wonder. She wore a dazed smile. Without the calculating
glint in her eyes or disdain crimping the lines around her mouth, she looked soft.

Soft. A word Yoongi would never have associated with the feisty woman.

Madam Lee caught him staring. Pink dusted her cheeks. She quickly schooled her features into
nonchalance.

“Remember to steep the stem in water,” she said, cool and aloof.

Yoongi nodded. “Will do.”

The landlady headed back into her house. Her retreating steps were measured, but Yoongi couldn’t
shake off the sense that she’d just made an escape out of embarrassment. After all, she had left her
gardening bucket behind.

::::::::::

Yoongi entered the living room and closed the sliding door behind him after he was done hanging
the laundry out on the rooftop. Taehyung was playing on the floor. With all his toys — Toka, the
fire truck, and the rubber octopus among others — arranged in a ring around him, the boy
resembled a leader convening a meeting. The clock on the wall showed 8:35 p.m.

“Don’t you think it’s time for bed?”

Taehyung marched the rubber octopus purposefully across to his penguin toy. “Taetae’s not
sleepy,” he said without looking up.

If there was no school tomorrow, Yoongi might be more agreeable to a later bedtime for the boy.
Having spent most of the day outside, Taehyung would have expended more energy than usual
today. He would be a menace to wake in the morning without enough sleep. Yoongi had no desire
to partake in an exhausting endeavour when his day had barely begun.

“You’ll get sleepy once you lie down on bed,” Yoongi said. “Come, let’s put your toys away.”
With his toes, he nudged the storage box toward Taehyung, then squatted before the boy.

Taehyung shook his head, petulance crinkling his nose. “I don’t want to sleep now.”

“Why don’t you want to sleep now?”

“I want to play with my toys.”

“But if you don’t go to bed early, you’re not going to wake up on time tomorrow and you’ll be late
for school. That means less time to play with Gukkie. Do you want that?”
Taehyung looked around at his toys and fell silent. He came to a decision a few seconds later.

“I want to play with Gukkie.” He dropped the rubber octopus into the box, picked up the penguin
and put it inside as well. Yoongi helped the boy put away the toys. “Not Toka,” Taehyung
mumbled. “Toka sleeps with Taetae.”

Yoongi fastened the lid over the box. “Go pee. Don’t forget to wash your hands afterwards.”

As Taehyung trudged to the bathroom, Yoongi threw Toka onto the bed. A month had passed since
they had won the dinosaur plushie at the arcade, but Taehyung had yet outgrown it. Sans the
bathroom, Taehyung took Toka everywhere he went in the house. It sat in the spare chair at the
dining table when Taehyung ate dinner, watched TV with the boy and occasionally offered his
belly as pillow whenever the boy dozed off on the studio couch. Yoongi suspected Taehyung
would have brought the dinosaur to school every day if allowed.

Taehyung returned from the bathroom just as Yoongi switched off the living room lights and
turned on the bedside lamp. An orange glow suffused the room. The boy plodded to the shelf and
pulled out a children book that used to belong to Hoseok’s younger brothers. With both hands, he
raised the book to Yoongi.

“Samchon, read for Taetae.”

The Lion and The Rabbit, the hangul characters on the cover read. Beneath the title were
illustrations of the said animals. Yoongi glanced at the boy’s expectant face and wondered if the
boy was bargaining with him. He certainly hadn’t looked too happy when told to go to bed just
now.

“Will you sleep after that?”

Taehyung nodded many times in quick succession, eyes glimmering with anticipation.

Yoongi took the book from Taehyung’s hand. “Okay.”

The boy released a squeal. He rushed to the bed and scrambled up the mattress, leaving a space for
Yoongi to climb in. Yoongi sighed inaudibly. Reading a bedtime story to a child hadn’t been what
he’d imagine he would be doing when he agreed to take care of the boy. Then again, he had
already done so many other things beyond his imagination ever since Taehyung came into his life.
What was one more? At least the book was thin.

Yoongi sat down on the bed and leaned against the headboard, stretching his legs out. Taehyung
wormed himself under Yoongi’s arm and snuggled close, knees flushed against Yoongi’s hipbone.

Yoongi opened the book and began to read.

The story told of a lion who lived alone in a cave, away from the rest of the animals in the jungle.
The lion had no friends, and neither did it want to make any. One day, a brave rabbit ventured into
the cave to enlist the lion’s help in protecting the jungle from a group of hunters. Eventually
convinced, the lion worked with the rabbit to drive the hunters out of the jungle. Other animals
celebrated their success and the lion became best friends with the rabbit in the end.

Yoongi arrived at the last word of the story. He glanced downward, found that Taehyung’s eyes
had grown lidded with sleep.

“Time to sleep,” Yoongi said.

 Taehyung yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Taetae’s happy that Mr Lion found a friend,” he
mumbled, voice growing softer with every syllable. “Taetae doesn’t want Mr Lion to be lonely.”

Maybe he wanted to be lonely because he was afraid of hurting other animals, Yoongi thought.

He waited until Taehyung’s breath levelled off before he pulled away. With great care, he laid the
boy’s head on the pillow, then reached for Toka and put it into the boy’s arms. Taehyung shifted,
burying his nose into the plushie.

Many moments passed. Yoongi sat on the edge of the bed and watched the steady rise and fall of
Taehyung’s chest. Under the orange glow, curled on the single-sized bed, Taehyung looked so
small, barely bigger than a cushion. It would take a long time before he grew up and become
independent. Between then and now, Yoongi had to feed him, put clothes on his back, give him an
education, ensured he grew up well.

Since there was no getting out of this, Yoongi might as well strive to do his best.

::::::::::

At the kindergarten’s doorsteps, Taehyung turned and looked up at Yoongi. “Samchon, remember
to pick Taetae up on time,” he said.

“Of course,” Yoongi said.

Unsatisfied with only a verbal promise, Taehyung stuck out his pinky. Yoongi humoured him. He
hooked his pinky around the boy’s, and their thumbs came together, pads pressing against each
other. Taehyung giggled in a way that made Yoongi think it would be a long time before he
outgrew the gesture.

“Taetae!” Gukkie called, waving from the window.

“Gukkie!” Taehyung greeted back. “Bye bye, Samchon. Gukkie’s waiting for me.”

Taehyung was about to take off when Yoongi blurted, “Taehyung-ah.” The boy stopped and tilted
his head quizzically.

A thin layer of sweat lined Yoongi’s palms. His heartbeat quickened. He leaned down and
wrapped his arms gingerly around Taehyung. The hug was stiff, executed with minimal contact,
and so short-lived that a second might be longer.

An uncomfortable warmth crept up Yoongi’s neck as he released the boy and pulled back. He
cleared his throat far too formally and said, “Have a good day at school.”

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

my heart was so full as i wrote this chapter. it still is. more so than the fluff in this
chapter, i think that has got to do with the kind words left for me last update. i truly
have the best readers. thank you so much <3 i slowed down a fair bit in my writing so
updates may slow down as well. please be patient with me as i work bit by bit in
finishing this story!
i hope you like this chapter as much as i do. let me know what you think! till next time
<3

Curiouscat (come say hi sometimes!)

 Chapter Twelve
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The dinner ingredients laid spread on the kitchen counter — broccoli, tofu, squash and chicken.
Steam rose from the rice cooker in the corner. Yoongi placed the broccoli on a cutting board,
picked up the knife (the only knife he had in the kitchen) and began the arduous process of
dissecting the vegetable into florets.

It was unlike Yoongi to make dinner from scratch on a weekday evening. He wouldn’t even do so
on the weekends. For him, making anything that required more than three ingredients, condiments
included, was too much of a hassle. Ordering in was easier. All he had to do was give a call, wait,
eat and leave the containers at the door for recollection. There would be no agonising how much
salt or sugar to add, no pots and pans to wash.

So how did he find himself in this predicament of trying to make a nutritious dinner?

In the living room, Taehyung giggled as he watched a Pororo re-run. Yoongi sighed.

A few days ago when he picked Taehyung up from the kindergarten, he had a chat with Mrs Yang.
She updated Yoongi with how the boy’d been doing in school. Taehyung was generally a sweet
and well-behaved child, but at lunch, he had the tendency of shoving the food he didn’t fancy onto
Jeongguk’s plate.

“A balanced diet is important for a child to grow up healthy,” she said. Her tone was gentle, but
there something in it that suggested Yoongi should do something.

Some feet away on the yard, Taehyung squatted next to Jeongguk, the bags on their backs turning
them into a pair of tortoises. Shoulders touching and heads close, they appeared to be studying
something in the sand. Yoongi had known that Taehyung laid on the thinner end of the spectrum,
but he’d never really thought the boy was that much skinnier than other children his age. Now,
juxtaposed with Jeongguk, who looked sturdy and filled out, Taehyung was woefully twig-like.
Yoongi guessed he hadn’t noticed it before because the boy’s big head and chubby cheeks had
always distracted one’s eyes from his thin limbs. Come to think of it, Taehyung did remind him of
those bobblehead dolls whose heads outsized their bodies…

Yoongi read up on nutrition for children on the internet that night. He learned that an ideal meal
for a five-year-old boy consists a portion each of protein and grains, and two portions of vegetables.
Takeouts were advised to be kept to a minimum, as outside food often contain excess oil, salt,
sugar or MSG. He next searched for healthy recipes and bookmarked the ones that didn’t require
fancy kitchen equipment or ingredients with names he’d never heard of.

The following day, after picking Taehyung up from school, Yoongi stopped by the mart and
bought the items he needed to make that night’s dinner. He had been confident going into it, but
that confidence soon wavered when he realised being able to reheat frozen food or fry a sunny-
side-up didn’t mean following recipes would be easy. They ended up having their dinner later than
usual. Taehyung crinkled his nose when he saw the vegetables on his plate, then crinkled his nose
again upon the first bite.

In Yoongi’s defense, the food wasn’t that bad. Although it could use a little more flavour and
finesse, it was edible. But Taehyung was a picky eater. He delighted in processed food — wieners,
frozen potatoes, anything with skyrocketing sugar content — but wilted in face of carrots, bell
peppers and tomatoes. But nibble by nibble, the boy still finished whatever Yoongi served him, as
though he knew not to let Yoongi’s effort go to waste. It was just agonising to watch.

Over the next two evenings, Yoongi experimented more. The results were more disheartening than
encouraging. Taehyung liked the egg roll with carrot minced so finely its taste was masked, but
didn’t appreciate the fish stew, stir-fried chicken or beansprout soup. Later, Yoongi would too
discover the boy also disliked anything wth a hint of spice.

Yoongi set the pan onto the stove and turned on the flame. Hopefully today was the day Taehyung
found everything delicious.

He had just begun to fry the chicken breasts when the doorbell rang. He lowered the heat, hastily
wiped his hands on a cloth and headed out of the kitchen.

Taehyung scrambled off the living room floor and bounced after Yoongi to the door. “Is it Hobi
Hyung?”

Yoongi rolled his shoulder and performed a quick mental computation. It was a Thursday, which
usually meant Hoseok had a gig. “I don’t think so,” he said.

When Yoongi opened the door, the first thing that slammed into his sight was a gaudy blouse
printed with a gazillion mini-daisies stretched across a round belly, paired with a zebra-striped
pants that reached the ankles (though, it’d probably have ended mid-calves if someone of average
height was wearing them).

“Ahjumma!” Taehyung squealed as his head popped out behind Yoongi’s legs.

A ripple of tenderness softened Madam Lee’s face. The corner of her lips quivered, as if she was
fighting to restrain a full-blown smile from blossoming. She straightened abruptly, sweeping her
fondness under an indifferent front as she addressed Yoongi.

“The meat was on sale at the market today. If I’d known, I’d have asked for less. But what’s
bought cannot be returned. I made more mandu than intended and it’d be against my ethics to let
them go to waste.”

Yoongi noticed the plate of dumplings in her hand. “They’re for us?”

“What?” She demanded. “Are they beneath you?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly.

“Taetae loves mandu!” The boy was standing on tip-toes, neck stretched as he tried to catch a
glimpse of what was on the plate.

This time Madam Lee failed to hold back her smile.

The smile vanished as soon as she laid her eyes on Yoongi once more. “What are you waiting for?”
She asked. “Take it!”

Despite being almost two heads taller than the landlady, Yoongi felt small like a chastised child as
he received the dumplings and muttered his thanks. He didn’t point out the fact that the dumplings
were smaller than the usual ones (therefore perfect for a child) or that she could have store any
extra dumplings in the freezer instead of giving them away.
He suspected he knew what this was all about. He saw more of Madam Lee these days. She would
be tending to her flowers about the same time Taehyung and he returned home. The first two times
Yoongi chalked it up to coincidence, but there were only so many times a coincidence could recur.
Not to mention, she always had something for Taehyung — a snack or a freshly harvested bloom.
She would react to Taehyung’s delight with an air of nonchalance, but Yoongi could tell how
pleased she was.

“One more thing,” Madam Lee handed the envelope she was holding to Yoongi. The envelope felt
solid between his fingers. “That’s the extra rent you paid last month. I switched to another utilities
company that charges less. We’ll stick to your old rent from now.”

Dumbstruck, Yoongi wondered if someone had kidnapped the real Madam Lee and put a
doppelgänger in her place.

“Use the money wisely,” she said. With the way her gaze travelled meaningfully to Taehyung, she
might as well have said Use the money on the kid.

Her nose twitched. She sniffed the air. “Something’s burning.”

Yoongi jolted. “That’d be the chicken,” he muttered and dashed back into the house. As he passed
the living room, he dropped the envelope and plate of dumplings onto the dining table.

Smoke fumed off the pan and clouded the kitchen with a charred smell. Fumbling, Yoongi turned
off the heat. The chicken breast was a sore sight, burnt on the edges but pink and glistening in the
center.

“Are you making dinner?”

The landlady had let herself in. She eyed him skeptically from the kitchen doorway, Taehyung next
to her.

Yoongi would have preferred that she went home, but chasing her out didn’t feel right. He made a
noncommittal sound and acted like he had everything under control, like the counter wasn’t
occupied by a mess of utensils and roughly-cut vegetables.

“Samchon loves cooking!” Taehyung quipped proudly. “He cooks every day!”

Too far away to clap a hand over the boy’s mouth, Yoongi pretended he hadn’t heard as he worked
the stuck chicken off the pan with a spatula. Madam Lee’s eyes followed his every movement, as if
he was a mouse and she was an eagle waiting for the right moment to pounce.

“What are you doing?” She asked sharply as he was about to sweep the chicken into the bin by the
sink.

“Throwing it away?” He was aiming for certainty in his voice. He sounded anything but.

She pounded into the kitchen and snatched the pan from him. A glance at the chicken and she said,
“It can still be salvaged. Don’t waste it. Use it for a stew or a soup.”

A pulse of silence, then, “A soup?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure you love cooking?”

Yoongi looked past the top of her short permed head. The oblivious culprit who had made that
misleading statement had disappeared, probably drawn back into the living room by Pororo and
Friends.

“Just as I thought,” she said flatly.

She stepped up to the stove and Yoongi moved instinctively to the side, surrendering control. He
watched in fascination as she scrubbed the pan, reheated it, then put the half-cooked chicken to fry
again. Once the chicken was done, she sliced away the charred parts and shredded the meat, her
stubby fingers moving quickly and readily, as though it wasn’t piping hot chicken she was
handling.

As Madam Lee filled the kitchen with her presence, Yoongi became insignificant. He tried to make
himself useful by handing her seasonings and utensils, but he was mostly a nuisance that she tsked
and shooed out of the way. She didn’t hide her dissatisfaction with his kitchen knife (“When was
the last time you sharpened it? When King Sejong ruled?”) or the fact that he’d dumped the
broccoli stem (“What a cruel waste! You should go hungry for the next three days so you
understand its worth!).

Twenty minutes later, a pot of soup simmered over the flame, filled with shredded chicken, tofu
squares and squash chunks. On the counter was a side dish of sesame broccoli.

“Taehyung-ah!” Madam Lee called into the living room.

The boy rushed into the kitchen.

“Don’t run. It’s dangerous,” she chided without any hint of reproach as he came beside her. “I need
you to try the soup.”

With a spoon, she scooped out a small amount of soup from the pot, blew on it, then transported
the spoon to Taehyung’s mouth, her other hand hovering beneath to catch any drip. Taehyung
slurped.

His small face lit up with a brightness that had never appeared when he was eating Yoongi’s dishes
(the ones made up of processed items didn’t count). “Masitda!”

Madam Lee shot Yoongi an incredibly smug look.

Yoongi looked at the boy. You clueless little traitor, he thought.

But after Madam Lee went home and Yoongi settled at the dining table with Taehyung and ate the
dishes, Yoongi couldn’t deny that it was one of the best home-cooked meals he’d ever had.

::::::::::

The message from his mother flashed on his handphone screen. Yoongi broke away from the
computer and opened the message. Behind him at the play table, Taehyung mumbled something to
Toka as he worked on a drawing.

The message read: I’m wondering if you could come home for Chuseok this year. It’s been a while
and I wish to see you and Taehyung again. It’d be great if we can get together, go to Seungah’s
grave and let her know everything’s going well.

His mother had stopped phoning him after he left all her calls unanswered. She started to send him
text messages instead. The content was always about the mundane — asking how Taehyung and he
were, or reminding them to stay indoors when a vicious heatwave surged into Seoul. Yoongi never
replied her, but she kept at it. He would read her messages, then promptly push them out of his
mind, determined not to feed any hope she had about building any sort of relationship with him or
Taehyung.

This time, her words bugged him like fruit flies that refused to be swatted away.

September had crept in without so much a warning. Chuseok was in two weeks. All over South
Korea, people would be pouring out of cities and trickling back to their respective hometowns.
Families would reunite and the holiday would be celebrated over food, traditional games and
ceremonies.

Since Yoongi came to Seoul five years ago, he had spent Chuseok by himself, cooped in a room
while the rest of the world laughed and cheered in festive joy. He never wanted to return to Daegu,
but neither had his mother asked him to. Before Seungah’s death, his mother had hardly contacted
him, only sending him well-wishes on his birthday and new year. It was as though she was as glad
as Yoongi for the ties to be broken.

So what was different now? Did Seungah’s death rattle her, made her realise life was fragile and
that she didn’t have all the time in the world to patch things with her children? Was that why she
had become so persistent with the messages?

Yoongi had no wish to forgive her. But as much as he didn’t share her sentiments, he had Taehyung
to think about. Did the boy want to visit Seungah’s grave?

Yoongi swivelled the chair around. “Taehyung-ah, do you want to go back to Daegu?”

The hand that was clutched around a colour pencil froze. Taehyung raised his head stiffly. A daze
had fallen over his eyes. “Samchon doesn’t want Taetae anymore?”

Yoongi nearly toppled out of his seat. “God, no—where did you get that idea from? I’m asking if
you want to go back to Daegu for a visit because Chuseok’s round the corner. I—”

I’d never not want you.

The words barrelled out of nowhere, catching him off guard. He clamped his mouth shut, biting
them off before they escaped in their entirety. They held too much weight, weight he wasn’t sure
he could carry.

Taehyung looked at him, head angled to the side as though he sensed Yoongi’s fluster.

“So what do you think?” Yoongi demanded. Annoyed at himself, impatience laced his tone. “Do
you want to go back?”

Taehyung dropped his gaze, his lips rounding into a troubled pout. “I don’t want to see haraboji.
Haraboji scares Taetae.”

Yoongi remembered his father’s disdain and deep loathing toward Taehyung. He remembered how
terrified and helpless the boy looked. Fury crested within him. He didn’t think he could hate his
father more, but at this moment he did. Pulling in a breath, he kept his temper in check. There was
no point flaring when the target was miles away.

“If we go back to Daegu, you can visit your eomma.”

Confusion deepened on Taehyung’s face. “But Samchon said Taetae is never going to see Eomma
again.”
“I mean visiting your eomma’s grave. Remember? The place on the hill where she was buried? We
can go back there if you like. You can talk to your eomma, let her know how you’re doing.”

Taehyung stared at Yoongi blankly. “But I already talk to eomma every day.”

Yoongi startled. “How?”

“In Taetae’s dreams,” Taehyung answered earnestly.

“Oh.”

Now that Yoongi thought about it, hadn’t Hoseok told Taehyung something about Seungah
visiting the boy’s dreams if he slept well at night? To Yoongi, that was complete hogwash for
placating a child. Even with Taehyung’s confession, Yoongi still doubted things worked that way.
The idea could have transposed onto the boy’s subconsciousness through the power of suggestion.
But at least that meant the boy was sleeping well.

Yoongi yanked himself back to the topic at hand before his thoughts got further derailed. “So no
going back to Daegu?” He asked.

Taehyung shook his head resolutely.

Yoongi relaxed into his chair, feeling lighter now that he could push Daegu and his mother’s
message out of his head. “What do you tell your eomma anyway?” He tossed the question casually,
already turning back to his music.

Taehyung answered solemnly in his child-like voice, “I tell Eomma I love her. I also tell her I’m
happy with Samchon.”

::::::::::

When Yoongi spotted Madam Lee again as Taehyung and he came up the street, he was no longer
surprised. His fight-or-flight mechanism kicked into gear out of reflex, though for entirely different
reasons than one might think.

“Ahjumma!” Taehyung waved enthusiastically.

A strand of childish resentment twirled around Yoongi as he threw Taehyung a snide glance. There
went any chances he had of sneaking up to his apartment unnoticed. Not that his chances were
great in the first place, though.

The landlady marched up to them, meeting them at the base of the metal staircase. Taehyung told
her about the lilac butterfly he’d seen on their way home. She listened and cooed with unbridled
affection. When Taehyung finished, she patted the boy on the head, then flicked her eyes upward to
Yoongi.

Friendliness melted off her demeanour like butter sliding off a scorching pan. She raised an
eyebrow and managed to look skeptical and unimpressed at the same time. Bracing himself,
Yoongi held out the plastic bag of ingredients he had bought at the mart earlier. He opened it for
her inspection.

“I think of making ABC soup tonight,” Yoongi said. He had gone from saying I’m making to I plan
to make, to I think of making in a span of a week. Hah. Such was the tattered plight of his
confidence.
Madam Lee put a hand into the plastic bag and dug around. “Then where are the carrots?”

“The mart ran out of stock.”

“Nonsense. I think you’re just too lazy to cut them.”

Yoongi kept a straight face and said nothing. Taehyung didn’t eat carrots unless they were chopped
small enough that he couldn’t taste them. Today, Yoongi didn’t feel like going through all that
effort with a kitchen knife he had yet sharpened.

“And where are the canned mushrooms?”

“I still have one left at home.”

“Did you check that it hasn’t expired?”

“Yes. It’s good till next year.”

The interrogation continued, like it had many times the past week. Madam Lee had taken it upon
herself to be the gatekeeper between Yoongi and the kitchen. She expected him to explain what he
intended to make and the steps he was going to take in the kitchen. She would correct him in a tone
that didn’t hide the fact that she thought he was the dumbest person that the kitchen had the
misfortune to embrace. Sometimes, she even went as far as changing his menu entirely.

Yoongi couldn’t for the life of him figure how things came to be this way, or why he tolerated it.
Perhaps because it was apparent she did this for Taehyung. Perhaps because after Yoongi followed
her instructions, Taehyung never failed to chomp his way through dinner happily. Madam Lee was
a great cook and an effective teacher. Yoongi would give her that.

“Do you understand what you have to do?” The landlady asked after she finished her lecture. As
the adults talked, Taehyung had squatted down to observe something on the asphalt.

Yoongi nodded like a meek disciple. Madam Lee grunted in satisfaction. She shifted her weight on
her feet. “Are you going back to your hometown for Chuseok?”

“No,” he answered absentmindedly, running her instructions in his head.

“Then come over to my house that day with Taehyung.”

It felt as though a wrench had been tossed into his mind’s general machinery, jamming all his
mental processes. “What?” Yoongi asked, stunned.

Madam Lee gave him an imperious glance. “I’ll be making a lot food to pray to the ancestors. It’d
be a pity if they go to waste.” She shot him a snobbish look. “And it’s not like you’d be eating
anything better, is it?” She paused for a beat, as though daring him to disagree. “It’s settled then.
Come at three that day. Don’t be late.”

She stalked off, giving Yoongi absolutely no chance to refuse.

::::::::::

If anyone had told Yoongi a month ago that he would be spending Chuseok with Madam Lee, he
would have told the person to fuck off and see a shrink. But here he was on the day of, sitting at a
low table in the landlady’s house, the ingredients for making songpyeon laid out before him.

Next to him, Taehyung was shaping a lump of purple glutinous dough between his small hands. He
looked like he was having the time of his life. So far he had produced songpyeon in the shape of a
wonky star, a wonky bear and a wonky rocket. Across from Yoongi, Madam Lee worked with
precision and flurrying efficiency: slapping a paddle of dough onto her palm, flattening it into a
disc, scooping a spoonful of honeyed crushed peanuts onto its center, then closing the dough
around the filling and crimping its edges. Her songpyeon were perfect little half-moons.

Taehyung put out his arm. In his hand was his rice cake handiwork. “It’s a rabbit!” He announced.

Yoongi thought it looked more like any rock you could pick off the street.

“A rabbit, is it?” Madam Lee cooed, eyes bright as they usually were whenever she talked to
Taehyung. “It’s an adorable rabbit. Our Taehyungie is so good at this.”

Beaming with praise, Taehyung set his wonky rabbit on the flour-dusted plate, alongside Madam
Lee’s dainty songpyeon and Yoongi’s inconsistent ones.

Yoongi looked down at the songpyeon in his own hand. So far, Madam Lee had criticised his for
being too big, too small, too puffy or too flimsy. He pinched at the edges of the rice cake to secure
the filling. Madam Lee glanced at it as he put it on the plate. He braced himself for another
criticism, but this time she merely pursed her lips, gave an almost imperceptible nod, then looked
away. He felt like he had finally passed a test.

Madam Lee brought out a steamer pot after they had used up all the ingredients. Taehyung helped
her layer the bottom of the steamer with pine needles and position the songpyeon atop the green.

“That’s it,” she said as the last rice cake went into the steamer. “Great job, Taehyung. Now all
that’s left to do is steam them.”

“When can we eat them?” Taehyung asked.

She stood and lifted the steamer off the table. “They’ll be ready in ten minutes, but if we eat too
many now we won’t have enough space in our stomachs for dinner.”

“But can I eat the star one first?”

“Yes, of course.”

Taehyung tottered after her like an adoring duckling as she carried the songpyeon into the kitchen.

Yoongi stayed put. Earlier at the doorstep of Madam Lee’s house, Yoongi had reminded Taehyung
to put on his best behaviour and not touch the items in Madam Lee’s house without permission. In
hindsight that was probably unnecessary. Taehyung had always been well-behaved, and as
enamoured as the landlady was of Taehyung, Yoongi doubted she would mind if the boy touched
some of her things.

The sound of the steamer being set over the stove came from the kitchen, followed by the click of
flames being turned on. Yoongi heard Taehyung and Madam Lee talking. The words were garbled
by the distance, but the curiosity in Taehyung’s voice and the patience in Madam Lee’s were
unmistakable.

Yoongi wiped his hands on the wet towel and took a good look around the house. Everything was
spick and span. The hardwood floor of the traditional architecture had been polished to a shine, the
beams above free of cobwebs. A fresh, powdery scent mixed with the musky smell of wooden
furniture permeated the space.
Fearing that it was rude to turn up empty-handed, Yoongi had brought a small gift of honeyed
snacks and spam. The gift set had been left on the coffee table, right next to the drawing of flowers
Taehyung had been inspired to make for the landlady as present. Yoongi’s gaze trailed past the
table and came to rest on the TV console. Several small porcelain animals were arranged to the left
of the TV. To the right was a collection of framed photographs Madam Lee had taken with other
people. One seemed to be taken with a friend. Another seemed to be taken with her husband from
the way her arm was wound around the man’s, but the photo had yellowed and she looked much
younger in it. Then there was the one she had taken with a much younger man and a woman who
carried a toddler in her arms.

Were they the landlady’s family? As far as Yoongi knew, Madam Lee lived alone. He had never
once seen any one of them around.

Madam Lee and Taehyung returned from the kitchen. Yoongi tore his eyes away from the photo,
feeling oddly like he had intruded on her privacy. She started clearing the table. Yoongi helped
stacked the bowls while Taehyung picked up the peanuts that had fallen to the floor.

“Can you help ahjumma throw them into the bin in the kitchen?” She asked Taehyung.

Taehyung nodded and walked away carefully, his hands cupped.

Yoongi and the landlady worked in silence for a moment. They gathered the empty bowls, plates
and utensils, moving them to the side. She wiped the table with a rag.

“What happened to Taehyung’s parents?” She asked without looking up at Yoongi. Her voice was
low, only slightly louder than a murmur. She had waited for this moment where Taehyung was out
of earshot.

In the past Yoongi would have been wary of her intentions for asking, but it was evident from
recent events that she’d started to care for the boy. He found himself answering.

“His mother died in a car accident. He has no father.”

She nodded, her expression grave.

“At least he still has you.”

Yoongi didn’t know what surprised him more: the lack of disdain in her voice, or that she believed
he, Min Yoongi, was the silver lining in the unfortunate events of Taehyung’s life. When had he
ever been someone else’s silver lining?

If she was being tender-hearted toward Yoongi, it didn’t last long. The next moment, she squinted
her eyes in warning.

“You better do a good job taking care of him,” she said, the barbs back in her words. “I’ll be
keeping a very, very close eye on you.”

::::::::::

Lee Bongjoo was born fifty-seven years ago in a village on the outskirts of Namwon. Her parents
gave her a name that meant phoenix’s pearl, but they did not treat her like she was a precious thing.
The eldest and the only girl of three siblings, she worked the family’s rice paddies in the day while
her brothers went to school in the nearest town. There were always something she had to do no
matter the time of the year — grains to plants, soil to till, fields to irrigate or wheelbarrows full of
harvest to transport. Even in winter where the paddies were frozen over in sleet, she had to help out
in her uncle’s strawberry farm. The heavy and strenuous work she did in her early years was the
reason for her stunted height. No one could convince her otherwise.

When she turned twenty, she married their neighbour’s son after four meetings. She was not in love
with him, but people those days hardly married for love. Her husband stood only a few centimetres
taller than her. He had buckteeth, a stooped back and knuckles the largest she had ever seen. But
appearance aside, he was a decent man who worked hard, slept well and raised neither his fist nor
voice at her. He never minded that she continued to work at her family’s fields, but he worried that
she might be overexerting herself. She swatted his concern away, mad that he had thought her so
delicate. He shut up after that, but every night before they went to bed, he would bring her a cup of
hibiscus tea and massaged her sore calves as she drank.

A year after they tied the knot, they welcomed a baby boy. A week later, her father collapsed in the
field and passed away that very night. Her brothers came back from the city. They gathered in their
parents’ house after the funeral and talked about their father’s estate. In the will he left behind, it
was stated that land would be inherited by his two sons, and the house by his wife. He left nothing
for Bongjoo, not a single won, not after all the years she had poured into the rice paddies.

Her brothers sold the land and divided the money between themselves. They returned to the city,
where she heard that one set up a business and the other squandered the money away on booze and
prostitutes. She didn’t know if that was true, because everything she knew about her brothers, she
heard it secondhand from her mother, who in turn heard it from a friend she had in the city.

Without the rice paddies to occupy her, Bongjoo began to notice the things that had slipped by her
in the beginning. She noticed the wide berth other villagers gave her whenever she walked by with
her son in her arms. She noticed the hostile glances aimed not at her but at her baby boy. The
murmurs travelled to her ears eventually, labelling her precious son a jinx that brought death to the
village with his birth. She talked to her husband that night. They sold their house a month later and
moved to Seoul.

Her husband found a job as a mechanic while she stayed home to care for their child. She made
kimchi on the side to supplement her husband’s income, because nothing was free and everything
was expensive in the capital. Through hard work and frugality, they got by and managed little
luxuries every now and then. But one day as she was bathing the cabbage in salt water for that
night’s kimchi batch, she received a call from her husband’s workplace. The person on the other
end told her her husband had been crushed by a truck he was repairing.

She was twenty-five years old the year she lost her husband. Their son was four. She cried for her
husband the way she hadn’t cried for her father. Their marriage didn’t begin with love, but love
was what it became.

Her husband’s company refused to bear any responsibility for his death. There was no
compensation to be had. Her savings wouldn’t sustain her and her son for long. She could seek
financial support from her husband’s family or her own, but she knew every help came with a
price. She and her son would seen as beggars, lesser humans whom others could wield control over
so long as money was offered. She couldn’t subject her son to that kind of humiliation. So she
wiped her tears away, tempered steel into her spine and resolved to raise her child by herself.

In the years that followed, she would hold multiple jobs at any one time — a cook at an eatery, a
cashier at a convenience store, a packer at a clothes factory. On the side, she continued to make
and sell kimchi. Her sleep averaged four hours a night. She learned how to pinch every penny, to
assess every situation for its potential to generate an income. Money was important. Money was
the difference between getting the pencil case her son wanted or telling him Sorry, Eomma can’t
afford it.

While she worked, her son stayed in her neighbour’s care. After her neighbour moved out, she sent
her son to daycare. When her son grew older, he stayed at home on his own, made his dinner on
his own and did his homework on his own. She remembered how proud she felt the day he gained
entry into one of Seoul’s better universities. All her sacrifices had been worth it.

Shortly after her son graduated from college, he delivered a piece of news that shook the ground
beneath her feet. He told her he found a job in the States. She barely listened as he described the
company and how the opportunity could kickstart his career.

It’s only for a year, he said.

A year, she turned the duration in her head. She decided she could bear with it.

A year became two, two became four, and four became eight. Her son remained in the States and
started his own family there. He returned to South Korea with his wife and daughter for a visit only
once every two years, each time for barely more than a week. Bongjoo wondered if she might have
not spent enough time with him when he was a child. Was that why he found it so easy to leave her
behind? Because they hadn’t built a deep enough mother-son relationship?

She pretended to be unaffected. She picked up gardening, and with the monthly allowance her son
gave her, she went on small trips around the country. Life didn’t stop just because her son had
moved halfway across the globe.

When she turned fifty, she saved enough to buy a plot of land in one of Seoul’s older
neighbourhoods. She built a house on the land, and a small studio apartment on the house which
she could rent out. With the money from her son and the rent she collected every month, she could
retire early. After a life of toil, retire she did.

Her first three tenants were sweet young ladies. Her fourth and latest one was a young chap who
rubbed her the wrong way from the moment they first met. He was pale-skinned, thin-lipped and a
fellow who wore perpetual arrogance on his face. She was reluctant to rent the apartment to him,
but the place had been empty since her previous tenant moved out three months ago. As he signed
the rental agreement, she resolved to keep close tabs on him and make sure he followed the rules.

Hence began a rather antagonistic relationship between the two of them. He was easily the worst
tenant she ever had. He left his kitchen lights on throughout the night (what a waste!), made a din
with his music (she had to apologise to their neighbours on his behalf!) and looked beyond irritated
every time he saw her (as if she didn’t feel the same!). He was unapologetic about his
transgressions too. That was the worst. Yet despite everything, they continued to put up with each
other. The fact that they hadn’t gone for each other’s throats was a feat worthy of a national award.

Then one day, she saw the boy her tenant brought home after being away for three days. Numbers
naturally skittered across her mind. An additional person in the apartment meant additional usage
of electricity and water. Feeling it was perfectly reasonable to do so, she raised the rent on the spot.
It wasn’t until after she got home that she realised how adorable the boy was with his huge eyes
and huge ears. Skepticism came after.

Can the young fellow really take good care of the boy when he looked like he could barely take
care of himself?

Her suspicion was confirmed when he hired that nanny. She couldn’t believe how obtuse and
careless he was. Unable to put up with it any longer, she spoke to him one evening about how the
 nanny was probably neglecting the boy. That conversation left her so mad she resolved to wash her
hands off the matter. It wasn’t as though the boy was her grandchild. Driving herself into a pique
would be pointless.

She didn’t see the uncle-nephew pair again until weeks later. She was out tending the flowers, and
they were coming back from somewhere. She heard the boy before she saw him, chirping away
like a little bird who found extra worms that morning. He took her aback when he bounced toward
her and fed her a popcorn.

Fed. Her. A. Popcorn.

The sugary taste lingered on her tongue. She had trouble sleeping that night.

It was difficult not to gravitate toward the boy after that. She timed the hour she watered her
flowers to when he came back from the kindergarten. Every day, just to see his small face lighting
up with delight, she would have a snack or flower prepared for him. He called her ahjumma instead
of halmoni, but his delicate voice rang sweet in her ears all the same.

Shame caught up with her too. She saw her tenant for who he was: a young man barely more than
twenty with a child to raise in this cutthroat city. She knew through experience how difficult that
was. So why was she making life more difficult for him by increasing his rent?

She cooked up a scenario that allowed her to return him the extra rent he’d paid while saving her
face. The day she knocked on his door with a plate of dumplings and an envelope of money was
also the day she found out what a terrible cook he was. She ended up making that dinner for him.

The later developments surprised her. She had never seen herself as a person who pestered others,
but pester him she did. She ambushed her tenant every other day to check what he was going to
make for dinner that night. The little boy should eat well and grow up strong. Thankfully though
surprisingly, her tenant listened well. She supposed she could make dinner for them, but she did
not wish to come across as overly intruding or servile.

Chuseok was an exception. She invited them over to her house, taught them how to make
songpyeon and had dinner with them. For the first time in so many years, she had company on an
occasion that had always made her feel particularly alone.

Lee Bongjoo had a life she had envisioned but hadn’t told anyone. Decades ago, washing dishes in
a dingy restaurant with her sore back begging her to take a break, she imagined a carefree life
waiting for her ahead. In that life, she had a successful son, a dutiful daughter-in-law, and a litter of
grandchildren who surrounded her with their chubby bodies and sticky fingers. In that life, she
celebrated Chuseok with them. Looking forward to that life had kept her going. In the end, things
didn’t turn out that way.

But at the dining table this Chuseok, as she watched her tenant and the boy deliciously ate the food
she had made and contentment spread in her chest, she thought the life she had envisioned had
come somewhat true.

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

me: I should be able to finish Madam Lee’s backstory in 600 words.
also me: *still typing away 1200 words later and wondering when i’d be finished*

i hope you don’t find me overly self-indulgent in my decision to develop the

landlady’s character, but she's the grandmother that tae deserves. i'm 70k words into
this story, but there is still so much i want to write. i'm probably flouting every writing
rule out there about keeping stories tight, but all the characters here occupy such a big
piece of my heart that i want to share them with you. thus please bear with me. ^^;;

also, thank you so much for engaging with this story with your comments or on CC <3
It's so nice to know that people are rooting so hard for yoongi and tae! it definitely
feels great to not be the only one so invested in them :D

as always, let me know what you think of this chapter! see you next time!

Curiouscat
 Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Taehyung was a little scared of going to school in the beginning. He was worried that his samchon
wouldn’t come to take him home when school was over. But after his samchon made a pinky
promise with a thumb kiss with him that day, Taehyung stopped being scared. He knew his
samchon would always pick him up from school, because a pinky promise with a thumb kiss was
the most important promise in the world. His samchon wouldn’t break a promise like that.

So Taehyung started to love going to school. Going to school made him feel like a big boy. It was
fun too. He learned the names of many colours and animals, he sang and danced to many new
songs, and he listened to many interesting stories. His favourite part was when their seonsaengnim
taught them arts and craft. His second favourite part was being out on the playground with Gukkie
and his other friends. Sometimes they played hide-and-seek, sometimes they got on the swings and
slide, and sometimes they made a big drawing in the sand.

But there was one thing about school that Taehyung didn’t like at all: Park Jimin.

It started that day Yoo-seonsaengnim told them a story about an elephant who was disliked by her
friends because of her very large ears.

“Kim Taehyung has large ears too!” Park Jimin had exclaimed. Yoo-seonsaengnim didn’t hear it,
but Taehyung did. The boys sitting around Park Jimin heard it too, and they snickered like it was
the funniest joke. Taehyung’s face became warm and he felt like crying.

But he didn’t, because Gukkie leaned in close and whispered, “I think Taetae has the prettiest
ears.”

Taehyung felt better after that because Gukkie was his best friend, and best friends didn’t tell each
other lies. The next day, when Taehyung magically found some candies in the locker where he put
his nap pillow, he gave half of them to Gukkie. Best friends shared nice things with each other too.

Park Jimin continued to be mean to Taehyung. He made fun of Taehyung’s artwork and said that
the apple Taehyung drew looked like an ugly ball. He always snatched Taehyung’s favourite
crayon colour from the box so Taehyung had to use second favourite colour — purple — even
when he really wanted to use blue. He also once called Taehyung a crybaby because of that time
Taehyung cried and refused to let his samchon go to work.

Other children and teachers seemed to like Park Jimin. Taehyung didn’t understand why. Park
Jimin always made him angry. Sometimes Taehyung wanted to shout at Park Jimin and tell him to
stop being so mean, but Taehyung knew shouting at others was a bad thing to do. In his previous
school, he had seen a teacher turn very scary when two boys shouted at each other. Taehyung
didn’t want to be scolded. It would make him feel like a naughty boy.

So Taehyung ignored Park Jimin and stuck close to Gukkie. Gukkie was kind and funny. He liked
Taehyung’s drawings, and he knew how to cross his eyes and suck in the sides of his lips so that he
looked like a goldfish. Taehyung giggled every time Gukkie made that face. Gukkie also ate the
terrible vegetables for Taehyung at lunch whenever their teachers weren’t looking. So Taehyung
liked Gukkie the most in school.
“Last night my samchon made me a really delicious rice ball,” Taehyung told Gukkie during
playground time one afternoon. They were on their haunches in one corner, drawing in the sand
with twigs they had picked off the ground. “He put egg and tuna and mayo inside and made a
smiley face on top.”

Gukkie frowned. “My eomma’s never made me rice balls with smiley faces before.”

Taehyung didn’t like seeing Gukkie sad. He said, “I’ll ask my samchon to make one for you. I’ll
ask him to put more egg and tuna inside for you.”

“What’s so great about a rice ball with a smiley face?”

At the voice, Taehyung’s heart gave a hard squeeze. He looked up. Park Jimin was standing a few
steps away, his hands on his hips.

“My eomma can make a teddy bear rice ball this big.” Park Jimin held out his arms. The space
between his hands could fit a football.

Taehyung wanted to ignore Park Jimin and go back to drawing in the sand, but panic rose in him
when he saw that Gukkie had his attention on Park Jimin.

“My samchon can make a rice ball like that too,” Taehyung blurted. It was a lie. He had never seen
his samchon made a rice ball that big, much less a teddy bear one. But he didn’t want Gukkie to
think Park Jimin was better than him.

Park Jimin pointed a finger at Taehyung. “You’re lying.”

Taehyung’s face heated. His ears burned. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Park Jimin said again, his voice louder this time.

“I’m not!”

“You so are!”

“I’m so not!”

Gukkie turned his head back and forth between them, as though he was watching a tennis match.
When his eyes landed on Taehyung again, he frowned.

“Taetae, don’t cry,” he said. “I believe you.”

Taehyung didn’t know how Gukkie knew he was about to cry. He sniffled and forced his tears
away. “Gukkie, I don’t want to draw anymore. Can we go play on the swing?”

“Okay! I’ll push you!”

They got to their feet and held hands. They were about to walk away when Park Jimin yelled,
“Your samchon cannot make nice rice balls because bad people cannot make nice things!”

Tears sprang back to Taehyung’s eyes. “My samchon is not bad people!”

“He is! He never smiles and he always looks scary. Just like bad people.”

“My samchon is a good person! He’s the best samchon in the world!”
Park Jimin folded his arms cockily over his chest. “Then why does he never smile?”

Taehyung’s tongue became funny, as though someone had tied knots on it. He sputtered, but
couldn’t get a single word out. His samchon hardly ever smiled, but his samchon was a good
person. Taehyung just knew that. Why did Park Jimin have to be so mean?

Park Jimin smirked like he had won the fight. “I saw it on TV. People who don’t smile and wear
pants with holes in the knees are bad people. They are...” he paused to think, “they are scum of
society.” He nodded sagely to himself.

Taehyung didn’t understand the words Park Jimin used, but he knew they were bad words from the
way Park Jimin said them. He wanted to tell Park Jimin to stop being mean, but his tongue
wouldn’t work.

“See, Gukkie agrees with me.”

Taehyung whipped his head to Gukkie, who had fallen silent, his head tilted thoughtfully to the
side. Taehyung’s heart broke. Gukkie was going to think that his samchon was a bad person too. It
was all Park Jimin’s fault.

Taehyung did something he shouldn’t do. He lunged forward and shoved Park Jimin to the ground.

::::::::::

Often times, Taehyung would be on the floor with Jeongguk playing toys when Yoongi came to
pick him up. That evening, as Yoongi looked into the kindergarten, Taehyung was sitting on a
chair against a wall, head hanging between his shoulders while the rest of the children played.
Yoongi knew immediately something was wrong.

Mrs. Yang, who was standing by the door, saw Yoongi. She called over her shoulder, “Taehyung,
your samchon’s here.”

Taehyung raised his head. His face didn’t light up like it usually did when he saw Yoongi. He
lowered his head again, but not before Yoongi saw that his eyes were pink and wet. The boy
slipped off the chair and trudged to the cubby hole where he had put his bag.

Mrs. Yang watched Taehyung with a concerned frown. Yoongi turned to her. “Did something
happen?”

Mrs. Yang sighed. “He fought with another child in the playground today.”

“He fought? Taehyung?” Yoongi failed to keep incredulity out of his voice. Taehyung had always
been a sweet-tempered child who treated people and things gently. The idea that he would get into
brawls was preposterous.

“From what I heard from the teachers, the other boy said some mean things to him and he hit the
boy. The boy hit back and the teachers had to pull them apart.”

Yoongi scanned the interior of the kindergarten. The children were doing one thing or another —
building structures out of blocks, poring over picture books or playing finger games. Taehyung’s
best friend, Jeongguk, was hunched on the floor, colouring away at something. He couldn’t find
any other child who looked as miserable as Taehyung.

“Where’s the other boy?” He asked the principal.

“He’s gone home. His mother’s already picked him up.”

Taehyung sat on a stool along the entryway to put on his shoes, his movement slow and heavy.
Mrs. Yang lowered her voice as she spoke to Yoongi.

“We tried to get the boys to apologise to each other. But the two of them are quite the stubborn
children.” She shook her head with a kind of affectionate exasperation. “Will you talk to him? Ask
him if he could forgive the other boy? Children have great capacity to forgive and mend.”

Yoongi nodded, even though he had no inkling how to go about that.

Head lowered, Taehyung trudged out of the door. He reached for Yoongi’s hand and held on. The
normality of the action brought Yoongi a degree of comfort.

Mrs. Yang said goodbye and ruffled Taehyung’s head, but the boy neither responded nor looked at
her. Yoongi wondered if Taehyung might be nursing a small tantrum.

They were halfway across the yard on their way out when Jeongguk came running out, calling
Taehyung. A piece of paper flapped in his hand.

“Taetae, this is for you.” He pushed the paper under Taehyung’s eyes. Yoongi made out a
startlingly impressive drawing of tiger by a five-year-old. Jeongguk broke into a smile when
Taehyung took it, even though it was with hesitant hands. He leaned close to Taehyung, cupped a
hand over Taehyung’s ear and whispered something Yoongi couldn’t hear.

Taehyung pulled away. “Really?” He asked. His voice was stuffy, suggesting that while he wasn’t
crying at the moment, his tears brewed right under the surface, ready to be unleashed at the
slightest trigger.

Jeongguk nodded earnestly. “Really! So Taetae, don’t be so sad anymore, okay?”

Taehyung sniffled. “Okay.”

Jeongguk’s smile widened at that, his bunny teeth peeking out under his upper lip. “Bye bye,
Taetae! See you tomorrow!” When Jeongguk looked up, he realised Yoongi was watching him. His
smile faltered, and he looked like he was an inch away from fleeing for his dear life. But instead of
doing that, he folded himself at the waist and yelled, “Bye bye too, Taetae’s samchon!”

The boy zipped back into the building before Yoongi could return the goodbye. What was that all
about?

Yoongi glanced at Taehyung several times as they made their way to the bus stop. It seemed like
Jeongguk’s drawing had done little to cheer him up. The boy plodded quietly with his gaze cast on
the ground, so all Yoongi could see was the top of his head.

When they got on the bus, Yoongi broke the silence.

“Do you want to tell me why you fought in school today?”

Except for them and a handful other passengers, the bus was empty. They sat in the backmost row
of seats, Taehyung’s favourite because they were elevated. At Yoongi’s question, Taehyung turned
his head away from the window to look at Yoongi, eyebrows pinched in worry.

“Is samchon angry at me?”

Now that he had a proper look of the boy’s face, Yoongi noticed a yellowish-brown bruise on
Taehyung’s left cheek. When the principal had told him about Taehyung’s fight with another boy,
Yoongi had imagined a blur of small hands hitting at each other. It hadn’t occured to him that
those small hands would contain enough force to blemish the skin.

Suddenly Yoongi thought he would be fine with it if Taehyung didn’t want to apologise to the
other kid.

Not that Yoongi could say that to the boy. Petty as he might be, he was the adult here. He had a
magnanimous, mediating role to play.

“It depends on whether you tell me the truth,” Yoongi said.

To be honest, he didn’t think children getting into fights was a big deal. Which child grew up
without exchanging some blows with other children in the sandbox? But bruises didn’t look good
on Taehyung. As far as possible, Yoongi would like for them to never appear on the boy’s body
again.

Shoulders drooped, Taehyung scratched at the stitches along the edge of the seat. “Park Jimin was
a meanie,” he said through a pout.

So that was the name of the other boy. Yoongi filed it away in his head for future reference.

“What did he do?”

“He said that Samchon is bad people. He called Samchon crumb of sherty.”

“Crumb of sherty?”

Taehyung nodded rapidly.

“What does that even mean?” Yoongi asked. Images of breadcrumbs and a shirt floated about in his
head, but they provided absolutely no clue as to how the phrase should be decoded.

“It’s a bad word,” Taehyung said. He was frowning again, with childish disapproval this time.

Although Taehyung sounded sure of himself, Yoongi suspected the boy had no idea what crumb of
sherty meant. Even if he did, Yoongi doubted he would be able to logically explain it. Harping on
this would be fruitless. Yoongi moved on.

“And that upset you?”

The pout on the boy’s face rose so high it almost touched his nose. “Park Jimin was mean to
samchon. I don’t like it.”

Taehyung reminded Yoongi of someone at that moment, but Yoongi didn’t know who. His
memory rippled, distorting the silhouette of the person, making them impossible to identify.

Yoongi pushed the thought aside. He had no time to sift through the entire library of people he had
known. He had a child to talk to.

“Taehyung, Park Jimin can be mean to me for all he wants—”

“It’s not okay!” Taehyung had sprung upright in the seat, small hands balled into shaky fists. “No
one should be mean to samchon. Samchon is the best samchon in the world.”
Seungah.

That was whom Taehyung reminded Yoongi of — Seungah. The indignant hitch in Taehyung’s
voice, the frustrated and righteous glint in his eyes, all of them mirrored Seungah’s that one day
several years ago where a stationery store owner accused Yoongi of theft. Seungah had gone all out
to defend Yoongi, unable to tolerate someone wronging her brother.

The memory disoriented Yoongi. The tears wending down the curve of Taehyung’s cheek brought
him back. Seungah was gone, and Yoongi was no longer the boy who hid behind her while she
stood between him and the world.

Yoongi shook the past off and refocused on Taehyung. He dried the boy’s cheek with the back of
his hand, then caught another tear with his thumb before it could spill. Taehyung sniffled.

“Are you going to continue crying or are you ready to listen to me?” Yoongi asked in a low voice.
He was aware that Taehyung’s outburst had attracted glances from the other passengers, but most
of them had looked away, likely shrugging the episode off as a child’s typical tantrum.

Yoongi waited for Taehyung’s agitation to wane. The boy hiccupped. “…’ll stop crying.”

“Good.” With a sigh, Yoongi gathered his words. “Park Jimin is a stranger to Samchon. I don’t
care if he likes me or not. He can say nice things about me or he can say mean things, and I’ll be
okay with it either way because he doesn’t matter to me.”

“But I don’t like it when he’s mean to Samchon,” Taehyung said stubbornly.

“Do you remember the fried rice you ate for dinner yesterday? What did you do to the peas inside
which you didn’t like?”

The boy looked thrown off by the sudden change in topic, but he answered. “I took them out and
put them on another plate.”

“That’s right. You ignored the peas. Do you understand now? When you don’t like something, you
can ignore it. You don’t have to get into fights. You’ll hurt yourself if you get into fights. Isn’t this
painful?” Yoongi pointed at the bruise on Taehyung’s cheek.

Taehyung nodded morosely. “Park Jimin scratched Taetae too.” He showed Yoongi his arm, where
under a thin sheen of first-aid cream, three thin lines left by fingernails marred the skin.

Yoongi had never met Park Jimin, but he certainly had very strong thoughts about the kid.

“So what should you do the next time Park Jimin says mean things about me?” Yoongi asked.

Taehyung dipped his chin and tilted his head, thinking. “Taetae should walk away.” A note of
uncertainty lifted the tail of the sentence.

“Exactly. You can go play somewhere else with Gukkie.”

“I like Gukkie,” Taehyung said, his legs starting to swing. “Gukkie also thinks Samchon is the best
samchon in the world.”

Yoongi had the uncanny impression that that was what the bunny-looking boy had whispered into
Taehyung’s ear earlier. If that was the case, it was apparent that Jeongguk had said that to cheer
Taehyung up. After all the boy had seized like a rabbit caught in a hunter’s shadow when he made
eye contact with Yoongi just now. Was he really that terrifying?
“If Park Jimin continues to bother you, you can go to the teachers. Or you can tell me and I’ll do
something about it.” An uncharitable image flowered in Yoongi’s head of him fighting a small
child who dared bully Taehyung. “Just don’t get into fights again, okay?”

Taehyung nodded obediently. “I won’t fight anymore. Taetae’s a good boy.”

The boy sank back into the seat and rested his head against the side of Yoongi’s arm, pacified. The
bus stopped in front of a high school and some students got on, instantly filling the bus with their
chatters.

“Samchon.”

“Hmm?”

“Should Taetae say sorry to Park Jimin?” The boy sounded troubled.

“Why do you ask?”

“The teachers said that Taetae should, but Taetae doesn’t want to.”

No doubt the teachers meant well. But given the poor opinion Yoongi currently had of Park Jimin,
he said, “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

::::::::::

Yoongi came face-to-face with Park Jimin the following day. The boy was with his mother, who
appeared at least a decade and a half older than Yoongi. They had intercepted Yoongi and
Taehyung in the kindergarten yard when Yoongi took Taehyung to school that morning.

Yoongi noticed a few things about Park Jimin right off the bat. First, the boy had the chubbiest
cheeks and plumpest lips Yoongi had ever seen on a child. Second, Park Jimin currently looked
like a downtrodden puppy, nothing like the haughty, aggressive pint-sized bully Yoongi’d
imagined he was. Third, the boy sported a sizeable bump on his forehead, most probably left
behind by the fight yesterday. Yoongi felt a childish pleasure seeing that bump; at least Taehyung
had landed a hit too. Nonetheless he calculated whether he could get away with thwacking Park
Jimin on the head for self-serving revenge purposes.

“I heard about what happened between Jimin and Taehyung yesterday,” Park Jimin’s mother said
after introducing herself. “Jimin told me everything. I’m terribly sorry for his behaviour. There was
absolutely no good reason for him to act that way.”

That was unexpected. Yoongi would have been ready to fight it out if she had descended like a
bitch incarnate and demanded apologies and compensation. She looked nothing but friendly and
apologetic, keen to make amends. Yoongi had no idea how to respond. Thankfully she didn’t seem
to be waiting for a reply.

She put her hands on Jimin’s shoulders and manoeuvred him forward. “Jimin has something to
say.”

Taehyung had hidden himself behind Yoongi the moment he’d sighted Jimin and his mother
approaching. Now he peeked warily at Jimin out from the shield that was Yoongi’s legs. Jimin
stood stiff and nervous.

“Go on,” Jimin’s mother encouraged.

Jimin found his voice. It crawled out of him in jittery steps. “Taehyungie, I’m sorry for always
being so mean to you. I’m sorry for calling your drawings ugly, and I’m sorry that I always took
your favourite crayon and not share it with you. I won’t do those mean things to you again.”

So the instances of Jimin bullying Taehyung hadn’t been limited to the incident yesterday? A
thwack on the kid's head might not be enough to appease Yoongi.

Jimin’s eyes flicked up to Yoongi, who must have looked scary, for the kid looked down just as
quickly, head dropping. He started to mumble.

“Taehyungie’s samchon, I’m sorry for calling you bad people and scum of society. I won’t do that
again.”

Crumb of sherty. Scum of society.

Jimin’s mother grimaced, her face pinking a little from embarrassment. “He didn’t mean it. He just
watches too much TV and picks up all the wrong things.”

Yoongi made a noncommittal sound. Glancing down, he saw that Taehyung was watching Jimin
with curious, unsure eyes.

“Jiminie, don’t you have something for Taehyungie?” Jimin’s mother prompted.

Jimin nodded hurriedly. He pulled out a toy plane from the plastic bag he was holding, one of
those assembled from styrofoam parts and coloured a striking orange. He held the plane out to
Taehyung.

“This is for you, Taehyungie. It’s one of my favourite airplanes. It can fly really really far if you
throw it when there’s wind.”

Taehyung had all but stepped out from behind Yoongi, enchanted by the toy. He took the plane
from Jimin and touched its spine with wonder. Jimin’s shoulders relaxed. He broke into a smile.

“Are we friends now?”

Taehyung stiffened, as though he hadn’t expected that accepting the toy from Jimin meant sealing a
friendship. He swung his confused gaze from Jimin to Yoongi, asking for help.

Yoongi shrugged. “It’s up to you,” he murmured. He didn’t fancy controlling whom Taehyung
forgave or disliked.

The air thickened with bated breath as they waited for Taehyung to deliver the verdict. He looked
troubled and torn. Moments passed where nothing was said. Jimin’s mother grew nervous and
worried. Jimin wilted by the second, hope morphing into dread.

“Taetae!”

All of them turned their heads in the direction of the kindergarten. Jeongguk pounded out toward
them, sand rising in clouds around his feet. Excitement flushed his face.

“Taetae, I saw a really cool snail,” he gushed, windswept.

Taehyung was immediately distracted. “Where?”

“In the bathroom sink! I’ll show you!” Jeongguk grabbed Taehyung’s arm and began pulling him
away.
Park Jimin was a pitiful sight. His lips wobbled and his eyes filled with tears. As much as he was
miffed with the kid for bullying Taehyung, Yoongi felt sorry for him that moment. The rejection
must have stung. Jimin’s mother winced.

“Wait, Gukkie,” Taehyung said. He doubled back to Jimin. “Jiminie, do you want to come and see
the snail with Gukkie and me?”

Jimin forgot all about crying. He nodded hurriedly, as though worried the offer would be retracted
if he accepted it a second too late. Taehyung took Jimin’s hand. Together they walked over to
Jeongguk. Although Jeongguk’s confusion over Jimin’s addition was apparent, he didn’t seem too
bothered.

Taehyung turned and waved at Yoongi. “Bye bye, Samchon,” he said. “Bye bye, Jiminie’s
eommoni.”

Then the three of them were off, Jeongguk holding Taehyung’s left hand and Jimin holding
Taehyung’s right. They resembled a short chain of paper children cutout conjoined at the arms, the
kind often made as decorative items on International Friendship Day.

Jimin’s mother released a bark of laughter that sounded both relieved and incredulous. Shaking her
head, she said, “Children.”

“Children,” Yoongi agreed. An upward force tugged at the corners of his lips.

At the entryway of the kindergarten entryway, Taehyung and Jimin toed their shoes off and put
them on the rack, holding each other’s hand the entire time.

They might be friends now, but Yoongi was going to keep Park Jimin on his toes so that he would
think twice if he felt like bullying Taehyung again.

::::::::::

The first time Kim Taehyung came to the kindergarten, Park Jimin thought he had never seen
anyone with prettier eyes. Jimin wanted to touch Taehyung’s eyelashes. They were so long and
thick that they looked like a doll’s. But Jimin didn’t have the chance to do that that day. He also
didn’t have the chance to talk to Taehyung because Taehyung didn’t sit next to him at art class, and
Taehyung left with his samchon after the class was over. Jimin didn’t enjoy the snack break that
morning. He was sad and disappointed. He thought he was not going to see Taehyung again.

Jimin saw Taehyung at school again a few days later. A teacher told all of them that Taehyung was
joining the kindergarten and they should be nice to him. That was the best thing Jimin had ever
heard. He could see Taehyung and his pretty eyes every day! He was so happy he told his eomma
all about it when he got home. He told his noona too, but she was mean about it. She pinched his
cheeks and said in an awful singsong voice, “Aww our Dwiminnie has a crush on someone.” He
didn’t know what that meant, but it must not be something nice. His noona always liked to make
fun of him.

Jimin waited for Taehyung to come and make friends with him. He waited and waited for many
days, but Taehyung didn’t come. He didn’t know why. He knew the coolest tricks and games. He
had the coolest toys. Other children always came to him first and said they wanted to be friends
with him. But Taehyung did everything with Jeongguk and not him. Unable to bear it any longer,
Jimin went to Taehyung one morning and asked if he wanted to play tag at the playground later.
Taehyung shook his head. He said that he didn’t like playing tag and continued to draw on his
paper. That made Jimin really sad.
But one day Jimin made Taehyung sad too. They were listening to a story about an elephant with
super big ears and he said that the elephant looked like Taehyung because Taehyung had big ears
too. The other children laughed. But Jimin knew he had done something wrong because Taehyung
looked like he was about to cry.

The next day, Jimin put some candies inside Taehyung’s locker because he wanted to say sorry.
They were his favourite candies, so he was sure Taehyung would like them too. He followed
Taehyung secretly around that day and waited for the moment Taehyung opened the locker.
Taehyung finally did so at nap time. He took the candies out and gave half of them to Jeongguk.
Half! And Taehyung didn’t even ask who’d put the candies there! That made Jimin so angry he
didn’t want to talk to Taehyung anymore (not that he was talking much to Taehyung to begin with).

But after he stopped being angry, Jimin realised he still liked Taehyung. He wanted Taehyung to
like him too. He just didn’t know how to do that.

Until his noona played a movie in the living room one evening and he joined her in watching.

The movie was about a handsome man and a pretty woman. Jimin didn’t like the man very much .
He was mean to the woman, always ordering her to do this and that. He shouted at the woman
when she talked to another man. Jimin didn’t believe it when the mean man later told the woman
that he liked her. But to his surprise, the woman said she liked the man too. They started doing the
kissing stuff that Jimin wasn’t supposed to watch, so his noona turned off the TV and threw the
remote control aside.

“What a trashy movie,” she had muttered.

Jimin went to bed that night thinking about two things. The man was mean and the woman liked
him. The man was mean and the woman liked him. The man was mean and the woman liked
him…

So Jimin started being mean to Taehyung. He made fun of Taehyung and his drawings. He
snatched Taehyung’s favourite crayon even though he didn’t want to use it. He threw little paper
balls at Taehyung when the teachers weren’t looking. He enjoyed doing all those things because
then Taehyung would look at him. Even when Taehyung looked upset, his eyes were still pretty.

Taehyung never fought back or told Jimin to stop, so Jimin happily thought that Taehyung was
beginning to like him. But one day Taehyung pushed Jimin to the ground after Jimin said some bad
things about his samchon. Jimin had always thought Taehyung’s samchon was scary. He looked
like those bad people Jimin often saw on TV, and Jimin told Taehyung just that. He also called
Taehyung’s samchon scum of society, words he had picked up from the TV but didn’t know what
exactly it meant.

Jimin was shocked when he fell on the sand. But he got up quickly and pushed Taehyung back.
Taehyung hit him on the forehead, and he swung his fist against Taehyung’s cheek. They fought
until teachers pulled them away from each other.

Hurting and crying, Jimin yelled, “I don’t like Taehyungie anymore!”

They were scolded by the teachers. Jimin refused to say sorry. Taehyung started the fight, not him.
The two of them were punished and they could only sit on the time-out chairs while other children
played during play time. It was unfair.

At home, Jimin was punished too. He wasn’t allowed to watch TV or play toys. That made Jimin
start crying again. He wasn’t at fault! He only wanted Taehyung to like him! In sobs and sniffles,
 he told his mother that and then more. He told his mother everything, including that movie he
watched with his noona.

“My dear boy,” his mother said, exasperated, “that’s not how you go about making someone like
you.”

His mother made him think how he would feel if Taehyung made fun of him, took his favourite
crayons and said bad things about his family. Jimin wouldn’t have liked that. Jimin cried harder
after that. Now Taehyung would never like him anymore.

But his mother told him that Taehyung would like him if he said sorry and started being kind to
Taehyung. Jimin really, really wanted Taehyung to like him. He decided to say sorry to Taehyung
the next day and give Taehyung a sorry present.

“Will Taehyungie be friends with me after I give him this plane?” He asked his mother as she
helped him put the plane into a plastic bag.

“Yes, if you’re really sincere about it,” she promised.

The following morning, Jimin and his mother left the house early. They waited in the kindergarten
yard for Taehyung and his samchon to appear. When they did, Jimin became really nervous. He
gathered his courage and said sorry to Taehyung. He said sorry to Taehyung’s samchon too, even
though his samchon made Jimin really scared. Then he became really happy when Taehyung
accepted his present!

“Are we friends now?” He had asked excitedly.

Jimin waited for Taehyung to answer. His heart dropped lower and lower into his stomach. What
was wrong? Why wasn’t Taehyung saying yes or nodding his head? Did Jimin do something
wrong?

He was about to burst into tears when Taehyung walked away with Jeongguk. But Taehyung came
back to him and asked if he would like to see the snail too. Jimin had never nodded his head faster.
Taehyung held his hand and they went together.

Park Jimin was only five years old, but he had many, many best days in his life. He had a best day
when his father took him to ride a carousel at a theme park, he had a best day when he found shiny
beetle in the grass, he had a best day when his mother made him a delicious chocolate cake on his
birthday. There were other best days too, but the day he became friends with Kim Taehyung was
his bestest best day.

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

moral of this chapter: be careful what your child's watching XD

so a certain park jimin has made his appearance. :D it's been quite some time since i
last wrote from a child's pov, so i had quite a block in the beginning. what do you do
when you have a writing block? you write your way out of it ^^;; as always, I hope you
like this chapter! let me know what you think!
last chapter, many of you gave me the green light to ignore the writing rules and be
completely self-indulgent, so that's what i'm going to do. so don't give up on this story
halfway!

this chapter is the last chapter of the year. i'll see you again next year (saying this
always gives me a thrill). in the meantime, have a good christmas and a blessed new
year! v^^v

Curiouscat
 Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

A small hand shook Yoongi’s arm. “Samchon.”

Yoongi cracked an eye open, wincing from the sunlight glaring through the window. Taehyung
was on the floor right next to his mattress, peering at him wide awake.

“Samchon, I’m hungry,” the boy said.

Yoongi reached under the pillow for his phone to check the time. His bleary eyes took some
seconds to resolve the numbers on the screen — 9:47 a.m. The boy usually had his breakfast at
seven.

Yoongi dropped the phone aside and squinted at Taehyung. “Have you brushed your teeth and
washed your face?”

Taehyung shook his head.

“Why don’t you go do that first? I’ll be up when you’re done.”

“Okay!” Taehyung popped to his feet and raced in the direction of the bathroom.

“Hey, no running,” Yoongi said groggily, throwing an arm over his eyes. “And brush your teeth
properly.” And take as long as you need. His words waned into a mutter as his eyes fell shut. Sleep
swept him into its comfortable cradle.

With the portfolio submission deadline looming ever nearer, the amount of sleep he got each night
dwindled. Every night he could focus on his music only after Taehyung had gone to bed. His
nighttime schedule looked like this: put the boy to bed, work on pressing jingle assignments, move
on to his portfolio, then sleep for about four hours before rising at six-thirty to get himself ready
for work and Taehyung ready for school. He meant to catch up on sleep on Sundays, but with a
child around, how late he could sleep in was determined by how late Taehyung slept in.
Unfortunately, this meant Yoongi had to wake up at about 9:30 on Sundays.

Footsteps came thumping toward him, growing louder as they neared. Taehyung plopped down
next to the mattress, and Yoongi caught a whiff of the boy’s orange toothpaste.

“Samchon, I brushed my teeth.”

Without opening his eyes, Yoongi asked, “Did you brush your teeth twenty times on each side?”

“Yes.”

“Did you rinse your mouth three times?”

“Yes.”

“Did you—”

A loud rumble issued from Taehyung’s belly. Yoongi got the point.
With great willpower, he pushed his body upright and climbed off the mattress. As he trudged into
the kitchen with Taehyung following enthusiastically behind, Yoongi decided there would be no
fancy breakfast. He would just cut up a banana and put the slices into a strawberry jam sandwich
for Taehyung.

Then Yoongi realised there were no bread and banana left for the sandwich. It had slipped his mind
to get them at the mart yesterday. He opened the fridge for Plan B and discovered that other than a
lone egg and the aforementioned strawberry jam, he had nothing for breakfast, not even leftovers
from last night’s dinner.

He looked at Taehyung and the expectation on his small face. He closed the fridge and said, “Why
don’t we go to Mcdonald’s?”

::::::::::

The sausage muffin sat like an unwelcome guest in Yoongi’s stomach. On the other hand,
Taehyung happily polished off the hotcakes, which he had drenched with a copious amount of
syrup. Yoongi could almost hear the berating voice of a certain landlady: So much processed sugar
is bad for a child; you should have known better. But he thought if she had seen the way Taehyung
glowed with every bite he took, she would capitulate too.

“Do you like McDonald’s that much?” Yoongi asked as they left the restaurant. Taehyung skipped
more than he walked, swinging in his hand the small piglet plushie that’d come with the Happy
Meal.

“McDonald’s is Taetae’s favourite food in the world!” Latching onto Yoongi’s hand with his free
one, Taehyung jumped over a crack in the asphalt, then another and another. He giggled every time
he cleared a jump.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “Your favourite food in the world?”

“Yes!”

Yoongi glanced pointedly at the oblivious boy. After all the food Yoongi had painstakingly
researched and made for him, the boy chose McDonald’s as his favourite. McDonald’s, where the
food served is mass-produced with zero regard for nutritional value.

Fine, I’m not going to make you any more food. You can have McDonald’s every day for the rest of
your life, Yoongi thought of saying out of spite. He was in a grumpy mood, what with having to
operate on a severe sleep deficit. A dull headache pulsed behind his temples since he woke up that
morning.

Taehyung had started humming a familiar nursery rhyme about three tigers , bouncing like all the
sunshine in the world was his friend. Yoongi sighed and let the words evaporate.

The Mcdonald’s was located at the top of a long and rather steep slope. Just as they had to climb
the slope on their way to the restaurant, they had to go down the slope on their way back. As they
took the slope, Yoongi’s mind drifted off, carving an unsurprising path to his portfolio. He drafted
a mental checklist about how much more he had to do and measured it against the time he’d got
left. He could probably manage to submit only seven songs, perhaps eight if he further slashed his
sleep, but certainly not the ten he had planned. Which meant he had to make those songs not just
good, but perfect.

A tinkling of chimes carried on the wind from somewhere. That sounded nice. It would fit into one
of his songs. He should experiment with that.

The ground rumbled, wheels grinding against concrete, then asphalt. The sound seemed faraway,
insulated by the thoughts that blanketed Yoongi’s mind.

“Get out of the way!” A voice yelled.

Yoongi glanced over his shoulder. A lanky teenager wearing a snapback was racing down the
slope on a skateboard. His oversized T-shirt billowed in the wind. Who was he shouting at? There
was no one else on the slope other than Taehyung and him, and they were off to the side, certainly
not in the skateboarder’s way. To be safe, Yoongi instinctively tightened his fingers around
Taehyung’s hand.

Only to find that he was holding nothing but air.

Yoongi whipped around. His heart sank. Taehyung had wandered away from him, toward the piglet
plushie that had somehow fallen onto the ground some feet away.

It was Taehyung; Taehyung was in the skateboarder’s way.

Yoongi darted forward. He was too far, too slow. The skateboarder was too near, too fast. He
wanted to scream, but the scream clung inside his throat when he realised he was not able to stop
what happened next.

Sounds fled the atmosphere. Everything happened in slow motion. The teenager listed off the
skateboard and fell onto the ground. The skateboard continued to rattle away. But Taehyung,
Taehyung was knocked backward like he weighed nothing. He fell down the slope, rolling and
rolling, until a thick metal pillar broke the momentum.

A loud, dense thud of bone and flesh hitting something a thousand times more solid shattered the
silence. Sounds roared into Yoongi’s ears. He heard the wind and the nearby traffic. He heard the
teenager groaning and hissing. But why wasn’t he hearing Taehyung?

Make a sound, Taehyung, Yoongi thought as he staggered toward the boy with leadened legs. Cry,
wail, call for Samchon. Don’t punish me with your silence.

Under the pillar, Taehyung laid on his side, a crumpled heap. He wasn’t moving. Yoongi could
only see the back of his head.

Fifteen steps separated Taehyung from Yoongi. Fifteen steps that seemed to take forever. He
reached Taehyung. He turned Taehyung by the shoulder. The boy’s were shut. Blood oozed out of
the wound on his forehead. Blood stained the base of the pillar.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi said, as though it was morning on a weekday and he was trying to wake
Taehyung up and Taehyung wouldn’t answer because he was greedy for more sleep. Except this
wasn’t Taehyung trying to sleep in.

::::::::::

Yoongi did everything he was told.

When a nurse told him to let go of Taehyung so they could transfer the boy from the gurney to the
bed, he let go. When the same nurse told him to step back and give them room to tend to
Taehyung, he stepped back. When a doctor told him they needed his consent to perform a CT scan
on Taehyung, he agreed without question. When they told him to wait in the corridor as they
wheeled Taehyung away for the scan, he waited.

Then Taehyung was transferred to the paediatric unit and there were no more instructions and no
more people between Yoongi and Taehyung. This was worse.

The doctor and nurses left Yoongi to sit by Taehyung’s bed, in a ward with walls the shade of
butter and five other beds with other children on them. Taehyung was still unconscious, his head
swathed under a thick band of bandages. The tube of the IV drip dangled like a snake that fed from
Taehyung’s hand.

Yoongi felt stares on him. Someone approached — a mother of another child in the ward, he
supposed — and kindly asked what had happened to Taehyung. Yoongi stared straight ahead and
did not answer. She got the message and left.

The clock at the far end of the ward had its shorter hand pointing to one and its longer hand
pointing to three. How was it only less than four hours since he woke up that morning and not a
lifetime? Taehyung had started the day bubbly and cheerful. Now he was pale and lifeless. Just
how?

“Yoongi.”

He turned his head. What was Hoseok doing here?

Hoseok rushed to the bed and rested his hands on the bedrail. Yoongi recognised his shock, mute
and confused. So much like his own.

“They said he’s probably not going to wake anytime soon,” Yoongi said. His voice sounded
monotonous, robotic.

Hoseok looked up from Taehyung. He did a double take when his gaze locked onto Yoongi’s
chest. Yoongi had cradled Taehyung against him as they waited for the ambulance to arrive. The
bloodstains on his white shirt had been left behind from that time. They had dried, but their
metallic stench hadn’t gone anywhere.

Hoseok recomposed himself and looked Yoongi in the face. “Did they tell you when he’s going to
wake then?”

“Likely tomorrow.”

“What else did they say? Is his injuries anything serious?”

“They did a scan and found no bleeding or swelling in the brain or fracture in the skull.” Yoongi
felt like a student reciting emotionless facts.

“What about the rest of his body?”

“Only scrapes and bruising.”

Hoseok released a breath. Was that relief? But what was there to be relieved about? Words like
bleeding, swelling, fracture and bruising shouldn’t be strung into a sentence with Taehyung in the
first place.

“What exactly happened?” Hoseok asked.

“I wasn’t fast enough.”

“What?”

“A kid was riding a skateboard and I wasn’t fast enough to pull Taehyung out of his way, okay?”

Hoseok fell silent. He frowned.

Then Yoongi remembered why Hoseok was here. He was the one who had called Hoseok and told
him to come. He needed Hoseok to come. He needed Hoseok to come so that he could leave. He
needed to leave.

He shot to his feet with such force the chair tipped backward. Gasps flowered here and there in the
ward as the chair clattered to the ground. Eyes converged on him. The surrounding had gone quiet.
When the skateboarder collided into Taehyung, the world had gone quiet too. Yoongi’s skin
crawled.

Run.

“Where are you going?”

Yoongi heard, but continued to let his feet carry him out the ward. He had barely made the turn
into the corridor when a hand landed on his shoulder and forced him to a halt. He turned and swept
Hoseok’s hand off him.

“I’m going home because I need to get this fucking shirt off my back,” he hissed. “Am I asking too
much of you to stay here and watch over him while I’m gone?”

Hoseok did not rise to meet Yoongi’s anger. His eyes were soft with pity, as if he thought Yoongi a
child who needed to yell and bare his teeth before he could ever calm down. Many seconds passed.
Yoongi’s chest heaved. Nurses shot them odd looks as they passed.

Hoseok broke the bubble of silence. “You know I’d watch Taehyung for you for as long as you
need me to. I just need to make sure you’re okay before I let you go.”

Yoongi controlled his breathing, hoping that by slowing it down, he would be able to kill the
trembling in his arms.

“I understand how you must be feeling at the moment,” Hoseok said. “Accidents happen to
children all the time. Maybe it’s your fault, maybe it isn’t. Whichever the case, don’t let yourself
spiral because you feel guilty. You’re only going to hurt yourself and others. Do you get it?”

How could you understand? Yoongi thought. You weren’t there when Taehyung was bleeding out
on the asphalt. He was bleeding but he wasn’t crying. He looked like he’d di—

“I’m okay,” Yoongi said abruptly. “I’m okay,” he said again, forcing more steadiness into his
voice. Hoseok would never back off otherwise.

Hoseok eyed him. He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded after a pause. “I’ll be here till you
come back.”

“Thanks.”

Yoongi walked away from Hoseok. He itched to break into a run, but he knew Hoseok was
watching. With one measured step after another, he passed through the paediatric unit, colourless
as a wraith.
In the ward beside Taehyung’s, Yoongi glimpsed a father coaxing his wailing son as a nurse pulled
a needle out of the child’s arm. In another ward, a private one, a child whose gender Yoongi
couldn’t determine because of the shaved head was reading aloud from a book while the parents
sat by the bed and watched with sorrowful eyes. In the corridor, a girl with her arm in a sling was
crying, deaf to her mother’s panicked questions of What’s wrong, honey?

On the hospital walls were murals of space ships and astronauts, fairyland and happy animals, but
they did little to camouflage the evidence that everywhere here, children were hurting.

Had anyone told them? Had these parents known that by bringing their children to this world, their
children would be subject to sickness and pain? Had they known that their precious children would
hurt, and sometimes because of them? Would they not have had children if they had known? Or
they’d known but decided to take the leap of faith anyway, believing they would be the lucky ones
where maladies and injuries gave their children a wide berth?

Yoongi wouldn’t have taken that risk.

::::::::::

The watering can in Madam Lee’s hand fell to the ground when she saw the blood on Yoongi’s
shirt. Water spilled and darkened the asphalt.

“What happened to you?” Her gaze swept downward. “Where’s Taehyung?”

Yoongi stared past her shoulder. With the weather turning cooler as October marched on, the
landlady’s flowers had lost their vibrant hue.

“Did something happen?”

Was the landlady going to plant another variety of flowers that thrive in lower temperatures? Did
she do so in the past? How had Yoongi never noticed in all those years he lived here?

“Are you listening? I’m asking you a question! Answer me!”

Yoongi blinked. The panic on the landlady’s face came into clear focus. What had she just asked?

“Where’s Taehyung?” She repeated just as he was about to clarify.

Where’s Taehyung? Taehyung was hurt. Taehyung was at the hospital.

“He’s at the hospital.”

“Why? What happened? Is he all right? Tell me he’s all right.”

Why did everyone have so many questions? The paramedics, the nurses, the doctor, Hoseok , and
now the landlady. Why were they so hellbent on making him relive the sequence of moments as
the skateboarder crashed into Taehyung? Was this their way of punishing him? They didn’t have
to. Every time he blinked, he saw Taehyung being flung backwards. He saw Taehyung’s shut eyes
and blood trickling from his forehead down the side of his face.

Yoongi’s head snapped sideways as a sharp sting erupted in his cheek. It took him three seconds to
realise he had been slapped.

“I don’t care what’s going through your mind right now,” the landlady seethed, fierce tears in her
eyes. “Just tell me this: Is the boy all right?”
Numb and disoriented, Yoongi nodded. It felt like he had told a lie, but that was what the doctor
had assured.

“Which hospital is he in?”

An easy question. Yoongi answered.

Madam Lee stormed into the house.

Yoongi should tell Madam Lee they could head to the hospital together after he swapped out his
stained shirt for another. He didn’t say that. The hospital was the last place he wanted to be.

::::::::::

The hospital was worse at midnight. A chill permeated the corridor. Shadows draped the walls and
muddied their cheerful colours. Nurses conversed in whispers, their hushed voices accentuating the
beeps from the machines.

Yoongi sat on a plastic bench along the wall, a can of unopened coffee wedged between his
thighs.

When Yoongi returned to the hospital that evening, he had found Hoseok talking to Madam Lee.
Hoseok left shortly after, promising that he would be back to visit Taehyung the next day. Madam
Lee stayed behind. At nine o’clock, a nurse came to remind that visiting hours were over and only
one registered guardian was permitted to stay with each child. Madam Lee wasn’t a guardian, but
she didn’t budge. She said she wasn’t going anywhere until Taehyung come to. Sensing a losing
battle, the nurse made an exception. Before she left the ward, she cautioned Yoongi and the
landlady to be quiet lest they disrupted the children’s rest.

They occupied the chairs on either side of Taehyung’s bed. Unlike Yoongi who kept his hands to
himself, Madam Lee reached her hands toward Taehyung every few minutes, adjusting his blanket,
brushing her fingers across the boy’s forehead, or patting the boy’s arm in a comforting rhythm.
Neither Yoongi nor the landlady spoke a word. Taehyung took her entire attention. Yoongi didn’t
know how she could stand looking at Taehyung.

Some time later, Yoongi got up from the chair and muttered about getting a drink. Madam Lee did
not respond. Perhaps she hadn’t heard him, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she was still mad at
him. That was why she stayed behind, wasn’t it? She didn’t trust him. Just as well; he didn’t trust
himself either.

He got a drink from the vending machine at the end of the corridor. After that he settled on the
bench outside the ward instead of going in. The sight of Taehyung on the bed, drip needle buried in
his hand and raising the skin, thinned the air around Yoongi. He considered fleeing the hospital,
but he had no more excuse now that he had changed out his shirt. Besides he needed to see for
himself that Taehyung was indeed fine. The corridor presented a compromise. In the corridor, he
was not so close to the boy that he couldn’t breathe, but not so far that he couldn’t reach the boy in
a few steps.

His mind had become a funny thing, a faulty loop of film that cut erratically between blank spaces
and scenes leading up to the accident, all out of order. Taehyung swinging the plushie and
humming a song. Blank. Skateboarder coming down the slope. Blank. Taehyung pushing a forkful
of syrup-soaked hotcakes into his mouth, his legs swinging the way they do whenever he ate
something delicious and was happy. Blank. Yoongi shooting his arm forward to pull Taehyung out
of the way. Blank. Taehyung cheering when Yoongi told him they were going to Mcdonald’s. Blank.
Taehyung getting hit because Yoongi wasn’t quick enough.

The skateboarder had escaped when he realised he had got into trouble. If Yoongi ever saw him
again, he thought he would not hold back any punches. But the person most at fault was Yoongi
himself. This was his fault. He had let himself be distracted. This wouldn’t have happened if he had
kept Taehyung close by his side.

A shadow appeared in the dim glow effusing from the ward. Yoongi blinked out of his thoughts to
see the landlady standing near him.

“There you are. What are you doing here?” She asked, perplexed and frustrated. “Taehyung’s
awake now and he’s crying for you.”

Yoongi launched to his feet, the unopened can of coffee hitting the floor with a clonk. He rushed
into the ward. He heard the cries before he saw the boy. Then he saw the boy and the tears pouring
down his cheeks, and he stopped abruptly.

Run away. Run away so you wouldn’t hurt the boy again.

“Samchon,” Taehyung cried, his arms stretched toward Yoongi. When Yoongi did not go closer,
Taehyung pulled himself off the bed, but had barely sat upright when he tipped sideways. Yoongi
came to himself. He lurched forward to catch the boy before he could hit the bedrail.

Taehyung wound his arms around Yoongi’s neck and buried his face into Yoongi’s shoulder.
Yoongi’s hand came to rest on the small of Taehyung’s back. His heart palpitated out of rhythm.
Was he hurting the boy?

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asked. His voice was shaky. “Where are you hurting?”

“H-head,” Taehyung hiccuped, his tears seeping into a wet patch on Yoongi’s shirt. “Taetae’s head
h-hurts.”

“The nurse’s coming,” Madam Lee said.

A nurse came, then a doctor. They had to coax Taehyung to let go of Yoongi so they could do a
proper check on him. Taehyung cried so hard his voice became hoarse. The noise roused children
on other beds. Yoongi heard their guardians trying to coax them back to bed. It seemed like a long
time had passed before the painkiller administered by the doctor took effect and Taehyung stopped
crying.

Headache, loss of balance, they are common symptoms of concussion, the doctor informed Yoongi.
We’ll keep a close eye on him, but I believe he’ll be fine after ample rest.

On the bed, Taehyung’s eyes were puffy and dazed. He had a hand curled around Yoongi’s index
finger, refusing to let Yoongi go anywhere. The boy’s eyelids drooped lower. Eventually he drifted
off to sleep.

Earlier at the emergency room, another doctor had told Yoongi that it was fortunate Taehyung
hadn’t sustained worse injuries.

How was this fortunate?

How was Taehyung being stuck with someone like him ever fortunate?

::::::::::
Chapter End Notes

in a way i feel sorry that the first chapter of the year isn't something more lighthearted,
but this is somehow the point the story has found itself ^^;; and i think some of you
saw the angst coming (been keeping you on the edge of your seats, haven't i? lol)

it's difficult to type this note today for some reason. i've typed and backspaced several
times, so i think i'm going to leave it.

as always, thank you so much for reading this story. till next time <3

Curiouscat
 Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Madam Lee slotted the last dish on the drying rack and turned off the tap. She peered out of the
window above the sink but saw her reflection on the glass more than anything outside. Sunset
came earlier these days and night had completely fallen.

She dried her hands and turned off the kitchen lights on her way out. The living room TV played a
cartoon of a large grey cat chasing a small brown mouse. She had subscribed to the kids’ cable
channel after she knew she would be nannying Taehyung.

She rounded the back of the couch and found Taehyung sitting where she had left him. The
enormous blue dinosaur named Toka sat next to him like a sentry. Taehyung blinked away from
the television when she lowered herself onto the empty space on his other side.

“When’s Samchon coming home?” He asked.

She had come to expect the question but had not found a perfect way to answer.

“Soon, maybe.” She brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. The thick bandage that had gone
round his head had been swapped for a square piece of dressing that concealed only the wounded
part of his forehead. “Are you tired? You can sleep first if you’re tired.”

Taehyung shook his head. “I want to wait for Samchon to come back.”

He returned his gaze to the television. On the screen the cat made a big mess of shattered plates
when it yanked a tablecloth off, only to realise the mouse wasn’t anywhere under the table.
Taehyung didn’t crack a smile.

“Do you want to do something else?” Madam Lee asked.

Taehyung shook his head.

“I can show you how to fold frogs if you want. I have some pretty paper.”

He shook his head again.

She made other suggestions. He rejected all of them.

“I only want to wait for Samchon to come back,” he said.

Madam Lee looked at the boy’s downcast face and sighed inwardly. The past two nights, she had
been able to distract him when he grew anxious with every minute his samchon didn’t come home
after the sky had darkened. She did origami and drew with him, and also showed him her album of
pressed dried flowers, keeping him occupied until he grew sleepy and could no longer stay awake
to see his samchon return.

She had known things would not be quite as easy today when Yoongi deposited Taehyung at her
doorstep this morning. The boy had grabbed onto the hem of Yoongi’s jacket when Yoongi was
about to take his leave.

“Samchon, will you come home early today?” He had asked, a worried frown pinching his
eyebrows.

“I don’t know,” Yoongi said.

“But—”

“I have to go,” he interrupted brusquely. “Be a good boy and listen to everything ahjumma says.”

Madam Lee stayed beside the boy as they watched Yoongi leave.

“Shall we go in?” She asked when they lost sight of Yoongi. “I made some strawberry muffins for
you. They’re really yummy.”

The brightness she’d injected into her voice did little to cheer the boy up. His eyes lingered in the
direction Yoongi had disappeared before he nodded glumly and followed her into the house.

The gloom hung over the boy for the rest of the day. He was obedient, washing his hands and
eating his vegetables without having to be told and playing by himself as she did her chores. But he
was too quiet. He didn’t chatter with his dinosaur, and neither did he say her food was delicious or
offer to help her trim her plants. At first she’d wondered if he was feeling unwell, but he wasn’t
running a fever, and he said he wasn’t hurting anywhere when she asked.

The problem then, she concluded, was entirely emotional. Not being able to go to school and
barely spending any time with his samchon must have taken a toll on Taehyung, she guessed.

Although the doctor had cleared Taehyung for discharge after a two-day hospital stay, he had put
the boy on home rest until the following week. When Yoongi came to her and asked if she could
help take care of Taehyung while he went to work, she agreed without missing a beat. It’d seemed
like a good idea at that time. She could make nourishing food for the boy and ensured he rested
well.

In her enthusiasm, she’d completely forgotten that Taehyung needed his samchon more than he
needed her or her food. Hadn’t she seen how reliant the boy was on Yoongi at the hospital?

She probably should have rejected Yoongi and forced him to take days off and care for the boy.
Taehyung would be happier that way. She sighed again.

The light from the TV screen painted electric colours on their faces. The cat-and-mouse cartoon
ended, and a show with TV hosts dancing with children played next. Then that show ended too and
another cartoon came on. As the night deepened, Taehyung fought to keep his eyes open. He lost
the battle sometime later and fell asleep against the dinosaur plushie. She covered him with a small
blanket from her room, lowered the TV volume and switched channels. Her attention on the
melodrama was half-hearted.

The bell rang shortly past ten. She kicked off her indoor slippers and slipped into her outdoor ones
at her door, then hurried across her small yard to open the gate. The chilly October night raised her
gooseflesh.

Her young tenant stood on the other side, the warm street lamp casting a halo on his jet-black hair.
He looked thinner and paler than he was the night before, though how that was possible, she didn’t
know. A greyish tint hugged his bottom lids. There was a hollowness in his eyes, a certain lack of
emotions, as though he was simply going through motions on autopilot.

She had intended to toss him a sarcastic remark about how he had kept Taehyung waiting three
nights in a row, but found that she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“He’s fallen asleep,” she said instead, stepping aside to let him enter.

In the living room, Yoongi slid his hands under Taehyung’s arms and lifted him from the couch.
Taehyung’s head lolled against Yoongi’s shoulder. “Samchon...” He mumbled in his sleep.

The neediness in his voice cracked Madam Lee’s heart.

“Maybe you should take time off work and take care of him,” she said quietly.

Yoongi glanced at her and murmured a question. “Has he been giving you trouble?”

“No, of course not.” She helped sling Taehyung’s small backpack onto Yoongi’s other shoulder.
“He’s the sweetest boy. I just think he’ll happier with you than me.”

A pause, then, “I can’t take any time off work. I used up all my vacation leave back when I was
settling him down in Seoul.”

“Even if that’s the case, you should come home earlier at the very least. He’s been waiting for you
to come home every night.” She had tried to sound fair, but censure and disapproval still slipped
into her voice.

“It’s peak season. There are many delivery runs to make,” he said.

It sounded like an excuse. She didn’t understand why he was behaving like this, like he didn’t want
anything to do with Taehyung. But she’d seen the tenderness in his hands as he carried the boy and
steadied the boy’s head against his shoulder. She was confused.

“Just be back earlier,” she said, and that was that.

She picked Toka off the couch and handed it to Yoongi, who held it by its tail. “Hold on,” she said.
She went into the kitchen and returned with a plastic bag containing two kimbap rolls wrapped in
aluminium foil. “This is for you. You don’t look like you’ve eaten.”

Last night she gave him a container of rice cakes, and the night before, some stir-fried noodles. She
had felt bad about slapping him the other day when her worry for Taehyung got better of her. She
never quite found a way to apologise without embarrassment clogging her throat, so food would
have to do. And with how he looked right now, food would serve him better than words.

Yoongi received the plastic bag with a wordless nod. Madam Lee grabbed Taehyung’s jacket and
tucked it around the boy’s small shoulders. A faint frown creased the area between Taehyung’s
eyebrows. She patted his head, sending a wish to the gods she prayed to that he would sleep well
tonight.

At the door, she put on the boy’s shoes for him, understanding that Yoongi’s had no free hands to
hold them. She walked Yoongi to the gate. After Yoongi and Taehyung left, she stood on the
threshold, listening as Yoongi headed up the stairs, his footsteps tired and heavy. She heard him
unlocking the door. When she could hear him no more, she drew back inside and closed the gate,
hating how helpless and useless she felt on this night.

::::::::::

Light from the corridor glided into the entryway. This was the third night, but Yoongi had yet
gotten used to coming back to a dark apartment. Ever since Taehyung came to live with him, he
had always reached home with the boy when it was still bright outside. Long gone were the nights
where he returned late from bar gigs to a quiet apartment where the moonlight streaming through
the windows conjured shapeless shadows on the floor.

A thick layer of clouds had thrown the moon into invisibility these few nights. From the entryway,
Yoongi couldn’t see much of the apartment. Not wanting to wake Taehyung up, he didn’t turn on
the lights. In the darkness, he dropped Toka to free his hands. He removed Taehyung’s shoe from
his left feet and put it into the cupboard, then did the same for the right. He toed off his own shoes,
left them on the floor, and picked Toka back up before making his way into the living room.

He navigated through the darkness and set Taehyung on the bed. The boy curled on his side,
tucking a small fist under his chin. Yoongi covered him with a blanket and turned on the bedside
lamp. Like every other night, the same soft glow of orange illuminated the room. There was
nothing left for Yoongi to do. He could go now, retreat to his studio, put as much distance between
Taehyung and him as was possible in the limited space of the apartment. Just like he’d done the
previous nights.

He didn’t do so tonight.

He sat on the bedside and watch as Taehyung’s chest rose and fell, as the patch of bandage on the
boy’s forehead seared a white, empty spot onto his vision. When Madam Lee’d told him
Taehyung’d been waiting for him to return, he imagined the boy’s worried little face peering out of
the window, anxious eyes glancing at the clock he didn’t know how to read with accuracy yet.
Yoongi didn’t think the landlady was lying to guilt-trip him; he had seen how increasingly moody
Taehyung became every morning.

When Yoongi knew Taehyung was to be on home rest until next week, he’d approached the
landlady for help, knowing with great certainty that she’d agree. It was the truth that he couldn’t
take any more days off from work, but he’d lied about it being the peak season. These days, he
maxed out the number of delivery assignments he could take. His work didn’t end until nine, after
which he would make his slow way back home. He could pretend the reason was he needed the
extra cash for Taehyung’s hospitalisation fees. But if he was brutally honest with himself, being
around the boy suffocated him.

On the bed, Taehyung shifted and made a slight noise. Yoongi tensed, afraid for a moment that he
was going to wake. But the boy slept on. Relief doused through Yoongi. He wouldn’t be able to
stand it if Taehyung’d awoken and looked at him with reliance in his eyes, like Yoongi was his
safe place.

Yoongi had never been anybody’s safe place; neither should anyone expect him to be one.

He removed his gaze from Taehyung and rose from the bed, incapable of being in such proximity
with Taehyung for one more second. Something slid off his lap and hit the floor with a crinkle. It
was the bag of kimbap; he had forgotten that the landlady had given it to him. The kimbap could
be his breakfast tomorrow, or lunch. He found he couldn’t muster much of an appetite these days, a
rock having seemingly taken up residence in his belly.

He left the bag of food on the dining table and retreated to his studio. The surface of the play table
in the middle of the room was bare, the crayons and colouring books kept neatly away in an
underneath compartment. It felt like a long time since Taehyung had last sat at the table.

Yoongi settled behind the desk, tipped his head back and stared at nothing. There were no more
jingle assignments to clear, and he couldn’t bring himself to work on his portfolio. His fixation on
his portfolio was the reason Taehyung got hurt in the first place. Many times since Taehyung’s
injury, Yoongi’d teetered on the edge of wiping every single piece of his compositions from the
hard drive. He stopped short every time because in the end, it wasn’t music that he despised. It was
himself.

Even if he wasn’t obsessed with music, even if he didn’t have a portfolio to work on, the same
thing would still happen. As long as he was in the equation, Taehyung’d get hurt. Yoongi simply
wasn’t built to take care of a child. He was too careless, too clumsy, too selfish.

The “family portrait” Taehyung drew of Seungah, Yoongi and himself rested innocently on the
corkboard. The blue, waxy skin of the figures gleamed in the desk’s lamp.

Yoongi clenched his jaw at the thought of Seungah.

So what if her death had been an accident? If she hadn’t been careless enough to die, Taehyung
wouldn’t be stuck with someone as incompetent as Yoongi. Then again, why was he surprised?
Seungah has always been shameless when it came to abandoning others. First it was him, then it
was Taehyung.

Resentment dug its slick claws into his belly, stirred something foul and venomous. Everything
was Seungah’s fault.

Yoongi reached forward, ripped the picture off the corkboard and stashed it away in the
bottommost drawer under his desk.

:::::::::::

“You’re not going to Ahjumma’s house today,” Yoongi told Taehyung over breakfast on Sunday
morning.

Taehyung lifted his head from his cereal bowl. The milk had turned a purplish pink from the
rainbow loops of cereal. “Taetae’s not going to Ahjumma’s house?”

“No, you’re staying home.”

“With Samchon?”

Yoongi responded with a tight nod.

The landlady’d informed him that she had to visit a sick friend in another town and was unable to
watch over Taehyung. “You should spend some time with him anyway,” she’d said, but not
snidely. “He misses you terribly.”

A speck of Yoongi admitted he missed the boy too, but an overwhelming part of him was more
afraid than anything. He disclosed none of that, kept his expression stoic and nodded mutely.

Delight unfurled across Taehyung’s face, sweeping away the moodiness that had taken residence in
those eyes for the past few days. The boy began to swing his legs, something he did when he was
happy.

“Are we going to the park today?” He asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s going to rain.”

The boy sucked his spoon thoughtfully. “Then can we go to the mall?”
“No.”

“But the rain can’t come inside the mall.”

“We are not going anywhere until the wound on your forehead heals.”

Taehyung stared at Yoongi, stunned speechless by the angry and irritable edge in Yoongi’s voice.
Yoongi looked away from the boy and stood abruptly. He picked up his mug and his plate of half-
finished peanut butter sandwich and headed into the kitchen, leaving a confused Taehyung alone at
the table.

The sandwich went into the bin and the coffee down the drain. He rinsed the plate and the mug, put
them away, and stood before the empty sink. His hands propped on either side of the counter, his
head hung forward. Breaths shuddered through him.

“Fuck,” he spat under his breath.

Being around the boy stirred his anger, which bubbled constantly these days. His incompetence
taunted and screamed at him in Taehyung’s presence. He was mad at himself, but his anger was a
volcano that exploded indiscriminately and hurt anyone who came too close, including the
innocent. Including Taehyung.

He fought to rein his temper in.

Taehyung padded into the kitchen, still wearing his animal pyjamas. “Samchon, I finished
everything.” He showed Yoongi his empty cereal bowl.

Yoongi took the bowl from Taehyung and put it under the tap to rinse. “Good,” he said woodenly,
out of habit.

Taehyung brightened at the compliment. He shuffled closer to Yoongi and tugged at Yoongi’s shirt
to get his attention.

“Samchon,” Taehyung smiled up at Yoongi in his sweet-natured innocence. “I don’t need to go

anywhere. I like staying home with Samchon too.”

An intense pang of self-hatred hit Yoongi square in the gut. The bowl slipped in his grip. After
everything he’d done, Taehyung still found it in himself to smile at him. The familiar anger
followed.

Don’t you dare flare up at the boy, he warned himself. Not again.

He steadied himself and controlled his tone. “I know. Go wash your hands and play with your toys
or something.”

“Okay!” Taehyung skipped out of the kitchen.

Just one day. Taehyung would return to school tomorrow, and Yoongi would have a blessed chunk
of time where he didn’t have to handle the boy.

Yoongi managed to avoid Taehyung for most part of the morning. He went about his chores while
Taehyung played and chattered with his toys in the living room. Later that morning, Hoseok swung
by. Since Taehyung’s discharge from the hospital, Hoseok’d sent Yoongi messages asking how
Taehyung was doing. He looked relieved to see for himself that Taehyung’d mostly recovered and
was in good spirits.
“Our Taetae is strong and happy again, right?” Hoseok pinched Taehyung’s cheek fondly.
Taehyung smiled bashfully. “But Hobi Hyung is scared because a strong and happy Taetae will
definitely beat me at any game, even arm wrestling. Has Taetae played arm wrestling with anyone
before?”

Taehyung shook his head.

Hoseok grinned, ruffling Taehyung’s hair. “Then Hobi Hyung’ll teach you. You’ll be better than
Hobi Hyung in no time.”

Yoongi left them alone.

Taehyung’s giggles travelled out to the rooftop as Yoongi hung the laundry out to dry. He glimpsed
through the sliding door that Taehyung had Hoseok’s hand pinned against the floor in victory.
Hoseok toppled sideways and groaned theatrically. Taehyung giggled harder.

Not for the first time, it struck Yoongi how much better things would have been for Taehyung if
Hoseok was the boy’s samchon. Hoseok was careful and patient. He knew how to entertain
children, defuse their worries, reassure them, make them smile again when they were about to cry
just the second before. Hoseok was the guardian Taehyung needed, the guardian Yoongi could
never be.

Hoseok joined him on the rooftop as he pegged the last few pieces of clothing onto the laundry
rack.

“What a beautiful morning!” Hoseok chirped, interlocking his fingers and pushing his hands
upward for a stretch.

A warm and welcoming October sun decorated the sky like a golden coin. A light breeze teased the
clothes on the laundry rack aflutter. In another two months, the temperature would plunge, winter
would move in, and Yoongi would have to start drying the clothes indoors.

Hoseok released himself from the stretch and shook his limbs loose. “I’m glad Taehyung’s back to
himself. It broke my heart terribly when he was at the hospital.”

The dizzying image of Taehyung lying deathly still flashed before Yoongi. His eyes flew to
Taehyung, found him sitting on the living room floor, saying something to Toka.

The boy was safe. Yoongi shoved the image away.

Hoseok came up beside Yoongi. “And how about you? How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“I hope you are,” Hoseok said kindly. Yoongi knew what Hoseok saw when he looked at him —
tired eyes, pale skin and cheeks sunken by chains of skipped meals. “Taking care of a child, much
less an injured one, can take a toll on anyone.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi said noncommittally, draping and smoothing a damp shirt over the rod.
“Thankfully Madam Lee helps out.”

Hoseok knew Yoongi left Taehyung at the landlady’s place in the day while he went to work.
What Hoseok didn’t know was that Yoongi didn’t return until the boy had fallen fast asleep.
Hoseok wouldn’t understand why Yoongi did that. And when Hoseok didn’t understand
something, he’d interrogate persistently, probing here and there until Yoongi spilled his guts. The
last thing Yoongi need was a fucking therapy session, so he let Hoseok assume.

“The turn of events between you and Madam Lee could make it onto the list of the greatest plot
twists of all time.” Hoseok laughed. “Who knew you two would go from aiming for each other’s
throats to helping each other out?”

Under better circumstances, the corners of Yoongi’s lips might have quirked into a smirk. He
might have even laughed or said something snarky. But Yoongi found no strength for all of that.
The best he could manage was a patronising sound of humour just so Hoseok wouldn’t catch on
and realise something was wrong. Hoseok was too astute.

“How about your portfolio?” Hoseok asked gently. “Have you been working on it?”

The mention of the portfolio brought about a sharp stab of anger. Yoongi ignored it. He opted for a
casual tone as he reached into the bucket hanging on the laundry rack and pulled out a peg. “It’s
coming along,” he said.

“Just in case you’ve forgotten, my offer still stands. I can help you watch over Taehyung, take him
out for a day, if you need the time and space.”

The offer tempted. He craved distance from Taehyung.

I like staying home with Samchon too.

“Taehyung’s been good,” Yoongi said before he could control himself. “He goes to bed early and
he doesn’t make much fuss. I’ve been working on the music at night.”

“So you’re ready to submit the portfolio in two weeks?”

“Yeah.”

Hoseok smiled broadly. He slung an arm over Yoongi’s shoulder, locking Yoongi’s neck. “We’re
getting there, Yoongi. Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok, Big Hit producers. Don’t you like the sound
of that?”

Hoseok looked ahead, smile hopeful, eyes glimmering, gaze far away. In their sight was a boring
concrete wall that was part of the house structure and the ventilator perched on the higher roof.
Those were not what Hoseok saw, Yoongi knew. But whatever Hoseok saw, whatever bright and
exciting future, Yoongi wasn’t going to be part of it.

::::::::::

After Hoseok left, Yoongi reheated for lunch the stew Madam Lee gave him the day before. Over
lunch, Taehyung told Yoongi about a flower he’d planted in the landlady’s garden a few days ago.
He said he wanted to show Yoongi that. Yoongi agreed half-heartedly, but the boy was elated. He
promised Yoongi that it was a really beautiful flower.

Yoongi retreated to his studio after lunch to work on the jingle assignment that’d come in
yesterday. Taehyung followed suit, pulling Toka into the room by its tail. He settled the dinosaur
onto one of the two play chairs and took the other one for himself. He took out his crayons, colour
pencils and paper and laid them on the play table. He hummed a tune as he drew, contented.

Yoongi put on his headphones, blocking out the sounds Taehyung made. Still, achieving
concentration was difficult. The presence of Taehyung prickled his skin. He wanted to be
somewhere else, at the very least not in the same room as Taehyung, but there was nowhere else in
this apartment where he could work on his jingle. It wasn’t like he could ask Taehyung to get out
of the studio either. Maybe he should have taken Hoseok up on his offer.

Despite the odds, Yoongi managed to slip into focus. But he had barely keyed in the first line of
notes when Taehyung disrupted his concentration. Standing next to his chair, Taehyung was back
at his favourite activity of showing Yoongi his artwork again.

“This is a special flower.” Taehyung pointed eagerly to the center of the paper. “A little boy lives
in the flower.” His tiny finger moved slightly upward.

“It’s great,” Yoongi said monotonously, wanting nothing more than for the boy to go away.

“I want to colour the flower purple and green.”

“Sounds good,” Yoongi replied, already re-fixing the headphone over his ear and directing his gaze
back on the screen.

Taehyung skipped back to his play table.

Yoongi prayed for that to be the end of it, but like most of the prayers he’d made over the years, it
went unanswered. Taehyung came to him again to ask if he should draw a bee so that the little boy
had a best friend, then yet again to ask if the bee should be orange or yellow in colour. Yoongi’s
tightly strung patience whittled thinner. The fifth time Taehyung approached him, Yoongi snapped.

“Can you be quiet and let me work in peace? I’m trying to think here.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Yoongi regretted it. Taehyung froze on the spot, his eyes
wide with shock and confusion. Hurt came later a second later, and the boy shrunk into himself,
head drooping like a plant on an overly hot day.

Guilt and anger tore at Yoongi, but the latter won. He ignored the damage he’d done and turned
determinedly back to his screen. Out of the corner of his eyes, he glimpsed the boy trudging away
after a minute of standing there

The screen before Yoongi blurred. He couldn’t focus. He itched with the mad desire to destroy
something, anything. The last time he felt such intense, poisonous anger was the day his father
smashed his keyboard. For a moment, he couldn’t figure out why he was afflicted with such rage.

Then he understood.

The look of adoration on Taehyung’s face and his constant need for approval had been too much to
bear. Yoongi was the last person Taehyung should adore, the last person he should require
validation from. Why couldn’t the boy see how undeserving Yoongi was? Why did he insist on
staying close when Yoongi was the reason he got that ugly wound on his forehead? Just why?

Yoongi clenched his hands, his nails cutting into his palms. He had the urge to swing out at a wall,
to feel something other than anger. He resisted. The act would terrify the boy.

A long time passed before the waves roiling in his chest quelled to something manageable. He
sought distraction from the jingle assignment, but his focus had splintered. Taehyung’s wounded
face kept flashing before his eyes, scattering whatever scant inspiration he had.

All of a sudden, out of nowhere, through the thick earpads of his headphones, came a sound of
something shattering. The sound was muffled and far away but sharp enough to send a jolt through
Yoongi. He pushed the headphones to his neck and whirred around.
At the play table, there was only Toka. Taehyung was nowhere in sight.

Yoongi shot to his feet, the swiftness of his motion jerking the headphone wire out from the
earphone jack.

He dashed out of the studio and found Taehyung in the kitchen, standing pale and frozen amidst
shards of broken navy ceramic. Yoongi’s mug. Taehyung was holding his own cup, a double-
handle plastic one with a bear motif.

Taehyung looked relieved to see Yoongi. “Samchon,” he said, lifting his feet to approach.

“Stay where you are!” Yoongi barked. The boy had nearly stepped right onto a shard.

Taehyung recoiled, small shoulders bunching together like a frightened squirrel. Yoongi went to
him instead.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Yoongi asked, a tremor in his voice. His heart jackhammered in his chest.

Taehyung shook his head. Yoongi scanned Taehyung’s hands and checked the undersides of
Taehyung’s feet to confirm. A moment of relief, promptly devoured by the gushing anger that had
once again broken out of its dam.

Children breaking things wasn’t a big deal, but in his mind’s eye, all Yoongi could see flesh being
sliced open by jagged shards and blood splattering all over the floor. He could see the same thing
happening all over again; Taehyung getting hurt, Taehyung crying, Taehyung crawling to him for
comfort. But there was no comfort to give. The only thing Yoongi could do was stroke the boy’s
back uselessly, as though that could take his pain away.

Enough was enough.

“When are you going to stop giving me trouble?” Yoongi snapped.

Taehyung jerked. His eyes brightened with tears.

Yoongi pulled Taehyung roughly away from the broken shards. The boy stumbled. “Stand in the
corner and don’t come closer until I’m done cleaning.”

As Yoongi swept up the pieces of his broken mug, Taehyung sniffled pitifully in his corner, a hand
twisted anxiously around the hem of his shirt.

For the rest of the day, Yoongi did not look at Taehyung again.

::::::::::

Taehyung thought he would be happy to go back to school. He missed Minnie and Gukkie a lot and
he wanted to play with them again. But when Monday came, he couldn’t be happy at all. In fact he
felt so sad he wanted to cry.

It had been forever since his samchon had talked to him. Last night his samchon didn’t read him a
book. This morning his samchon didn’t tell him to hurry up like he always did. Taehyung wanted to
talk to his samchon, but yesterday his samchon had told him to be quiet because he needed to think.
Taehyung didn’t know how long he should be quiet for. His samchon didn’t tell him.

When he arrived at school with his samchon, Minnie and Gukkie came running to the door, calling
his name. They looked delighted to see him. Mrs Yang and another teacher were there too. They
asked him how he was and welcomed him back. Taehyung felt slightly better.

Minnie pulled at his arm. “Let’s go in, Taetae!”

“Wait, Minnie,” Taehyung said. He turned and looked up at his samchon. “Samchon, remember to
pick Taetae up from school today.”

His samchon looked like he had nodded, but he also looked like he hadn’t. “Go on in,” his
samchon said, in that voice that made Taehyung feel like his samchon didn’t like him very much.

His samchon left after that. There was no hug. There was no pinky promise with thumb kiss. The
back of his eyes prickled. He lowered his chin toward his neck and tried to open his eyes as wide as
possible. He didn’t want to cry here where many other children would see. He was a big boy.

That morning, they couldn’t go out to the playground to play after their morning snack. Rain fell
from the sky and made a tap-tap-tap sound against the roof. They had to stay inside and play with
other things instead. Gukkie pouted a little at the window.

“It can’t be helped,” Minnie shook his head in a way that reminded Taehyung of one of the
teachers. Minnie smiled excitedly the next second. “But there are many other things we can do!
We can build blocks, play with cars or pretend we’re superheroes!”

“Taetae can decide!” Gukkie said.

Minnie nodded eagerly. “Yes! We’ll do whatever Taetae wants!”

Taehyung shook his head. “I don’t want to play.”

He walked away from Minnie and Gukkie, his heart feeling like a big heavy rock. He went to the
box of art supplies and took out a container of crayons and a piece of paper. He heard Minnie and
Gukkie whispering behind him as he put the things on one of the round tables and sat down.

Gukkie came to sit on his left side. “You want to draw? We can draw together!”

“Yes!” Minnie agreed and squirmed into the chair to Taehyung’s right.

Taehyung stared at the blank paper before him. He didn’t know what he wanted to draw. He only
wanted his samchon to come back and give him a hug.

“I don’t want to draw,” Taehyung said, pushing the paper away.

Minnie and Gukkie looked at each other, their heads tilted to one side.

After a moment, Gukkie asked, “What’s wrong, Taetae? Why do you look so sad today? Are you
still sick?”

Taehyung shook his head.

“Don’t you like coming back to school?” Minnie bent forward so he could peer up into Taehyung’s
face. “Or are you sad because of the rain? I can ask my eomma to make the rain go away
tomorrow!”

Taehyung shook his head again. Minnie and Gukkie were starting to frown. Taehyung didn’t like to
see his best friends frowning.

“I made my samchon angry yesterday,” Taehyung whispered so the other children playing around
them wouldn’t hear. He didn’t want everyone to know he’d been a naughty boy.

“What did you do?” Gukkie asked.

“I broke a cup.” Taehyung’s voice trembled as he said that.

Minnie looked like he’d heard something terrible. “Is it your samchon’s cup?”

Taehyung nodded sadly. He hadn’t broken his samchon’s cup on purpose. He’d just wanted to get
a drink for himself and he hadn’t noticed the cup on the counter. Before he knew it, his elbow had
knocked into the cup. It fell, crashing into pieces against the floor.

“I-Is it your samchon’s most favourite cup?” Minnie asked.

Taehyung had never seen his samchon use another cup other than the one he broke. So that must be
the cup his samchon liked the most.

Taehyung answered yes and Minnie gasped. “That’s very very bad, Taetae. I broke my noona’s cup
once and she got really mad at me too. She said she was never ever going to talk to me again.”

“Never ever?” Taehyung’s eyes burned hot with panicked tears. “I don’t want my samchon to never
ever talk to me.”

Minnie put on his thinking face, rubbing his chin. Gukkie intervened. “Did you tell your samchon
that you’re sorry?”

Taehyung hadn’t. He wanted to, but his samchon had looked so fierce that Taehyung was scared to
talk to him.

Gukkie winced. “You didn’t?”

Taehyung bowed his head. Gukkie was going to think he was a rude boy who didn’t apologise after
doing something bad and stop being friends with him. No wonder his samchon didn’t want to talk
to him. Taehyung’s eyes filled rapidly with tears.

All of a sudden, Minnie launched to his feet and smashed his fist into his palm. “I remember now!
My noona talked to me again after I gave her a sorry present. It was a hair clip. She likes hair clips.
You can give your samchon a sorry present too. What does your samchon like?”

Taehyung thought hard about it. His samchon had always said his drawings were nice, and his
samchon always put his drawings on the board behind the computer.

“I think my samchon likes my drawings,” Taehyung said uncertainly.

“I know!” Gukkie piqued, his eyes bright. “You can give your samchon a beautiful drawing! I’m
good at drawing. I can help you.”

“Me too!” Minnie puffed out his chest. “I’m good at drawing too. And colouring!”

Gukkie ran off to the box of art supplies. Minnie slid the drawing paper to Taehyung and dragged
the container of crayons closer.

“Will my samchon really talk to me again after I give him a drawing?” Taehyung asked.

“Of course,” Minnie said, picking through the container for a yellow crayon. “Everyone loves
presents.”
Gukkie came back with some colour pencils and markers. “Taetae, you should say sorry to your
samchon too. My appa always says it’s never too late to apologise.”

Taehyung nodded, sniffling and rubbing a fist across his eyes. Minnie had already started drawing
on his side of the paper. Taehyung chose a blue colour pencil and started drawing too.

For the rest of the playtime, the three of them squeezed close together, their heads huddled over a
piece of drawing paper. When they finished, Taehyung smiled for the first time that day.

::::::::::

Yoongi was no stranger to bouts of bad mood. Every now and then he’d be afflicted with one, a
dark, heavy cloud hanging over him, sucking colours and hope from his surroundings. Sometimes
his bad mood lasted a few days; other times, much longer. But the cloud went every time, no
matter how long or short it’d stayed. It was this hope that he clung onto, a hope that whatever he
felt now would eventually pass and he could go back to looking at Taehyung without being
reminded of his own mistakes and irredeemable shortcomings.

Dread weighed his feet down as he approached the kindergarten. He hadn’t spoken more than a
few words to Taehyung since the previous afternoon. This morning he’d seen how confused and
worried the boy was, but he had deliberately looked the other way. His anger was a mercurial
beast. He could never foresee when it’d strike, or what he’d say or do when it did. He’d hurt
Taehyung enough. Until he found a way to defuse his anger, it was best that he kept his distance
from the boy.

“Samchon,” Taehyung called as he put on his shoes and scampered out of the door toward Yoongi.
In one of his hands, he held a piece of paper rolled into a tube. There was a note of relief in his
voice, as if he’d been worried that Yoongi wouldn’t pick him up. But the boy also looked
somewhat happier than he was in the morning.

“Good luck, Taetae!” Jeongguk waved from a window.

Taehyung looked over his shoulder and gave Jeongguk a smile and a determined nod. He turned
back and slipped his hand into Yoongi’s. For a split second, Yoongi tensed, but he held the small
hand tighter. The last time he didn’t, Taehyung had rolled down a slope and hit his head.

As they walked to the bus stop, Yoongi sensed the glances Taehyung cast his way. The boy was a
bundle of energy, half nervous and half excited. Something interesting must have happened to him
in school. Yoongi trained his gaze stonily forward, not in the mood to find out.

The bus stop was empty at this hour of the day. They sat on the bench as they waited for the bus to
arrive. The advertisement board next to the bench featured a cram school and a collection of
boastful statements (845 students at our school were admitted to SNU!).

Yoongi was studying the advertisement with cynicism when Taehyung scooted closer to him. He
didn’t realise how near the boy was until he felt the boy’s arm brushing against his. The hairs on
Yoongi’s skin stood.

Taehyung was holding out his tube of paper shyly. “Samchon, I have something for you.”

Yoongi received it stiffly, unable to bring himself to reject the boy. Taehyung looked like it’d
taken him a lot of effort to muster the courage to talk to Yoongi.

Yoongi removed the elastic band and unrolled the tube of paper. As he did so, Taehyung sidled
even closer so that he could see the picture too. His head came into contact with Yoongi’s shoulder
so. Eagerness emanated off him in waves.

The drawing was a riot of colours, a collection of illustrations assembled on the same paper. Fire-
spitting dragon. Spaceship. Stars. A shape that looked like a house. They didn’t look like they were
drawn by the same person. Having seen plenty of drawings by Taehyung, Yoongi could identify at
a glance which ones were by Taehyung and which ones weren’t.

“Gukkie and Minnie helped me make it,” Taehyung said. “Gukkie drew this and Minnie drew this.
But I drew this. It’s Samchon and Taetae.”

Right in the middle of the drawing were two blue figures, one much taller than the other. A lump
formed in Yoongi’s throat. The insinuation that he was the center of Taehyung’s universe was
more than he could bear.

“Samchon, do you like the present?” Taehyung’s delicate voice was too loud in Yoongi’s ears.

“Why are you giving me a present?”

“Taetae made Samchon angry yesterday so Samchon didn’t want to talk to Taetae,” the boy said
sadly. “Minnie and Gukkie said Samchon will stop being angry if Taetae gives Samchon a sorry
present. Samchon, Taetae’s sorry for being a naughty boy yesterday. Taetae won’t disturb
Samchon or break anything again.”

Yoongi looked at Taehyung. The boy’s eyes contained a hopeful glimmer. Yoongi read from his
small face a desire to please. Taehyung wholeheartedly believed he was the one who’d made
Yoongi so mad, even though Yoongi’s anger was none of his fault.

Pain bloomed like a morbid flower at the center of Yoongi’s chest. An imaginary pair of hands
strangled his throat.

A long time ago, he had been like Taehyung. When his father stewed in silent fury or erupted in a
violent rage, Yoongi had believed that it was somewhat because of him. He’d talked too loudly,
he’d forgotten to clean up after himself, he’d been too stupid to make his father proud. Naive little
him had tried again and again to correct his mistakes. He monitored every shadow that crossed his
father’s face, wondering what it was he’d done wrong again and what he should do to make it
right.

Until the day came where he realised nothing he did would ever please his father. Everything in
this world was created in balance. Some people were gifted with the ability to love, and others were
placed on earth to inflict hurt. His father belonged to the latter.

Now, Yoongi realised he was one of them too. He was doing to Taehyung everything his father had
done to him. How did he only see it now? He was his father’s son. The vicious anger that defined
his father was seeded deep in his own core.

How many sorrys would Taehyung have to say before he realised Yoongi could never give him the
love and affection he craved? How long would it take for the light in the boy’s eyes to dull with
disillusion? And after that, what? Would Taehyung become just like him, a bitter, resentful,
pathetic existence?

A real terror seized Yoongi. He wanted the child to see the world in its light and not its darkness, to
experience life as a mostly joyful journey instead of the other way around. He wanted Taehyung to
be happy, to be carefree, to always be the sweet soul he was.

Everything he wanted Taehyung to be was everything he wasn’t. He wanted Taehyung to be better

 than him.

“Samchon,” Taehyung’s voice sliced through Yoongi’s racing thoughts. “Are you still angry with
Taetae?” He fidgeted nervously.

Yoongi’s eyes burned. “No,” he said hoarsely. “I’m not angry with you.”

A wide, relieved smile split Taehyung’s face. He bounced on his seat, his legs starting to swing.
“Taetae won’t make Samchon angry again.”

It was wrong, all wrong. Everything has been a mistake, right from the very beginning he brought
Taehyung back to Seoul with him from Daegu.

Yoongi could not set Taehyung down the same path he had walked. Taehyung deserved better.

So much better.

::::::::::

Two days later, Yoongi walked into an agency and put Taehyung up for adoption.

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

i offer this chapter on bended knees. this chapter's way overdue. it wasn't my intention
to go on a hiatus, but it turned out that i couldn't write a story on top of doing my
masters dissertation. even when i wasn't writing my dissertation, its weight still
loomed over me and i had no extra energy for this story. so please forgive me!

but now that the dissertation is all finished and submitted, i hope to get back into the
rhythm of writing stories and cobble together a more or less regular schedule of
posting. i still have lots of ideas for this story. please look forward to it <3

i hope you enjoyed this chapter. as always, let me know your thoughts (Yoongi's a
mess, isn't he?) or comment to reassure me that you haven't deserted this story LOL.

till next time!

p.s.: in the time i was away, this story crossed 400 kudos and 10000 hits (I suspect the
latter is contributed by old readers regularly checking back for updates XD). thanks
for showing this story so much love!

Curiouscat
 Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Yoongi had not expected to meet Taehyung’s potential adoptive parents so soon. The timeline
described on the agency’s website indicated that it could take up to months to find a match.
Taehyung was also on the older end of spectrum; people who are interested in adoption usually
prefer infants or toddlers. But less than a week after Yoongi had submitted the application, the
agency called to inform that they’d found a couple for Taehyung.

All of them came together in a cafe on a Saturday afternoon — Yoongi, Taehyung and the couple.
A staff personnel from the agency was in attendance too. According to the staff, the couple had
decided the location. From the layout and furnishings, Yoongi could tell the cafe was catered to
parents with young children. The space was divided into a dining area and a generous play area.
The latter contained a mock sandpit with shovels and plastic trucks, a table with a massive multi-
levelled wooden train track, and several smaller tables where children could construct out of plastic
pieces whatever their hearts desired. The floor was firm but spongy, designed to cushion falls.
They had to take off their shoes before they entered.

The couple were already there when Yoongi and Taehyung arrived. They introduced themselves as
Steven and Serena Kim, both in their mid-forties. They were Korean-Canadians based in Ottawa,
but visited Korea whenever their schedules allowed. Yoongi had already known these from the
agency.

Steven looked smart in his crisp pale-blue shirt, his dark hair combed back to reveal the strands of
silver above his ears. His eyes were intelligent but without judgement. His wife, Serena, was a
willowy woman. Her long hair was gathered back in a loose ponytail, and she carried herself with
an effortless grace, her smile generous. Yoongi felt crooked and downtrodden in their presence.

“You must be Taehyung,” Serena said, her eyes lighting up in fondness as they landed on the boy.
“How are you today, Taehyung?”

Taehyung lowered his chin and buried his face into the side of Yoongi’s legs.

“Hey,” Yoongi prodded the boy, “shouldn’t you at least say hello?”

Without looking up, Taehyung mumbled an annyeong. The tips of his ears hinted at pink.

“He’s a bit shy around people he’s meeting for the first time,” Yoongi said.

“He’s adorable.” The smile on Serena’s face broadened, and Yoongi could tell that she’d already
fallen head over heels in love with Taehyung. That shouldn’t surprise him; anyone would find
themselves drawn toward a child like Taehyung.

“We should take a seat,” Steven suggested with a friendly smile, his Korean accented.

The staff from the agency left them alone and sat a few tables away, ready to step in if need be.

Their table was near the window with a view of the street outside. The couches they sat on were
wide and plush, but Yoongi could not get comfortable. He mirrored Steven’s actions and opened
the menu. His stomach did a little flip at the prices.
“Taehyung, would you like an ice chocolate?” Serena asked, peering over her husband’s shoulder
at the menu. “Or would you prefer the strawberry smoothie? I hear that their smoothies are
excellent. And how about a soufflé to go along? Banana or green tea?”

Steven chuckled. “One thing at a time, Honey.”

Catching herself, Serena laughed. “You know how I get when I’m nervous, Sweetheart.”

From their unabashed use of affectionate monikers for each other, they struck Yoongi as a couple
who were unhesitant about showing their adoration for each other. Yoongi imagined their
household was one of warmth and appreciation, a household in which Taehyung could grow up
happy and well-loved.

The thought dizzied Yoongi for a briefest instant.

“So Taehyung, what would you like to have?” Serena asked, her voice enthusiastic.

Taehyung, who had sidled so close that his body heat radiated through Yoongi, looked up at him as
though seeking guidance. The boy looked a little lost. Earlier on, he’d been thrilled when Yoongi
told him they were going out, then confused when Yoongi told him they were going to a cafe
instead of the mall or the park. To his five-year-old soul, a cafe must not have sounded like an
interesting place.

“We have to go meet some people,” Yoongi had said.

“Who?” Taehyung asked.

Yoongi could not bring himself to say Possibly your future parents. “My friends,” he said, for lack
of a better word.

“Hobi Hyung?”

“Not Hobi Hyung.” The tone in Yoongi’s voice indicated to Taehyung that he should stop asking
questions.

The boy deflated. He scuffed the back of his sole against the pavement as they waited for the bus
to arrive.

Now, sitting in the cafe, Yoongi gave Taehyung a small nod. “Go on, tell her what you want.”

“Taetae likes strawberries,” the boy mumbled, not quite meeting Serena’s eyes.

“Strawberry smoothie it is then!” Serena said.

A server came to take their orders. Yoongi opted for iced Americano, the cheapest item on the
menu. As their waited for their drinks, Serena asked Taehyung many questions about himself —
his favourite colour, his favourite song, the superpower he’d like to have if he could possess one.
She cooed at Taehyung’s answers, genuinely interested at everything the boy had to say. Taehyung
loosened up, beginning to smile and even giggle at the things Serena said.

Next to Serena, Steven was a relaxed and patient presence. Yoongi felt like the only who didn’t
belong there.

The same server came by again to serve their drinks. As the server placed the strawberry smoothie
in front of Taehyung, the boy’s eyes sparkled. A bear shaped out of cream floated on top of the
drink, complete with eyes, nose, ears and front paws drawn with chocolate sauce. Serena helped
him put the straw in so the bear kept its form. She steadied the glass for Taehyung as he took a sip.

“How is it? Delicious?”

Taehyung nodded ecstatically. “It’s yummy!”

The bloom of a smile on the boy’s face blinded Yoongi, hurt his eyes. Serena was attentive and
patient in way he wasn’t.

A short while later, Serena asked Taehyung if he would like to check out the play area. Again, he
looked at Yoongi for permission. After getting the green light, he slid off the couch and placed his
hand into Serena’s extended, waiting one. There was a little skip in Taehyung’s gait as he followed
Serena.

Yoongi and Steven were left at the table. They exchanged a smile - Steven’s easy and gracious,
Yoongi’s stiff and awkward. Stifling his discomfort, Yoongi glanced away. He realised they were
the only customers in the cafe.

“It’s empty for a Saturday,” Yoongi said to start small talk.

“We booked the place,” Steven said, in a manner meant to explain rather than flaunt.“We wanted
to talk comfortably.”

As Steven picked up his drink for a sip, the afternoon light glinted off the watch hugging his wrist.
Yoongi recognised the watch; a luxury brand, it was worth more than his annual salary. He was
suddenly conscious of the faded and almost-fraying shirt he was wearing.

Steven shared that he was a psychologist by profession and he owned a practice in Canada. Serena,
on the other hand, worked as a trainer to up-and-coming ballerinas, having been one herself in her
younger days.

“We’ve been married for over twenty years, known each other for almost thirty, though she claims
she hated my guts when we were in the same high school,” Steven laughed, shaking his head.
“We’re happy with each other, but I know she’ll be happier if she could be a mother.” He was
smiling, but a pensive note had entered his face. “We’ve wanted our own child for a long time.
Serena had gotten pregnant a few times, but she could not carry the child to full term every time.”

The intimate, personal information discomfited Yoongi. He hadn’t expected Steven to be so candid
with him.

“As we got older, the obstacles doubled,” Steven continued, his gaze drifting to the view beyond
the glass window. “It got to the point where our gynaecologist hinted at other ways to have a child,
such as through a surrogate mother or adoption. Surrogacy doesn’t agree with our values, so
adoption it was.”

A moment of silence slipped between them, before Yoongi asked the question that had plagued
him since the agency’s call. “Why Taehyung?”

“When she saw the Taehyung’s photo, she knew he was the child she wanted. Taehyung’s at the
right age too. After her miscarriages, my wife’s health has taken a hit. We don’t think she couldn’t
handle the demands of caring for an infant. But we still want to take part in a child’s childhood as
much as we can. Taehyung’s only five. There are still plenty of developmental milestones we can
witness together with him.”
The way Steven put it rubbed Yoongi the wrong way. He didn’t like how Steven and Serena
sounded like they were shopping for a child. Taehyung wasn’t an item to be bought off the shelves.
But Yoongi knew whatever discomfort he felt was him being oversensitive.

“How’s Taehyung like?” Steven asked.

Hearing the question pressed a play button in Yoongi’s head. Moments fluttered through his mind
— Taehyung giggling at something funny in a cartoon, Taehyung skipping toward him when
Yoongi picked him up from school, Taehyung beaming every time he received a compliment from
Yoongi, Taehyung telling Yoongi that he was the best samchon in the world.

Hidden from Steven’s sight, Yoongi’s hand tightened into a fist. Yoongi barely kept a tremble out
of his voice when he said, “He’s the loveliest boy.”

For a moment, he thought Steven would ask, If Taehyung’s so lovely, why are you giving him up?

That did not come. Steven smiled and said, “I thought so too.”

The older man sank a little deeper into seat, resting his elbow on the couch arm and pressing his
fingers against his temple. Head tilted, his sight slid to the play area where Serena and Taehyung
stood before the train set. With Serena’s help, Taehyung placed the wooden train at the highest
point of the track. The train went clop-clop-clop as it rolled its way down. Taehyung’s eyes
followed the train; Serena’s eyes followed the marvel on Taehyung’s face.

“Serena…” Steven said, his gaze full of love, “she’ll be a wonderful mother.”

How about you? Yoongi thought. Will you be a good father?

Serena and Taehyung returned to the table when the pancakes were served. Serena cut the
pancakes for Taehyung, but respected his wishes when he said, “I can eat on my own. Taetae’s a
big boy.” When a drop of maple syrup dripped onto Taehyung’s shirt, Serena reached forward to
dab it away. Steven was right; she would be a wonderful mother.

The sun beyond the window lost its glare and it was time to go. They rose from their seats, and
Serena produced a baby-blue paper bag which she held it out to Taehyung with both hands.

“This is for you,” she said.

Taehyung’s eyes brightened with delight. He extended his arms but stopped short at the last
moment, as though remembering his manners. He pulled his arms back and glanced up at Yoongi.

Yoongi nodded.

Taehyung received the paper bag bashfully. The bag was too big for him to hold with a hand, so he
wrapped his arms around it, hugging it to his chest like it was something precious.

“What should you say?” Yoongi prompted.

Taehyung raised his gaze and gave Serena a sweet smile. “Thank you.”

The fine lines in her face softened further, and Yoongi witnessed the moment she fell a little deeper
in love with Taehyung. “I hope you like the presents,” she said.

She turned her attention to Yoongi. Without so much a notice, she reached across the space, took
Yoongi’s hands, and held them in a grateful clasp. Yoongi tensed at the sudden contact.
“Thank you so much,” she whispered, her fingers bony and bird-like against his skin.

Gratitude glittered in her eyes. She seemed different from the person she was when Yoongi entered
the cafe an hour ago. He noticed a lightness in her now, as if the desperate wish she had made a
long time ago had finally come true.

Not yet, a voice in Yoongi’s head yelled. Taehyung’s not yours yet.

But he could only nod, too stiff and numb to attempt anything else. She released his hands.

The staff from the agency rejoined them, looking pleased and relieved that the meeting had gone
smoothly. “We’ll send the forms and papers to you once we get your agreement,” she said to
Yoongi and the Kims.

They parted ways at the entrance.

“See you again, Taehyung!” Serena waved. Taehyung waved back. Steven put an arm on Serena’s
shoulder as they left. Even with the growing distance, Yoongi felt their triumph and happiness.

Yoongi and Taehyung left in the opposite direction for the bus stop. They sat on the bench. As
they waited for the bus, Taehyung peered into paper bag of gifts, the delight on his face
unmistakable.

Truth be told, Yoongi wanted Steven and Serena to be terrible people, but the couple had been
nothing but amiable and respectful. There was no sign or hint to tell him that putting Taehyung up
for adoption was a bad idea. Everything about them showed their suitability to be good parents for
Taehyung. They were rich and patient and loving. How could Yoongi kill Taehyung’s chance to
grow up in a wonderful family like that?

Yoongi glanced at Taehyung and felt as though someone had sucker-punched him.

Do you like them? He wondered.

The bus arrived some time later and he left the question unasked. The answer terrified him,
whichever that might be.

::::::::::

When Yoongi emerged from the bathroom, he found Taehyung standing by the door, waiting. The
boy was already in his pyjamas, his little feet peeking out of the pants that was slightly too long for
him. He was holding a picture book that Yoongi recognised as the one given by Serena. Other than
the book, the paper bag had contained a soft unicorn plushie, a set of clothes, and a small jar of
candy. Everything had looked lush and expensive.

“Samchon, can you read this book to me?” Taehyung asked, a carefulness in his face.

Ever since the day Yoongi decided to give the boy up for adoption, the roiling waves of anger in
him had stilled into a dead, silent lake. He stopped flaring at the smallest things and performed his
responsibilities dutifully, making the food Taehyung liked, allowing Taehyung to interrupt his
work, taking Taehyung to the park when time allowed. Yoongi pretended nothing had changed, but
he knew Taehyung had sensed a difference.

Maybe it was the fact that Yoongi stopped nagging at Taehyung to eat his vegetables, or the way
Yoongi kept the boy’s artwork in the drawer instead of pinning them onto the corkboard, or how
Yoongi took Taehyung to the park but did not play with him. On more than one occasion, Yoongi
had caught the boy looking painfully confused, as though trying to decide if he had done
something wrong or if his mind was playing tricks on him. He walked on eggshells around
Yoongi, asking fewer questions, making fewer requests, and going to the bathroom before bedtime
without having to be told. A five-year-old shouldn’t be behaving with such cautious obedience;
they should be allowed to be as curious and bubbly as they wanted.

But the deliberate distance Yoongi had put between Taehyung and himself was necessary.
Goodbyes would be easier that way.

Yoongi glanced down at the book in Taehyung’s hands, then at Taehyung’s face. The boy had
grown taller since that day Yoongi met him at the dusty store in Daegu. Suddenly, it struck Yoongi
that time was ticking away and he didn’t have much of it left with Taehyung.

“Sure,” he said, “I’ll read it to you.”

Taehyung lit up, his eyes sparkling with such intensity that Yoongi’s heart clench. This, Yoongi
thought, this look of happiness was something he would miss.

Taehyung ran ahead to the living room, hair bouncing in tandem with his thrilled steps. He
scrambled up the bed and under the covers, leaving a space for Yoongi. As Yoongi got on beside
him, the boy scooted close and rested against Yoongi. Yoongi did not pull away.

As Yoongi read, he realised it had been a long time since he last did this. The story was about a
boy named Juno who tried to organise a tea party for his animal friends. Taehyung giggled when
Juno burned the cake he was trying to make because he had to go to the bathroom, then giggled
again when the elephant could not enter Juno’s house because the door was too small. Every time
he giggled, he squirmed closer and Yoongi felt the vibrations of the boy’s small body travelling
through him. It was almost too much for Yoongi to bear.

Yoongi’s attention floated between the words on the page and Taehyung, who curled snug against
him. His gaze meandered to the boy, and he took in the round tip of the boy’s nose, his soft cheeks,
the upturned corners of his lips, the lashes long enough to imprint feathery shadows against skin.

Everything about Taehyung, Yoongi tried to memorise.

::::::::::

On the Sunday a little more than a week after their first meeting, Steven and Serena took Taehyung
out. The agency had contacted Yoongi a few days ago to convey the couple’s wishes of taking
Taehyung out for a day. The staff on the other end tactfully explained that Yoongi should ideally
not follow. Without Yoongi around, Steven and Serena could better determine if they would be
suitable parents for Taehyung. The staff seemed to have sensed Yoongi’s hesitation over the line.
To allay Yoongi’s worry, she affirmed that someone from the agency would shadow them to
ensure Taehyung’s safety.

That morning, Yoongi helped Taehyung get ready. He dressed the boy in the outfit Serena had
bought for him — a white long sleeve shirt with a sailor collar, paired with navy shorts. As Yoongi
put the water bottle into Taehyung’s backpack, alongside with a small square towel and his rubber
octopus, the boy fluttered around him like a spirited butterfly, asking questions and being too
happy to be wearing new clothes and going out.

The doorbell rang at ten. Yoongi helped work Taehyung’s arms through the bag straps and they
went to open the door. On the doorstep were Serena and another woman whom Yoongi recognised
as a staff from the agency.
“Good morning!” Serena greeted. Even with the backlit of the morning sun, she looked radiant.
Her affectionate gaze landed on Taehyung. “You look very handsome today!”

Taehyung lowered his head shyly.

Yoongi retrieved the boy’s shoes from the cabinet. Taehyung sat on the step of the entryway and
focused on putting the shoes on by himself. Above Taehyung, Yoongi met eyes with Serena.

“Steven’s waiting in the car,” Serena offered before Yoongi could ask. “Thank you so much for
agreeing to let us take Taehyung out.”

Yoongi nodded, unable to mirror the smile Serena wore. “Call me if anything crops up.”

“I’m done!” Taehyung announced, standing up.

“Great! Shall we go?” Serena asked.

Taehyung had taken two steps out onto the corridor when he stopped and looked back over his
shoulder, as though noticing something amiss. Yoongi was still at the door and he was not putting
on his shoes.

“Samchon?” The boy had a quizzical expression on his face .

Yoongi’s heart missed a beat. A few nights ago, he had told Taehyung that Steven and Serena
would take him out today. The boy had been agreeable, asking questions about where they would
be going. It hadn’t occured to Yoongi that Taehyung might have misconstrued it and assumed
Yoongi would be there too.

“I told you Steven and Serena are taking you out, remember?”

Realization dawned upon Taehyung’s face. “Samchon’s not coming?”

“I’m not.”

Taehyung drew his steps back and shook his head petulantly. “Then Taetae doesn’t want to go
too.”

The atmosphere turned awkward. The three adults exchanged quick glances. The staff from the
agency arranged her features into a friendly expression and bent at her waist, levelling her face
with Taehyung’s.

“But we have planned many fun places to bring you to. Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

Serena nodded along. “There’s an animal farm where you can meet and touch fluffy alpacas.
Won’t you like that?”

Taehyung hesitated. He didn’t look as resolved as he had been a moment ago. “Are there going to
be ponies and horses too?”

“Of course,” Serena said.

The boy was enticed; Yoongi could see that. Before Taehyung could change his mind, Yoongi
said, “Go on. A fun day’s waiting for you. Serena’ll bring you home later.”

“Let’s go,” Serena said, slipping a hand into Taehyung’s and leading him away. Taehyung didn’t
resist, but as he descended the metal staircase, he kept turning his head over his shoulder to look at
Yoongi, uncertain. Yoongi barely registered the reassuring nod the agency staff sent his way.

If Taehyung had thrown a tantrum or burst into sudden tears, Yoongi thought he would have called
off the outing, let Taehyung stay at home, maybe take him to the newly opened indoor playground
at the mall nearby. They would spend the Sunday just like any other Sunday, with each other.

But Taehyung let himself be guided by Serena as peacefully as he reasonably could in his apparent
dilemma. Yoongi remained at the open doorway until he heard the car downstairs drive away,
wheels crunching against the asphalt.

Taehyung was coming home tonight, but in many ways, this felt like the first step toward a
permanent goodbye.

::::::::::

In Taehyung’s absence, the apartment became a place filled with too many empty spaces.
Construction noise from a few lots over filtered through the walls and windows, but the living
room had never been more quiet. Toka had somehow toppled onto the floor. Yoongi walked over,
picked it up and put it back onto the bed.

Would Taehyung want to take Toka with him to his new life? He might, Yoongi thought. The boy
always had a strange bond with this odd-looking dinosaur. A smile found its way onto Yoongi’s
lips when he remembered that time Taehyung insisted on keeping Toka company as the plushie
was left to dry on the laundry rack after a much needed wash. Yoongi had moved the play table
onto the rooftop and balanced an umbrella over Taehyung’s head so the boy wouldn’t come down
with a heatstroke. Thankfully the sun hadn’t been that merciless that day.

Yoongi turned away from the bed and his gaze landed on the chest of drawers. What about
Taehyung’s clothes? They would likely be left behind. Serena could buy the boy clothes a thousand
times more comfortable and stylish than the ones he currently own. Yoongi imagined Taehyung’s
future pyjamas came in sets rather than being assembled from a mishmash of discounted items.

Next to the drawers, the wooden shelf stood. The various craftwork Taehyung did in school
occupied the second and third rack — finger puppets, drawings created out of handprints, a
bumblebee crafted from an empty toilet roll and black and yellow construction paper. Yoongi
picked each of them up and gently dusted them off. These crafts were Taehyung’s pride and joy,
but delicate as they were, Yoongi didn’t think it was possible for the boy to bring them with him to
Canada.

Canada.

It takes sixteen hours of flight time to traverse the 8601 kilometres that laid between Canada and
South Korea. Yoongi knew the numbers because that was the first thing he had searched on the net
when the agency told him that the couple keen on adopting Taehyung lived in Canada. The
distance had silenced Yoongi for a second before his rational mind kicked in: Canada is not that
far; sixteen hours is shorter than a day; besides, no place on earth is unbridgeable with the internet
and camera phones available everywhere.

Then Yoongi remembered none of that mattered to him. No matter how far or near Taehyung
moved to, the end was irrevocable. One condition for adoption was that there could be no contact
between Yoongi and Taehyung unless initiated by Steven and Serena through the agency. Most
adopting families chose to sever all contact, at least for the first couple of years, until the child had
adjusted to their new life.
Reminded of that, a familiar suffocating heaviness came to rest under Yoongi’s ribcage. He rested
his forehead against the shelf and closed his eyes, pulling in breaths and releasing them in steady
turns.

Taehyung deserves better, he told himself.

Yoongi waited until he no longer felt the mad urge to call the agency and tell them he had changed
his mind.

That morning, he occupied his time with household chores, putting clothes to wash, tidying the
shelves, sweeping and mopping the floor. For most part he succeeded in keeping his mind blank.
When eleven o’clock rolled about, the doorbell sounded. Yoongi wasn’t aware he had been hoping
until he opened it and realised it was Hoseok on the other side and not Taehyung.

What had he been expecting? Taehyung to be delivered home after his separation anxiety had set
in? The boy was probably having fun in the animal farm right now.

Hoseok shoved past Yoongi into the apartment. “You would not believe this. I do not believe
myself either.” He launched into a raving monologue without so much a preamble. “I burned five
million won on a bloody drum set just because I decided that one particular song would sound
better with drum beats.” He spun around to face Yoongi, sticking a finger upright. “One song,
Yoongi.” His finger jerked emphatically. “Five million won for one song.”

It took Yoongi a few moments to reconnect with reality. Hoseok’s expression was one of disbelief
and exasperation at himself, but underlying those was fervent passion. Hoseok could only be
talking about his portfolio.

A sudden anger snapped at Yoongi. The last thing he cared about in the world was the portfolio.

Hoseok blew out a sharp puff of breath that sent some strands of his hair flying away from his
forehead. “But it can’t be helped.” He rolled his shoulders, as if vocalising his frustration had
allowed him to come to terms with his exorbitant purchase. “It’s not like I can walk back into the
shop and tell them I want a refund. But I’m telling you, the moment I set foot into Big Hit, I’m
going to head straight to Bang Shihyuk’s office and demand that he reimburse me for at least half
of what I’d spent on the drums.”

Having calmed down, Hoseok looked around the living room and frowned. “Where’s Taehyung?”

Whenever Hoseok came to visit, Taehyung would always run out to welcome him with a ‘Hobi
Hyung!’

“Is he in the bathroom?” Hoseok lifted his feet in the direction of the bathroom.

“Don’t bother,” Yoongi murmured, voice light as a breath. “He’s gone out.”

Hoseok stopped, pulled his feet back and turned to look at Yoongi. Yoongi could see the cogs in
his head moving. “If you’re here then who is he out with?”

Yoongi thought of telling Hoseok that Taehyung was on a kindergarten outing, or that Madam Lee
had taken him out, or that he had gone to Jeongguk’s or Jimin’s place for a playdate. But whatever
lie Yoongi wove would be too laughably fragile to hold out against Hoseok’s shrewd examination.
Besides if he lied, he would be admitting to himself that he was making a shameful mistake in
putting Taehyung up for adoption. How could that be true when giving Taehyung up so that he
could have a better life was surely the right thing to do?
Yoongi looked at Hoseok unflinchingly. “He’s out with his prospective parents.”

Hoseok reacted like he had just heard the most outlandish piece of news that tested everything he
knew. “What?”

“A couple’s interested in adopting Taehyung.”

The confusion on Hoseok’s face did not clear. “What exactly are you talking about?”

“I’ve put Taehyung up for adoption. A couple showed their interest. They have taken Taehyung
out with someone from the agency acting chaperone. Is that enough information for you or do you
need me to explain further?”

Hoseok’s expression went blank for a few seconds, then an ominous cloud crept over his features,
swallowing any shred of lightness. “It’s not April fool. Even if it is, this is not a joke you should be
cracking.”

Yoongi snorted, a dry sound devoid of any mirth. Rolling his shoulders, he said, “Want me to show
you the papers or something?”

“What the fuck is this all about?” Hoseok hissed. The angle of his jaw had tensed, as though he
was hanging to the last scrap of his self-control before he lashed out.

Hoseok’s fury was as terrifying as his disposition was sunny. In the duration of their friendship,
Yoongi had witnessed instances that made him swear never to be the subject of Hoseok’s anger.
But this moment, Yoongi levelled his eyes to Hoseok’s in a straight gaze. The air between them
crackled with tension.

“I’m sick and tired of taking care of Taehyung. I want to stop.” Yoongi said plainly. “The couple
are nice people. Taehyung will—”

“I don’t care how nice they are!” Hoseok roared. “Taehyung isn’t some hobby you give up just
because you’re sick and tired! He’s a commitment! Your commitment!”

The edges of Yoongi’s lips quirked in a bitter angle. “A commitment I’d be better off without.”

“Bullshit,” Hoseok snarled. It amazed Yoongi that the other man had yet slung a fist his way.
“You say you’re sick and tired, but you can’t fool me. Anyone with eyes would see how much
happier you’ve become since Taehyung arrived. So tell me the truth before I bash it out of you,
why are you giving Taehyung away?”

Coolly, Yoongi stared at Hoseok without a word. Hoseok glared back, waiting. But no explanation
was needed. Hoseok was a smart guy; he would piece the picture together. In the silence, Yoongi
watched as realization dawned upon Hoseok’s face.

“Shit,” Hoseok cursed, pacing back and forth, hands on his waist. “I thought you were fine. I
thought you have gotten over it.” He looked at Yoongi, sympathy diluting the anger on his face.
“This is about that time Taehyung got hospitalised, isn’t it?”

Beyond the glazed sliding door, the sun was a fuzzy spot of brightness.

“Taehyung needs someone who can take good care of him,” Yoongi said, feeling drained all of a
sudden. “I’m not that someone.”

“But you are. You’ve been getting better and better. You’re improving.”
“If that’s true, Taehyung wouldn’t have ended up in the hospital.”

“I told you, children get into all sorts of accidents all the time!” Hoseok exploded in exasperation.
“It might or might not be your fault, but when it is, you apologise, you learn, you pay more
attention next time. The last thing you do is take the easy way out and give up.”

A surprising desire to laugh struck Yoongi. It was funny how Hoseok thought putting Taehyung up
for adoption was the easy way out. How could he explain to Hoseok that a piece of him died at the
end of every night, when he realised that another day gone by meant one fewer day left with the
boy?

Hoseok blew out a breath, loosened his shoulders a degree and sounded calmer when he spoke
again. “You’re not a perfect caretaker, but guess what? Nobody is. We regret our words and actions
and negligence all the time, but we strive to redeem ourselves by promising to do better next time
and delivering that promise. You have it in you to do that. I know it. You’ve come so far and you
haven’t given up no matter how tough things were. So please, don’t give up now.”

Like a meddling hand yanking away a cloth, Hoseok’s words unveiled the other truth Yoongi had
deliberately diverted his attention away from. Hoseok thought it was determination that had
Yoongi holding onto Taehyung despite those daunting obstacles — trying to make ends meet,
trying to find a kindergarten for Taehyung, trying to keep the boy clean and fed and himself sane.

Yoongi knew better. He had not given up because he had not cared back then. Taehyung came as a
task, like a detested piece of homework students were forced to do or risk failing out of school. So
Yoongi did it, took care of Taehyung the way he completed boring jingle assignments — with no
emotional component involved.

But unknowingly, he had started to care. By the time he had realised it, it was too late. He had been
too careless, letting the boy too far into his heart. The last time he cared about someone this much,
she left and he was destroyed.

Misreading Yoongi’s silence as softening, Hoseok relaxed further. He stepped forward and placed
a reassuring hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. “Withdraw your application, Yoongi. Whatever issues
you have, I’ll work it out with you. Don’t do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”

“What regret is there,” Yoongi murmured, “when the boy is more a burden to me than anything
else?”

Hoseok’s hand stiffened on Yoongi’s shoulder, then dropped away. Anger did not explode out of
Hoseok like it had moments ago, but it pulsed with a deadly steadiness.

“Does Taehyung know?” Hoseok asked. “Does he know you’re giving him away?”

In Yoongi’s non-response, the answer rang loud and clear.

“Just as I thought,” Hoseok said. “You couldn’t bring yourself to do that, could you? You know
how heartbroken he would be if he knew. When his mother died, he was taken out of his old life
and planted into a new one. We witnessed how lost and insecure he was in the beginning, didn’t
we?” A glitch in Hoseok’s voice made him pause. When he spoke again, his voice had thickened,
as though a ball of cotton had lodged in his throat. “But now you’re putting him through the same
thing again. You’re uprooting Taehyung from this life where he now has friends, family and people
who love him. How cruel are you?”

An ache spread in Yoongi’s chest, twisting, squashing and tearing his lungs, and he was powerless
to stop it. “Taehyung’s better off with another family who can give him everything he needs,” he
said woodenly.

“Maybe he just needs you. Have you thought about that?”

Yoongi kept his gaze forward. A corner of the laminate had peeled off the dresser, hanging like a
dog’s ear. He should find a superglue and fix it.

In Yoongi’s silence, Hoseok’s anger took on a quality of profound disappointment.

“Fuck you,” Hoseok spat. He stormed past, shoulder barreling against Yoongi’s as he banged out
of the house.

The apartment returned to its colourless quiet.

Yoongi had no one when he came to Seoul five years ago. He had no one now. Just the way things
should always be.

::::::::::

The chilly night air fluted against Yoongi’s skin as he waited downstairs, at the foot of the metal
staircase. His long-sleeve cotton shirt was not enough to shield him from October’s temperature.
He should have grabbed his jacket when he got out of the apartment, but keeping himself warm
had not crossed his mind after receiving Serena’s call. She had sounded panicky as she told him
that Taehyung had somehow gotten upset. Yoongi had asked to talk to Taehyung.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi said into the phone after some rustling at the other end.

“Samchon?” The boy sounded nasally, like he had been on the verge of tears.

“Yes, it’s Samchon.”

“Samchon, I want to go home.”

“I know. Serena is going to take you home soon. Can you be a big boy for me until then?”

Taehyung sniffled. “Okay. Samchon will wait for me?”

Yoongi nodded, then realised Taehyung could not see. “I’m waiting for you already.”

A brightness flared from Yoongi’s right side. He turned to the headlights of a car crunching up the
residential street. Through the windshield, he saw Steven, who gave him a greeting nod from the
driver seat.

The car pulled to a halt in front of Yoongi and the rear door passenger door opened. Serena slid out
and turned back toward the car, about to help Taehyung out when the boy tripped anxiously and
impatiently out on his own. Taehyung flew straight toward Yoongi, throwing his arms around
Yoongi’s legs and burying his face into Yoongi’s thighs. Yoongi rested a hand on Taehyung’s
head.

“I thought he was having fun,” Serena said. “He looked like he really enjoyed the animal farm and
the art studio we brought him to after that. But I got carried away and didn’t realise he was getting
moodier. I even thought it’d be a good idea to take him to dinner before bringing him back. I’m
sorry.” Although the corners of her lips were curved, her smile had taken on a regretful quality.

Steven and the staff from the agency got out of the car too. Steven rounded the hood and came to
stand beside Serena while the agency staff hung a feet behind.

“We’ve been careless,” Steven said. “We should have paid closer attention to his emotions.”

Serena looked at Yoongi. She seemed to be waiting for Yoongi to say something, as though
worried he had deemed her unfit to take care of Taehyung. But Yoongi had no words; Taehyung
was hugging him too tightly, the distress in his small body too apparent.

The agency staff stepped in before the silence could become awkward. “But things went well
otherwise, wouldn’t you agree? You enjoyed the day, didn’t you, Taehyung?”

Taehyung kept his back toward the couple and the staff, not replying. It looked like he was sulking.
Serena’s face fell in disappointment. Steven put an arm around her shoulder.

“We should get going. I think Taehyung’s tired. It’s been a long day after all.”

Serena nodded, but her gaze on Taehyung was reluctant. “Good night, Taehyung,” she said softly.

“Thanks for taking him out,” Yoongi said just as the couple were about to turn away.

Serena shook her head. “We’re the grateful ones. I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.”

The longing on her face was transparent enough that Yoongi considered peeling Taehyung off him
and forcing the boy to at least wave the couple goodbye. But they got into the car before he could
do that. The car drove away, its tail lights blinking like a pair of rabbit eyes in the distance.

Yoongi exhaled a sigh and directed his eyes downward, to the boy was still plastered against him.
He noticed a new chain on Taehyung’s backpack, a palm-sized llama plushie with milky brown
fur. It dangled next to the polar bear key chain that Taehyung had had since the day Yoongi met
him.

“Did you have fun today?” Yoongi murmured.

At the question, Taehyung raised his head, though he continued to hug Yoongi’s legs. A look of
intense thought spread across the boy’s small face. He nodded his head a few seconds later.
“Taetae saw many animals. Serena-ahjumma also bought Taetae a new toy car. It’s in Taetae’s
bag.”

“Did you say thank you?”

Taehyung nodded rapidly. “Taetae’s a good boy.”

“But if you’re a good boy, shouldn’t you have said goodbye to Serena and Steven just now?”

Taehyung stared at Yoongi with mute surprise. His chin dipped toward his chest in embarrassment.
“But Taetae missed Samchon very much,” he mumbled. Yoongi heard the sad pout in the boy’s
voice.

“Samchon won’t be with you forever.”

Taehyung had thrown his head back in alarm. “No!” He shrieked, cinching his thin arms around
Yoongi ever tighter. “I want to be with Samchon forever.”

“Nobody’s going to be with anybody forever,” Yoongi said numbly. “You have to grow up
someday, be a big boy on your own.”
The boy’s shoulders trembled as he shook his head vigorously. “Then Taetae doesn’t want to grow
up. Taetae doesn’t want to be a big boy. Taetae only wants Samchon.”

::::::::::

Taehyung was back at the animal farm with his samchon. Around him were pens of animals -
ponies, horses, cows and even a very big camel. His favourite animal at the farm were the llamas.
He could pour round little snacks onto his hands and feed them. The llamas tickled his skin with
their damp and leathery noses as they ate out of his hands. Taehyung liked the feeling.

“There are ducks and swans over there too,” Taehyung said, pulling his samchon in the direction
where several other kids were squatting around the edge of a pond. His samchon had never been to
the farm but he had, so he was the guide. He wanted to be a good guide for his samchon.

Many people were at the farm and they seemed to be multiply. With every second it became more
and more difficult to approach the pond. Suddenly, he tripped over his own feet and fell onto the
ground. His palms and knees hurt, but there were no scratches or blood. He scrunched his nose and
willed himself not to cry. Big boys didn’t cry just because they fell.

As he got to his feet, he realised his samchon was nowhere to be seen.

“Samchon?” He called.

People streamed around him, none of them his samchon.

“Samchon!” He called again, louder this time.

Lifting his foot, he made to look for his samchon, but someone snatched his upper arm and
prevented him from moving away. He whipped around and saw that it was Serena-ahjumma who
had grabbed him. Steven-ahjussi stood next to her.

“Taehyung, why don’t we go see the piglets? They are really adorable!” She had that nice and kind
smile on her face, but she wasn’t his samchon.

“No, Taetae’s going to look for Samchon.” He tried to wrench his arm out of her grasp but her hold
was too tight.

“We should really go see the piglets,” she insisted, pulling him away.

“No!” He fought back, digging his feet into the ground. He screamed, but no one came to help
him.

Taehyung awoke with a start.

Heart pounding in his chest, he took many moments to realise that he was not at the farm. He was
at home, on the bed, the orange lamp on and Toka next to him. Serena-ahjumma and Steven-
ahjussi were not here so they could not take him away from his samchon.

But his samchon was not here either. The floor mattress next to the bed had not been laid out for
the night.

Whimpering, Taehyung stumbled out of bed, toward the only place he knew his samchon would
be. As he approached the studio room, a skinny line of light escaped from the gap in the door. He
pushed the door open.
 A little voice in his head told him he should not interrupt his samchon’s work. His samchon
already did not like him very much, and he knew that because no matter how well he behaved
these days, his samchon did not look happy around him anymore. If he disturbed his samchon now,
his samchon would get mad and like him even less.

But he was too, too scared.

“Samchon,” he said. His voice quivered like a worm.

His samchon turned in his chair. Through the tears in Taehyung’s eyes, the computer screen looked
like a blob of light. He could not see his samchon’s face clearly.

His samchon looked at him for a moment, then asked, “What’s wrong?”

His samchon didn’t sound angry, and that was all Taehyung needed to run toward his samchon.

Crying, he climbed onto his samchon’s lap and wrapped his arms around his samchon’s neck. His
samchon put a hand on his back. Taehyung pressed his face deeper into his samchon’s shoulder,
hoping that his samchon would hug him and assure he’d never leave him.

Taehyung hoped to no avail.

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

hey yo. in the month that this story wasn't updated, guess who found a job she loves
after nearly eight months of unemployment? ^^, frankly, those eight months were
emotionally rocky and i distracted myself a lot first by writing this story, then by
finishing up my dissertation. (and also guess who passed her dissertation? lol)

back to this story. now that i have a full time job, i have much less time to write, and
that kind of explains why this chapter is up only now (all right i confess i was also
distracted by my Switch ^^;;) i have a feeling that one update per month is pretty much
the "schedule" i can manage at this moment, so apologies for that.

nonetheless, i truly hope that you'd continue to read! this chapter is a pretty angsty one.
writing yoongi's thoughts honest broke my heart (i can imagine you guys going "yeah,
right" lol). let me know your thoughts, and thank you once again for spending time
here. also a big welcome to the new readers <3

till next time~

Curiouscat
 Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Notes

tw: descriptions of child abuse in the third scene.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The form arrived in Yoongi’s inbox on a temperate Wednesday morning. Taehyung was at school
and he was making the delivery rounds. He had just dropped off a parcel at a high-rise apartment
and was waiting for the lift when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

Relinquishment of Minor for Adoption, the subject read.

The content washed over him after that. He barely caught the gist, but in short, Serena and Steven
were still keen to adopt Taehyung in spite of the outing that had ended on a far-from-perfect note.
The rest of the email detailed the next actions he had to take on his end.

Phone clutched between his fingers, Yoongi stood rooted at the lobby for a long time, until a
cranky man yelled at him from the lift and asked if he was getting on. Yoongi slipped the phone
back into his pocket and stepped in.

When lunchtime came, he headed to a convenience store and printed the form. With the pen he
carried around in his chest pocket to sign-off deliveries, he filled out the form and applied his
signature.

The adoption agency was empty when he arrived. The staff told him something, but he did not
know what, only that her voice strove to be empathetic and encouraging. He nodded mutely,
submitted the form and walked out on legs that had stopped feeling like his own.

::::::::::

Hoseok pushed into the apartment without sparing Yoongi a glance.

“Taetae!” Hoseok greeted Taehyung, who was sitting on the living room floor, playing listlessly
with his toys.

The boy tilted his head sideways, confused that Hoseok was here on a weekday evening. “Hobi
Hyung?”

Hoseok staggered backward and pressed a dramatic hand over his chest. “Are you not happy to see
Hobi Hyung? Hobi Hyung’s hurt.”

“No no,” Taehyung scrambled to his feet and threw his arms around Hoseok’s legs, “Taetae’s
happy.”

“I knew it.” Hoseok flashed a quick grin at Taehyung and ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately. “I
brought you something.”

Taehyung pulled back, looking up in curiosity as Hoseok slid a trim booklet out of a slim plastic
bag. He knelt down next to Taehyung and flipped the book open.
“Taetae likes stickers right? This is a whole book of them. There are also backgrounds for you to
paste the stickers on.” Hoseok stopped at a page. “Here’s under the sea.” He flipped back a few
pages back and pointed . “You can paste this fish sticker— or even this tiger sticker— on it if you
want.”

Taehyung frowned, his lips raising into a disagreeable pout. “Tigers don’t live under the sea.”

“No, not in this world. But this is your world, Taetae.” Hoseok handed the book to Taehyung,
grinning. “Anything’s possible.”

Taehyung turned the pages one by one, his small face glowing in a way Yoongi had not seen in a
long time. Hoseok patted Taehyung’s head.

“How about you work on this now? Hobi Hyung’s excited to see how you’ll decorate the book.”

Nodding, the boy sat back down on the floor, splaying the book of stickers in front of him. When
Hoseok straightened to standing instead of settling next to Taehyung, the boy raised his face. His
shoulders sagged.

“Hobi Hyung doesn't want to decorate with Taetae?”

“How could you even think that?” Hoseok cooed. “Of course I’d want to do that with you! But I
have something really important to talk to your samchon about. Why don’t you start working on it
first and I’ll join you later? Your samchon and I won’t take very long. I promise.”

Taehyung glanced at Yoongi, who had been standing on the edge of the living room, watching the
exchange. The boy’s gaze flitted away just as quickly, dropping to the floor. That happened
frequently these days, as though there was something in Yoongi that terrified the boy to behold.

“Okay,” Taehyung said in a small voice, his disappointment palpable.

Hoseok patted Taehyung’s head in reassurance and turned away. His exuberance sloughed away
the moment he did so and severity took its place, the transition swift as a flick of switch. When he
met Yoongi’s eyes, his gaze was stern, his face grim.

“Let’s talk,” he said and made for the studio, giving Yoongi no chance to argue otherwise.

Hoseok turned on the lights in the room. He made to close the studio door, but before he did that,
he stuck his ear out. The faint rustling of pages filtered into the room from outside. When he was
satisfied that Taehyung was well-occupied, he shut the door behind him.

Hoseok stared at Yoongi. Yoongi stared back. The silence did not last long.

“Taehyung looks down,” Hoseok said pointedly.

Yoongi did not know what Hoseok expected him to say in response. He did not care.

“Why are you here, Hoseok?” He asked tiredly.

Hoseok laid a lingering gaze on Yoongi. His jaw tightened when he did not find want he wanted.
“You haven’t retracted that application, have you?” There was a pause, edged with a glimmer of
hopefulness that maybe, maybe Yoongi had changed his mind after all.

When Yoongi said nothing, Hoseok huffed out a breath and shook his head, disbelieving,
disappointed and amused all at once.
“Min Yoongi, you are really a nasty piece of work.” Hoseok shut his eyes briefly and gathered his
calm. “I come tonight with a proposition. I’ve spoken to my parents about you and Taehyung. Not
every single detail and not everything true, but they got the gist that you might be unable to take
care of Taehyung for some time. They agreed that Taehyung can come and live with us. A few
months, a year, two; as long as you need to get your shit together. We’ll provide for him. It’s a plan
much less permanent than giving Taehyung away for adoption. You can still see him around, take
him back when you have worked through your issues and are ready.”

The confidence in Hoseok’s voice was comical. His assumption that it was only a matter of time
Yoongi resolved his issues were nauseating. His faith that Yoongi would one day be ready to take
Taehyung back made Yoongi want to punch him in the face, if he had the energy to actually do
that.

“What if I never want him back?” Yoongi looked emotionlessly at Hoseok. Or what if he doesn’t
want to come back to me? What will happen then?

The question hadn’t been asked out of spite. He was too weary to manage anything like that. These
days, it seemed like a crystallising cold had vined around him, seeping bone deep. The question
represented an honest possibility. Even if he decided to work on his issues, he would be on a path
so long he could not see its end. How long could he make Taehyung wait for him?

Hoseok’s face darkened. A twitch shook his arms, as though Hoseok’d barely restrained them from
shooting forward and seizing Yoongi by his collar.

“If that happens,” Hoseok tilted his chin and forced composure into his voice, “we’ll keep him. I,
my parents, the triplets… we’ll love him like he’s our own. But know this, Yoongi, if you ever
decide to give Taehyung up, you’ll regret someday. You’ll regret and you’ll never heal.”

::::::::::

One October day, a one-year-old toddler arrived unconscious at the hospital with a ruptured
pancreas, internal bleeding, and bruises all over her body. Despite the effort to heal her, the toddler
was pronounced dead shortly after. The grievous wounds pointed to violence and following a
report made by the hospital, the police investigated the matter. What came to light shocked the
nation.

The toddler had been adopted by a family about ten months earlier. The husband was a pastor; the
mother, a house maker. Testimonies from the toddler’s teachers at the daycare center, the relevant
CCTV footages and the autopsy result all corroborated the suspicion that the family had abused the
toddler, not once, not twice, but too many times to keep count. The toddler’s stomach bled from the
mother’s punches because the woman thought the toddler was being “difficult” when she wouldn’t
eat. The pancreas ruptured when the mother leapt off the sofa and landed with her full body weight
on the toddler’s torso because she decided the child needed to be taught a lesson. All these time,
the father gloated and watched, egging his wife on, believing too that the toddler — the daughter
he had adopted and thus was supposed to love — needed to be punished.

The case occupied the headlines for days. Public outrage erupted. Rancour flushed in from all
walks of life. Social media posts were written to berate the depraved couple and mourn the toddler.
Crowds protested on the streets for harsher punishments to be meted out. Petitions were signed,
calling for stiffer adoption requirements and stricter measures to deter child abuse. In individual
homes, parents held their children tighter, silently promising themselves they would never give
their children up or allow anyone to hurt them.

Yoongi caught up with the news at its most feverish. The night he did so, he did not sleep. Laying
on the mattress next to the bed, he stared at the ceiling as his thoughts looped. His heart thudded an
unnatural rhythm in his chest.

The toddler’s case reminded him of a fact he knew but hadn’t chosen to dwell upon: not all adopted
children found happiness in their new families.

Yoongi wasn’t so naive to believe what had happened to the toddler was a rare occurrence. There
were people out there who hurt children willingly because they enjoyed seeing them in pain. Child
abuse happens every day, separate instances that aren’t severe or gruesome enough to make the
headlines. They go unnoticed and unreported, bruises hidden under long sleeves, begging screams
silenced behind closed doors, arms assumed to have broken as a result of mischief.

The bedside lamp, turned on for the night as always, elongated fuzzy shadows in the living room.
The shadow of Taehyung’s sleeping form was cast against the opposite wall, a small mound rising
off the bed.

An image barged into Yoongi’s mind, one of Taehyung screaming and crying as he cowered in a
corner, survival instinct driving his thin arms over his head for a modicum of protection against
never-ending blows and lashes. Something in Yoongi’s stomach roiled and solidified into a cold
lump of fear. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed the image to dissipate.

No, Steven and Serena would never hurt Taehyung that way. They had been nothing but kind and
generous toward the boy. The agency had also assured that they did extensive background checks
on every family before accepting their applications to adopt. Steven and Serena were respectable
people; Steven was a psychologist and Serena was an accomplished dancer… Wait, the dead
toddler’s adoptive father was a pastor, wasn’t he? Still he was cruel. Still he made it past the
stringent checks. What if Steven and Serena were the same?

Yoongi threw the covers off himself and rose from the mattress. The autumn chill pimpled his skin
with gooseflesh as he sat on the edge of the bed. Just sat there, doing nothing but watched
Taehyung as the boy slept. Even in his sleep, Taehyung frowned, worried and uneasy.

The both of them seemed to have regressed to their earlier days with Yoongi detached and
Taehyung anxious. Yoongi had not laid everything bare for Taehyung, but the boy had sensed
something. He shot Yoongi worried glances every time Yoongi left the room. He began to startle
awake in the middle of the night from bad dreams, crying and stumbling to Yoongi, desperate arms
outstretched. There was only so much comfort Yoongi could give. Why was Taehyung stuck with
him again?

Taehyung made a sudden small noise of distress. He didn’t wake, but his curled body trembled.
Yoongi rested an instinctive hand on Taehyung’s hip.

“You’re all right. Samchon’s here.” The words fell from his lips naturally.

His hand patted a soothing rhythm. Gradually, Taehyung calmed into a more restful sleep, steady
breaths replacing whimpers, the frown between his eyebrows loosening. Yoongi tucked the blanket
around Taehyung’s shoulder and smoothed its edges.

Hoseok’s proposal had tempted. If Yoongi was sure about anything, it was that Hoseok would
never lay a violent hand on Taehyung. He did not know Steven and Serena well enough to say the
same for them. Although the relinquishment form had been signed and submitted, the transfer of
his guardianship was yet set in stone. The law allowed the relinquishment to be rescinded within
seven days. He had four more days to change his mind. He wondered how many parents and
guardians had regretted their decisions for a rule like that to be formalised.
However accepting Hoseok’s proposal meant that he would still see Taehyung around, and he
would itch to pull Taehyung closer and push him away at the same time. That was a struggle he
desired to rid himself of.

Yoongi snorted humourlessly and shook his head. How selfish. Even now, he still thought about
his own preservation and comfort.

He had no idea what he should do anymore.

At this hour rendered silent by the deep night, he remained on the side of the bed, his gaze angled
on Taehyung. An urge burgeoned within him, full as the moon in the night sky, but it was many
minutes later before he gave in.

He laid on the bed and curled himself around Taehyung. The boy smelled of strawberry shampoo
and orange soap. Yoongi inhaled, draping an arm over Taehyung and moving closer.

Whatever happened next and wherever Taehyung went, the only wish Yoongi had was for the boy
to be happy and safe.

::::::::

“Steven and Serena would like to see you again tomorrow.”

On the other side of the dining table, Taehyung stopped pushing his vegetables around his plate.
He turned rigid. “Taetae doesn’t want to go out with Serena-ahjumma.” His voice trembled like a
fallen leaf in mid-descent.

Yoongi would be lying if he said that Taehyung’s reaction surprised him. He bit back a sigh.
“Samchon’s going too.”

The couple’s invitation had arrived earlier that afternoon via a call from the agency. Steven had to
return to Canada in two days’ time but before that happened, Serena wished she and her husband
could spend some more time with Taehyung. The request came across to Yoongi as odd, but he
remembered how enamoured Serena was with Taehyung and guessed that perhaps her last outing
with Taehyung had offered her a taste of what her life could have been like and left her wanting for
more. She requested Yoongi to join too, likely taking into account Taehyung’s apparent separation
anxiety.

Yoongi’s instinct had been to reject her. Taehyung’s distress from the other day had flashed across
his mind. But he realised he was being ridiculous. If Taehyung was going to live with Steven and
Serena in the future, he might as well let the boy get used to them now. He said yes and hung up.

“Samchon’s going to be there?” Taehyung relaxed a fraction, relief trickling into his voice.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Taehyung dropped his gaze back onto his plate and mumbled reluctantly, “then Taetae
will go.”

The doorbell rang a few moments later and Yoongi rose to get the door.

“Look what I’ve brought.” Madam Lee marched into the apartment and stopped at the head of the
dining table. She set a white translucent container down and peeled its lid open.

Perking up, Taehyung craned his neck and peered into the container. Delight transformed the face
that had been woebegone just some minutes ago. “Jellies,” he said, smiling sweetly up at the
landlady.

“Ahjumma made the bear-shaped ones specially for you, Taetae,” she said fondly. But as her
casual gaze swept across the table and halted on Taehyung’s plate, she frowned. She glanced at the
wall clock and cocked her head at Yoongi. “Shouldn’t Taehyung have finished his dinner by
now?”

The truth was that Taehyung’s recent moodiness had affected his appetite and he took longer to
finished his dinner. Every evening, Yoongi would stay at the table with Taehyung long after he had
forced dinner down his own throat (not like he had much appetite either) and ensured that
Taehyung ate, cutting the boy’s vegetables into smaller pieces when he took too long to chew. That
habit, ingrained into his muscles, was hard to break.

Yoongi wondered what his response should be but realised a moment later that the landlady was
not waiting for one. Her attention had flitted back to Taehyung. She wagged a finger, her reproach
more patient than fierce. “You need to finish your food before you can eat the jellies, because how
are you going to grow into a big strong boy if you don’t? Also, your tummy will ache otherwise.”

Taehyung settled eagerly back on his chair and stabbed his fork through a broccoli. With a
promised treat dangling before him, the boy chewed and swallowed with more gusto. Madam Lee
gave his head an indulgent rub before disappearing into the kitchen.

Barely a few minutes had passed since the landlady had stepped through the door and Taehyung
already looked more cheerful.

“Ahjumma, Taetae’s finished.” Taehyung lifted the plate off to show its empty face as the landlady
returned bearing clean plates and forks.

“Such a good boy!” Taehyung lowered his head and wrinkled his nose, shy but pleased at the
compliment. “Can you take your plate to the sink?”

As Taehyung left the table, her eyes trailed after him. She looked thoughtful. “Are my eyes playing
tricks on me or does Taehyung look unhappy these days?” Despite the beat that his heart missed,
Yoongi schooled his face expressionless and shrugged. The landlady frowned at Yoongi, then
shook her head. “Could be the changing seasons,” she decided as she scooped a jelly out of the
container. It jiggled as she put the plate before Yoongi. “I’ll see if I can bake some strawberry
cupcakes tomorrow. He loves those. They’ll cheer him right up.”

::::::::::

Serena’s face brightened with earnest joy when Yoongi and Taehyung arrived at the meeting place,
a breakfast establishment in a considerably affluent area of Seoul. She got to her feet and
approached them. Steven twisted around in his seat and raised a hand in greeting.

“Good morning, Taetae!” She bent at her waist and beheld Taehyung at eye level, her smile wide.
“How are you today?”

Neither her friendliness nor enthusiasm were reciprocated. Taehyung pressed his lips together and
looked at his feet. During their entire way here, Taehyung had clung onto Yoongi’s hand and he
didn’t let go now. Yoongi gave the small hand a prompting squeeze, but the stubborn silence
remained.

“He must have woken up on the wrong side of bed this morning,” Yoongi said.
Serena gave a magnanimous shake of head. “That’s okay. All of us have mornings like those, but
there’s nothing a good breakfast can’t fix. And a good breakfast is precisely what you can find
here. C’mon, Taetae, let’s get something yummy into your tummy.” She reached for Taehyung but
the boy startled and shied abruptly away as soon as her hand touched his arm. He shifted and slid
half his body behind Yoongi, pressing his face against the back of Yoongi’s leg.

Taehyung’s blatant rejection threw Serena off balance. Her lips faltered out of their upturn curve.
She glanced anxiously at Yoongi. “Sorry, I—”

“It’s okay,” Yoongi said. He turned his head over his shoulder and swept his gaze downward to
Taehyung. “Serena has always been nice to you. Shouldn’t you be nice to her as well?”

A pause, then an unintelligible mumble, further muffled against the denim of Yoongi’s jeans. Part
of it sounded like don’t want to.

“Must be the wrong side of bed,” Serena joked, having regained her composure to do so. But
Yoongi felt her disappointment and uncertainty hanging over her like a cloud too heavy. Her smile
looked too pasted on. “Why don’t we start ordering some food?”

As breakfast proceeded, Serena appeared to have shrugged off the episode. She sustained her
enthusiasm in interacting with Taehyung despite the fact that the boy mostly kept his head down
throughout, preferring to stare at his shoes than have any eye contact with her. Steven seemed to
have sensed that something odd was going on, but he didn’t point it out. He tried to engage
Taehyung with questions and jokes about superheroes and aliens. Taehyung was more receptive to
Steven’s efforts, but even then, he was lukewarm about it.

Under Serena’s upbeat performance, a nervous energy thrummed . The agency didn’t inform
Yoongi of the specifics, but he wondered if they had notified the couple that he had submitted the
relinquishment form. That would make sense, why Serena seemed on edge. She and Steven were
so close to becoming a happy family of three. They just had to wait for the period of permissible
rescission to expire and Taehyung would be theirs. That might be the reason Serena was hanging
behind in Seoul while Steven headed back to Canada. She was staying back to take care of matters.
If everything went well, she would be on the flight back to Ottawa in a few weeks’ time, Taehyung
in tow.

The space around Yoongi seemed to shift with the new understanding. The unvoiced expectations
that he had been oblivious to when he stepped into the cafe now hung heavy and cloying above the
table of mixed pastries, brewed specialty coffees and French toasts. The impulse to flee the cafe
gripped Yoongi.

He clenched his hand against that impulse. This was what he had signed up for. He did not get to
run away.

After a breakfast kept one-sidedly lively by Steven and Serena, the four of them walked to a nearby
park, a piece of green in downtown Seoul, nestled amidst corporate and high-end residential
buildings that stretched into the sky. On their way to the field, they passed the most basic rendition
of a store — offerings laid on a pink mat while its owner, a middle-aged man with a severe case of
beer belly, sat leisurely with his back against a tree.

Serena crouched before the mat to browse the hodgepodge collection of trinkets and oldschool toys
on display. “Taetae, does any of these catch your eyes?”

Taehyung ignored Serena like he had all morning. He glued himself firmly to Yoongi’s side,
impervious to Serena’s cooing and coddling. His hand held onto Yoongi’s with a staunch
determination admirable for a five-year-old, even though Yoongi could sense that he was itching to
look at those toys.

Serena’s face fell for a second. Next to her, Steven gave her shoulder a squeeze. She forced a smile
back on as she turned back to the owner and completed her purchase.

“Look here, Taehyung,” Serena called. She had flattened her hands together horizontally, the
bamboo-copter she had just bought sandwiched between then.

This time, Taehyung did look, his curiosity winning over.

At Taehyung’s attention, a heartfelt smile bloomed across Serena’s face. She rubbed her palms
against each other in one swift movement and released the bamboo-copter. The two-winged blade
attached at the top of the stick spun, carrying the toy higher into the sky with every rotation, until
gravity caught up and it dropped to the ground. A bright, tinkling laugh spilled out of Serena as she
jogged to where the bamboo-copter had fallen.

After retrieving the bamboo-copter, she came toward Taehyung and offered him the toy. “Would
you like to give it a try?”

Taehyung hesitated, his grip on Yoongi’s hand much less certain than before. He tilted his head at
Yoongi, then back down at the toy, caught in an internal battle. Then, he nodded his head and
released Yoongi’s hand to receive the bamboo-copter, mimicking the way Serena had held it by
joining his hands together.

“Let me show you.” Serena’s voice dripped with relief and genuine enthusiasm now that Taehyung
had stopped being so adamant about giving her the cold shoulder.

As Serena coaxed Taehyung away, a sense of loss sank its teeth into Yoongi. He curled and
uncurled his hand, shaking away the remnant of Taehyung’s warmth and the ghostly shape of his
small fingers wrapped around his.

“Shall we?”

Steven strode to a nearby bench along the jogger’s path and sat. Yoongi followed suit and took the
spot next to the older man. It was far from a perfect day. The sky was a pale grey, the sun nowhere
to be seen. The green of the grass had dulled with the turn of seasons, and the trees had started
shedding their leaves.

On the field, Serena stood behind Taehyung, her arms reaching around the boy to guide his hands.
The bamboo-copter did not so much as take flight than drop to the ground at Taehyung’s first
attempt. From his spot on the bench, Yoongi read the slump in Taehyung’s shoulders. Serena said
something to Taehyung; at this distance, Yoongi could not tell what, but he imagined she was
encouraging him to try again.

Taehyung had always been a boy who needed plenty of encouragement.

“Taehyung’s in a bad mood today,” Yoongi said.

Surprise flickered across Steven’s face, as though he had not expected Yoongi to be so forthright.
He smiled knowingly. “I can tell.”

“I told you Taehyung’s a lovely boy and I still stand by my words,” Yoongi said. “But he isn’t
lovely all the time. He is a menace to wake every morning. He gets into little tempers every now
and then — like today — and you have to make the extra effort to pacify him. He doesn’t like
eating vegetables so you need to think of ways to slip them into his food. He’s going to come to
you every time he finishes a piece of drawing and you have to praise him whether or not you can
figure out what he’s drawn.” Yoongi paused, sucking a breath to ease the crushing weight that have
settled over his chest. All the things Taehyung did that used to annoy him…why was it so hard to
let them go now? He looked Steven in the eye. “On days Taehyung isn’t lovely or behaving, will
you be patient with him? Can you continue to love him after?”

Yoongi needed to know. He needed to know that Taehyung was not merely a temporary marvel in
Steven and Serena’s eyes. He needed an assurance that the couple was serious about welcoming
Taehyung into their family and that they would not cast Taehyung aside after the novelty had worn
off.

Steven contemplated.

Behind them, the one-way street streamed with steady traffic. A woman pushing a double stroller
containing two chubby infants walked by before their bench.

“You don’t trust us,” Steven said after the pause. The statement was made as simply as could be,
factual without any inflections of accusations. Nothing suggested that Steven was offended.

“I need to be sure,” Yoongi said.

“I don’t blame you. You don’t know everything about Serena and me. The file the agency showed
you probably included only our names, our age, our occupations, our socioeconomic background,
but not how we are as people. We have met twice in person, but there’s only so much you can
glean about us in two meetings. So no, you’re right to be skeptical.”

Steven leaned forward in his seat, his elbows coming to rest on his knees as he threaded his fingers
together. His gaze moved to Taehyung and Serena.

“Serena and I have never been parents before — not parents to live children anyway—“ he injected
with dry humour, “and there is a multitude of things about parenting we don’t know. If we become
parents to Taehyung, we’ll make mistakes. We’ll make a lot of them in fact, but we’re going to
learn and be better every time. We’ll do everything we can to ensure Taehyung’s well-being.”
Steven looked over his shoulder at Yoongi and chuckled. “Frankly, I don’t know what I can do to
make everything I’ve just said sound less like empty words. It’s going to come across as shameless,
but I can only ask that you trust us.”

The grounded response of Yes, we’re going to make mistakes but we’ll try our best should have
assured Yoongi more than lofty, unsubstantiated promises of Of course, we’ll always love and take
good care of him and never be mad at him. But Yoongi was unable to bring himself to nod or say I
trust you. Steven seemed to understand that Yoongi needed time.

Some feet away, Serena raised her arm in their direction. Yoongi wasn’t so presumptuous to think
that the beckoning wave was meant for him. Steven got to his feet, shot Yoongi a smile to excuse
himself, and jogged to where Serena and Taehyung were. He crouched on the other side of
Taehyung, and the three of them bent their heads to observe something Taehyung had on his palm.

What a picture-perfect family.

Despite his initial resistance, Taehyung was warming up to Serena again. It had only been less
than…what? Half a day? Taehyung had a sweet and sensitive personality, but he was also the most
tenacious and resilient child Yoongi had ever known. If the boy could get used to days with
someone as temperamental as Yoongi, he could adapt to a warm and stable life with Steven and
Serena. Hoseok’s offer was kind, but Yoongi couldn’t keep Taehyung hoping that Yoongi would
someday take him back.

No, that would be too cruel. Better to make a clean break once and for all.

Taehyung was only five years old. He was so young, so little. He had so many years ahead of him.
He might ask for Yoongi at first, but he would stop when new, happier memories proliferated.
Steven and Serena looked like those parents who would bring their children on annual trips to
renowned theme parks around the world. Taehyung would forget about Yoongi eventually. Yoongi
would be reduced to a faceless entity that occupied an insignificant fraction of the Taehyung’s life,
someone Taehyung could not recall the name of.

Fallen leaves scuttled across Yoongi’s feet in the breeze. A brown leaf, curled and crisp around the
edges, latched onto his shoelace.

What about himself? What would his life be like after Taehyung?

When Seungah left, he blocked off all thoughts about her. He didn’t think he could do the same
this time. He supposed he would be replaying his memories with the boy again and again, hoping
he could preserve them at their most vibrant. He should remember that Taehyung had one freckle
on his nose and another on his lower lash line.

Yoongi watched as Steven tousled Taehyung’s hair and Taehyung smiled. Serena mirrored that
smile. They seemed to exist in a perfect bubble that allowed only happiness and brightness. Or
perhaps Yoongi was the one trapped in a bubble, held prisoner so that his scars, shadows and
bitterness would not touch the three of them. The specifics were not important, he guessed. There
was no place near them for Yoongi either way.

He stood from the bench. He would send Steven or Serena a message to tell them he had left. They
could bring Taehyung home later.

…And then what? Then when application had been finalised and the dust had settled, they could
fetch Taehyung away from the shabby apartment and never had to bring him back again.

The green man on the traffic light across the street flicked on. Yoongi barely registered the change
as he made his way to the other side of the road. A long time ago, in a dim and smoky pub where
he did one of his first gigs, he had been treated to a few round of drinks by the friendly owner. The
after-effect of that had been a fuzzy mind and a tossing stomach. He felt the same way now. He felt
like vomiting.

A shriek split the air just as he reached the other side.

He spun around. In the park he had left behind, Taehyung was struggling against Serena’s hold. His
small arms were outstretched in desperation, trying to reach for Yoongi even though Yoongi was
several meters away. The shriek extended into screams.

Samchon, samchon, samchon, Yoongi thought he could hear Taehyung screaming, anguish layered
thick underneath.

Then, Taehyung seemed to have twisted and kicked himself free from Serena’s restraint. Steven
straightened to give chase but a trip over his own feet thwarted his effort. Taehyung dashed forth,
running across the field and the joggers’ path, racing toward Yoongi.

The traffic lights turned again, the blinking green man erased by its red counterpart. The vehicles
began to grind forward once more. Yoongi opened his mouth to yell for Taehyung to stop, but his
heart had lodged in his throat, smothering any sounds.

Serena screamed. Taehyung had run onto the road, right in the way of a truck.

No no no no no.

Yoongi shot forward. Horns blared into the sky just as his hand closed around Taehyung’s arm in a
death grip. He yanked the boy toward him and the force drove the both of them backwards. They
stumbled, tripped over the curb and fell into safety. The impact of the hard pavement against his
back knocked a breath out of Yoongi as he cushioned Taehyung’s fall.

He scrambled to his knees and held a shell-shocked Taehyung at arm’s length. “Are you hurt
anywhere?” His voice shook as terribly as his hands.

Legs splayed on the ground, Taehyung stared at Yoongi in mute shock. Yoongi scanned Taehyung
from head to toe. There were no obvious wounds or abrasions. “Stand up for me.”

He hoisted the boy to his feet. No whimpers or grimaces. Nothing was sprained.

Relief flushed through Yoongi’s veins, so immense and staggering that all he could do was stay on
his knees. The next instant, anger pierced through. He grabbed Taehyung by the sides of his
shoulders and gave the boy a hard shake.

“You stupid child!” He roared. Taehyung flinched. “Do you want to die? Why would you chase
after someone like me?”

Yoongi’s chest heaved. His heart felt like it had shot into overdrive. A sensation of veins popping
came from the back of his eyes. Taehyung looked terrified of him.

But the frozen fright on the boy’s face lasted all of one second before it shattered . The boy burst
into tears. “S-samchon, d-don’t leave T-Taetae. T-Taetae will be a g-good boy,” he tilted his head
back, gasping to catch a breath, “T-Taetae won’t make y-you angry a-again.”

Taehyung’s tears stabbed at Yoongi like the sharpest and most relentless of knives. This, this was
what he’d wished to avoid when he decided not to tell Taehyung he’d put him up for adoption. This
complete heartbreak and utter meltdown. Not because he had no wish of handling it, but because
whatever Taehyung felt, he would feel the pain doubly more.

If hearts could shatter, this was what it felt like.

It’s not your fault. It’s all me. You’ve always been a good boy. The words clawed for release, but
Yoongi’s throat stayed close.

A handful of passersby trickled past them, shooting furtive glances their way, some slowing their
steps deliberately to satiate their prying curiosity. From the corner of his eyes, Yoongi noted
Steven and Serena on the opposite side of street, anxiously waiting for the pedestrian lights to turn
so they could cross.

It had begun to rain out of nowhere. The rain felt strangely too warm…until Yoongi realised with a
start that the wetness on his face was not rain but tears. When was the last time he cried?

That night before Seungah left their hometown.

In her bedroom that night, he had threatened, then begged, Seungah not to go. Amidst his threats
and pleas, he had not been able to stop his tears from escaping. Underneath his anger had been an
ocean of hurt, hurt that had continued to fester till this day. He could go about his life, pretending
that it was just as well Seungah had left because he did not need her, but on certain nights where his
thoughts could not be tamed, he had wonder if Seungah left not because she’d found some fucking
true love, but because Yoongi hadn’t been enough for her to stay.

Through the blurring tears in his eyes, Yoongi saw his old self superimposed upon Taehyung —
the lost, bitter boy he had been in the direct aftermath of Seungah’s departure. He blinked, and
Taehyung was just Taehyung again.

“S-samchon,” Taehyung hiccuped, his breaths scrambling to keep up with his exertion. “T-Taetae
—” His small shoulders hitched and twitched.

Yoongi could not do it. He could not hurt Taehyung the same way Seungah had hurt him.

He could not give Taehyung away. Not to Steven and Serena. Not to Hoseok.

He pulled Taehyung into his arms, wrapping them tight around the boy’s quaking body. He stroke
the back of Taehyung’s head.

“Samchon’s not leaving you,” he whispered shakily against Taehyung’s neck. “Samchon just
wanted to get something from the convenience store. Samchon’ll never leave you. Samchon’ll
never not want you.”

::::::::::

Nighttime found Yoongi and Taehyung ensconced on the studio’s raggedy couch, the boy curled
tight against Yoongi. To Taehyung’s right was Toka, while a stack of all the picture books
Taehyung owned occupied the space to Yoongi’s left.

“The Mama Bear came back to a messy home that afternoon,” Yoongi read from the book on his
lap. “There were broken bowls and plates on the floor. The curtains were torn from the windows.
The Baby Bear was nowhere to be seen.” He paused, waiting.

This wasn’t the first time he’d read Taehyung this story. He’d done so many times in the past and
every time they arrived at this part of the story, the boy would either gasp or sidle closer to Yoongi,
nervous for the family of bears. Taehyung did neither tonight.

Yoongi glanced downward. Taehyung’s eyes were opened but dazed with drowsiness. He sighed.

“You should sleep,” he said.

Taehyung moved even closer to Yoongi, even though the gap between them was zilch to begin
with. “Don’t want to...” He mumbled with a pout. “Don’t want Samchon to leave.”

Earlier, after cutting the outing short and bidding Steven and Serena a hasty and unexplained
goodbye, Yoongi had carried Taehyung home. The anxiety of the past few weeks and the outburst
it culminated in had drained the boy completely. Back in their apartment, Yoongi suggested
Taehyung took a nap, but the boy refused. He followed wherever Yoongi went, refusing to let him
out of his sight.

“Samchon’s not going anywhere,” Yoongi said. Not anymore.

It was half-past ten already, way past Taehyung’s usual bedtime. The five-or-so books Yoongi had
read had not lulled Taehyung into a slumber. The boy stubbornly kept his eyes opened, blinking
and blinking with rising frequency to bat sleep away.
 Yoongi surrendered and continued reading.

Taehyung’s eyelids had all but drooped by the time Yoongi finished the story of the bears. Yoongi
closed the book and returned it to the stack. He was mentally debating if he should go on to
another book or if he could carry Taehyung to bed without rousing him when the boy spoke.

“Samchon, Taetae’s not stupid.” The words were slurred and heavy with sleep.

Yoongi’s heart clenched. “Of course you’re not. Samchon’s the stupid one.”

Taehyung wriggled onto Yoongi’s lap. He plastered himself against Yoongi and rested his chin on
Yoongi’s shoulder, his arms encircling Yoongi’s neck. “Samchon’s not stupid,” he mumbled,
managing to sound unhappy even though he was on the brink of sleep. “Samchon’s the best
Samchon in the world.”

Yoongi placed a hand on the small of Taehyung’s back. Even after the boy’s breath had grown
slow and weighted, he held Taehyung close to him, unmoving for a long time, feeling the
assurance of Taehyung’s weight.

All the things he’d done, all the things he’d said... he was far from being the best Samchon for
Taehyung. But in this moment, he knew one thing for certain. Steven and Serena could provide
Taehyung with a sumptuous life, and Hoseok could do a good job at looking after him, but none of
them would be able to love the boy as much as Yoongi did.

Love. What a universal word thrown around by everyday people every day. What a terrifying
feeling that tears down defenses, makes even the strongest person vulnerable.

Fate is callous and finicky. Who knew what would happen a few years, a few months, or even a
few days down the road? Who knew if something would happen and he’d lose Taehyung, just like
he’d lost Seungah? But loving someone meant being willing to bear the possibility and pain of
losing them. Yoongi thought he understood that now. Taehyung was worth the price.

Yoongi drew Taehyung closer to himself. Soft strands of strawberry-scented hair tickled his jaw.

Yoongi had lost Seungah and willingly walked away from his family, but he wanted to try holding
on to Taehyung at the very least. A day would come where Taehyung would stop trailing after him
like an adorable puppy, but until then, he’d keep the boy close and care for him.

Even after then, Yoongi thought, he’d continue to love Taehyung as his heart wanted, for
Taehyung would always be his boy.

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

1. The abuse of the toddler mentioned in this chapter was based on the real case of
Jungin. My heart aches when I think of her. Hope you're happy where you are now,
little angel.

2. The line "Loving someone means being willing to bear the possibility and pain of
losing pain" was inspired by a line in Mita Ori's Our Dining Table. Go check out the
manga if you want a heartwarming story. <3

holy moly, this story has crossed the 100k mark with this chapter. this will be the
longest story I've ever written. i can only hope that it continues to hold your interest.

to be frank, for the first twenty days of may, i wrote absolutely nothing at all. i was
steeped deep in some motivation crisis for many reasons and i thought i can't complete
this story after all. but then i saw that the number of hits for this story kept creeping up
and up, and i imagined readers checking back again and again for updates, and those
apologetic feelings eventually hauled me back into writing. as i got back into writing, i
got reminded of how much i love the characters in this story and i hope you guys feel
the same too.

i didn't reply the comments for the last chapter (because motivation crisis *_*), but
please know that i appreciate them sooooooo much. they make writing a lot less
lonely, a lot more rewarding.

i hope this chapter comes as a relief after the angsty previous one. let me know what
you think!

till next time!

p.s.: it's been a rambling author's note, but hurray for managing to post a chapter
before may ends!

Curiouscat
 Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Yoongi sent a message to Hoseok.

I’m keeping Taehyung.

Some time later, Hoseok fired back with a response.

Bastard. If you ever do this again, I swear I’ll kick your ass into Han river.

::::::::::

Yoongi felt a pair of eyes boring holes into his back.

He turned away from his computer and looked over his shoulder at the play table. Caught staring,
Taehyung jumped and dropped his gaze onto the piece of drawing paper he was holding between
his hands. The boy had looked away quickly, but not quick enough for Yoongi to miss the
uncertain frown on his face, as though he was struggling between approaching Yoongi and staying
put with Toka at the play table.

Yoongi knew that look all too well. Over the past few weeks, he’d given Taehyung enough cold
shoulder that the boy’d started to walk on eggshells around him. Yesterday he had told Taehyung
that he would never leave him. He had every intention to make good on his word, but a verbal
promise like that was not going to magically undo the hurt that he had inflicted on the boy.

He had so much he need to make up for. To fix.

He swivelled his chair away from his desk. “Come here,” he said.

Taehyung lifted his gaze over the edge of the paper. Careful hope unfurled across his face when he
realised that if he was the only one in the room beside his samchom, then his samchom must be
talking to him. He rose from the tiny play chair and plodded toward Yoongi with his paper.

“Did you finish drawing?” Yoongi asked.

Taehyung nodded. He stood close to Yoongi, his belly touching the side of Yoongi’s leg.

“Do you want to show me what you’ve drawn?”

Taehyung looked like he was about to nod but had stopped himself at the last moment. His lips
puckered into a small, unsure pout. “But Taetae doesn’t want to disturb Samchon. Taetae doesn’t
want Samchon to get mad and not like Taetae.”

Immediately, Yoongi thought back to that time he had blown up on Taehyung when the boy had
enthusiastically came to him to show him his drawing. After that incident, Taehyung had ventured
forward a few more times, each time less enthusiastic than the last as Yoongi responded by tossing
him an offhand compliment just to get the boy to leave him alone. Taehyung never got the signal
immediately. He would linger many moments beside Yoongi, waiting hopefully for Yoongi to take
his drawing and pin it onto the corkboard. When Yoongi didn’t, his small shoulders would droop
along with his head and he would trudge away like a kicked puppy.
The series of disappointment had accumulated into a cautiousness unbefitting for a child. Yoongi
wanted to turn back time. Because that was impossible, he could only settle for the next solution
and hope it was enough to mend his mistakes.

Yoongi looked at Taehyung, who had his gloomy gaze cast downward. “Samchon got mad last
time not because I was angry at you, but because I was angry at myself. I took that anger out on
you.” The next words were harder to get out, but Yoongi squeezed his ego aside. “That’s not an
okay thing to do. Samchon’s sorry.”

The area between Taehyung’s eyebrows creased with a frown, as if he couldn’t reconcile what
Yoongi’d told him with what he knew about the world. “But why is Samchon angry with
Samchon?”

“Because Samchon did many things that are wrong.”

Taehyung looked confused as ever. “What things?”

Yoongi touched Taehyung’s head and brushed Taehyung’s fringe to the side. The skin on the boy’s
forehead was smooth, but the image of an ugly bruise oozing blood hadn’t left Yoongi’s mind. “Do
you remember that time you hurt your head because Samchon wasn’t holding onto your hand?
That’s one of them.”

There were many more, but Yoongi didn’t think Taehyung would understand even if he listed them
out.

Taehyung scrunched his nose at the unpleasant memory. “But Taetae’s not angry with Samchon.”

Underneath his ribcage, Yoongi’s heart seemed to have swelled to twice its size. “That’s because
you’re a good boy.”

Taehyung smiled bashfully. He appeared much more relaxed, having begun jabbing his right toes
against the floor. “Is Samchon still angry at Samchon?” The boy asked thoughtfully.

“No, I’m not angry anymore.” That wasn’t the truth. Having been angry for most of his life, it
would take a long time before the emotion subsided, if it even at all. But Taehyung didn’t need to
know that. Yoongi had no intention of venting his own frustration out on him again.

“So Samchon will never yell at Taetae again?” The boy asked eagerly. “Taetae doesn’t like it
when Samchon yells at Taetae.”

Yoongi gave brief thought to the question. “It depends,” he said and Taehyung deflated visibly. “If
you do naughty or dangerous things, Samchon might need to yell at you.”

Taehyung’s lower lip jutted out as his fingers toyed with the corner of his drawing paper, folding
and unfolding the paper. “But Taetae’s a good boy. Taetae won’t do naughty or dangerous things.”

“Sometimes you won’t know,” Yoongi said, recalling that time Taehyung scalded himself turning
off the stove. There was also that time the boy almost stepped barefoot into a shard of broken
mug.

Although Yoongi believed he was being realistic and reasonable, Taehyung looked unhappy at the
possibility of Yoongi yelling at him again. The pout of his face had risen so high that his lips
nearly touched his nose.

Yoongi sighed, capitulating. “Okay, I promise that I’ll try my best not to yell at you. But just
remember that even if I do yell at you, it will never be because Samchon doesn’t like you.”

“Samchon doesn’t like Taetae?” Taehyung had gone rigid, misconstruing Yoongi.

“I didn’t say that.” Yoongi made a mental note to avoid using complex sentences with the boy.

Taehyung tilted his head sideways. “So Samchon likes Taetae?”

Even though Yoongi had come to terms with the fact that Taehyung occupied a big place in his
heart, inwardly admitting that to oneself and saying it aloud were two different matters. The latter
was way out of his comfort zone. Just the thought of doing that caused the hairs on the back of his
neck to stand. But Taehyung’s eyes on him were round and hopeful. Yoongi knew the same pair
eyes would soon cloud with anxiety if he didn’t give Taehyung some confirmation after the way he
had treated the boy the past few weeks.

So Yoongi cleared his throat and nodded, a nod that was tight, brief and awkward, but also a nod
enough for Taehyung.

Taehyung’s face split with a wide smile. He squeezed his torso into the space between the swivel
chair’s armrest and Yoongi, trying to get closer in his delight. The chair shifted back on its wheels
and bumped into the desk behind.

“Will Samchon always like Taetae?”

Yoongi made a noise that was a cross between a scoff and a laugh. He was reminded of the old
saying Give someone an inch and they’ll take a mile. But he thought even if Taehyung asked him
to snatch a star out of the sky, he would gladly do so. Perhaps even rip down the galaxy for him.

Not that he would say that aloud.

Yoongi rested his elbow on the armrest and propped his jaw against his fist, then gave Taehyung
another nod, one that brimmed with willing resignation. The corners of his lips spasmed with a
smile that he struggled to hold back.

Taehyung bounced on the balls of his feet. “Does Samchon promise?”

That Yoongi could do.

He held out his smallest finger. Taehyung’s face lit up, and he brought his hand up to hook
Yoongi’s pinky with his own tiny one. The boy giggled as their thumbs pressed together to seal the
promise. And then, because Taehyung didn’t think promising with only one pinky was enough,
they repeated the action on their other pinky.

When they were finished, Taehyung’s eyes had curved into the shiniest crescents, his little teeth
peeking out behind his lips.

How adorable.

It had been a long time since Yoongi had felt this light. There were many more things Yoongi
needed to make amends for, but he had at least fixed one thing today.

He ruffled Taehyung’s head. “Now, where’s the drawing you want to show me?”

::::::::::

“Minnie found a marble in the playground today,” Taehyung told Yoongi. They were walking back
home after the bus ride from the kindergarten, their arms falling into a light swing as Taehyung
held Yoongi’s hand.

“Was it pretty?” Yoongi asked.

“It’s very very pretty.”

“So what is Minnie going to do with the marble?”

Taehyung shook his head. “Minnie said a pretty marble like that must belong to someone so we
should return it. We gave it to a teacher and she said she will return it for us.

“That’s a very good thing you did.”

The small chest puffed up ever so slightly, and the small back elongated a centimetre upward.
Taehyung nodded like a pint-sized sage. “Taetae’s a good boy. Minnie too. And Gukkie.”

They had just rounded a corner onto their street when Yoongi spotted two figures ahead, standing
near his stairs. The round and shorter figure holding a watering can was instantly recognisable as
Madam Lee. He squinted to make out the slender and taller one with long wavy hair. She looked
familiar.

His heart missed a beat. Serena.

Voices floated to his ears, too far for him to resolve the words. The landlady sounded polite, but it
was the frosty kind of polite that suggested she wasn’t too pleased a stranger was at her property. In
contrast Serena sounded placating.

He picked up his pace, pulling Taehyung along. Taehyung worked his feet to match Yoongi’s
speed, confusion cutting off the next story he’d been about to tell. As they neared Madam Lee and
Serena, Yoongi caught a snatch of conversation — no, it was more like an interrogation.

“What business do you have with him?” The landlady was saying. “If you’re here to convince him
to sign up for some exorbitant multi-level marketing membership, you should go. He has a child to
take care of. He doesn’t have the spare money for scams—oh, there he is.”

Serena turned around. Relief washed over her face when she saw Yoongi.

“Hi,” she said, a little breathless. It had been two days since they last met, and also two days since
Yoongi had rescinded the application, but she looked paler than he last remembered.

At the sight of her, Taehyung froze, then scurried behind Yoongi, peering out from Yoongi’s back,
eyebrows pinched with a disturbed frown. The smile on Serena’s face wobbled at Taehyung’s
behaviour, but manners kept the corners of her lips forcibly upturned.

Madam Lee had much less care about staying diplomatic. Sensing Taehyung’s wariness, she
narrowed her eyes at Serena, protectiveness kicking into full gear. “Who exactly—“

“She’s a friend,” Yoongi blurted.

“A friend?” The landlady echoed.

Serena nodded hurriedly and gestured at Yoongi. “I came to talk to him, actually.”

Yoongi could see the cogs in Madam Lee’s head moving, trying to construct a good reason why he,
a scruffy lad in his early twenties, would be friends with Serena, a graceful lady in her mid-forties.
As her skeptical gaze swivelled between Serena and him, nervousness crawled up his gut. The
landlady could be a very determined woman when she set her mind on something. He couldn’t
imagine the kind of truth that would spill out were Serena to buckle under the force of the her
questioning. If Madam Lee were to find out what he had almost done…it’d be nothing short of an
apocalypse.

The landlady and Serena had to be separated. Now.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi said, turning over his shoulder to look downward at the hiding boy, “why
don’t you go with Lee-ahjumma? Samchon’ll pick you up after I finish talking to Serena.” He kept
his voice steady, trying to play it cool.

Taehyung worried his lips. “Will Samchon take a long time?”

Serena and Yoongi exchanged a glance.

“No,” Serena said, her voice bright but her smile pained, “I just need to borrow your Samchon for a
while. A really short while.”

Suspicion lingered on the landlady’s face as she watched them purposefully, like a discipline
mistress attempting to sniff out any mischief. Yoongi schooled his expression into one he hoped
was honest and innocent. He exhaled inwardly when she ended her scrutiny, eyes falling on
Taehyung. Her voice was warm when she spoke.

“Come, Taehyung,” she reached a hand out for the boy to hold, “let’s go. I just so happen to have a
new flower in the garden that I think you’ll love to see. And a small cream cake as well. Won’t you
like that? Before you know it, your samchon will be done talking with his friend.” At that last
word, she flicked Yoongi a pointed glance.

There would be a barrage of questions coming his way later.

After Taehyung went willingly with Madam Lee, Yoongi led Serena up the stairs, unlocked his
door and let her into the apartment. She sat at the dining table while Yoongi disappeared into the
kitchen to get her a drink. His thoughts churned, conjuring various reasons for her visit — she was
here to confront him, she was here to beg him to change his mind, she was here to wish him all the
best. The last idea had a dry laugh coughing out of Yoongi.

Serena was taking in her surroundings when he emerged back into the living room. “So this is what
a home with a child looks like in reality,” she said. “How different from what those photographs of
neat little rooms in IKEA catalogues would have you believe. This,” she gestured at the space, “is
so much better.”

Her gaze flittered across a spot on the wall, where a lopsided sunflower bloom made out of a paper
plate and yellow construction paper was affixed. Another of Taehyung’s handiwork from school.

“You came on a good day. It gets even messier when Taehyung forgets to put away his toys.”

He placed the mug in front of her, containing chilled barley tea poured out of cartons. The selection
of drinks he had at home had never felt so pitiful. People like Serena looked like they should drink
freshly-brewed tea out of dainty teacups, not some massed-brewed barley tea in a clunky mug.

Serena didn’t seemed to mind. She picked up the mug and sipped appreciatively as Yoongi sat
across from her. Taehyung had left Toka at the table after breakfast that morning, and the plushie
now occupied the chair next to her. It was a cartoonish contrast seeing someone as elegant as
Serena juxtaposed with a dinosaur that looked so comically dumb.
She set the mug down and seemed to be gathering her thoughts in the pause that followed. With her
gaze cast downward, Yoongi could see the greenish shadows smudging the skin under her eyes.

“I thought of kidnapping Taehyung,” she said suddenly, raising her head, her expression
unreadable. “Whisking him away on a flight back to Canada with me.”

Mind jamming to a full halt, Yoongi stared at her. She returned his gaze unflinchingly.

Then the corners of her lips moved, imperceptible at first before inching up into an unmistakable
smile. No, not really a smile. More like a grin, an impish one at odds with her straight-backed
grace. A laugh tumbled out as her poker face cracked,.

“It’s just a thought,” she said, with the satisfaction of someone who had succeeded at a prank.

A small flare of annoyance, mixed with nostalgia, bloomed at the base of his chest. This reminded
him of those bygone times Seungah thought it was funny to trick him.

Try this lemon; it’s not sour at all.

The rag-and-bone man comes by every midnight to take away children who’re still awake.

Candies will fall from this tree if you shake it hard enough.

When Yoongi grew older, he came up with his own pranks to get back at Seungah - putting a fat
rubber rat on her bed, replacing her doorknob with a broccoli, switching out the chocolate balls in
her snack box with dehydrated prunes. How petty and childish they had been, how fun those times
were.

The annoyance was gone as soon as it appeared.

“It better remain just a thought,” Yoongi said dryly.

“Believe me, I know the pain of losing a child too well to snatch one away from anybody.” She
bowed her head and wrapped her fingers around the mug. “To be honest, I knew you’d rescind the
application even before I received the call from the agency. But still I prayed for a miracle to
happen. That was foolish wishing on my end. I’ve seen the way you hugged Taehyung like he’s the
last thing you’ll let go of even if the sky comes crashing down. I just don’t understand… why did
you put him up for adoption if it’s so difficult for you to let him go?”

The question, private and intimate, probed at Yoongi’s wound. Later, Yoongi would wonder why
he hadn’t deflected it with a patronising response or a shake of the head. Maybe it was the feeling
that after today, Serena’s and his paths would bifurcate and they would never see each other again.

“I thought I wasn’t good enough, that I can’t give him the things he wanted or needed, and that
someone else would be able to take better care of him.”

“Forgive me for saying this, but that’s nonsense if I ever heard one.” Serena let her gaze arc across
the living room before settling it on Yoongi. “You’re not rich, but you have enough to keep
Taehyung well-fed, well-clothed and well-loved. The first time I met Taehyung, he was shy and a
little on the thin side, but he also looked happy and content to be with you. If he comes across as
that to outsiders like me, then you must be doing something right, isn’t it? In fact, maybe not just
something, but a lot of things.”

It felt strange to be receiving compliments when a litany of mistakes still weighed on his guilt. He
didn’t understand why the people around him — Hoseok, Serena, Mrs Yang — had such faith in
his ability to care for Taehyung. Neither did he understand why the boy thought the world of him
when for every thing he did right, he did more things wrong.

But it was futile to attempt at understanding. He didn’t need to make sense of what they thought.
He only had to try his best and hope that as long as he was doing so, it would be enough for
Taehyung.

Articulating this to Serena would reveal more than Yoongi was comfortable with. He nodded
noncommittally, and Serena did not push. A lull slipped between them.

“There’s something I need to know,” Serena said. Her manner had turned halting, and her fingers
rubbed nervously against one another as her hands curled. “When you rescinded the application,
was any part of your decision affected by how you thought I’d be as a mother? Did you think I was
going to do a poor job at being one?”

Serena was strung as a held breath. Yoongi had a sense that this question, begging an answer, was
the purpose of her visit.

“Never,” he said, as earnestly as he could. “I think you’ll be an amazing mother.”

She looked at Yoongi as though deciding if he was lying to make her feel better. It was some
seconds later before she ascertained that there was no deceit to be found. Tension drained out of her
and a wide, relieved smile blossomed on her face.

“You know, you can give me the opportunity to put that quality to good use by letting me have
Taehyung,” she said teasingly.

Yoongi arched an eyebrow. “I thought it’s obvious that’s out of the question. Taehyung—”

“—’s yours,” she finished, her eyes twinkling. “I know.”

Yoongi laid a flat stare on her, but his insides were light. It occurred to him that he had never
spoken to Serena on a one-to-one basis, but that didn’t matter. She was easy to talk to, and their
banter reminded him of the conversations he used to have with Seungah.

“I don’t think Steven and I would be looking to adopt again anytime soon,” Serena confessed.

Yoongi was surprised. It didn’t fit with what he knew. The couple had been yearning for a child to
round up their family.

“We quarrelled that night we knew we wouldn’t be adopting Taehyung after all.” She paused, then
shook her head, her lips curved in a wry smile. “Actually it’s not so much a quarrel than a one-
sided tantrum. My tantrum. I was frustrated and angry and I took it out on Steven, said pretty nasty
things to him. He waited till I’d sort of calmed down before asking me if I could recall the last time
we’d talked about anything that didn’t revolve around having a child. I tried to remember, but
realised that I couldn’t. It was sad. We used to talk about everything under the sun, but now I don’t
even know how his clinic is doing other than the fact that it’s doing okay.”

She twisted the wedding band around her finger. The studded diamonds twinkled wistfully in
daylight. “All this while Steven’s been going along with my wishes. He’s told me many times that
he doesn’t need a child to be happy with me, that I alone was enough for him. I think it’s time I
reciprocate that feeling. I’d like to rest in the steadiness of having Steven next to me, instead of
feeling adrift all the time just because I’m pining for something in the distance. Who knows,
maybe we’ll seek to adopt a child again. When that time comes, I believe we’ll be in an even better
place for the child. But for now I’m just going to let nature takes its course.”
“Things will work out,” Yoongi said. As he said it, he realised that amidst his apologetic feelings
toward Serena, he wished that good things would happen to Serena. She was a good person.

Serena nodded gratefully at Yoongi and lifted the mug to her lips. As she set it back down, she
checked her watch. “I better not hold you back any longer. We shouldn’t keep little Taetae waiting
too long.” She rose to her feet and adjusted the strap of her purse onto her shoulder. “Thank you so
much for this conversation.”

“It’s nothing,” he said.

She disagreed, smiling. “It means a lot to me.”

Yoongi walked her down. At the base of the stairs, she turned to face him, and he was seized by a
sudden urge to do something for her.

“Do you want to me to get Taehyung? I think he might want to say goodbye to you.”

She laughed. “The last time I saw him, he doesn’t seem to like me very much, so let’s spare him.
But if you find yourself considering putting him up for adoption again, give me a call.”

Her sense of humour remained a striking mismatch to her graceful demeanour, but Yoongi was
getting used to it.

“Never,” he said.

She laughed again.

Another lull found them, the kind that came right before a permanent goodbye. The setting sun had
turned the sky a hazy pink, and its remnant light lent a pensive glow to her face. Her eyes
glimmered.

She stepped forward and folded him into a friendly hug. Nothing too tight, but sincere. He tensed
for a spilt second before he relaxed into the tolerance of her arms around him. She let go, stepped
back, gave him a smile that seemed to mean a thousand things.

Then she was off. The solid heels of her pumps beat out a click-clock rhythm against the asphalt.
He watched her, his heart oddly heavy, until she reached the corner and he couldn’t see her
anymore.

He was just about to approach Madam Lee’s gates to fetch Taehyung when his phone buzzed. He
fished it out of his pocket to see a foreign number flashing on the screen. He picked it up without
much thought and uttered a rather gruff hello.

Confusion followed next. What the person on the other side was saying didn’t make an iota of
sense.

The portfolio he had never submitted had made it past the first-stage screening. He was invited to
BigHit for the audition. He was meeting Bang Shihyuk.

The Bang Shihyuk.

::::::::::

BigHit called.

Yoongi had sent Hoseok the message after ending the call with the representative from BigHit.
Hoseok had left the message on read. But that evening, he swung by just as Yoongi was doing the
dishes.

“You made it?” Hoseok asked as soon as Yoongi opened the door. He was a picture of
nonchalance, arms folded loosely across his torso, his voice cool, as if despite his question, he had
no care if Yoongi had indeed made it or not.

“Apparently,” Yoongi said, just as aloof.

A muscle in Hoseok’s face twitched suspiciously like the bare beginning of a smile that he was
trying to restrain. He broke out of his posture and rolled his shoulders, stretching his neck left and
right. “Well, apparently I made it too.”

“Congratulations.”

Hoseok nodded rather disdainfully. “You too.”

“Hobi Hyung?” Taehyung had popped his head from behind Yoongi’s legs. The cartoon he was
watching — a certain Robocar Poli — had paused for a commercial break. Yoongi could hear the
overly chirpy voice of a woman listing at full speed the various benefits of a kids’ brand of
vitamins.

“Taetae!” Hoseok barrelled Yoongi aside to lift Taehyung up. In the narrow entryway, he twirled a
few tight rounds with Taehyung in his arms, the boy squealing with thrill. “What are you doing?
How was your day?” He asked as he carried Taehyung into the living room.

Yoongi closed the door. Thank god Taehyung had given Hoseok an excuse to unleash his joy. If
Hoseok had to keep it in a second more, he would probably burst a vein.

Hoseok sat with Taehyung on the living room floor. The boy was telling him the same story about
the marble Jimin had found at the playground that morning, beaming proudly when Hoseok ruffled
his hair and praised him. Yoongi left them alone and returned to the kitchen to finish the dishes.

He had just cleaned the last plate when Hoseok joined him in the kitchen. The commercial break
had ended, and the vrooms of those silly car characters caught in yet another situation floated from
the living room.

A plate of sesame broccoli left over from that night’s dinner rested on the counter. Hoseok helped
himself to a floret.

“I’m pretty confused,” Yoongi said as he turned off the tap and dried his hands on the sides of his
shirt. “I’m sure I didn’t send in my portfolio but still BigHit called. Any idea why?”

The truth was Yoongi had considered two different possibilities. The first was that someone from
BigHit had chanced upon his SoundCloud and decided that he had the potential. But with the
multitude of accounts on the platform, that scenario was possible but grossly improbable. Which
left him with the other possibility.

“Yeah,” Hoseok bobbed his head like it wasn’t a big deal, “I submitted the portfolio for you.”

That could have only happened after Hoseok had found out Yoongi was putting Taehyung up for
adoption.

“And here I was,” Yoongi deadpanned, “thinking that you were about to break ties with me.”
“Hold your horses right there.” Hoseok held up a halting palm. “Do not for one moment think that I
wasn’t mad. Believe me, I was close—very close— to snapping your neck. But clearly, I wasn’t
livid enough to watch you throw your future away.”

Another evidence that Hoseok would always be the better person out of the two of them. Yoongi’s
anger had always been absolute and consuming. He could not imagine being furious at someone
but still retaining a soft spot for them that fretted over their future. When Seungah left, he didn’t
care what happened to her. He wanted bad things to happen to her so that she would regret.

“Now now now,” Hoseok clucked his tongue, “before you start getting grateful and think that you
owe me something, I cursed you enough for a round trip to hell when I was picking some random
songs off your SoundCloud and filling in those forms for you. That should even things out.”

Yoongi snorted. “Nobody said anything about thanking you.”

“Good, because my toes will shrivel if you do that and I would like to keep my feet the way they
are right now.”

Hoseok leaned against the counter, the edge in his demeanour all but melted away. That was how
Yoongi knew that things had restored themselves and their friendship was back to normal. Yoongi
mirrored Hoseok’s actions, turning and leaning against the sink. Side by side, they stared at the
same indescript kitchen wall.

“So,” Hoseok began, “what made you change your mind?”

The air between them had sobered. It took Yoongi moments to marshal his thoughts. Hoseok
waited. When he was ready, he told Hoseok about that day at the park with Serena and Steven,
about how he had left Taehyung with them and how Taehyung had given chase.

“I was close to giving him up. So close,” Yoongi said quietly. “I’ve never talked to him about the
adoption, but I think he sensed it. He broke down when I left him behind. I saw his tears and
heartbreak and I…I just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t walk away, couldn’t stand seeing him so sad.”

Even now, his arms had not forgotten how it was like to hold a trembling Taehyung racked by
sobs. He still heard Taehyung’s crying from that day, and its every pitch cracked his heart.

“That happens when you care about someone that much,” Hoseok said.

Yoongi did not disagree. He looked at his hands when he spoke, his voice low. “When I told you I
wanted to give Taehyung away because I couldn’t take good care of him, I wasn’t making an
excuse. I didn’t grow up in a good family. I have a father who didn’t love his children and a mother
who cared more about preserving herself than standing up for them. So how could I, someone who
had hardly experienced parental care, know how to take good care of Taehyung? I’m a messed-up
person who came from a messed-up family.”

In the years they had known each other, Yoongi had never told Hoseok much about his parents.
Talking about them stoked his simmering resentment and bitterness into a blaze. But after the
extent Hoseok had gone for him, he felt like he owed Hoseok an explanation.

“Was,” Hoseok said.

“Sorry?”

“I was. Use the correct tense. You were a messed-up person, but you aren’t one anymore. Even if
you still are, you are not going to stay one forever. You think you don’t know what you should do
 to take good care of a child because your parents haven’t been role models. But guess what? It’s
precisely because your parents haven’t been role models that you know what not to do so that
Taehyung wouldn’t feel the same way you did as a child. You might believe you’re starting at zero
when it comes to child-rearing, but honestly, you aren’t.”

As Yoongi turned Hoseok’s words in his head, Taehyung erupted in a fit of giggles in the living
room. The sound, ringing unrestrained like the most cheerful festive bells, had Yoongi and Hoseok
turning their heads to the kitchen doorway. Yoongi couldn’t see Taehyung from where he was, but
he imagined the boy laughing himself silly at a TV joke precisely designed to tickle children.

When Yoongi was a child, he hadn’t dared so much as laugh in his father’s presence for fear that it
would earn his ire. And Yoongi thought: never would he make Taehyung fear laughing in this
home.

Everything his father did to him, Yoongi would never again do it on Taehyung. Hoseok could be
right — knowing what not to do might be just as important as knowing what to do.

That didn’t mean he was unafraid. He still was, and probably would be for a long time. But for
Taehyung, he could be brave.

As he shifted his gaze away from the doorway, he found Hoseok looking at him, infuriatingly
smug and knowing.

“Whipped,” Hoseok said. “So whipped.”

Heat prickled Yoongi’s neck. He cleared his throat and schooled his face expressionless. In an
attempt to divert Hoseok’s attention, he asked, “What would you have done if I had remained
stubborn about giving Taehyung away?”

Hoseok hmm-ed and rubbed his chin, putting a false show of thinking. Then, his lips stretched into
a devilish smirk. “I would have roped a particular landlady in.”

The house shook there and then.

Except that it wasn’t the house that shook but Yoongi, who were racked from head to toe by a
major shudder at the thought of that particular landlady.

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

and with this chapter, we wrap up the adoption arc :D after this, we'll get two
transition chapters (fluff!), then the final arc and then yay the story will finally be
done! *pretending that I don't still have tons of words to write before reaching the end*

I'm thinking of adding some more tags to this story. as readers, what are some tags
you'd suggest? it'd be fun to hear from you ^^,

as always, i hope you like this chapter! let me know what you think. stay safe till we
meet next time!

Curiouscat (where question-askers sometimes wheedle spoilers out of me or i post

them out guilt to compensate for not updating fast enough)
 Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The tables and chairs in the kindergarten’s main activity area were pushed to the sides, clearing a
big space in the middle of the room where the children stood in five rows. Taehyung was in the
third row. He was happy about it because even though he wasn’t the tallest, he wasn’t the shortest
either (those children had to stand in the frontmost row). Minnie stood on his left (they were as tall
as each other), while Gukkie was in the fourth row (he was taller than the two of them, but by only
a tiny bit).

The teacher at the front told all of them to settle down and said that they should take the dance
practice seriously. Many eomma and appa would be watching them on Sunday. She then asked if
they remembered the moves. Many of them nodded their heads or said yes. Taehyung nodded his
head too. They had practiced yesterday and the day before.

The teacher gestured for them to stand further apart from one another. “Here comes the music!”
She said.

Another teacher standing by the side pressed a button on the music player. A nice song came out
and all of them marching started to march on the spot, putting their hands on their hips.

“Remember your smile, kindergarteners!”

Smiling was easy because the dance was fun and Taehyung enjoyed doing it a lot. Some parts of
the dance were more difficult to remember, but the teachers always danced with them and he could
look at them when he forgot. He could also look at Minnie. Minnie was very good at dancing.

They twirled, swung their arms and waved their hands. Taehyung’s favourite part of the dance was
hooking his arm with Jimin’s at the elbow and skipping in circles on the spot. That part always
made him feel like he was on the merry-go-round.

When the music ended, the teacher clapped her hands and told them with a very large smile that
they did a great job. Taehyung felt proud of himself. After that, the teacher taught them some more
moves and they practiced a few more times.

The teacher then clapped her hands again. “Great job, children! We’re going to practise again
tomorrow but now it’s time for our morning snack. Before that, let’s get the tables and chairs back
in place, shall we?”

As the teachers pushed the heavy tables back into the center of the room, the children followed
behind, carrying one chair each and arranging them around the tables. After the room had gone
back to looking like it had in the morning, they queued at the sink to wash their hands.

As they waited in line, Minnie bounced on his feet. “My appa’s coming on Sunday! He doesn’t
have to go to work!”

“Yay!” Taehyung and Gukkie said. That was very good news because Minnie had looked unhappy
the past two days when he thought his father couldn’t come for the sports day. Taehyung liked to
see his friends happy.

“My appa’s going to run the race with me and we’re going to win,” Minnie said proudly. “My appa
can run very fast.”

“My appa can run very fast too,” Gukkie said, his chest puffing out with pride. “He says he was the
fastest runner in school when he was a student.”

Minnie and Gukkie looked at Taehyung at the same time, their eyes bright.

“I think my samchon can run fast too,” Taehyung said after a thinking pause, unsure. He hadn’t
seen his samchon run many times, except when they were chasing the bus in the morning. That had
felt fast to him.

“Taetae,” Minnie was frowning, “your appa’s not coming to Sports Day?”

Taehyung shook his head. “I don’t know where my appa is.” The line moved and the three of them
moved too.

“Did you ask your eomma?” Gukkie asked.

Taehyung did, once very very long ago. That day, the teachers in his old school had shown them a
colourful drawing of a home, pointed at it and told them it was a picture of a happy family. In the
house, there was an eomma, an appa, and two children. When he was lying in bed with his eomma
that evening, he asked her about his appa.

“Your appa had something really important to do so he had to go away,” his eomma had said.

Confused, Taehyung had asked, “What important thing?”

“It’s a secret.” His eomma smiled but there was something very sad in her eyes. She pulled him
closer and kissed him on the head.

Taehyung didn’t ask his eomma about his appa again because he disliked seeing his eomma sad.
He also thought what his teacher had said about a happy family wasn’t correct. In the past, he had
only an eomma but he was happy. Now, even after his eomma had died and he had to live with his
samchon, he was still happy. He thought there are many different ways for a family to be happy.

“My eomma said my appa had to leave to do something very important,” Taehyung told Gukkie
truthfully.

Just like Minnie, Gukkie’s eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. Minnie folded an arm across
his chest and rubbed his finger across his chin many times, making a Hmmm sound. Taehyung
knew Minnie was thinking because that was what Minnie did when he was coming up with ideas.
When Minnie slapped his fist against his palm, Taehyung knew Minnie had thought of one.

“Do you have a photo of your appa? I watched on TV that if you go to the police and show them a
photo, they can find the person for you. If you don’t have a photo, you can also tell them how your
appa looks like. The police is super duper powerful!” Minnie threw his arms up in a big circle.

Gukkie became excited too. “Yes, we should find your appa! Appas are the best! My appa lets me
sit on his shoulders and makes me delicious squid fried rice and plays soccer with me!”

“My appa too!” Minnie said. “He also takes me to theme parks and buys me lots of toys!”

Taehyung looked from Minnie to Gukkie. Having an appa sounded really awesome. It made him
want to have an appa too.
Then he thought of his samchon.

He had never sat on his samchon’s shoulders, but his samchon gave him a hug every morning. His
samchon’s hugs were nice because they made Taehyung feel like his samchon liked him very
much. His samchon couldn’t make delicious fried rice (Taehyung hated how some bits of rice were
always hard), but his samchon could make his favourite strawberry-banana sandwiches in the
shape of a bear. His samchon neither took him to theme parks or played soccer with him, but his
samchon had taken him to the big park many times and done kite-flying with him. His samchon
also didn’t buy him as many toys as Minnie’s appa did, but whenever his samchon did buy him
something, it was the coolest toy in the universe. Like Toka.

So Taehyung shook his head at Minnie and Gukkie. “My samchon is the best too. He does fun
things with me and give me nice food. I don’t need my appa to come back. I only need my
samchon.”

::::::::::

“Samchon, can you run fast?” The question came as they stepped out of the kindergarten gate.

Yoongi didn’t consider himself all that athletic, but he had been on his school’s basketball team
when he was a middle school student. He had also won a bronze medal for a race during one of his
high school sports meet.

“I guess I can,” Yoongi said, glancing at Taehyung. “Why do you ask?”

The concern on Taehyung’s face unwound with obvious relief. His steps lightened with a little
skip. “Minnie and Gukkie said their appa can run very fast and they’re going to win the race on
Sunday. I want Samchon and me to win too.”

Sunday? Running? Winning a race?

It felt as though Taehyung had thrown a smoke canister into Yoongi’s head. But as he scrambled
through his memory for hints, the haze began to clear and he vaguely remembered that some weeks
ago, one of Taehyung’s teachers had handed him a letter notifying and inviting parents to the
kindergarten’s sports day. He had been too big of an emotional wreck at that time to pay it any
attention.

“Samchon, can we win on Sunday?” Taehyung looked up at Yoongi as they came to a stop at the
crossing.

“I’m—“ The syllable exited his mouth, dry and coarse like a knot of sand. He swallowed,
moisturising his throat with some saliva and tried again. “I’m sure we stand a chance.”

“Yay!” Taehyung did a small jump and shook his little fist. His lips curved from ear to ear like he
had already won the race.

Yoongi could only hope that the Sunday Taehyung was talking about wasn’t this Sunday — the
Sunday of his audition.

::::::::::

Yoongi ended the call with Hoseok and tossed his phone onto the desk. He sank back into his chair
and clamped his temples between his fingers, but the action did little to relieve the dull headache
that pulsed there. Giving up the futile gesture, he closed his eyes and inhaled. As he released the
breath, he opened his eyes.
The calendar and the school letter laid side by side on top of his keyboard. He had found the
school letter sandwiched within a stash of flyers he’d collected for use as free and disposable
placemats.

He looked at the date printed in bold on the school letter, then shifted his gaze and located the
square on the calendar where the word “Audition” had been written in his neatest penmanship.
Such side-by-side comparison had been done many times over the last twenty-four hours, each
accompanied with a foolish wish that he had somehow read the dates wrong and that Taehyung’s
sports day and his audition didn’t fall on the same day.

That was as foolish as wishes could go.

Not only were the two events held on the same date, the audition time Yoongi was allocated
smacked right between the start and end time of the sports day.

Yoongi had consulted Hoseok on his predicament. Hoseok, whose audition was scheduled on a
different date, offered to contact Big Hit to see if a swap was possible. After waiting minutes for
his call to get through to someone in the company, his request was promptly denied on the spot.
The reason given might be less crude in reality, but its essence fell somewhere along the line of If
entering our company is so important to your friend, he should be able to make certain sacrifices.

Hoseok relayed all that to Yoongi over the phone call that had ended moments earlier.

“When I get into Big Hit, I’m going to make it a personal mission to identify this snobbish ass and
lodge a complaint to HR. Or Bang Shihyuk. That prick should be taught a lesson on compassion
and humility,” Hoseok ranted, indignant on Yoongi’s behalf. When he had calmed down, he asked
Yoongi, “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll think of something,” Yoongi said.

“You’re not thinking of missing the audition, are you?”

That mere idea thinned the air in Yoongi’s lungs. He had been trying to make a name for himself
since he arrived in Seoul five years ago. Night after night, he had worked on his music, silently
hoping that his hard work would amount to something. This was the closest he’d ever come to a
real opportunity. He couldn’t imagine himself giving up.

At the same time he couldn’t imagine disappointing Taehyung.

Sensing his dilemma, Hoseok sighed. “Go for the audition, okay? Leave Taehyung to me.”

Yoongi made a noncommittal sound, bade Hoseok goodbye and ended the call.

He picked the school letter off the desk. As he scanned its contents again (no, the event date did
not change), calculations whirred in his mind. The audition venue was a distance away from the
elementary school gymnasium where the sports day would be held. Even if his audition proceeded
smoothly and ended on time, and he grabbed a cab, there was no way he would make it to the
sports day without missing out a big chunk of it.

Turning slightly in his chair, he looked over his shoulder at Taehyung. The boy was seated at the
play table, running a colour pencil over a picture in his colouring book. Simultaneously, he chatted
with his favourite dinosaur plushie, who occupied the other play chair.

“Toka, I’m going to sports day on Sunday. Samchon says I cannot take you with me because you
might get dirty. But I promise I’ll tell you all about it. Don’t be angry with me, okay?” Taehyung
paused in his colouring to pat the dinosaur on the head. He looked at the plushie like he was
waiting for it to reply. A few seconds later, the boy nodded to himself and smiled, satisfied.
“Toka’s the best,” he said, then returned to colouring.

As Sunday neared, the sports day was all Taehyung talked about. Every evening on their way
home, Taehyung would share with Yoongi about the things he had rehearsed in school for the
event. He told Yoongi that he was on the same team as Jimin and Jeongguk for an obstacle race,
that Jimin was good at crawling through the play tunnel, that Jeongguk could skip with a hula
hoop faster than anybody else at school, that he himself was good at throwing balls into a bucket
placed some distance away. During his shower, the boy would also hum a song, which, according
to him, was the sports day song.

Yoongi got up from his swivel chair. His steps felt heavy. At the play table, he settled cross-legged
on the floor. The colouring book on the table was opened to an illustration of a hippo, which
Taehyung was in the midst of shading a bright pink.

Yoongi’s presence appeared to delight the boy. “Does Samchon want to colour with me?” In a
generous mood, he pushed the book and his colour pencils toward Yoongi.

“Erm, sure,” Yoongi said. He picked a purple pencil and took it to the blades of grass at the bottom
edge of the illustration.

Taehyung nodded in approval at Yoongi’s choice of colour. The boy hummed the sports day song
under his breath and his little foot began to tap.

After a minute or two of colouring distractedly, Yoongi took the plunge.

“Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi began carefully, “Samchon has a really important place to go on Sunday.”

“Uh huh!” Taehyung nodded happily, obliviously. “Samchon’s going to sports day with me.”

“No, Samchon has another place to go that’s not your sports day. I can’t go for your sports day.”
The words left Yoongi in a rush, like he was making a guilty confession.

Taehyung turned to Yoongi, frowning. His hand that was clutched around the pink-colour pencil
had stopped moving. “Samchon’s not going to sports day?”

“No.” Then Yoongi added hurriedly, “But even without Samchon, you’re still going. Hobi Hyung
will take you there. You can still do your races and have lots of fun.”

In the pinprick silence that followed, the implications seemed to dawn on Taehyung in their full
weight. His shoulders wilted, his face crumpled, and his chin dipped toward his chest. When the
boy spoke again, Yoongi feared that tears were coming.

“But Samchon has to be there to cheer for Taetae.”

“Hobi Hyung will cheer for you. Lee-ahjumma might also be there to cheer for you too. They’ll
cheer for you the loudest.”

Before he even became aware of the clash in dates, Yoongi had approached Madam Lee, asking if
she minded watching over Taehyung while he went for the audition. As expected, the landlady had
agreed promptly. Yoongi was almost certain that if he informed her of the slight change in plans,
she would be glad to attend the sports day.

Combined, Hoseok and Madam Lee would be able bring the house down with their spirited yells
and provide Taehyung with all the encouragement he needed.

Taehyung didn’t seem to be consoled by that. Gaze angled downward, he scratched the tip of his
colour pencil compulsively against the edge of the book, scoring a small pink mark there.

“Is the important place very very important to Samchon?” Taehyung asked.

“It is.”

“What is Samchon going to do there?”

For a moment, Yoongi thought about how he should put it across to the boy so that he’d
understand. “You know how Samchon is always making music at the computer? Some people
have listened to my music and they liked it, so they invited me to meet them on Sunday. If the
meeting goes well, I might be able to get a new job where I can make more music that even more
people will listen to.”

“Samchon likes making music,” Taehyung stated it like a fact.

“I do.”

There was a long pause where Taehyung’s pout rose higher.

“Okay,” the boy mumbled reluctantly, a fissure in his voice, “Hobi Hyung will take Taetae to
sports day. Samchon can go to the important place.”

“We can go to McDonald’s on Sunday after I come back,” Yoongi said.

Taehyung didn’t brighten like he usually did at the mention of his favourite fast food chain. He
gave a small, listless nod and returned to colouring the hippo, back hunched over with
disappointment.

Yoongi had resolved the dilemma, but he didn’t find much relief. He would spend the next few
days trying to cheer the boy up. He stayed by the table and continued to colour with Taehyung,
hoping he was somewhat making up to the boy by doing so.

He thought the worst of the storm had passed until all of a sudden, Taehyung jerked, as though
struck by a belated bolt of realization. When he turned his head in Yoongi’s direction, his
expression was one of horror. “So Samchon’s not going to run with Taetae?”

Yoongi understood Taehyung was referring to the parent-child race. He was about tell Taehyung
that Hoseok would run with him, but the boy’s eyes were rapidly filling with tears, his lips
trembling. Seeing that, Yoongi knew Taehyung wouldn’t be so agreeable this time. There was only
so much disappointment a child’s heart could withstand in a night.

The school letter had come with a program schedule, and Yoongi recalled that the parent-child race
was slated to happen toward the end of the sports day.

“You know what, I think I can make it for that race,” Yoongi said decidedly, at the penultimate
moment before a tear could escape Taehyung’s eye. “Samchon will be there to run with you.”

Taehyung sniffled. “Really?”

“Really.”

Then they did the pinky hook and thumb kiss which had become their ritual when sealing
promises.

Yoongi sure as hell hoped he wouldn’t be breaking this one.

::::::::::

A fluorescent light flickered in a corner of the cheerless room. A smattering of tablet chairs had
been positioned around the space and Yoongi sat in one of them. There were others around him,
but no one talked. Some time ago, a particularly outgoing auditionee had attempted to strike
conversations around the room, but after his questions (How are you? What’s your name? How old
are you? Are you nervous too?) were met with lukewarm and mildly pointed responses, he gave
up, getting the hint that others preferred to be left alone.

When Yoongi arrived at the venue that morning, he had been surprised by the building’s rundown
facade, decades too dated. The white paint had taken yellowish hue, and the windows on certain
floors had cracked and were ‘fixed’ by hastily pasted masking tape. The directory board in the dim
lift lobby indicated that Big Hit occupied three levels.

As per the instructions, he took the lift to the fifth floor. He tapped the call bell at the unmanned
reception desk and a minute later, a young woman who looked to be the same age as him hurried
out from the hallway.

“Hi!” She said, her voice as bright as the pink streaks in her bob cut. “Sorry to keep you waiting!
You know, manpower issues. I assume you’re here for the audition?”

“Yeah.”

“Name?”

Yoongi answered. She browsed through something behind the desk and pulled out a folder. Then
she gave Yoongi a printed number to paste on his shirt before leading him down the hallway. Big
Hit’s interior couldn’t be considered modern or cosy or welcoming, but it wasn’t as bad as the
building’s exterior.

She stopped and opened the door to a room. There were already others inside. “Please take seat
here and wait. I’ll come and get you when it’s your turn.”

The individual auditions didn’t take too much time. The turns ran in order of the given number.
Every ten to twenty minutes, the young woman would appear for the next auditionee. As
auditionees came and went, the number of people in the room remained at about ten at any one
time.

If things continued smoothly, Yoongi would be able to get to Taehyung’s sports day comfortably in
time for the parent-child race.

His phone lit with messages from Hoseok, who was with Taehyung at the sports day. Hoseok had
sent him photos of Taehyung with Jimin and Jeongguk, Taehyung sitting with other kids,
Taehyung getting ready for a race. There was also one of Taehyung and Madam Lee next a
standing sign announcing the event, both sporting a wide smile and a peace sign. The boy looked
happy. He had been gloomy when he was bidding Yoongi goodbye that morning, so Yoongi was
relieved he had cheered up.

As much as Hoseok’s updates helped keep Yoongi’s mind off the impending audition, it couldn’t
stop the butterflies from fluttering in his stomach. The fluttering worsened when his turn neared.
He had only a vague idea what was going to happen in the audition. He would likely be asked to
introduce himself and whatnot. Maybe he would be instructed to compose on the spot or be asked
his opinions on a particular piece of music.

Frankly, the only thing he was certain of was that they (he assumed there was more than one
person on the panel) would be sizing him up from the moment he stepped into the room. He had
never been someone others liked instantly. He hoped even if they didn’t like him as a person,
they’d like his music enough to give him a chance.

He checked his watch. Twenty minutes had passed since the person whose number preceded his
had been called. His turn was next. He sat up straighter and reminded himself to breathe easy.

Another five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen.

The door finally opened and the young woman with pink highlights poked her head in. Yoongi
readied himself to rise from the chair, but what came out of the woman’s mouth was neither his
name nor his assigned number.

“There’s kind of a delay,” she said to the room. “The PD-nim had a stom—” She halted with a
wince, then said again, “Something…urgent cropped up for PD-nim and he had to tend to it. We
seek your understanding.” She ducked out of the room and closed the door. PD-nim? Bang
Shihyuk?

Time continued to tick by. Yoongi looked at his watch again and again, growing antsier with every
moment. When another ten minutes passed, he got to his feet and went to the door. The young
woman exited from an opposite room just as he opened it.

He cut to the chase. “Excuse me, is it my turn soon?”

“Not yet,” she said, looking sorry. “PD-nim’s still not back.”

“When will he be done?”

She grimaced. “I don’t know. His stomach— I mean, the matter he’s handling seemed pretty bad.”

Yoongi breathed out in frustration, thanked her brusquely and went back to his chair in the waiting
room. Just his luck. He glanced at his watch again, fervently hoping whoever the PD-nim was, he
would be back in the next few minutes so that he could get this audition over and done with and get
out of here.

The faulty light in the corner continued to flicker as the minutes marched on. Soon, it became clear
that if Yoongi didn’t leave soon, he would miss the race with Taehyung. He stared ahead, at the
whiteboard at the front of the room. His hands felt cold as indecision froze him.

The logical side of his brain censured him for his foolishness. Giving up this opportunity for a
child’s sports day was idiotic. Which child grew up to remember the sports day he had when he
was five? What were the chances?

Another part of him begged to differ, gently reminding him that he would be breaking a promise to
Taehyung if he didn’t show up for the race. But he could apologise and make up to Taehyung,
couldn’t he? The boy would definitely find it in his sweet heart to forgive him, and they would
move on.

It’s not so simple, Yoongi thought.

It would be the first time he broke a promise he’d made to Taehyung. The boy would come to
understand that not all promises could be kept, not even the ones made with a pinky promise and a
thumb kiss. True, the world would teach Taehyung that eventually, but Yoongi did not want to be
the one bringing the lesson forward and plant in the boy the first bud of cynicism. The boy was too
small for that.

Fuck it.

Yoongi snatched his bag off the floor and shot out of the chair, barely aware of the bewildered
gazes arrowed his way. In a few strides he was at the door. He ripped the door open and stormed
out into the corridor, empty at the moment.

I’m not making a big sacrifice here, he reasoned with himself as he stomped away from the room.
It’s not a guarantee that I’d pass the audition.

He could always try again. He could always wait for another opportunity to come his way. He’d
become very good at waiting over the past five years. If he was meant to make it, the universe
would shift in the most minuscule but impactful way to make that happen. If he wasn’t, then he
would be a delivery man for the rest of his life. It was a dull job but it paid the bills and kept
Taehyung well-clothed and well-fed.

He quickened his pace, as if by doing so, second thoughts wouldn’t catch up and have him u-
turning back to the waiting room.

As he rounded the corner, he slammed into what felt like a humongous squishy ball and stumbled
two steps back. He raised his gaze, about to utter a curse word when his voice fled him.

He had never considered himself someone who gawked and gaped, but in this moment, gawk and
gape he did.

Bang Shihyuk was stouter and more rotund in person than in the photos from the sparse magazine
interviews he had given over the years. Perched on a plump nose were round glasses, and behind
the lens of those glasses were bright and intelligent eyes. Little about his appearance pointed to his
musical brilliance, but Yoongi knew. He knew because he had studied Bang Shihyuk’s
compositions over many nights, marvelling over the tremendous harmony and inventive beats the
man had managed to incorporate into his music.

“Careful there,” Bang Shihyuk said rather jovially as he dried his hands on a handkerchief. “When
a man’s in a hurry, the devil is happy.”

Yoongi recovered from his starstruck moment to glance upward. They were standing in front of the
restroom. All of a sudden, Yoongi had an idea what the PD-nim’s urgent matter might be. His jaw
clenched.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Got to go.”

He brushed past Bang Shihyuk, invectives erupting in his mind, all aimed at the man he was
leaving behind.

But underneath the layer of immense irritation an unmistakeable blotch of disappointment, because
he knew that was the closest in his life he would ever get to his idol.

::::::::::

A banner hung on the opposite wall where Madam Lee was seated, announcing the kindergarten
sports day w. A downsized winners’ podium had been set up near the staff station, alongside a
table bearing a neat arrangement of award ribbons and mini trophies. The high-ceilinged
gymnasium was draughty at this time of the year, but strategically positioned heaters kept the
space comfortably warm.

It was the first time Madam Lee had found herself in the presence of so many children. In their
yellow shirts, the kindergarteners resembled a troop of baby chicks. They sat in a separate area
from their spectating families, squirming and wriggling but still remembering to maintain enough
decorum as they awaited their races.

Shortly after her son moved to the states, she splurged on an exorbitant camera in the name of
taking up photography as a hobby. Now she used that camera to capture photos to her heart’s
content. She had an excellent seat on the front row of the audience section, and she alternated
between snapping pictures (mostly of Taehyung), cheering for the boy, and watching as the
children dashed in their races, adorable faces pinched with concentration.

Halfway through the event, someone — one of the teachers, perhaps — announced a break. The
children scattered back to their families, jumping and chirping and asking if their parents had seen
them done this or that. Madam Lee’s heart swelled seven sizes too big when Taehyung made for
her and Hoseok. She had first met Hoseok at the hospital back when Taehyung had hurt his head.
He was a dependable young man, the kind of friend that Yoongi certainly needed.

“Fourth place, Taetae!” Hoseok now exclaimed. “That’s awesome! Hobi Hyung has never gotten
fourth place in anything!”

Hoseok’s energy was infectious. If the boy had been bothered that his team hadn’t made it into the
top three, he wasn’t now. He smiled shyly at Hoseok. “Gukkie, Minnie and I can run really fast.”

“We can see that,” Madam Lee said, brushing a lock of the boy’s hair into place. “You did a really
good job. Are you hungry? Do you want a cookie?”

After a quick snack and a trip to the restroom, the break was over. Two boys came to get
Taehyung, and the three of them skipped hand-in-hand back to the kindergarteners’ area. The
children settled back in rows under their teachers’ supervision.

Madam Lee continued to enjoy the sport day, until the hands on her wristwatch hit particular
numbers. Worry crept in, and she leaned her head to Hoseok.

“Where’s Yoongi?” She asked in a low voice. Outside her house that morning, just before they
went their separate ways from Yoongi, Taehyung had looked somewhat glum. The boy had
cheered up only after Yoongi assured him he would be there for the race. Specifically the parent-
child race, as Hoseok had told her later.

“I don’t know.” Hoseok was frowning. “He’s supposed to be on his way, but he’s not replying to
my messages.”

A line of children was getting ready at the starting line for another race. Madam Lee glanced at her
watch once more. By hook or by crook, Yoongi better be here on time.

::::::::::

Taehyung looked to his left, where Minnie was chattering to his appa. He then looked to his right,
where Gukkie was doing stretches with his appa. Finally he raised his face to look at Hobi Hyung.

“Hobi Hyung, where’s Samchon?” He asked. One of the teachers had said it was almost time for
the race.

“I don’t know, Taetae,” Hobi Hyung said. “Your samchon isn’t picking up his phone.”

Taehyung lowered his chin and stared at his shoes. His shoulders and chest felt very heavy all of a
sudden. “But Samchon promised he’d be here.”

Hobi hyung crouched down before him and took his hands, giving his arms a little shake. “Don’t
be sad. Hobi Hyung will run with you. Don’t you like Hobi Hyung?”

Taehyung liked Hobi Hyung. A lot. But it wasn’t the same. He really wanted to do the race with
his samchon. He didn’t know how to tell Hobi Hyung this. He didn’t want to hurt Hobi Hyung’s
feelings because he knew that was a very bad thing to do.

“C’mon, Taetae.” Hobi Hyung stood up and patted his head. “It’s time for the race. Let’s win this,
shall we?”

Hobi Hyung took his hand and led Taehyung to the starting line. Minnie and Gukkie was there
with their appa. They looked happy and excited. Other children getting ready for the race looked
happy and excited too. So Taehyung looked at the ground and wished for the uncomfortable
feeling behind his eyes to go away.

“Taetae, are you okay?” Hoseok asked softly beside his ear.

“Hobi Hyung, I want to do the race with Samchon,” Taehyung said in a whisper so other people
around him wouldn’t hear his voice and know that he was about to cry.

Hobi Hyung was quiet for a moment, like he didn’t know what to say. “I know,” he held Taehyung
gently by the shoulders. “I wish your samchon is here to do the race with you too. But I don’t know
where he is. We can run this race first and try to win. If we do, then maybe your samchon can do
the next round with you when he comes. How about that?”

“Will Samchon come?”

Hobi Hyung didn’t answer straightaway. “I don’t know, Taetae.”

Taehyung wrapped his hands around the hem of his shirt. He didn’t feel like doing the race
anymore.

He was about to tell Hobi Hyung that when a voice called his name.

“Taehyung.”

As Taehyung turned to the sound, his heart stopped, then soared like an eagle with the strongest
wings.

::::::::::

Taehyung crashed into Yoongi and constricted his arms around Yoongi’s legs. The impact
unsteadied Yoongi, and his left foot jutted an inch back to regain balance.

“I thought Samchon wasn’t coming.”

Yoongi’s chest was tight with exertion. The traffic to the gymnasium had been horrendous. After
being stuck in a vehicle-clogged road for twenty minutes, he paid the driver hastily, got out of the
taxi and ran the rest of the way here.
Yoongi pulled in a large gulp of air to quell the stitches he felt in his side. “I promised I’d be here,
didn’t I?” He said breathlessly.

Hoseok approached from the starting line where pairs of parents and children were getting ready.
Although Hoseok looked none-too-pleased, the relief on his face was unmistakable. “Man, you
could have picked up your phone or something. What took you so long? Didn’t you leave Big Hit
on schedule?”

Taehyung tilted his face up to Hoseok. “Hobi Hyung, don’t be angry with Samchon.”

“I’m not angry, Taetae. Hobi Hyung was just worried something’d happened to your samchon.”
Hoseok flashed the boy a cajoling smile and looked at Yoongi again. “Anyway, now you’re here,
you better get ready.”

Hoseok proceeded to brief him on the race. There were two parts to it. The first entailed individual
tasks the parent and the child had to simultaneously complete. The adult had to one by one
transport three ping pong balls on a spoon across a distance, while the child had to bounce a ball
forward and back once, then make their way through a series of hula hoops laid on the floor by
jumping from one circle to the next. After the individual tasks were done, the parent and child
would have converged at a midpoint, after which they would complete a typical three-legged race
to the finishing line.

A teacher beckoned at them from a corner.

“Go on,” Hoseok put his hands on Yoongi’s and Taehyung’s back and gave them a little shove.
“Get in the line. The race’s about to start. We’ll be cheering the loudest for you.”

Yoongi slid out of his jacket and handed it to Hoseok. As he held Taehyung’s hand and made for
the starting line, he sucked in more breaths. The muscles in his calves felt watery, a price for barely
exercising since leaving high school years ago.

They settled in their spot between a mother-son pair and a father-daughter pair. Jimin, Jeongguk
and their fathers were further down. All of them seemed excited, raring to go. A flame of
competitiveness kindled to life as Yoongi assessed his opponents. He had sacrificed the audition
and ran like a maniac to be here. He’d be damned if he didn’t at least make it to the finals.

Yoongi squeezed Taehyung’s small hand. “Are you ready?”

Taehyung nodded, face set with determination.

Another signal from the teachers had the parents and children spreading out along the line. Yoongi
released Taehyung’s hand.

A teacher standing off the side raised a signal horn into the air. “Ready…get set…” All around,
muscles and limbs wound tight with energy, ready to launch forward. “Go!”

Shoes squeaked and footfalls pounded against the lacquered floor. Cheering voices erupted from
the spectators, along with fervent claps and passionate whistles. Yoongi focused on the task at
hand. He wasn’t the fastest, but he was steady. He transported the pingpong balls on the plastic
spoon without dropping them, unlike some parents who opted for speed but ended up dropping the
balls and had no choice but to return to the starting point for another.

He dropped his last ball into the small pail, finishing his task with decent standing. As he took a
breather at the midpoint, his gaze traversed across the children. Other than Jeongguk, who was
already midway through the hula hoop task, the competition between the children were close. Most
of them were at shoulder to shoulder as they bounced their balls back to the starting line.

His eyes sought out Taehyung, the familiar head of hair that bounced whenever the boy was in
motion. He cupped a hand next to his mouth. “C’mon, Taehyung!”

Some metres down, Jeongguk had arrived at the midpoint. After his father bound their ankles
together with a length of ribbon, they took off, their strides speedy and impressively in sync. There
was no doubt they were going to finish the race first, by a long shot.

He directed his attention back to Taehyung. The boy had started the jump from hoop to hoop, but
he seemed to have fallen behind. Panic coloured his small face as he tried to catch up. He was
doing pretty well at that, until between the fourth and the fifth hoop, he tripped over his own feet,
pitched forward, and landed flat on the ground. The impact emitted a loud thud so out of place with
the zealous cheering that people in the audience turned their heads to Taehyung. Gasps could be
heard here and there.

Yoongi expected the boy to get to his feet, dust off his knees and continue. But Taehyung simply
laid there, unmoving other than shifting to bury his face into his arm.

Other children had arrived at the midpoint when Yoongi approached Taehyung. Instinct urged him
to pick the boy off the floor and coddle him. Yoongi resisted that instinct. Instead he stopped at the
end of the hula hoops and got down onto one knee. Two teachers wearing the first-aid band on their
arms neared, but he held up a hand and they stopped uncertainly in their steps.

At this distance, Yoongi noted the slight tremors in Taehyung’s shoulders. The tips of Taehyung's
ears had gone red too. The cheers around the gymnasium had died down somewhat as more parents
and children completed the race. Pairs of eyes zeroed in on Taehyung and him.

“Taehyung, Samchon knows falling down must have hurt.” He meant for his voice to carry only to
Taehyung, but in the growing quiet of the gymnasium, he was certain people in the audience could
hear too. “If it really hurts, Samchon will come and help you up.” Yoongi paused when he heard a
sniffle from Taehyung. “But if it doesn’t hurt that much, can you try to stand up on your own?
Samchon knows you’re the strongest, bravest boy.”

Yoongi waited, as did the whole gymnasium. Seconds stretched on. He was starting to worry that
the boy had sprained an ankle or broken a bone when, finally, Taehyung moved. Head hanging, the
boy pushed himself off the floor and got to his feet, slowly but surely. The skin on his knees were
tinged red, but unbroken. Relief loosened the knot in Yoongi’s chest.

The gymnasium was at its quietest now. The lack of pattering footsteps told Yoongi that the others
had already completed the race. Between the starting and the finishing line, only Yoongi and
Taehyung were left.

“Do you want to continue?” Yoongi asked. “We’re not going to win, but we can still finish the
race.”

There was a pause where Taehyung seemed to process Yoongi’s words. Then the boy swiped a
forearm across his wet eyes and nodded. Sniffling, he made the jump to the next hula hoop, a little
clumsily, a little more cautious. But the boy didn’t give up. Pride swelled in Yoongi.

As Taehyung cleared the last hoop, he threw himself against Yoongi, who caught him in a hug.
The boy buried his face into Yoongi’s shoulder.

“That’s my boy,” Yoongi said. A force tugged across his lips. He didn’t fight it.
“Taetae’s the strongest and bravest boy,” Taehyung repeated Yoongi’s words.

Yoongi parted from the hug to look Taehyung in the eyes. The boy’s cheeks were pink. “Ready to
get to the finishing line together?”

Taehyung nodded. Yoongi straightened and took the boy’s hand. Even though there was no one left
in the race and they were last, they picked up their pace.

“Min Yoongi! Kim Taehyung!” Hoseok’s voice came from the audience.

“Taetae! Taetae!” At the finishing line, Jimin and Jeongguk bounced on their feet and shouted.

The cheers in the gymnasium started building up again, every bit dedicated to Yoongi and
Taehyung. Together, step by step, they finished the race.

::::::::::

As expected, even Yoongi and Taehyung completed the race despite the odds, they didn’t qualify
for the next round of the parent-child race. Yoongi sat in the audience with Hoseok and Madam
Lee as the semi-finals, then the finals, unfolded. In the end, Jeongguk and his father came in first,
which didn’t come as a surprise because anyone could tell at a glance that Jeongguk’s father was
the most athletic person in the gymnasium, and Jeongguk, the most athletic kid. More surprising
was the fact that Jimin and his father squeezed in third, considering the substantial beer belly
Jimin’s father carried. Jimin’s father wheezed for many minutes after the race ended, but it was
valiant effort on his end.

“How did the audition go?” Hoseok asked, leaning his head toward Yoongi as he clapped for the
children standing on the award podium.

“Later,” Yoongi said. He wasn’t in a hurry to find out what Hoseok’s reaction would be if he knew
Yoongi had given the audition up for a race.

After the award ceremony was over, the children put up a small dance performance. Yoongi
recognised the music immediately; it was the tune Taehyung had been humming over the past
week. The dance wasn’t neat or perfect, but where the kindergarteners lacked in coordination, they
made up in cuteness. Yoongi thought Taehyung was the most adorable kid of the bunch. He
recorded the performance on his phone, lens zoomed in onto the boy. Two seats away, Madam Lee
snapped away on her camera. He would get the photos from her later.

“So Taetae, did you have fun today?” Hoseok asked after the sports day was over.

They were on their way to McDonald’s for lunch. Despite her scorn for fast food, the landlady
came with them without a word of complaint. She was currently holding Taehyung’s left hand,
while Yoongi was holding Taehyung’s right. Yoongi had never seen the landlady in brighter mood.

“Uh huh!” Taehyung said. He stopped for a second, bending his legs and then taking a leap over a
manhole. He giggled when he landed.

“Be careful,” Madam Lee chided gently.

“Even if you didn’t win anything?” Hoseok teased Taehyung.

“But Minnie and Gukkie won!” Taehyung chirped simply. “And Hobi Hyung and Ahjumma
cheered for me, and Samchon did the race with me, and we’re going to eat McDonald’s. Taetae’s
the happiest boy today!”
 ::::::::::

A file landed primly on the desk, next to the fountain pen in its stand. Seokjin tore his eyes away
from the computer, looked down at the file, and then up at Namjoon.

“The private investigator came to drop this today,” Namjoon said.

Seokjin’s heart slipped a beat, but he kept his face straight as he picked the file off the desk and
leaned back into his chair. The file was much slimmer than the proposals and contracts he had to
peruse in his day-to-day life. Before long, he closed the folder and returned it to the desk.

“Shall I arrange for a meeting?” Namjoon asked.

Seokjin laid a cool stare on him. “It’s not your place to assume.”

Namjoon gave an apologetic bow that did not compromise his dignified demeanour. The amused
quirk in a corner in his lips was faint. Seokjin would have missed that entirely if he hadn’t known
Namjoon for years.

“My mistake,” Namjoon said. “I’ll await your instructions. In the meantime I shall excuse myself.”

After Namjoon left the room, Seokjin returned his attention to the proposal he’d been reading
before the interruption. He gave up a few moments later. Blowing out a breath, he picked the file
off the desk again and opened it. There were only a handful of pages inside, the first few dedicated
to profiles and backgrounds, while the remaining contained photos. Some were wide-angle shots,
others were close-ups. All of them showed the boy in various settings — at a bus stop, outside a
kindergarten, at a sports event, in a fast-food restaurant.

Seokjin paused at a photo of the boy smiling. Once, there had been another boy who sported a
similar smile on a similar face.

Seokjin closed the file before the familiar pain could crawl out of the place it had been banished.
Tossing the file onto the desk, he rose from his chair and walked a few steps to the windows.

The floor-to-ceiling glass panels offered an unrivalled view of Seoul. In the distance, the Han
River glimmer and rippled lazily under a peerless sky. Everything seemed tiny up here — people,
cars, flyovers, the billboards put up by Se-il and its competitors. When he had moved into this
office, he had expected himself to feel like a champion who had finally arrived at the top of the
world. Instead, he had never felt more like a failure.

A memory threatened to fledge, as though sensing an opportunity. He stared at the blue sky, until
the brightness imprinted bright patches onto his vision. There were things he had promised he
would do, and he would do them. But he had no use for the memories or the emotions. Emotions
hindered. That was the first lesson he had learned.

He smothered the remains of the memory and returned to his desk.

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

this chapter sort of went out of control. i envisioned it to be around 4000 words long,
but here we are lol. i hope i delivered the promise of fluff somewhat?

finally, finally, seokjin and namjoon have made their appearance! any speculations
about their role here?

as always, thanks for reading and let me know what you think!

till next time~

 Chapter Twenty
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Yoongi pinched the flesh under his thumb and gave it a twist. The dull pain that surfaced
reaffirmed that he wasn’t in a dream. He sucked in a breath to calm his nerves, flattening his hands
on his thighs and rubbing his palms against his jeans.

Plodding footsteps trailed up the corridor outside. Before Yoongi could ready himself mentally
(again), the door opened. As Korean customs demanded, he should have risen to his feet promptly
and dipped his head into a greeting bow. But such notions fled his mind at the sight of Bang
Shihyuk entering the crammed, stuffy meeting room. This was real. He really wasn’t dreaming.

Bang Shihyuk flashed him a genial smile as he pulled a chair out from under the meeting table. He
dropped heavily into the seat, substantial belly bulging outwards and coming into contact with the
arms of the chair. He was a massive man. Makes sense, Yoongi thought dumbly, you need a big
enough vessel to hold all that talent.

“How are you doing today?” Bang Shihyuk asked casually after he had settled well in his seat.

Yoongi drew in another breath to ease how rigid he felt. “Good.”

“I’m glad you came today. To be frank, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you since the day I
heard your portfolio.” Was that a compliment? Yoongi tried to ignore the bubbly pleasure
effervescing in his abdomen and narrowed his focus on Bang Shihyuk. “Imagine my
disappointment when I was told you’d walked out of the audition right before your turn.”

“I had…something urgent to attend to,” Yoongi hedged. The average person likely wouldn’t
understand why he had prioritised a kindergarten sports day over a formal audition. Even Hoseok
had groaned with disbelief when he found out. The last thing Yoongi wanted was for Bang
Shihyuk to think he was belittling Big Hit.

When someone from Big Hit contacted him a few days ago and invited him for a chat with Bang
Shihyuk, he had thought it was a scam. It wasn’t until he had verified the caller’s number with Big
Hit’s number in his past call log that his skepticism evaporated. He spent the next thirty minutes
sitting in his van in a sort-of trance, unable to believe his luck, when luck had largely left him in
the lurch for most of his life.

He had been given a second chance. A miraculous one. He wasn’t going to bomb it.

Bang Shihyuk flapped a hand dismissively. “If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s mine. In retrospect, having
mala tang right before the audition was a terrible idea. Have you eaten that before? It’s devil’s
food. Triggers waves after waves in the guts and sets your bowels on flames. I tried my best to hold
it in but it just came to a head right before your turn.” He laughed, a deep-bellied sound.

Yoongi had no idea how to react in face of the excessive information delivered so candidly. His
intention was to offer a polite smile, but he might have ended up grimacing with how his lips
twitched spasmodically.

“My bad, my bad,” Bang Shihyuk said. “I’m sure you haven’t come to listen to an anecdote about
my bowel movement. Let’s get down to business then.” He sank back into the chair, rested his
meaty arms on the handles, and interlaced his fingers on top of his belly. “Question, why make
music?”

Yoongi took a moment to orient himself. The question wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. “I
picked up music in my teens and realised it was all I could think about. So I decided to try my hand
at making music, and I’ve never looked back since then.”

“An acceptable answer, but also a dime-a-dozen one I could get out of any artist,” Bang Shihyuk
said flatly. “Maybe I haven’t made my question clear enough. Anybody can talk about creating art.
Anybody can create art; whether it’s good or bad, it’s another question. But no matter the kind of
art we create, our reason differs. Why do you make music? Why are you so obsessed with it? Cut
the politically correct crap and answer truthfully, because I’d know if you’re lying.”

Yoongi blinked, taken aback by the change in Bang Shihyuk’s demeanour. The older man was no
longer laidback, and a sharp intensity had taken residence in his eyes.

Inwardly, Yoongi scoffed at himself. How foolish he was to believe that he could dupe Bang
Shihyuk with a safe, bland response. He hadn’t lied, but his answer had been heavily censored.

Telling the truth required him to be vulnerable. Would Bang Shihyuk judge, poke fun at his
sentimentalities? If that was the case then… so what? If the interview fell through, Yoongi would
never meet Bang Shihyuk again. So what if he embarrassed himself now?

Yoongi wiped his clammy hands on his jeans and lowered his walls. “I make music because I’m
uncomfortable. I’m uncomfortable in this world. There are so many things about people, about the
way our world functions that piss me off to no end. I’ve never felt like anyone wanted to listen to
my rants, so making music is my way of yelling it all out, because if I didn’t, I’d go crazy. And if I
can make art out of my ugly feelings, then maybe I wouldn’t feel like my life has been one big
shitty mess with nothing to show.”

A part of Yoongi felt hollowed out. He couldn’t decided if that was a good thing, but he did feel
lighter.

There was no sneering judgement on Bang Shihyuk’s face. Instead a side of Bang Shihyuk’s
mouth tilted with a hint of a satisfied smile.

“Tell me, do you believe music could engender social change?” He asked, but continued before
Yoongi could think the question through. “I do. We can agree that music has the ability to give
people hope. That is important, but I also believe that music could — and should — be used to lend
voice to the voiceless and reveal the wrongs in our society. Too often, we stay mum about an
unfairness we have witnessed or experienced because we think we are the only one who felt that
way. But what if there was music that echoed our thoughts? And what if that music gained a
following? We could emerge from our isolation, band together, and finally try to rectify the
wrongs.”

Bang Shihyuk leaned forward, the lens of his glasses flashing under the fluorescent tubes. “When I
first listened to your music, I heard your anger and your frustration. We could do with an angry
person on our team. After all, before we can right any wrongs in the world, we need to criticise it.
And I have a feeling your music does just that.”

Yoongi stared at Bang Shihyuk, mind reeling from the awe and respect he felt for the man.
Cautious hope rose in his chest.

“But as much as we would like you onboard, there are matters of practicalities you need to
consider. You might have already known from the state of this building, but we are a small
company that has yet gained a footing in a cutthroat industry. Unfortunately, this means that we’re
barely making enough to make ends meet. We won’t be able pay you much in the first couple of
years.”

If this conversation took place a year earlier, Yoongi would have brushed the concern away
immediately. Things were different now. He had Taehyung to think about.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I can’t settle for a pay that is too low.” Saying that physically hurt. “I
have a boy to raise.”

If Bang Shihyuk was surprised that a young chap like Yoongi had a child, he neither showed nor
probed. He nodded in understanding and reached for the file placed there by a staff member when
she ushered Yoongi into the room earlier. Bang Shihyuk opened the file, and Yoongi saw that it
contained his application form.

Bang Shihyuk scanned the page. “It says here that you’re working as a deliveryman.”

“Yes.”

“How much do they pay you?”

Yoongi answered truthfully.

Bang Shihyuk’s gaze fleeted up to the ceiling as numbers ran through his head, fingers drummed
on the table. A few seconds later, he regarded Yoongi again, his eyes twinkling. “I believe we can
match your current pay.”

Relief broke over Yoongi like a fresh tide.

“I’d have to warn you though,” Bang Shihyuk said, rather jokingly, “you’re going to be working
much harder for us. It’d be worth it though.” A faraway look of determination came over his face.
“Someday the name Big Hit would be known not only in South Korea, but also throughout the
world.”

::::::::::

Lights in a multitude of colours were strung on lines, and these lines went up over the streets,
crisscrossing above traffic, blinking cheerily. In plazas and across shopfronts, Christmas trees of
various sizes were erected, wrapped in streamers, dressed in baubles and topped with glimmering
stars. Equally eye-catching are the figures of Santa, his reindeers and helper elves. They could be
found alongside the aforementioned trees, next to mountains of gifts, or merrily riding elaborately
painted sledges.

Shops put out signs emblazoned with SALE on their display windows. Restaurants invented
limited-time-only festive dishes and rolled out holiday menus. On the weekends, queues snaked
everywhere. People streamed in and out of malls, shopping bags dangling from their arms.

As the season got colder, snow fell, its weightless flakes fluttering and pirouetting in the air. Men
and women started walking with their faces buried into the collar of their coats, but their footsteps
were light.

Christmas was just round the corner.

::::::::::
Taehyung, Minnie and Gukkie stood side by side, their elbows resting on the window ledge, their
chins in their hands. It was playtime but they couldn’t go out to the playground because it was
snowing. They stared out of the window, watching as the snow fell from the sky. Sometimes big
snowflakes landed on the glass. When that happened, the three of them would move their faces
closer, and Taehyung would see the tiny patterns on the snowflakes. They were so very pretty.

Behind them, another group of children started to sing as they played with the building blocks.

You better watch out, you better not cry, you better not shout I’m telling you why. Santa Claus is
coming to town!

Minnie started to sing as well, then Taehyung, then Gukkie. They tilted their heads left and right
and tapped their feet as they sang. The teacher had taught them the song the day before, and
Taehyung liked it because it sounded like a really happy song.

“I can’t wait for Santa-ahjussi to come to my house!” Minnie sighed happily as they finished
singing the song.

Taehyung turned his head to Minnie. “Santa-ahjussi is going to your house?”

“Of course!” Minnie said. “He comes every year!”

Taehyung’s eyes went round. “You met Santa-ahjussi before?” Taehyung had only ever saw Santa
in pictures, but he thought Santa looked cool with his bright red coat, fluffy beard, rosy cheeks and
kind smile. He wanted to meet Santa too.

Minnie shook his head. “Nope! I haven’t met Santa-ahjussi before, but Santa-ahjussi always comes
to my home the night before Christmas to put presents out for me and Noona.”

“Santa-ahjussi comes to my house too!” Gukkie chimed in, and Taehyung turned the other way to
look at him. “Last year he gave me a golden soccer ball!”

“I got an enormous train set.” Minnie threw out his arms horizontally, nearly catching his hands in
Taehyung’s face. “We can play with it together if you come to my house. Taetae, what did Santa-
ahjussi give you?”

Taehyung’s stomach did a queasy squirm. He thought of telling a lie, but that would be a bad thing
to do because Minnie and Gukkie were his best friends and he shouldn’t lie to them. He lowered
his chin, his ears heating as he mumbled, “I haven’t received anything from Santa-ahjussi.”

A quiet second passed, then Minnie’s eyes blew wide as dinner plates.

“Santa-ahjussi didn’t give you anything? But that’s impossible! He gives every children presents!
U-Unless…” Minnie paused. Then, he bent his head to Taehyung and put a hand over his mouth,
like he was about to tell a secret. Gukkie huddled closer to listen.

“Unless you’re a naughty boy,” Minnie whispered. “My appa said Santa-ahjussi has a list of good
children and a list of naughty children. The list of naughty children don’t get any presents.”

Taehyung played nervously with the hem of his shirt. “B-but I’m not naughty.”

Minnie frowned. “Are you sure you didn’t do anything that made Santa-ahjussi put you on the
naughty list?”

Taehyung felt his mind starting to turn round and round like a merry-go-round. Could it be those
times he forgot to put his toys away? Or those mornings he refused to get out of bed? Or those
nights he lied about brushing his teeth twenty times on each side?

He couldn’t find his voice, but Gukkie told Minnie, “Taetae’s a good boy, like you and me. That’s
why we are best friends.”

Minnie looked at Gukkie for a thinking moment, then nodded slowly. “You’re right. Taetae’s a
good boy like us. I like Taetae the best in the world, and I don’t like naughty boys.” Minnie turned
back to the window and let out a large sigh. “So why didn’t Santa-ahjussi give Taetae any
presents?”

“Taetae, do you have a Christmas tree at home?” Gukkie asked.

Taehyung managed to shake his head.

“Maybe that’s why!” Gukkie exclaimed. “Santa-ahjussi always leaves the presents under the
Christmas tree—”

“Santa-ahjussi puts the presents on my bed so I see them right away when I wake up,” Minnie said.

“Oh.” Gukkie looked a lot less excited than a moment ago. “Then it’s strange.”

Minnie slouched forward, dropping his chin onto the window ledge, letting his arms hang. “Really
strange.”

::::::::::

Having spent the past six months with Taehyung, Yoongi could tell when the boy was feeling
down or bothered. This was especially easy at the dinner table. The boy would play with his food,
pushing them around on his plate. For those he did put into his mouth, he took a much longer time
to chew, like it wasn’t food he was swallowing but some old rubber shoes.

Tonight’s matter must be something big, because the boy didn’t even seem to be excited about the
dinosaur nuggets that were a treat specially for Wednesday nights.

“Stop playing with your food,” Yoongi said, unable to stand doing nothing any longer as Taehyung
mutilated the head off a brontosaurus.

Taehyung jerked at the censure in Yoongi’s voice, large eyes flitting up to Yoongi before looking
back down just as hurriedly, remorseful. The boy pierced the nugget with his fork, but did not
bring it to his mouth.

“What’s the matter?” Yoongi asked. “Why are you pulling such a long face?”

There was a pause, after which Taehyung shook his head, his face dipping lower.

“Did something happen at school?”

Taehyung shook his head again, but Yoongi was certain that something did. The boy had been
cheerful when Yoongi deposited him at the kindergarten that morning. Yoongi recalled the last
time Taehyung had looked so glum after a day at school.

“Did you quarrel with Minnie?” He asked, already preparing to have a stern word with that pouty-
lipped kid if he had so much as teased Taehyung again.

But Taehyung looked affronted that Yoongi would even suggest that. “Minnie’s Taetae’s best
friend.”

“What is it, then? Did you do something wrong and get scolded by a teacher?”

The shake of head again.

Yoongi harnessed his patience. “If you don’t tell Samchon about it, Samchon cannot help you
solve the problem. Do you want to continue being upset for the rest of the night?”

Slumped in the dining chair, Taehyung looked small and uncertain. A few seconds passed before
he opened his mouth hesitantly, his words creeping out in a mumble. “Minnie and Gukkie said
Santa-ahjussi gave them presents every Christmas, but I’ve never received any presents before.
Minnie said that Santa-ahjussi doesn’t give presents to naughty boys. Does Santa-ahjussi think
Taetae is a naughty boy?”

Met with Taehyung’s bothered gaze, Yoongi almost blurted that Santa doesn’t exist. That fact
would put an end to Taehyung’s troubles once and for all, but accomplishing that through such a
method was invariably cruel. Thus Yoongi held his tongue.

“I’m sure he doesn’t think that way,” he said, finally understanding why Taehyung had been
reluctant to open up to Yoongi. Being labelled naughty was one of the things that caused him the
greatest shame and fear.

Yoongi’s answer didn’t cheer Taehyung up at all. His eyes were downcast as prodded at the carrots
on his plate. “Then why doesn’t Santa-ahjussi give Taetae any presents?”

In some uncanny way, Yoongi felt like he was cleaning up the mess Seungah had created. It was
clear that she hadn’t thought to celebrate Christmas for Taehyung when she was alive. Frankly, he
couldn’t blame her. Growing up as they did, Christmas, Santa, reindeers and presents didn’t feature
in their childhood. Christmas always felt like somebody else’s business, while Santa a mythical,
impersonal figure they didn’t have much care whether or not he was real.

So yes, he couldn’t pin the blame on Seungah. Though that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel annoyed
with her.

Min Seungah, you owe me one, Yoongi thought begrudgingly.

He set his bowl and chopsticks on the table and focused on Taehyung. “Do you know how old
Santa-ahjussi is?” He asked.

Taehyung angled his head sideways, thinking. “Very old? His hair is white and his beard is white
too.” He gestured over his mouth.

“You’re right. Santa-ahjussi is an old man. When people get to that age, they forget things easily. I
think Santa-ahjussi simply forgot to bring you presents. It’s not because you’re a naughty boy.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Taehyung seemed to feel better, but the cloud hovering over his face had yet fully dissipated, and
that troubled pout was ever present. “But I don’t want Santa-ahjussi to forget to give me presents.”

Inwardly, Yoongi cringed at what he was about to do. “Samchon will make sure he doesn’t forget
this year. I’ll call and remind him.”
Finally, finally, Taehyung perked up. He was a picture of awe, and he looked at Yoongi with
sparkles in his eyes, as though Yoongi had transformed into some kind of superhero before him.
“Samchon’s friends with Santa-ahjussi?”

Yoongi shrugged. “Sort of.”

“When Samchon calls Santa-ahjussi, can Taetae talk to him too?” The boy asked excitedly.

“No, you cannot.”

Taehyung wilted. “Why?”

“You can’t talk to Santa on the phone unless you reach a certain age. You have to be an adult. The
last I checked, you still have a long way to go.”

Taehyung pouted. “Taetae grows up fast.”

“Sure you do. But once you grow up, Santa stops giving you presents.”

Yoongi fought a smile at Taehyung’s very apparent struggle. “Okay,” the boy said reluctantly, “I
will grow up a little slower.”

“What kind of presents do you want anyway?” Yoongi said. “Santa-ahjussi might ask.”

Taehyung’s eyes lit up like stars. “Can I get a car? Gukkie told me he has a car that he can control
and make it go wherever he wants.”

Possibly a remote control car, then. Yoongi didn’t suppose those cars were too expensive. He
could make it work with this month’s budget.

“A really small car is okay too,” Taehyung added hurriedly, worriedly, misconstruing Yoongi’s
silence.

“A remote control car’s fine,” Yoongi said. “I’ll let Santa-ahjussi know.”

A smile bloomed across Taehyung’s face, his cheeks rising into circular mounds. Yoongi shook
his head, lips quirking up a corner.

“I take it that you focus on your dinner now?” Yoongi asked.

Taehyung nodded readily. He brought his fork to his mouth and took a hearty chomp of the
dinosaur nugget.

A sly idea condensed into shape in Yoongi’s mind. He nudged his chin at the splatter of broccoli
and carrot stir-fry on Taehyung’s plate.

“You should eat your vegetables. I heard Santa-ahjussi doesn’t like kids who don’t finish their
vegetables.”

By the time dinner ended, Yoongi had discovered the most painless way to get the boy to eat his
greens.

::::::::::

That winter Madam Lee had electricians come and survey the rooftop apartment. A few days later,
rewiring work was done for the apartment. The antiquated air conditioner was removed and a new
one installed. The new air conditioner came with a futuristic-looking thermostat, and it kept the
living room evenly warm without generating too much noise. For the studio, the landlady brought
up a pretty powerful heater that guaranteed its occupants would never so much as suffer a vestige
of chill in their fingers or toes. This was summing up to what seemed like Yoongi’s cosiest winter
in Seoul.

Yoongi slid the glass doors shut and double-checked that they were firmly closed. He went to the
thermostat next to dial up the temperature. It was Christmas Eve, and weather reports had
announced that temperatures would dip to a new low as the night deepened.

He returned to the heart of the living room, where Taehyung was curled on the floor, sandwiched
between an electric mat and a fluffy blanket, his head resting on Toka’s belly. Yoongi canted his
torso a fraction to his left and peered down at Taehyung’s face. A sigh rose in his chest when he
saw that Taehyung was staring vacantly at the spot beside the TV, currently occupied by a
Christmas tree.

The ceiling lights had been turned off many minutes ago. The only illumination came from the
bedside lamp and the fairy lights wreathing the tree, flaring and dimming in turns. They had
bought the tree from a secondhand shop after Taehyung expressed his worry that Santa might not
be able to leave him presents if there was no Christmas tree. The tree was a small one, barely taller
than Toka, but anything bigger would be an obstruction in the apartment’s limited space. Together
they had adorned the tree with budget store accessories. Taehyung did the honours of putting a
golden star at its very top. When Yoongi switched on the fairy lights for the first time, Taehyung
had erupted in squeals and claps.

Yoongi looked at the wall clock. It was a quarter after eleven, way past the boy’s usual bedtime.

“You really ought to go to bed,” he said.

Eyes glazed with drowsiness, Taehyung mumbled, “I’m going to wait for Santa-ahjussi.”

“Santa-ahjussi’s going to take a long time before he gets here. He has to go to thousands of other
children first. You should sleep. Your present will be right before you when you wake up in the
morning.”

“But I want to say thank you to him.”

“You can write him a thank you note instead.”

Taehyung shook his head and curled into a tighter ball under the blanket. “It’s not the same.”

Here was something else Yoongi had learned in the past six months — a sleepy Taehyung was a
cranky and stubborn Taehyung. Yoongi supposed he could employ psychological tactics to
persuade or scare Taehyung into going to bed (for example, Santa doesn’t like children who don’t
sleep when they’re supposed to), but one should always pick their battles wisely. A look at
Taehyung and he knew the boy wouldn’t be hanging onto his consciousness for long. Best to let
nature take its course and save the effort.

Yoongi settled onto the floor next to Taehyung. “Samchon will wait with you.”

Taehyung made a small noise at the back of his throat. It would probably have been a happy noise
if he weren’t struggling to stay awake.

Yoongi rested a hand on Taehyung’s upper arm, fingers gently patting a lulling rhythm, a gesture
he knew would nudge Taehyung quicker into slumber. Minutes passed in the soft, festive glow of
the living room. Under Yoongi’s hand, Taehyung’s body rose and fell with increasingly deeper,
steadier breaths. Leaning forward, he checked Taehyung’s face. The boy’s eyes were closed.

Yoongi waited for a few more minutes before he got onto his knees and gently tugged away the
blanket covering Taehyung. He scooped Taehyung up into his arms and rose to his feet, making
the few steps to the bed. He set Taehyung down, pulled the comforter over the boy and tucked the
small feet under. Then, he picked Toka off the floor and placed it beside Taehyung’s head.
Through the whole sequence, Taehyung didn’t so much as twitch.

Straightening, Yoongi released an exhale. Now that Taehyung had fallen asleep, the plan could
finally be put into motion. He shuffled to the dining table and grabbed his phone off the surface. A
message from Hoseok had arrived fifteen ago. He read it, threw on a jacket and headed to the door.

He hissed the moment he opened it.

The freezing night carried a ferocious bite that seemed to instantly crystallise any moisture on his
skin into ice. He bunched up his shoulders and shrank deeper into his jacket, plunging his hands
into his pockets as he went down the stairs.

A van idled on the street, headlights glowing brighter than the lamps that lined the sides. When he
got closer, Yoongi could make out the words Jung Pobeom Furniture Shop in block letters. The
click of the door opening came from the front of the van, and Yoongi heard a hiss, not unlike the
one he’d emitted against the cold just seconds ago. A pair of feet hit the asphalt, the door slammed
close, and a moment later, Hoseok appeared and jogged up to Yoongi.

“Brrrr....I swear it’s never gotten this cold before. Any colder my lips are going to freeze right off
my face.” Hoseok jogged on the spot, breaths materialising as white puffs before his breath. “What
took you so long anyway?”

“Taehyung refused to go to bed. Said he wanna wait for Santa.”

Hoseok barked out a laugh. “What a gem of a kiddo. He must be so excited for Christmas. Let’s
get moving. We have a present to deliver and a precious boy to please.”

Yoongi followed as Hoseok rounded to the back of the van and lifted the back door. In the center
of the cargo area, the Christmas present for Taehyung stood in its full glory, bigger than Yoongi
had anticipated.

“It came in a pretty ugly and dented box so I took the liberty to unbox it and dress it up.” Hoseok
gestured. Yoongi noticed the large red and gold ribbon shimmering in the weak light. “It’s his first
Christmas present after all. It should look like one.”

“He’ll be thrilled,” Yoongi said.

Hoseok climbed onto the van and inched deeper into the cargo area. “I hope so. That’ll make the
fines I’ve possibly incurred worth it.”

“Fines?”

“Driving fines. I haven’t really thought about whether or not speed cameras go off for people who
are driving too slowly, but I guess I’ll find out in a couple of days.” Hoseok turned around, put both
hands on the present and rolled it to the edge of the opening, where Yoongi was waiting. “I drove
like a tortoise just in case I damaged Taehyung’s present.”

“I’ll get your fines,” Yoongi said, just as Hoseok hopped off the van.
“Sure,” Hoseok said easily, wedging his hands under one end of the present. Yoongi mirrored his
action on the other end. “When royalties start rolling in after the first song you produce for Big
Hit.”

With silent chemistry, they lifted the Christmas present out of the van, releasing a Oomph at the
substantial heft weighing their arms down. Hoseok shot Yoongi a look that seemed to say ‘This
bad boy is heavy, isn’t it?”

They toddled to the stairs like a pair of penguins and clumsily made their way up — Hoseok facing
forward, Yoongi moving backwards. Neither of them were able muster any conversation other than
strained bursts of warning (‘Careful where you step’, ‘Watch out for the handle’, ‘Don’t trip’). The
regret of purchasing this particular present caught up with Yoongi as every muscle in his arm
protested.

Miraculously, they managed to make it to the top of the steel stairs without much din or mishaps.
They set the monstrous present down, panting and shaking their arms out. A thin film of sweat had
formed on the back on Yoongi’s neck and he didn’t feel as cold anymore. A plus point, he guessed.
After he had caught his breath, he opened the door to the apartment and put the doorstopper in
place to keep it open.

They got ready to carry the load again.

“We can do this,” Hoseok muttered.

Their breaths hitched as they lifted the present the second time. In the same ungainly fashion, they
moved. They had largely manoeuvred the present through the doorway when a part of the present
on Hoseok’s end collided with the door frame. They froze and stared at each other.

Yoongi turned his head and looked over his shoulder in the direction of the bed. The small mound
under the blanket was still, showing no signs of stirring. Relieved, Yoongi turned back to look at
Hoseok.

“Did you scratch it?” Yoongi sounded as threatening as he could be while trying to keep his
volume down.

“I don’t think so,” Hoseok mouthed back. “It was the wheel.”

An arduous minute later, they made it to the Christmas tree. They positioned the present next to
the tree and straightened to look at their handiwork as their breaths slowed. In the ideal scenario,
the present would be placed under tree, but the present was too big and the tree was too small. This
would have to do.

Hoseok grinned with satisfaction, hands on his hip. “He’s going to be in for the best surprise of his
life come tomorrow morning.”

Yoongi turned and looked at the bed. Taehyung slept restfully on, snoring softly, oblivious to
Hoseok’s presence, to what had just happened. Yoongi returned his gaze to the Christmas tree.

“He better be,” Yoongi said, but no bite was to be found in his words, only lightness and
anticipation. He could already imagine Taehyung’s delight.

That was something Yoongi looked forward to.

::::::::::
Because he went to bed late the previous night, Taehyung slept past his usual waking hour on
Christmas morning. Yoongi hung about in the living room distractedly, unable to focus long on
any tasks. He glanced repeatedly to the bed for any signs of rousing from Taehyung. He would
hate to miss witnessing the boy’s reaction at the sight of his Christmas present.

In the end, impatience proved too big a foe. Yoongi strode to the bed and looked down. The boy
had his arms wrapped around Toka and half his face buried in the pillow.

Yoongi poked at Taehyung’s soft cheeks, mindful to use the pad of his finger and avoid the nail.
“Hey, wake up.”

Taehyung frowned and shifted away from the offending finger, snuggling deeper into Toka.

“Santa-ahjussi brought you a present last night. Don’t you want to see it?”

Taehyung opened his eyes slightly and looked at Yoongi with a dazed, lidded gaze. Yoongi waited
for his words to seep in. Finally understanding descended and Taehyung’s eyes flew open. He shot
into sitting position, bed hair sticking out from the side of his head in a way that mimicked the
architecture of Sydney Opera House. His eyes swung to Yoongi, wide awake.

“Where’s Taetae’s present?”

Yoongi moved aside, giving Taehyung a clear line of sight. The boy’s gaze landed automatically in
the corner where the Christmas tree was. Yoongi caught the exact moment Taehyung’s mouth fell
open in a soundless ‘O’. As though in a trance, Taehyung lifted the comforter off himself and
climbed out of bed. His pace was hesitant and careful, as if approaching an illusion that would
shatter if he made too sudden a movement. He stopped in front of the present.

“This is Taetae’s present?”

Yoongi moved to stand beside Taehyung. “It is,” he said.

The child-sized, open-top jeep looked even shinier in daylight. It gleamed, from its blue carapace
to the headlights to the windshield tinted grey. The seats could hold two small children. Toward the
back corner of the vehicle, a pole protruded upright. At the top of the pole was a a yellow flag, and
on the flag was an emblem of a baby bear and a letter T stitched next to it.

Taehyung stared at the jeep, awestruck.

“You said you wanted a remote control car, but Samc— Santa-ahjussi thought you would like this
even better. You get to sit in the car and drive it, just like a real driver,” Yoongi said.

Getting a remote control car had been Yoongi’s original intention when he was shopping online for
Taehyung’s Christmas present, but he just had to stumble into the product page for an electric car
— cars that children could actually get on and drive around. The price tag should have scared him
off, but his tyrannical mind had already begun to conjure images of Taehyung riding in one of such
cars.

Just imagine how ecstatic Taehyung’d be to receive one of these, his mind had tempted
seductively, he’d be so thrilled and he’d be so adorable being a little driver.

Down the rabbit hole he descended. His fingers could not resist clicking into the product pages of
electric cars, one after another. Those cars came in a wide range — some were too massive for
their apartment, while others were too small for Taehyung. Some were cheaper but with dubious
safety features. Some would only ship after Christmas.
It took a while before he came across the perfect vehicle for Taehyung. It came in the shade of blue
that was Taehyung’s favourite; it was of the right dimensions for Taehyung’s comfort yet not too
big for the space they had; it had glowing reviews regarding its safety and sturdiness.

The only issue was it busted his budget by eight times.

Deep down, he knew it was ridiculous to spend this much on an extravagant toy a child would
likely outgrow in two years, but he could not help but rationalise otherwise. Taehyung’s first
Christmas should be memorable and he should make up for the previous Christmases the boy had
missed, right? It made sense to splurge when he looked at it that way. Besides, he had the money.
He just had to delay the purchase of the audio workstation he’d been saving up for. Again.

But no big deal. Who needs a brand new workstation to make good music?

He moved his cursor and clicked on the purchase button. He proceeded to input Hoseok’s home
address as the shipping destination. The last thing he wanted was for the surprise to be foiled by
the deliveryman knocking on his door before Christmas.

Taehyung tilted his head back and looked up at Yoongi, awestruck. “Taetae can be a driver?”

Yoongi nodded. “Why don’t you try getting on it?”

Taehyung climbed reverently into the jeep, settled in the driver seat and placed his hands on the
steering wheel.

“Remember you should always put on your seat belt,” Yoongi gently reminded. “It’s by the side.”

Taehyung fumbled for the belt. Yoongi crouched down to help him, strapping the belt diagonally
over Taehyung’s chest and buckling the boy in.

“There you go.” Yoongi pulled back and looked at Taehyung. “What do you think? Do you like
it?”

Taehyung nodded rapidly. “It’s the best present Taetae’s ever received.”

Yoongi could not control the smile that broke over his face. He reached forward and ruffled
Taehyung’s hair. “I’ve charged the batteries overnight. You can start playing with it after
breakfast.”

Yoongi watched Taehyung ran his small hands adoringly over the dashboard, the dummy buttons
and the speedometer (the needle perpetually suspended at 50km/h), like he was still having trouble
believing that he had received this car as a present — a car that he could actually drive!

All of a sudden, Taehyung’s shoulders slumped. Noticing that, Yoongi asked, “What’s the
matter?”

“I haven’t thank Santa-ahjussi,” Taehyung said, troubled. “What if he thinks Taetae is a naughty
boy?”

Yoongi had never thought his heart could feel so full, so overbrimming with affection.

“Samchon has already helped you thank him, so he knows. Besides, Santa-ahjussi already knows
you’re the best boy.”

::::::::::
They were out on the rooftop after breakfast for the ‘drive’. The sharp cold from the previous night
had been tamed into a bearable chill by the sun in the cloudless sky.

“Put your right foot on the pedal and step on it gently. If you want it to stop, just move your foot
away,” Yoongi said.

Taehyung stared rigidly ahead, hands clutched around the steering wheel. The boy was a picture of
nervousness. When he had gotten into the jeep, he had asked if Yoongi would be riding with him.
Amused, Yoongi said he couldn’t because the vehicle was too small for him. Taehyung became
worried after that, so Yoongi strapped Toka into the passenger seat as Taehyung’s co-rider.

Which seemed to do little to soothe Taehyung.

“Go on,” Yoongi said. “It’ll be fine. Samchon’s going to be right beside you. Toka too.” He patted
the dinosaur plushie on the head.

Taehyung gulped. In an act of resolve, he moved his foot onto the pedal. Before he applied any
force, he glanced at Yoongi for reassurance. Yoongi nodded an encouragement and Taehyung bore
his foot down on the pedal cautiously. The jeep started to crawl forward.

“That’s it. Good job.” Yoongi strode alongside “Now make a left turn here.”

Taehyung got used to the vehicle quickly. Five minutes in and he already looked more relaxed,
tension giving way to exhilaration. Having gained confidence, he stepped harder down on the
pedal, but even at its fastest, the jeep was slower than an adult’s slow jog.

Boyish giggles filled the air as Taehyung drove round and round the rooftop. The little yellow flag
at the back of the jeep fluttered cheerfully. The images Yoongi’s mind had conjured before proved
accurate — Taehyung looked absolutely adorable driving the jeep, clad in oversized earmuffs and
a padded jacket, delight dancing in his eyes. Even Toka looked cute.

Some time later, Yoongi sensed movement in the apartment. He turned in time to see, through the
glass panel in the sliding door, Madam Lee letting herself into the apartment, bearing a plate. She
left the plate on the dining table and stomped straight at Yoongi, lips pursed in annoyance.

The sliding door slammed open a second later.

“What’s the point of having a doorbell but not answering the door? And what are you doing out
there in the middle of—” She halted and blinked at the scene before her.

“Ahjumma!” Taehyung waved as his jeep made past Madam Lee.

“Hey, keep both hands on the steering wheel!” Yoongi called after the boy. He turned to the frozen
landlady. “He just got his Christmas present today so we thought—”

“Give me a moment,” Madam Lee said and hurried away, out of the apartment. Yoongi heard the
steel stairs rattling as she tromped down.

She came back a few minutes later with her camera.

“Look here, Taehyungie,” she cooed and a succession of clicks went off.

Just like that, the morning drifted by — Taehyung having a whale of a time on his swanky jeep;
Madam Lee snapping pictures of Taehyung and his jeep from all possible angles, Yoongi standing
by the side, keeping an eye on Taehyung, ready to step in if Taehyung showed the slightest sign of
crashing (thank god that didn’t happen).

When lunch came, the three of them headed to a nearby fried chicken restaurant and had the
Christmas’s special. Then they returned home and, over tea, had the plate of butter cookies brought
up earlier by Madam Lee. Yoongi wondered when it had become perfectly normal to spend the day
hanging out with the landlady.

It was Taehyung’s first Christmas, and Yoongi’s as well. Yoongi didn’t ask, but considering the
fact that Madam Lee didn’t look like someone who celebrated Christmas, it was very likely
Madam Lee’s first Christmas as well.

As far as first Christmases went, it was not too bad. Not at all.

::::::::::

Christmas for Yoongi was further sweetened when a notification from Big Hit arrived in his inbox,
offering him a place as a junior producer. Hoseok, too, was notified of the same.

::::::::::

December turned out to be a season of celebrations. Five days after Christmas, on December 30,
Taehyung celebrated his sixth birthday. Yoongi’s plan had been to take Taehyung out to the
aquarium, followed by a meal at McDonald’s. But two days before the actual day, Madam Lee
found out through a conversation with Yoongi about Taehyung’s birthday. She suggested throwing
a small party for the boy. What started as a suggestion soon gained traction and morphed into
persistence and conviction. Knowing it’d be impossible to convince the landlady otherwise,
Yoongi went along. The aquarium would have to wait.

The party was held at Madam Lee’s place as it was more spacious than their apartment. Balloons
were inflated and tacked onto walls for decoration, bracketing a Happy Birthday banner. A table of
food made by the landlady were laid out, including seaweed soup, fried chicken chunks, and sweet
rice cakes. Despite the last-minute invitation, Jeongguk and Jimin showed up with their mothers.
Hoseok came with his younger brothers (because, in Hoseok’s words, what’s a kid’s birthday party
without more kids?). The party was the first time Yoongi saw the triplets and the only way to tell
them apart was from their different-coloured shirts. They had the same buzz cut, wore the same
impish grin, and were equally gangly. Taehyung, Jimin and Jeongguk took immediate liking to the
triplets, regarding their new hyungs with adoration shining through their eyes. The triplets seemed
flattered and they conducted themselves with the bearing of older brothers, helping the younger
ones get their drinks, showing them finger tricks that enthralled them, and ultimately trying to
teach them those tricks.

Hoseok rolled his eyes and commented to Yoongi, “If I had known this was what it takes to inject
some sensibility in them, I would’ve asked my parents to produce a younger sibling for them.”

When the time came to cut the birthday cake, everyone put on party hats. Even Yoongi and Madam
Lee, despite their reluctance, weren’t spared. Taehyung stood behind the cake, a strawberry
chocolate one embellished with a fondant caricature of a boy on top. The candles were lit, and they
stood around Taehyung, clapping and singing the birthday song.

Taehyung appeared shy but pleased that everyone’s attention was on him. His face glowed in the
candlelight. For some inexplicable reason, Yoongi was reminded of the first time he met
Taehyung. They had come so far since then, Taehyung no longer the lost and terrified boy who
stood under the sun, staring at an ice cream freezer. The Taehyung now was happy. Taehyung and
he made an unconventional family, but this family was far from dysfunctional. With the help of
Madam Lee and Hoseok, he had the ability to provide Taehyung a household he could grow up
well in.

Between Taehyung’s happiness and his landing the position at Big Hit, Yoongi had the sense of
things finally looking up for him for the first time in his life.

“Happy birthday, Taetae!” Hoseok hooted as Taehyung puffed his cheeks and blew the candles
out.

The triplets fired party poppers and rainbow-coloured streamers rained down. Jeongguk and Jimin
squealed and clapped as hard as they could. The smile on Madam Lee’s face had never been so
broad.

There were so many years of birthdays ahead of Taehyung. Yoongi made a wish that he would be
there for every single one of them.

Jimin’s and Jeongguk’s mothers helped slice up and distribute the cake. The children sat in a circle
around the coffee table to eat the cake. Yoongi and Hoseok settled on the sofa, while Madam Lee
and the mothers busied around food table, discussing the leftovers and concluding that everyone
should pack some food home to prevent wastage.

Hoseok was telling Yoongi about the unfair elimination of an idol hopeful from an audition
program last night when the sliding doors that opened directly to Madam Lee’s garden dragged
open and a wintry cold snaked into the warm room. Yoongi glanced that way, as did Hoseok.

Two men whom Yoongi had never met before stood in the living room. They were tall, dressed in
immaculate suits that made them look out of place at a kid’s birthday party. One man was slightly
taller than the other, and his arms held a humongous teddy bear with floppy limbs. Yoongi shot a
questioning look at Madam Lee, who had just surfaced from the kitchen bearing containers. But
the way her feet had drawn to a stop and the lack of recognition on her face indicated that the two
men were strangers to her as well.

A carpet of confused silence unfurled across the room. Even the children had taken pause in eating
their cake to gape at the two men.

It was the taller man who spoke first. He broke into an apologetic, embarrassed smile. “We’re
terribly sorry for intruding on this party. We rang the doorbell but it has broken. We knocked next
but no one came to the door. So we risked being presumptuous and let ourselves in. Please forgive
our discourtesy. It wasn’t our intention.” He scanned the room and his eyes lit up when his gaze
landed in the general area of the coffee table. He approached with the teddy bear and got down on
one knee, right next to Taehyung. “You’re Taehyung, right?” Dimples marked his cheeks as he
smiled kindly at the boy. “Happy Birthday. This is for you.”

Something icy trickled down Yoongi’s spine. In a room with three boys who were Taehyung’s age,
the man knew exactly which one was Taehyung.

Taehyung stared at the Teddy bear, confused. He then glanced at Yoongi for guidance. Before
Yoongi could decide whether to nod or shake his head, the man plopped the bear closer to
Taehyung.

“Go on,” the man wriggled his eyebrows playfully. “Or do you not like Teddy bears?”

“Taetae likes Teddy bears,” Taehyung mumbled as he hesitantly received the plushie that was
twice his size. “Thank you, Ahjussi.”
 “Hyung,” the man corrected, patting Taehyung’s head. “Call me Hyung. Namjoon Hyung.”

That name rang no bells in Yoongi’s memory.

“Do you know them?” Hoseok whispered to Yoongi.

Yoongi turned his attention to the other man, who had been silent all this time. Unflinchingly, the
man locked gaze with him. The expression on the man’s strikingly handsome face was cold,
inscrutable, underscored with a brand of self-assurance — or rather, arrogance. High and mighty,
Yoongi thought, someone who never took no as answer.

Yoongi steeled his voice. “Who are you?”

The man swept his eyes across the room, deliberate gaze grazing across each face, as though
pinning everyone in their lowly place. Finally he looked at Yoongi once more.

“My name is Kim Seokjin. I’m Taehyung’s uncle.”

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

So, did you guess Seokjin's identity correctly? ^^, What do you think is his motive?
With this chapter, the story has officially progressed into the final arc.

The whole christmas episode was something that had dwelled in my head for a long,
long time. i smiled a lot writing it, and i hope it brought a smile onto your face as well.
i guess at this point we can all agree that yoongi is our king of character development.
he's become so different from the beginning of the story.

i didn't get around to replying to the comments for the last chapter. apologies for that,
but every comment watered me when my inspiration felt dry as desert. i appreciate
them a lot. so if it's not too much of a trouble for you, do leave me a comment. that's
how writers thrive. :D

Only one arc left. I can't wait to finish this story. stay with me.

i hope you like this chapter. till next time <3

Curiouscat
 Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Everything about the place screamed expensive. They were in a restaurant at the top-most level of
Se-Rae, a five-star hotel known throughout South Korea for its grandeur. They sat at a table beside
a massive sheet of glass window that stretched from floor to ceiling. The traffic, streets and its
people was a carpet faraway beneath their feet.

Yoongi had brushed shoulders with the rich rather frequently. He often had to make deliveries on-
job to sprawling estates with walls twice his height. He had also interacted on a deeper level with
that echelon of people, particularly in the form of Steven and Serena. But the wealth of those
people had never felt as stifling as the extravagant atmosphere he was now in.

Kim Seokjin hadn’t spoken a word to Yoongi since they had left Madam Lee’s place. The landlady
and Hoseok had been wary when Kim Seokjin asked Yoongi if he was available for a chat, though
it had sounded more like an order than a polite request. As much as Yoongi had the urge to reject
the man, he wanted to find out what it was that Kim Seokjin wanted. People didn’t just appear out
of nowhere with no agenda, and given that Kim Seokjin’s agenda very likely involved Taehyung,
Yoongi’s protective instincts were triggered. He could have demanded they stayed where they
were, but Yoongi would hate to ruin Taehyung’s birthday party. So after reassuring Taehyung he’d
be back later, Yoongi left with Kim Seokjin and the man named Namjoon.

The ride to the restaurant had been quiet. Kim Seokjin looked impassively ahead and paid Yoongi
no attention, as if he couldn’t deign to speak to Yoongi. Namjoon drove and looked perfectly at
ease despite the tension sharpening in the backseat. His mouth never quite lost the suggestion of
amusement.

“Give me a call when you’re done,” Namjoon said as he pulled the car before the hotel lobby.
“Have a good chat.” He waved and flashed a smile as Kim Seokjin stepped out of the car and
Yoongi followed.

They cut through the lobby and took the lift up. Upon their arrival at the restaurant, a man dressed
in suit — the manager, Yoongi presumed — hurried out, flustered and bowing repeatedly.

“Sajang-nim, our apologies. We didn’t realise you were coming—”

Kim Seokjin held up a hand, cutting the manager off. “Prepare for us somewhere private.”

Sajang-nim. CEO.

The manager acquiesced immediately. He led them to table that had no other customers in its ten-
metres radius. A server dressed in a waistcoat with a bow tie around his neck was instructed to
bring them sparkling water infused with dried orange slices. The server filled their glasses, bowed
and took his leave.

Neither of them touched their glasses of water. Yoongi fixed his features in what he hoped was an
expression as inscrutable as Kim Seokjin’s. He refused to appear intimidated or nervous. Across
from him, Kim Seokjin reached into the inner breast pocket of his blazer and produced a leather
cardholder. From the cardholder, he pulled out a rectangle of paper.

A photograph, Yoongi realised as Kim Seokjin placed the piece of paper in the table’s center.
“The man in the photo is Kim Jaehyun,” Kim Seokjin said. “My younger brother. Taehyung’s
father.”

He sat back into his seat and crossed his legs at the knees as Yoongi looked at the photo.

Any suspicion that Kim Seokjin could be masterminding an elaborate con scheme turned to ashes.
The man in the photo looked to be in his early twenties. He donned a lopsided smile of mischief
and his eyes held a defiant glint. Such an expression had never been worn by Taehyung, who was a
sweet-natured child by most counts. But the resemblance between Taehyung and the man was
undeniable, from the expressive, almond-shaped eyes, to the angle of the nasal bridge, down to the
shape of the lips. Give it two decades, and Taehyung would grow to become a replica of the man in
the photo where appearance was concerned.

This man was Taehyung’s father.

It was a feat that Yoongi managed to keep his voice even. “Where is he then?”

“He’s dead.”

Yoongi didn’t know what stunned him more — the fact that Taehyung’s father was no longer
around, or the emotionless flatness with which Kim Seokjin had delivered that information.

A few moments passed where Yoongi waited for Kim Seokjin to elaborate, but he didn’t, so
Yoongi asked, “What do you want?”

“Taehyung’s custody.”

On the way to the hotel, Yoongi’d contemplated a dozen reasons for Kim Seokjin’s appearance.
The possibility that he was here for Taehyung’s custody had crossed Yoongi’s mind. He shouldn’t
be surprised at this moment, but he still was. Kim Seokjin sounded too brazen, too self-assured,
like a man used to having everything handed to him on a silver plate as long as he asked.

Anger sparked in Yoongi.

“What makes you think you’d get what you want?”

Unruffled, Kim Seokjin reached into his breast pocket again and produced a piece of paper folded
in half. He unfolded it and set it purposefully beside the photo of Taehyung’s father.

A cheque, this time. The amount that could be encashed boasted a long tail of zeros. The number
barely computed itself in Yoongi’s mind.

“This sum of money can be the head start you need in your life,” Kim Seokjin said, leaning back
into the chair and recrossing his legs. “You can move out of the hovel of an apartment you’re
currently living in and start your own music production company. Of course, Se-il can help
promote your company if you need. But if starting a company is too much work for you, you can
simply invest with this money and have it easy for the rest of your life.”

Under the table, out of Kim Seokjin’s sight, Yoongi dug his nails into his hands. The pain
grounded him, stopped him from upending the table there and there. Of course Kim Seokjin would
have performed background checks on him.

“What is this? A transaction?”

“Only if you choose to see it that way,” Kim Seokjin said. “I see it as a win-win solution for both
you and Taehyung. Ultimately Taehyung and you are going to end up with better lives if you go
along with this.”

Yoongi clenched his jaw. “We’re doing just fine together.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Kim Seokjin agreed easily, like he was patronising Yoongi. “But I’m just as
sure you will be better off separately. You can raise Taehyung, that much as clear, but you can’t
provide him with the same access to resources as I can. With me, he can attend top schools, not just
in the nation, but also overseas. He’ll have opportunities to discover and develop his talents. When
the time is right, he can even get a position in Se-il if he chooses to.” Kim Seokjin paused,
observant eyes assessing Yoongi’s reaction. “You might have grown to love Taehyung, which
makes it difficult for you to let him go. However, if you love him, surely you’d want him to have a
much better life.”

How crass, Yoongi thought. How alike those clichéd, eye-rolling dramas where the rich get the
poor to do their bidding by waving a stack of cash before their faces. He’d assumed the
scriptwriters had exaggerated, but here he was, in the same trope that those writers had never
outgrown. It was so absurd that he couldn’t help the dry laugh of derision that left his throat.

He reached for the cheque and brought it closer to study the amount of money imprinted on the
surface. He counted the zeroes. 500 million won. A sum that he’d only encountered in his wildest
daydreams.

He folded the cheque into half, then rolled it up like a cigar. Kim Seokjin was watching him, so
Yoongi lifted his gaze and locked eyes with him in a challenge as he lowered the cheque into the
glass of water, pushing down until it was completely submerged.

Kim Seokjin looked at the destroyed cheque, then back at Yoongi, an eyebrow raised.

A corner of Yoongi’s lips quirked with contempt as he leaned back into his seat, mirroring Kim
Seokjin’s posture of power. “You’d have to do better than this to convince me to let you have
Taehyung. All your talk about you being able to send Taehyung to good schools and give him a
good life… you believe that highlighting my inadequacy would weaken my resolve, don’t you? But
this is what you don’t know — all the things you’ve said to me, they were the things I said to
myself in the past. I didn’t give Taehyung up back then, and I sure as hell won’t be giving him up
now.”

Kim Seokjin stared blandly at Yoongi, composed as ever. Not even a tic in his jaw or a flash in his
gaze suggested that he was riled up.

“I don’t know when your brother died and I’m not interested to find out,” Yoongi said. “But where
were you in Taehyung’s life so far, if you are so keen on taking care of him?”

Kim Seokjin stayed silent.

“I knew it,” Yoongi scoffed. “Don’t you think it’s shameless of you to appear out of nowhere and
try to claim Taehyung when you’ve been absent all these time? I don’t know if you need someone
to tell you this — outside of your lofty world, things don’t work that way. At least not for me.” He
got to his feet. “If that’s all, I’m leaving.”

Kim Seokjin regarded Yoongi with pity in his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself
into,” he murmured.

“Bring it on,” Yoongi said, then left.

::::::::::

The bellhop at the entrance opened the car’s door for Seokjin. As he slipped into the backseat,
Namjoon glanced at the rearview mirror. A knowing smile stretched across Namjoon’s lips.

“Seems like things haven’t gone quite as you’ve planned,” he observed cheerfully as the bellhop
closed the door and folded himself in a farewell bow.

Seokjin took his phone out and began checking his emails. “The endpoint remains the same,” he
murmured without any inflection. “Since he’s refused the easy way to get there, then he just have
to do it the hard way. At the end of all this, he’d be regretting how foolish he is today.”

Namjoon shrugged, releasing the handbrake and pressing down on the accelerator. “Calling him
foolish is harsh. It’s human nature to fight for and protect the things we love. That’s what makes us
lovable, don’t you think?”

::::::::::

Yoongi hardly paid attention to where he was going. His mind raced and replayed the conversation
with Kim Seokjin on loop. He thought about what would happen next. People like Kim Seokjin do
not show restraint just because they were told no.

His legs moved on auto-pilot — taking him to the station, cutting a path through the holiday
throng, getting him onto the subway. The next time he became fully aware of his surroundings, he
was back in the neighbourhood, the sky the bruised colour of an over-ripe plum.

The gates to Madam Lee’s house had been left open. He entered and stood in the garden for a
moment. Warm light spilled out of the windows and the sliding doors, illuminating the porch and
lending a glow to the potted evergreen in the window. Through the glass, he saw Taehyung
huddled in a circle with the triplets, back toward him, deep in some kind of activity.

It was another world in there, a world where Taehyung felt happy, safe and content. Today was
Taehyung’s birthday too, and Yoongi shouldn’t taint the boy’s memory of it. Taehyung had always
been a sensitive child; the last thing Yoongi wanted was for him to sense that something had gone
wrong.

Yoongi forced a lid over his roiling thoughts and drew in a deep breath to ground himself before
making his way up to the porch.

Taehyung snapped his head over his shoulder the second Yoongi slid the door open. His face lit up
in a way that made Yoongi’s heart ache. In front of the television, Hoseok sprang up from the
couch where he had been jiggling his leg distractedly a minute before. Madam Lee straightened her
back. Their faces told him they had been impatiently awaiting his return. Jimin, Jungkook and their
mothers were nowhere to be seen. They must have gone home.

“Samchon!” Taehyung scrambled to his feet and came running toward Yoongi. “Look!” He lifted
his hands for Yoongi to see. A dozen of small glittery stars and planets adorned his skin.

Yoongi forced himself to smile, but it took less effort than he had anticipated. “Where did you get
them?”

“Manse Hyung and I won them,” Taehyung said proudly. “We’re very good at the game, and
Manse Hyung let me have all the stickers.”

Yoongi looked over to where the triplets where. Through the break in the circle, he spotted a
miniaturised version of a tabletop football and some sheets of stickers splayed on the floor.

“Are you having fun?” He asked.

Taehyung nodded readily. Seeing the boy’s glowing face, it suddenly occured to Yoongi that
Taehyung had lost both his parents if what Kim Seokjin had said was true.

Yoongi harboured a distorted view of parents: having them didn’t mean shit if they didn’t care
about you. He wasn’t considered an orphan, but he had certainly grown up feeling like one. On the
flip side, not having parents didn’t always mean children grew up unloved. Taehyung was an
orphan, yes, but that was a fact, not a cause for an unhappy childhood.

A fierce urge gripped Yoongi there and there — he would love Taehyung doubly more and prove
that parents aren’t the only people who could give children a complete home.

Yoongi ruffled Taehyung’s head. Taehyung gave him a sweet smile.

“Does Samchon want to play with us?” Taehyung asked.

Hoseok appeared beside Yoongi. “Maybe later, Taetae,” he answered on Yoongi’s behalf. “Why
don’t you go ahead and continue?” He made a production of peering over at the triplets and
frowning worriedly. “I think Manse is losing without you.”

“Andwae!” Taehyung pattered hurriedly back to the triplets and plopped back down on the space
he’d vacated.

Yoongi felt a slight shove against his shoulder. “Come, let’s talk in the kitchen,” Hoseok
whispered.

In the kitchen, Yoongi grabbed a cup off the dish rack and filled it with tap water. Madam Lee had
followed them, and for a moment, Yoongi expected her to give him the stink-eye for treating her
kitchen like his own place. She didn’t. She hung in the periphery, as though unsure if she was
allowed to be there, listening in. Yoongi didn’t ask her to leave.

“What exactly is going on?” Hoseok started, rather agitatedly. “After you left I went online to
check who Kim Seokjin and guess what I found? He’s the fucking CEO of Se-il. Do you know Se-
rae belongs to them? The famous five-star hotel?”

“I know,” Yoongi said, sinking into a chair by the table. His legs felt weak and tired. Away from
Taehyung, his pretence cracked and the details of his meeting with Kim Seokjin came rushing
back. “That was where we went earlier. The staff there calls him Sajang-nim.” He tasted disgust on
his tongue.

“Is he really Taehyung’s uncle?”

“He showed me a photo of his brother. Taehyung’s a spitting image of him. It’s hard to think that
they’re unrelated.” Besides, Yoongi thought, Kim Seokjin didn’t look like somebody who made a
move unless he was absolutely certain.

Hoseok sucked in a disbelieving breath and leaned his hip back against the counter. “So Kim
Jaehyun’s likely Taehyung’s father.”

Yoongi raised his head at Hoseok. “How do you know?”

“You’d be surprised how much interest the press shows the ultra-rich. While you were gone I
snooped around the net and tried to piece things together. Kim Seokjin had only one brother, Kim
Jaehyun. Unless he has another brother we don’t know about, Taehyung’s father can only be Kim
Jaehyun.”

“You’re right.” Yoongi pinched at the area between his eyebrows. “Kim Jaehyun’s Taehyung’s
father. Kim Seokjin said as much. He also told me Kim Jaehyun’s dead.”

“From a drug overdose,” Hoseok said. At the unexpected piece of information, Yoongi stared. “It
happened a few months ago, right about the time Kim Seokjin became the CEO of Se-il,” Hoseok
continued. “Some articles reported his death, but they were all taken down shortly after and the
incident fizzed out of the spotlight. There were a few speculations in online forums that Kim
Seokjin had a hand in his brother’s death due to the timing of it all, but those speculations don’t
hold much water. There is no obvious reason for Kim Seokjin to get rid of Kim Jaehyun on his
climb to the top. Kim Seokjin was always the heir apparent of Se-il, while Kim Jaehyun… let’s just
say he didn’t have a very clean private life.”

Inwardly Yoongi sneered at the hypocrisy of Kim Seokjin. The man had the gall to claim that he
was able to give Taehyung a better life when he couldn’t even take good care of his own brother.

“But enough about the complex lives of the rich.” Hoseok shook his head and shrugged
impatiently. “What does Kim Seokjin want?”

Yoongi inhaled and released the words on his exhale. “Taehyung’s custody.”

The ensuing quiet in the kitchen was thick. From the corner of his eyes, Yoongi caught the
landlady stiffening. The intense beats of plastic footballers hitting an equally plastic ball travelled
into the kitchen, mixed with the climbing voices of the boys. Amidst the noise, Yoongi picked out
Taehyung’s anxious cheers easily, never mind the fact that he was in another room.

“Well, shit,” Hoseok said.

“He offered me 500 million won to give Taehyung up,” Yoongi said, his voice lowered. Even
though Taehyung wasn’t in hearing distance, he still didn’t want to risk the boy accidentally
catching the conversation.

Hoseok was indignant. “Does he think he’s in some fucking drama?”

“I destroyed the cheque in front of him and told him he’s not getting what he wants…like I’m in
fucking drama too.”

“Of course you’re not going to give Taehyung up.” Hoseok waved his hand dismissively.

By the side, Madam Lee relaxed visibly.

Hoseok crossed his arms across his chest. “Kim Seokjin’s not going to give up either.”

Yoongi nodded. “He threatened as much. A huge fight is coming my way.” He had considered
several possibilities of what Kim Seokjin would do next, and all of them struck fear of varying
degrees into him.

“Our way,” Hoseok corrected. “I’m going to be on your side and we’re keeping Taehyung.” He
turned his head in Madam Lee’s direction, extending comradeship. The landlady nodded with grim
determination.

“If he thinks he could bully us just because he has some money, he better think twice,” she said
 stoutly, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Gratitude flickered like a warm fire in Yoongi’s chest, shining a light into the murky future,
rendering the unknown less daunting. If Kim Seokjin wanted a fight, Yoongi would give him one.

“It sucks that this is happening at a time we’re supposed to be celebrating the end of the year. But
since the fight is coming whether or not we want it, we might as well enjoy the holiday and rest
well,” Hoseok rolled his shoulders easily. He might be downplaying the severity of the issue, but
Yoongi needed his optimism. The smaller the problem seemed, the braver he could be. “How did
your sister even get to know Kim Jaehyun, anyway?” Hoseok asked. “They don’t exactly belong to
the same circle, or even the same world.”

Yoongi shrugged. “That’s something I’d like to know too.”

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

eeep this is a short chapter! but it paves the way for the next, bigger chapter (which i
have little idea how to go about executing it lol). what do you think will happen next?
and what do you think is the deal between seokjin and his brother?

as always always, thanks a bunch for the comments left last chapter. they brightened
my day and some even made me laugh XD i promise i'll get back into the habit of
replying to comments again, starting from this chapter!

i'm not sure if i'll be able to get another chapter in for this month but i'll try (school's
out so for the first time in the past few months i have no students to be responsible for.
how wonderful.)

have a good month ahead and till next time!

Curiouscat
 Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The lawyer’s name was Seo Hyunjin. She was in her mid-thirties and a cousin of Hoseok. He had
recommended her, vouching for her competence, the moment he knew Yoongi was in need of a
lawyer who dealt with family matters.

“I know what she’s like,” Hoseok had said, his eyes blazing with conviction. “She’s the kind of
person who devotes her hundred percent for her clients. She’s the kind of person you need.”

Yoongi trusted Hoseok—he really did—but his confidence and faith couldn’t help but take a
downward turn when he arrived at the law firm for their appointment on a weekday afternoon. The
office was nothing like the spacious and futuristic-looking law firms frequently represented on TV.
It was crammed with outdated furniture and air-conditioner whirred constantly in the background.
Between tottering piles of files, Yoongi glimpsed employees—assistants, perhaps—on the phone
or hunched over their desks and typing away.

Didn’t truly excellent lawyers work at more impressive law firms? There wasn’t even a reception
area here.

Yoongi cast a doubtful glance at Hoseok, who had volunteered him to accompany him today.
Hoseok was looking elsewhere, obviously unperturbed by less-than-reassuring facade.

A middle-aged woman sitting at the table nearest to the doors noticed them when they entered.
Being in the middle of a call, she gave them an apologetic smile and gestured for them to wait. It
wasn’t until five minutes later that she finally hung up and hurried over to receive them.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” she said. “Which one of you is Mr Min Yoongi?”

“I am,” Yoongi said.

“And I’m the supportive friend who’s sitting in the appointment,” Hoseok said, in an impish tone
that suggested he’d just cracked a joke.

She merely nodded her head politely. “Lawyer Seo is ready to meet you. If you’d follow me.”

They followed her along the rooms arranged by the side and stopped at the door second to the last.
She brought up her knuckles and knocked, pushing the door open when the person inside called out
Please come in.

Lawyer Seo stood up and extended her hand as Yoongi entered. He shook her hand, surprised at
the firm grip of her bony fingers.

“I hope your mother is well, Hoseok,” she said as the middle-aged woman closed the door and left.
The timbre of the lawyer’s voice was among the deepest Yoongi’d ever heard.

Hoseok grinned at her. “She’d be even better if you could swing by every Chuseok, Noona.”

“Maybe after I finish saving the world.” The smile ghosting over her lips hinted at an inside joke.

Hoseok shook his head. “Maybe after you secure Taehyung’s custody for us,” he corrected.
“Then we better get started. Take a seat.” She settled into her chair while Yoongi and Hoseok took
the ones across the desk from her.

Lawyer Seo’s personal office was just as lacking in space as the office outside. An L-shaped desk
bearing a workstation, a bookshelf filled to the brim with files and hardback books, and the two
client chairs ate up most of the room. The wall to the right carried a window, its blinds currently
rolled up to let in natural light, but had a view of nothing more than the roof of a rundown building
in the next lot. So the confidence and assurance that was awakening bit by bit in Yoongi could only
be inspired by the woman opposite him.

Slipping into work mode, her earlier friendliness had been swapped out with an air of efficiency
and seriousness. She read the letter handed to her by Yoongi, a squint in her eyes and a pinch
between her eyebrows suggesting a deteriorating eyesight. Not once did she come across
intimidated by the fact that the letter had been sent on behalf of Se-il’s chief, one of the richest
men in South Korea.

The letter had been delivered by priority postage a few days ago, about a week after he had told
Kim Seokjin in no uncertain terms to Bring it on. Yoongi had expected the letter and its contents,
but even then, as he unfolded the letter and scanned its contents, he couldn’t help but feel his legs
weakening ever so slightly. He pictured a three-feet dwarf wielding a rusty sword at an
approaching transformer, majestic and seven buildings tall. He would have laughed at the
ridiculous tableau his mind had conjured, if not for the fact that he was the said dwarf.

Lawyer Seo lowered the letter onto the desk.

“What happens now?” Hoseok asked.

The lawyer sat forward and rested her forearms on the desk, interlacing her fingers. She looked at
Yoongi. “Just like what the letter’s said, Kim Seokjin’s requesting through his lawyer a voluntary
transfer of Taehyung’s custody from you to him. They are open to amicable negotiation and
agreement, but only for the next two weeks. If they don’t hear from you by then, they’ll pursue
Taehyung’s custody through formal means.”

“They can be open to amicable negotiation and agreement for ten years and things are still not
going to change,” Hoseok said, whipping his head to look at Yoongi. “We’re not giving Taehyung
up, right?”

Yoongi nodded tightly. His throat was a dry, constricted mess, unable to squeeze out so much a
sound. He had been holding out the foolish hope that he had somehow misinterpreted the double-
negatives and legal jargons in the letter, that Kim Seokjin wasn’t really coming after Taehyung’s
custody. Lawyer Seo’s confirmation had dashed that hope.

“Then we have a fight ahead of us,” Lawyer Seo said gamely. “In two weeks, after the grace period
they have given us, Kim Seokjin’s lawyer is going to file on his behalf an official petition for
custody. That will set things in motion. A court date will be issued thereafter, usually within three
to four months from the date of filing. You will be served the papers to attend the proceedings on
that day, and the assigned judge will make a formal decision on whom to award the custody. You
can make your own case, but if you agree, we can make the necessary arrangements and I’ll
officially represent you in court.”

The litany of procedures dizzied Yoongi. He gave himself a moment to recover his balance, then
nodded again. He tried not to think about the legal fees he’d incur. He could not afford to take any
missteps and bungle things up when Taehyung was on the line.
“Great,” Lawyer Seo said, giving Yoongi a smile meant to calm and reassure. “I’ll get my assistant
to start preparing the paperwork. Your signature is not required at the moment, but it’s good to get
the forms ready so we can file them as soon as we receive the court order. The way things
currently stand, that’s only a matter of time.”

She retrieved a pen from a holder, pulled a notepad toward herself and scribbled a memo.

A question formed at the base of Yoongi’s throat, but he swallowed it away, deciding he’d rather
not risk being told he only had a minuscule chance of keeping Taehyung. He opened his mouth and
instead asked, more practically, “What else do I have to do?”

The lawyer answered readily as she returned the pen to the holder. “There’s a declaration letter
you’d have to eventually address to the judge. That’s essentially an essay sort of thing stating the
reasons why Taehyung should stay with you. You still have time, but I’d encourage you to start
thinking about what you’d include in there. Also, during the actual court proceeding, you’re going
to be asked questions, especially uncomfortable questions meant to scrutinise your competence as a
caretaker. I’ll be practising with you beforehand closer to the date, but it doesn’t harm to start
preparing how you’d go about answering. I’ll send you the list of questions commonly asked at
such proceedings. Oh, and also get ready reference letters from people who can vouch for your
character. That will influence the outcome as well.”

“I’ll be your reference and write you a glowing letter,” Hoseok volunteered immediately. “Madam
Lee too. And Principal Yang. A principal’s word is bound to be worth its weight in court, right?”

“Definitely,” Lawyer Seo agreed.

Hoseok’s optimism did little to quell the queasiness in Yoongi’s stomach. His heart thudded against
his rib cage in a quickened pace and left him slightly breathless. He must have been unable to hide
how overwhelmed he felt, for when Lawyer Seo’s eyes shifted away from Hoseok and onto him,
they filled with sympathy.

“I’m sorry to bombard you with so much information, but there’s something else you should know.
Along with filing the petition of custody, Kim Seokjin and his lawyer are likely going to request a
temporary custody order as well. That will be a separate hearing on its own, which usually happens
within a week of that request. If granted, Kim Seokjin will have temporary custody of Taehyung,
even before the court decides whom to award the final custody.”

Hoseok made a noise that was a mixture of frustration and confusion. “Why would Kim Seokjin
even be granted temporary custody?”

“If the court has reason to believe that Taehyung’s in any way neglected or put in harm’s way if he
stays with Yoongi a moment longer.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Hoseok said impatiently. “The court has no reason to believe that.”

“Here’s the thing: at this very moment as we speak, the private investigator on Kim Seokjin’s side
is probably doing extensive digging and gathering as much information as they can about you.”
She glanced at Yoongi. “They are going to weaponise any information they find and use it against
us in court.”

Hoseok nearly ejected himself out of his chair. “That’s ridiculous!” He said hotly.

“Yes,” she said through a regrettable sigh. “Unfortunately they are well within their rights to do
that.” She turned in her chair, angling her shoulders toward Yoongi. She looked serious. “I’m not in
any way suggesting that you’ve been incompetent in the course of caring for Taehyung. I’m asking
this question because it’s always bad for the client when their lawyer gets surprised by new
information, particularly information that the client has withheld, whether deliberately or not. I
need you to be honest with me: Has anything happened in the past that would cast doubt on your
suitability to be Taehyung’s guardian? Any incidents that’d suggest neglect, any accidents that
resulted in injuries?”

The word injuries sharpened two memories into clarity.

“Taehyung got into an accident in the kitchen once and scalded himself.”

“How bad was it?”

“It took a while before he could freely move his arms.”

“Was that the only injury?”

“No,” Yoongi said, his voice a numb, wooden thing. “He also fell and injured his head two months
ago.”

“How bad was that?”

“He was hospitalised for a few days.”

“And if I’ve remembered correctly, Taehyung’s come into your care approximately six months
ago?”

Yoongi nodded.

Silence descended into the room like heavy theatre drapes as Lawyer Seo squinted her eyes in
thought. The next moment, her lips compressed involuntarily into a grave line. Dread roiled in
Yoongi’s stomach. Any layperson who could put two and two together would see Yoongi’s
ineptitude in caring for a child. Two serious injuries within a six-month span? Even that statistic
looked absurd to Yoongi.

Next to him, Hoseok grasped the implication too. “But surely the judge is going to understand that
children get into accidents!”

Lawyer Seo jolts a fraction, as though Hoseok’s voice had scattered her train of thoughts. She
schools her expression back to neutrality and recovers her composure. Ignoring Hoseok, she said to
Yoongi, “Thank you very much for your candour. We’ll take that into account this information
when we strategise. The other side will surely be using those two accidents to afflict damage, but
now that we know what’s coming, we can weave a solid defence.”

She gave him a private smile meant to inject confidence, one that Yoongi’s stiff lips were unable to
return.

“Are we going to do the same to Kim Seokjin then?” Hoseok’s indignation made his question
sound more like a demand. “Hire a private investigator to dig out his dirty secrets? Rich people like
them tend to be hiding closets full of skeletons.”

“Oh, no,” the lawyer shook her head, partially amused. “I’d say yes if the client has more than
enough money to burn. Private investigators are costly. More like you’ve said, our opponent is
rich. Not only that; influential too. Their private affairs are likely shrouded by layers of security.
Trying to dig the dirt on them would be as effective an attempt to pick open a door sealed from the
other side with cement. It’s a waste of resources.”

Hoseok sank into his chair, huffing. The lawyer sliced an offended glance at him.

“Yah, Jung Hoseok.” Hoseok and Yoongi startled at her pointed tone, so drastic a contrast to her
prior professionalism. “Are you doubting your noona now?”

It was quite an entertaining sight, to see Hoseok looking like a chastised schoolchild after all the
times he had given Yoongi a piece of his mind. “No,” he sounded embarrassed, “of course I
wouldn’t dare think that way.”

She leaned back against her chair as if it was her throne, cockily appeased. “Good, because with or
without a private investigator, I’m going to do my best for you,” her eyes glinted with a ferocious
conviction, “and we’re keeping Taehyung.”

::::::::::

Yoongi took Lawyer Seo’s instructions to heart and sat before his desk one evening to write the
declaration letter for child custody. He had a notepad before him, flipped to a blank page
containing faint engravings of musical notations impressed over from previous pages. Laid out
beside the notepad was a printed document the lawyer had sent him, which detailed the how-to of
writing the letter, including the relevant content to incorporate and its structure.

The first paragraph of the letter was to be an introduction of the people involved. He quickly jotted
down the straightforward facts — Taehyung’s full name, his birthdate, how he came to be under
Yoongi’s care — and felt a vindictive frisson as he penned a note indicating that Kim Seokjin had
never been a fixture in any phases of the boy’s life. The next paragraph was relatively simple too, a
description of the current caretaking arrangements for Taehyung.

It was for the third paragraph and thereafter that Yoongi hit a roadblock. His pencil took an abrupt
pause from its easy scribble, its leaden tip suspended half a centimetre from the paper’s surface. He
was supposed to expound on the reasons he deserved Taehyung’s custody, but the reasons did not
spring forth readily. On the contrary, unhelpful memories gushed outward to batter Yoongi’s
confidence. He thought of the times Taehyung behaved with a carefulness unbefitting of children
his age just so he could avoid angering him. He thought of Taehyung’s injuries, the ugly bruise on
the forehead, the patches of startlingly red skin that blighted the small arm. Yoongi did not cause
them, not directly, but he was just as guilty.

There were times Taehyung was happy with you too, a voice in his head protested weakly.
Remember when you took him kite-flying? Or those trips to McDonald’s?

There were instances of Taehyung’s happiness, true, but they appeared insignificant and colourless
when pitted against the various occasions Yoongi screwed up. If he was feeling this way, how was
he going to convince the judge any different?

“Samchon.” Taehyung’s voice came from his left, jolting Yoongi back to the studio. He’d been so
deep in his thoughts he hadn’t heard Taehyung leaving the play table to come to his side. “This is
for you.”

Dropping his pencil to the desk and hastily sweeping those darn memories aside, Yoongi turned in
his chair and received the piece of paper Taehyung holding out. As he studied Taehyung’s latest
artwork, he felt Taehyung sidling closer in anticipation, as the boy was apt to do. A printed
illustration of a grand piano was depicted on the paper, the space within its lines textured by with
glued-on pieces of colourful paper torn by hand, as evident by the fuzzy edges. Next to the piano
was the figure of a person sporting blue skin, obviously drawn by Taehyung. The preternatural
choice of colour had stopped surprising Yoongi.

“It’s very nice,” he said, feeling the upward tug of a smile in his lips as sparkles appeared in
Taehyung’s eyes.

Taehyung leaned closer, his cheek settling against the round of Yoongi’s shoulder as he pointed at
the collage. “I did this part in school today but I couldn’t finish drawing. So the teachers asked me
to finish it at home.”

“Have you been working on this after dinner?”

Taehyung nodded, pleased that Yoongi would ask. “I wanted to give it to Samchon before I go to
bed. It’s a present.”

Yoongi gestured at the blue figure drawn next to the piano. “So I take it that this is me?”

“Yes!” Taehyung bounced once on the balls of his feet. “The teachers let us choose from many
pictures. Gukkie chose a car, Minnie chose a spaceship, but I chose the piano,” he said proudly,
“because Samchon likes the piano.”

Yoongi drew his head back to look at Taehyung properly, amused. “How do you know that?”

“Because Samchon has a piano on the table!”

A genuine laugh tumbled out from Yoongi’s throat before he could help himself. “Do you mean
that?” He jutted his chin at the computer monitor, beneath which was his musical keyboard
temporarily tucked away to night to make space for writing. “That’s not exactly a piano, but you’re
right. I like the piano. How about you?”

Taehyung frowned in contemplation of the question. After a moment, he shook his head. “I don’t
know. I haven’t played a piano before.”

He looked a little downcast when he said that. It was difficult to pinpoint the exact instant his
initial indifference had given way to affection, but now that Yoongi had both feet firmly planted in
the latter realm, he felt a natural urge to cheer the boy up whenever he showed the slightest sign of
unhappiness.

So Yoongi asked, “Do you want to give it a go?”

Taehyung seemed to lit up from within, nodding with such enthusiasm that made Yoongi suspect
he had long since been curious about the piano but hadn’t quite dared ask Yoongi about it. Yoongi
felt a pang at the thought that Taehyung hadn’t fully let go of his cautiousness around him. It was
Yoongi’s own fault. If he could turn back time, he would slap his abrasive and temperamental old
self across the face and bellowed at him to get his shit together.

He squeezed his regret aside.

Taehyung brimmed with anticipation as Yoongi gathered the papers, put them away, and pulled the
keyboard onto the cleared space. Wedging his hands under Taehyung’s arms, Yoongi lifted the boy
onto his lap and nudged the chair to the edge of the desk. Taehyung settled down happily with
Yoongi behind him and the keyboard before him.

“What song would you like to play?” Yoongi asked, and when Taehyung appeared unable to make
a swift decision, he suggested, “How about Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?”
Taehyung’s mouth split into a huge smile and he nodded eagerly.

Yoongi positioned Taehyung’s hand on the keys, then laid his own over Taehyung’s smaller one.
He plunk Taehyung’s index finger on the first note; the key descended but nothing sounded.

Taehyung snapped his head back to look at Yoongi questioningly, nearly head-butting Yoongi in
the nose.

“Sorry, forgot to unplug the headphones. Okay, we should be able to hear something now.”

As Yoongi controlled Taehyung’s fingers and the notes floated out into a song, Yoongi glanced
down and sideways. He saw the wonderment that had brightened the boy’s eyes, the glitter in them
that remained even as the song ended.

Yoongi couldn’t tell for certain if Taehyung’s marvel had stemmed from sheer novelty, but if
Taehyung’s interest in the piano endured, then Yoongi would do everything he could to teach him.

They played the same song again, then twice more. After that they moved on to other children’s
songs, all choppily rendered. But with the addendum of Taehyung’s giggles and his tendency to
sing along, the music, despite its clumsiness, was honey to Yoongi’s ears. It transported him back
to the day he chanced upon the music shop, had his first taste of the piano, and realised music
could expand his world and diminish his fears and unhappiness.

They sat before the desk, Taehyung giggling as he plunk at the keys, Yoongi smiling as he guided
the boy’s small, stubby fingers in doing so. Yoongi was barely conscious of his thighs growing
numb under Taehyung’s weight.

He was happy now. Taehyung was happy too.

At some point the earlier regret he felt toed out again. He knew that regret would stick with him for
a long time to come, because the only way to undo it was to travel back in time and be a decent
Samchon to Taehyung right from the first day they met each other at the antiquated store beside a
dusty road.

But he forbade the regret to hold him back from striving. He had miles to go in learning how to
raise Taehyung the right way, how to love Taehyung the right way so the boy grew up secure in
the knowledge that Yoongi would always be be his safe harbour no matter the waves life sent his
way.

As for his earlier mistakes, Yoongi would make it all up to Taehyung someday. He was confident
of that. He had been an awful Samchon in the beginning, but he’d like to believe he was much less
awful now, and in the near future, he’d be even less so.

No more second-guessing himself.

Kim Seokjin and his lawyers could use every textbook tactic to disparage him in the courtroom;
Yoongi would not back down. Try as they might, he was keeping Taehyung.

::::::::::

Days marched on as hectic as ever between taking care of Taehyung and starting his new job as
Big Hit’s producer-in-training. His duties and responsibilities, both new and old, pushed Kim
Seokjin to the back of his mind. For most part of every day, Yoongi could pretend a custody
lawsuit wasn’t looming ahead. Only at nights when everything had fallen silent would thoughts of
Kim Seokjin take a firm hold and evoke an uneasy squelch in his belly. But he would slap those
thoughts away and shut his eyes. He imagined Kim Seokjin would gloat if he knew he’d unsettled
Yoongi enough for him to lose sleep. Yoongi wasn’t going to give Kim Seokjin that kind of
satisfaction.

The third week of January shattered any fantasy Yoongi had about the possibility of Kim Seokjin
changing his mind and giving up the fight over Taehyung’s custody. It had been on a Wednesday
evening barely passed six; Yoongi was halfway cubing carrots for a stew, and Taehyung was
transfixed on his cartoon, when the courier rang the door to deliver the letter, the top-right corner
of the A4-sized envelope printed with the name of the law firm representing Kim Seokjin.

Over dinner, Taehyung told Yoongi about a funny story Jimin had told him at school. Yoongi tried
his hardest to be mentally present. The last thing he wanted was the boy to think Yoongi wasn’t
interest in what he was saying and feel hurt over it. It was after doing the dishes and bathing
Taehyung that Yoongi glimpsed a space. As Taehyung occupied himself with his toys, Yoongi sat
at the dining table and read the letter. He sent a quick message to Hoseok and Lawyer Seo. To his
surprise, his phone lit up with a call from her barely a minute later.

“Could you read me the contents of the letter?” She asked immediately.

Yoongi glanced at Taehyung and told her to hold on. He got up, grabbed the papers, and slipped
out onto the rooftop, phone wedged between his ear and shoulder. His fleece pajamas barely
protected him from the worst of the night’s biting cold.

Borrowing the light filtering out of the living room, Yoongi related to Lawyer Seo the contents of
letter.

“Just as we’ve expected ,” she said after he’d finished. “They’ve filed a request for temporary
custody on top of their official petition.”

The letter propelled events into earnest motion, like an overzealous foot that had slammed onto the
accelerator and refused to budge. Yoongi filled out and signed more forms than he’d ever done in
his life — appointing Lawyer Seo as his representative in court, submitting his intention to contend
and whatnot. He visited the lawyer’s office twice more, and on the morning a week after he’d
received the letter, he swapped his usual winter outfit of a frayed jumper and jeans for his only
suit, the same suit he’d worn for Seungah’s funeral, but missing the creases after Madam Lee took
it under the iron. Over his suit, he threw on a semi-decent formal coat that he got from the thrift
shop.

As uncomfortable and restrictive the suit felt, he thought he looked presentable, like someone
trustworthy. The landlady had nodded with satisfaction when he appeared on her doorstep to
deposit Taehyung. She would be taking the boy to school on his behalf.

“Listen to ahjumma and remember not to run when you’re crossing the road,” he told Taehyung.

Taehyung nodded distractedly, his eyes on the stray cat that was sitting on the neighbour’s wall.

“I’ll watch over him. Here, take this and drink it on your way.” She handed him a slim cylindrical
metal flask. “It’s seaweed soup, for good luck.” Under her decidedly collected demeanor, there was
a trace of worry and nervousness. She nudged her chin down the street. “Go along. You don’t want
to be late.” She settled a hand on Taehyung’s back. “Come on, Taehyung. We’ll get you to school
after breakfast. Don’t you like the sound of blueberry pancakes?”

Taehyung tore his eyes away from the cat, attention lured away. “I like pancakes!” He moved a
foot across the landlady’s gates, then as though remembering something, looked over his shoulder
to wave energetically at Yoongi. “Bye bye Samchon! See you later!”

Last night, when Yoongi had told Taehyung of this morning’s arrangements, he had been
immediately agreeable. More than the boy’s growing attachment to the landlady, Yoongi preferred
to believe he had somewhat redeemed himself in Taehyung’s eyes. The boy had become less
anxious about being apart from Yoongi, resting sure in his confidence that Yoongi would always
come back for him.

Yoongi was thankful, doubly so because that meant Taehyung didn’t ask too many questions about
where he was going. Even if there was a way to explain complex legal procedures to a child,
Yoongi did not know how to tactfully explain to the boy that his father’s brother was trying to take
him away.

He bid Taehyung and Madam Lee goodbye and got on his way.

He arrived at the courthouse way ahead of time. After clearing the security checkpoint, he waited
at the collection of chairs in the lobby. As much as he was certain that any judge with a sound mind
could not possibly believe Taehyung was in immediate risk under his care, Yoongi felt the clammy
cold of nervousness leeching warmth out of his hands. He fidgeted in his seat. His distracted mind
thwarted any attempt to pass time by working on some lyrics on his phone. He put his phone away
some time later and proceed to re-tie his shoelaces, brush lint off his pants and adjust his tie.

He thought he had run out of things occupy himself when he remembered the flask Madam Lee
had given him. He took it out of his backpack and opened the lid to a curl of steam and the faint
fishy smell of kelp. He was about to take a careful sip when he caught Lawyer Seo sauntering
toward him in large steady strides, a sleek briefcase in hand. He twisted the lid back onto the flask
and set it aside, rising to his feet.

“I thought I was early enough, but you’re earlier,” she said.

“Better that than late,” Yoongi said.

She nodded once, then gave another nod after she appraised him from head to toe. “Nice suit.”

“Thank you. You too.”

She was dressed in an immaculate pant suit, her hair slicked back into a bun at the nape of her
neck. A light make-up covered the signs of tiredness on her face. She looked sharp and ready.

She laughed at Yoongi’s compliment. “Dressing for first impression points is part of the battle.”
She consulted her watch. “It’s still early but let’s head to the courtroom to get ready. Anyway, did
Hoseok send you an annoying number of messages last night? I’m a hair’s breadth away from
blocking him. I should have tried requesting that he be allowed in, if just to quiet him.”

The casual conversation they engaged in as they rode the elevator to the designated courtroom was
a welcome distraction for Yoongi.

The courtroom Yoongi had envisioned was stately with tall ceilings and furnished with leathered
chairs. The courtroom he ended up setting foot in was anything but. The size would have passed
for an ordinary conference room if not for its layout. They walked down the center aisle, passing
three rows of gallery benches before arriving at the two large tables that faced a longer table and
the elevated judge’s bench. Lawyer Seo gestured Yoongi to the table on the right.

“We’re the respondents so this is our place,” she said as she set her briefcase on the table. “It’s
closed hearing today, so no one else is allowed in,” she supplied when she saw Yoongi glancing
back at the empty public gallery.

He remembered her telling him that a few days ago. It was something to do with protecting Kim
Seokjin’s identity. When a person was rich enough to be one of the economic pillars of a nation,
their privacy came at a premium.

Lawyer Seo pulled out documents from her briefcase. As she ran through the notes in her file,
Yoongi stared at the pentagonal emblem of justice high on the wall behind where the judge would
seat. He hadn’t believed in justice, but he hoped that this time — just this time — it would be on
his side.

The double doors behind opened. Lawyer Seo and he turned on reflex to see two men striding up
the center aisle. One of them was Kim Seokjin, and the other, an older, heavyset man imposing in
both stature and aura. This was the first time since Taehyung’s birthday party that Yoongi had seen
Kim Seokjin. He was as put together now as he had been previously, dressed in a sharply tailored
suit, hair combed immaculately back.

Yoongi watched him for any signs of nervousness. There was none. Either he was confident, or he
was treating this like an activity he did in leisure, one the outcome of which he had no care for.
Both thoughts soured Yoongi’s stomach, but the latter disturbed and angered Yoongi. Kim Seokjin
was here fighting him for Taehyung’s custody, but he hadn’t given any indication that he actually
cared about or wanted the boy. This was the first time Yoongi met Kim Seokjin since that day at
the hotel.

Kim Seokjin didn’t deign to spare Yoongi a glance as he passed and took his seat at the other table.
The other man stopped by, however, his leonine features carrying a smile that was part amused and
part disdainful.

“Lawyer Seo, it’s good to finally meet you in court again after so many years. I’ve heard plenty
stories about you. Rumour has it that you’ve become South Korea’s spitfire, eh?”

Lawyer Seo returned a smile full of tight edges. “I’m sure I pale in comparison to the magician.
Though to be honest, I’d rather not see any tricks here today, Lawyer Choi.”

Instead of taking offense, the older man laughed, a booming sound. “A spitfire indeed. But all’s
fair in battles, wouldn’t you say? Nonetheless I look forward to sparring with you later.”

Lawyer Seo glared at his back as he made his way to Kim Seokjin. “What an ass,” she muttered
before forcing her attention back to the files she’d been perusing.

Ten minutes before the scheduled start, the court stenographer entered the room, set up his
equipment directly before the judge’s bench, and took his seat.

Lawyer Seo bent her neck toward Yoongi. “Anytime soon,” she said.

Right on cue, a uniformed officer the side door in the front swung open and a petite woman of
middle-age strode in purposefully, her judge robes fluttering in her wake.

Lawyer Seo had informed Yoongi of the judge’s name, but it hadn’t stuck in his memory. He
remembered, however, that Lawyer Seo had sounded relieved when she called him to say that this
particular judge was presiding over their case. The judge was known for her unsmiling demeanour
and unbudging principles when it came to fairness. According to Lawyer Seo, there was absolutely
no reason for her to accept Kim Seokjin’s request for temporary custody, because those were only
granted when it could be proven beyond doubt that the child was being abused or neglected to the
point of severe injury or death. Kim Seokjin was trying his luck at best.

It also helped that the judge might have a sense of camaraderie with Lawyer Seo, considering that
they were both women in a profession dominated by men. The judge in particular had fought tooth
and nail to get where she was.

“Good morning, everyone,” the judge after she had settled at the bench. “I believe everyone
involved in this case is here?”

As her stern eyes travelled from left desk to the right, a keen awareness pricked Yoongi. What a
stark contrast Kim Seokjin and he must have presented: one an affluent businessman and thus
wielded resources that could ensure a privileged childhood; the other a nobody in cheap suit who
barely made ends meet every month.

Yoongi sat up straighter, steeling himself with determination. Whatever sabotaging first impression
the judge might have of him, he would prove her wrong.

“The applicant’s ready, Your Honour,” Lawyer Choi said, with a casual, almost mocking smile
that the judge did not return.

“The respondent’s ready too, Your Honour,” Lawyer Seo said.

“Then I see no point in waiting. Let us begin.” The judge nodded to the stenographer, who
positioned his hands on the laptop. “Counsels, please state your name for the record.”

Lawyer Choi rose to his feet. “Choi MinSoo, counsel for the applicant, Kim Seokjin.”

Lawyer Seo got up as Lawyer Choi sat back down. “Seo Hyunjin, counsel for the respondent, Min
Yoongi.”

The judge consulted her file for a brief moment and addressed the room. “We are here this morning
to hear on the request for the temporary custody of Kim Taehyung, a six-year-old boy currently
under the guardianship of the respondent, who I understand is the child’s maternal uncle. During
this proceeding, each side will have thirty minutes to present their arguments. The respondent will
make the first presentation. Counsel for respondent, if you would, you may begin.”

Lawyer Seo stood up in one fluid motion and bowed her head in acknowledgement. Her back
ramrod straight, she exuded an uncompromising steadiness as she presented her argument. She
described how Taehyung came to be under Yoongi’s care and appealed to the judge’s sympathy,
painting Yoongi as an inexperienced guardian but was nonetheless putting his best foot forth for
the child. She was a powerful orator, her voice sprinkled with the right amount of indignation and
plea that produced the overall effect of emphasizing the pointlessness of Kim Seokjin’s request.

“Your Honour, you will hear arguments from the applicant’s counsel that attempt to cast
aspersions on my client’s character and ability to care for a child, but they are but a distortion of
facts, an exaggeration of the mistakes that any new parent would make. What my client lacks in
parenting skills, he more than makes up for it in his affection for the child. The child is living in
content with my client, and to remove him from my client would be akin to stripping him of his
sense of safety and security. Therefore, Your Honour, we respectfully implore you to deny the
applicant’s request. Thank you.”

Lawyer Seo sat down, releasing a controlled, almost imperceptible sigh of breath. Throughout her
speech, the judge had made scribbles on her file. But beyond that, there was no indication that she
was moved by Lawyer Seo’s arguments.
Yoongi wiped his palms against his pants.

“Counsel for the applicant, your argument, please,” the judge said.

Lawyer Choi rose. Unlike Lawyer Seo’s professional focus and conviction, the older lawyer
looked relaxed, as though this undertaking was a child’s play to him. He wore a smile, but a
predatory glint resided in his eyes, reminding Yoongi of a prowling leopard waiting for the right
moment to dash in for a kill.

“Your Honour, it’s a privilege to be here today, representing my client in a noble cause that has
every potential to affect the trajectory of a young life. Who my client is should not be foreign to
anyone present in this room, neither should his background. As an upstanding and influential
member of the society, he has an unparalleled ability to provide an immediate haven of comfort and
security to the child as his paternal uncle, a role that was unbeknownst to him until a few months
ago, but is one that he’s fully ready to undertake.”

“Counsel,” the judge interjected, her eyes narrowed in impatience, “that’s enough singing praises
of your client. Your client’s intention has also been made fully clear by the fact that we’re
convening today. Do I need to remind you that you are here to prove that the child is in immediate
danger by remaining with the respondent? Your client’s glowing resume can come later, in the
actual hearing.”

“My sincere apologies, Your Honour. I got carried away.” Lawyer Choi brought a hand to his
abdomen and bowed in mock chastisement.

Lawyer Seo rolled her eyes and scoffed under her breath. The older lawyer’s theatrics would have
irked Yoongi as much, if his mind hadn’t seized on a detail in what Lawyer Choi had said — that
Kim Seokjin had not known Taehyung’s existence until a few months ago. If he remembered
correctly, Kim Jaehyun had died a few months ago too.

Yoongi cast a surreptitious glance Kim Seokjin’s way. The man’s face was cool as marble,
betraying neither smugness at the praises his lawyer sang of him nor restlessness or impatience.
Not once had he looked Yoongi’s way.

Lawyer Choi cleared his throat deliberately and got back on track. “Unlike the resources and
determination my client indubitably has,” he ignored the flat and dangerous stare the judge shot
him at his last ditch attempt to exalt Kim Seokjin, “the respondent’s ability to care for a child is
questionable at best and worrisome at worst. In the six months since the child has come under the
respondent’s care, he suffered a nearly second-degree burn and a concussion, injuries serious
enough to warrant prolonged absence from school. And these accidents,” he enunciated with a
sardonic inflection, “are the ones that have been officially recorded. What about those that
haven’t?”

Yoongi pressed his hands against his thighs. Lawyer Seo had warned him beforehand that Kim
Seokjin’s lawyer would twist facts to put him in a bad light, but Lawyer Choi’s allusion that
Yoongi was abusing Taehyung dragged up a shuddering wave of anger within him. He gritted his
teeth and fought the urge to rebuke in defence of himself. Court proceedings moved through an
unbudging procession of steps, Lawyer Seo’d told him. They would have the chance for rebuttal
later.

Lawyer Choi paced before the judge’s bench as he spoke, his strides steady and thoughtful.

“The respondent’s counsel could strive to weave the respondent as a clumsy guardian who ought to
be excused because any first-time parent would’ve committed the same kind of mistakes he did.
But is that really true? Why hadn’t he become more careful after the child’s first accident? Why
did he allow the second accident to happen just a mere two months later? To what extent we
condone his clumsiness? At what point are we ready to recognise that his clumsiness has crossed
into neglect? More importantly, why should the child be the one to pay for the respondent’s
clumsiness?”

The lawyer paused in his speech and stopped pacing, allowing a few beats of quiet for his words to
sink. Then he broke out a little laugh, shaking his head. “The funny thing is,” he turned and
regarded Yoongi with a sly, knowing stare, “the respondent knows, too, that he’s far from capable
of caring for the child. That was why, about two weeks after the child had hurt his head, the
respondent willingly put him up for adoption.”

Lawyer Seo couldn’t have whipped her neck around any faster to look at Yoongi. Her mouth had
fallen into an astonished ‘O’. Please tell me he’s joking, her eyes seemed to plead.

Yoongi sat frozen in place, as if the thin layer of ice he’d been standing on had finally given way
and he was plunged into frigid waters beneath. His mind spun. In the weeks leading up to today, he
had omitted to inform Lawyer Seo about the adoption. No, he hadn’t done so deliberately. It just
hadn’t occured to him that the adoption was worth mentioning, especially when the whole episode
was he had willed himself to forget about, a nightmarish chapter he had no wish to revisit. Besides,
he’d rescinded the application in the end, hadn’t he? It didn’t make sense that Kim Seokjin’s
lawyer should use that against him now.

Lawyer Choi approached his desk and picked up a folder, holding it upright. “This file contains the
adoption papers the respondent had submitted at that time.”

Hissing in frustration at Yoongi’s unresponsiveness, Lawyer Seo snapped into action. She sprang
to her feet. “Objection, Your Honour, as the respondent’s counsel, I had no knowledge of such
papers until a moment ago. I urge you to bar the papers from being admitted as evidence in the
proceedings today, for the applicant’s counsel had bypassed the official procedure of submitting
—“

“For good reasons, Lawyer Seo,” Lawyer Choi interrupted smoothly. “Your honour, we
acknowledge the impropriety of submitting these documents now, but we received these documents
from our investigator only last night. However, I trust that we could all agree this is important
evidence.”

The judge nodded. “Objection overruled, Counsel Seo. Bring the file up.” At her beckoning
gesture, Lawyer Choi strode triumphantly to the judge’s bench.

Lawyer Seo sank back into her seat, nostrils flaring.

The judge opened the file and perused the contents. Yoongi waited for her to slap it close and
announce that the adoption documents had no bearing on the case and was to be chucked out. The
moment did not come.

“Your Honour, as you are now seeing, included in the folder is a preliminary interview transcript
with the child adoption officer who was in charge of the adoption case initiated by the respondent.
Shortly after the respondent had put the child up for adoption, a couple had expressed interest in
adopting the child. To evaluate the suitability of prospective adoptive parents for a child, it is
standard procedure for the officer-in-charge to be present at some meetings that take place between
the child, the child’s current guardian and the prospective parents. Such meetings took place a few
times in this case, too. Needless to say, the officer had inadvertently observed the respondent too.
According to her, the respondent showed minimal affection to the child. ‘Detached’ was the word
she used. In other words,” Lawyer Choi pivoted on his feet and looked at Yoongi with cool
contempt, “not only is the respondent incapable of taking care of the child, he doesn’t want the
child in the first place.”

“You’re wrong.” Yoongi’s voice was less than a murmur, but in the wake of his words, a surprised
silence descended over the courtroom. Lawyer Seo sliced a flabbergasted glance at him; she had
instructed him to leave the talking to her.

It’s better that way, she’d explained, the last thing we want is for the other party to seize any
weaknesses in your argument and use that against you.

Yoongi’d agreed with her back then. Now, he could not bear the untruths Kim Seokjin’s lawyer
was presumptuously spouting. He could sit by silently when his ability to care for Taehyung was
cast in doubt, because as cutting as those accusations were, he acknowledged that there was at least
a silver of truth in them. But to say that he doesn’t want Taehyung… No one in this room knew the
lurching fear, the paralysing ache that seized him whenever the possibility of losing Taehyung
crawls down the wall of his mind like cold, viscous paint.

“I want Taehyung. I didn’t want him in the past, but I want him now.”

“Respondent,” the judge said sharply, “the applicant’s counsel is presenting their argument. Do not
speak out of turn.”

“We’re sorry, Your Honour,” Lawyer Seo said on Yoongi’s behalf, then shook her head at him in
warning. Yoongi barely heard her through the blood pounding in his ears.

“No one except the respondent knows for certain the reason behind the his sudden change in
decision,” Lawyer Choi continued in composure, as though he hadn’t been interrupted, “but all
evidence points to the fact that—”

“I love Taehyung. I love him more than any of you here.”

Too many people reacted and spoke at once. From the front, the judge narrowed her eyes at
Yoongi, “Min Yoongi-sshi, this is my last warning to you—”; beside him, Lawyer Seo hushed him
fiercely, “Be quiet!”. But Lawyer Choi’s voice rode over all of theirs, snatching the center of
Yoongi’s focus.

He looked at Yoongi directly, one bushy eyebrow lifted in mocking skepticism, a cunning quirk in
his mouth. Yoongi had never been seized by a stronger urge to knock the teeth out of someone
else’s gums.

“The respondent speaks of parental love now, but all evidence points to the fact that his love is a
fickle thing,” the lawyer said coolly, “because there is no telling when his affection for the child
would end, when his mood would swing in the other way, when he would decide again that he
doesn’t want the child, when he would put the child through the traumatising process of adoption
again.”

Abruptly Yoongi got to his feet. The roller chair he was sitting on skitter away from him and
banged into the first row of the public gallery.

“Min Yoongi-sshi!” The judge hollered, appalled. “Counsel Seo, control your client!”

“Sit down!” Lawyer Seo hissed, tugging his arm downward urgently.

Yoongi ignored them as he glared at Lawyer Seo with brazen defiance. He must look deranged. He
didn’t care. He balled his fists and compressed his voice, so that when he spoke, nobody could
hear how much he was shaking. “You have no right to say what I would or would not do in the
future, because you’re not the one who loves Taehyung. You are not the one who has seen his face
light up in a way that makes you think there’s still so much good in a world that has disappointed
you. You are not the one who deliberates every step you take just because you fear doing him
wrong. You are not the one who holds his hand and prays he grows up a little slower just so you
can keep holding his hand a little longer. Because if you have been that person — if you were me
— you’d know that there’s no way I could ever let him go again. I’m not the one who’s putting
Taehyung through any traumatising process. It’s all of you here, pretending you know what’s best
for him when he’s just a name in your file.” The courtroom had fallen silent. He swept a
challenging gaze across the faces in the room — Lawyer Choi’s, the stenographer’s, the judge’s —
before he finally fixed it on Kim Seokjin’s. The man was finally looking at him. “I’m not the cruel
person here. It’s you.”

::::::::::

Taehyung was puzzled when Yoongi turned up at the kindergarten before noon, way ahead of the
end of a standard school day, to pick him up.

“Samchon’s not working today?” Taehyung asked after he had Velcro-ed on his shoes and waved
goodbye to an equally puzzled Jimin and Jungkook.

As he slipped his small hand into Yoongi’s, a pang turned Yoongi’s guts into jelly and squeezed
his throat. The judge’s verdict replayed in his ears with a taunting echo. He forced his legs to
remain steady. He held Taehyung’s hand a fraction tighter as they made their way across the yard
to the gate.

“No,” Yoongi lied. He had intended to go back to work after the morning proceedings, but when he
left the courtroom today, he was seized by a consuming urge to see Taehyung. He had taken a taxi
straight to the kindergarten, as if a moment without Taehyung by his side was a moment wasted. “I
thought it’s a good day to take you to the theme park.”

Taehyung whipped his head up toward Yoongi. Excitement had already unfurled across his face
and he looked just like he had on the Christmas morning he received his electric jeep. No matter
what Kim Seokjin had achieved, Yoongi had this moment with Taehyung.

“We are going to sit on pretty horses that go around in circles?” Taehyung asked, footsteps
lightening with a bounce.

“If you want.”

“Can I also take the roller coaster?”

Yoongi fought a smile. “I don’t think you’re tall enough.”

Taehyung pouted, but the spring in his steps recovered the next moment, as though he had decided
that not being to ride the rollercoaster was insignificant compared to the other attractions that
awaited him. He chittered all the way to Lotte World, his excitement spilling out of him
unrestrained.

The admission tickets to the theme park was expensive, but Yoongi splurged. He got Taehyung a
headband with fluffy bear ears from the souvenir shop, and mini dots ice cream, popcorn and
churros from the food carts set up all around the theme park. People shot him odd, quizzical looks;
he was the only one in the entire park donning a suit.
They toured the theme park on hot air balloons suspended from the ceiling, rode the carousel and
sat aboard a boat that took them on an adventure with Sinbad through the Amazon forests. There
were attractions for children only; when Taehyung went on those rides, Yoongi waited beyond the
railing, ready with a wave whenever Taehyung sought him out as though to make sure Yoongi
hadn’t left him behind.

Yoongi took pictures of Taehyung too, capturing the boy’s bright eyes, windswept hair and
innocent wonder. He took more pictures that day than he ever had in his life.

::::::::::

The street home was dotted on either side by bright orange halos from the recently replaced lamp
posts. Taehyung was asleep in Yoongi’s embrace, his arms wrapped loosely around Yoongi’s
shoulders. After a day at Lotte World, he had dozed off on the subway ride home, and Yoongi had
no heart to wake him up.

The bits of icicles that had formed on the asphalt crunched beneath Yoongi’s every step, echoing
in the empty and quiet street. The pinwheel that he had bought for Taehyung at the theme park
now stuck out of the boy’s backpack and spun whenever a wintry breeze blew by. At this time of
the day, where the sky had long darkened, the February chill was a menace that would have
pricked through to Yoongi’s bones if not for the fact that Taehyung was a warm bundle in his
arms. Keenly, he felt the soft pressure of Taehyung’s cheek against his shoulders, the slow, deep
breaths, the occasional slight fidgeting as the boy shimmied in search of a more comfortable spot.

Alone with his thoughts, in the quiet where shadows stretched longer, Yoongi’s fears caught up all
at once, ferocious and dizzying. His legs nearly gave out beneath him. His eyes pricked in a way
that had nothing to do with the subzero cold.

Don’t let me lose you, he cinched his arms tighter around Taehyung, please.

The gates of Madam Lee’s house swung open with a metallic clang when he was a few steps away.
The landlady hurried out with Hoseok right in her wake. She stalked straight toward Yoongi, and
he wondered if she was going to give him an earful for going MIA after sending her a text that
merely informed her he’d picked Taehyung up from school and they wouldn’t be back until later in
the evening.

But when she came to an eventual stop before him, he saw the wet shininess in her eyes and the
effort it took for her to keep her emotions in some semblance of control. She touched Taehyung’s
head and stroked it lightly. The boy slept on like a rock.

“How could they do that?” Madam Lee’s voice was a heartbroken whisper. “We’re the family he
knows. How could they take him away from his family?”

Hoseok must have received a secondhand account from his cousin and in turn filled Madam Lee in
on what’d happened that in the courtroom that morning. Yoongi wondered if Hoseok and Madam
Lee knew how much he had screwed up.

Earlier, after the proceedings had drawn to a close, Lawyer Choi had stopped by them on his way
out to offer mock condolences for having successfully claimed partial custody of Taehyung on
behalf of Kim Seokjin. Kim Seokjin had gone on ahead. “If you look on the bright side, it’s a win-
win situation for the parties involved. It allows Mr Min and Mr Kim to spend equal time with the
child before the actual hearing, which would aid the child in transiting to a new life if the court
decides to award the final custody to Mr Kim, which would be a real possibility given what’s
happened today, wouldn’t you agree?”
 “Lawyer Choi, I’d appreciate it if you could give me the privacy to talk to my client,” Lawyer Seo
said testily, her fury bubbling under her taut exterior.

Lawyer Choi released a booming laugh, tipped two fingers off his head and walked away.

When he was gone, Lawyer Seo rounded on Yoongi. She usually carried a no-nonsense air, but that
was the first time she looked truly annoyed. “He was trying to rile you up and you played right into
his hand. He knew we weren’t prepared for the adoption to be brought up, but I could’ve handled it
if you hadn’t decided to go off on your own. You defied the judge and ruined her control of the
courtroom. Everything’s gone down in record and anyone who sees that would think she lacks the
calibre to be a judge, a position she had fought to occupy despite the misogyny in the system.
Rewarding Kim Seokjin with partial temporary custody of Taehyung is her way of punishing you,
of showing you she’s in charge.”

“There must be something we can do to change her mind.” Yoongi’s throat was raw and parched,
his mind hazy with denial over what the verdict meant. He wondered if he looked wretched, for
when Lawyer Seo spoke again, her voice had lost its sharp edge. She shook her head.

“It’s risky to appeal against her decision today. We’ve already offended her enough to do so again
by questioning her judgment. She’s still presiding over the actual hearing. We can request a change
in judge, but such requests hardly get approved.” She put a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder and gave it
a squeeze. “If you really want to do something, then learn to control and conduct yourself at the
actual hearing. The last thing you want is to confirm for the judge that you’re a brash, reckless and
emotional person who, because of those flaws, cannot take good care of a child.”

“It’s not the end,” Hoseok said, the words puffing into a cloud of breath in the cold night air. “We
still have another fight ahead.”

Yoongi felt none of Hoseok’s optimism. The judge’s verdict roared like an omen of the inevitable
end. It was unimaginable that this time next year, there could be no more Taehyung in his life.

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

i've really been gone for so long, haven't i? the legal stuff that went down in this
chapter took a long time to brainstorm, and the writing part took even longer. i'm
certain there are still plenty of legal inaccuracies, but it'd have to do since i'm not a
lawyer by training. i hope that this chapter is nonetheless enjoyable.

if you're still following this story, thank you for holding on and sorry to have kept you
waiting for so long. although i'm juggling all my other commitments, i'm still striving
to finish this story, word by word, step by step. i may not be updating regularly, but
i'm still writing in those small pockets of time i find.

last but not least, happy new year! here's hoping to a better and more hopeful new
year. and also hoping that i finally finish this story in 2022.

Retrospring [curiouscat vanished off the net suddenly, whisking away all the questions
and answers i've accumulated over the past year. it was heartbreaking tbh, because i do
revisit those qna whenever i feel stuck. i guess we have to start over again with
retrospring, a similar platform to cc. so yeah, please engage me there!]
 Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The details of the partial custody was finalised soon after. Each week was to be cleaved into two
exact halves. From the noon of every Sunday to 6pm on every Wednesday, Taehyung would go to
Kim Seokjin.

To Yoongi’s shock and dismay, arrangements had been made for Taehyung to attend a different
kindergarten during the allocated time he was under Kim Seokjin’s custody. For Taehyung, who
was slow to warm to new environments, being plunged into a new home and a new school at the
same time was going to be overwhelming and distressing. On Yoongi’s behalf, Lawyer Seo had
attempted to reason with Kim Seokjin’s lawyers on the redundancy and callousness of plucking
Taehyung out of his current kindergarten. The other side was unbudging. Other than fuming and
cursing, there wasn’t anything else Yoongi could do. Kim Seokjin was well within his rights.

Hoseok urged him to stay strong and optimistic. Yoongi did, if staying strong and optimistic meant
maintaining normalcy for Taehyung despite the storm raging beyond his boyish world of toys,
cartoons, colouring, Minnie and Gukkie. Yoongi put on a front, clamping a tight lid over how he
felt so Taehyung wouldn’t sense the earth splitting underneath Yoongi’s feet. Their feet. He kept
Taehyung in the dark for as long as he could, until it was certain no miracle was happening to
reverse the judge’s decision.

He deliberated the right timing to break the news. Telling Taehyung too early meant subjecting the
boy to extra days of fretting. Withholding the information till the last minute was cruel too;
Taehyung should be given the time to mentally prepare himself. Yoongi decided the sweet spot
was the Friday night before the Sunday Kim Seokjin was to come pick Taehyung up.

That night, after dinner was over and Taehyung had showered and Yoongi had run out of excuses
to sidestep the inevitable, he approached the boy. He settled next to Taehyung on the living room
floor. Taehyung paid Yoongi no heed, engrossed in a scenario he’d cooked up between the
dinosaur figurine in his right hand and the toy car in his left.

“Taehyung-ah, Samchon needs to talk to you about something.”

“Uh huh,” Taehyung said distractedly as he marched the dinosaur toward the toy car.

“Could you put your toys down for a moment? This is important.” To Yoongi, it was a challenge to
strike the right balance between being patient and being firm in moments like these. Sound too
casual and the request would fly right over Taehyung’s head; apply too much force and the boy
would think Yoongi was mad at him.

Yoongi must have come across as more patient than firm tonight, for Taehyung considered his toys
for a few moments, hesitating, before releasing the dinosaur and the car. He was unhappy about
being interrupted, Yoongi could tell from the pout. Over the months, Taehyung had grown
comfortable enough around Yoongi to wear his emotions on his sleeve and openly express his likes
and dislikes. It had taken Taehyung a long time to achieve that with Yoongi. With Kim Seokjin,
Taehyung had to go through the same process again — the initial fear and cautiousness; the
uncertainty and stress; the figuring out of his place in Kim Seokjin’s home, what he could do and
what he couldn’t.
Granted, Kim Seokjin might be friendlier than Yoongi, thus making the transition as comfortable
for Taehyung as possible. But given the impression Yoongi had of the man so far, that was
unlikely.

“Do you remember the man that came by Lee-ahjumma’s house on your birthday?”

Despite the dread coiling in his stomach, he shelved aside his misgivings of Kim Seokjin and opted
for a light tone when he spoke. If he could pretend that Taehyung going to live with Kim Seokjin
wasn’t a big deal, then maybe Taehyung would feel the same, cushioning — or even pre-empting
— any of the boy’s terror.

Taehyung tilted his head to the side, thinking. “The ahjussi who gave me the teddy bear?”

Yoongi glanced at the said bear wedged against the corner between the shelf and the wall, too big
to fit anywhere else other than on the floor. The bear’s gigantic head was drooped against its chest.
Occasionally on afternoons of intense winter chill, Taehyung would rest between the bear’s splayed
legs and snuggle against its fluffy body, basking in the parallelogram of sunlight that had crept into
the apartment at that time of the day. Other than that, Taehyung hadn’t displayed much liking for
the plushie. Well, not as much as for Toka, anyway.

“Not that one,” Yoongi said. “The other ahjussi. Do you remember him?”

Taehyung furrowed his brows in deep thought. After a moment, he crinkled his nose and nodded
reluctantly. “The other ahjussi is fierce.”

“The other ahjussi is your appa’s hyung. He’s your keun-abeoji.”

“Keun-abeoji?” Taehyung asked blankly.

“That’s right. Like how I’m your eomma’s brother, that ahjussi is your appa’s brother. While you
call me Samchon, you’ll call him keun-abeoji, because he’s from your appa’s side of the family.”

Yoongi could tell Taehyung was losing interest at the complexity of his explanation. His eyes had
drifted down in distraction, attention drawn away by the dinosaur figurine that he’d left on the rug.

“Anyway,” Yoongi made Taehyung look at him again by lightly tipping his chin up, “that man is
your keun-abeoji and he wants to get to know you. He’s coming to pick you up tomorrow. You will
stay over at his place for a few days.”

Taehyung frowned. “He’s not picking Samchon up?”

Yoongi’s stomach tightened. This was where the conversation took a difficult turn. “No, he’s only
picking you up.”

“So Samchon’s not coming?”

“No.”

Taehyung started to shake his head. “Then I don’t wa—”

“You have to go.”

The same conversation had played out before on the doorstep, with Serena around. A few months
had passed since then. Taehyung had grown a little taller, Yoongi had stopped shying away from
his affection for the boy. So why was he still struggling to hold onto Taehyung?
Taehyung shook his head stubbornly. “But I don’t want to.”

“You have to,” Yoongi repeated with more force and fear sprang to Taehyung’s eyes. “There isn’t
any other way around it.”

“Why?” Taehyung’s voice trembled.

How was Yoongi to explain to the boy that if he refused to go with Kim Seokjin, Yoongi’d be
breaking the law? And if that happened, the ever-high odds stacked against Yoongi would double,
and so would his likelihood of losing Taehyung’s custody entirely?

If Yoongi started down this path, he’d inevitably have to explain to Taehyung that all these things
would happen because Kim Seokjin’s trying to take him away. Yoongi could already imagine
Taehyung’s hysteria if he knew.

Yoongi forced himself to calm down and slipped into a facade which he hoped was reassuring to
Taehyung.

He took Taehyung’s hand in hopes of comforting the boy. “Remember Samchon’s new job? Well, I
have to make lots of music now and I’m going to be very busy, so your keun-abeoji will take care
of you.”

Taehyung twisted the hem of his pajamas nervously, his eyes darting away from Yoongi. “T-
Taetae can go to Lee-ahjumma and wait for Samchon to come home. Taetae doesn’t want to go
with Keun-abeoji.” The boy’s speech has developed over the months; he had shifted away from
referring to himself as Taetae and started using I. But distress still tugged him into that old habit.

“Lee-ahjumma’s not free. Hobi Hyung’s not free also,” Yoongi added before that suggestion could
come from Taehyung.

Taehyung bit down on his lower lip, tears rapidly filling his wide-blown eyes. “Taetae has to stay
with Keun-abeoji?”

Yoongi nodded with difficulty.

Taehyung burst into tears. He rose and stumbled the two steps to Yoongi. He wedged himself
against Yoongi, burying his face into Yoongi’s shoulder. “Taetae doesn’t want to sleep without
Samchon.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Yoongi whispered. He stroked the small of Taehyung’s back, felt the
violent heaving as sobs wrecked the small body.

The judge should be here to witness this. See what her decision had done to Taehyung.

Yoongi held Taehyung for many minutes, rocking and soothing him. When the crying had lost its
initial intensity, Yoongi peeled Taehyung away and held him at an arm’s length. The boy’s
shoulders hitched with hiccups, his eyes red and teary, his face flushed and splotchy.

People who are parents have always claimed that their child’s tears break their hearts. Yoongi
heard that often, on TV, in the streets, between mothers standing in front of him in a queue. He’d
regarded it as a corny exaggeration. That kind of attachment to another person, to feel their pain as
one’s own, was unrealistic. Impossible.

He understood what a fool he’d been. Taehyung’s tears mutilated him.

He took Taehyung’s face between his hands and brushed his thumbs across the tear tracks on
Taehyung’s cheeks.

“Hey, can you count to three for Samchon? One…”

Taehyung hiccuped, catching his breath. He followed Yoongi’s lead a few moments later. When he
counted, the numbers were watery and wobbly.

“See how fast that went by?” Yoongi asked. “You’re only going to stay with your keun-abeoji for
three nights every week. You’ll be back here in no time. Samchon knows I’m asking a lot of you,
but could you be a brave little boy for me?”

Taehyung looked like he was about to erupt into tears again. “That ahjussi is fierce.”

A thought flashed through Yoongi. He could reinforce Taehyung’s first impression of Kim
Seokjin, widen the rift between them even before Kim Seokjin could start building a relationship
with him. He could paint Kim Seokjin as a bad person, make Taehyung dislike him so that Yoongi
remained the only uncle Taehyung loved.

The thought tempted, but only for a fleeting moment. Yoongi knew he would never — could
never— do that. Taehyung was so little, with a heart so pure and filled with wonder. Yoongi would
kill himself before he sowed any seed of hatred in that heart.

Yoongi pulled Taehyung close to him once more and settled the boy on his thigh. He wrapped an
arm around Taehyung. “People aren’t always what they appear,” he said. “Do you remember how
you didn’t like Jimin at first but now he’s your best friend? Your keun-abeoji could look fierce, but
he could also be a very kind man.”

“What if he doesn’t like Taetae?” Taehyung asked through a congested nose. Tears still leaked
down his face, but the all-out sobbing had more or less stopped.

“That’s not going to happen. Everyone likes Taetae.” Yoongi said.

“Can Taetae bring Toka?”

“You can take any toy you want with you.”

Taehyung sniffled. “Can Taetae see stars there?”

“I don’t know. You’d have to find that out.”

Taehyung asked one question after another. Yoongi answered them. At some point, Taehyung
leaned his head against Yoongi’s shoulder. He started to yawn, his words starting to slur.

“Will Samchon be waiting for Taetae to come back?” He asked in a voice softer than a kitten’s
mewl.

Yoongi looked at Taehyung. The boy had fallen asleep. Yoongi wrapped his other arm around
Taehyung and drew him as tightly to him as possible without waking the boy up. Taehyung’s hair
tickled Yoongi’s chin, and Yoongi thought, That’s the only thing I’ll be doing.

::::::::::

Slightly before twelve on Sunday, Yoongi stood with Taehyung along the street below the studio
apartment. He supposed he could have waited up there, but he banished that idea at the thought of
Kim Seokjin glimpsing into the small space and making disdainful judgements about the
inadequacy of his living quarters. The last thing he needed was for such judgements to be passed
on to Kim Seokjin’s lawyer and be used against him at the hearing to come.

Madam Lee waited along with them. She had prepared a small box of cookies and sweets for
Taehyung, but that had failed to cheer the boy up. He had gotten progressively downcast since
Yoongi broke the news to him on Friday night. Now, with head hanging between his shoulders and
an arm hooked tightly around Toka, Taehyung stared glumly at his shoes. Yoongi held Taehyung’s
hand; even the weight of his small hand nestled within his felt gloomy.

The sky was clear and beautiful, and would be for the rest of the day. If Yoongi had a choice, he
would have taken Taehyung somewhere on this day. Possibly to one of the parks along Han River.

The Benz appeared on the dot, its polished carapace at odds with the declining neighbourhood. As
the car glided toward them, its bulk filled the width of the narrow residential street. Through the
windshield, Yoongi saw Kim Namjoon, whom he had come to identify as Kim Seokjin’s personal
assistant. Kim Namjoon had been his point of contact when coordinating the details of picking
Taehyung up and whatnot.

As the car neared, Yoongi noticed that Kim Namjoon was the only person in the car. A hot spark
of anger flickered to life within Yoongi at Kim Seokjin’s absence. What was this bullshit?

The wheels ground to a halt before the three of them. Kim Namjoon slid out of the car, boasting a
fresh smile as he jogged around the hood of the car toward them. This was the second time Yoongi
met Kim Namjoon. The first time he was in a suit; today he wore a sweater layered over a collared
shirt, paired with jeans. Next to Yoongi, the animosity crackling off Madam Lee like electricity.

“Good morning,” he said. A broad and tall man, he towered over the three of them. He offered a
genial smile first to Madam Lee, then to Yoongi, neither of whom returned it. Unperturbed, he cast
his gaze further downward to Taehyung. “All ready to go?”

Taehyung remained unmoving, neck curved like a wilted plant, gaze glued to the ground. Yoongi
gave Taehyung’s hand a squeeze.

“It’s time,” he said.

Taehyung whipped his head up to look at Yoongi, eyes wide and petrified. In a tremulous, pleading
voice, he said, “Samchon, I don’t want to go.”

There it was again, the violent throb of his heart against his ribcage. In the flash of a moment that
followed, Yoongi fantasised taking flight down the street with Taehyung in tow. They would run
and run, till they find a place without the threat of Kim Seokjin hanging over them. A place where
nobody would think to separate them, because this time, Yoongi would do things right and show
anyone who crossed their paths that he could raise Taehyung well.

“Don’t worry, Taehyung,” Kim Namjoon intervened, beaming. “You’ll have lots of fun, meet new
people and new friends, and when you come back, you can tell your samchon about your
adventure.”

Yoongi wished he could say Kim Namjoon was being flippant so he could dislike anyone who
was on Kim Seokjin’s side. But Kim Namjoon’s eyes twinkled with sincere reassurance. His words
had also highlighted to Taehyung that the arrangements were merely temporary and he would be
coming back home. With his obvious effort to put Taehyung at ease, Kim Namjoon reminded
Yoongi of Hoseok.
“Go on,” Yoongi nudged Taehyung lightly. “Have an adventure and tell me all about it when you
come back.”

Taehyung stared at Yoongi for a few more beats, like he was waiting for Yoongi to change his
mind. When Yoongi didn’t, expectation leaked out of the boy and he deflated in disappointment
and resignation.

Kim Namjoon opened the rear door of the car. Yoongi didn’t know what happened first: whether
he was the one who had let go first, or Taehyung was the one who had pulled his arm away. But in
the span of a flash, Yoongi was no longer holding Taehyung’s hand. The boy trudged to the car
and Kim Namjoon helped him climb in. When Taehyung was settled into the child seat, Kim
Namjoon hunkered down to fasten the harness over Taehyung.

“Make sure you’ve buckled him properly,” Madam Lee snapped.

Kim Namjoon flashed the glowering landlady a thumbs-up. Unconvinced, she stalked forward and
elbowed Kim Namjoon aside, putting herself to the task of re-buckling the harness. Kim Namjoon
stepped back graciously, looking amused but exhibiting no hint of being irritated.

From where he stood, Yoongi glimpsed Madam Lee cupping a side of Taehyung’s face, thumb
caressing his cheek. “Ahjumma will see you on Wednesday. I’ll make you your favourite food for
dinner that day.”

Taehyung nodded but neither looked at her or smiled.

Madam Lee rose and rounded on Kim Namjoon, her tenderness of the previous moment
evaporating instantaneously. “Drive safely,” she barked.

Kim Namjoon nodded amicably. “I’ll drive at the slowest speed legally allowed. Is this his?” He
asked, spotting the kiddish backpack that Yoongi was holding in his hand. In their previous
correspondences, Kim Namjoon had informed Yoongi it was unnecessary to have any luggage
packed for Taehyung. As wealthy as Kim Seokjin was, Yoongi supposed he could have new
children’s clothes and toys delivered to him with a snap of his fingers. In spite of that, Yoongi still
rolled a set of Taehyung’s favourite pyjamas into the backpack, along with the toys Taehyung
wanted to take with him. These items might provide the boy with a sense of familiarity — and thus
security — in a new place.

As Kim Namjoon came close to get the backpack, Yoongi lowered his voice and, in a volume that
was out of Taehyung’s and the landlady’s hearing, asked, “Where the hell is Kim Seokjin?”

Kim Namjoon froze for a fraction, but recovered in the next, assuming a placating composure.
“He’s busy. I apologise for his absence.”

“He’s wreaked havoc on our lives to fight for Taehyung’s custody, but he’s been acting like he’s
never wanted Taehyung,” Yoongi hissed. “Whatever he’s playing at, tell him to stop.”

Kim Namjoon looked at Yoongi and seemed like he was about to say something. In the end he
merely nodded. He took the backpack from Yoongi and placed it on the seat next to Taehyung.

Straightening himself and putting a hand on the rear door, Kim Namjoon asked Taehyung, “Won’t
you say goodbye to your samchon and ahjumma?”

Head bowed, Taehyung toyed compulsively with Toka’s feet, embracing the dinosaur on his lap so
tightly that the plushie was distorted. He sulkily ignored Kim Namjoon’s prompt.
Taehyung was mad at him, Yoongi thought. He knew deserved it for how abysmal he was at
holding on to Taehyung, but that knowledge didn’t make receiving Taehyung’s anger any easier.

Kim Namjoon grimaced. “No goodbyes? If you’re really sure about that then I’m closing the
door…” He dragged out his voice and started to shut the rear door in a dramatically slow motion.

The threat worked. Taehyung raised his head in a panic. “Bye Bye, Samchon. Bye Bye,
Ahjumma.” The tip of his nose had turned pink with the effort of holding back his tears.

Taehyung was anxious, rightfully so. If Yoongi was a better guardian, he would have new tricks up
his sleeve to console the boy. But Yoongi was Yoongi, woefully lacking when it came to
Taehyung, so he could only repeat the words he’d told Taehyung again and again for the past few
days.

“You’ll be back before you know it. Count to three, remember?”

And because Taehyung was Taehyung, a boy who’d always found ways to be tenacious in spite of
his fears, he nodded, hard, and didn’t succumb to his tears.

Then, with a sort of finality, Kim Namjoon shut the door for real this time. The tinted windows
barred Yoongi’s view of Taehyung. A hollow seemed to yawn open somewhere within him.

“If you’re even a minute late in bringing him back on Wednesday, I’m lodging a complaint,”
Madam warned Kim Namjoon fiercely.

He nodded at them with a dimpled smile.

Then the car was off, trundling down the street and disappearing as it made a turn at the second
corner.

::::::::::

The house in front of Taehyung was so big that it looked like it could touch the sky. It was so big
that he could not see the roof even when he tipped his head back until his neck hurt. Namjoon
Hyung (he didn’t like it when Taehyung called him Namjoon Ahjussi) told him that he was going
to stay here until Wednesday.

Wednesday — the day he could go back to his samchon.

He shook his head. He shouldn’t think about his samchon. Thinking about his samchon made him
want to cry. He didn’t want Namjoon Hyung to think that he was a crybaby. He clutched Toka
tighter to his chest.

Namjoon Hyung held his hand and brought him inside. The house had curving staircases and its
floor was so shiny that Taehyung could see himself in it. There were many pictures on the walls,
but Taehyung didn’t think they look very nice. He heard footsteps and when he turned, he saw a
woman coming toward him. She was dressed in white shirt and black pants, and she had an apron
tied around her waist,

“Namjoon-sshi,” she greeted Namjoon Hyung. Then she bent at her waist to look Taehyung in the
eye, her hair swishing over her shoulder like a shiny horse’s tail. Her smile was kind and shiny.
“Hello! You must be Taehyungie. Is this your friend?” She gave Toka’s a light pat. “Does it have a
name?”

Taehyung was pleased that she had asked. “He’s Toka.”

She smiled even wider. “That’s a great name! Did you give him the name?”

Taehyung liked her already. He nodded shyly.

“Well, Taehyung and Toka, nice to meet the both of you. My name is Jung Kahi. You can call me
Kahi Noona.”

“Kahi Noona is going to help take care of you when you’re here.” Namjoon Hyung said. “If
there’s anything you need, you can ask her. Of course, you can ask me too, but I won’t always be
around. Come, let me show you your room.”

Taehyung was a little disappointed when Namjoon Hyung took him to a room on the first floor. He
would like it better if his room was on the second floor so he could use the stairs and feel like a big
boy. But when Namjoon Hyung pushed the door open, his mouth fell open and his disappointment
disappeared.

He had stepped into right into the sky. The walls were a light blue and clouds were everywhere —
painted onto the walls and hanging from the ceiling. The carpet beneath his bare feet was soft as a
cloud too. His eyes fell transfixed upon the center of the room, where the bed came in the shape of
— Taehyung felt his eyes go wide — a plane, complete with a propeller at its nose.

“This room is yours,” Namjoon Hyung grinned. “I thought you might like aeronautical stuff. I like
them a lot when I was a kid.” He walked to the huge cupboard at one side of the room and opened
it. “Here are your toys.”

Building blocks, brand-new boxes of Lego sets, toy cars, animal plushies and so much more filled
the shelves of the cupboard. Taehyung had thought that a room could contain so many toys at
once.

“We don’t really know what you like so we got you a variety. You can play with them however
you like. But before that, shall we have our lunch first? Kahi noona should be done with cooking.”

Taehyung wasn’t hungry, but he nodded because he didn’t know how to tell Namjoon Hyung he
had already had his lunch with his samchon just now.

He sat at a large dining table with Namjoon Hyung. Kahi Noona brought out a plate of food for
him. It was sandwiches and a cup of fruits cut into the shape of stars. The sandwiches were tasty
and the fruits were sweet, and he tried his best to finish them. But his tummy was too small and
there was too much food on the plate.

Namjoon Hyung and Kahi Noona were going to be mad at him.

“Is everything okay?” Namjoon Hyung asked from across the table. Taehyung startled. Namjoon
Hyung looked at his plate of half-finished food and then back up at him. “Do you not like the
food?”

Taehyung shook his head hurriedly.

“Then…?” Namjoon Hyung prompted

Taehyung worried his lips, then said in a scared mumble, “Taetae’s full.”

Namjoon Hyung broke into a friendly smile. “That’s fine , you can just leave it. Want to go play
with your toys now?”
Namjoon Hyung didn’t look like he was mad at Taehyung, but Taehyung still felt terrible. Lee-
ahjumma had always told him it was a bad thing to not finish his food because there were starving
children in other countries.

They went back to the the sky-like room, the room Namjoon Hyung said was Taehyung’s. There
was a play table in the room, similar to the one he had back home. Namjoon Hyung let him choose
the toys he wanted to play with and pulled them from the shelves. Namjoon Hyung sat with him
and they built small trains and houses out of Lego bricks. They switched to drawing and colouring
when they got bored with the Lego bricks.

He didn’t say it, but he thought that Namjoon Hyung was bad at colouring. He chose the wrong
colours, and had broken the tips of the colour pencils, took them to the sharpener, and then
proceeded to break them again.

“Sorry,” Namjoon Hyung said with a sheepish smile, “Hyung’s a clumsy person.”

Taehyung nodded before he could stop himself, but Namjoon Hyung didn’t seem to mind.

Namjoon Hyung said that all the toys in the room, all the drawing books, pencils and crayons,
belong to him. But they didn’t feel like it so Taehyung was unsure about using them, especially the
prettiest colours like the glittery blue or gold-speckled purple. He liked the colour pencils he had at
home better. He suddenly felt sad he hadn’t brought them with him.

He missed his colour pencils and he missed his own table. He missed Lee ahjumma too. Most of
all, he missed his samchon.

Thinking about his samchon made his stomach feel funny, like it was attacked by a wave. He
gripped the colour pencil tighter and forced himself to think only about the dolphin he was
colouring until his stomach settled and the burning behind his eyes went away.

Some time later, he yawned and rubbed his eyes.

Namjoon Hyung checked his watch and asked, “Nap?”

A nap sounded like a good idea. Taehyung was sleepy and time passed quickly when he was taking
a nap. The faster time passed, the sooner he would be able to see his samchon.

Namjoon helped him onto the aeroplane bed. The pillows and mattress were soft as clouds too.

“Sleep tight. I’ll wake you up later.”

Taehyung curled into the plush pillow and hugged Toka tight against his chest. In a second he fell
asleep.

A gentle hand on his shoulder stirred him awake.

“Samchon?” He asked blearily. When he opened his eyes and the face came into focus, his heart
fell. It wasn’t his samchon; it was Kahi Noona. He wasn’t at home; he was in a strange place
because his samchon was too busy to take care of him.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but it’s almost evening. If you continue to sleep I’m afraid you won’t be
able to sleep at night.”

Kahi Noona took him to the bathroom attached to his room — it was the biggest bathroom he had
ever been in — and helped him wipe his face with a warm towel. She then asked if he wanted to
play with his toys or watch TV. He said he wanted to watch TV.

Namjoon Hyung was there when Kahi Noona brought him to the living room. Namjoon Hyung
flashed him a smile and beckoned him over to where he was sitting. Like everything else in this
house, the TV was very big and his reflection in it was tiny. Namjoon Hyung turned on the TV for
him and showed him a cartoon he’d never seen before. He didn’t think it was very interesting; he
much preferred Robocar Poli and Pororo and Friends.

Namjoon Hyung must not have found the show interesting too. He tapped away at his phone,
bringing it up to his ear every now and then, then putting it down some moments later with an
impatient sigh, the frown on his face tightening.

Because the cartoon was uninteresting, Taehyung found himself thinking about his samchon again.
That was bad because that made him feel like crying. He reached for Toka — holding Toka always
filled his chest with courage — and realised with a plummeting horror that he had left Toka in the
bedroom.

He clenched his hands into fists and opened his eyes as wide as possible. He was a brave boy. His
samchon had said so. He wasn’t going to cry.

Count to three and you’ll be back home in no time, his samchon had told him.

He counted to three once, then twice, then three times. Again and again, waiting for the magical
moment where he was transported to his play table at home, his samchon nearby. That didn’t
happen; neither did Namjoon Hyung suddenly announce he was taking him home.

Kahi Noona returned to the living room some time later. Namjoon Hyung spoke to her in voice too
soft for Taehyung to hear the words. He only knew Namjoon Hyung didn’t sound too happy. Was
it because of him? Had he done something wrong?

But when Namjoon Hyung turned away from Kahi Noona, there was a smile on his face. “Let’s
not wait. Taehyung-ah, time for dinner. You must be hungry.”

They sat at the same table where they had lunch and Kahi Noona brought out two plates of food
for Namjoon Hyung and him. The food was delicious, but because he was feeling sad, he didn’t
enjoy the food very much. Still, he finished eating all the food even though his tummy hurt a little
after that. He had already wasted lunch; he would be a naughty boy if he wasted dinner too.

After dinner, Namjoon Hyung held his hand and took him on a walk around the big, big house.
They went up the stairs, then up another set of stairs. They walked past spaces that looked like the
living room with large TVs and sofas, and past rooms that were bedrooms and other rooms that
weren’t. The sky had darkened, turning windows into black scary rectangles.

He grew more and more nervous. He huddled closer to Namjoon Hyung, afraid he would get lost
in this big, cold, confusing, terrifying place. This place with no Samchon.

::::::::::

Namjoon’d known Seokjin for twelve years. Out of that, seven had been spent working with him.

Being Seokjin’s personal aide demanded flexibility. He was at once a strategist (helping Seokjin
shape Se-il’s road map), a devil’s advocate (unhesitatingly pointing out Seokjin’s blindspots) and a
memory stick (storing information about their competitors and offering it to Seokjin whenever the
situation required). When needed, he could also be Seokjin’s personal shopper, like that time he
had to find a last-minute suit for Seokjin in Barcelona because a clumsy waitress had spilled red
wine over Seokjin thirty minutes before the conference.

Namjoon was used to dealing with the unexpected in his work, so when Seokjin sprang on
Namjoon the task of refurbishing a room back in his family mansion into a kid’s one, he rose to the
challenge with his characteristic aplomb and efficiency. He identified contacts and pulled strings to
get the room done within a week. Knowing it was impossible for Seokjin to watch over the boy
24/7, Namjoon took the initiative to reach out to nanny agencies, carving time out of his busy
schedule to personally interview candidates before deciding on the personable Jung Kahi, who
would stay at the mansion whenever the boy was over.

He hadn’t thought anything was inapt when Seokjin sent him to pick Taehyung on the Saturday
the temporary custody arrangement came into effect. In fact he had thought Seokjin was doing
everyone a favour. He didn’t think Min Yoongi fancied seeing Seokjin, considering everything that
had gone down between them. He was thus surprised when Min Yoongi had flared over Seokjin’s
absence, perceiving it as a sign that Seokjin was nonchalant about wanting Taehyung at all.

His years of friendship with Seokjin had cultivated in Namjoon a strong enough loyalty for him to
slide to Seokjin’s defence. Min Yoongi had jumped to conclusion without understanding, Namjoon
thought.

Seokjin had always been closed off about anything family-related. Although he’d never talked
much about his younger brother, Namjoon had an inkling. Having been by Seokjin’s side for the
past decade — first as his friend, then as his friend and right-hand man — he’d witnessed the
complex relationship between Seokjin and Jaehyun. He remembered a bad-tempered, rebellious
teenage Jaehyun exploding on occasions and Seokjin standing stoically on the receiving end. He
remembered Seokjin’s panic when he’d found that Jaehyun had run away, his subsequent relief
when the private investigator turned up with Jaehyun’s whereabouts. After Jaehyun’s death,
Namjoon had caught the pain and regret on Seokjin’s face in the rare silvers of time his mask
slipped, exposing a vulnerability tender and sensitive as a wound still raw.

Because he was Seokjin’s friend and he knew all that about Seokjin, Namjoon could empathise the
reason Seokjin had chosen not to personally pick Taehyung up. Taehyung was a link to the brother
he was still mourning over. He probably needed all the time he could get to mentally ready
himself. Handling Taehyung’s presence while being confronted with Min Yoongi’s hostility —
and that of the self-assertive landlady — would have been overwhelming.

But when Seokjin didn’t show up long after Namjoon had arrived at the mansion with Taehyung,
Namjoon couldn’t help but wonder if some truth laid behind Min Yoongi’s assumption. Seokjin
was an enigmatic man to many, but Namjoon’d prided himself on his ability to decode Seokjin’s
inner workings. He’d expected Seokjin to be stiff and awkward interacting with Taehyung, and
he’d expected Taehyung to be somewhat uneasy in face of Seokjin’s frigid demeanour. He just
hadn’t expected Seokjin to not be here at all.

If Seokjin didn’t have the basic motivation to be there to welcome Taehyung at the very least, why
had he been preoccupied about locating the boy and subsequently fighting for his custody?

It wasn’t adding up.

Amidst the attempts to get in touch with Seokjin (the man hadn’t picked up his phone or replied to
the messages), Namjoon stood in for him as Taehyung’s stopgap uncle. He had no experience with
kids. His younger sister and he were only a year apart so there hadn’t been much taking care going
on back then, certainly nothing transferable. In the end he’d just decided to let instinct lead the
way, reasoning that everyone, including diminutive six-year-olds, liked people who were decent,
friendly and respectful. He’d just be a decent, friendly and respectful adult to Taehyung, which,
really, just meant being himself.

The day carried on without major hiccups or tears from Taehyung. The boy was nervous and
uneasy in a new environment, but he’d pushed onward like a trooper, playing with the toys
Namjoon’d stocked in his new room, taking a nap when he got tired. Before Namjoon knew it, it
was time for dinner, which Seokjin’d missed too, to Namjoon’s growing annoyance.

To fill out the time, Namjoon brought Taehyung on a tour around the house after dinner. The
blueprint of the massive mansion had been etched in his memory during his college days when
he’d stayed over. The first few times, his reckless sense of adventure and youthful disregard for
propriety had sent him on an exploration around the mansion at night when the rest of the house
was silent. The sheer size of the mansion and its various facilities had been jaw-dropping, but even
as he wandered down the hallways, he’d felt a twinge of sadness at the human emptiness of a too-
big place for a too-small family and their handful of servants.

The mansion was nonetheless a source of marvel, which was why Namjoon’d thought it a good
idea to show Taehyung around — the nooks and crannies he could hide in if he ever decided to
play hide and seek, the corridors he could skip down, the indoor pool he might wish Kahi to take
him.

Absorbed in his introduction of the mansion’s various areas, Namjoon didn’t realise Taehyung was
progressively wilting until he registered the death-like grip Taehyung had on his hand. They’d just
arrived at the sunroom. He looked downward and saw the tremble in Taehyung’s shoulder.

With a spike of alarm, Namjoon dropped himself into a squat and peered into the Taehyung’s face.
Tears dripped out of the boy’s large eyes. Instinctively Namjoon cupped Taehyung’s face between
his hands.

“What’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself?”

Taehyung sniffled. When he spoke, Namjoon hadn’t heard a voice more pleading and pitiful.
“Namjoon Hyung, I want to go home.”

Namjoon’s heart sank. This was the exact situation he’d wished to avoid. He contemplated calling
for Kahi, but she was rooms away. Pulling his lips into a wide smile, he pretended to be clueless
about what Taehyung’d said and attempted distraction.

“Are you tired? Shall we go back to your room? You can take a warm bath in a nice bathtub and go
to bed after that. Doesn’t that sound good?”

“I don’t want to do that. I want to go home. Namjoon Hyung, please take Taetae home.”
Taehyung’s voice was breaking, fragmenting into hysteria. His shoulders shook, but his arms were
straight and rigid, and Namjoon sensed his herculean effort in holding himself together even
though he was an inch away from entering a total meltdown.

His passion for literature and philosophy had shaped him into a master of words, but Namjoon’s
eloquence had chosen that moment to desert him. “But I can’t do that,” was all he could say, before
adding in a hurried ramble, “but if you think about it, this is your second home. Isn’t it nice to have
two homes?”

Taehyung had curled into himself, sobbing pitifully. He shook his head, hard. “This is not home.
Home has samchon. I want to go home. I want my samchon.”

A corner of Namjoon’s heart crumbled, much like it always had whenever he saw his younger
sister upset. At a loss for words, he drew the boy close and wrapped his arms around his small
quaking body. As he murmured soft hushes into Taehyung’s ear and petted the small of his back,
an idea struck him.

Seokjin wasn’t going to be happy with what he was going to do. But since Seokjin had chosen not
to be here, his opinion was inconsequential.

Namjoon parted from the embrace and looked at the hiccuping boy and his tear-streaked face. Dear
lord, why was seeing children’s tears so emotionally difficult? He reconsidered having kids in the
future.

“I can’t take you home, but I know the next best thing we can do. Before that, could you stop
crying? Please? The last thing I want is for your samchon to think I’ve bullied you.”

::::::::::

On the first night without Taehyung, Yoongi tried looking on the bright side. It was the perfect
time to get ahead on the tasks Bang-PD had given him. He could even catch more sleep.

It turned out to be wishful thinking. Without the sounds of Taehyung in the background — the
scratch of his colour pencils against paper, his one-sided, abstract chatters with Toka, the
occasional tapping of small feet on the floor — the peace that surrounded Yoongi felt hollow, and
the quiet he’d thought he valued, deafening and smothering.

In the quiet crater of Taehyung’s absence, Yoongi had time to reflect, and regret. Taehyung had
been with him for more than half a year. In that time, his initial resistance had faded as he got
accustomed to the rhythm of having a child in his life. But even then, even when he found
fulfilment in keeping Taehyung well-fed, well-clothed and happy, there had been pockets of time
where his tired mind had wondered How nice would it be if there was no child to care for? Now
that Taehyung was taken away from him, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking it was Life’s sick
way of granting his wishes. He felt like a character in those moral stories written to warn people
about being wary of what they were wishing for.

Sitting at his desk in the studio, Yoongi mustered little focus on the tracks he was supposed to be
mastering. Worry gnawed at him. Was Taehyung adapting well? Was he scared? Was Kim Seokjin
kind to him?

He was fighting his distracted mind when his phone buzzed. He glanced down.

Kim Namjoon. Incoming video call.

His heart experiencing a hard thud of anxiety, Yoongi snatched up his phone. Kim Namjoon’s face
filled the screen as Yoongi connected the call.

“Hel—”

“What’s wrong? Did something happen to Taehyung?” The question shot out of Yoongi,
interrupting the needless greeting.

“No, no, he’s okay…” Kim Namjoon said, then paused with a wince, catching the irony. If
Taehyung was indeed okay, this call would not have been made in the first place. “I mean he’s not
that okay, but it’s nothing of the sort you’re thinking. He’s not hurt or anything. It’s just that…” He
glanced briefly away from the camera. “You know what, you should talk to him. That’s the whole
point of me calling.”
The screen blurred with dizzying motion as the phone was passed from one hand to the other.
When Taehyung’s face came into view, Yoongi felt a brutal pang. It surprised how much he’d
missed Taehyung already.

“Samchon,” Taehyung said through a congested nose. His face was splotchy and his eyes puffy.
Another pang knocked Yoongi’s guts into a jumble.

“Why are you crying?”

Taehyung sniffled. “I want to go home. I counted to three many times. I don’t want to count
anymore.”

Yoongi hated that there was nothing he could do about that. “It’s going to be okay.”

Taehyung shook his head, a hint of fresh tears poking through his voice as he spoke. “It’s not okay.
This place is big and scary and there’s no Samchon. Taetae’s scared.”

“I know you’re scared, but that’s okay. You’re going to be okay. Remember how you were scared
when you first came to live with Samchon? You were scared back then but you were brave too,
and because of that, you stopped being scared eventually. You can be brave now. You’ve always
been the bravest boy Samchon knows.”

The camera angle caught Taehyung from shoulder up. Yoongi could tell that the boy had calmed
down a fraction from the way the rise and fall of his chest had become less agitated than before.
His words were reaching Taehyung, comforting his fears and unease.

“Taetae’s brave,” Taehyung said with the sort of shaky determination that made it difficult to tell if
he was making a statement or asking a question.

“The bravest,” Yoongi said nonetheless.

Taehyung fell into a thinking silent, as if trying to decide if he should accept Yoongi’s affirmation
and reluctantly tolerate the current arrangement, or brush aside what Yoongi’d said as empty
flattery and continue to insist in tears that he wanted to go home.

As Taehyung fidgeted in indecision, Yoongi seized the opportunity to distract. “Why don’t you tell
Samchon about the best parts of your day?”

Taehyung lifted his head at the question and rose to the bait. “There’s a room that look like the sky
and Namjoon Hyung said that’s my room.”

“What’s in the room?”

“Clouds. There are clouds everywhere.” Taehyung gestured, a kick of wonder replacing the
fearfulness in his voice. “There are many, many toys in a large cupboard. There’s also a plane. It’s
a bed, but it’s also a plane. I took a nap on the plane.”

Damn the rich and their extravagance, Yoongi thought. He had glimpsed a slice of the background
of the room Taehyung was in. It didn’t fit Taehyung’s description of the sky-like room (he was
probably elsewhere), but the high walls, huge glass panes, impeccable finishes were telling of a
luxury home.

“Do you like the room?”

Taehyung nodded rapidly. “I want Samchon to see the room too.”

“Maybe sometime I will,” Yoongi said, then moved on swiftly before Taehyung could startfeeling
sad again. “So what else did you do other than taking a nap?”

“I played toys with Namjoon Hyung and Toka. And I ate the sandwiches and stew that Kahi
Noona made for lunch and dinner.”

“Who’s Kahi noona?”

“She’s a pretty and nice noona. She likes Toka too.”

“I see. What about your Keun-abeoji? Did he play toys with you too?”

“I haven’t met Keun-abeoji.”

It took Yoongi every bit of self-control to flatten his anger. Taehyung had relaxed, and he would
not frighten the boy by flaring up.

“How about the stars? Can you see stars from there?”

As Taehyung shook his head, Kim Namjoon’s voice piped in off-screen, disorienting Yoongi for a
moment as he’d completely forgotten that the man was of course going to be listening in. “You like
stars? I know the perfect stargazing spot where you can see hundreds of stars.”

Taehyung had sat up, lighting up with an eagerness as he looked away from the camera,
presumably at Kim Namjoon.

“Hear that?” Yoongi said, knowing that his job was done. There was a sense of sadness that this
phone call was ending, but he was also glad he had managed to resolve Taehyung’s fear for the
time being. “Go along and see the stars with Namjoon Hyung. Samchon wants to hear about it
when you come back.”

::::::::::

Namjoon’d been confident when he said he knew of an excellent stargazing spot. But when he
brought Taehyung up to the topmost room, there were no stars to be seen at all through the glass
ceiling because of the overcast sky. He winced internally, his mind scrambling for an alternative as
Taehyung blinked expectantly up at him. He thought of driving Taehyung out to the coastline
where it was hopefully less cloudy, but it was the penultimate phase of winter when the weather
was the most frigid. Not to mention the wind.

In the end, Namjoon owed his thanks to the interior designer. Aligning with the whole sky theme,
she’d installed in Taehyung’s room a lighting mode named Galaxy. Choosing that mode
extinguished the main lights and projected hundreds of glittering stars onto the darkened ceiling
and walls. They were not real stars, but Taehyung was awed nonetheless.

Namjoon sat on a lush rug with the boy and the plushie named Toka. Their necks craned toward
the ceiling, Namjoon pointed out the parody of constellations (again, kudos to the ID) and told the
story behind each. He let Taehyung borrow his phone to snap photos of the ‘stars’, then sent them
to Min Yoongi on the boy’s behalf. By the end of the evening, Taehyung’d grown noticeably more
cheerful.

After Kahi helped him with his shower, Taehyung went to bed without fuss. Worn down by the
emotionally tumultuous day, he took no time falling asleep.

Namjoon left the house after that, leaving Kahi to look over the boy and feeling relieved that the
day had ended on a peaceful note after all. He realised how ridiculously tired he was. He hadn’t
even been this tired preparing for and during high-stakes negotiations. He craved a hot shower and
his own bed, but that had to wait. There was somewhere else he needed to visit first.

He arrived back within the city limits of Seoul after a thirty-minute drive. As he cleared the
security gantry and pulled up at the building, the in-house valet was already on standby.

“It’s okay. Just leave the car here.” He told the valet as he got out of the car. “I won’t be long.”

The lobby on this side of the building had only one lift, which served the penthouse exclusively.
The man on shift in the lobby that night recognised Namjoon immediately, and the lift had begun
its descent to the lobby floor as Namjoon approached. The lift had been parked at the top when he
arrived, which means Seokjin must be home.

Namjoon took the lift up forty-seven levels and exited at the forty-eighth. He crossed the foyer and
went through the French doors that opened into an expansive living room wrapped around by
double-storey glass windows and furnished with twenty-seater designer sofas, minimalistic art
pieces and monochromatic colours. From this vantage point, the landscape of Seoul was a spangled
fabric unrolled miles below, rendered alive by thousands of moving and blinking lights.

Namjoon climbed the stairs that led up the loft where light emanated.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding all day,” he said when he made his landing. In his voice he
heard the amusement usually evoked whenever he thought Seokjin was being ridiculously
obstinate. Tonight, under that amusement, there was a spark of irritation.

Behind his desk where he’d been looking at a laptop, Seokjin lifted his head, unsurprised by
Namjoon’s presence. As far as Namjoon knew, he was the only person free to come and go as he
liked.

Seokjin was in a polo tee, his hair unstyled. Out of his suit, he was a different sight from his usual
days at the company, but Namjoon knew he was working. He was always working.

“Why did you ignore my calls and messages?” Namjoon asked just as Seokjin was about to return
his attention to whatever he was looking at before Namjoon’d interrupted him.

He looked at Namjoon with a cool brazenness of someone unaccustomed to explaining himself to

others. “In what capacity are you interrogating me?”

The true nature of the question was a reminder to Namjoon to know his place. It was a strategy
Seokjin used at times when he decided Namjoon was invading his privacy. On normal days
Namjoon would have shrugged it off and backed down, understanding that Seokjin wasn’t
malicious — it was just who he was as a person, guarded, thorny and a pain in the ass. But today
had been far from a normal day.

“Why are you doing this?” Namjoon asked, honestly perplexed.

When Seokjin’d tasked him to ready a kid’s room at his family home, Namjoon had found it odd.
Seokjin rarely returned there, instead making this penthouse his permanent living space. Namjoon
shrugged his questions off, assuming all the glass and sharp corners and the relative smallness of
the penthouse were the reason Seokjin’d chosen to put Taehyung up at the mansion. At that time it
hadn’t struck him that Seokjin could be intending to be Taehyung’s guardian only in name, their
lives ultimately separate.

“What exactly are you asking?” There was a flat blankness in Seokjin’s gaze.
“Why wreak havoc on their lives to fight for Taehyung’s custody, then act in every way like you
don’t want him now? Those were Min Yoongi’s words by the way. Frankly I’m finding it hard to
defend you.”

“I don’t remember asking you to do that.”

“Really? So did Jaehyun ask you to find his son, claim his custody, then chuck him aside in
neglect? Is that why you’re doing this?”

A tense silence engulfed the room. They stared at each other across the span of the loft, neither of
them willing to be the first one to look away. That action would be a confession of guilt and shame.
For Seokjin, that’d be acknowledging there was a degree of truth in Namjoon’s accusation; for
Namjoon, that’d be admitting he had just purposely and despicably slipped through Seokjin’s
defences to attacked the tender territory reserved for his brother.

Namjoon was with Seokjin the night the hospital called. He driven Seokjin there, beating many red
lights along the way. When they arrived at the ward, Seokjin had rushed to Jaehyun’s side, frantic
hand slipping around Jaehyun’s bony fingers, whispering Hey, Hyung’s here. Seokjin’s intense
display of emotion had rocked Namjoon. He had always known Seokjin as a stoic individual.
Feeling like he was intruding, Namjoon’d excused himself from the ward. Seokjin spent the rest of
the night by Jaehyun’s side, until Jaehyun died the following morning.

At Jaehyun’s funeral a few days later, Seokjin appeared in every way back to himself again, the
planes of his handsome face an unmoving pallor without the barest ripples of grief. When the
funeral was over, Seokjin handed Namjoon the task of locating a woman called Min Seungah and a
boy called Kim Taehyung. That’d been five months ago.

Beyond the names and an address — a place in Gwangju — that he’d passed on to the private
investigator, Namjoon had the barest information. Seokjin hadn’t found the need to fill in the other
blanks for him. But he had an inkling, which was confirmed when the PI turned up with a docket
containing the boy’s photos. Kim Taehyung was a close copy of Kim Jaehyun for the boy to be
anything else but Jaehyun’s son.

“You’ve overstepped,” Seokjin said, his expression hard.

Namjoon did not shy away from the razor-sharp edge in Seokjin’s voice. “I have, as would any
other person with enough righteousness to recognise what you’re doing isn’t right.”

Seokjin looked coolly at Namjoon. “After the things you’ve done to get to where you are today,
you’re the last person I’ve expected to be talking about righteousness.”

The words did not rile Namjoon up; not at all. He knew what Seokjin was insinuating. In the years
he’d worked with Seokjin — even before Seokjin had taken over as Se-il’s CEO — he had
conspired to overthrow Se-il’s rival companies and undermine competition. To bolster Se-il’s status
as the conglomerate that defines South Korea’s economy, he had brought his intelligence and wiles
to the table, stooping as low as spreading damaging rumours about their competitors and worming
through loopholes in legislations. He’d long accepted this part of himself; he could even go as far
as acknowledging that the scheming thrilled him. If there was a hell for corporate devils, he was
definitely going there. But those that he’d targeted were big corporations who would use the same
underhanded tactics as he did. He had not gone — would not go — so far as to implicate a child.

“Don’t pretend that what I’d done and what you’re doing now are equal. You’re not as asinine as
that. It’s Taehyung we’re talking about. Your nephew. The son of the brother you loved. I don’t
know what you’re trying to do here. If it’s taking care of Taehyung, then you’re not showing any
 promise. If it’s hurting Taehyung because of your unresolved grief, then stop. That’s cold and cruel
even by your standard.”

Namjoon exhaled, taking a moment for himself.

When he looked at Seokjin again, he’d fixed on an easy smile. “Then again,” he shrugged casually,
“do what you will. Just don’t expect me to take care of the child. I don’t get paid enough to get
myself tangled up in your family life. See you at the office tomorrow.”

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

sometimes i think this story had gotten unnecessarily long and i should've wrapped it
up after the adoption arc. but then i get reminded that this is my story and i could do
whatever i want with it. i still do feel sad about the readers/subscribers i've lost, but if
you're still here, then i guess thank you? yup, a big thank you.

namjoon and seokjin are turning out to be such interesting characters to write and
explore, because the echelon they inhabit is so drastically different from the other
characters. i had quite the time researching luxury mansions and penthouses for the
scene settings, experiencing envy and marvel in the process because how could some
people be so rich? LOL. if you find anything odd with my expression of these settings,
please forgive me, because the world of the ultra-rich are so removed from mine that
my rendition of it in this story are just second-/third-hand experiences gleaned off the
net. ^^;;

let me know your thoughts about this chapter. comments feed my soul. until we meet
next time, take care!

Curiouscat (cc came back as suddenly as it had gone. yeyyy)

 Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The Kim estate was located on an idyllic pocket of nature, on the distant outskirts of Seoul that
directly neighboured the next municipality. Backdropped by mountains, the estate was a landmark
of interest and a photo spot for those hiking up the mountain trails. Every now and then, a
documentary report about the family would be made and broadcast on national TV. In one of such
programs Seokjin had come across, he’d seen photos of hiking groups in their vibrant
windbreakers, looking and windswept posing with thumbs-up at some point of their trail, the
mansion floating like a white faraway lantern on a vast sea of green. And that’s the closest the
public can get to the palatial home of Se-il owners, the voice-over had said jauntily.

When Seokjin walked through the stately doors of the mansion unannounced that evening, a few
helpers were going about their chores in the foyer. One was carefully dusting off a wall painting,
another was running a vacuum cleaner along the marble floor. The one arranging flowers was the
first to notice him. She froze for a second, then sprang into a bow. “Sir,” she said.

The other two caught on. The sight of him surprised them into a moment of speechlessness before
they came to themselves, dropped what they were doing, and hastily dipped their heads.

“We didn’t know you were returning today,” the oldest of the three helpers said.

He recognised her. Ah-dal, her name was; a long-timer who had been on this job even before he
was born. He remembered she made addictive yakgwa and that she was unmarried but treated her
younger sister’s children like they were her own. Those were the things he’d learned when he
chatted with helpers in the past, before he grew older and things happened that robbed him of his
energy to care about anyone else.

It had been long time since he came back here. Months, perhaps. After his grandmother ceded the
CEO position to him and retired to Switzerland, the house was occupied only by a retinue of
helpers for upkeep. He supposed the helpers had come and gone. Except for Ah-dal, he’d never
seen the other two helpers before. They looked younger than him.

“Where’s the child?” He asked.

The younger helpers whipped their heads automatically toward Ah-dal.

“He should be in his room. He just came back from school about an hour ago,” she said

Seokjin strode across the foyer, past the pair of curving stairs. In the living room, he stopped,
realising he had no idea where the boy’s room was. He tried to recall if Namjoon’d told him and
felt a surge of annoyance at Namjoon when he failed.

He was saved from returning to the foyer and asking Ah-dal when a door far off to the side of the
living room opened. A woman exited, holding Taehyung’s hand. Caught by surprise, the nanny
stopped short when she saw Seokjin, then recomposed herself quickly and bowed in greeting.

As Seokjin took in the boy, the floor beneath him seemed to tilt in a sharp angle, sliding him many
years back. It was the same sensation that had assailed him the day he met Taehyung for the first
time at his birthday party. At that time he had almost believed it was Jaehyun he was seeing, that
time had unwound and rebraided itself into the past where Jaehyun was still a child and still alive,
that he was given a second chance to save Jaehyun, to guide him down another path that didn’t end
with his premature death at twenty-five.

The nanny turned to Taehyung, pulling gently at his arm. “Taehyung, your keun-abeoji’s here.”

Taehyung flicked a timid glance at Seokjin and mumbled a warbled Keun-abeoji under his breath.
He shifted himself behind the nanny, clutching nervously onto the hem of the nanny’s shirt. The
boy’s actions anchored Seokjin sturdily back in reality.

This was not Jaehyun. Jaehyun as a child was fearless, loud and exuberant. He had no reservations
about marching up to strangers — adults several inches taller than he was — and brandishing his
hand out for a handshake. Jaehyun spoke confidently even when it was gibberish he was saying,
never deterred by their grandmother’s displeased frown or the helpers’ expressions of polite
confusion.

Where had that child gone? What had gone so wrong to turn Jaehyun into a wasted, emaciated and
regretful existence on his deathbed?

The nanny gave Seokjin an awkward smile, like she was apologising for Taehyung’s behaviour.
“He’s about to have his dinner. Would you like to eat with him?”

In the dining room, Seokjin and Taehyung occupied one end of the massive dining table, sitting
across each other.

The nanny had retreated to give them privacy. None of the helpers were anywhere to be seen but
Seokjin knew they were likely straining to eavesdrop, not to feed any information to the media—
they couldn’t do that without severe repercussions because of privacy agreements—but to satisfy
their own curiosity and generate gossip fodder to counter the dullness of their job.

They ate in silence. The carved dining chair dwarfed the boy as he poked and nibbled miserably at
the flaky poached salmon and buttered broccoli.

Another pocket of memories split open, disorienting Seokjin. Jaehyun and he used to sit in the
same manner he did with Taehyung now, telling each other about their day as they ate their meals.
It had always been just the both of them because their grandmother was too busy managing the
company to ever return more than once every month. Seokjin had always been able to tell when
Jaehyun had a bad day at school from his unconcealed frustration and low spirits. His older-brother
instinct triggered, Seokjin would tease out from Jaehyun what’d happened and proceed to cheer
him up. Doing the latter was easy. When Jaehyun was a kindergartener, Seokjin was already a
middle schooler; when Jaehyun entered elementary school, Seokjin had enrolled in high school.
The years separating them rendered Seokjin a wise and infallible figure in Jaehyun’s eyes. And in
Seokjin’s, Jaehyun was a baby brother to be protected and kept happy.

Taehyung wasn’t Jaehyun, but their striking physical similarities prodded at the defunct instinct
and Seokjin felt a reflexive impulse to alleviate Taehyung’s obvious misery. So before he realised
what he was doing, the question had left his mouth.

“How was your day at school?” He sounded at once blunt and demanding. With one foot in the
past but the other planted firmly in the present, he had forgotten to shed the steely and
commanding tone he had grown accustomed to using with his subordinates.

The boy jumped at being asked, throwing his head up to stare at Seokjin with wide, nervous eyes.
His fingers curled into a tighter grip around his yellow plastic fork.
“Do you like it?” Seokjin prompted when Taehyung appeared unable to answer.

There was a few more moments of hesitation before the boy shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

Seokjin tried to remember if Namjoon’d told him which kindergarten he had enrolled Taehyung in
but came up blank. Nonetheless, as meticulous as Namjoon was, Seokjin doubted he would have
chosen a school that was anything less than prestigious or holistic.

“Why don’t you like it?”

“Taetae has no friends there.” A nasally suggestion of tears could be heard in Taehyung’s voice. “I
want to go back to my real school. Minnie and Gukkie are there. Can I go back to my real school?”
He looked at Seokjin hopefully.

“No,” Seokjin said without having to so much as consider it. It was impractical. When the legal
procedures concluded and Taehyung’s custody got officially transferred to him—and he would do
everything within his means to ensure that—the boy was going to have to bid goodbye to his old
life and get used to his new. Might as well expose him to it now and make it easier for him in the
future.

At his response, Taehyung wilted, his shoulders sloping out of sight beyond the edge of the table.

“You’ll soon realise this school isn’t any less real than the one you’ve been attending. You’ll get
used to it and make new friends eventually.”

Seokjin thought he sounded fair and reasonable. Pragmatic. The boy, however, did not appear
comforted. His large eyes—Jaehyun’s eyes—took on a glossy sheen, catching the light refracting
off the crystal beads of the chandelier above. His chin lowered toward his chest the next moment,
and Seokjin could not tell if he was about to cry.

How did he mollify Jaehyun in the past? Seokjin thought he remembered, but summoning the right
things to say felt like a flexing a muscle that had long atrophied and knotted from disuse—clumsy
and impossible. Wielding it might wreak more destruction. At least now Taehyung hadn’t burst
into tears.

He wondered why he had let Namjoon’s words get to him. What had his returning to the mansion
and meeting the boy accomplished?

He’s a child, Seokjin thought to himself as he sawed through his fillet, he’ll get over it.

The rest of the dinner passed in silence.

::::::::::

Against his wishes, Seokjin spent the night at the mansion. He would have driven back to the
penthouse if not for the deluge of rain that poured down out of nowhere sometime after dinner,
steady, pounding sheets that blurred visibility and weakened tyres’ grip on tarmac. Nothing about
his old room has changed: the shelves next to the reading chair was still packed with books of the
business sort; the walk-in wardrobe still filled with his old clothes; and the photo of Jaehyun and
him still standing on the bedside table.

After showering and pulling on an old sweater and grey jogger pants, he sat on the bed and did
work on his phone. The sheets smelled fresh, as though the helpers had operated on the assumption
that he would return any time and thus had changed them regularly.
Namjoon’s message was the first he saw, for it was a message sent directly to his phone number,
which only a handful of people had.

Should I clear your schedule for tomorrow morning?

Seokjin hadn’t told Namjoon he was returning to the mansion, unwilling to reveal that the
confrontation at the penthouse the previous night had an effect on him. But when Namjoon caught
him leaving the office early that evening, something Seokjin never did, Namjoon’s face had
flickered with surprise, which was overtaken in the next second by a smug sense of achievement
that indicated he had made assumptions.

Infuriatingly correct assumptions.

“Have a good evening,” Namjoon had said. With the satisfied tone he was using—as if he was that
proud of Seokjin—he might as well have said Have a good evening with Taehyung.

Seokjin had stepped stonily into the elevator, ignoring Namjoon’s goodbye wave.

No, Seokjin typed in reply to Namjoon’s message and sent it off. There was no reason for him to
take tomorrow morning off for the boy, if that was what Namjoon’d presumed.

He switched to his mailbox and went through the dozen of reports waiting for his comments and
proposals pending his approval. The work would keep him up till the dead of the night, until his
eyes were exhausted enough, begging him to catch a wink or two. He had forgotten what it felt like
to fall into a deep sleep, to enter the phase in a person’s day where they are peacefully shut out
from the world. Even in sleep, the gears in his mind never slowed. He flittered between
wakefulness and the brink of sleep without really setting foot in the realm of the latter, constantly
aware of his own thoughts. Most often than not the thoughts were sneaky, intrusive and
overbearing.

So he chose to work. At least he could control the direction of his thoughts when he was working.

He got out of the bed and left his room a few hours later. Except for the lit lights at the end of the
hallways or a few corners, the house was dark. Not a soul was to be seen, the helpers having retired
for the night. Directly to the left of his room had been Jaehyun’s old room. Earlier, he had stopped
before that room for a brief staring moment, wondering if it had been cleared out or as carefully
maintained as the rest of the mansion had been. He stepped away eventually, neither opening its
door nor asking the helpers to find out. It wouldn’t have changed a thing.

He went right and took the stairs down to the kitchen.

When he was younger—much younger—he had believed that Death lived in this mansion too. In
his imagination, Death wore a black hood ragged at its hem, gliding from door to door while
everyone was asleep, taking its own sweet time deliberating which soul to harvest next and how.
His grandfather had a fatal heart attack before he was born. When he turned eleven, his father
suffered the same fate. A few months after his father’s death, his mother contracted an odd illness
and passed shortly after.

Jaehyun had only been three the year their parents died. He’d been too young to remember their
strict but loving father or their elegant but cheerful mother. In their parents’ absence, Jaehyun had
only ever known their iron-fisted, unsmiling grandmother as his parental figure. On the rainy day
of their mother’s funeral, Seokjin remembering holding the hand of an oblivious Jaehyun,
promising himself that he’d protect Jaehyun from Death’s reach.
In the end he had failed spectacularly on that front.

He filled a glass at the kitchen sink. As he drank, a sudden streak of lighting flashed beyond the
windows, followed by an earth-shaking clap of thunder that disrupted the steady rustle of the rain.
He placed the empty glass in the sink and left the kitchen.

Later, he wouldn’t be able say why, but instead of guiding him back to his room, his feet brought
him to Taehyung’s. Out of reflex, as though his hand had a mind of its own, he turned the knob and
pushed the door, opening a gap wide enough for him to look into the room.

A lamp had been left on, draping the room with a cozy glow. A line of light seeped out from the
base of the bathroom door. He saw the small hill on the bed, buried under the duvet pulled so high
up that only a mob of dark hair was visible against the pillow.

The thunder hadn’t jarred the boy awake. But he’d barely finished the thought when a shaken,
brittle voice crept out from the direction of the bed.

“Who is it?”

It took Seokjin a second to register that the child-like voice could have only belonged to Taehyung.
“It’s me. Keun-abeoji.”

The mound on the bed shifted. The duvet slipped a few notches down to reveal a pair of eyes
peeking out. Then, as though having confirmed that it was indeed Seokjin, Taehyung sat straighter
up.

“Keun-abeoji,” the boy said. His apparent relief surprised Seokjin, considering the cold note on
which their interactions had ended thus far.

“Why are you not asleep?” Seokjin asked from his spot at the door.

“There are noises under the bed. I think—” Taehyung dropped his voice into a terrified whisper, “I
think it’s a monster.”

That would explain the his relief at seeing Seokjin. In the boy’s world, Seokjin was terrifying, but
not as much as a monster. Should he be proud of that?

“Monsters don’t live under children’s bed,” Seokjin said. “Go to sleep.”

In the dim room, Taehyung’s face was pale and rigid. “But I heard it moving. It makes scratching
noises.” He looked like he was about to spill tears.

It was the middle of the night and Seokjin really had no energy to deal with a child’s imagination,
but he strode into the room. At the bed, he bent at the waist and peered underneath. When he
straightened again, Taehyung was looking at him with what seemed like awe, as though looking
under the bed was an act of immense bravery.

“There’s nothing under the bed.”

“Really?” Taehyung asked, unconvinced.

“If there was indeed a monster, it’s gone now,” Seokjin said. “You should sleep.” It occured to
him that he had repeated himself. An aberration, because he was unaccustomed to doing. In his
day-to-day life, a command, an order, or an instruction delivered only once would have
subordinates scurrying to execute it exemplarily.
Taehyung made no move to lie down on the bed. He scratched the stitching on the duvet, flicking
hesitating glances up and down, between his fingers and Seokjin’s face.

“Keun-abeoji…” he said, as though he had finished gathering his courage and was ready to take
the dive, “can—can I call Samchon?”

“No.”

Taehyung recoiled from the flat refusal in Seokjin’s voice. “B-but I want to talk to Samchon.
Namjoon Hyung let me call Samchon yesterday.”

Tension crept up Seokjin’s neck, building into a slight pressure behind his temples. With his
prudent nature, Namjoon wouldn’t have allowed Taehyung to talk to Min Yoongi unless he had
deemed it absolutely necessary. But having known Namjoon for more than a decade, Seokjin was
certain that there was a degree of revenge involved, a fuck you to Seokjin for shoving him with
babysitting responsibilities while he himself hid away in the penthouse.

Seokjin looked at Taehyung’s hopeful eyes. He could explain to the boy that he’s not here on a
holiday, that he was the subject of a very real custody case, and that allowing him to talk to his
samchon went against common sense because that would raise suspicions on Seokjin’s ability to
take care of him. But it had already felt like a long enough night to venture into the tangle of that
explanation. Seokjin opted for a simpler reason.

“It’s the middle of the night. Your samchon’s asleep. It’d be bad to wake him up.”

The hope in Taehyung’s eyes winked out of existence. He sagged in disappointment and unhappy
acceptance, and did not argue further. Deep within Seokjin, the same instinct from earlier that
evening pulsed and prodded, prompting him to cheer the boy up. But he did not know where to
begin. So he looked away from Taehyung and let his gaze drift over the room, taking in for the
first time the refurbishment job he had left it to Namjoon to orchestrate.

The room looked right out of a catalogue, cozy and inviting with a lush rug covering the floor,
pastel blue walls, and cloud ornaments dangling from the ceiling. He noticed that the bed frame
mimicked the shape of a plane, its wings connected to a short flight of steps to give a small child
child the extra boost needed when getting onto the bed. His eyes paused over a drawing fixed on
the whiteboard, held in place by colourful magnet pieces of animal heads. On the paper, a red
waxy circle gleamed.

“Did you draw that?”

Taehyung followed the direction in which Seokjin had gestured, and nodded bashfully.

“What is it?” Seokjin asked.

“It’s a worm living in an apple.”

“It looks nice.” Seokjin hadn’t meant much by the comment. It wasn’t so much a praise as a
reflexive, offhanded remark. But Taehyung’s shoulders jolted up, his face lighting up in a way
Seokjin had never seen before.

The boy peeled the duvet off himself and slipped out of bed, forgoing the steps. He pattered to the
board, removed the drawing, and brought it back for Seokjin. “Keun-abeoji can have this.”

Dumbstruck by the boy’s gesture and his sweet smile, Seokjin found himself taking the drawing
from Taehyung. The smile on Taehyung’s face bloomed further, as though something in his small
body had relaxed.

It was an abstract drawing of a worm and an apple, Seokjin supposed he could tell from the bright
red circle and the brown streak poking out of it. But what was he to do with it? Frame it up?

“Keun-abeoji,” Taehyung’s voice interrupted carefully. Seokjin lowered the piece of paper. The
boy had his head tilted up, his eyes on Seokjin. “Do you know my appa? Samchon says you’re my
appa’s hyung.”

It felt like a pair of hands had seized each end of his lungs and twisted them in an unforgiving
wring. He hadn’t come to the boy’s room to talk about Jaehyun. Yet there was something about the
fuzzy dimness of the room and Taehyung’s innocent curiosity that softened his defences.

“Yes, I know your appa,” Seokjin’s lips were stiff and his words crept out heavy and weighted.
“What about you? Do you remember your appa?”

Taehyung shook his head. It was expected—he couldn’t have been older than three when Jaehyun
left him—but the confirmation still dealt a pang to Seokjin’s chest. It was probably Jaehyun’s
karma for abandoning Taehyung, but for his own son to completely recall nothing about him
seemed too heartbreaking a punishment.

“I don’t remember Appa, but Eomma told me Appa lived with us in the past, when I was really,
really small.”

“What else did your eomma tell you about your appa?” Seokjin heard the bitter note in his own
voice. So many nights had he seethed in resentment, kept awake by the if-only’s. If only, if only
Jaehyun hadn’t met her.

Taehyung shook his head sadly. “Eomma always looked sad when I asked about Appa, so I don’t
ask about him. I don’t like seeing Eomma sad.”

Seokjin studied Taehyung for a moment, trying to discern if the boy had grown to begrudge
Jaehyun, the initial seed of dislike planted there by Min Seung-ah. But Taehyung’s eyes were
innocent, untainted by bitterness, brimming with the anticipation that perhaps Seokjin could tell
him more.

Seokjin was more relieved than he cared to admit.

“Your appa’d made bad decisions, but he wasn’t a bad person. He hadn’t always made people sad.
He was the happiest child anyone could find, excellent at befriending others and making people
laugh. We would always find him with dirt on his knees and hands, because he was always running
around here and there, catching bugs.”

Taehyung crinkled his nose. “I don’t like bugs.”

As muscle at the edge of his lips twitched, Seokjin belatedly realised that he had almost smiled.
When was the last time he smiled? “Your appa is a little odd that way,” he said. “But the bugs he
caught are the coolest kind. He once showed me a beetle with a metallic shell that gleamed in the
sun.”

This was the most he had talked about anything that wasn’t work, much less about Jaehyun. He
didn’t trust himself to give voice to his memories of Jaehyun, because the act of sifting through
them, organising them into a meaningful narrative, would bring some long-forgotten detail into
sharp relief, choking him all over again. Neither did he trust others to listen without judgement.
The version of Jaehyun they carried in their minds was constructed through the rumour mill — a
troublemaking son of a chaebol family who led a life of debauchery before succumbing to the
temptation of drugs. For some, they would lament the wasted potential and view Jaehyun as a case
of pity, while the others would be of the self-righteous opinion that Jaehyun had simply gotten his
just desserts for dabbling in drugs in the first place. Of course, no one had said that to Seokjin’s
face, but he had spent long enough in this foul echelon of society to know that those hypocrites had
gloated behind his back.

Talking about Jaehyun to Taehyung had been unexpected. But as unlikely as an audience the boy
was, Seokjin found it easy to let words unspool. Taehyung listened intently, and Seokjin could see
from his eyes that he was piecing together an image of the father he had forgotten. The boy was a
blank canvas when it came to Jaehyun, and Seokjin could draw on it a picture in which Jaehyun
was lovable, brilliant, warm. There could be another person to remember the wholesome, free-
spirited soul Jaehyun had been before he headed down the wrong path, another person who didn’t
define Jaehyun by the choices he had made.

“You look a lot like your appa, do you know that?”

When Jaehyun revealed to him that he had a son, Seokjin had been shocked. The idea that his baby
brother was a father had been inconceivable. At the same time, he had felt glad. That night at the
hospital, he had clung onto Jaehyun’s hand and prayed over and over, to no deities in particular,
that a miracle would manifest in Jaehyun’s recuperation. But despite his fervent begging, he had
known the moment he stepped into the ward and saw Jaehyun—ashen, emaciated and smothered of
spark— that Jaehyun wouldn’t make it through the night. Learning about Taehyung’s existence
gave him a measure of comfort amidst Jaehyun’s imminent death. Jaehyun had left behind
something—someone—of himself after all.

Seokjin had taken seriously his promise to Jaehyun to take care of Taehyung. He’d had every
intention to raise the boy well, be a good uncle to him, and give him the best. He had no idea
where to begin, but he would learn. He just hadn’t foreseen Taehyung’s preternatural resemblance
to Jaehyun to be a stumbling block. Seeing Taehyung filled him with the disorienting sensation that
he was seeing Jaehyun instead. It reminded him of the ways he’d failed Jaehyun and awakened his
shame.

Now, he applied conscious effort in reminding himself that it was Taehyung he was talking to. That
was the only reason he hadn’t fled the room or been swept away by the magnitude of his guilt and
grief. He sieved out the dissimilarities between Jaehyun and Taehyung, and focused on them.
Taehyung’s eyes held a soft, curious wonder while Jaehyun’s had a permanent glint of harmless
mischief. Taehyung’s lips wore a permanent suggestion of a pout, while Jaehyun’s angled into a
lopsided grin on most days. A freckle dotted the tip of Taehyung’s nose, and another his right
cheek, while Jaehyun had his on his chin and beneath his lower lip.

This was Taehyung, not Jaehyun. Jaehyun was gone.

Taehyung glanced at Seokjin through lashes so long and thick that the lamp cast spiky shadows on
his cheeks. “Was Appa handsome?” When Seokjin nodded, Taehyung asked, “As handsome as
Keun-abeoji?”

“More handsome than me.”

Taehyung gave a little bounce on the balls of his feet. “Can I meet Appa?”

The slap of reality stung. Seokjin felt Jaehyun’s keen absence again. “That’s not possible, I’m
afraid.” He squared his shoulders and drew in a breath. He had talked enough about Jaehyun for
one night. He folded the sides of the apple and worm drawing together and nodded at the bed.
“You should really go to bed. It’s late.”

“I want to hear more about Appa.”

A note of brusque finality stole into Seokjin’s voice. “Another time.”

Taehyung’s face puckered. “But I don’t want to sleep. What if the monsters return?”

Seokjin exhaled, wondering why he had signed up for this. “Would you feel better if I stay here
with you?”

After a moment of contemplation — a moment that seemed unnecessarily and offensively long —
Taehyung nodded, as though he had reached a compromise and decided that having a scary Keun-
abeoji as guard was just slightly better than having to fend off inexistent monsters on his own. He
climbed onto the bed and snuggled under the duvet, laying on his side and wrapping his arms
around a pale-blue, egg-shaped plushie with a pretty dumb-looking face.

Seokjin sat down at the foot of the bed and realised Taehyung was looking at him. “You have to
close your eyes if you’re going to sleep.”

“I’m scared.”

“I told you I won’t go anywhere.”

“Does Keun-abeoji promise?”

“Yes.”

Satisfied, Taehyung closed his eyes.

Outside, rain continue to patter down but the wind had lost its aggression. Barely ten minutes had
passed when the boy’s breathing levelled out and his body rose and fell in tandem with the rhythm
of slumber.

Seokjin stayed.

::::::::::

Seokjin noticed something was off when Namjoon swung the car onto the highway.

“This is not the way back to the office,” he pointed out from the backseat.

Namjoon hummed. “I’m picking Taehyung up from school,” he said.

It was Wednesday, the day Taehyung was to return to Min Yoongi, but it was barely past eleven
and Namjoon didn’t have to take him back until the evening. Seokjin pointed that out to Namjoon.

“I’m taking him out for some fun before taking him back. I don’t suppose he’s too happy in his
new school and I’d hate to send him back with a glum face. I’ve applied for time off by the way, if
you’re concerned.”

“You said you’re staying out of my family matters.”

“So I’ve changed my mind,” Namjoon said easily.

“You could have dropped me back at the office first.”

“Did I not mention that you’re coming with us? Oops, my bad. Must have slipped my mind.”
Namjoon tipped his head in apology, but Seokjin knew him well enough to know that nothing ever
slipped his mind. “You have the afternoon free. I’ve cleared your schedule.”

“And if I refuse to join?”

Namjoon shrugged nonchalantly. “Then it’s too bad. You can catch your own ride back to the
office when we get to the kindergarten.”

The kindergarteners were in a reading class when they arrived at the school, seated on the floor
around a teacher and her book. Seokjin spotted Taehyung through the glass, sitting by himself
listlessly at the back, hanging apart from his peers. A staff knocked on the door, interrupting the
session on Namjoon and Seokjin’s behalf to pluck Taehyung out of class. The boy looked puzzled
at first, but when he saw them, he perked up and scrambled to his feet.

“Namjoon Hyung? Keun-abeoji?” The boy was dressed in the kindergarten’s uniform, a grey
sweatshirt layered over a collared shirt, a striped bowtie at his throat.

Seokjin didn’t miss how Taehyung had greeted Namjoon first; neither did he overlook the slight
hesitation before the Keun-abeoji. Last evening, he had returned to the mansion and shared dinner
with the boy, just like he had the evening before that. He had thought it would be easier to talk to
Taehyung after that stormy night in the boy’s bedroom. It wasn’t. Interacting with Taehyung
required vulnerability on Seokjin’s end, but without the secrecy of late night and with helpers
lurking around and their ears picking up gossip fodder, being vulnerable was too much. Dinner
became an painful affair of awkward quiet. Taehyung, who had initially offered up a shy, tentative
smile when he saw Seokjin, grew confused at Seokjin’s reticence and unfriendliness, and by the
time dinner neared the end, his smile had fallen away and he’d curled upon himself, his body
language pointing toward cautiousness and uncertainty. After the activity in the house had wound
down completely for the night, he had gone to Taehyung’s room and found the boy snug asleep.
Seokjin closed the door and returned to his room.

So Seokjin couldn’t begrudge Taehyung for preferring Namjoon, who had probably been the
kinder, friendlier and consistent person out of them both by a mile.

Taehyung tugged at the sleeve of Namjoon’s jacket. “Are you taking me back to Samchon? It’s
Wednesday.”

“Yes, but that’ll be later today.” Before Taehyung’s face could collapse in disappointment,
Namjoon added, “Before that, we’re going to take you out for lunch, and then somewhere fun.”

“The park?”

Namjoon grinned and rubbed Taehyung’s head affectionately. “You’ll find out.”

Begrudgingly, Seokjin went along with Namjoon and Taehyung. The prospect of flagging down a
taxi irked him (who knew if the driver disinfected the seats regularly), as did the prospect of
subjecting himself to the curious gazes of tiny children as he waited at the kindergarten for the
hired car to arrive. He slipped into the passenger seat, the backseat now occupied by the bulky
carseat Namjoon had removed from the trunk and set up for Taehyung.

Lunch was at a fast-food joint that Seokjin would never have frequented if it were up to him. A
constant clatter and buzz hummed under the background of trashy pop music. At the ordering
kiosk, Namjoon put in an order for doughy pizza, fatty burgers, sodas and a couple of sides, all of
which were so speedily served that the microwave was certainly involved. To his barely restrained
disgust, Namjoon and Taehyung relished the food, merrily stuffing their faces and getting their
fingers greasy. The feeling of being the third wheel intensified.

“Why are you not eating?” Namjoon asked after taking a chomp of his burger.

Seokjin eyed the fish fingers, certain that they contained more flour and additives than actual fish
meat. “These are eighty-five percent junk.”

“It’s hypocritical of you to say that, considering Se-il finances a pretty long list of fast food chains,”
Namjoon said matter-of-factly. “Besides, we need fast food in our system once in a while to stay
cheerful.” The statement was made innocently enough, but Seokjin did not miss Namjoon’s
implication that Seokjin was grumpy because his diet lacked burgers.

Taehyung swivelled between Seokjin and Namjoon, appearing to be making sense of their
conversation. He caught on eventually, perhaps clued in by Seokjin’s body language — body
leaning from the table, fingers resting on his belly, hands not coming up to take the food. The boy
picked up a twister fry and dipped it into the saucer of ketchup, then held it out for Seokjin.

“Fries?” Taehyung said. His voice was tentative.

Seokjin stiffened. He looked at the fry, then up at Namjoon. The man shrugged, smiling in a way
that indicated that Seokjin was on his own. A few more seconds ticked by with the boy looking
expectantly at him.

Seokjin swiped the fry from Taehyung and popped it into his mouth.

It wasn’t too bad. He could do without the ketchup though. It was too sweet.

“Is it yummy?” Taehyung asked.

Seokjin cleared his throat and wiped his finger on the given napkins. “It’s okay.”

Taehyung bounced on his seat, his legs starting to swing beneath the table. “Samchon loves it too!”
Seokjin barely had time to take offence at having his palate compared to Min Yoongi’s when
Taehyung proceeded to push an unwrapped burger and the basket of fish fingers and chicken
nugget to him. “These are yummy too.”

Namjoon rolled his shoulders in an it-can’t-be-helped manner that was simultaneously smug. “I
guess this means you’re having junk food for lunch after all.”

Done with the meal, they piled back into the car for their next destination, which Namjoon derived
great joy in keeping it secret and which Seokjin was determined not to ask. He glanced at the
rearview mirror from the passenger seat. In the child seat in the back, Taehyung sat forward
excitedly and looked out of the window, his eyes glued to the passing scenery as the car cruised
into the suburbans with sparser buildings and more green. If the boy were a puppy, his tail would
be wagging and thumping.

Namjoon drove up a small driveway and parked next to a single-storey building with a sloping
roof. The wind chime at the door tinkled when they entered. To the left of the entrance was a small
table and on it, a box containing a stack of contact cards. Faithspring Pottery, the silver imprint on
the cream-coloured cards read. Seokjin felt a pinch of a headache between his eyes. He really had
too much paperwork to tend to to be doing pottery. He opened his mouth to demand Namjoon hand
him the car keys so he could drive back to the office, but was intercepted by a woman who chose
that moment to surface from an archway by the side. She greeted them with a motherly geniality
and introduced herself as the owner of the place before leading them in.
 The pottery workshop had been remodelled from a barn, its ceiling high and space airy. Plenty of
natural sunlight drenched through large panes of glass. Shelves lined the walls, bearing a variety of
pottery pieces—urns, cups, mugs, dishes—that gleamed in the light. The air was infused with a
subtle chalky scent of clay. They were the only guests at the moment, Seokjin having gleaned from
Namjoon’s conversation with the owner that he’d booked he entire place for the afternoon.

“We’re a perfectly beginner-friendly workshop,” the owner reassured with a smile, her eyes raking
over the three of them. Two businessmen and a little boy—they couldn’t have appeared to her as
more than pottery neophytes. “You can make anything you want. We will try our best to bring your
imagination to life.”

Namjoon gave Taehyung a little nudge. “Have you thought of what you want to make?”

Taehyung looked a little lost and nervous, a boy who had found himself in a unfamiliar world
made daunting by a population of fragile items he’d been likely and repeatedly warned not to touch
by the adults in his life. He took a few pondering moments to let his gaze roam the space. “Can I
make that?” He pointed uncertainly to a standing vase in the corner carrying a few stalks of bird of
paradise. “I want to make it and give it to Ahjumma so she can put her flowers.”

“Of course.” The smile on the owner’s face broadened. “Perhaps not something quite as big, but a
smaller vase would look really nice for flowers as well.”

“I think that’s a great idea.” Namjoon chipped in encouragingly before glancing over his shoulder
at Seokjin. “Don’t you think so too?”

Seokjin laid a flat stare on Namjoon. He was starting to see a pattern of Namjoon lassoing him into
interacting with Taehyung whenever the opportunity arose, as though that would reel Seokjin
closer to being the ideal uncle for the boy. His first reaction was to let the question slide by, but the
expectant gaze Taehyung had swung upon him backed him into a corner, and he had no choice but
to nod. Terse as the nod was, it bolstered the boy’s confidence, spurring a encouraged smile to
appear across his bread-like cheeks.

That was the moment Seokjin knew at the back of his head that he wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Seokjin and Namjoon removed their suit jackets—and Taehyung, his tiny uniform blazer—at the
owner’s suggestion and hung them away on the wall. After putting on the apron handed to them,
they were guided to the pottery wheels, each carrying a lump of milky brown clay. An assistant—a
young man who couldn’t have been more than twenty—joined in as the owner demonstrated how
to operate the wheel and the basics of shaping the clay. A small bowl rose effortlessly into
existence under the owner’s nimble hands. Taehyung watched in marvel, fidgeting with the
eagerness to get started.

They settled behind their own pottery wheel, rolled their sleeves and wetted their hands before
putting them to the clay. The assistant stuck by Taehyung’s side, guiding his small hands around
the clay and offering positive affirmations along the way. The owner hovered between Namjoon
and Seokjin, sprinkling in tips, ready to step in to help salvage their masterpieces.

Seokjin was making a vase too—not so much out of desire than convenience. To brainstorm what
he wanted to make would indicate an interest in pottery, which he did not have. Hence he had
simply appropriated Taehyung’s idea, eavesdropping on the assistant’s instructions to Taehyung
and incorporating them as he worked.

The wet clay was slimy and soft, inclined to gain a mind of its own and spin out of shape if too
much speed was applied to the wheel. But Seokjin caught the hang of it after a short while. It was
all about applying the right pressure. Too little, and the clay would not yield. Too much, and the
progress so far would be disfigured. He worked carefully, pushing his thumbs in to tease out a
cavity, closing his hands around the clay and elongating it upward so it started to assume the shape
of a vase. There was something meditative about the motion of it all, about the value of creating
something functional out of a mess of clay.

“You’re doing a wonderful job, Seokjin-ssi,” the owner complimented. “It doesn’t seem like it’s
your first attempt at pottery.”

Seokjin heard her, but did not break his focus to reply. Occasionally, though, he would slip out of
his flow and glance first at Taehyung—who, with the assistant’s help, already had something close
to a decent vase on his wheel—then at Namjoon—who, to Seokjin’s petty vindictiveness, was
struggling hard. As much as Namjoon’s mind operated in wondrous ways, his fingers were less
agreeable. Next to him, a hint of motherly exasperation could be heard in the owner’s voice, but
Namjoon took it in good humour, sheepishly apologising when his latest attempt was reduced to an
unidentifiable shape again.

Some time later, Seokjin straightened his back to a dull ache at the base of his spine from having
stayed in one position for too long. His finished vase sat on the wheel. Across from him, Namjoon
was still wrestling with his clay. Seokjin looked to his side and saw that Taehyung had completed
his vase as well, brimming with a sense of accomplishment. The assistant had gone elsewhere.

Taehyung was kicking his legs back and forth, something Seokjin noticed the boy was prone to do
whenever he was happy. Seokjin was uncertain if the assistant had instructed Taehyung not to
touch the vase, but even if the assistant had, the temptation to do so was proving too great for the
boy. Taehyung reached toward the vase with a fond finger and Seokjin witnessed the moment he
leaned too far forward and tipped himself out of balance.

Reflexively, Taehyung’s arms shot forward to prevent himself from pitching out of the stool. One
of his hands planted with a smack on the wheel, the other on the surrounding basin. Namjoon and
the owner looked up at the sound. The owner gasped.

“Oh dearie me.” The owner hurried to Taehyung’s side. She steadied Taehyung back onto the stool
and examined his arms and hands. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Seokjin didn’t think he was. He swallowed to calm his racing heart. Fortunately the wheel had
been switched off; the consequences would otherwise be dire.

Taehyung stared in horror at the vase, or what was the vase a few moments ago. “It’s spoilt. Taetae
spoilt it.” The vase was ruined, its side flattened by the palm that had landed on the wheel.

“It’s okay,” the owner cooed. “We can always make it again. I’ll help you.”

“Actually,” Namjoon interjected. “Aren’t I the one in greater need of your help?” He pointed to the
unidentifiable object spinning on his wheel. “Why not let Seokjin-ssi help Taehyung instead.
Didn’t you say he’s a natural? And he’s made a vase too.”

Seokjin shot daggers at Namjoon for the nth time that day. Namjoon looked innocently back at
Seokjin. The owner whipped her head from Namjoon to Seokjin, then back at Namjoon again,
awkwardly caught in the crossfire.

“That arrangement works too…as long as Seokjin-ssi’s okay with that?”

“He has no objections,” Namjoon answered readily on Seokjin’s behalf.

Seokjin thought of slamming a firm foot down in rejection of Namjoon’s presumptuous idea. After
all he was the boss here. He was close to doing so, but he made the mistake of glancing askance at
Taehyung, who was gripping the hem of his sweater, looking on the verge of tears.

His resolved cracked.

He sighed inwardly. “I can do that.”

“That’s great!” The owner said, relieved. She rose to her full height. “Well then, I’ll leave
Taehyung to you.”

Before getting to his feet and going to Taehyung’s side, Seokjin levelled a final glare at Namjoon
to indicate that the repercussions for his transgression would come later. Namjoon pretended not to
noticed, immersing himself in an making an exaggerated production of being the needy student
hogging all of the instructor’s—in this case, the owner’s—time.

“We’ll fix this together,” Seokjin told Taehyung. The boy stared up at him with shiny eyes.
“Before that, you have to promise that you’re not going to cry.”

Taehyung nodded vigorously, swiping at his eyes with the back of his wrists.

They started with kneading the ruined clay back into a lump. Seokjin stood behind Taehyung, his
arms coming around the boy so that he could guide the small hands and stubby fingers on the clay.
Though they were clumsy in the beginning, they got used to the rhythm and little by little, a similar
vase formed out of the clay again, as did a smile on Taehyung’s face.

This might be the beauty of pottery making, offering makers a chance to start all over in face of
devastating mistakes, the possibility of creating beauty out of ruin.

If only all things in life were like that. Then again, at least some things in life were like that.

::::::::::

The car inched along the narrow street crammed on either side with houses that looked one
typhoon away from falling into shambles. Taehyung fidgeted in his seat, his neck craning to look
out of the window.

“I see Samchon and Ahjumma!” He squealed.

Seokjin saw them too, two figures standing side by side ahead, one dressed in black and the other
in vibrant flowery prints. Even from this distance, he could feel their eyes narrowing in hostility as
they spotted him through the windshield.

Namjoon stopped the car right where they were. He got out and jogged to the back door. Seokjin
remained in the passenger seat.

“Samchon! Ahjumma!” Taehyung called when Namjoon opened the door. As soon as Namjoon
had unbuckled him, he hopped out of the car and made a dash toward Min Yoongi and threw his
arms around the man’s legs with a force just a degree short of knocking him over.

Min Yoongi hadn’t struck Seokjin as someone who smiled, but a corner of his lips quirked upward
in that moment. He placed a hand on Taehyung’s head.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

 Taehyung nodded. “Uh huh! Taetae’s a brave boy!”

The boy looked transformed, truly at ease. The tension he had held in his small shoulders over the
past two days had disappeared, and Seokjin read relief in his limbs.

Sensing him watching, Min Yoongi lifted his chin, the tenderness on his face vanishing in an
instant. He stared at Seokjin over the top of Taehyung’s head, his lips flattened into a grim line.
Seokjin held his eyes for a moment before dropping his gaze and pulling his phone out to check the
emails that had come in during the time he was away from work. He was here to drop Taehyung
off, not to engage in staring matches with Min Yoongi. He had better things to do.

“Bye, Taehyung. I’ll see you next week,” Namjoon said.

“Bye bye, Namjoon Hyung.” A small pause, then, in a more bashful voice, “Bye bye, Keun-
abeoji.”

Seokjin raised his head and nodded at Taehyung. The boy smiled. Seokjin looked away.

Namjoon popped the rear door closed and got into the driver seat, yanking the seatbelt over
himself.

“See, it isn’t as tough as you think it was, right?” Namjoon said as he put the car into motion.

Through the rearview mirror, Seokjin saw Taehyung holding Min Yoongi’s hand and skipping into
the ahjumma’s house. “What isn’t?”

“Spending time with Taehyung and doing fun stuff with him like an uncle should. You did well
today.” Namjoon flashed him a grin. “Very well.”

“I’d appreciate it if you don’t take matters into your own hands in the future.”

“But you’re the one who chose to join us,” Namjoon said innocently. “Nobody forced you.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

Namjoon chuckled, pivoting the car around a corner and onto the Main Street. “Okay, okay, guilty
as charged. I’ll try, but it really depends. On you.”

Seokjin scoffed. He should start reinforcing boundaries. He was letting Namjoon get away with
too many things.

:::::::::

Chapter End Notes

i genuinely hadn't expected this chapter to take this long, but march turned out to be a
month of distractions with new game/book releases. ^^;;

anyway, thoughts on Seokjin?

Curiouscat
 Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Yoongi holed himself up in one of Big Hit’s cramped, windowless studios that contained nothing
more than an antiquated workstation, a pair of stained office chairs, and a buzzing overhead light
he did not bother to turn on. The glare from the computer screen stabbed at his eyes.

Conceptualisation for Big Hit’s first boy group had officially started. The group was to represent
underdogs striving to break free from the various chains society had placed on them. Bang PD
wanted a grungy and rebellious sound that reflected a devil-may-care attitude. It was the type of
sound Yoongi specialised in, and Bang PD had challenged him to come up with some demos of
potential songs that could eventually make into the album.

Over a week had gone by since the task was issued. Although Bang PD hadn’t given him a hard
deadline, Yoongi foresaw that Bang PD would ask about his progress soon. He had nothing decent
to show Bang PD, nothing that sounded right to his ears. Nothing sounded right because he hadn’t
been able to gather the concentration needed to allow the threads of his inspiration to coalesce into
something substantial.

“How’s it going?”

Yoongi jumped at Hoseok’s voice. He hadn’t heard the door open.

“Have the manners to knock,” he said, shooting Hoseok an annoyed glare over his shoulder.

Hoseok shrugged. “I did. You were just too busy sitting in the darkness and staring into space.” He
invited himself in and plopped onto the spare squeaky chair. He spun away from the desk, kicked
his legs out before him and leaned back to look at Yoongi. “Everything okay?”

“I’m working,” Yoongi said tightly, wiggling the mouse to awaken the sleeping screen. He stared
at the bundles of sharp recording lines and tried to figure out where he’d left off.

“Not okay then,” Hoseok said. “Evasiveness is your defence mechanism, a signal that others
should back off and leave you alone to stew in your misery.”

Yoongi scoffed. “Why aren’t you backing off then?”

“Because I’m your friend and I know you spiral when left to your own devices. Chances are you’re
going to lead yourself down a path of self-destruction. Sorry, but you don’t exactly have a great
track record. So talk to me and let me lend you a helping hand. Or if not that, at least a listening
ear.”

The CPU whirred beneath the desk, filling the quiet, along with pointless clicking of the mouse as
Yoongi ignored Hoseok’s hanging question.

“I know you’re having a difficult time right now, what with the custody hearing coming up next
month,” Hoseok said after a while. “It’d be obnoxious of me to ask you not to worry, but you do
understand that Hyunjin Noona and her team are doing the best for you and Taehyung, right? We
might be up against Goliath, but we do have a serious chance of winning.”

“I know that.” Yoongi gave up all pretence of trying to get work done and pushed away from the
desk, whirring around to face Hoseok. “I’m not doubting her dedication or capability. It’s just—“
He halted, catching his own agitation.

“Just what?”

His vulnerability pulsed under the surface, waiting for the moment that it’d be allowed out. He’d
never wanted to appear weak before anyone, fearing their judgement or worse, their pity. So it’d
been easier for him to dress his fear as sarcasm and his pain as anger.

But looking at Hoseok, his walls dissolved. Despite having seen the worst sides of him, Hoseok’d
stuck by his side, steadfast and loyal, even though Yoongi hadn’t done anything that deserved it.

“If I lose Taehyung’s custody,” Yoongi started slowly, dropping his edges, “I can’t help but feel
I’d be the only one who’s going to be scarred by this loss for life.”

Hoseok frowned, sitting up. “What do you mean? You definitely won’t be the only one. Taehyung
—”

Yoongi snorted quietly, humourlessly. “Taehyung’s a six-year-old with so much life ahead of him.
How many of the people you met at that age do you still remember? If Taehyung loses me, he’d
get over the loss. And don’t try to tell me that you or Madam Lee would be scarred too. It’s not the
same. You are not the ones who live and breathe with Taehyung in the same space every night.”

Once he got started, it became easy to continue. The chain of thoughts had curled and uncurled
inside of him for so long that talking about it was a relief, a weight that he could unload onto
someone else even if it was temporary.

“Every time he comes home from Kim Seokjin’s, he tells me about the new things he’s done, the
new toys he’s played with that I couldn’t have afforded. He tells me about the people in the
household who were nice to him: the nanny who takes care of him, the helpers around the
household who sometimes give him candies. He even have something nice to say about Kim
Seokjin. He comes back to me smiling. He bids goodbye to me smiling too. He’s adapting well. I
should be happy, but I’m not. All these is telling me that I’m not as important in Taehyung’s life as
I thought I was. If I lose Taehyung’s custody, he’ll find a way to be happy again. Yet for me, I
don’t think I’ll ever recover. Isn’t that unfair?”

Hoseok listened without interrupting. When Yoongi was done, he asked thoughtfully, “Does that
mean you regret letting Taehyung in to your life?”

Did he? Yoongi thought of the free, untethered man he would still be if he’d left Taehyung in
Daegu. But that freedom had been made of bitterness, misery, loneliness. He’d been a failing
musician for whom music had turned into a chore he forced himself to perform because his life
would have meant nothing if he simply gave up. Then Taehyung came into his life, and for the first
time in so long, he had something else to focus on other than the mountain of a dream that had
seemed impossible to scale. Because of the boy, he had something to look forward to at the end of
every day. Picking Taehyung up from school, making and then having dinner with him replaced
the monotonous evenings where he would skip his meal and shut himself in the studio, working on
his music until his eyes begged to close.

“I don’t,” Yoongi said. “But it’s terrifying how such a tiny little child could take up so much space
in my life and how I’d allowed that to happen.”

Hoseok’s lips quirked with a knowing smile. “Love is terrifying. It’s unpredictable, untameable,
unfair. But you know what? It’s also pretty fucking wonderful. It’s the way Taehyung never stops
exaggerating the things you have done simply because you’re that amazing in his eyes. It’s the way
he gives you his precious drawings time and time again. It’s the way he tells you about his day at
school because he wants you to be part of it even though it’s secondhand.”

Hoseok paused to catch his breath, staring hard at Yoongi. “What I’m trying to say is: Taehyung
loves you as much as you love him. You’re important to him. Don’t discredit yourself by thinking
otherwise. You’re not going to be someone Taehyung simply leaves behind in his past. Even if he
grows up and forgets you, the things you’ve done for him will stay with him, in one way or
another. You’re the reason he smiles now. In his bone he’s going to remember how he defied the
odds and still found happiness despite losing his mother. That kind of memory makes someone
strong, even a child.”

The words and logic sounded like fiction, too good to be true. Yet Yoongi still gleaned a modicum
of comfort from them. If he lost Taehyung to Kim Seokjin, he could still take solace in the fact that
he’d once been home to the boy. That was the only balm he had, the only thing he could count on
to make it hurt less when Taehyung was gone and all that was left in the apartment was his
devastation and himself.

“It doesn’t make saying goodbye to him any easier,” Yoongi said. His voice was hoarse. A familiar
lump had congealed in his throat.

The screen had gone into sleep mode again, and in the resulting dimness, Yoongi could not see
Hoseok all that well. But he heard the sympathy and solidarity in his voice.

“That’s the pain you’re willing to bear for Taehyung, isn’t it? Even you could turn back time,
knowing what you know now, you’d still take him under your care, because the time you had with
Taehyung makes everything worth it. If—and that’s a big if—Kim Seokjin wins the custody and
Taehyung’s taken away, Madam Lee and I will be by your side to help you through your grief. You
won’t be alone. We aren’t going anywhere. Taehyung’s important to us, and so are you.”

::::::::::

“Taehyung, your samchon’s here!” The teacher standing by the door called.

Sighting Yoongi through the window, Taehyung perked up. He waved a hasty goodbye to
Jeongguk and dashed to the cubby holes holding his belongings. Like any other time, Yoongi
waited for Taehyung to put on his shoes. But unlike any other time, he felt watched today. He
turned his head…

…and found a dozen pairs of gazes pinned on him through the glass window. A hush had fallen
across the room as the kindergarteners paused in their play to behold him instead.

What was going on?

Before he could ask, a boy whose name Yoongi didn’t know came toward him, his back stiffly
straight with a formality contradictory to his young age. The boy tiptoed to slide the window open,
shivering as a curl of the wintry wind slipped in.

With solemn face and in a solemn voice, he asked, “Taehyungie’s Samchon, is it true that you can
shoot a basketball through the hoop from far away?”

Taehyung, who’d finished putting on his shoes, appeared next to Yoongi. “Of course my samchon
can!” He lifted his little face to Yoongi. “Right, Samchon? You did it yesterday.”
It took a few seconds for Yoongi to locate that memory. The day before, on their way home from
the grocery mart, they passed by a group of teenagers playing at the basketball court. A missed toss
had sent the ball hurtling Yoongi and Taehyung’s way. Yoongi caught the ball and—out of reflex
—hurled it back toward the court. The ball bounced off the board and swooshed right into the
hoop, to the awestruck silence of the teenagers.

“I got lucky,” Yoongi said. He’d been a star player in his middle school basketball team, but he
wasn’t so arrogant to assume his skills hadn’t gone rusty in the years since he’d last touched a
basketball.

The boy’s eyes widened with revere. “So it’s true?”

“Of course it’s true!” Taehyung piped.

The other children ditched their quiet, breaking out in excited whispers and exclamations of wows.

The boy at the window reassumed his solemn composure and cleared his throat like a pint-sized
adult. He bowed once at Yoongi. “My name is Gong Minsung and I’m the class leader for the
month. Taehyungie’s Samchon, if you’re free, we’ll be very very happy and honoured if you can
come and teach us how to play basketball.” He bowed again when he finished.

Befuddled, Yoongi glanced at the teacher by the door.

“We received a donation of some basketball hoops for children. The kids tried it out this morning
and it’s all they talked about since then,” she said, her expression between a smile and an
apologetic grimace.

Yoongi looked at Minsung. Teaching a group of kindergarteners sounded like a Herculean task, but
there was no way he could reject that hopeful face. “I’m sure I can find time,” he said, but he
hoped something else would catch the children’s fancy and they’d forget all about basketball.

“Thank you, Taehyungie’s Samchon!” Minsung said, flipping into another bow before dashing
back inside to spread the good news.

Taehyung slipped his hand into Yoongi’s. They headed toward the gates, leaving shoe prints in the
sand as they crossed the yard.

“Samchon, can you teach me how to play basketball first? ” Taehyung said, giving a little jump to
adjust the straps of his backpack. “Before you teach my friends?”

“Samchon’s not so good at basketball anymore. It’s been a long time since I last played.”

“But yesterday you threw the ball through the hoop when you were so far away!” Taehyung
plucked his hand out of Yoongi’s to mimic the way Yoongi had tossed the ball yesterday. He
giggled and rejoined hands with Yoongi.

“Like I’ve said, I got lucky.”

Taehyung bounced. “Then Samchon can teach me how to get lucky!”

Yoongi admitted that he’d had ups in his life. But each of those up had been accompanied by a
larger down. He’d thought he would always have Seungah as a comrade in a dysfunctional family,
but she’d abandoned him for another man. After her betrayal, he found solace in his secondhand
keyboard, only for his father to destroy it. He’d just started to believe he could provide Taehyung
with the childhood he needed, but he now fought against piling odds to hold onto the boy. He was
the last person to teach anyone about getting lucky.

But he didn’t refute Taehyung. A faint smile graced his lips at Taehyung’s simplicity and
innocence. In Taehyung’s eyes, he was an infallible giant who held up the sky.

“Sure, we can start tomorrow,” Yoongi said.

As they made their way to the bus stop, Taehyung told him Jungkook’d scored two goals just now,
while he himself had only scored one. He asked how many goals Yoongi’d scored, his little jaw
dropping when Yoongi gave him a rough number.

A wish unfolded deep in Yoongi’s chest, the same one he revisited every night. Being at the center
of Taehyung’s universe had terrified him once, but now he begged he wouldn’t be made to leave.

::::::::::

The big house had stopped being so scary. There were many rooms here that Taehyung had grown
to like. He liked his own room with its blue walls, cool plane bed, and many toys. He liked the
glass-ceilinged room on the topmost floor where on some nights he could see many stars in the
sky. He liked the garden too. The gardener ahjussi sometimes gave him a stalk of flower, just like
Lee-ahjumma did.

The gardener ahjussi wasn’t the only nice person in the big house. Ah-dal ahjumma often gave him
a wrapped candy out of her pocket, while other pretty noonas who clean the house smiled at him
whenever they saw him. The chauffeur ahjussi once took him on a drive to the sea after school; it
was too cold that day to leave the car, but he was still happy to see seagulls spreading their wings
to perform thrilling swoops in the air. And of course, there was Kahi Noona, who was the nicest
out of everyone here. She always taught him new things and said that he was smart when the
teachers and other children in his new school didn’t think that way.

Even his keun-abeoji wasn’t as scary as Taehyung thought. His keun-abeoji hardly smiled, but he
stayed by his side on nights he worried the monster under the bed had returned. His keun-abeoji
also watched movies with him in the living room, accompanying him to the end even though he
didn’t look interested in the cartoons. Oh, and one time, his keun-abeoji helped him open a jar of
cookies that Taehyung couldn’t no matter how much force he applied (Taehyung wanted to grow
up strong like him). So his samchon was right when he said that people weren’t always what they
appeared to be.

He still missed his samchon every night, but he didn’t cry about it anymore. He was a big boy.
Brave too.

“Kahi noona, what’s for dinner tonight?” He asked as they crossed the front doors into the house,
holding hands. Kahi noona had just picked him up from school.

“Grilled chicken and creamed spinach,” she said.

“I don’t like spinach.”

“Spinach is good for you. Do you know who’s the strongest cartoon character? Popeye. And do
you know why he’s so strong? He eats spinach. Besides, I promise creamed spinach’s delicious.”

Taehyung had never heard of the cartoon character. He was about to ask when the sound of wheels
came from behind. Kahi Noona paused in her steps and turned. He did the same.

A car had just pulled up outside. A man—dressed in the kind of suits his keun-abeoji usually wore
—got out and went around the back of the car to help someone out of the backseat. A woman.

Kahi Noona released a gasp and seemed to go as still as stone.

Taehyung knew the woman was old even though she was still some way away. Her hair was the
colour of silver. She walked a little slow too, her shoes beating a tock tock tock against the shiny
floors as she entered the foyer, the man beside her. Taehyung tilted his head back as she
approached to better see her face. When she came to a stop before him, he saw the collection of
fine lines around her eyes and mouth. Her silver hair was combed back neat like little waves.

She looked down at him, and he, up at her. Their eyes caught, but Taehyung dropped his chin
nervously a second later. She reminded him of a shopkeeper in the neighbourhood where he used to
live with his eomma. Whenever he visited the store with his eomma to get their groceries, the
shopkeeper would keep her unsmiling eyes on him and clear her throat fiercely when he so much as
touched the colourful rows of candies. They had the same eyes—the shopkeeper and this old lady.

Ah-dal stepped out of her hallway. Like Kahi Noona, she gasped when she saw the visitors, nearly
dropping her cleaning cloth.

“Ma’am, we didn’t know you were coming back.”

“How else would I see for myself the things that had been going on behind my back?” Her voice
didn’t sound kind too. Taehyung instinctively tucked himself tight against Kahi Noona, hiding his
face against her hip. “He’s indeed a carbon copy of Jaehyun, but I hope that’s where the similarities
end. Take him to the living room. I want to talk to him.”

The old woman walked away, the man trailing after in her wake. Taehyung kept his eyes down on
his feet until the sounds of her shoes faded into the background. He had just lifted his head in relief
when Kahi Noona peeled him away from her urgently and squatted before him, holding his
shoulders.

“Taehyung, she’s your great grandmother. She’s going to talk to you now but I’m sure everything’s
going to be okay. You’re one of the most lovable boys Noona has ever met. Just be yourself and
you’ll be fine.”

His pounding heart made him forget his confusion at hearing the word grandmother. “I don’t want
to talk to her.” His voice trembled. “She’s scary.”

“Noona’s going to be with you,” she gave his shoulders a small squeeze, then stood up and took his
hand. “Come on, we shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

In the living room, the old lady sat on the sofa facing the huge glass window while the man stood
next to her, straight as a pencil. Kahi Noona led Taehyung to the opposite sofa and sat him down
directly across the old lady. Even though he kept his gaze down, he could feel the old lady’s
unfriendly eyes watching him. He looked uncertainly at Kahi Noona when she stood next to him.
He would feel a lot better if she sat beside him and held his hand. But she only nodded her head
encouragingly, her lips pressed into a nervous line.

Ah-dal set a teapot and some teacups on the glass table between the sofas. She helped poured the
tea—a pale colour—and brought in a small plate of cookies before she left the living room
altogether.

The living room was quiet for a short while. Then the old lady spoke. “So, Taehyung, is it? Why
don’t you tell me more about yourself?”
Taehyung barely heard the question through the hard thump of his heartbeat. “M-my name is Kim
T-Taehyung. I-I’m six y-years old.”

“Sit up straight and look at me when I talk to you. Don’t mince your words.”

Taehyung startled. He forced himself to straighten his spine. It was difficult, but even more so was
looking at the old lady in her face.

“What did you do in school today?” She asked next.

It was an easy question—the same one his samchon asked him every day, when he picked him up
from school. He should be able to answer, but in the presence of the old lady, his mind drew a
complete white.

“Well?”

Taehyung jerked at the impatience in the old lady’s voice. He closed his hand into a fist around the
hem of his sweater and twisted, stopping short of pulling at it because he somehow knew the old
lady wouldn’t like it.

“The t-teacher s-showed us a big round ball w-with c-countries on it.”

“You mean a globe,” she said. “Tell me then, which country neighbours Australia?”

He glanced instinctively at Kahi Noona, hoping that she could help him. Her lips moved
soundlessly, but he couldn’t understand what she was trying to say. He felt like he was back in his
new school again, where all the other children would throw their hands into the air, fighting to
answer the teachers’ questions. Except for him. He never knew the answers to any of those
questions, and nobody seemed interested about the things he did know.

“Then you should know the name of the sea that lies between South Korea and China.”

The old lady waited. Taehyung’s face burned with shame. His shoulders curled inward.

“Taehyungie may not know so much about geography, but he’s great at other things.” Kahi Noona
stepped in to say for him, her voice falsely bright. “Taehyung, yesterday didn’t we learn about—”

“Know your place, Jung Kahi-shi.”

The old lady stared at Kahi Noona so scarily that Kahi Noona froze, bowed her head and didn’t
speak again. It was Taehyung’s fault. If he could answer the old lady’s questions, then Kahi Noona
wouldn’t have been scolded.

“Have you started learning English?” The old lady asked.

Taehyung stared at her blankly.

“Do you at least have the habit of reading?”

“S-samchon s-sometimes read t-to m-me.”

She released a breath through her lips, like Taehyung’s reply wasn’t what she wanted to hear.
“What exactly are you good at?”

Taehyung brightened a little at that question. “I’m good at drawing and colouring. My samchon
and Lee-ahjumma like everything I draw,” he said, hoping that would impress the old lady. If she
wanted, he could even show her his drawings. Maybe she would be less scary after that!

But the old lady only closed her eyes and shook her head. She turned to the man who came with
her. “He’s far more behind than I thought. Worse than Jaehyun was.”

::::::::::

At 4:30 pm that Tuesday, Seokjin closed his laptop, slid it into his briefcase, and left his office. As
he passed by Namjoon’s office on his way to the lifts, he didn’t have to look to know that the man
had paused in his work to give Seokjin a goodby wave and an annoying grin that was both
knowing and approving. Though he hadn’t said it aloud, Namjoon clearly thought Seokjin was
stepping up to the plate and at the very least trying to be a decent uncle to Taehyung.

Seokjin had dinner with Taehyung on the nights he was over at the mansion, but Namjoon’s
evaluation might still be too generous. His interactions with Taehyung were lukewarm at best.
They talked, but plenty of awkward pauses peppered their conversations. They watched movies
together, but with Taehyung as enthralled by the juvenile cartoon flicks as Seokjin was bored, they
might as well have been in separate rooms, doing separate things.

When it came to the boy, Seokjin had a keen sense of being stuck in a limbo. The boy was now
less nervous around him, but they were far from comfortable around each other, as though they
were unsure of the boundaries in their newfound uncle-nephew relationship.

He spent the drive to the mansion toggling his thoughts between the boy and the list of reports he
had to read before the day ended. The windows of the mansion were aflame with lights as he pulled
up the driveway. In the waning daylight, he spotted the gardener watering the shrubs with a hose.

The first thing he noticed as he stepped into the foyer was the tension in the air. A handful of
helpers were at their chores, but they moved with a fearful carefulness, like they were afraid of
making so much a clink. His eyes automatically sought out Ah-dal, who was polishing a vase by
the side. She spotted him at the same time. Eyebrows wrung with anxiety, she hurried over.

“Young Master,” she whispered urgently, “Madam’s back. She’s in the living room talking to the
boy.”

A prickling cold coalesced along Seokjin’s spine, robbing his ability to move or think. He came
back to himself and took off for the living room, his strides wide, his heart kicking up pace.

There she was.

Kim Soohyang. His grandmother. Her tremendous presence filled the room and smothered all
ambient noises, as though even the atmosphere knew better than to misbehave before her. She sat
on the sofa the only way he’d ever seen her sit—shoulders pulled back, her spine ramrod straight
with authority, at ease in the reverence others proffered.

“Halmoni,” Seokjin said, his voice coming out somewhat breathless.

Kim Soohyang turned to look at him over her shoulder, light from the crystal chandelier gleaming
off her coiffed silver hair. Secretary Park, her long-time right-hand man, greeted Seokjin with a
polite dip of his head, the placid smile on his face unreadable as always. Seokjin darted a quick
glance at Taehyung, who was all rigid and subdued, like he’d been the first few nights he stayed at
the mansion. The boy stared at him helplessly, his lips quivering, as if the word Keun-abeoji was
hanging on the tip of his tongue but he found neither voice nor courage to push it out into the
world.
Seokjin gave Taehyung a tiny nod to reassure, then turned his attention back to his grandmother.

“I didn’t know you were coming back, Halmoni,” Seokjin said.

“I needed to meet the child whom you found a need to keep secret from me.” Her even voice
carried no inflections to suggest her anger, but Seokjin knew her enough to parse censure from her
words.

Kim Soohyang had stepped down from her place as Se-il’s CEO last year, but Seokjin wasn’t so
naive to believe she’d ceded her control over the company. She had been calling the shots for too
long to voluntarily vanish into the background just like that. He had never doubted that she would
plant her people in the company to monitor him and feed their observations back to her. He’d never
protested or questioned it either. It’d be futile; her mind was as unchanging as the pull and surge of
tides. The only thing he could do was traverse the tightrope as steadily as he could, giving no
chance for others to find fault with his competence.

He had carried out his search for Taehyung—and the subsequent fight for his custody—discretely,
letting only Namjoon in the know. She doesn’t need to know, he’d reasoned, when there’s a
possibility we’d lose. And she didn’t cared about Jaehyun when he was alive. What are the chances
she’d be interested in his son?

After he was granted temporary partial custody of Taehyung, he’d considered between fetching the
boy to his apartment or arranging for him stay at the family mansion. The deliberation was brief at
that time, the decision made within the span it took for one to snap their fingers. Since Jaehyun’s
death, he’d spent his waking minutes cautious of falling into the aching abyss of longing. It was
too much to have Taehyung around. Taehyung, whose resemblance to Jaehyun staggered him,
peeling back the brittle scab that’d formed over raw regret.

So he placed Taehyung at the mansion, gambling on the chance that Kim Soohyang’d thought it
unnecessary to situate her eyes here. Seokjin had hardly returned to the family home since Jaehyun
packed up and leave six years ago. The household staff had been befuddled when news came that
one of the rooms was to be renovated for a child. Seokjin hadn’t clarified who the child was, but
for the staff who knew Jaehyun, all it took was a glance at Taehyung for them to come to a
conclusion. There was the risk of word traveling to Kim Soohyang’s ears, but Seokjin banked on
the helpers’ assumption that the family matriarch would, of course, have already been informed.

He’d underestimated his grandmother’s suspicious and meticulous nature. To think he’d thought it
possible to out-manoeuvre her.

“Why don’t you take Taehyung back to his room?” He told the nanny.

Relieved to be given the permission to leave, the nanny nodded eagerly. She took Taehyung’s hand
and the boy slid off the sofa, head hanging between his shoulders. He plodded back to his room.
Seokjin waited till they were out of earshot before taking the seat Taehyung’d vacated, steeling
himself.

“The custody lawsuit is still underway, Halmoni,” he explained. “I had every intention of
informing you after it concludes.”

“Who are you going up against in the lawsuit?” She asked.

With her resources, it was impossible that she didn’t know. But she waited for him to answer.

“Someone called Min Yoongi. He’s Taehyung’s samchon.”

“A high-school dropout living in a ramshackle studio in an old neighbourhood, earning just enough
to feed two mouths, with no access to the best family lawyer in the country. Certainly you did not
need more than a month to remove him from the picture.” Disdain spread plain over her
immaculately powdered face, directed less at Min Yoongi than at him.

She reached for the tea and lifted the brittle porcelain cup from its saucer to take a sip. She took her
time, unhurried in breaking the pause stretching itself out. Seokjin found himself transported back
in time. He remembered a hot summer day spent standing in her study while she worked at the
antique oak desk, austere glasses perched low on her nose. His report card had made it to her that
morning, apprising her of his tumble out of the level’s top ten. She’d summoned him to the room,
but did not speak a word to him. He stood there for hours as her silence and indifference drove
home the point that he’d disappointed her. Jaehyun would’ve kicked up a tantrum; maybe he
wouldn’t have even gone to the room in the first place. But obeying her was all Seokjin knew to
do.

Even now—even after he became Se-il’s CEO—he was reduced to that boy in standing in the study
when he was in her presence.

She lowered the cup onto the saucer with a clink, then bent forward to return them to the coffee
table. As she straightened, she removed a square of handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her
lips. Her movement was slower than Seokjin remembered, but despite her age, she conducted
herself with elegance and dignity. Her retirement to Switzerland had not softened her.

She returned her handkerchief to her pocket. “I spoke to the boy just now. The boy is alarmingly
behind in every aspect—speech, etiquette, reading, general knowledge, among other things.
Secretary Park will schedule one-on-one lessons to catch him up, starting tomorrow. He will stop
going to school for now.”

Next to her, Secretary Park acknowledged her instructions with a dip of his head.

“Halmoni,” Seokjin reasoned, “he’s only six.”

“He’s already six.” Impatience came through in her tone. “At that age, your father could hold
intelligent discussions with adults. The boy can’t even utter a sentence without mumbling or
stuttering.”

His father—her only son—had been the only person Kim Soohyang truly validated. In his death,
she searched for—and expected—her son’s brilliance in the people that came after. She held them
against the impossible yardstick that was her deceased son and found them falling woefully short.
She did that to Seokjin and Jaehyun. Now, she was doing the same to Taehyung.

Seokjin drew in a breath and attempted again to make her see reason. “Halmoni, Taehyung’s just a
little shy and nervous around people he’s meeting for the first time. Once he’s warmed up, he
won’t have trouble talking to you, or anyone else for that matter.”

She laid a flat stare on him. “And you believe the stakeholders is going to wait for him to warm up
to them? Because if he shows any promise at all, he’ll have to hold himself before them someday.
Any weakness he shows at that time will send the undesirable message that Se-il is decaying from
within. You know how that will affect our stocks when that happens.”

He wanted to tell his grandmother that Taehyung didn’t have to lead Se-il in the future, not if he
didn’t want to. He wanted to tell her that Taehyung was still little and that he had all the time in the
world to explore his interests and passions. But because he was wired to bend to his grandmother’s
wishes, the words lodged in his throat.
She lifted her delicate wrist and read the time on her watch. “That’s enough. I have a dinner
arrangement with some of the board directors tonight.” She rose to her feet stiffly, Secretary Park
extending his hands to help steady her by the elbow. She waved him off and shook her head in
disgust. “It repulses me that one of our blood has been running outside for so long. All the bad
habits and behaviour he’d picked up…who knows how long he’d take to unlearn them?” She
regarded Seokjin with a cutting gaze. “Make sure you settle the custody case cleanly. Nip any
attachment to the Min Family in the bud. Don’t make me feel the need to step in.”

::::::::::

“Look, Taehyungie, isn’t this elephant adorable? Wouldn’t you like to colour it?” The nanny’s
bright voice travelled through the door.

Seokjin pushed the door open. At the play table, the nanny jabbed her finger enthusiastically on the
page of a book.

“How about this tiger? Aren’t tigers your—“ She halted when she sensed Seokjin. Her upbeat
pretence faded. Her gaze slid to Taehyung, then back to Seokjin. Subtly, she shook her head in
defeat.

Taehyung didn’t seem to notice Seokjin’d entered the room. He sat on his play chair, shoulders
slumped forward, chin on the table. One of his arms dangled by his side. The palpable dark cloud
over his head had followed him from dinner, where not even an ice cream dessert whipped up last
minute had cheered him up.

Seokjin could guess what happened between his grandmother and Taehyung. But after dinner was
over and the nanny’d brought Taehyung back to his room, Ah-dal cornered Seokjin and relayed the
details of the conversation she’d overheard. Her choice of words were careful, and her delivery
halting, as though she felt guilty about overstepping boundaries but couldn’t bear seeing Taehyung
miserable. She had always doted on children.

“He’s just a child.” She twisted the cleaning cloth in her hand nervously. “Ma’am’s too hard on
him.”

Seokjin had nodded noncommittally.

The nanny closed the book, got off the chair, and slotted book into one of the lower shelves along
the wall. As she quietly excused herself from the room, Seokjin went to the play table and sat
down on one of those downsized chairs. Taehyung remained slumped, his gaze cast downward. His
too-long pyjamas sleeve was folded back to his wrist, and he held a crayon in his fist, carving
jagged, abstract lines on the drawing block.

“What are you drawing?”

The crayon continued to drag jerkily against paper—sideway, downward, upward, and sideway
again. It took a few more moments before Taehyung mumbled, “I don’t know.”

“It still looks nice, though.”

Taehyung didn’t light up the way he always had whenever his drawings were praised. Seokjin
looked around the room in search of something—an idea—he could use to cheer the boy up.
Maybe he could invite Taehyung to build a castle with him out of the bucket of lego blocks sitting
on the top shelf. Hadn’t Namjoon mentioned in passing once that Taehyung liked lego blocks?

Before Seokjin could settle on something, Taehyung spoke again, much to his surprise.
“The ahjumma just now said that she’s Taetae’s grandmother.”

“She’s your jeung-jo halmoni.” Taehyung gave him a confused glance and Seokjin explained,
“She’s your appa’s grandmother, which makes her your great-grandmother.”

There was another spell of quiet. Taehyung added more lines and angles to the drawing block, the
drag of his crayon against the surface louder and more forceful than before. His eyelashes
quivered.

“She doesn’t like Taetae very much,” he said, a tremble in his voice.

Seokjin’s insides twisted and lurched at how heartbroken the boy looked. He straightened his torso
a degree taller to ease the weight of the boulder that had materialised on his chest. How would he
tell Taehyung that Kim Soohyang didn’t love people? The only person she’d ever shown affection
or approval to was her own son. When Jaehyun died, she had returned from her business trip for a
brief appearance at his funeral. She flew back to the United States three hours later to complete an
acquisition deal, the loss of her grandson barely denting her cold efficiency.

“Taetae has another halmoni too.” Taehyung mumbled. “And a haraboji too. They also didn’t like
Taetae very much. Keun-abeoji, is something wrong with me?”

The boy stopped in his drawing to look at Seokjin with sad eyes. His misery rendered Seokjin
wordless. In the background check of Min Yoongi, his parents had been mentioned but promptly
dismissed as inconsequential characters. Nothing suggested that there had been any contact
between Taehyung and them since Min Yoongi brought the boy to Seoul, taking him under his
care. Seokjin hadn’t thought anything odd of it at that time, but it made sense now.

“I don’t know your other halmoni or your haraboji so I can’t speak for them.” Seokjin said. “But
your great-grandmother has always been like this. It doesn’t mean that she dislikes you. There’s
nothing wrong with you.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows pinched together. “Eomma told me before that when you like someone,
you’re nice to them. Because that’s how they know you like them.”

“There are many different ways to show that you care about someone. Some of them are easy to
understand, while others are not, but that doesn’t mean that they care for you any less.”

The confusion on Taehyung’s face deepened. “What does that mean?”

“It means that people can like you so much that they just want the best for you. And wanting the
best for you means that they sometimes had to be a little mean. Your great-grandmother is like
that. She wants the best for you.”

Defending Kim Soohyang was startlingly easy. The words had been embedded on his tongue
through years of repetition. She’s this way because she cares about you. She wants you to be able
to hold your own fort in the future. She pushes you because she knows you’re so much better than
this. Growing up, he’d chanted the mantra to himself whenever he was near breaking point,
suffocated by the sky-high expectations he had to live up to.

Taehyung blinked slowly in thought. After a few beats, he gave up with a shake of his head.
“Taetae doesn’t understand.”

“You will when you grow older,” Seokjin said softly. Any louder, Taehyung might catch his
uncertainty.
 The truth was, Seokjin still had not understood.

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

show some love if you're still sticking around? ^^;;

Curiouscat
 Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

At the bus stop, Taehyung sat next to Yoongi, a wilted air hanging around him. His shoulders
slumped, his neck drooped forward, and his puffy eyes fixed morosely on the ground.

“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Yoongi couldn’t stop himself from asking again. Like
his previous attempts, Taehyung shook his head in response and said nothing. Yoongi released an
inaudible sigh. “Okay,” he said. “Just let me know when you’re ready to talk.”

When he picked Taehyung up at the kindergarten earlier, one of the teachers had worriedly
informed Yoongi that Taehyung had burst into tears out of the blue during a class that day. The
children had been doing a simple connecting-the-dot activity at that time. The teachers tried to find
out from Taehyung what was wrong—if he was feeling unwell—but the he only shook his head
and continued to cry until his body tired out. They checked with Jeongguk and Minnie, but the pair
were as flummoxed as the teachers.

The bus came, and they boarded. They sat at their usual spots all the way at the back. Taehyung
spent the journey looking out of the window, his eyes dazed.

Yoongi pulled out and examined his memory of the previous night. No, there hadn’t been any out-
of-the-norm behaviour from Taehyung. He’d told Yoongi and Madam Lee about his day at school
over dinner. He’d laughed at cartoons, talked to Toka, pitted two toys together in some battle, went
to bed at his usual hour. All perfectly normal.

Taehyung’s low spirits persisted through the evening. Yoongi spent some time colouring with him.
The boy continued to be miserably quiet, not even bossing Yoongi around with the colours that
could or couldn’t use. At some point, Taehyung laid a folded arm on the table and his head on that
arm. He started dozing off soon after.

Yoongi removed the crayon from Taehyung’s curled hand. “You can finish it up tomorrow,” he
said when Taehyung showed his displeasure with an unintelligible mumble and a frown above
lidded eyes.

He rose to his feet and picked Taehyung up from the play chair. The boy’s head lolled onto
Yoongi’s shoulder, his breath warm against his neck.

Taehyung mumbled something again, most of it slurred, but Yoongi thought he caught the word
stupid somewhere. He didn’t think much of it as he carried Taehyung to bed. By the time he’d
tucked the blanket around Taehyung’s shoulders and feet, the boy had fallen fast asleep.

Yoongi patted his head, finding comfort in the fact that the boy’s mysterious sadness hadn’t
stopped him from falling asleep.

The following day—a Saturday—Yoongi took Taehyung to the ice-skating rink at a multi-
entertainment complex downtown. They changed their shoes for skates, and Yoongi helped
Taehyung buckle on a helmet and knee guards. In the beginning, the boy clung onto the sides for
dear life, and it took some coaxing for him to release his grip on the metal bars and hold on to
Yoongi’s hand instead. He fumbled adorably in his steps, reminding Yoongi of a baby penguin. By
the end of the hourlong session, Taehyung hadn’t quite balancing on his own, and he hadn’t so
much skated as gotten pushed around the ice by Yoongi, but all that didn’t matter. A smile had
reappeared on Taehyung’s face and that was all Yoongi asked for.

They spent the rest of the day at the complex, visiting the small petting zoo housed in a temporary
barn, snapping photos at the 3D art museum. They filled their stomachs with mouthwatering street
food that Madam Lee would’ve expressed her disapproval of—skewers of sausages and rice cakes
slathered in sweet sauce, corndogs crusted with chopped-up fries and dusted with sugar, cotton
candy larger than their heads.

By all indications, the evening should’ve ended on a good note. Taehyung seemed to have returned
to his usual self, skipping on their way home and asking Yoongi if he’d remembered the realistic
rendering of a whale at the museum just now.

But things went south near bedtime.

Yoongi had been packing for Taehyung, as the next day was a Sunday and Taehyung would begin
his weekly three-night stay at Kim Seokjin’s. He’d stuffed a Ralph Lauren children’s shirt into the
boy’s backpack—he didn’t need a reminder of Kim Seokjin’s wealth lying around in his apartment
—when Taehyung came back from the bathroom. He froze when he saw what Yoongi was doing.
Then, before Yoongi could ask what was wrong, the boy burst into tears.

Alarmed and confused, Yoongi dropped the bag and was at Taehyung’s side in a flash.

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying out of a sudden?”

Taehyung was inconsolable. He shook his head, any words he tried to say twisting into breathless
hiccups and gasps for air. Yoongi sat him down on the dining chair and hunkered next to him,
rubbing the small of his back. “Samchon’s here,” Yoongi said. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Many minutes passed before Taehyung calmed down enough to form an intelligible sentence that
Yoongi could parse. “T-Taetae d-doesn’t w-want to g-go to Keun-abeoji’s p-place.”

Breathing escaped Yoongi. His mind reeled, careening into the most damning conclusions. He felt
his worst fear coming true, the fear that crept into his conscious every night but that he’d quashed
away because simply thinking about it left him shaking. Kim Seokjin had laid his hands on
Taehyung. Kim Seokjin had begun to hurt Taehyung and that was why Taehyung was so terrified
about going back to Kim Seokjin’s.

Coralling every bit of his control, Yoongi gripped onto his anger so it wouldn’t rear and frighten
Taehyung further.

“Why don’t you want to go back there?” Yoongi asked, an unnoticeable quiver lacing his voice.
“Didn’t you say that everyone at that place has been nice to you?”

Taehyung shook his head. “Not everyone. They don’t like Taetae. They think Taetae’s stupid.
Taetae can’t do any of those questions. Taetae cannot remember any thing. They get angry at
Taetae every day.”

“Wait, who are you talking about? Who are ‘they’?”

“The teachers.”

“The teachers at your new kindergarten?”

“No, the teachers who come to Keun-abeoji’s house every morning to give Taetae’s lessons.
Taetae doesn’t like them.”

Yoongi tried to put the pieces together. “How long has this been happening?” His throat went dry at
the possibility that Taehyung might have been miserable for weeks and he hadn’t known.

“Last time Taetae went to Keun-abeoji’s place.”

A memory from three days ago sharpened into focus. That day, Taehyung hugged Yoongi tighter
than usual when the chauffeur dropped him off after his stay at Kim Seokjin’s. It was almost like
he was relieved to be home. He had gone to bed much earlier that night too, having nodded off
during dinner at Madam Lee’s. Yoongi hadn’t attached much significance to all that. Why hadn’t
he?

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Fresh tears surged to Taehyung’s eyes. “Taetae doesn’t want Samchon to think Taetae’s stupid.”

Yoongi felt a sharp pinch under his breastbone. He touched Taehyung’s shoulder.“Samchon will
never think that you’re stupid. Never. You’re the cleverest boy Samchon knows.”

Taehyung shook his head again, dislodging a sad tear and it trickled down his cheek. “The teachers
don’t think so.”

Fuck what they think, Yoongi almost spat vehemently. He had never wanted to hurt a group of
people so badly in his life.

“Who knows you better, the teachers or Samchon?”

Taehyung scratched at the hem of his pyjamas. “Samchon?” he ventured uncertainly.

“That’s right. Samchon knows you better because you’ve lived with Samchon for months. And
Samchon knows you’re clever. The teachers, they don’t know you enough to determine whether
you’re clever or not. You don’t need to listen to them. They’re wrong.”

“But Taetae cannot do those questions the teachers give.”

“Nobody cares about those questions except them. Samchon doesn’t, Hobi Hyung doesn’t, Lee-
ahjumma doesn’t. Minnie and Gukkie doesn’t either.”

Taehyung nodded. “Then Taetae doesn’t care too.”

“Yes, you shouldn’t.”

“Taetae’s a clever boy.”

Yoongi took Taehyung’s hands in his. “You are.” The boy seemed to be feeling better now, but
Yoongi wished he’d never had to feel so bad about himself in the first place.

“B-but I still d-don’t want to go b-back to Keun-abeoji’s place,” Taehyung said, looking pleadingly
at Yoongi. “I still d-don’t want to s-see the teachers again. They are nasty to Taetae.”

A keen sense of helplessness assailed Yoongi. There was nothing he could do in front of the law
that bound him like impossible shackles. He couldn’t grab Taehyung and run to another place free
from Kim Seokjin or the influence of his wealthy family. He couldn’t even put down his foot and
refuse to send Taehyung to Kim Seokjin’s tomorrow. He’d be charged with contempt of court by
doing so, and that would raise the odds against him at the custody hearing.
“I’ll talk to your Keun-abeoji and ask him to stop those lessons,” Yoongi said. Taehyung wilted
and new tears came to his eyes. Before another meltdown could happen, Yoongi added, “Didn’t
you say you like the other people there? What’s the name of the noona who takes good care of
you?”

Yoongi managed to distract Taehyung with mindless conversations of the things and people he
liked. After he finally put the boy to bed, he grabbed his phone and retreated to the studio, closing
the door. His hands shook as he opened up the message sent last week by Kim Namjoon. The
man’d informed him that he was going on a two-week vacation and that if anything came up,
Yoongi could contact Kim Seokjin directly.

Yoongi’d scoffed at that time; he’d thought he would rather eat glass than talk to that man.

Now, he clicked on the number given in the message. The dial tone went through. On the other
end, an unaffected voice said, “Who’s this?”

Yoongi’s anger pulsed out, as scalding as thick, creeping lava. He growled into the phone.

“What did you fucking do to Taehyung?”

::::::::::

One morning at his keun-abeoji’s house, Taehyung was told that he didn’t have to go to school that
day. He was happy for a bit, because he thought that meant he’d be going back to the other school,
the one with Minnie and Gukkie. He was wrong.

Shortly after breakfast, a stick-thin, scary-looking woman with glasses on a narrow face arrived.
She introduced herself as Taehyung’s tutor for the morning. They went into a room Taehyung’d
never been to, and Taehyung was made to sit at a desk that faced the board.

“You can take your leave now,” the tutor said to Kahi Noona.

Taehyung’s heartbeat quickened. His stomach thickened with unease. He didn’t want to be alone in
this room with this unsmiling woman. He wanted Kahi Noona to be with him.

“Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll make you a nice dessert for lunch.” Kahi Noona smiled at him,
but a worried frown hung above her eyes. She gave him an encouraging door before she left the
room and closed the door behind her.

“Let’s get started,” the tutor said. Taehyung gulped. “There’s no time to waste when you’re as far
behind as you are.”

She wrote a dozen—no, more—English words on the board and forced Taehyung to remember
their meanings and how they sounded. Whenever Taehyung made a mistake, she’d make him start
all over again. And he always got something wrong. The more mistakes he made, the more
nervous he became, and the more his mind drew a blank. The tutor didn’t bother to hide her
displeasure at his performance.

They moved on to passages after that. Taehyung stared at the paragraphs, and his eyes burned. He
couldn’t recognise any of the words.

“Surely you’d know some of them,” she said. “You learned them just a moment ago.”

But he didn’t, no matter how he tried to recall.

He was relieved when the tutor announced that the lesson was over. It’d seemed like forever.

He’d thought that was the end of it, but after lunch, another tutor came, this time a man. Taehyung
knew his numbers up to a hundred, and he knew simple addition and subtraction. But he couldn’t
do the questions the man ordered him to. The man also forbade him to use his fingers to help in the
counting.

Yet another tutor arrived after the man was gone. She told him stories about how countries became
rich and poor, about events that happened many years before he was born. He didn’t understand
those stories at all, so he couldn’t answer any of her questions after that.

His head hurt after everything was over and no more tutors came. It felt as though a mischievous
imp was swinging a bat within his skull. Kahi Noona hurried into the room when the last tutor left.
Lowering herself by his chair, she opened her arms and folded him into a hug. “It’s okay, Taetae.
You’re okay.”

He wasn’t okay. He felt terrible. He wanted to cry, but he tried his hardest not to, because he was a
big and brave boy. He pressed his nose into Kahi Noona’s shoulder for comfort. She smelled nice,
but he wanted his samchon more than he wanted her.

“I don’t like the lessons,” he said when she ended the hug. His voice shook. “I only want to learn
with Kahi Noona.”

Her eyes glistened as she rearranged the strands of hair on his forehead. “I know. But this is your
great grandmother’s orders. We can’t go against her. I’ll speak to your Keun-abeoji if it gets really
bad. Come,” she stood and took his hand, “let’s get out of this room.”

The sky beyond the hallway windows had turned a mix of purple and pink when he stepped out of
the room. Kahi Noona took him to the garden for some fresh air.

He had difficulty finishing his food at dinner. He wasn’t hungry at all. He only wanted to go to
bed.

Sitting across from him, his keun-abeoji said suddenly, “Give it a little more time, Taehyung.
You’ll get used to it.”

Taehyung was too tired to understood what he meant. So he only nodded.

After his shower that night, he climbed into bed and fell promptly asleep. The awful tutors invaded
his dreams, their faces twisted and their bodies monster-like. They chased after him relentlessly
even though he yelled for them to stop. He called for help but for a long time, nobody came.

Until he felt a hand on his head. He cracked his eyes open. Everything was a blur, including the
person in front of him. He could only tell that it was a man.

“You’re only dreaming. It’s not real,” he said. “Everything’s okay. You’re safe.”

Taehyung stared mutely and blankly at the man-like shape. His terror subsided in its intensity, and
moments later, he found himself swept back into sleep, this time a dreamless one.

The next day followed in the mirror of the previous. The same tutors came, and they were every bit
as severe and unsmiling as they’d been the day before. Their voices held no warmth as they forced
him to learn, and they shook their heads impatiently when he got the questions wrong. His head
and stomach hurt. His heart beat so quickly that it didn’t seem like his own. He couldn’t pay
attention to what the tutors said.
Nobody told the tutors to stop. Not Kahi Noona. Not his keun-abeoji.

His relief came only on the evening he returned to his samchon’s. He’d dashed out of the car and
hugged his samchon so tightly that no one would think of taking him away from his samchon
again. He wanted to stay here forever. His samchon did not force him to do nasty questions. Lee-
ahjumma taught him about flowers instead of maths. Hobi Hyung always said he was smart.
Gukkie and Minnie liked him whether or not he remembered what the English word for ‘kitchen’
was.

Being back at his samchon’s, he could smile again.

But one day in school, he burst into tears when he realised he was the last to finish a connect-the-
dots worksheet. Alarmed, the teachers took him to a room to calm him down. They asked him why
he cried, but he found no words to tell them that being too slow in completing the worksheet
brought back the memories of the tutors telling him, over and over again, “You’re not fast enough”,
“You need to try harder”, “You can do better”.

He didn’t want them to, but his teachers told his samchon about him crying at school. On their way
home, his samchon asked him about it many times. But he couldn’t tell his samchon anything. He
didn’t want his samchon to know that he was stupid.

On Saturday, his samchon took him to the ice-skating rink. He wasn’t very good at it, but his
samchon kept encouraging him so he had fun! It was somewhat scary, especially in the beginning,
but as long as his samchon stayed by his side and held onto him, falling stopped feeling so scary.

He had a good day that day, until it was time for bed and he saw his samchon putting clothes into
his backpack. The fear that he’d temporarily forgotten came back again. He was going back to his
keun-abeoji’s place and he’d see those awful tutors again. He didn’t want to go back.

It was difficult to tell his samchon that while crying, but he tried. He told his samchon everything.
His samchon said that he didn’t think Taehyung was stupid. Taehyung didn’t believe that at first,
until his samchon convinced him that he knew Taehyung better because he’d spent a much, much
longer time with Taehyung than those tutors had. That made sense to Taehyung and he felt better.

He still didn’t want to go back to his keun-abeoji’s place, but his samchon reminded him of the
nice people who were there—Kahi Noona, Ah-dal ahjumma, the gardener ahjussi. Besides, his
samchon also promised that Taehyung wouldn’t have to attend those lessons anymore.

The chauffeur ahjussi came to pick him up the next day. Before he got into the car, he looked at his
samchon worriedly.

“There won’t be any more of those lessons, all right? Go on.” His samchon gave him a slight smile.
Lee-ahjumma was there too, and she looked a little confused.

Taehyung climbed into the car and waved them goodbye as the car drove away. Along the journey,
the cheerful chauffeur ahjussi pointed out the interesting things outside the windows, but Taehyung
couldn’t pay much attention. His tummy felt queasy, and his heart rapped in his chest.

Kahi Noona was waiting for him when he entered the mansion’s foyer. He stopped abruptly and
couldn’t take another step. There, behind Kahi Noona, was one of his tutors, the fiercest one who
taught him English.

“Now that you’re here we can start,” she said. She turned on her heels, but paused to look over her
shoulder when Taehyung hadn’t moved an inch. “Hurry up. You’re already five minutes late.”
Taehyung stood frozen on the spot.

She strode toward him and he took a shivering step back. “S-samchon said Taetae d-doesn’t have t-
to take a-anymore lessons.”

“Well, he’s wrong. Now stop dawdling.”

Kahi Noona were by his side in an instant, throwing a protective arm across his shoulders and
pulling him close to her. “He just arrived after a long car ride. Couldn’t we let him settle first?”

It was as though the tutor hadn’t heard Kahi Noona. She shot a hand forward to grab his arm and
drag him away.

Taehyung shrieked. His eyes blurred with tears.

::::::::::

Taehyung’s shriek reached Seokjin’s ears before he set foot into the mansion. He widened his
strides toward the commotion. As he took in the scene unfolding in the foyer, his anger blazed.

“What’s going on?” His voice was a quiet, icy knife that cleaved through the noise. A momentary
stillness descended. Seokjin stared at the tutor, a bespectacled and unsmiling woman in her late
forties. His eyes fell on the hand she’d wrapped around Taehyung’s arm. “Let him go.”

She didn’t do so, but hesitation loosened her grip. The nanny seized the chance to pull Taehyung to
her side. The boy was crying and gasping and hiccuping in terror. The nanny soothed her hand
repeatedly over Taehyung’s chest, making cooing noises of reassurance.

The tutor cleared her throat, straightening herself primly. “Mr Kim, I’ve been given full freedom in
the design and implementation of the child’s education and enrichment, which involves
disciplining him wherever appropriate.”

“The education and enrichment you speak of has effectively terminated yesterday, as has your role
as Taehyung’s tutor. I believe you’ve been apprised of that already.”

“I’m afraid I’m under the employ of Madam Kim. I take instructions only from her,” she replied
with the haughtiness that came with having a strong backing. Seokjin had encountered countless
people like her who relied on his grandmother’s patronage to undermine Seokjin’s authority,
presuming that he would never dare to defy her wishes.

“I’ll talk to her,” Seokjin said. “Please take your leave.”

“Until I receive her direct word, I cannot—”

“Leave,” Seokjin repeated. “You may not hold me in high esteem, but rest assured I still wield
considerable power and influence. Leave before I destroy you and your entire career.”

She trembled with affront. “You cannot do that. Madam Kim—”

“—won’t be around to protect you forever. That is, if she finds you worth protecting in the first
place.”

The tutor’s self-assurance cracked. Having ran out of rebukes, she clenched her jaw and huffed out
of the mansion, her pumps beating a mad rhythm against the polished floor.

Seokjin stepped toward Taehyung and lowered himself before the boy, dropping his briefcase. The
small chest heaved with sobs and hiccups.

“S-Samchon s-said T-Taetae doesn’t n-need to t-take a-anymore l-lessons,” Taehyung said amidst
his tears.

“Your samchon is right,” Seokjin said. His hand moved out of its own accord and rested gently on
Taehyung’s cheek, thumb swiping away the droplets of tears. “She’s gone. All of them are gone.
They won’t come back.”

It seemed as though a weight had coalesced in his chest, impeding his ability to breathe smoothly.
A replay of Min Yoongi’s tirade from the previous night echoed in his ears. This was his doing,
Taehyung’s tears.

He had looked away for too long, fooling himself into believing that Taehyung was going to be
different from Jaehyun. He’d hoped Taehyung would adapt to the unforgiving schedule of lessons,
that perhaps Taehyung was more like Seokjin himself than Jaehyun.

Who was he kidding?

No one survived under such intensity of barbaric expectations. Jaehyun didn’t. Neither did Seokjin.
He merely pretended that he did, numbing and armouring himself so that he could pretend that he
wasn’t exhausted or terrified or walking on eggshells all the time.

Taehyung sniffled. “Taetae d-doesn’t w-want to see t-them a-again.”

“You won’t,” Seokjin promised.

Between Jaehyun, Taehyung, and him, at least one of them still had a shot at a normal, happy
childhood.

:::::::::

The cartoon flick played on the widescreen TV. The main characters—a rabbit in police uniform
and a sloppily-dressed fox—were currently running away from an escaped jaguar.

Seokjin glanced sideway to the quiet child sitting next to him. This was one of Taehyung’s
favourite movies according to the nanny, but judging from the boy’s dazed eyes, it seemed even
the movie had failed to interest him.

Earlier, it’d taken quite some time for the last of Taehyung’s tears to stop. He’d fell into a short nap
after that, spent. Seokjin stayed with Taehyung after the boy woke up, and he watched as the nanny
tried to coax a smile out of the boy with snacks, handicraft, a walk in the garden. Her efforts failed.
The boy remained in low spirits. The movie had been a last resort.

An idea came to Seokjin out of nowhere, a grotesque one that he ought to have squashed the
moment it arose. But before he could do that, the question had left his mouth.

“Would you like to see your appa’s old room?”

The nanny’d excused herself some minutes ago, and they were the only ones in the room.
Taehyung turned his head and looked blankly at Seokjin. It would’ve been a relief for Seokjin if
Taehyung’d refused, but after a few moments of confusion, Taehyung nodded.

They got up from the couch. As they left the room, Taehyung reached up and tucked his small
hand into Seokjin’s. Seokjin felt a prick of current. It was the first time, he realised, that he’d
properly held Taehyung’s hand. The feeling was odd, but he didn’t let go.

Jaehyun’s old room was at the end of the second-floor hallway. Seokjin held the door knob,
paralysed for an instant. He should go away, abolish the idea. What good would it do to revisit
Jaehyun’s room? Nothing.

But Taehyung’s curious and expectant eyes were on him. In an unexpected sort of way, the boy’s
presence gave him courage. He held his breath and twisted the knob. As the door opened inward,
he prepared to be bowled over by a gush of grief.

Except the grief didn’t come, at least not in a gush. Grief was a dull ache in his chest, brought to
the forefront in this moment when he’d been so used to burying it away.

The furniture hadn’t changed their spots. The computer desk with its gaming chair were to the left,
and while the right bore the raised platform on which the bed was. Above the bed, a sloped ceiling
inset with skylight let in the late afternoon sunlight that illuminated the sparse dust motes in the air.

The room was almost the same as he remembered. Almost, because the room was too tidy and
Jaehyun’d always been somewhat messy. Seokjin tried to detect a sense of Jaehyun’s presence still
lingering in this space. It was futile. Jaehyun hadn’t set foot into this house since he left those years
ago, not even when he came back eventually, a bitter alcoholic who’d abandoned his wife and
child.

A stack of sketchbooks on a bookshelf caught Seokjin’s eyes. He walked over and pulled out one,
flipping through it. Right, Jaehyun’d once loved drawing, hadn’t he? He even had a precocious
talent for it. If he’d been born into another family, he could very well be a rising artist now.

Knees suddenly weak, Seokjin sank onto the edge of the bed. Taehyung looked uncertainly at him.

“Your appa used to like drawing. He drew really well too. Do you want to see?”

Taehyung nodded shyly. He sat cautiously next to Seokjin, as though scared of making so much a
dent on the mattress. Seokjin slid the sketchbook over so that half of it rested on Taehyung’s lap.
Seokjin began to flip.

“This is the creek we saw when we went hiking in the mountains once,” Seokjin would say. Or,
“This is the cat that appeared in the house out of nowhere one day. Your appa was upset when it
eventually left.” There, too, were pictures that Seokjin could offer no backstory for. They were
born from Jaehyun’s imagination—the drawings of a fire-spitting dragon, of a barn sitting under a
gleaming gibbous moon, of a pirate ship.

Seokjin and Taehyung flipped the pages with a quiet awe.

At some point Jaehyun drawings evolved, taking on a darker, more turbulent tone. This was
probably the time their grandmother tightened her iron fist on Jaehyun. She doubled down on him,
demanding him to perform and behave more like a member of Se-il’s founding family. But Jaehyun
was a free-spirit never meant to be contained. The more force she applied, the harder he rebelled.

Taehyung frowned at some of the later drawings, too abstract for him to decipher.

Seokjin turned another page. On the paper was a realistic skull with a cluster of snakes worming
out of its socket and mouth.

“Keun-abeoji?” Taehyung said, wondering why Seokjin’d paused in the middle of turning a page.
Seokjin released the page between his fingertips, and it fluttered to rest, hiding the skull from the
boy’s eyes. He ignored the questioning look on Taehyung’s face.

“What do you think of your appa’s drawings?” He asked.

Taehyung nodded in shy approval. “They’re nice. I like them. Appa’s good at drawing.”

“Isn’t he?” Seokjin looked at Taehyung’s face, remembering the boy’s predilection for drawing
and colouring. He was so alike to Jaehyun beyond physical characteristics. “Do you want to learn
drawing so that you can be as good as your appa?”

Taehyung bowed his head and scratched his thigh nervously. “But the teachers said drawing and
colouring are a waste of time.”

“You don’t have to listen to them. They don’t know any better.”

“But they said Jeungjo-halmoni also think the same,” Taehyung said miserably. “They said
Jeungjo-halmoni asked them to come teach Taetae.”

Seokjin remained quiet for a bit before saying, “I’ll talk to her. She’ll come around and I’ll find
you an art teacher. That is if you want to learn drawing.”

Taehyung angled his head sideway in hesitation. “Will Keun-abeoji get into trouble? Jeungjo-
halmoni’s scary.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Seokjin wasn’t a hundred percent truthful, but the boy’s face broke out in relief. He nodded. “I
don’t want Keun-abeoji to be scolded by Jeungjo-halmoni. Keun-abeoji’s a good person.”

With a surge of affection, Seokjin smiled and ruffled Taehyung’s hair.

::::::::::

The argument came together in Seokjin’s head on the afternoon drive to the hotel. Kim Soohyang
stayed at its top-floor suite, a sprawling room that boasted a panoramic view of Seoul. It was the
same room she lived at before she retired, citing reasons of convenience for her choice of abode.
Come to think of it, the family mansion seemed to be a place meant more to house the helpers than
the actual family members. It was as though a curse repelled the latter away, deploying ghosts to
harass them if they so much as set foot in the mansion.

Seokjin snorted at that thought. His grandmother was not one to be daunted by ghosts. She was not
one to be daunted by anything.

By now she’d have caught wind of Seokjin’s transgression. She wouldn’t be happy that he’d
dismissed the tutors she’d chosen for Taehyung. She’d be waiting for him to turn up at her suite to
explain himself. He could already imagine her cold look of disapproval, her undercurrent of anger,
her disdain for his weakness.

But he’d make her see that terrorising children into submission and learning might have worked in
her day, but there were better approaches to a child’s education in this modern age. They could
continue to schedule lessons for Taehyung, but nothing that lasted from morning to evening. The
tutors they hired would know how to mix fun with learning. The boy would continue to learn, but
at his pace and without all the tears and fears.
At the breakfast he had with Taehyung before he left for work, the boy had jumped and sat up in
trepidation whenever he caught someone entering the house, fearing that it’d be one of the tutors
again. It’d taken more assurances from Seokjin to put him at ease.

Convincing his grandmother to compromise wouldn’t be easy, but he’d succeed. He had to.

As he turned the car around the bend near the hotel, the overcast sky since morning finally gave in
and fat drops of rain pelted down.

He drove into the underground carpark and parked his car. He turned off the ignition and stepped
out of the car. He closed its door and steadied himself for the difficult talk ahead of him.

Before he could take a step, his cellphone vibrated. He answered the call. A voice filled with panic
blared into his ears.

His heart came to a complete stop, then started to thud wildly in his throat

Taehyung’d gone missing. Nowhere in the estate could he be found.

::::::::::

Taehyung was scared and worried when he woke up that morning. He was scared and worried that
the awful teachers’d return and he’d be forced to take those terrible lessons again. He was relieved
that they didn’t appear. See, he knew his samchon and keun-abeoji would keep their word. They
were good people who didn’t break their promises.

His keun-abeoji left for work after breakfast. Taehyung was happy to spend the rest of the day with
Kahi Noona instead of going to school. He didn’t like his new school much anyway. Kahi Noona
showed him a video that taught him how to draw a very nice-looking parrot, and they also folded
frogs and flowers out of colourful paper. They made cookies in the kitchen too, cutting the
chocolate-chip dough into animal shapes—elephants, bears, cats. They made so many cookies that
Taehyung shared them with all the noona, hyung, ahjumma and ahjussi in the house. They all
smiled when they received the cookies, and that made Taehyung feel all proud and happy.

In the afternoon Kahi Noona brought him to the sunroom for teatime. The sunroom was one of the
rooms in the house that he liked the most. He could see the garden and swimming pool through the
many panes of glass. The sun also shone nicely into the room, though the sun seemed to be missing
today, hidden behind grey clouds.

They sat at a round table, eating the cookies they baked and drinking herbal tea from pretty cups.
The cookies tasted delicious, but Taehyung didn’t like the herbal tea even though Kahi Noona said
it was good for health. The tea was just like an odd-tasting water. When he didn’t take another sip
of the tea, Kahi Noona smiled and went to get milk for him.

He got bored as he waited for her to return. She seemed to be taking a long time. He slipped off his
chair and wandered around the room. At one corner was a big potted plant. He touched its wide,
silky leaf. Was the plant happy being in the room by itself? Or did it prefer to be with its friends in
the garden?

“I don’t think Madam’d be too happy about it,” a man’s voice came from the hallway outside. “I
heard it’s the first time Young Master went against her wishes. And it’s all because of that boy.”

“Such a poor little thing, that boy,” a woman’s voice joined in. “They said he’s been living with his
samchon ever since his mother died some months back.”
Taehyung shrank back behind a wall. The man and woman were taking about him. His heart had
transformed into a rabbit, like it was going to jump out any moment.

“Anyway,” the woman continued, “Isn’t it cruel to take him away from his samchon? All these
changes within such a short span of time could be too turbulent for a child to handle.”

The man laughed. “C’mon, we’re taking about Se-il’s founding family right here. One of—if not
the—richest families in South Korea. Do you really believe the boy would be better off with his
samchon? And frankly speaking, the samchon would be happier without the boy. Think about it,
does the average person want to take care of a child that’s not their own?”

“That’s a cold-blooded take on it. Be careful of the vase. Don’t break it.”

The man and woman had stopped in their steps for a moment, and Taehyung heard something
being moved.

“Relax. I doubt anyone would notice a missing vase where there are so many lying around in every
corner. In any case, I’m not being cold-blooded. I’m just realistic. It’s a win-win situation for
everyone if Young Master wins the boy’s custody. The boy would grow up in wealth, Madam
would get a next heir in line, and the samchon would finally be free from child-rearing
responsibilities. I wonder why he’s fighting a losing battle to keep the boy. He could’ve accepted
some sort of monetary settlement from Young Master and be set for life.”

“It’s disturbing how much you seem to be enjoying yourself,” the woman said.

“There’s just something irresistible about rich-people drama.” The man’s laughter trailed off as
they continued down the hallway away from the sunroom.

Taehyung stood frozen. His legs had turned into stone and his hands felt cold.

Kahi Noona came into the room, holding a small mug. She did a double take when she saw
Taehyung standing by the door. “Taetae, why are you standing here? Did I keep you waiting for
too long? Noona’s sorry. It’s quite a long way to the kitchen.”

There was a stabby feeling at the back of his eyes. He wanted to ask for his samchon. But he
remembered the first time he came to this house where no one took him home to his samchon even
though he asked. They were all bad people. His keun-abeoji, Namjoon Hyung, Kahi Noona,
everyone in this house. They wanted to take him away from his samchon forever.

Kahi Noona peered at him in concern. “Taetae, are you okay?”

He tried his best not to cry. It was the most difficult thing to do. “I want to take a nap,” he said. His
voice didn’t sound like his own.

“What’s wrong?” She bent forward to take a closer look at him. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Taehyung shrank back from the hand she reached out. “I’m sleepy,” he mumbled and looked at his
feet.

“All right,” she nodded after a glance at her watch. “Let’s take a nap.”

In the bedroom Kahi Noona did the usual thing of sitting by his bedside until he fell asleep. He
closed his eyes and curled on his side away from her. He waited and waited, until he heard her
stand and leave the room, closing the door behind her.
 He peeled the blanket off his body and slipped out of the bed. He went to the cupboard and took
out his backpack. In it he put the items he brought from home and zipped the bag up. Then, he
wore his jacket and carried his backpack.

He pressed his ear to the door. He didn’t hear anyone outside. He stood on his toes and reached for
the knob. He tiptoed out.

He was going back to his samchon.

Chapter End Notes

thank you for showing your support for the last chapter <3 your comments and
assurance that you'll still sticking around warmed me more than anything else could :')

this story has marched into the final part, so please continue to show your support! I'm
going to finish it <333

p.s.: after so long, this story finally received >1000 kudos. so thank you? it's also
pretty insane to think that this has >30000 clicks. :')
 Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Yoongi stared out of the van’s windows, his hands clenched atop his thighs, knuckles white.

The call had come when he was at Big Hit. On the other end of the line, Kim Seokjin’s voice
carried a forced calm as he asked if Taehyung’d contacted Yoongi that afternoon.

“No, why would he?” When Kim Seokjin fell silent, Yoongi’s foreboding sharpened to a point.
“What exactly is going on?”

Kim Seokjin breathed shakily. “He’s gone missing. We couldn’t find him anywhere. We don’t
know where he’s gone.”

Yoongi must have gone so motionless with disbelief that Hoseok, who was next to him at that time,
had taken a pause from the screen to regard him with a questioning look. A part of him swelled
with fury, but that feeling didn’t make it past the wooden shock and denial that encased his being.
How could Taehyung have gone anywhere on his own?

“Send me your address. I’m coming,” he said brusquely and hung up.

Yoongi couldn’t remember it, but he must have relayed that information to Hoseok, who leapt out
of his chair, horrified. Moments later, they got on Hoseok’s family van and the vehicle tore out of
Big Hit’s underground carpark.

“He’s going to be fine,” Hoseok offered at some point. “We’ll find him.”

Yoongi didn’t reply. Hoseok said nothing else for the rest of the journey.

Outside, the rising buildings of the city thinned out into the squat houses of the suburbs, then
finally into expanses of nature as the van neared the given address. All this while, a persistent
drizzle fell from the skies.

A guard let them in through the gates of the Kims’ estate. Up the driveway and in front of the
stately mansion were two patrol cars. Hoseok parked the van next to them and they got out. A
middle-aged woman, brows furrowed in anxiety, hurried up to them and led them through the
ornate double doors and the grand foyer.

A group had congregated in a what Yoongi assumed was the living room, furnished with plush
sofas and couches. Heads rose when Yoongi and Hoseok arrived. Yoongi scanned the faces for
Taehyung’s, waiting for the excited squeal of Samchon! that would—should—come anytime now.
And when the little body launched himself at Yoongi, Yoongi’d catch him, hold him, and never let
him go again.

The room was quiet.

Yoongi’s gaze drifted to Kim Seokjin. His self-control seemed to have to morphed into an eel,
slipping from his grasp with every passing second.

He cocked his head at Kim Seokjin. “Where’s Taehyung?”

Kim Seokjin stared at him, his gaze blank and confused. Gone was the well-groomed man who
carried himself with cold elegance, expecting others to bow at his feet. His shirt was rumpled, his
hair falling out of his usual, neatly gelled hair.

A man sitting next to Kim Seokjin rose to his feet. Dressed in a police uniform, he introduced
himself as the inspector in charge of Taehyung’s missing report. “You must be the boy’s uncle.
The cameras installed at the gates caught the boy slipped out of the gate at about half past four in
the afternoon. We’re now examining the possible places he could’ve—”

He was cut off when Yoongi shot forward, lunging at Kim Seokjin. He yanked Kim Seokjin off
the sofa, pulled his arm back, and slammed a fist into his cheek. Kim Seokjin fell back and toppled
sideway.

“Yoongi!” Hoseok said, coinciding with the inspector’s exclamation of “Min Yoongi-sshi!” The
other two police officers in the room made to restrain Yoongi, but Kim Seokjin shook his head.

“Let him,” he said quietly.

“You drove him away,” Yoongi spat. “I told you he couldn’t take it, not any of your rich people’s
expectations and demands. Why couldn’t you spare him and let him be happy? He’s just a child.
He’s only six.” His voice cracked.

“I don’t know what happened,” Kim Seokjin mumbled, at a loss. “He was fine when I left in the
morning. I cancelled all the lessons. The tutors didn’t come. I don’t know why he ran away.”

In a corner, a young woman wept. “It’s all my fault. I should’ve kept a closer look on him. What
kind of nanny am I?”

Later, his anger would seep out and include her, but at the moment he focussed every bit of its
intensity on Kim Seokjin. Everything began with him.

Yoongi pinned Kim Seokjin with a stare. “If anything happens to Taehyung, if he so much as hurt
himself, I’ll stop at nothing to send you to hell, because that’s where a bastard like you belong.”

A firm hand laid on Yoongi’s shoulder. Hoseok’s. “Let’s leave that to later,” he said grimly. “We
should focus on bringing Taehyung back for now.” He sliced a contemptuous glare at Kim Seokjin
on Yoongi’s behalf.

Yoongi closed his eyes and drew in a heavy breath.

The inspector took advantage of the momentary calm to begin his series of questions. “Is there
anything you can tell us about the boy’s habits that could give us an inkling where he could’ve
gone?”

Garnering his patience and trying not to reveal how inane he thought the questions were, Yoongi
answered. “He loves the park, but he’s never gone to a park on his own.”

“Did he mention any place nearby that he’d like to go someday?”

“No, he didn’t say anything of that sort.”

“Are you sure? Think carefully. Anything you remember can help us.”

“He’s fucking six.” Yoongi pointed at Kim Seokjin. “If you’d interrogated him you’d know that
Taehyung had just barely started coming here. He doesn’t know this area well, and he’s not the
kind of boy to go off on his own just because he thought a place was interesting. I’d really prefer
that you go out and search for him instead of wasting your time asking me these questions. He’s
not safe out there.”

The sun had set some time ago, and the last line of light had winked out of the sky. The road
leading to the Kim’s estate had been remote, untravelled by much traffic. If Taehyung was out
there by himself, he’d be so scared at this moment, so far out from the city with no one around to
reach out for help. Fear was an icy lump in Yoongi’s stomach.

The inspector took no obvious offence at Yoongi’s impudence. “We understand that you’re
worried. We’ll do everything within our ability to find him. My men are currently checking the
traffic footage to see if the cameras have caught the boy.”

As if on cue, a police officer hurried into the living room. The inspector stepped away to converse
with the officer in low tones. He came back a moment later.

“We’ve got news,” he said. “The cameras caught the boy walking along the road leading out of
here, but only up to a point. It’s our belief that he made a turn somewhere along the road and the
only possible place that he could’ve turned into would be the smaller road leading into mountain,
where there’s a hiking trail. We’re launching an immediate search around that area and hope that
he hadn’t gone far.”

“I’m joining the search,” Yoongi said.

The inspector frowned. “I’m afraid you can’t, Min Yoongi-sshi. It’s dangerous out in the
mountains in this weather.”

“Do you really expect me to wait here while he’s in danger out there?” Yoongi snapped. It was too
much, the thought that Taehyung’d lost himself in the perilous wilderness.

Hoseok stepped forward. “Please, let us come along. More pairs of eyes and ears are always better.
We’ll go crazy if we’re made to stay here and do nothing.”

The inspector swept an assessing gaze between Hoseok and Yoongi. He blew out a breath,
relenting. “You’d have to follow the rules. The last thing we want is for you to go missing too.”

Kim Seokjin stood up. He seemed to have come back to himself. “I’m coming too.”

::::::::::

Taehyung was cold. He had his hood up, but the slow rain had turned his jacket wet. His legs were
tired from all the walking. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he’d escaped by
crawling beneath the gate, undetected by the security-ahjussi who’d been taking a nap.

He wanted to find a noona or a hyung and ask them if he could borrow their phone to call his
samchon. It’d taken a few days for him to recite his samchon’s phone number by heart, but after he
never forgot it after that. His samchon would test him on some nights before he went to bed,
ruffling his head when he got it right. That’d always made Taehyung feel good about himself.

But there wasn’t anyone on the road. There wasn’t any car. He was all alone.

After what seemed like many, many steps later, he saw a turn into a smaller road up ahead. He
brightened when he remembered the chauffeur-ahjussi had pointed the road out to him on one of
their drives. The road led to the mountain, where hikers sometimes went to catch the beautiful
scenery from the very top.
That meant there were people on the mountain!

Happier, Taehyung followed the turn. He ran and came across a path that stretched upward and he
went that way.

At first, there was some lamps along the path, but the further he went, the darker it became, until
there were no more lamps and the only light came from the rapidly darkening sky. The trees around
him turned into scary dark shapes. It was so quiet.

There was no one.

As he turned, wanting to make his way back from where he’d come, something streaked past him,
rustling the fallen leaves and twigs. He yelped from the fright, stumbled and fell face-flat onto the
ground. His knees, chest, and palms hurt from the impact.

He laid there as tears filled his eyes and his nose. No, he couldn’t cry. He was a brave boy. Brave
boys always picked themselves up when they fell.

Sniffling, he dragged the back of his hand across his eyes, then got back to his feet. In the waning
light, he saw the blood on his palms and the dirt on his clothes. It’s okay, he told himself as he
walked on, it’s okay.

But soon, he realised he’d forgotten which paths he’d taken, which trails led to the foot and which
ones took him to other parts of the mountain. He fell again at some point, but this time it was a
harder fall that sent him off the path and down a slope.

He tried to make his way back up, but the soil was too slippery and the slope too steep for his
painful ankle.

He looked around him. Some distance away was the biggest tree that he’d ever seen. He scrambled
to the tree and huddled against the solid trunk for safety.

Soon the sky went completely dark. Rain drummed against the leaves within its reach. Shadows of
unidentifiable creatures moved in the corners of his eyes.

Taehyung tightened himself into a ball and began to cry.

::::::::::

At the foot of the mountain, they were given raincoats, flashlights, and a briefing: They should
stay on the main trails, they shouldn’t wander away from their team’s assigned search areas, they
should keep their ears out for the signal to gather again. The police had deployed their dogs, alert,
tails wagging, pulling on their leashes and raring to go.

Seokjin followed a different search path from Min Yoongi. He deserved the man’s fists and threats
and fury, but both of them could do without that distraction for now. Locating Taehyung was their
priority.

When they were alive, his parents had brought Jaehyun and him to this exact mountain for day
outings. After they died, Seokjin came here hiking a couple of times with Jaehyun and their then-
nanny, before their grandmother clamped down hard on their education and crammed their
schedules with classes. But Seokjin’d never been here after the sun had set.
The place looked different without daylight. The trees rose like gigantic shadows. Deeper in, the
trails grew darker as the intervals of lamps along the side grew wider, until there was none at all, so
people’d know better than to traverse the mountain at night.

“Taehyung,” he called. His voice echoed. Hollow. Helpless.

Years ago, he felt the same way when Jaehyun vanished, uncontactable for the years that followed.
He knew the reason Jaehyun found the need to flee, just as he knew he couldn’t deny his role in it.
He’d been too caught up with the company, too hungry for his grandmother’s approval, that he’d
turned a blind eye when Jaehyun spiralled. He was part of the reason Jaehyun went away.

Now, he’d done to same to Taehyung.

He would never forgive himself if something bad happened to Taehyung tonight. He didn’t need
Min Yoongi for that.

::::::::::

Shortly after the search began, Yoongi overheard two of the search personnel behind him say it
was paramount that they find Taehyung soon. A thunderstorm was rolling in according to the
weather forecast. The heavier rain, when it began, would slow the search progress, wash away
tracks, and further muddle scents for the search dogs. The lightnings would put Taehyung’s safety
at higher risk in a forested area like this.

At the briefing they were told to keep a lookout for footprints and personal objects. Taehyung had
put on his jacket and taken his backpack with him when he escaped. Yoongi remembered the shoes
Taehyung wore that day he left for Kim Seokjin’s—blue sneakers with yellow highlights, his
favourite colour combo.

Sometimes Yoongi sensed movement. But just as his heart had begun to lift with hope, his
flashlight would turn up nothing or reveal that it was just another small animal scurrying for
shelter. Around him were trees and more trees. Planes of slope extended downward off the trail,
shrouded in darkness.

“Taehyung,” he would call as he walked on. No response. He thought about Seungah.

Please, Noona, help me find him.

::::::::::

The world had turned into a scary place. Under the tree, creepy-crawlies moved on his skin.
Taehyung brushed them away, but they always came back. Shadows rippled around him, and he
remembered the stories of animals living on mountains—tigers, bears, lions, wolves. He liked
those animals when he saw them at the zoo, but he knew it’d be bad if he saw them here, free from
their cages. They’d eat him up.

He’d been here for a long time. He cried a lot, but he was too tired to cry now. It was cold and he
slotted his hands under his knees for warmth. Sleepy, he began to doze off.

Someone called his name. He recognised the voice.

He opened his bleary eyes. “Samchon?”

But his samchon wasn’t here. His samchon wasn’t anywhere. The world was still dark and scary.
He must be dreaming.
He heard his name over and over. He closed his eyes again, hoping that this time he wouldn’t only
hear his samchon’s voice, but also see his samchon in his dreams.

::::::::::

Yoongi’s throat had gone raw from calling Taehyung’s name. Rain lashed down harder, muffling
his voice, portending the dreaded thunderstorm. Winter had just passed its baton to spring, and the
weather had yet warmed up enough for this night to be anything but cold. His fingers felt stiff
around his flashlight, his feet damp from the water that’d sluiced into his shoes.

Taehyung’d be terrified. Was he crying somewhere, begging to be found? Was he calling for
Yoongi just as Yoongi was calling for him?

In the despairing vastness of the nature around him, self-reproach bore down on him, curling
beside his desperation like they were twin cats. He was to blame, too. He should’ve acted on his
instincts, grabbed Taehyung and ran away the moment Kim Seokjin turned up at their doorstep,
reeking of riches and trouble. He’d be a fugitive, but what would that matter if that meant keeping
Taehyung safe? The law be damned.

Unbidden, an image unrolled in his head—that one of Taehyung being knocked out cold when he’d
hit his head all those months ago. His treacherous mind superimposed the boy’s unconscious figure
against a background of some woods, found days later, his body desecrated by wild animals and in
the early stages of decomposition.

Yoongi stumbled, his stomach roiling. A twig snapped beneath his feet. He wouldn’t survive the
grief of losing Taehyung so utterly. He’d die. What was the point of carrying on in this world when
—

He stiffened. He cut his flashlight to the area ahead where its beam had swept just a second ago
when he was recovering his grip. He saw it then, a small white thing laying just off the trail, partly
concealed by fallen leaves.

He hurried forward and picked it up. Real, warm hope suffused his chest. It’d turned muddy, but
there was no mistaking it. This plush polar bear keyring had dangled from Taehyung’s backpack
since forever, swinging wildly whenever the boy ran toward Yoongi at the end of his school day.

Taehyung had passed here by.

“Taehyung!” Filled with renewed energy, he shouted.

He dashed onward, swinging the flashlight everywhere. The beam of light didn’t catch on any
familiar silhouettes. He hardened himself, refusing to be swept under the tow of disappointment.

Taehyung, please.

Then he heard it. He skidded to a halt on the mushy ground, stiffening and holding his breath so he
could hear it again. And he did. The pelting rain almost drowned it out, but his ears would pick out
that voice anywhere, no matter how soft, weak and distant it was.

“Samchon.”

::::::::::

Taehyung was curled in the shadows of a massive tree when Yoongi located him down a slope that
angled off the trail.
“Taehyung,” he breathed. “Taehyung,” he said again, louder this time so his voice travelled metres
down to where the boy was.

Taehyung lifted his head from his knees. He blinked slowly at the sight of Yoongi. “Samchon? Is
that you?”

“Yes it’s me.”

“I heard you calling my name many times.”

“Yes, and Samchon could find you because you responded. Such a brave boy.” Even from the
distance, Yoongi saw the paleness in Taehyung’s face, heard the fatigue in his voice.

“Samchon, I’m scared,” Taehyung whispered.

“Don’t be. Samchon’s here. We’ll get you out of here in no time.”

Yoongi cast his gaze around him. Unknowingly, in his blind desperation, he’d strayed from his
search team. Save for Taehyung, he was the only living soul in his immediate surroundings. He’d
been given a whistle earlier to alert others if need be, but he had no idea where he’d lost it. He
couldn’t find it anywhere. His rational self knew he should pivot around and get help, but the
thought of leaving Taehyung here, terrified and alone, made him shudder.

“Samchon’s coming down to get you now, alright?”

Loosened by the rain, the soil dipped dramatically under his weight when he placed a foot out onto
the slope. Coupled with the steep angle, there was no way he’d be able to make his way down to
Taehyung on two feet without tumbling over. He lowered himself cautiously onto his bottom and
began an awkward crab-crawl down. His disposable raincoat crinkled against the grit and dirt on
the ground.

With gravity on his side, he reached Taehyung quickly. He knelt before Taehyung, taking in the
tear tracks on the boy’s cheeks, the bruise on his face, and the small scrape on his chin. Yoongi
felt a pang but took a little relief in the fact the boy appeared otherwise unscathed.

Shivering, Taehyung regarded Yoongi with a daze in his eyes, as though he couldn’t quite believe
Yoongi was indeed right in front of him. “Samchon? Is it really you?”

“Yes, it’s Samchon.”

“Taetae’s not dreaming?”

“You’re not. Do you feel okay?”

Taehyung rubbed at his eyes. “I’m sleepy,” he slurred.

Yoongi wiped a hand against his thigh to rid it of dirt, then touched Taehyung’s face. His cheeks
were cold, but his forehead radiated heat. He needed to get Taehyung to where the paramedics
were awaiting, to somewhere warm.

Yoongi looked over his shoulder and up to the trail he’d stepped off from moments ago. Getting
Taehyung and himself back up there wouldn’t be easy. They might fall further down the long slope
to heavens know where. But if he sank his hands deeper into the soil and crawled, he’d be able to
do it. He couldn’t wait for the rescuers to find them. What if they took too long?
He reached for Taehyung’s hand. “Come, let’s go.”

“No!” Taehyung suddenly shrieked, wrenching his hand out of Yoongi’s hold with unexpected
strength, fully awake now. He shrank sharply away from Yoongi, huddling deeper into the tree. “I
don’t want to go back to Keun-abeoji’s place! He’s bad people! He wants to take Taetae away from
Samchon forever!”

Yoongi’s blood froze in his veins. How did he find out? Was that why he ran away?

“That’s not tr—” He started to deny out of instinct but stopped himself at the distrust in
Taehyung’s eyes.

Taehyung was a child; he could be coaxed and placated with easy lies. But lies came with hurt. The
boy’s trust in him would dwindle. Yoongi could not stomach that.

He squeezed his words around the lump that’d formed in his throat. “Samchon’s trying very hard
for that not to happen. There are many things Samchon cannot say for sure yet, but I can promise
you aren’t going back to your keun-abeoji’s place tonight. I’m taking you home.”

He didn’t care if Kim Seokjin was going to object. He didn’t care if he was flouting the law. The
only place Taehyung was going to be after leaving this mountain was by his side.

Taehyung peered at him, less wary now. His body language had softened. Yoongi waited for
Taehyung to come to him, giving the boy space to absorb his words. The tree’s thick foliage was
an oversized umbrella that shielded them from most of the rain.

A few moments trickled by, then Taehyung shook his head again. His agitation had given way to
sadness.

“I don’t want to go back with Samchon,” he said, sniffling. “Samchon’s not happy living with me. I
don’t want to make Samchon unhappy.”

Yoongi stared at him in bewilderment. “Gosh—no, why would you think that way?”

“They said that Samchon’ll be happier without Taetae because Taetae is not Samchon’s child.”
Fresh teardrops wended down the boy’s face. No words had sliced at Yoongi’s heart more. All of a
sudden, it felt that much harder to breathe.

Yoongi inhaled. “Whoever told you that, they’re lying. You don’t have to listen to them.”

Taehyung did not budge from his spot. Instead he buried his face into his arms, trembling.

“Taehyung, please.” In face of Taehyung’s stubbornness, Yoongi floundered for the right things to
say. “You’ve no idea how happy you made Samchon. You made me so happy.” He reached within
the deepest part of himself and grasped for the words that had always been there, just never
vocalised before now. They were clumsy, but they were true. “I hadn’t been happy for a long time.
I didn’t smile. I didn’t go kite flying. I didn’t go to parks. I ate alone, slept alone, spent Chuseok,
Christmas and New Year alone. Nobody gave me drawings for presents. Nobody cared about me.
Nobody needed me. But all of that changed when you came. I felt alive again.”

Taehyung had raised his eyes to look at Yoongi over his arm. He was listening. Yoongi was unable
to stop now that something had been unstoppered.

“I never told you all of this because Samchon’s not used to saying things like these aloud. I’m
scared I’d be jinxing what I have. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. I’m so scared of
losing you. I’m so scared of how much I love you.”

Taehyung lifted his head fully. His eyes seemed to glitter in the darkness. “Samchon loves
Taetae?”

“So much, baby boy. So much.” Another wave of regret hit Yoongi. He had believed actions were
louder than words, but he’d forgotten Taehyung was a child and needed more to be assured of
Yoongi’s love for him. If he hadn’t been so stingy in his words, perhaps they wouldn’t be in this
situation now.

“Taetae loves Samchon too,” Taehyung said. “Samchon’s the best samchon in the world.”

“And you’re the best boy in the world. Will you come with me now?”

“Samchon won’t take me back to Keun-abeoji’s place?”

“I won’t.”

Taehyung extended his arm, little finger sticking out. “Pinky promise with thumb kiss?”

Yoongi mirrored the gesture. He hooked his finger around the much smaller one, then brought
their thumb pads together in a firm press.

Tension left Taehyung’s body. His gaze became familiar again, full of trust in Yoongi. “I want to
go home with Samchon.” With some difficulty, he got to his feet, wobbly as he pitched forward
into Yoongi’s arms.

Yoongi tightened his embrace, something close to a sob rising to his throat. He buried his face into
the crook of Taehyung’s neck, allowing himself a quivering moment to be comforted by the boy’s
solid weight against him. Thank god thank god thank god.

He gathered himself and pulled away. “We should go before the rain gets heavier.”

“My ankle hurts,” Taehyung said.

Yoongi looked at Taehyung’s feet. They didn’t look to be at an odd angle; could be just a sprain.
“We’ll get someone to look at it after we get out of here. I’ll carry you. Can you hold the flashlight
for me?” He handed Taehyung the flashlight.

The boy’s face was serious as he received it from Yoongi. “I’ll hold it well.”

He clambered onto Yoongi’s back, cinching his arms securely around Yoongi’s shoulders. Yoongi
glanced askance, catching sight of Taehyung’s determined little face peeking over his shoulder.
The flashlight was held steady and straight in his small fist, its beam lighting the way ahead.
Yoongi smiled to himself and took the first step.

The climb up the slope was tedious. Yoongi didn’t walk so much as crawled, unable to draw
himself to his full height without losing his balance. Rain lashed into his eyes. He drove his feet
and hands into the wet soil for purchase, taking the next step only when the previous was firm.
Taehyung played his part; he held the light well and refrained from squirming. The muscles in
Yoongi’s thighs and arms started to burn. He kept going.

They made slow progress, but it was progress.

Everything came undone a second later.

 Without warning, a lightning threw the world around them into sharp relief, a gigantic flash that
rendered everything black and white. Taehyung gasped. In a heart-dropping instant, Yoongi
remembered Taehyung’s fear of the thunder. He remembered the way Taehyung’d instinctively
slap his hands over his ears whenever a lightning issued its warning.

Yoongi should reassure Taehyung. But it was too late. His arms around Yoongi’s shoulders had
begun to loosen, and as a ear-splitting thunder clapped through the skies, the flashlight fell from his
grasp and rolled away.

Taehyung was sliding off his back. Yoongi pitched himself forward, grabbing blindly into the soil
for something—anything—that could give him purchase. But the center of gravity had shifted, and
they were both tipping over, Taehyung more viciously so than himself. There was no way Yoongi
could steady himself and catch Taehyung at the same time. It was one or the other.

Yoongi spun in Taehyung’s direction. His hand shot out to grab Taehyung’s arm. He yanked the
boy toward him. Right before he hit the ground, he clutched Taehyung close against himself, one
hand splayed on the back of Taehyung’s skull, the other arm wrapped around Taehyung’s waist.
He curved his body around Taehyung as best as he could.

Then the both of them were rolling down, gaining rapid acceleration from the slipperiness and
angle of the slope. Twigs and branches snapped in their wake. Fallen leaves were crushed. The
dizzying tumble seemed to last for a long time. Yoongi felt steamrollered and scraped raw by the
ground.

They came to an abrupt halt against a hardness. Yoongi’s lower back came into contact with it first,
the crash knocking the air out of his lungs. The next moment, his head snapped back from the
momentum, colliding with whatever that had broken their fall.

The world seemed to explode into stark whiteness, as though someone had detonated a bomb in his
head. An all-consuming darkness descended.

Taehyung, he thought.

Nothing remained after that.

Chapter End Notes

sorry that i didn't reply to your comments for the previous chapter, but your love and
encouragement has been well-received and appreciated.

it's been a tough few weeks at work, and working on this story, as always, is some
form of escape for me. if you're having a tough time too, i hope that this story is some
form of escape for you too.

as always, leave me a comment if you feel up to it; if not, i'll see you next chapter <3
 Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Yoongi cast his gaze around the field, at once familiar and strange. It seemed to go on and on,
expansive as an ocean. A field of such scale didn’t exist in Daegu, but he knew in his bone that he
was back in his hometown. In the distance, trees clustered against the too-blue sky. Peach trees. He
could smell their ripe sweetness in the air.

“You’re the last person I expected to see here.”

Yoongi turned around and faced the owner of the teasing voice. She sat on a bleached, worn bench
like she’d been waiting for him to show up. Seungah’d grown much older than the version that
dwelled in his memory. Her long, lustrous hair was chopped short, ending in wisps that tickled her
chin. She wore a pale-blue button-up shirt and pants cropped at her ankles.

He had seen this Seungah before, but when? Definitely not before she ran away from home. That
Seungah had eyes that sparkled with youth instead of ones muted with wisdom and sadness. But he
hadn’t seen Seungah again after that, not until her funeral… Right, her funeral.

Seungah chuckled and patted the seat next to her. “Have a seat when you’re done ogling.”

Don’t tell me what to do. The retort rose automatically to Yoongi’s tongue, a reflex wired into him
from the time they were children. Being siblings, they were a team when they went up against their
parents or some greater trouble. But beyond that, they bickered and annoyed the wits out of each
other. Seungah was noona, and she seized every chance to be one, instructing him to do this and
that. But Yoongi made sure to remind her at every turn that she had no right to lord over him just
because she was eighteen months older. In most cases, though, he ended up doing the exact thing
she asked of him–eat the soup while it was hot, close the windows before the rain got in, go to bed
early to avoid being late for school the next day–he’d emphasise he was going to do that from the
start anyway and her input was very much unnecessary.

Pages from their childhood fluttered across Yoongi’s mind. Those were the days. They were so
young back then.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Yoongi said anyway. The words held no force or bite, only nostalgia
for a time long gone. Seungah sensed it too. Her smile deepened as Yoongi walked over and sat
next to her.

“Do you remember this place?” Seungah leaned forward, gripping the bench on her either side as
she took in the field. “It was our favorite.”

“The field off the beaten path between the Mun’s samgyeopsal restaurant and the mechanic
workshop,” Yoongi murmured. He remembered it now, recognising the peach trees to be part of a
plantation. “But it’s not the same. Where’s the path? Where are the shops?”

She scrunched her nose in distaste. “I removed them. The path spoils the aesthetic of this place and
I could do without the overpowering smell of grease oil from the workshop. And if you remember,
the Mun’s are a creepy family, especially the father.” She threw her head back and inhaled deeply.
“I’m in charge here. I choose to enlarge the beautiful things. The grass, the peaches, the sky.”

“Am I dead?”
At Yoongi’s blunt question, she glanced over. She looked at him for a quiet moment, but she
spared him the agony of further suspense with a shake of her head.

“This is just a dream. Taehyung told you about his dreams of me before. This is the same.”

Yoongi released a breath he’d been holding, overcome with a sense of gratitude that he didn’t have
to confront the terror of never holding Taehyung again. “Yeah, he told me about it.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And you didn’t believe it, did you?” She thwacked the back of his head.
“You’ve always been quite the cynic.”

He slapped her arm away and shot her a glare. She laughed and turned to look ahead at the never-
ending field again.

“Dreams is the way he still communicates with me, though he hasn’t done that for a while now.”
The light in her eyes seemed to dim as she stared at a faraway point. “I don’t think he misses me as
much as he used to. He’s very happy to be with you, you know?” Over her shoulder, she gave
Yoongi a flash of a proud smile. “It’s always Samchon this and Samchon that with him.”

Yoongi kept his expression cool and aloof, pretending that he wasn’t fighting to keep his lips from
curving. “Are you sure he didn’t complain a single bit to you? I wasn’t nice to him at the start.”

“My baby bear has a big, cheerful heart that doesn’t bear grudges. Besides, you came around for
him in the end. You’ve always been slow to warm to changes in your life, but I know underneath
your steel and thorns is a big softie. I was right.”

He scoffed. “Please, don’t make me barf.”

“What an adorable angsty guy,” she cooed. Her thumb and finger, formed into a pincer, came right
for his cheek. He shunned her attack and shot her another warning glare. She feigned
disappointment. “You used to let me pinch your cheeks.”

“I was three and didn’t know any better.”

She laughed. Her tone was earnest when she spoke. “It’s nice to have this again–you and me,
sitting under a wide sky, talking about nothing and bantering about everything.” A breeze carried
with it a sweeter peach scent and she inhaled deeply. “I’ve always wished you to be part of our
lives. You’d be the cool uncle to Taehyung. You’d be the brother I can count on when the day
seemed insurmountable to me. The worst part of all these wishing is knowing that I have lost the
right to even wish, because I was the one who destroyed our relationship.” She looked Yoongi in
the eye, her sadness a suffocating blanket. “I’m sorry that I left.”

Yoongi waited, but the familiar anger did not surge through his chest. Neither did the poisonous
words of hatred jump to his tongue. Since when had his resentment burned itself out?

“Was Kim Jaehyun worth it?” He murmured.

She fell silent. The grass rippled like an emerald sea.

“I believe he loved me,” she said. “He loved Taehyung too. But in the end love wasn’t enough.
Like us, I think he was a victim of his upbringing. I didn’t know he was a chaebol until after
Taehyung was born. If he was brought up in another family, he might have had the resilience to
tough it out with me. We didn’t have a lot as a young couple who barely finished high school, but
everything we did have was enough for me. He didn’t think the same way.”
Yoongi tried to detect a waft of bitterness in Seungah’s demeanour, but there was only a gracious
coming-to-terms. “You’re sorry for leaving, but you don’t regret it,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“I don’t,” she said truthfully, shaking her head. “You asked if Jaehyun was worth it. I don’t know
the answer to that question, but I know that Taehyung was. He was worth every heartbreak Jaehyun
put me through. You understand, don’t you?”

She paused but did not seem to expect an answer from him. She went on. “I’m incredibly lucky to
be blessed with a child like him. He wondered about his appa from time to time, but he never cried
for one. Sometimes we’d walk past happy, complete families and I’d catch the way he looked at
them with envy. But the next moment he’d give me a look of concern and hold my hand tighter, as
though he was assuring me that I was enough for him. He was the only one to look at me like I’m
the best person in the world even on days I felt wretched and defeated. I have no idea how he
managed to do that.”

“He’s amazing that way,” Yoongi said quietly.

She smiled wryly at him. “Seems like my baby bear’s touched your life too.” She crossed her feet
at the ankles and lifted her face to the sky. “They say your entire life flashes before your eyes when
you’re about to die, but do you know that’s utter hogwash propagated by people who haven’t even
come close to death? That was the case for me at least. When I was breathing my last in that car
wreckage, the only thing I could think of was Taehyung. I wished I’d hugged him tighter that
morning. I wished he’d never had to suffer the despair of losing his mother.”

Sorrow and yearning had splintered Seungah’s voice, wiped away the smile and lightness from her
face.

“Wow. Glad to know that I wasn’t featured in your pre-death montage,” Yoongi deadpanned. They
had moments like these in their shared childhood, where one was upset and the other automatically
assumed the mantle of lightening up the mood. Sarcasm had always been Yoongi’s method.

Knowing exactly what Yoongi was trying to do, Seungah snorted as a gesture of appreciation. “It’s
always going to be my baby bear over you, dear brother.” She rolled her shoulders like she was
shaking off her sadness. “I’ve never had the chance to say this before, but thank you for taking
Taehyung with you. I’d exchange anything for the chance to be by his side as he grows up, but now
that that’s impossible, I’m glad it’s you in my place.”

“Now that you’ve said your thanks, I’d appreciate it if you refrain from intruding my dreams in the
future.”

Seungah rolled her eyes. “You just had to destroy sentimental moments. I’m in your dreams
because you’re thinking about me, which means you’re the one taking up my time.”

Yoongi shrugged. “Whatever.”

They sat on the bench in companionable silence. The blades of grass leisurely swayed. Clouds
scudded across the sky. Seungah and he had co-existed in moments like this, moments of complete
peace and contentment on the afternoons their father was out at work and their mother didn’t care
where they went. Yoongi had taken those moments for granted, not knowing that they would
someday end, not knowing that someday would come so soon.

Yoongi held this moment in his heart.

Seungah pointed at the sky. “Look, there’s the kite we used to fly. Among the things you made me
do, I’ve always preferred kite-flying.”

Yoongi made a derisive sound. “You speak as if you’re not terrible at all of them.”

“All right, that’s it.” She slapped her palms against her thighs in exasperated surrender. “You’ve
drained my patience and outstayed your welcome. Please take your leave. No, I’m serious,” she
said when he didn’t budge. She gestured at a spot behind him. He turned and saw that a small
yellow bus had appeared out of nowhere.

“That’s how I leave? Can’t I just wake up instead of getting on this sorry imitation of the Magic
School Bus?”

“My place, my rules.” Her haughtiness lasted only a second for she sobered up the next. “You
should really get going. He’s waiting for you.”

“Fine.”

Yoongi got to his feet. He took a few paces toward the bus and stopped. This was a dream, perhaps
something his mind had assembled out of his regret for Seungah, perhaps something he’d forget
large chunks of when he woke up. He might be too much of a cynic to dream of her ever again.
The thought left him feeling bereft.

He turned to look at Seungah for the last time and found her looking back at him. In her eyes
reflected the same kind of reluctance he felt, but she smiled, because even when they were
children, she’d always found the strength to smile for him.

“Don’t worry, you’re not getting rid of me so easily,” she jested. “Next time, I expect reports on
how well Taehyung’s growing.”

Yoongi scoffed. “Say what you like. I’m leaving.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?” He halted in his steps.

“Please take good care of my boy.” Her eyes shone in the light. Her light-heartedness was gone,
replaced by profound sadness and longing.

“Noona, you forget he’s my boy too.”

“Don’t let him forget me,” she whispered.

“Never.”

::::::::::

The room came into focus gradually.

His head pounded. Moving his eyeballs took even more effort than he thought possible. But
Yoongi did that anyway and saw Hoseok sitting in a chair by the bed, hunched over his phone.

Yoongi’s throat felt as though someone had wadded a thick swath of sandpaper down his
oesophagus. He tried to utter Hoseok’s name, but it exited his mouth an unintelligible croak.

Hoseok snapped his head up at the sound. He jerked to his feet and was by Yoongi’s side in the
next instant.
“You’ve woken! Finally!” He exclaimed in a voice that was a mix of joy and relief. He reached for
the wall behind where Yoongi lay. “Let me get the nurse in to check you up.”

“Where’s Taehyung?” Yoongi whisper-croaked.

“He’s over at the pediatric ward. He’s fine, don’t worry. Madam Lee’s been glued to his side to
make sure of that. His injuries are not serious, but the doctor’s keeping him under observation for
another day or two, just in case.”

Past few days?

“You’ve been out for three days now,” he explained, sensing Yoongi’s confusion. “You’ve
suffered a pretty heavy blow to your head. I’m not saying you’re stupid, but thank goodness you
have a thick skull. Otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten away with just a skull fracture.”

Yoongi raised a heavy hand and felt for his head. The rough texture of bandages met his palm. No
wonder his head ached so horribly.

A nurse appeared in the ward. She fluttered to Yoongi’s side, checking the vitals monitor as she
asked how Yoongi was feeling. A doctor came in next to perform a pupil reflex test on him and
asked him more questions. When he finished, Yoongi was feeling groggy again. He overheard the
doctor updating Hoseok on his condition. Words washed in and out of his ears without much
registering, but he caught the gist that he was doing okay. The dizziness and nausea were just part
of sustaining a concussion.

“I need some water,” Yoongi said hoarsely after the doctor and nurse left.

Hoseok swiftly obliged. He poured Yoongi a glass of water from the bedside decanter and
manoeuvred the bed into sitting.

“Draw the curtains, would you? The sunlight’s cleaving my head apart.” Now that his throat has
been soothed, vocalising the request was easier.

After relative darkness graced the room, Yoongi rested his neck against the pillow and closed his
eyes. “I feel like death.”

Hoseok took the glass from Yoongi’s hand. “You look like one too. Everything the police told you
not to do during a Search and Rescue, you did. You’re lucky they found Taehyung and you quick
enough.” Despite what he was saying, Hoseok’s voice barely carried any hint of reproach. “They
didn’t say it, but they pretty much believe this is your price to pay. Goes without saying that your
reputation with the police is in the gutters.”

“That’s fine,” Yoongi slurred. “I don’t intend to cross paths with them anytime soon.”

Shapes danced on his eyelids. He hovered on the fuzzy boundary that verged on unconsciousness.
He should give in, but something nagged at the back of his throbbing mind.

“When can I see Taehyung?”

“Oh, you’ll definitely see him soon. The past few days he’s been coming to see you after his meals.
It’s likely his nap time now, but I can check with Madam Lee to see if she can bring him up.”

“No, it’s fine. Let him rest.”

“You should rest too so you look less like death later on.”
“Thanks for the optimism.”

Their conversation faded out, taken over by a quiet. But it was an uneasy sort of quiet that
emanated from Hoseok. It was in the way he breathed, as if words swelled in his chest with every
intake of air but were ultimately expelled in a puff of nothingness.

Hoseok was withholding something from him.

Yoongi forced his eyes open. A lance seemed to pierce between his eyes. “What?”

“What? No, it’s nothing that can’t wait.” Hoseok tried for an expression of cheerful reassurance.
“Take a nap first. We can talk when you wake up.”

It was not nothing. The snap-second glimpse of gravity on Hoseok’s face stirred Yoongi’s stomach
with unease. This could only be something related to Taehyung.

“Tell me now.”

Hoseok hesitated for a moment but gave in eventually. He sobered. “The doctor in charge of
Taehyung doesn’t think that it’s anything to worry too much about at the moment. It happens in
some children who’ve experienced trauma. He’s confident Taehyung’ll recover.”

“Recover from what?”

“Shock. For the past few days he’d neither cried nor spoken a word.”

::::::::::

Yoongi saw Taehyung that evening. Hoseok had left for the pediatric unit after Yoongi had taken
his medicine. Now, Hoseok reappeared in Yoongi’s ward along with Madam Lee and Taehyung.

“Surprise,” Hoseok sang jovially, waving his arm in a dramatic flourish. “Look who’s up.”

Madam Lee stopped short just as she entered the room. She gaped in surprise for a moment, then
relaxed into relief. The corners of her lips curved as she gave Yoongi a subtle nod.

Yoongi’s eyes drifted downward to Taehyung.

Clutching Madam Lee’s hand, Taehyung stared at Yoongi sitting on the bed. The boy had on light-
green hospital pyjamas patterned with animals. His feet were socked, dragging rubber slippers that
seemed a size too large for him.

After what Hoseok had told him, Yoongi had braced himself, but it seemed no amount of mental
preparation could have readied him for the deafening absence of Samchon!.

Yoongi searched Taehyung’s face, taking in the stunned blankness in his eyes, the forlorn line of
his lips. He waited for Taehyung to come to him. Whenever he came to visit Yoongi the past few
days, Taehyung had held Yoongi’s hand through the bed rails, nestling his small hand in Yoongi’s
much larger one. That was what Hoseok had said.

Taehyung didn’t move.

Hoseok darted a quizzical look at Yoongi. He pasted on a smile as he regarded Taehyung. “Taetae,
no hello for your samchon?” He asked teasingly.
“Go let your samchon take a good look at you,” Madam Lee coaxed, giving him a gentle nudge.

Taehyung stared at Yoongi for a second more, then dropped his gaze. He shifted to hide behind
Madam Lee, trembling

Yoongi had no idea what troubled Taehyung’s mind. He had no clue what nightmares stopped
Taehyung from taking even one step toward him. He didn’t yet understand the depth of trauma that
had snatched away Taehyung’s voice.

But he did know one thing: If Taehyung could not come to him, then he would go to him.

Yoongi peeled the blanket away from his body.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Hoseok eyed Yoongi uncertainly.

His body rioted as he swung his legs off the side of the bed. His joints groaned, and his bruises
rippled in pain from the movement. After he’d manoeuvred himself into sitting, he realised he was
hooked to the drip. He looked at the needle buried under his skin.

Hoseok began in alarm, “Hey—”

Yoongi pluck the needle out. Madam Lee gasped.

The room tilted and spun briefly as Yoongi swayed to his feet. Hoseok moved to help steady him,
but Yoongi raised a hand.

“I can manage.”

Yoongi straightened himself as best as he could. Nausea tossed his guts into disarray. Pain seemed
to throb in more parts of his body than he could count. But he focused on Taehyung, focused on
putting one barefoot ahead of the other.

Intense vertigo struck him out of nowhere and weakened his knees. One second he was still
standing, and the next second he’d crashed to the ground, knocking the overbed table askew in the
process.

Hoseok and Madam Lee rushed forward to either side of Yoongi.

“Are you okay?” The landlady asked worriedly as Yoongi closed his eyes and waited for the pain
to settle.

Hoseok worked a hand under Yoongi’s shoulder and helped raise him into sitting. “Let’s get you
back to bed.”

Yoongi shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said almost breathlessly. He looked toward the doorway
where Taehyung still stood, now exposed without Madam Lee to hide behind. His eyes were wide
as he stared mutely at Yoongi.

Yoongi tried to smile at him. “Samchon’s okay. Let me get up and I’ll come to you.”

He had barely finished the sentence when Taehyung moved. This time not into hiding but forward.
Yoongi held his breath as Taehyung stumbled toward him.

Three steps separated them.

The first step Taehyung took, the blank mask of shock dissolved from his face. Second step and his
eyes filled with tears. Third step, the tears trickled down his cheeks.

He collided into Yoongi’s waiting arms, throwing his own around Yoongi’s neck. Yoongi held
Taehyung close as the boy’s trembling intensified and quieter tears escalated into full-blown sobs.
Hoseok and Madam Lee stood quietly and allowed them this moment.

Taehyung’s tears soaked Yoongi’s shoulder. They tore Yoongi’s heart apart, but they also lifted a
small weight off his chest.

“Cry and let it all out,” Yoongi murmured into Taehyung’s hair, eyes prickling. “Everything will
feel better after you cry.”

::::::::::

The elevator opened right onto the presidential suite of Se-Rae. Seokjin crossed the entrance hall
and came across Secretary Park standing by the window in the living area, engaged on the phone.

“We’ll continue our discussion later,” the older man said and promptly hung up. He looked at
Seokjin with cool, professional regard, as though he levitated beyond Seokjin’s reach, never mind
that he wasn’t Se-il’s CEO here.

“I’m here to see her,” Seokjin said.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Young Master. Madam has a full schedule today, and an
appointment hasn’t been slotted in for you.”

“I won’t take long.” Without giving Secretary Park the chance to object, Seokjin strode in the
direction of where the rooms were.

He found Kim Soohyang in the study, writing away at the grand oak desk, surrounded by shelves
of artfully displayed photographs and ceramic pieces. The curtains had been drawn apart. In the
daylight poured through the lengthy glass panes, she looked regal as a queen.

She didn’t glance up when he came in.

“I need to talk to you, Halmonim.”

Secretary Park appeared at the doorway. “Madam, you have a Skype call in fifteen minutes.”

“I won’t take long,” Seokjin said.

Kim Soohyang dismissed Secretary Park with a distracted wave. “Leave us.”

Knowing better than to argue, the secretary dipped his head and retreated respectfully.

The golden pen continued its assured glide over the pad of cream-coloured paper, unbothered by
Seokjin’s presence. In Kim Soohyang’s indifference, Seokjin felt small and pathetic, as though
he’d remained a teenager who had yet come into his own. He squashed that feeling, grasping onto
the anger, disappointment, and determination that’d brought him here.

“Taehyung ran away the other day.”

Still, the pen did not break its stride. “Yes, I heard.” Her voice carried an edge of impatience.

“When we found him on the mountains he was already suffering from hypothermia.”
This time she didn’t deign to reply. From where he stood, he could see the elegant slant of her
Korean characters, produced one after another under the control of her hand.

“You don’t care about him, do you?”

The pen halted. Finally she looked up at him over the rim of her reading glasses. He could tell from
the purse of her lips that his tone surprised and rankled her. But as a seasoned businesswoman who
knew the value of a poker face, her expression smoothed over.

“What would my caring about him look like to you?”

“I don’t know, Halmoni, because I’ve never seen you care for anyone else other than Father. But I
think that if you care, you’d have rushed to the mansion the moment you heard Taehyung’d run
away. You’d have wrung your hands in worry as you waited for him to be found. Even now, you
wouldn’t be here. You’d be at the hospital to see for yourself that he’s fine. Those are just the bare
minimum if you care for him.”

“The boy’s been found. He’s well. What would my bare minimum”—the word was pronounced
with sardonic impatience—“have changed a thing?”

“It wouldn’t,” Seokjin agreed, “but it would’ve spared me from having to confront reality.” His
chest hurt. He’d turned the other way for too long, woven too many excuses for the woman he
called his grandmother. His voice was hollow as he went on. “You don’t care about us. Not me.
Not Taehyung. Not Jaehyun. Especially not Jaehyun.”

Kim Soohyang’s jaw tautened, but her composure did not crack, not even at this moment. A voice
in Seokjin’s head urged him to stop because please please you shouldn’t be going up against her
like this. But his hurt burned brighter and stronger than that voice.

“Just this morning I met with the private investigator I hired to look for Jaehyun when he ran away
from home. Remember him? You should. You paid him behind my back to feed me lies about
Jaehyun’s unresolvable whereabouts and kept me from locating him. Or maybe you don’t
remember, because you did the same thing when I hired the other investigators too.”

When the private investigator spilled the ugly truth, Seokjin had expected himself to be filled with
rage and betrayal. But what coursed through his body had been a sense of heartbroken
disappointment and weariness. He guessed he had always known that something was amiss; there
was no way that Jaehyun’s could vanish so abruptly and completely that none of the private
investigators could find him, only that they had been certain he was living somewhere in the
country’s south. Namjoon had raised his suspicions to Seokjin, but Seokjin had never brought
himself to probe, unconsciously afraid of what he would find. He wove an image of Jaehyun living
an unencumbered life somewhere and held onto that. The only way he could get through each day
was if he believed Jaehyun to be happy out there.

Except he had believed wrong.

If Kim Soohyang hadn’t hindered his search effort, if he had found his brother, Jaehyun’s story
might have unfolded differently. He could be alive right now.

“You were working on establishing yourself in Se-il back then,” she said without an ounce of
remorse. “You couldn’t afford the distraction.”

Control slipped free, manners were forgotten, and Seokjin found himself raising his voice. “I care
about Jaehyun more than I care about the company!”
She laid a dangerous glare on him, nostrils flaring. “Don’t forget whom you’re speaking to.” She
said evenly. “Is this why you’re here today? To throw tantrums?“

Seokjin inhaled deeply and gathered himself. “I’m dropping the custody lawsuit,” he breathed.
“Taehyung deserves better than us.”

Kim Soohyang became still as stone in her disbelief. But the next moment, she rearranged her
expression into one of disdain, like Seokjin was a child jabbering nonsense before her. Seokjin was
unsurprised. Kim Soohyang was a fighter, a viciously tenacious warrior who had never yielded to
anyone. Without this trait, she could never have commanded a corporation or gained the respect of
old-fashioned board members who believed women to be of lesser creatures.

“I can fight for the boy’s custody as my own entity. There’s nothing to stop me from doing that.”

“Then I have no choice take the stand and testify against you, Halmoni,” Seokjin murmured.

They stared at each other across carpet that separated them. He watched as realisation sank into her
features. The subtle movement could’ve been missed by others, but Seokjin caught the way the
fingernail of her index finger was digging into her thumb. He was pushing her to the edge of her
control.

“Se-il needs an heir to—”

“That’s the difference between us,” Seokjin interrupted softly. “You see Taehyung as a tool. I see
him as Jaehyun’s son. I want him to be happy. I want him to be well. And after everything that has
transpired, I understood that the only way he could be both is if he stays with Min Yoongi.”

Taehyung used to be an existence that dredged up painful regret and reminded Seokjin of his loss.
But somehow, after all the awkward meals they shared and the uninspiring post-dinner cartoons
they sat through together, Taehyung had found his way to the soft spot that Jaehyun once
occupied.

It had taken too much for him to realise that. On the night they were taken to the hospital, Seokjin
had glimpsed the boy’s hollow eyes as he watched the doctors tend to Min Yoongi. At that
moment, he understood that taking Taehyung away from Min Yoongi was akin to destroying the
child.

Seokjin pulled strings, and the hospital deployed its best doctors to tend to them. Knowing that his
presence would not be welcome, he remained in the shadows, visiting Taehyung only in the middle
of the night, staying updated of their condition through behind-the-door meetings with the doctors.
It was at one of such meetings that Seokjin came to know Taehyung had lost his voice. He had
stared blankly ahead, taking no comfort in the doctor’s assurance that Taehyung’s mutism was
likely only temporary.

He could not undo the damage he’d inflicted, but he could put an end to it.

The muscles in Kim Soohyang’s face twitched. Her voice quaked with rage. “You are an ingrate.
Everything you have, everything you are, they are a result of me. I can build you up, but I can also
render you as insignificant as dust. You’re nothing without me, Kim Seokjin. You’re foolish if you
think you can go up against me and win.”

Seokjin shook his head and smiled sadly. “I never want to fight you, but I will if it means
protecting Taehyung. You’ll also find that you’re not as powerful as you once were. You can try
removing me from the office, but it’s not going to be as easy as you think. You taught me well after
 all.”

He had assumed that he would always operate under the shadow of his grandmother’s legacy. To
get where he was, he had relied on her goodwill with the board of directors, had depended on her
extensive connections to industries all over the world. That was in the beginning. He had now
gained his own footing and increased his autonomy. With every successful decision he made,
every new height he steered Se-il toward, every partnership he forged independent of Kim
Soohyang’s influence, he was breaking the strings that tethered himself to her.

The factions in the company had shifted and evolved. After her retirement, Kim Soohyang had
continued to pull the strings behind the scenes, but the lack of her overt presence in the day-to-day
operation of the company had diluted her sway. On the other hand Seokjin had accumulated his
share of supporters and approval. He was not as far beneath as his grandmother as he thought.

He just needed to own it.

He will.

Behind the desk, Kim Soohyang trembled from his audacity, her eyes bloodshot and furious as she
glared at him. She gripped the pen so tightly that veins popped under the thin wrinkled skin of her
hand.

All his life, no matter how old he got or how tall he had grown, she had been a commanding,
blinding figure that made him feel minuscule and servile. But now he saw her for who she was.
Aged. Frail. A woman who had lost her husband, her son, her daughter-in-law, her grandson and
still had not learned that there were more important things in life than a company and worrying
over who would inherit it. She was pitiful.

“Halmoni.” His heart ached for her. “You’ve slogged for Se-il most of your life. It’s time for you to
take a break and live out your retirement in peace and good health. We’ve lost Father, Mother and
Jaehyun. I don’t wish to lose you too, not even after everything that has happened.”

Seokjin took a final look at her, bowed, and left the room.

::::::::::

Lawyer Seo appeared at the hospital on the second day after Yoongi regained his consciousness.
With a broad smile, she informed him that Kim Seokjin’s had terminated the lawsuit for
Taehyung’s custody.

“Well,” Hoseok, who was in the room at the time, shrugged disdainfully after he had ended his
victory dance, “I’d be even more surprised if he has decided to go ahead with it after the shitty job
he’s done in caring for Taehyung.”

Chapter End Notes

do you smell the resolution that's round the corner? XD

there are two main closures in this chapter - one between yoongi and seungah, and the
other between seokjin and le grandma. and then there's taehyung's condition... so i
guess this makes a pretty bittersweet update?
there are just two chapters left. i can't wait to finally wrap this story up. as always
thanks for sticking by me~

the next chapter should come next year. but before then, wherever you are and
whoever you're with, have a very merry Christmas and a joyous new year. <3

till next time!

 Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Almost on the dot, two distinctive sets of footsteps pattered up the vinyl flooring of the hospital
corridor. Taehyung and Madam Lee appeared a few seconds later in the ward’s doorway.
Brightening at the sight of Yoongi, Taehyung released Madam Lee's hand and skipped to Yoongi’s
bedside.

“How’s your day?” Yoongi asked.

Taehyung smiled and nodded happily. Yoongi’s heart fell, but he didn’t let his disappointment
show. He’d hoped today would finally be the day he heard Taehyung’s voice again. Tomorrow,
then.

Madam Lee joined Taehyung at Yoongi’s side. “Why don’t you tell your samchon what you did at
home today?”

Taehyung swung his backpack around and unzipped its front compartment. He took out a piece of
origami and put it on the bed, next to Yoongi’s arm. It was a paper frog.

“Did you make it? Lee-ahjumma taught you how?” Yoongi asked when Taehyung glanced at the
landlady.

Madam Lee looked at Taehyung with fondness. “You learned quickly, didn’t you?”

Taehyung nodded proudly. He proceeded to demonstrate how the paper frog could be made to
‘hop’ by flicking its pointed rear. Then he gave the frog to Yoongi, who promised he’d play with it
when he was bored. Yoongi placed the paper frog on the bedside cabinet, alongside the other
presents Taehyung had previously brought him—a get-well-soon card, a flower plucked from
Madam Lee’s garden, and a small box of animal crackers.

Having been discharged a few days ago, Taehyung was currently under the care of the landlady
while Yoongi remained at the hospital. Taehyung seemed more than okay with the arrangement.
Madam Lee brought him to visit Yoongi every day. Once, Yoongi had tried to express his
gratitude, but she shushed his awkward thanks.

“I’m really doing this more for myself than for you,” she said with her signature haughtiness.
“How else would I get exclusive time with him?”

On most visits, she would sit unobtrusively in the corner couch and crochet while Taehyung spent
time with Yoongi. Today, she left to run some errands after Taehyung climbed onto the bed and
settled under Yoongi’s arm, looking as comfortable and contented as he could possibly be.

A large picture book of fairy tales, borrowed from the library, laid spread across their legs.
Taehyung curled close as Yoongi read him the story of Hansel and Gretel. It was like all the other
times Yoongi read Taehyung bedtime stories in their small apartment. Yoongi’s voice bordered on
monotonous, but the appreciative boy listened as though Yoongi was the most captivating
storyteller, making sounds of delight when Hansel and Gretel chanced upon the candy house,
gasping in worry when the candy house owner was revealed to be a witch who ate children, and
exhaling in relief when the siblings found their way home.
Yoongi flipped to the last page of the tale. “For many years to come, Hansel and Gretel lived
happily with their father in the hut in the woods. The End.”

Taehyung squirmed happily. When Yoongi looked downward, he could see Taehyung’s smile. But
the air felt a little hollow. Taehyung should be asking questions Yoongi had no answers to.

Is the candy house still there?

Do Hansel and Gretel still visit the house?

Can Samchon build a candy house like that?

Yoongi recalled that conversation with Taehyung’s therapist just this morning, when she had come
by his ward to talk to him about Taehyung.

“Why is this happening to him?” Yoongi had asked.

“My guess is that he’d somehow associated the things he told you with you subsequently getting
injured. ‘Samchon got hurt because I said something wrong. If I stop speaking, then I won’t say
another wrong thing, and Samchon won’t get hurt again.’ That’s probably his logic.”

Yoongi leafed through his memory. He couldn’t find anything jarring in his last conversation with
Taehyung that could have made the boy feel that way. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t have to,” she replied kindly. “What matters is he believed that to be the case. That night
had been a stressful situation for him, and brains behave differently under stress. We’ve seen
countless situations like this in children who have experienced trauma. What we can focus on now
is to undo that association he’s made through therapy. Good news is, we do see a pretty high
success rate.”

Yoongi, including Hoseok and Madam Lee, treated Taehyung as they normally would, pretending
nothing was out of the blue with him. They didn’t force or plead for him to speak, agreeing that the
last thing they wanted was for Taehyung to think he was flawed just because he had lost his voice.
But it tormented Yoongi to know that the boy was possibly blaming himself.

“Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi said as Taehyung turned the page to the next tale. He glanced up at
Yoongi with his large eyes. “That day Samchon went looking for you because I care about you and
want you to be safe. I fell because it was raining that day and everywhere was slippery. I didn’t get
hurt because of you. Nothing is your fault. Do you understand?”

Taehyung looked at Yoongi, his eyes as clear and guileless as ever. Yoongi couldn’t tell if he truly
understood, but he nodded with a smile and pointed expectantly to the book, waiting for Yoongi to
start reading.

Heaviness tugged at Yoongi’s heartstrings. He pushed it away, knowing that there was nothing
more he could do at the moment. Nestled against him, Taehyung looked happy and content. For
now that was all Yoongi could ask for. Taehyung’s recovery could wait. They had time.

Yoongi cleared his throat and began reading the story of The Pied Piper.

::::::::::

Two knocks on the door pulled Seokjin out of his reverie. He turned his chair away from the
windows in time to see Namjoon entering the office, looking refreshed and well-rested. It occured
to Seokjin that the last time he saw Namjoon was merely two weeks ago, before the man had gone
on his vacation. Too many things had happened in the two weeks.

Namjoon flashed him a dimpled smile as he strode over to the desk and plopped into the visitor’s
chair. “How are things?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” Seokjin asked flatly.

Namjoon leaned back, crossed his legs, and started drumming his fingers casually against his knee.
“I might have heard about Taehyung running away from the mansion and a search party being
launched. I might have also heard that you’ve withdrawn the custody suit,” he said, confirming
Seokjin’s hunch that he’d kept himself in the loop despite being away. He was too thorough a man
to do otherwise. “My bad,” he pulled a deceptively good-natured smile. “My bad, I should be
asking you how you’re feeling instead, shouldn’t I? So, how are you feeling?”

Pointedly ignoring him, Seokjin picked up a pen and pulled a document close. The words on the
proposal of a new partnership swam in and out of his vision without his brain processing much of
it, as had been the case for the past several days.

“Is this it?” Namjoon asked. “Are you going to bid Taehyung goodbye just like that?”

Seokjin pretended to be engrossed in the crawling sentences on paper. “Shouldn’t you be glad,” he
murmured, his tone as nonchalant as he could make it to be. “You’ve never agreed with me
starting the lawsuit.”

“You’re right. I never did agree.” Seokjin felt a sting of annoyance at Namjoon’s unabashed
admission. “I’m also glad that you’ve discontinued the lawsuit.”

“Great. Then we can agree that there’s nothing more for me to do than to—like you’ve said—bid
Taehyung goodbye.”

“But giving up the lawsuit doesn’t mean you can’t continue to be a part of his life. You don’t need
his custody to be his keun-abeoji. Surely you don’t need me to point that out to you?”

Seokjin slapped the document close. “Your naïveté is amusing. You’d kept yourself updated. You
should know he was hurt. He isn’t talking now and I’m responsible. Don’t you think it’s best that I
stay away from him?”

Namjoon stared coolly at Seokjin, not rising to meet his anger. “Honestly, that sounds like
cowardice on your part.”

“What?” Seokjin asked in disbelief.

“You hurt him and you choose to run away.” Namjoon shrugged. “Does that not sound like
cowardice?”

“He won’t want to see me,” Seokjin gritted out.

“Did you ask him that?”

“He ran away. Think, why would he have run away, if not away from me? I stood by and did
nothing when he was struggling with those awful lessons.”

“You dismissed the tutors.”

Seokjin snorted mirthlessly. “Not before he had a breakdown.”

Namjoon drew in a breath and exhaled with a deliberateness. Seokjin knew him well enough to
recognise it as a technique he used whenever he had to muster great forbearance to point out
something that would have been clear-cut if you weren’t so dim-witted. Seokjin’d never thought
he’d one day be on the receiving end.

“Yes, you made mistakes. You put Taehyung through situations and tribulations that a six-year-old
shouldn’t be put through. Have you apologised to him then? Are you willing to? Taehyung
deserves that at the very least, don’t you think?”

Seokjin sat stiffly in his seat. His mind whirred for a rebuttal. Anger pinched at him, but he knew
he was mad at Namjoon because everything he said had hit home square and hard. Namjoon had
laid it bare for him, made him confront the fact that he had fooled himself into believing he was
helpless because taking action was the more terrifying option.

“I think you know what you should do next,” Namjoon said. He fished in his suit’s pocket for
something. When he placed it on the desk, Seokjin saw that it was a small wooden horse with a red
base. Painted flowers representing the saddle and reins decorated its back and around its neck. “I
got this souvenir for you. The Swedes call it the Dala horse. It symbolises strength and courage.
Seems like you’re in dire need of them. You’ve been trying to make peace with the dead. Time to
do so with the living too.”

::::::::::

Yoongi recuperated well. The doctor in charge declared that he was fit to go home a week after he
had regained consciousness.

“That’s why I always say: The best treatment is being young and fit,” the balding doctor said as he
wave his pen over the clipboard in a flourish. “The boy—I heard he’s your nephew, is it?—must be
glad you’re finally going home.”

Yoongi nodded in part tenderness and part embarrassment. Taehyung had become a known
presence among the hospital staff over the past week. His very obvious love and adoration for
Yoongi had been a subject of praise and cooing among the friendly nurses and handful doctors
passing by. Everything Taehyung did—cuddling against Yoongi, for example—was adorable in
their eyes.

“He’s such a sweet little boy. One could only wish that their grandkids are half like him,” the
personable doctor lamented wistfully. He returned the clipboard to the foot of the bed. “All right,
take good care of yourself. I would rather not see you again, but come back if you feel unwell.”

On the day of his discharge, Yoongi changed out of the hospital wear and put on the set of clothes
Madam Lee’d brought him the day before. He was gathering the little gifts from Taehyung into a
bag when Hoseok returned to the ward, looking rather windswept.

“Guess what the counter told me? Your hospital bills had been paid for. And guess who paid for
you?” Hoseok said in a tone that indicated no surprises were to be found in the answer.

Yoongi looked around him. Suddenly everything made sense. He’d thought it odd that an average
civilian like himself had been placed in a private ward that came with an en-suite bathroom. He had
worried about the cost when drugs stopped fogging his brain, but the nurse he asked had assured
him that the cost was covered. Naively, he’d assumed she was referring to his health insurance.
Now he knew.

“Why did he do that?” Yoongi asked. The mere thought of Kim Seokjin was enough to irritate him.
What was he playing at?

“To assuage his guilt, I suppose.” Hoseok walked over to hand Yoongi the pack of medication he
had collected from the pharmacy on Yoongi’s behalf.

“I’ll find a way to return the money to him.”

Hoseok glanced at Yoongi, as though he’d expected his reaction . “I wouldn’t do that if I were
you.”

“I don’t want to owe him anything.”

“The way I look at it, it’s only right that he paid. Not that I’m not angry with him already, but I’d
have been madder if he’d just vanish into thin air without taking some kind of responsibility.
Taehyung and you got hurt because of him. This is the least he could do. You’re not owing him
anything. And—” Hoseok laid the invoice on the side table and smoothed it out, “this is not a
pretty sum.”

It wasn’t.

Madam Lee’s voice, asking Taehyung to slow down, trailed up the corridor and put an end to their
conversation. Taehyung popped into the room, his face lighting up when he saw Yoongi sitting on
the edge of the bed. He launched himself toward the bed and threw his arms around Yoongi.

“No hugs for Hobi Hyung?” Hoseok covered his face and pretended to weep. Taehyung pulled
away from Yoongi and jumped around to give Hoseok a hug forceful enough to elicit an oomph
from the man.

Hoseok laughed and tapped Taehyung’s nose.“Looks like it’s going to be a good day because a
little boy is in an excellent mood.”

“He couldn’t wait to come fetch you home,” Madam Lee said as she came into the room and
joined them at the bed. “I’ve never seen him finish his lunch so quickly.”

Yoongi pushed Kim Seokjin to the back of his mind and focused on Taehyung. The boy glowed
with happiness and excitement. It was infectious.

“Did you finish your vegetables too?”

Taehyung gave him a ready nod that meant Of course!

“Wow, Taetae. You must be super duper happy that your samchon’s finally going home.”

Taehyung flashed Hoseok a toothy smile and nodded again, this time rather shyly.

“Well, your samchon’s all ready to go.” Hoseok picked up the paper bag containing Yoongi’s
belongings. “Shall we?”

As Yoongi got to his feet, Taehyung slipped his hand into his. His bruises were still sore and tender
at some places, but he was keen to bid goodbye to the stuffiness of the ward, as high-end as it was.

Their entourage of four passed by the nurse station on their way to the elevators. The buoyant
nurses, whose faces and names Yoongi had come to know, expressed their congratulations for his
discharge. But their attention on him seemed patronising in light of the coddling affection they
lavished on Taehyung.
“Taetae, Noona’s going to miss you so much!”

“Taetae, can we get a photo with you?”

“Taetae, would you like some candy?”

When they finally got going again, a jubilant Taehyung held a small paper bag containing sweets
and a Polaroid of them and the nurses. Taehyung had also firmed his fingers around Yoongi’s
hand, already making good on his promise to the nurses that he would take good care of his
samchon.

“He’s going to grow up collecting hearts everywhere he goes.” Yoongi overheard Madam Lee tell
Hoseok a few paces behind.

Where was the lie? After all, Taehyung had managed to pull off the impossible—charming a
grumpy landlady and an equally grumpy samchon into handing their hearts over.

::::::::::

On the day Taehyung went back to school, Yoongi took him there. Jimin and Jeongguk ran out of
the building in welcome, flanking Taehyung and launching into an enthusiastic chatter, unperturbed
by Taehyung’s temporary inability to speak.

Last weekend, they had swung by with their mothers to pay Yoongi and Taehyung a visit. They
were initially confused by Taehyung, who now gestured rather than spoke. But after Hoseok—who
happened to be present—explained to them out of Taehyung’s earshot, they understood.

Jimin had nodded wisely. “It’s like when we fall down and hurt our knees and it takes time for us
to walk properly again.”

“And it’s going to take time before Taetae can speak again,” Jeongguk added thoughtfully, then
shrugged. “But Taetae is still Taetae anyway.”

Principal Yang assured Yoongi the school wouldn’t treat Taehyung differently. Just like before,
he’d attend classes and activities with the rest of the children. Nevertheless Yoongi worried. What
if a less understanding child made an insensitive remark? What if a teacher forgot Taehyung’s
condition and accidentally put him on the spot by choosing him to answer a question?

But Taehyung came home from the kindergarten happy each day and gradually, Yoongi’s heart
was set at ease.

Unlike Taehyung who went back to school, Yoongi hadn’t gone back to work. Bang PD threatened
to throw him out if he showed up at the office when he was still on sick leave. That didn’t stop him
from working on his projects from home. But he was conscious to pace himself and avoid Madam
Lee’s pointed nagging about how “youngsters these days ruin their own bodies”.

So Yoongi spent his days after discharge this way: taking Taehyung to school, returning home to
work on some music, expecting the landlady to check on him any time, bringing Taehyung back
home from the kindergarten. Every Tuesday and Friday, he would take Taehyung to the clinic for
therapy too.

It was at the clinic that Yoongi saw Kim Seokjin again.

Yoongi hadn’t meant to be at the clinic at that time. The hour was late, right before the clinic was
about to shutter for the day. But he’d left his wallet behind when he came with Taehyung for his
sessions earlier that afternoon. When he realised his carelessness, he troubled Madam Lee—who’d
been all too willing—to keep an eye on Taehyung while he made the extra trip back to the clinic.

He had just retrieved his wallet from the receptionist when footsteps and voices trailed up the
corridor behind.

“His progress is optimistic. We’re confident that he’ll recover in no time,” a female voice said. The
woman appeared around the bend, revealing herself to be the clinic’s director, who was personally
in charge of Taehyung’s therapy.

Kim Seokjin towered next to her. When his eyes met Yoongi’s, he stiffened, as did Yoongi. The
director glanced awkwardly from one to the other, while the receptionist painted a picture of
confusion at the sudden tension in the air.

Kim Seokjin recomposed himself first, before any feelings of animosity could burgeon in Yoongi.
His broad shoulders relaxed in what seemed like resignation.

“Care for a chat?”

::::::::::

They sat in the downstairs cafe of the building. The district at this hour had quietened. Beyond the
glass windows, few people passed by on the street.

“What are you doing here?” Yoongi asked without any preamble or pretence of niceties.

Although Kim Seokjin had made himself scarce from their lives since the night on the mountain,
he remained a niggling threat in Yoongi’s mind. His dropping the custody case and paying for
Yoongi’s hospital bills didn’t lessen the feeling of that threat. Yoongi didn’t believe Kim Seokjin
would back down so easily. He, Yoongi thought, must be biding his time for the right moment to
pounce and turn their word topsy-turvy again.

Sitting across from Kim Seokjin, Yoongi felt his fear stir afresh.

“I wish to know how Taehyung is doing.” Kim Seokjin’s tone was calm in comparison to Yoongi’s
agitated one.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but stay away from Taehyung.”

A corner of Kim Seokjin’s lips curved in what seemed like irony. Without a crack in his polished
facade, he replied, “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing? I assure you that our meeting today is purely
coincidental. I had no intention of showing myself before you.”

Yoongi tautened his jaw. Kim Seokjin made sense, but it didn’t mean he was going to let his guard
down. “What exactly do you want?”

“I told you—I want to be sure that Taehyung’s well.” Kim Seokjin smiled faintly and shook his
head. “You’re a funny man, Min Yoongi-shi. You think I’m still harbouring tricks up my sleeves,
but have I not withdrawn the petition? Have I not absented myself? Would I have done that if I still
desire to have Taehyung’s custody?”

Yoongi snorted. “I won’t pretend that I know the way you rich people operate. But you haven’t
done anything for me to believe you’re trustworthy.”

“But I could have done—could still do—a lot worse. There are corrupt officials occupying the
upper ranks of our country’s judicial system. I could oil their hands and tilt the odds so completely
in my favour that any resistance you put up is laughable. That’d have expedited things as compared
to jumping through the hoops like we had done, wouldn’t you say so?”

Yoongi felt his nostrils flare. “Is that a threat?”

“No. I only mean to emphasise that I’m no longer interested in fighting for Taehyung’s custody.”

“Great,” Yoongi said flatly. “Now that that’s clear, please remove yourself for good and never
show your face around us again.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that. Not just yet.”

Yoongi opened and closed his mouth, stupefied by Kim Seokjin’s brazenness and flummoxed by
his contradictions. A server came up to their table, bearing the drinks they ordered. They waited as
the server meticulously laid out the coasters and set down the glasses.

“What do you know about Jaehyun?” Kim Seokjin asked after the server had taken his leave and
before Yoongi could erupt. “Other than the fact that he was Taehyung’s father?”

Yoongi didn’t know what bush Kim Seokjin was beating about. Impatient, he spoke his most
honest thoughts without dressing them up to be palatable. “I know that he dumped my sister and
Taehyung and left them to fend for themselves. He hadn’t been much of a father to Taehyung
except in blood. I’m glad Taehyung doesn’t remember him.”

To Yoongi’s surprise, Kim Seokjin didn’t jump to his brother’s defence. He merely nodded,
tapping his fingers against his knee. “You don’t have a high opinion of my brother.”

A corner of Yoongi’s lips curled sardonically. “How could I?”

“You’re right. But I’ll always be grateful that you haven’t spoken ill of Jaehyun to Taehyung. It’d
have broken Jaehyun if Taehyung hated him.”

Yoongi tried to detect sarcasm in Kim Seokjin’s gratitude but came away empty-handed. His voice
sounded as plain and sincere as his words were. This side of Kim Seokjin—who had always been
proud and disdainful in his eyes—caught Yoongi off-guard.

Why hadn’t Yoongi talked about Jaehyun to Taehyung? That question hadn’t crossed his mind.
Perhaps the mere idea of broaching the subject soured his tongue. But he knew the more likely
reason: the truth would weigh Taehyung down, make him wonder and look for answers. The
search would inevitably turn inward, knifing his spirit apart as the question twisted from Why did
my father abandon me? into What did I do to drive my father away? So Yoongi had let Jaehyun
continue to be a mysteriously missing figure in Taehyung’s life. It had worked so far because
Taehyung hadn’t arrived at that age where he’d probe at his absent father with persistent curiosity.

“I did that for Taehyung, not for your brother,” Yoongi said bluntly. “I couldn’t care less for him.”

Again, Kim Seokjin didn’t take offence. “I still thank you for that. My brother, he’d made some
terrible choices, but he wasn’t a bad person.” His eyes drifted to the street outside. A faraway look
glossed his face, as though he had slipped into a memory. “We grew up in a family that didn’t give
us much room to breathe. He was bright and brilliant, but not in the way our grandmother wanted.
She—no,” he shook his head with a smile, “we drove him out of the family. I guess that was when
he met your sister.”

Kim Seokjin took a pause. When he continued, the muscles in his face had gone cautiously slack,
like he was carefully holding himself together because the slightest fissure would shatter his
composure. “Our grandmother stopped me from locating him. But he’d come back, anyway, a
couple of years later. I don’t think I’ve been happier than that day I saw him again. He looked
older, thinner, and more haggard. And I’d later know that his change went beyond his appearance.

“He started drinking. A lot. He’d eventually spiral downward into drugs too. He said he was hurt
and he needed to numb himself, to forget, but he wouldn’t tell me what was hurting him. In the end
I failed him again, because the way we solved problems in the family was to look the other way
and pretend they didn’t exist. You know that Jaehyun died of drug overdose, didn’t you?”

The sudden question startled Yoongi. He nodded, and Kim Seokjin went on.

“I was there with him in the hospital the night before he died. It was then that he was finally
willing to tell me about what happened in the years that he was away. That was the first time I
knew about your sister and Taehyung. The guilt of abandoning them has tortured him since the day
he returned. He cried and cried; you’d have been surprised someone as gaunt and wasted as him
could have so many tears.

“His last wish for me was to take care of your sister and Taehyung. I agreed. I was his hyung. I was
desperate for a chance at redeeming myself. I wanted him to go in peace. You can understand why
I had to do what I did, can’t you?”

Kim Seokjin regarded Yoongi, who was at a loss of words. With Kim Seokjin’s side of the story,
he found that his antagonism toward the man had dulled, no longer raring to whip out in aggression
at every turn.

Kim Seokjin dwelled in a part of society miles ahead of his in wealth and status. But they were not
that different. Their families were dysfunctional, they lost a sibling they loved, and the dead
sibling had in turn dictated the choices they made after.

Amidst his newfound understanding of Kim Seokjin was a begrudging respect. How much self-
control did he have to command over his regret to tell his story without his mask breaking or his
voice cracking?

“Even if I understand,” Yoongi said slowly, “it doesn’t mean I have to agree.”

Kim Seokjin looked amused. “Fair enough. Truth be told, I hadn’t planned to wrest Taehyung’s
custody from anyone. My original intention was to provide for your sister and Taehyung
financially. Just that. Establishing any sort of familial relationship with them would’ve reminded
me too much of Jaehyun. But when I finally located them, your sister’d already passed and
Taehyung was living with you.” A wry smile appeared on his face. “You didn’t look great on
paper, did you know? Two accidents of injuries within six months of him coming under your care.”

Yoongi scoffed at the teasing note in his voice. “You speak like you have the right to judge. As if
Taehyung hadn’t slipped away under your nose and hurt himself.”

“We make quite the terrible pair of samchon and keun-abeoji, don’t we? I try to focus on the things
I can still do to redeem myself, and I can come to terms to it, but I don’t think I can ever fully
forgive myself for hurting or letting Taehyung get hurt. If I’ve stepped up against my grandmother
sooner, Taehyung wouldn’t have been so unhappy as to run away. And if I’ve done that even
sooner, Jaehyun might have been a happier person who doesn’t destroy his own life or others’. I
need to apologise on Jaehyun’s behalf for what he put your sister through. I apologise to you, too,
for thinking that I knew better. And if you’d give me the opportunity, I’d like to apologise to
Taehyung too.”
The surprise of Kim Seokjin’s apology had barely sunk in when Yoongi was thrown into the
dilemma posed by his request. Kim Seokjin wanted to meet Taehyung. Every sane, rational cell in
Yoongi asserted a definite No.

But sitting across from him, shorn of his edges, Kim Seokjin had never appeared more human. He
was in his usual immaculate suit, sitting with his legs crossed and back reclined into the couch. But
if Yoongi looked closely, past that dignified poise, he could see the weariness, the hollower
cheeks, the red squiggles that marred the white of the eyes.

Who was Yoongi to position himself on a lofty moral ground and condemn Kim Seokjin when he
had, too, made so many mistakes when it came to Taehyung? He recalled the night at Kim’s estate
when Taehyung went missing and Kim Seokjin had looked distraught.

A part of Yoongi couldn’t believe Kim Seokjin was seeking his permission. With his power and
influence, he could have demanded it in that self-righteous and entitled manner of the rich.

Kim Seokjin might not be as bad a person as Yoongi thought, but Taehyung was still his priority.

“I cannot promise you that,” Yoongi said. “He knows that you want to take him away from me.
That was the reason he ran away.”

Kim Seokjin frowned. “Did you tell him about the custody? Because I certainly haven’t.”

“He wouldn’t have gladly gone with you if I did. Anyway that’s not important. Since you’ve been
keeping yourself up-to-date with Taehyung’s condition, you’d know that his therapist is working
with him on not only his trauma, but also his anxiety, which has been going on for some time
without our knowing. The accident has only made it worse. These days, he’d follow me around at
night making sure I’ve locked the door and all the windows before he’d go to sleep. Yes, he’s been
making good progress with his therapy, but I don’t know how he’d react if he sees you. What if he
regresses?”

Neither of them had touched their drinks. Beads of condensation slid down the glasses and puddled
at the base.

“I don’t need to see him now, as long as I can see him again. I can wait.”

“How patient are you?”

“For him, as patient as I need to be. We’ll go with his pace. When he’s ready, give me a call. You
have my number. Before that, I assure you I won’t show myself before him.”

::::::::::

Spring edged winter out of the picture completely when April arrived. The weather warmed and
buds flowered, dressing cherry blossom trees with crowns of pale pink. It was the perfect season to
visit the parks, take a picnic under the flowers, and muse over the hope of new beginnings Spring
inevitably brings.

But on an unseasonably warm day, Yoongi and Taehyung went to the beach instead. Parks milled
with people this time of the year, and Yoongi preferred to avoid crowds given the choice. In any
case, Taehyung preferred the beach these days, having fallen completely in love with a story about
a young child who met a seal at the seaside and went on an adventure together.

They rolled their pants up to their knees and stood near where the sand met the water. Taehyung
gasped in delight the first time the waves slid up the shore and washed over his bare feet.
When they got bored of the water, they walked along the shoreline, passing by a few families and
couples who probably shared the same sentiments about going to the park. Taehyung skipped some
steps ahead while Yoongi followed behind, holding Taehyung’s shoes. Every now and then,
something in the sand would catch the boy’s attention, and he would squat and poke at it with a
twig he’d picked up earlier.

Truth be told, the distance separating Taehyung and him discomfited Yoongi, even though the
distance did not amount to more than a few paces. It wouldn’t have bothered him in the past, but
since the incident on the mountain, his protective instincts had been running in somewhat of an
overdrive. Part of him wanted to wrench Taehyung back to his side. His mind worried that if he
wasn’t holding Taehyung’s hand and keeping him close, then Taehyung was bound to get hurt
again.

His instincts urged him to act, but he forbade himself to give in and let it rule their lives. Especially
not Taehyung’s. As dangerous as the world could sometimes be, it was also beautiful, and the boy
deserved the freedom to explore its beauty without Yoongi shackling him in place with his
overprotectiveness. If Taehyung grew up wired to view everything as a catastrophe waiting to
happen, Yoongi would have failed him terribly.

So Yoongi hung back and gave Taehyung space to wonder and wander. In time the shadows cast
by the incident would fade, as would his paranoia.

His chain of thoughts was interrupted when Taehyung pattered back to him excitedly, kicking up
sand in his wake. He pulled to a halt before Yoongi and lifted a closed hand. His fingers fell away
from his fists and revealed a pebble resting on his small palm. The pebble was not of the black or
gray variety; it was instead in the shade of aquamarine and frosted in texture.

“I think that’s a sea glass,” Yoongi said. “They are really rare.”

Awestruck, Taehyung brought the pebble close to his eyes, turning it this way and that against the
light.

Further down the shore, a giggling little girl of no more than five ran right into a colony of
seagulls. The harassed seagulls took flight. The flapping of their wings drowned the sound of the
waves and momentarily distracted Yoongi enough that he almost missed what happened next.

“I want to give it to Samchon.”

Yoongi froze. He snapped around, found Taehyung looking at him with a shy smile. His arm was
outstretched, his hand holding the sea glass for Yoongi’s taking.

Yoongi did not care for the sea glass. His breathing had gone awry. “What did you just say?”

“I want to give the sea grass to Samchon. It’s a present.”

“For me?” He heard the tremor in his voice.

“For Samchon. Sea grass for Samchon,” the boy said happily.

It was real. His mind wasn’t playing tricks on him.

Yoongi stared at Taehyung, at his sparkling eyes, and felt his own eyes prickle. He had imagined
countless scenarios in which Taehyung spoke again. He had also entertained the possibility that
Taehyung never would again. The latter always brought him such paralysing fear, but he had not
know how truly terrified he was until now, when the sound of Samchon from Taehyung’s lips
choked him so full of relief he wanted to collapse onto his knees and allow his emotions free rein.
He wanted, too, to sweep the boy into his arms.

But he stood with his back straight and pretended that this moment was just like any other. It took a
moment for his throat again. “It’s sea glass, not sea grass.”

“Sea glass,” Taehyung repeated, nodding.

Yoongi took the sea glass from Taehyung. “Samchon likes it very much.”

He pocketed the sea glass and reached out to hold Taehyung’s hand before the boy could skip
away to continue his exploration. They held hands as they left a trail of footprints on the sand, big
ones aligned with small ones.

“Where did you find the sea glass?”

“In front!” Taehyung pointed with a little jump.

“Was it the only one you saw?”

“Yes! I didn’t see it at first, but there was a crab next it and I saw it.”

“A crab? How big was it?”

“It’s little. I think it’s a baby.”

“Where did it go?”

On and on, Yoongi kept Taehyung talking.

::::::::::

Hoseok thought Yoongi was out of his mind. Madam Lee didn’t hesitate to tell Yoongi so. Even
Yoongi himself admitted there must be a bolt that’d come loose in his head. But Taehyung’d
agreed to it, even though that had taken some convincing, including letting the boy choose the
location and the people he wanted present.

This was how the meeting that Saturday came to be. Taehyung’s first choice of location had been
the apartment, but Yoongi explained it was too small to comfortably to contain six of them. So the
Taehyung compromised, and they gathered instead at Madam Lee’s place, the other location where
the boy could feel like nothing bad would happen to him.

On the sofa meant for three, Yoongi and Taehyung sat in the middle, squished on either side by
Madam Lee and Hoseok. Kim Seokjin and Kim Namjoon sat across from them on dining chairs
temporarily positioned between the TV and the coffee table. The layout was awkward, made even
more so by the multilayered tin of exquisite-looking cookies on the coffee table. Kim Seokjin and
Kim Namjoon had brought it, but no one had touched it so far.

The air was taut with tension, like a rubber band pulled too far. Hoseok and Madam Lee didn’t
bother hiding their animosity. Hoseok had his arms crossed in front of his chest, an unimpressed
look on his face. Madam Lee managed to simultaneously glower and scowl, hostility extending
from her like spikes. Taehyung had buried his face into Yoongi’s arm, and Yoongi had no idea
how to go about breaking the ice. Neither did Kim Seokjin, it seemed. For the first time, the man
actually looked…nervous.
The only person who appeared truly at ease was Kim Namjoon. He swept an easy smile from one
end of the sofa to the other, briefly holding each of their eyes. He then bent forward and picked a
cookie out of the tin.

“Taetae, why don’t you try one?” He offered the cookie to Taehyung. “Kahi Noona and Ah-dal
Ahjumma made them for you. They want me to tell you that they miss you a lot. They hope that
you’re doing well.”

Taehyung kept his head stubbornly turned away. Unperturbed, Kim Namjoon took a piece of tissue
from the crocheted tissue holder, laid it on the table, and put the cookie on top of it. “Later, then,”
he said.

“Yah,” Madam Lee barked suddenly. She glared at Kim Seokjin. “Aren’t you going to say a word?
Aren’t you the one with something to say to Taehyung? Stop wasting our time.”

Yoongi winced. He’d been hesitant about having Madam Lee present today. But along with
Hoseok and Yoongi, she was one of those people whom Taehyung trusted to fight Kim Seokjin if
the man threatened to take him away.

Others would probably have fallen off their seats with Madam Lee bearing down on them like that,
but Kim Seokjin was an elegant man who merely faltered with a twitch in his shoulder. He
recomposed himself and found his voice.

“How have you been, Taehyung?”

Taehyung refused to look at Kim Seokjin.

“Why don’t you answer your Keun-abeoji?” Yoongi prompted.

Moments passed in quiet. Yoongi was suddenly terrified that he’d made a wrong decision in
allowing Kim Seokjin to see Taehyung. What if the stress of the situation had turned the boy mute
again?

“Don’t want to talk to Keun-abeoji,” Taehyung mumbled, much to Yoongi’s relief. He squirmed
closer to Yoongi like he was trying to hide behind him despite the sofa. “He wants to take me away
from Samchon.”

“He’s not going to take you away anymore. Samchon promised you last night. Remember our
pinky promise with thumb kiss?”

Taehyung hesitated, then shook his head, hard. “Keun-abeoji is bad people. I don’t want to talk to
bad people.”

Attention zoned in on Kim Seokjin at Taehyung’s blatant rejection. Kim Namjoon cocked his head
sideways like he was curious how Kim Seokjin would react. But Kim Seokjin appeared to only
have eyes for the boy.

“You’re right, Keun-abeoji is a bad person,” Kim Seokjin said softly. “I tried to take you away
from your samchon. But that’s because I made a promise to your appa that I’d take care of you. I
also thought I could give you a better life.”

Hoseok rolled his eyes. Madam Lee emitted a small sound of derision.

Taehyung lifted his face from Yoongi’s arm. He frowned at Kim Seokjin in affront. “But Samchon
takes good care of me too.”
“Yes, I was blind in the past and I can see that now. You were so happy before I came in and spoilt
everything. You had your samchon and all these amazing people in your life.” His eyes scanned
across Madam Lee and Hoseok. “It’s important to Keun-abeoji that you’re happy, so I won’t try to
separate you and your samchon again. I’m sorry that I made you so sad and miserable.”

Yoongi sensed Hoseok’s and Madam Lee’s surprise. Seeing someone of Kim Seokjin’s status
humbly apologizing to a small child was nothing short of exceptional.

“Keun-abeoji’s sorry?” Taehyung asked.

“Very much.” Kim Seokjin replied.

The boy pushed his lips outward, pondering. “So Keun-abeoji’s not going to do bad things again?”

“No, never again, at least not to you.”

Taehyung dragged his finger against the sofa’s fabric, making scratching noises.

“So…are you going to forgive your keun-abeoji?” Namjoon probed. “I agree your keun-abeoji‘s
been a bad person.” His eyes slid meaningfully over to Kim Seokjin, who returned the gaze with a
flat look. “But I think he’s trying to be someone better as well. It’ll be nice if you give another
chance so he can prove it to you.”

Caught in a dilemma, Taehyung looked up at Yoongi.

“You have to decide for yourself,” he said.

Taehyung turned to Hoseok, who shrugged, and to Madam Lee, who, with obvious effort,
restrained any remark she might have. That’d been Yoongi’s condition for their attendance—they’d
have to let Taehyung make his own choice when it came to Kim Seokjin.

Looking at a pouty Taehyung, Yoongi could see the gears turning in his head.

In the end, the boy regarded Kim Seokjin with his nose upturned and his tone somewhat
standoffish. “I need to think about it.”

Namjoon snorted. “Never would I have thought that I’d see someone hand you your ass like that,
when you’re always the one doing that to others,” he whispered to Kim Seokjin, but his voice was
perfectly audible to everyone who was clustered around the coffee table.

At Kim Seokjin’s expense, the atmosphere in the room lightened up a notch. Hoseok smirked.
Madam Lee’s lips trembled like she was trying not to crack a laugh.

Kim Seokjin ignored Kim Namjoon. He nodded at Taehyung. “That’s good enough.”

“After you forgive your keun-abeoji, you can come back to the big house for a stay,” Kim
Namjoon said. “Remember your room? We haven’t touched the plane bed and all the toys. All the
noona, ahjumma, ahjussi and hyung would love to see you again too.”

Taehyung’s nose scrunched. “I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to see the scary teachers.”

“No more scary teachers, remember?” Kim Seokjin said hurriedly. “Keun-abeoji promised.”

“But Jeungjo-halmoni’s scary too.”

“You won’t see her around. She’s gone back to Switzerland,” Kim Seokjin said.
 Taehyung still looked reluctant.

“How about if you come with your samchon?” Kim Namjoon suggested. He turned to Kim
Seokjin. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem, right?”

Taehyung thought about it and nodded, before Yoongi could voice any objection. “Then it’s okay,”
he said. “Can Hobi Hyung come too?”

“Can he?” Kim Namjoon asked Kim Seokjin, the playful note in his voice all too apparent.

Kim Seokjin cleared his throat. “Sure. We can arrange a room for him.”

“How about Lee-ahjumma?”

Kim Seokjin glanced at Madam Lee and his eyes flicked away just as quickly. Unsurprising;
Madam Lee tend to have that effect on people, no matter how rich or influential you were. You
could be the leader of South Korea’s most powerful conglomerate and still be transformed into a
chastised child before the force named Lee Bongjoo .

“She’s welcome too.” He said. “If she wants to come.”

Taehyung nodded, satisfied. “I’ll think about it,” he said again. Yoongi wondered where the boy
had picked up the phrase from, and if he’d be deliberately peppering his conversations with it in
the days ahead. It could even be months before he outgrew it.

Now that he had relaxed, Taehyung slid off the sofa to peer curiously at the cookies spread on the
coffee table.

Kim Namjoon leaned forward to point at the tin. “Kahi Noona said those are the peanut butter
ones. And those there are the cranberry ones.”

Taehyung picked up one and turned to give it to Yoongi. “Samchon, eat.”

Then, he repeated the same for Hoseok, Madam Lee, and Kim Namjoon. Lastly, although the man
had to wait in agonising suspense for a few extra seconds, Taehyung gave a cookie to Kim Seokjin
too.

::::::::::

Chapter End Notes

the penultimate chapter <3

thoughts?

see you for the last chapter, which i hope to get it out by this month. thanks for
reading!
 Chapter Thirty
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

For a while, life became a series of never-before events and experiences.

The song Yoongi had worked on with Hoseok was confirmed to be included in the debut album of
Big Hit’s first ever idol group. Though the song was to be a b-side track, the achievement signified
a milestone that made Yoongi glow with pride. His music was finally making its way to a larger
audience.

Then, in the beginning of May, when the weather had warmed enough to swap long pants for
shorts, Yoongi made good on the promise he’d made months ago. A bunch of kindergarteners
gathered at the kindergarten yard one morning and learned how to play basketball. Yoongi looped
in Hoseok to help coach the children. Hoseok turned out to be as good a basketball player as
Yoongi was. Together, they awed the easily impressed children—Hoseok with his nifty tricks,
Yoongi with his accuracy. It was a good thing Hoseok was there . The weight of the kids’
shimmering adoration would have been too heavy for Yoongi to bear alone.

But the experience that surprised Yoongi the most was the overnight stay at the Kim’s estate. He’d
thought Kim Seokjin was merely patronising Taehyung when he agreed that Yoongi, Hoseok and
Madam Lee could come along if the boy wished to go back to the mansion. That assumption
shattered when two cars arrived unannounced in their neighbourhood one evening and ferried them
to the estate. They picked up a befuddled Hoseok along the way.

Yoongi was formally introduced to the people Taehyung’d mentioned to him—the helper named
Ah-dal, the young nanny who still looked immensely apologetic that Taehyung had gone missing
under her care, the gardener who always let Taehyung help with gardening. Then Kim Seokjin
arrived a short while after they did and had dinner with them. The affair was every bit as awkward
as anyone could imagine, but thankfully the conversation-savvy Kim Namjoon was present to
enliven the atmosphere. An oblivious Taehyung helped too.

That night, Yoongi slept in Taehyung’s room, on that legendary plane bed. The mattress was the
most comfortable he’d ever slept on, but once was enough, he thought. He very much preferred his
tiny apartment where he didn’t have to worry about breaking anything.

He doubted he had any say in this matter. He supposed he would be coming back here in the near
future, until Taehyung found the courage to come by himself.

Life finally settled down when June rolled about, falling into a predictable pattern again.

Until one day Yoongi received a call from his mother, telling him that his father had passed away.

::::::::::

The number of guests in the funeral hall surprised Yoongi. His father had never struck him as a
popular man. Then again, in the photo at the altar, his father looked like an upstanding man with
his shoulders broad and his neck straight. There was no suggestion of the cruel and resentful his
father had been. Perhaps that was the front he presented to the world, a front that crumbled
whenever he returned home and could be as violent as he wished behind closed doors.

A few guests came forward to offer Yoongi obligatory condolences. Others gave Yoongi a wide
berth, glancing at him distaste when they though he wasn’t looking. That’s the unfilial son who ran
away and abandoned his parents, he could imagine them whispering.

But he certainly hadn’t imagined the conversation he’d overheard in the reception room. Over the
meal served, two middle-aged women lamented his father’s death.

“His daughter’s death must have broken his heart badly,” one said.

“Fifty-eight’s an early age to go,” the other agreed.

His father had indeed succumbed to a failing of his heart. But the heart had more likely given out
from the decades’ worth of bitterness and rage accumulated within than from Seungah’s death.
Seungah had never mattered to their father. His children had never mattered.

Nothing much had changed in this town. Not its shabby infrastructure, not its gossips, not its
people. But coming back again, Yoongi felt different, although he couldn’t pinpoint why.
Taehyung came back with him, much to Yoongi’s surprise. The town held bad memories for the
boy, so Yoongi’d originally intended to leave him under Madam Lee’s care for a couple of days.
Taehyung, reluctant to be apart from Yoongi, objected. He said he wasn’t scared anymore because
he was sure Yoongi wouldn’t leave him behind in Daegu. Nevertheless, he still made Yoongi
promise with their usual pinky hook and thumb kiss.

His mother had been relieved to see them both.

“He doesn’t deserve either of you, but thank you for coming back. I don’t think I can go through
this on my own.” She lowered her chin and dabbed at her eyes. Her hair had more strands of silver
than the last time they met.

Taehyung stayed glued to Yoongi’s side, clutching his hand. Yoongi could tell being in the same
hall where Seungah’s funeral had been held made Taehyung uneasy. The intrusive curiosity of the
guest didn’t help (Who’s the little boy? Oh, so he’s the grandson. I remember now. Didn’t the
daughter have him out of wedlock?). Although Taehyung displayed impressive resilience in face of
it all, Yoongi got him away from the funeral whenever he could, taking the boy to the sundry store
for ice cream or to the playground where a pair of swings still worked. When night came and all
the guests had left, they’d return to Yoongi’s old room, where they bunked.

On the day of the burial, they woke up early, dressed, and got on the chartered bus along with other
guests who’d come. The bus travelled through the same route to the same cemetery where Seungah
was. The Buddhist monk performing the rites was the same too. Next to him, Taehyung complied
with the sombre occasion, standing obediently with little fidgeting, trying his best not to be
distracted by the pale blue butterfly weaving around his ankles.

Then the rites was done. As the coffin lowered into the ground, Yoongi finally understood why he
felt like a different person, coming back this time. He felt no sneering satisfaction in his father’s
death, no anger in the fact that fate had allowed him to die so simply even though he’d been such a
terrible parent in life. There was no impatience to get the funeral over and done with just so he
could leave on the first bus out of town.

But it wasn’t indifference either, because an honest search in his heart revealed a strand of sadness.
No, it was pity. His father had died a selfish and miserable man. All his life, stewing in dark misery
and unfounded rage. He could have led a life better than the one he had lived if only he hadn’t
chosen himself over his children.

Yoongi had believed he was a reflection of his father. How could he, a person with an unkind
father, know how to be kind to a child? How could he even begin imagining raising a boy well?
How could he know anything about building a loving home for him?

But Yoongi had proven his father—himself—wrong.

I’m a better person than you could or have ever been. Inwardly, he said to his father as the coffin
disappeared over the edge of the hold. I can love Taehyung. I can be good for him. I can be the
person he needs. I already am.

The guests paid their final respects and dispersed one by one, until the only people left around the
grave were his mother, Taehyung, and himself. His mother was about to take her leave but paused
to look over her shoulder when Yoongi didn’t do the same.

“I’m going to visit Seungah,” he said. His voice contained no invitation for her to come along.

She nodded, getting the hint. “We’ll wait for you at the parking lot.”

Holding Taehyung’s hand, Yoongi climbed further up the grassy slope where rows after rows of
headstones stood. Unlike the day of Seungah’s burial, the sky was a clear blue, flawless except for
a lone, poetic cloud to the side.

“Where are we going, Samchon?”

“To see your eomma.”

Yoongi had only a vague recollection of the exact location of Seungah’s grave. It took him a while
to find it. Her grave occupied a spot a good distance away from their father’s. Yoongi’s lips curled
in amusement. If the graves had been next to each other’s, Seungah would probably spring out of
her eternal slumber to vehemently protest.

“That’s Eomma!” Taehyung squealed at the headshot embedded into the headstone. He let go of
Yoongi’s hand and pattered forward to peer fondly at Seungah’s photo.

Yoongi thought of the day he received the call about Seungah’s death. How had his mother
sounded? Sobbing, anguished. Yoongi had hung up on her and gone about his day as though
nothing was out of the ordinary. Seungah was nothing to him, so her death meant nothing as well.

Now that he could be honest with himself, he could admit that his indifference had been but a
fragile illusion. That day, he had been waiting for his mother to call again, to inform him that’d
been a mistake and Seungah was fine. Because how could she have died when she hadn’t properly
patched things up with him?

That second call from his mother never came. A day later, Yoongi went back to Daegu for
Seungah’s funeral.

The grief he had never allowed himself to feel for her leaked out of its containment. It slithered in
his veins, pooled in his chest and numbed his heart.

It had never been anger. It’d always been grief. Grief for losing Seungah twice — the first time
when she ran away; the second time, when she died.

Seungah’s absence would remain a hole he had learned how to live with, but one that no one would
be able to fill. She was his only sister. He could only imagine the kind of siblings they’d become if
they’d been allowed time to grow old together, a constant presence in each other’s lives.
Taehyung plodded back to Yoongi and lifted his face. He looked troubled. “I didn’t bring any
presents for Eomma.”

“What do you want to give her?”

Taehyung gave the question a little thought. “Maybe a drawing. Eomma likes my drawing. Or an
origami.”

“We can always come back again.”

They should travel back to Daegu more often, if only to see Seungah, put flowers—or presents—at
her grave to remind the world that though she was gone, she would never be forgotten.

::::::::::

It was nearly two in the afternoon by the time Yoongi and Taehyung got back to the house. His
mother was still tying up the loose ends at the funeral home. After taking a quick shower to rid
themselves of summer sweat, they got down to playing a few rounds of Old Maid, which Yoongi
found in his desk drawer. Taehyung took a nap after that while Yoongi idled the time away
catching up on emails and messages.

They left the room in search of snacks when Taehyung woke up with a grumbling stomach. As
they stepped out of the door, Yoongi spotted his mother sitting on the porch outside the kitchen, a
basket of peaches and some jars next to her. She stiffened in the midst of paring a peach when she
saw him.

“The orchard gave me these. They had a bountiful harvest this year. I was supposed to do this
sooner but—”

She caught herself and dropped her eyes, shaking her head slightly. Yoongi didn’t know if she had
reeled back to refrain from mentioning her dead husband, or that she was fearful her rambling
would annoy Yoongi. Both seemed equally likely. Their relationship had been strained for years,
and his father’s death wasn’t going to fix that overnight. They’d gotten so used to navigating
around the minefield that was his father that they had no idea how to be around each other now that
he was gone.

She sliced into the peach in her hand. She made another cut, deftly peeled back its skin, and
dislodged the wedge on the flat of her blade. She offered the peach slice to Taehyung.

“Try a slice?” She asked.

Taehyung glanced uncertainly at Yoongi, awkward around her too. Yoongi gave him a small nod,
encouraging him to go forward.

The boy approached his grandmother. He took the wedge from her, mumbled a shy thank you,
Halmoni, and popped the glistening fruit into his mouth. Even from where he stood, an angle
behind Taehyung, Yoongi could see the boy widening his eyes in delight and his enthusiastic
chew.

His mother smiled. “Sweet, right?”

She cut him another slice. Instead of popping it into his mouth, he pattered to Yoongi with the
slippery slice cupped in his hands and insisted he try it too. Yoongi complied. It was indeed sweet.

Taehyung went back to her and observed curiously as she split the remaining peaches and dropped
them into a large jar.

“What’s Halmoni doing?” He asked.

“We can’t keep the peaches for long if we leave them like this. So I’m making peach vinegar.”

Taehyung’s face puckered. “Vinegar smells bad,” he said with the honesty of a child.

She made a small noise. It took Yoongi a moment to realise she’d just laughed. When was the last
time he’d heard her laugh? A long time ago, maybe never.

“I promise that peach vinegar’s delicious. It’s good for your body too. I’ll give you a jar to take
home so you can taste it for yourself.”

Taehyung plopped down onto his knees beside her, feet tucked under his bottom. He watched in
fascination as her quick hands peeled the peaches, dug out their pits, cut the flesh into wedges. She
offered one to him every now and then, dropped the rest into the waiting jars.

A spectator, Yoongi sat down a distance away from them, his legs hanging over the edge of the
porch.

The sun had dipped lower in the sky. Its liquid light of gold poured into the courtyard, setting off
the brown in Taehyung’s hair and accentuating the lines on his mother’s face. Their heads were
bowed over a peach in Taehyung’s hand as Yoongi’s mother patiently showed him how to peel its
skin away now that she had made shallow cuts. She encouraged when Taehyung didn’t do so well,
praised when he succeeded. All in that soft voice of hers.

Watching them, Yoongi felt a sense of pity the second time that day. This time toward himself.
This was the childhood he could have had if his father had been a better man.

::::::::::

A knock sounded at night. Yoongi opened the door and found his mother right outside, looking
somewhat anxious.

“Yoongi, I’m so sorry. I totally forgot about this. I put it away so that your father wouldn’t find out
but I ended up forgetting about it. I was clearing the wardrobe just now and I came across it again.”

Yoongi’s eyes had fallen upon the small envelope in her hands. “What is it?”

“It’s from Seungah. She sent you this about a year after you left home. I was supposed to forward
it to you. I’m so—”

“It’s all right,” Yoongi said. “You don’t have to apologise. I’m not angry.”

I’m not Father, he thought.

As if she had read his mind, she stared at him for one odd moment. Her heaving chest slowed as
she came back to herself. “Of course you’re not. I just…” She fumbled for words then gave up. Her
eyes flitted over his shoulder. “Did I disturb Taehyung’s sleep?”

On the bed, Taehyung snoozed on, his limbs all wrapped around a pillow, oblivious to the dialogue
happening at the door.

“He sleeps like a rock,” Yoongi said.

The conversation came to a standstill and they had no idea how to fill the silence. His mother’s
gaze broke away and she ducked her head. “I’ll leave you to…” She gestured to the envelope that
was now in Yoongi’s hand. “…read this.”

She scurried down the porch, back to her bedroom. The thank you in his throat never made it past
his lips.

He weighted the envelope in his hand. It felt thicker and heavier than most of the envelopes he had
received in his life. He recognized Seungah’s penmanship on its front, the roundness of her
alphabets composing his name and their hometown address.

Your handwriting has no bones, he used to poke fun at her.

He stepped out and sat on the portion of the porch right outside his room. He left its door half-open
so that if Taehyung woke up, he’d only have to lift his head and see that Yoongi hadn’t gone
anywhere.

Like it’d been in the day, the night was cloudless. The wedge of moon shone its unobstructed light
into the courtyard, providing sufficient illumination as Yoongi turned the envelope over and
worked his finger under the glued flap.

He pulled out a stack of photos. Photos of a baby. In the very first one, the baby looked small as a
bean as it rested against a woman’s chest, its shut eyes twin lines. In the second, the baby was
bigger and less wrinkly, its gaze confused as though bewildered by the strangenesss of the world it
had woken up too. The next photo showed the baby flopped on its belly, its eyes so curved with
mirth and its mouth so wide that Yoongi could almost hear its chuckle. One after another, the
photos recorded the baby’s growth. The final photo was of the baby sitting on his own in a teddy
bear onesie, smiling straight at the camera.

At the back of the photos was a thinner piece of paper folded into half. Yoongi opened it and
before he could take a pause to steady himself, he began to read:

My dearest dongsaeng,

How have you been?

I hope this letter has made it into your hands. With technology, there are better ways than letter-
writing to get in touch with you, and I’d have done that if you haven’t blocked me entirely (tsk tsk,
I’m judging you so hard for that). So writing a letter it had to be. Did eomma hand this letter to
you? It couldn’t have been Appa, right? He’s just the kind of man who finds it beneath him to even
open the mailbox on his way in. Never thought I’d say this, but I’m for once thankful that he’s that
way. He’d have thrown this away without giving it too you.

Anyway! I have some big news for you. Are you ready to hear it? *Drumroll*…

You’re an uncle now.

Unbelievable, isn’t it? I can’t quite believe it myself either. Me, a mother. Everything still feels
surreal.

His name is Taehyung. I call him my baby bear. He was born last December on a snowy afternoon.
It had been a difficult pregnancy and labour, but I would gladly go through the nine months for
him again. He’s just the sweetest, most adorable boy (I mean, just take a look at the photos) and
I’m fortunate enough to call him mine. Everything they say about the depth of a mother’s love is
true. I’ve loved Taehyung before I met him, but I loved him even more after I met him. It sounds
impossible, but I think I’ll always love him more than yesterday.

I know you’re still mad at me, but I hope that you’re slightly less mad now. Call me, please? I’d
love for you to meet Taehyung. He’d be thrilled to meet you, and I just know that you’re going to be
the best Samchon ever.

There are so many things I want to tell you, but let’s reserve that for when we meet again. Can’t
wait.

Always thinking of you (and also praying that you’ve actually gotten to this point without ripping
the letter apart),

Noona

Yoongi put the letter aside. He picked up the photos again, looking over them one by one in greater
detail. Even when he was a baby, Taehyung’d already had the off-center freckle on his nose, the
long, fan-like eyelashes, the large ears Yoongi’d always thought was adorable.

Yoongi could not turn back the time and reverse the decisions he’d made in a fit of rage. There
were regrets he’d never be able to erase. All that was left for him now was his imagination.

So he imagined Seungah sitting next to him. He imagined her legs swinging as they dangled over
the porch. He imagined her excitement and wonder as she told him about the milestones Taehyung
achieved as he grew from an infant to a toddler to a child.

Looking at the photos, he could imagined, too, that he had been in Taehyung’s life right from the
very beginning.

::::::::::

“Have you taken everything with you?” Yoongi’s mother asked. “Did you remember to take the
bottle of peach vinegar?”

They were gathered in the courtyard, both Taehyung and he packed and ready to make the journey
back to Seoul.

Yoongi raised the paper bag in his hand. “It’s right here.”

She nodded and then reached a hand toward Taehyung’s shoulder, straightening the backpack strap
that had twisted upon itself. “Is your bag heavy? Do you want to take some of the stuff out and put
it in a separate bag?”

“It’s not heavy, Halmoni,” Taehyung tilted his chin proudly, “I’m a very strong boy.”

The proclamation teased an affectionate smile from her. She stroked the side of his head. “Of
course you are.” Her gaze turned to Yoongi, and her smile grew more reserved, hesitant. “I’ll send
you the dried peach when it’s ready.”

Yoongi nodded. She fell silent after that, as though scrabbling for more to say so that she could
delay the farewell by a few more seconds. But her shoulders ultimately slumped a few degrees in
resignation.

“You should get going. It’s getting late.”

“Take care of yourself,” Yoongi said.

“Bye bye, Halmoni.” Taehyung waved.

“Goodbye,” she said gently. “Have a safe journey home.”

Holding hands, they turned to leave. They had reached the gate when Yoongi couldn’t ignore the
backward force tugging at him. He halted in his steps and looked over his shoulder.

There his mother still stood, watching them. She carried herself a little taller now that his father
was gone, her shoulders looser with the relief that she never had to be observant of every shift in
another’s mood. But superimposed against the large house, she looked wispy, forlorn, lonely. The
loneliness reflected on her face, and Yoongi caught the emotion in the milliseconds before she
forced a smile through and nodded at him, as though she was telling him, Go on.

In that second, Yoongi thought of Taehyung, of how Taehyung still loved him despite the litany of
mistakes he’d made. Of how the boy was growing to trust Kim Seokjin again. Of how he had once
approached Madam Lee with a cup of popcorn even though she’d been far from friendly to him in
the beginning. Of how he ended up befriending Park Jimin despite having been bullied. Taehyung
had always chosen forgiveness over resentment, and he carried on sampling the world as though
he’d never been hurt.

Maybe Yoongi could attempt at something like that too.

“We don’t know when yet, but we’ll be back,” he said to her. His voice carried over the distance
that separated them. She stiffened in surprise. “You can come up to Seoul for a visit if you feel like
it. We can take you sightseeing.”

“We can take Halmoni to my favourite park!” Taehyung quipped enthusiastically, proving once
again his amazing capacity for forgiveness.

Her eyes swiveled from Yoongi to Taehyung and to Yoongi again, as though she couldn’t believe
what she’d just heard. Yoongi and Taehyung had essentially extended an invitation for her to be
part of their life.

“I…” Her lips quivered, her voice trembled. “I’d love that very much.”

Yoongi turned away.

“Yoongi,” she called just as he lifted his feet. He looked at her once more. “Thank you,” she said.

As he stepped out of the gate and turned down the road that’d bring him to the bus stop, Yoongi
was buoyed by a lightness he’d never experienced before.

The summer air was warm and scented with the sweetness of overripe fruits. Beside him,
Taehyung squealed when a squirrel scurried by. He excitedly pointed out to Yoongi that the
squirrel was in fact named Squirry and that they were friends.

Yoongi half-listened, half-distracted. He thought of all the paths and events that had brought him
back here to the starting point, a different person. A small part of him—he thought—would always
resent being born in a dysfunctional family. But if Seungah and he had grown up secure in their
parents’ love, then this would’ve been a world without Taehyung. What kind of world would that
be?

He had learned—was still learning—to forgive the past. The past was why he could have a present
and a future with Taehyung with it.
 They had barely made it to the bus stop when the shabby blue-and-yellow bus bumped up the
gravel road. It stopped in front of them, it’s doors parting with a hiss and a violent flap.

Yoongi took Taehyung’s hand. They got on the bus. They went home.

The End.

Chapter End Notes

after ~2.5 years, we've come to the end. :')

am i crazy to have written almost 190k words for a fanfic? i think to a certain extent, i
am. XD when i first started this story, i had a vision in mind: i wanted it to follow the
kdrama arcs, structures, the large cast of characters. i think i might have severely
underestimated how massive that'd make this story. at some point (or many, in fact), i
believed i'd written the story into an unsalvageable dead end and i'd never be able to
finish it. but here i am, relieved and proud.

yoongi samchon and baby taetae will always occupy a very special place in my heart.
so many things have happened in the past 2.5 years - my being jobless, my finding a
job, my feeling lost, my beloved pet dog dying, my completing my masters - but this
story had always been my safe place. I couldn't count the number of times i'd turned to
writing this story for refuge and to feel a sense of worth when my confidence was at an
all-time low.

if you've reached this point, thank you so much for coming on to this story with me.
this story has its flaws, but i still hope that you found joy, solace, an escape reading it.
to the special group of people who have been here since the very beginning and never
left, you are my real MVPs<3

if it's not too much to ask for, please leave me a comment, no matter who you are. tell
me the parts that touched you, made you laugh, turned you into goo etc. I'll always
check the comments.

this is where i stop writing about our resident samchon and his baby nephew, but their
story continues in their own universe. like ordinary people, they will always have their
woes and worries to deal with (imagine yoongi dealing with a teenager tae XD). but as
this story shows, no matter what happens, they will be okay.

<3
chestnut_ghost
31.1.2023
 Extra Vol. 1
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The elevator jerked violently in mid-ascent to the ninth floor, where the art studio was. The
movement threw Taehyung off-balance, and he stumbled against the metallic wall.

As he regained his balance, his eyes met the wide-blown ones of the chubby boy standing on the
other side of the elevator. Taehyung recognized him; they attended the same art studio though the
boy was a few levels below him.

“W-what’s going on?” He asked Taehyung. His bun-like cheeks quivered.

They were the only ones in the elevator. Before Taehyung could answer, the elevator jerked again.
Taehyung’s stomach lurched, and the chubby boy shrieked. With a metallic squeak, the elevator
juddered to a complete halt.

“W-What’s happening?” the chubby boy asked again, on the verge of tears.

“I don’t know,” Taehyung said, terrified himself.

He reached for the elevator buttons on his side and hit a few buttons experimentally. The elevator
remained still. Above the doors, the digital display glitched in gibberish.

Taehyung’s mouth became dry. “I think the elevator stopped working.”

The chubby boy burst into tears. His open-mouthed bawl reverberated in the confined space.

“Are we going to die here? I don’t want to die here,” the boy wailed.

Taehyung felt a stab of guilt at having made the boy cry, even though he hadn’t meant to. He
smothered his own panic and shimmied along the walls as cautiously and quickly as he could in
case the elevator moved again. When he arrived at the other side, he placed his hands on the boy’s
shoulders and summoned his most reassuring voice.

“We’re not going to die here. The firefighter hyungs will come and save us.”

The boy stopped crying abruptly. He stared at Taehyung with wet, curious eyes. “F-firefighter
hyungs w-will come?”

“Yes." Taehyung nodded with a confidence he didn’t feel. “I saw that on TV once. They save
people who are stuck in the elevator.”

“Really? I want to meet them. I like firefighter hyungs. They’re cool.”

Taehyung looked over the boy’s shoulder at the button panel on this side of the lift. He’d barely
removed his hands from the boy’s shoulders when the boy panicked and grabbed Taehyung’s arm.
“W-where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” Taehyung said. Allowing the boy to grip one of his arm, Taehyung extended his other
arm toward the button panel. An alarm rang out when he pressed the button inscribed with the
outline of a bell. He pressed a few more times for good measure.

Taehyung turned his head back to the boy and gave him a smile. “This way the firefighter hyungs
will know we’re here.”

The boy bobbed his head rapidly.

Taehyung slid down the wall and sat on the floor. The boy followed, sinking down next to
Taehyung.

“What’s your name?” Taehyung asked.

“I’m Jang Hoshi. I’m seven this year.”

“I’m Kim Taehyung. I’m ten.”

Hoshi snuggled closer to Taehyung and his soft cheek squished against Taehyung’s shoulder.
“Then you’re hyung.”

::::::::::

When Taehyung first suggested that he was old enough to go to school and his enrichment classes
alone, Yoongi’s first reaction was to resist. This was a big, bad world where children disappeared
all the time. He’d be damned if Taehyung became one of them.

But Taehyung persisted, broaching the topic every other day, tirelessly informing Yoongi of his
many classmates who’d long been allowed by their parents to do the same. Despite his misgivings,
Yoongi found his stance swaying. From an objective point of view, Seoul was safe. Moreover the
routine places Taehyung went to were a short bus ride away from their neighborhood.

He consulted Hoseok on this.

Hoseok had laughed and thumped Yoongi on the back. “You can’t stop the boy when he wants to
grow up. And he’s right; he’s old enough.”

So Yoongi relented, though on a number of conditions. Taehyung had to send Yoongi a message
when he arrived at his classes, when he was finished, and when he arrived home. He’d gotten
Taehyung a phone for this reason.

The past three months hadn’t given Yoongi a reason to regret his decision. Taehyung had been
dutiful in reporting his whereabouts, and Yoongi saw joy on Taehyung’s face in this newfound
slice of independence.

This afternoon, Taehyung was supposed to go to the studio where he took art lessons. It was
already a quarter past three, and a message from Taehyung should’ve already arrived. Just as
Yoongi was starting to wonder if Taehyung’d forgotten, his phone buzzed. The number of the art
studio crawled across its screen.

He answered.
The call had barely ended when he got up from his chair, grabbed his coat, and stormed out of his
personal studio at BigHit.

See, he was right. Something was bound to go wrong when you allowed your kid to be out alone in
this big, bad world.

::::::::::

“Hyung, why aren’t the firefighter hyungs coming?” Hoshi asked.

They had been trapped for what seemed like a long time. Taehyung had lost count of the number of
times he’d pressed the alarm button, but they no heard no indication that someone was coming to
save them. Taehyung’d tried to call his samchon using the phone his samchon bought him, but it
wasn’t working.

With every minute that passed, Hoshi’s face crumpled in terror and agitation.

Taehyung forced his voice to remain light. “I’m sure they’re on their way.”

Hoshi sniffled. “I want my eomma.”

Taehyung wanted his samchon too, but he kept that fact to himself. He was the hyung here.

“Oh, I remember I have something,” Taehyung said brightly.

Hoshi forgot about crying as he watched Taehyung unzip his bag and took out a food container. He
pulled the lid off.

“ Jja-jan ~ Star sandwiches!”

Hoshi’s face glowed with delight at the sandwiches that Lee-ajumma had made for Taehyung’s
afternoon snack. Hoshi’s round belly emitted a rumble. Taehyung took out a sandwich and held it
out for Hoshi, who took it somewhat shyly.
Hoshi lit up like a megawatt bulb after chomping off a corner of the star. “It’s delicious!”

Taehyung nodded proudly. “My Lee-ajumma’s the best cook in the world.”

After they’d polished off the sandwiches, they took out their sketchpads, pooled together their
drawing equipment, and played a game of Guess The Picture.

“I know! I know!” Hoshi raised his hand excitedly although he had no competition. “That’s a
butterfly!”

“No,” Taehyung shook his head imperiously, “this isn’t a butterfly.”

Hoshi deflated and cocked his head sideway in confusion. “But it’s a butterfly?”

“It’s not a butterfly. Look carefully.” Taehyung pushed the paper closer to Hoshi. “It’s a tiny
elephant with very large ears.”

Hoshi pulled back with awe. “Hyung, you’re so smart.”

Hoshi looked around him, grabbed the sketchpad he’d thrown by the wayside, and plopped belly-
down on the floor. “It’s my turn.” He picked up a pencil. “I’ll show I’m as smart as Taetae
Hyung.”

::::::::::

The live security footage wasn’t quite what Yoongi’d expected. On the grainy screen, Taehyung
and another boy were on the elevator’s floor, drawing away. They didn’t look to be in distress.

“I’ve been watching them since they sounded the alarm. They were a little upset in the beginning,
but eventually they ate, drank, and now they’re having fun. They’re handling this impressively
well, I’d say,” the security guard on duty said.
The woman next to Yoongi—the mother of the other boy, he presumed—emitted a sound a relief,
patting her own chest. She caught Yoongi’s eyes and gave him an small smile.

“I was so worried he’d have a meltdown,” she said. “He isn’t the calmest boy.”

A knock sounded and a woman’s head poked into the security room.

“The firefighters are here.”

::::::::::

From above came the sounds of metal being pried open. Taehyung and Hoshi instinctively raised
their faces to the elevator’s ceiling. They froze and waited, their heartbeats loud in their ears.

The elevator shivered slightly as a soft thud came next, closer than the noises before.

Hoshi pushed himself against Taehyung. His voice trembled. “Hyung, what’s going on?”

With his heart in his throat, Taehyung couldn’t reply. Creaks and clangs travelled down, reminding
him of the horror movie he’d once watched and regretted doing so..

A moment later, the square panel in the ceiling came loose.Gloved hands lifted it aside. Taehyung
tensed, but it was two helmeted heads that appeared over the edge, not the monster he’d dreaded.
He recognised that black helmets with the yellow stripe around its base.

“The firefighter hyungs are here.” Taehyung nudged Hoshi eagerly, and Hoshi lifted his face from
where he’d buried it in Taehyung’s arm.

“Little ones, are you all right down there?” One of the firefighter hyungs called down.

“We’re all right.” Taehyung mustered his steadiest, clearest voice.

“We’re coming right down, all right? Just hang in there for a bit.”

A ladder was lowered through the opening. One firefighter hyung climbed down and scanned
Hoshi and Taehyung from head to toe. “Not injured, are we?”

They shook their heads.

“Shall we gather your belongings?”

After Taehyung and Hoshi had their belongings in their bags and their bags on their shoulders, the
firefighter hyung asked, “All right, who wants to go first?”

Taehyung pointed at Hoshi. “He can go first.” He didn’t want to spend another second here, but
being the younger one, Hoshi must be more terrified than he was.

Hoshi climbed gingerly up the ladder.The firefighter hyung followed, supporting Hoshi from
behind. Soon, the both of them disappeared through the square opening, and Taehyung was the
only one left in the elevator.

His eyes prickled. His guts twisted. What if they forgot all about him?

The other firefighter hyung peered down, as though sensing the spike in his terror. “Don’t worry,
we’re getting you out really soon.”

Taehyung nodded and swallowed his tears. “Please hurry.”

::::::::::

The firefighters clustered around the elevator doors on the seventh floor, where the problematic
elevator was stuck fifteen feet below. A pulley system had been set up and two firefighters had
been sent down.

Yoongi and the other boy’s mother waited unobtrusively by the side. She craned her neck
anxiously at the operation. Yoongi was never a person who let his imagination run morbidly wild–
well, except for matters concerning Taehyung’s wellbeing. He forced himself not to think about
the thousand ways the rescue could go wrong.

Fifteen minutes later, one of the firefighters were hauled out of the elevator shaft, the other boy–a
round little one–strapped to his front. The boy brightened at the sight of his mother.

“Eomma!” He made a beeline toward her the moment he was released from the harness.

She enfolded him in her arms. “My dear boy, are you all right? You scared Eomma to death.”

“I’m all right, Eomma,” the boy said happily. “I met a really nice Hyung in the lift.”

She stiffened, and Yoongi felt her awkward gaze flitting to him, as though struck by the realisation
that she should not be so conspicuously celebrating when Taehyung had yet been recovered. She
surreptitiously straightened her back and quietened next to Yoongi, but out of the corner of his
eyes, he saw her clutching her son close.

It was some more minutes before Taehyung surfaced. Over the shoulders of the firefighters who
were unbuckling the harness off him, his gaze met Yoongi’s. His eyes widened. The corner of his
lips seemed to tremble. He looked a little pale.

“Hyung!” The round little boy waved at Taehyung, then tugged his mother’s hand. “Eomma, that’s
the hyung.”

Taehyung squared his shoulders, fixed his expression, and came briskly toward them.

“Hyung, this is my eomma,” the boy introduced enthusiastically.

Manners taught Taehyung to greet her with a small bow.

“Eomma, Hyung was so brave! He wasn’t scared at all just now. He played with me so I wasn’t
scared. He also shared his sandwiches with me.”
The boy’s mother expressed her profuse thanks. Entirely enamoured by Taehyung, the boy effused
on for a few more minutes about Taehyung and his bravery. His mother barely managed to stop
him, promising him that he would see Taehyung around again, and that if he’d like, he could invite
Taehyung over to their house to play with him. The boy bade a reluctant goodbye to Taehyung and
left with his mother by the stairway.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi asked when it was just the two of them. A few feet away, the firefighters
were dismantling the pulley system and gathering their equipment.

Taehyung’s chin had dipped to his chest, barring Yoongi from reading his expression. But his
shoulders had wilted and a tremble fissured through his body. He swayed forward and wrapped his
arms around Yoongi. He leaned his head against Yoongi’s torso. Yoongi heard sniffles.

It’d been a long time since Taehyung hugged him like this. At ten years old, Taehyung had greater
emotional fortitude The list of things he was terrified of got with every passing year. Yoongi
couldn’t remember the last time Taehyung’d cried.

“I’m not brave at all, Samchon,” Taehyung said. “I was so scared.”

Yoongi rested a hand on Taehyung’s head, and realised that Taehyung’d grown taller yet again.
That thought brought on a pinch of sadness. Could time ever slow down?

“We can be brave and scared at the same time. In fact, the more scared we are, the braver we have
to be. I’m really proud of what you did for that little boy despite being scared.”

He looked up at Yoongi with those wide-as-ever eyes, now wet and a little red. “I’m the hyung. I
should comfort him.”

“And it worked, didn’t it?”

Taehyung gave it some thought and nodded.

::::::::::
 Something became clear to Yoongi that day.

Taehyung’d always be growing. Taller, stronger, wiser. He was already at that age where he put
others before himself.

In a few years’ time, Taehyung wouldn’t be as terrified of being trapped in the lift as he was today.
He’d become mature enough to not have to report his whereabouts to Yoongi. He’d be filled with a
greater curiosity for freedom and the outside world, and eventually, he’d ask Yoongi if he could go
on a trip with his friends, if he could go overseas alone, if he could move out and live alone. Then,
there would come a day where Taehyung’d stop seeking Yoongi’s permission for the things he
wished to do.

But no matter how old Taehyung grew, there would be days he’d be scared again, just like today.
Life threw curveballs; accidents happen. As much as Yoongi wished he could protect Taehyung
forever, he understood that his role in Taehyung’s life was not to be his shield.

Instead, he’d be a place Taehyung could return to, a place where he could be shed his front and be
vulnerable.

A safe harbour.

End of [Extra Vol. 1]

Chapter End Notes

it feels good to dabble in this verse again. <3

 Extra Vol. 2
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

[Note: Taehyung’s about seven here]

Taehyung had dozed off by the time Yoongi finished his work for the night. The computer time
read 8:30 p.m. — on the earlier side for Taehyung’s usual bed time. But the boy had just started
elementary school that week and was in the midst of adjusting to the longer hours and the more
intense timetable.

Yoongi got up from his workstation and walked over to the study desk where Taehyung had
slumped over, his head pillowed on a folded arm. They had gotten rid of the play table earlier that
year when Taehyung had physically outgrown it. The boy had been upset with the switch to a desk
at first. There’s no chair for Toka to sit with me, he’d said.

Madam Lee had promptly solved that with a small woven basket padded with old towels. The
dinosaur plushie now sat in that basket on the floor, right beside Taehyung’s chair. Yoongi nudged
Toka and the basket aside with his feet before he could trip. Taehyung would frown in disapproval
if he caught Yoongi doing that. Two years had gone by and Yoongi had yet figured out Taehyung’s
fixation with the silly plushie.

Yoongi took the pencil that Taehyung had fallen asleep holding and dropped it into the pencil case.
He was about to pick Taehyung up but stopped when his eyes landed on the worksheet wedged
under Taehyung’s hand. It was not so much that the worksheet had distracted him than the words
Namjoon Hyung that had.

He carefully lifted Taehyung’s hand, slid the worksheet out, then gently set the hand back onto the
desk.

The question at the top of the paper read: What do you want to become when you grow up? Write
some sentences to explain!

Taehyung didn’t have the best penmanship. His sentences rose and fell like a wave despite the
answer lines, and the composition of his hangeul characters was disproportionate. It was
nonetheless readable, which was all anyone could ask from a first grader.

There are many people I want to become when I grow up , Taehyung’d written.

I want to be strong like Namjoon Hyung. He opens cookie jars and break things easily.

Really? Mentioning Kim Namjoon first? And wasn’t the more appropriate word clumsy than
strong?

Yoongi moved on.

I want to be handsome like Keun-Abeoji. Keun-Abeoji is the most handsome person in the world.

That was certainly untrue. Kim Seokji looked decent, presentable, but lacked that X-factor that
drew people in. He was at best a flower without a scent.

I want to be friendly like Hobi Hyung. He makes people laugh and feel good.
True. Hoseok was great at lifting people’s mood, but wasn’t he sometimes a little annoying…?

I want to be a good cook like Lee Ahjumma. She makes the best food in the world.

No denying here… but surely the rice balls he made for Taehyung were worth a mention too?

Yoongi finally, finally made an appearance in the last sentence.

I want to be like Samchon —

That was it. The sentence hung incomplete.

Yoongi lowered the paper and looked at Taehyung, unamused. The oblivious boy slept on, mouth
slightly open, a line of drool hanging from the corner of his lips. Yoongi didn’t know which was
worse—that he was the last to be mentioned, or that Taehyung had fallen asleep while writing
about him.

He had half the mind to prod the boy awake and get him to finish the composition. Just half the
mind. Maybe less than that. And certainly not because he wanted to see what the boy would write
about him, but because good boys finished their homework.

But in the end Yoongi put the worksheet aside.

Who cares about what Taehyung had to say about him in a little composition? He was not insecure
like that.

He picked Taehyung up and carried him to the bed.

::::::::::

Two months went by before Yoongi saw that worksheet again. Before then, Yoongi’d only very
occasionally thought of it. It was a thorn that poked him in the side every now and then, just a little
uncomfortable but mostly harmless.

Yoongi stepped into the classroom along with the other parents who’d come to the elementary
school’s open house. Taehyung sat somewhere in the front. He waved enthusiastically when he
saw Yoongi.

With their parents and other ahjussi and ahjumma observing their lesson, the children put on their
best behaviour that day. Their small hands flew up to answer the teacher’s questions. Taehyung
was called to answer one, and he did so correctly. Yoongi flashed him a discreet thumbs-up that
had the boy sitting taller.

Yoongi glanced about him. On the wall beside him was a soft board displaying the children’s
composition worksheets. He found Taehyung’s handwriting immediately. The unfinished sentence
of that night now revealed itself in its complete glory.

I want to be like Samchon most of all. He is the coolest person in the whole wide world!

The finished composition came with a box in which Taehyung'd drawn the five adults mentioned
in his composition and himself. Yoongi could tell who was who—Hoseok with the biggest smile,
Madam Lee with the curly hair, Kim Seokjin in a suit, Kim Namjoon who stretched from the box’s
bottom border to the top.

Yoongi raised his eyebrows at the other four adults in the picture.
 See that? He wants to be like me most of all. Most of all. See that exclamation mark too? And not
just “the whole world” but “the whole wide world”.

Kim Namjoon was strong. Kim Seokjin was handsome. Hoseok was friendly. Madam Lee was a
good cook.

Yoongi’d take being cool over strong, handsome, friendly, or a good cook any day.

Chapter End Notes

taetae and his samchon are still doing well <3

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!