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If Seungkwan’s being honest, Chwe Hansol is far from the worst parent he has to deal with at his job. Sure, he’s late every day and forgets Seoyun’s toothbrush more often than he remembers it, but he’s obviously trying, and he doesn’t seem like a terrible person. More importantly, he very clearly doesn’t have his shit together well enough to try and micromanage what Seoyun does while she’s at daycare, which is a strong point in his favour. Some of the other kids’ moms somehow have the time and energy to call up the nursery all day every day, asking questions about the meals, the activities, even their children’s social lives. Seungkwan has great phone voice, sure, but that doesn’t mean he wants to use it spending hours placating Ryu Taeyoung’s mom every single day.
By comparison awkward, fumbling Hansol doesn’t look quite so bad.
Plus, Seungkwan loves Seoyun. They’re not supposed to pick favourites, obviously, but everyone does, and Seoyun is Seungkwan’s. Objectively, she’s hard to deal with — she’s moody, her attitude isn’t great, and she’s already the kind of smart that makes her question everything she’s told. She’s also a biter, which is generally a huge red flag in a daycare setting. Or, well. In any setting, really.
But Seungkwan remembers Seoyun’s first day so vividly — she’d been practically feral, sobbing so loudly her face was closer to purple than red. It had taken nearly an hour to calm her down. Seungkwan had sat with her in the nap room, the lights turned down low in a futile attempt to soothe her. “I want eomma,” she’d said, only once, so hopeless it made something inside Seungkwan ache. Her angry little face had been a mess of snot and tears and he couldn’t comfort her, not the way he comforted the other children. He couldn’t give her soothing platitudes to tide her over until eomma came to take her home, because both of them knew Seoyun’s eomma wasn’t coming to take her home that day.
From what Seungkwan understood of the situation, Seoyun’s eomma wasn’t coming at all.
So Seungkwan guesses he should be more forgiving towards Hansol, maybe. He might be late every day but he always shows up, and that seems to be more than anyone else in Seoyun’s life can manage.
Today Seoyun doesn’t want to go home, her face already set in a scowl before Hansol even arrives to get her. It wasn’t a great day — Seoyun didn’t sleep at nap time, wouldn’t eat the soup they served for lunch. Seungkwan loves her, but he’s looking forward to unloading her onto someone else.
When Hansol finally shows up it’s a nightmare from the start, Seoyun scowling as Hansol comes forward to greet her, turning her head away when he kneels down to say hello.
“Seoyun-ah,” Seungkwan admonishes gently, keeping his voice light and airy. “Is that how we greet someone who loves us?”
Seoyun just grunts, squirming and wriggling as Hansol tries to wrestle her into her coat — she’d refused to put it on earlier despite Seungkwan’s best efforts, and after the day she’d had he’d been afraid to push.
He should have, he realizes now, watching with mounting horror as Seoyun’s whines grow in both volume in pitch, escalating until finally she pushes Hansol away with a tiny flailing fist to his jaw, his head jerking back at the impact.
“Seoyun,” Seungkwan gasps before he can help it, but Hansol’s the one he’s looking at. Seungkwan’s afraid, he realizes, his eyes fixed on Hansol’s face as he waits for his reaction, his breath caught in his throat.
Hansol closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in, and then opens them again. His face is very carefully blank.
“Alright,” he says, pulling the coat back and folding it over his arm. He stands up slowly. Seoyun seems to understand she crossed a line — she isn’t whining anymore, one eye squinting open like she’s waiting, too.
“Let’s go home, Seoyun-ah,” is all Hansol says, and he sounds exhausted. Hansol swings her up easily this time, his hands under her armpits so he can pull her close to him. He turns to Seungkwan, a thin smile on his face. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, and he seems like he really means it. Seungkwan watches Hansol’s hand smooth up and down Seoyun’s back as they turn to leave, somehow still so gentle even after everything she’s done, and something about it makes Seungkwan open his mouth before he even realizes what he’s doing.
“No,” he calls. “Wait.”
Hansol startles, turning back to look at him.
“Seoyun-ah,” Seungkwan says, voice gentle but firm. “Is that the way we act at school? Do we do things like that to our friends?”
There’s a very long pause, and then Seoyun shakes her head, a tiny movement against Hansol’s shoulder.
“How do we apologize when we hurt our friends?” Seungkwan continues, not looking at Hansol as he says it. There’s another pause, and then Seoyun pushes her face into the material of Hansol’s coat, muffling her voice completely. “Can you say it one more time? We couldn’t hear your pretty voice.” Seungkwan forces as much sweetness into his tone as he can manage, the last of his reserves at the end of the day.
Seoyun’s face reappears, red and blotchy, clearly exhausted. Seungkwan can barely find it in himself to feel sympathetic for her — if this doesn’t work he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Cry right along with her, maybe. Make a scene on the floor at the White Cloud Nursery.
“I’m sorry,” Seoyun says in a tiny voice, and Seungkwan gasps in exaggerated delight.
“Seoyun-ah! What a beautiful apology! Thank you!” He’s rewarded with a suspicious glare, but he forces himself to keep going, coming closer to thumb at her red cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay Seoyun-ah?”
She nods tiredly, her head dropping back to Hansol’s shoulder. Seungkwan pulls back, realizing belatedly that coming closer to Seoyun meant getting closer to Hansol, too, and like this he has to look up to meet Hansol’s eyes. He flushes when he finds Hansol watching him, a serious expression on his face.
“Thanks,” Hansol says quietly, gaze fixed on Seungkwan’s. It’s too intense, maybe, but it feels kind of nice to have someone’s full attention like that.
“It was nothing,” Seungkwan says, voice faltering a little. “It’s my job.”
It isn’t, and he’s pretty sure Hansol knows that, but he nods in understanding anyway.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, voice kind like a promise, before he turns to head towards the door for real, Seoyun deadweight in his arms.
“On time this time,” Seungkwan calls after him, and he’s rewarded with Hansol’s chuckle on his way out.
“I knew you’d find something that suited you,” Seungkwan’s mother says fondly on the phone that night, literally right after he finishes describing, in graphic detail, how Miyeong sneezed on his face three times after lunch. “I’m so proud of you.”
Seungkwan makes a skeptical sound, trying to open the soup he’d gotten delivered without splashing it all over the counter.
Everyone is always saying things like that to Seungkwan. “Oh, you’re so lucky” and “You found the perfect career” and “You’re working at your dream job,” which, like. First of all, Seungkwan’s dream job is to be the seventh member of the Wonder Girls, so that isn’t even accurate. But more importantly, just because he’s good at it doesn’t mean it isn’t work. He loves all of the godless terrors under his charge, but when he goes home to a quiet apartment it’s a relief every single time.
His mother pauses.
“Does it not?” she asks carefully. Seungkwan’s hand jerks, the tiniest tremor. The soup spills immediately, of course, and Seungkwan yelps, jumping back and shaking his hand out before he reaches for a towel to mop it up.
“Sorry,” he says, glancing up towards the phone screen. His mother shakes her head.
“Be careful, Seungkwan-ah,” she admonishes gently. Seungkwan wrinkles his nose, dropping the towel in the sink and opening the cabinet to search for a bowl.
“I am, eomma,” he says. He is. Seungkwan is always careful. He always does what he’s supposed to do. He was careful getting his degree, careful choosing his job. He’s careful every day with the kids.
I’m tired of it. The words want to come out, but what kind of selfish son would say that? Seungkwan swallows them back, giving a smile to the phone camera instead. His mother smiles in return, and he lets the warmth of it wash over him.
“I’ll let you go,” she says. “Eat well.”
“I will,” Seungkwan says, sing-song.
They hang up with a flurry of cutesy I love yous, and then it’s just Seungkwan and his soup, alone in his tiny kitchen.
Kissing Chwe Hansol on his couch isn’t careful, and maybe Seungkwan should be ashamed of how much of a thrill that gives him.
He never thought a fling with a parent would be something he’d have to worry about, which was maybe heteronormative of him — or, is that it? Is heteronormative the right one? Seungkwan isn’t sure, but he definitely should have been more openminded. He’s also pretty sure he shouldn’t be doing it at all, so he asks Jisoo for his opinion before work.
Jisoo wrinkles his nose, looking confused.
“It’s whatever,” he says. Seungkwan huffs out an irritated breath, disappointed by his non-reaction.
“It’s not like, a conflict of interest?” he presses.
“We’re not doctors,” Jisoo says. He’s looking at Seungkwan like he’s lost it completely, which is honestly a pretty typical reaction from him, but still. “Just don’t do anything creepy or stupid, it’s fine.”
“Ugh,” Seungkwan whines. That should be what he wanted to hear, but he does kind of wish Jisoo had given him just a little bit to work with, here. God. If Seokmin was still here he would know what to do.
Jisoo narrows his eyes.
“Did you … want it to be bad?” he asks, the judgment in his voice more than Seungkwan is equipped to handle at 7 A.M.
“No,” Seungkwan says quickly. “Obviously not. It’s whatever, like you said.”
“Okay,” Jisoo says slowly, pushing himself up from the comically small table. “Well. I’m gonna go check the arts and crafts room, yell if you need me.”
They both know there’s nothing to do in the arts and crafts room — Jisoo’s just gonna sit in there pretending to count crayons until the first kid shows up, while Seungkwan does the actually important prep work. Seungkwan usually lets him get away with it in exchange for forcing Jisoo to deal with the most difficult moms, pushing them in his direction with an angelic smile as soon as they mention “dietary restrictions.”
“Sure thing!” Seungkwan says brightly. “I’ll let you know as soon as Taeyoung and his mom get here!”
Jisoo groans at the thought, already halfway out the door. Seungkwan beams up at him in response.
For their second date they go to the aquarium, Seoyun holding onto Seungkwan’s hand as she squints at the jellyfish suspiciously and hides from the sharks. She likes the starfish pool best, reaching interestedly into the water as Hansol gently reminds her to be careful. He crouches down and spends nearly twenty minutes like that, not letting any discomfort show on his face even though his knees have to be killing him. Seungkwan likes him a lot, he realizes with some alarm.
He follows them back to their apartment, tagging along even though there’s no real reason for him not to say goodbye at the subway station. It’s easier, Seungkwan tells himself, if he’s there to help entertain Seoyun on the train. It definitely isn’t because he likes the warmth of Hansol standing next to him, his broad shoulders brushing Seungkwan’s with every lurch of the train car.
Hansol rewards him with a kiss after Seoyun goes down for her nap, both their cheeks warm with embarrassment, laughing awkwardly in his terrible kitchen.
“Aish,” Seungkwan mutters, pushing himself up to sit on the counter so he can reel Hansol in closer, trying not to wonder when it was last wiped down — the last time he came over, probably. Ugh. “You really live like this.”
“I do,” Hansol nods with a little grimace, and Seungkwan winces. Too much. He reaches for Hansol’s face, feeling the clench of his jaw between his palms.
“You’re doing well,” Seungkwan says seriously. Hansol snorts, trying to look away, but Seungkwan doesn’t let him go.
“I’m not, but thanks.” Seungkwan frowns at Hansol’s words. His hold gets even firmer, pressing indents into Hansol’s skin. Hansol doesn’t flinch.
“You are,” Seungkwan says insistently. Hansol’s eyebrows are knit together so seriously. Seungkwan wants to reach up and smooth them out, but he can’t seem to make himself loosen his grip. “Anyone can see you really love her,” Seungkwan adds. “Even if it’s hard.”
“She’s just sad,” Hansol says quietly. Seungkwan hums, sympathetic.
“You’re sad, too.” The way they’re positioned makes it seem like a solemn declaration, not a statement of fact.
“Not as much now,” Hansol says, the expression on his face lightening a fraction, his eyebrows relaxing without Seungkwan needing to touch them. Seungkwan hums in satisfaction, pulling him in to kiss him, firm like a brand.
“I want to take you out for real,” Hansol whispers, pressing another kiss against Seungkwan’s mouth before he pulls back again. “I’ll get someone to watch Seoyun.”
Seungkwan wrinkles his nose skeptically — he hasn’t gotten the impression that there are many people in Hansol’s life who can do that for him, honestly, but he doesn’t know how to say that in a way that won’t make him sound like an asshole.
“This is fine,” is what he settles on, just as there’s a loud thump coming from Seoyun’s room, immediately followed by an indignant squawk. Hansol closes his eyes with a helpless sigh and Seungkwan breathes out a laugh of his own, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Hansol’s shoulder. “Okay,” he amends. “Maybe it would be nice.”
“Okay,” Hansol agrees, backing up far enough to help Seungkwan down from the counter, his hands steady on Seungkwan’s waist. Seungkwan shivers a little, darting up to give him one last peck on the cheek.
He’s smiling like a fool as he reaches for Hansol’s hand, and they walk towards Seoyun’s room together.