Work Text:
“How was your first day at school, aegiya?”
Chan sets a plate of perfect apple bunnies in front of Jihoon, who is currently into bunnies and also apples. Hopefully it’ll last, because it’s made getting him to eat fruit much easier the past couple of months. That’s one less worry on Chan’s plate—and he worries about so many fucking things these days. Learning how to cut the apples into bunnies is worth it for the way Jihoon eats them without fuss.
“I made a friend today! He says his appa’s name is Jihoon too, so we have to be friends.” Jihoon shoves an entire apple slice into his mouth, and Chan watches to make sure he doesn’t choke. When he’s swallowed, Jihoon continues: “Can I go over to Kyungmin’s house? He invited me this Saturday.”
“Did you get his appa’s phone number, like I taught you?”
It’s not that Chan wants to say no. He’s just all too aware of the elaborate plans children can make and wants to check in with Kyungmin’s father that it’s okay if Jihoon goes over on Saturday. And if it’d be okay if Jihoon stayed until evening, since Chan has work until five on Saturday and he’ll have to drop Jihoon off before that. Jihoon nods, enthusiastic, though, rummaging through his backpack to produce a slightly crumpled business card.
The cardstock is expensive-feeling, the embossed lettering reading “Lee Jihoon” in a neat and modern font, and Chan smiles. Realistically, he knows Jihoon is a common name and there’s other Lee Jihoons, but the name will always be associated with his baby boy. It’s a good thing Chan insisted Jihoon get his last name.
“Okay. I’ll call Kyungmin’s appa after dinner and set it up.” Chan sticks the business card to the fridge under one of Jihoon’s Detective Conan magnets. “Eat your apples, Jihoonie, and then it’s time for homework.”
Even though their life is hectic, their after-school routine is very set. Jihoon finishes his apples and sits at the counter doing homework while Chan makes them dinner. Tonight is bibimbap, because Chan needs to buy groceries and it’s best made with whatever’s left in the fridge before getting groceries. Jihoon is still at the stage where Chan can help him with his homework, so after a quick check, Chan feeds him dinner and then sends Jihoon off to watch a couple episodes of Detective Conan before bed.
He calls the number on the business card, the personal one handwritten on the back, and waits a few moments for it to connect. The smooth and slightly brusque voice on the other end says hello. Chan forgets Korean for a moment upon hearing it.
“Sorry, um—I’m Lee Chan. Is this Lee Jihoon? My son said your son, Kyungmin, invited him over this Saturday? I just wanted to check if that’s okay.”
“One moment,” the person on the other end says. “What is your son’s name?”
“It’s Lee Jihoon.” Silence from the other Lee Jihoon. Chan tries to think of a way to explain the name situation but draws a blank until he remembers how Jihoon met Kyungmin. “Your son said it was the same as yours and befriended him.”
“Kyungmin, did you invite a boy named Lee Jihoon over?”
A muffled conversation happens on the other side of the phone, and Chan waits. He keeps an ear out for Jihoon, who is thankfully occupied with Detective Conan. Then, Kyungmin’s father picks the phone back up.
“Yes, it’s fine if your son comes over on Saturday.” There’s a pause, and Chan senses he should wait. “You should know my wife died about a year ago, so it’s just me in the house. I understand if you don’t feel comfortable with that.”
Chan senses the story in the gap between my wife and just me: Lee Jihoon’s an alpha. Chan mulls that over for a moment. His son’s never had alpha presence in life, and Chan doesn’t believe they need one but… well. It would be good for his Jihoon to get acquainted with alphas. Chan’s intuition says Jihoon’s going to be an omega, and it would be better for him to learn to be comfortable around alphas before his presentation.
“That’s fine,” Chan says, trying to sound bright and friendly about it, “I have work on Saturday, so I’d need to drop him off around 8:30 in the morning and I’d pick him up at around 5:30 at night.”
“In that case, we have a pool. If your son has swim trunks, he can bring them along, and that should keep them entertained for most of the day.” There’s a pause on the other end, this one more contemplative. “You could stay for dinner, if you like. Kyungmin will want barbecue, and barbecue’s really not a two-person dinner.”
Dinner is a bigger ask. Chan is fine with a relative stranger looking over his kid for a day, because there’s another child involved, a recent wife, and emergency numbers… Despite wanting his son to grow up with a healthy relationship to alphas, Chan finds himself wary of the idea of being around an unknown alpha. He doesn’t have much love for alphas after Jihoon’s father left them. Still. A wife was in the picture until recently, so he doubts anything terrible will happen.
“We’ll see.” Chan leaves it open-ended, more for his own sake than anything. “Jihoon—my son—can be fussy sometimes. He might want to go home.”
“Of course. I’ll see you on Saturday, then.”
After exchanging addresses and thanking the alpha, Chan glances at the time and washes the dishes before collecting Jihoon for bed. They go through their nighttime routine—face washing and teeth brushing and getting settled into their nest in pajamas—before Chan kisses his son’s forehead.
“Goodnight. Kyungmin’s appa said you could go over to their house and go swimming on Saturday.” Jihoon sits up and tries to leave their nest, and Chan laughs, keeping him in place. “Settle down. You can pack tomorrow, okay? Let’s sleep now.”
Eventually, Jihoon settles down, and life goes on. The days between Wednesday and Saturday pass, and then Jihoon is vibrating in the back seat as Chan drives him to the address Kyungmin’s dad gave. He’s excitedly talking about hanging out with Kyungmin and everything they’re going to do, and Chan loves that. He hasn’t seen Jihoon this happy in a while, so Chan’s happy about this. If it goes well, Chan hopes they can have more playdates.
Chan means to suggest that to Kyungmin’s dad, but then the door to the upscale house opens, and Chan forgets how to speak Korean again. The alpha is short, features soft in a way that makes Chan think he was mistaken about Jihoon’s gender, and smells like something deep and woodsy. The scent tells Chan his assumption was likely correct.
“Hello,” the older Lee Jihoon says, “you must be Kyungmin’s friend.”
“Hello, Jihoon-ssi! I’m Jihoon too.” Jihoon waves, enthusiastic, and Chan laughs. “You can call me Jiji if it’s confusing—that’s what halmeoni calls me.”
“Okay, Jiji. Kyungmin’s finishing breakfast if you want to go in. I have to talk with your appa.”
Jihoon nods, barely remembering to take his shoes off before heading into the house. Then it’s just Chan and the other Jihoon. He swallows, action reflexive, and is suddenly uneasy with being alone with an alpha. It’s fine; he can do this.
“I just wanted to confirm the phone number you gave me works for emergencies.” Jihoon-ssi smiles at Chan, and it puts him at ease. He doesn’t feel 100% comfortable interacting with an alpha, but he feels better about Jihoon-ssi in particular. “You’re still welcome to have dinner with us.”
“Yes, my cellphone works for emergencies.” Chan still isn’t sure how he’d feel about dinner, so he sidesteps it for right now. “I can also leave the studio’s phone if I can’t be reached.”
“The studio?”
“Ah, I work at a dance studio.” That feels like too much information, but Chan figures it can’t be helped. “You can call the studio, and the receptionist will come get me.”
“Ah, okay. Yes, leave the studio’s number and I’ll only call if there’s a problem.” Jihoon -ssi holds out his phone, and Chan takes it to input the studio’s number. “I know it might be… strange to leave your son with an alpha, but I was the primary caretaker for Kyungmin even before my wife died because I work from home.”
It would be a lie to say Chan is 100% okay leaving Jihoon alone with an alpha, and, as a rule, Chan tries not to lie to himself anymore. He knows that’s mostly his own traumas speaking, however, and choosing to disclose the fact that he’s a single alpha parent speaks a lot to his character. Besides, Chan asks around in the school parenting group about him, and everyone was very positive about Jihoon-ssi’s parenting and play dates at his house.
Chan smiles, trying to seem as unassuming as possible. “I know how hard being a single parent can be. I hope we can have dinner together tonight.”
That puts Jihoon-ssi at ease, and Chan thinks about it throughout the rest of the day. The studio is in full swing for the idol comeback they’re working on, a girl group’s debut, and Chan hopes they’ll get them as a regular client. That would be good for his schedule. Technically speaking, he didn’t lie when he said he worked at a dance studio. It felt like bragging to say he works for a top studio for idol group choreography, though, and Chan always worries people will think he’s a terrible parent. The hours for the studio are bad, and Chan often picks Jihoon up and hands him off to his grandparents after being awake all night working with idols to perfect their dancing.
When he arrives back at the house to pick Jihoon up, Chan finds himself coming around to the idea of staying for dinner. It helps that Jihoon begs, since he’s not ready to go home yet. Chan can’t imagine ever denying Jihoon something he can actually give him.
“I’m glad you could join us,” Jihoon-ssi says as the boys chase each other around the backyard. It’s a fancy house to have a backyard with a pool, and Chan feels a bit out of sorts. He’s been in nicer places, but his own apartment is a studio with just enough space for him and his son. “Your son likes anime?”
“I think it’s more like… I like anime, and we watched a lot of it when he was a baby.” Jihoon was a fussy baby, always waking up at odd hours of the night and demanding to be fed, so they spent many nights in front of the TV watching One Piece or Detective Conan. “I’m glad he still seems to enjoy it, though.”
“That’s funny. Kyungmin’s the same way.” Jihoon-ssi laughs, turning some pieces of meat by some arcane system only the alpha understands. “He used to have trouble getting to sleep, so I’d sit on the couch with him against my chest and watch anime. My wife used to say he was more my son than hers.”
Truthfully, Chan can’t imagine that. From the very first moment he held his son, Chan knew they’d be inseparable. That bond was good, given how his ex abandoned them after two years. Chan’s been on his own ever since. Well, not totally on his own. He has his family, for which he’s very grateful, and some good friends in the parent support group he joined. They’re all willing to take Jihoon on short notice, and that’s something Chan knows he’s lucky to have.
“Can I ask what happened to her?”
“Ah, she was… she was an alpha too, so her second pregnancy was very high risk. She was determined to try, though.” For a moment, Chan watches Jihoon-ssi stare into the distance, eyes unseeing. Then he blinks, and the gulf of sadness is gone. “Our daughter is currently living with a cousin who has another young child, because I was advised to breastfeed her and for… obvious reasons, I couldn’t do that. Luckily my cousin offered, and we go see her most days after Kyungmin gets out of school.”
“I’m sorry.” The words feel trite, but Chan isn’t sure what else to say. “That must have been rough.”
Silence stretches between them, not comfortable, but contemplative. It’s nowhere near on the same level, but Chan figures fair’s only fair.
“Jiji’s dad left when he was two.” With five years’ distance, Chan thinks leaving’s the only good thing the bastard ever did. “I think we only stayed together so long because of Jiji. I’m not too heartbroken about it.”
“But you are heartbroken.”
It’s not a question. Chan contemplates for a moment. Is he? He doesn’t think so, but… well. His ex isn’t what he’s heartbroken over. By now, Chan’s aware his ex was never good, and alphas with breeding kinks do not necessarily want children. Still, the idea of a happy little family—picture-perfect like it’s shown in stories—is something Chan still yearns for. Most things society says omegas want don’t interest Chan, but letting go of the idealized happy family like he was raised in is hard.
“Not over him,” Chan finally says. “I’m heartbroken over what could have been—it just never existed.”
Jihoon-ssi nods, pulling the meat from the grill and plating it. Chan takes that as his cue to call the boys, who come running and devour the first plate of galbi. It’s good to know they’re eating well, and the food is delicious. After they’ve eaten, Chan and Jihoon say their goodbyes before heading home.
“Can I,” Jihoon says as Chan’s driving them home, “go over to Kyungmin’s house again?”
“I’ll ask Jihoon-ssi in a few days when you two can play together again.”
It turns out Chan doesn’t have to remember, though. On Tuesday, Jihoon-ssi texts, asking if they’d want to go to the park the Sunday after next. Chan checks his calendar and finds he has the day off, down to some overlapping schedules and the fact that he’s not currently dancing backup for any group. So he tells Jihoon-ssi yes, and that’s how Chan finds himself sitting on a picnic blanket with an alpha.
Kyungmin and Jihoon are trying to fly a kite—key word trying—and Chan’s heart is full watching them. There isn’t enough wind for flying kites, but the kids are determined. Chan would never take that determination away from them. Jihoon-ssi must feel the same way, because he’s watching them just as fondly. He also brought along his daughter, Soomin, who is starting to wean and a happy, burbling baby.
She’s taken a liking to Chan, who is trying to teach her the names of fruit. It’s not going especially well, but from experience Chan knows the most important part of raising a child is speaking to them like they can understand you. He likes to think that’s why Jihoon is so articulate.
“Do you want a strawberry, Soomin?” Chan holds it up so she can see it, and Soomin enthusiastically says baber. It’s not quite there, but it’s closer, so Chan holds the strawberry up for her to bite into. “Yeah, they’re my favorite too.”
“Interesting.” Jihoon-ssi looks over at the two of them, curious. “You’re the first person I’ve met who will eat their food scent.”
“Is it really that uncommon?” Chan’s never asked anyone. He’s always assumed others found their own scent notes to be a comforting food too. Well, for people who have gourmand scents. “I never thought to ask anyone.”
“Maybe it’s less common in alphas?” Brow furrowed in thought, Jihoon-ssi taps a finger against his lips. “My friend, who smells like whiskey, can’t stand it, and neither can my friend, who smells like vanilla.”
Huh. Chan’s never thought much about it. He likes strawberries because they’re comforting. Soomin takes another bite of strawberry, and Chan thinks it over. Most omegas he knows find their own scent comforting, but maybe it’s not the same for alphas? They don’t have nests and wear scent patches more often, so maybe alphas aren’t as used to their own scents. In Chan’s experience, alphas prefer being scented rather than scenting others, but Chan never thought much about why.
“Omegas tend to find our own scent comforting. It’s in our nests, so I guess it’s associated with safety?” Breaking the remaining strawberry in half, Chan holds up one part for Soomin to eat. “But I guess alphas don’t have nests, so you must not have the same associations.”
Although Jihoon-ssi never directly said it, Chan gets the sense he doesn’t interact with many non-familial omegas. That makes sense—genders tend to cluster together in friend groups. His wife was an alpha too, so Chan doesn’t even know if Jihoon-ssi finds them attractive or had cause to interact with them for that reason. That question seems overly personal, so Chan focuses on feeding Soomin the last of the strawberry.
“That makes sense. Alphas are most commonly soothed by other people’s scents, so usually an alpha would choose their mate’s scent for comfort.” The expression on Jihoon-ssi’s face tells Chan he’s taking this conversation seriously, and Chan supposes he must be preparing for the eventuality that one of his children turns out to be an omega. “I’ll have to keep that in mind for work.”
“Oh? You never told me what you do for work.”
He knows Jihoon-ssi works from home, but working from home is pretty broad, so his job could be anything. The house itself might have given clues, but Chan hadn’t seen much of it besides the kitchen and backyard.
“Ah, I’m a music producer and sometimes musician.” Jihoon-ssi pauses, and Chan sees the alpha contemplating whether to elaborate. “You might have heard of me. My stage name is Woozi.”
Oh.
“I was your backup dancer once.”
That was an entire lifetime ago, Chan thinks. Somewhere close to fifteen years, long before he got pregnant and had a child. Chan had been freshly presented, bright-eyed and eager to work on his first professional job. He’s not surprised Jihoon-ssi doesn’t remember, clear from the way his brow furrows as he looks at Chan. Even though Jihoon-ssi looked familiar, Chan didn’t recognize him either.
“I only had backup dancers for one comeback,” Jihoon-ssi says. “You… Your dancer name is Dino, right?”
“You remember.” He blinks, wondering if Jihoon-ssi remembers the dance itself. Chan danced with Jihoon-ssi directly during the paired section because the other dancers were too tall. “It was a long time ago.”
“It was.”
For a moment, the weight of that revelation hangs between them. Then Kyungmin cheers, breaking the spell, and they’re both turning. The kids got the kite into the air, and Chan smiles. He doesn’t think about the strange connections between him and Jihoon-ssi for the rest of the afternoon. They stay out for a few more hours until Soomin gets fussy and Jihoon-ssi opts to take her home.
They start texting after that. Mostly because whenever Chan’s holed up in the studio and he wants to make industry-type complaints, Jihoon-ssi’s the one person Chan knows will understand what he’s complaining about. It helps that Kyungmin and Jihoon seem to adore each other. They’re fast friends who are constantly wanting to hang out, so Chan has to keep talking to Jihoon-ssi if only to coordinate that.
They go to the aquarium, where Jihoon excitedly rattles off every fact he knows about jellyfish, and a baseball game where the four of them get photographed by paparazzi. Chan’s been photographed without consent in public before, but accompanying dating rumors being about him is new. The idea of dating Jihoon-ssi is… strange. Not uncomfortable, but still alien enough Chan pushes the mere idea away.
Even so, it’s not that long before Chan feels… comfortable around Jihoon-ssi. They often trade children, or Chan takes Kyungmin to his aunt’s house so he can play with Soomin before Jihoon-ssi picks them both up. Sometimes Chan takes Soomin for a few hours, helping to wean her off breastmilk by feeding her mashed carrots and getting her used to life away from her aunt. Over the summer, Jihoon-ssi takes them all to Lotte World because a colleague gave him tickets, and what else would he do with the two extra tickets.
Privately, Chan thinks there’s other people Jihoon-ssi could take. The kids have fun eating too much and running around, though, and his son’s happiness trumps Chan’s own complicated feelings. If he thinks about their relationship for too long, Chan could almost mistake Jihoon-ssi’s actions for courting gestures. A year ago, Chan wouldn’t even entertain accepting. Now he’s lying on the studio floor, looking at the ceiling for answers about if he should accept being courted.
Jihoon-ssi has a deadline for a song a few weeks later, and Chan watches Kyungmin overnight. He cuts apples into bunnies for both boys and lets them watch Pokémon together. Later, when Jihoon-ssi comes to pick Kyungmin up, Chan hesitates for a moment. He looks like he hasn’t slept in three days, and Chan doesn’t think that’s healthy.
“Do you want to nap in my nest?” For any other alpha, Chan wouldn’t invite them into the nest. Jihoon-ssi’s different, and Chan’s not sure what that means yet, but he’s willing to find out. “You look like you could use it.”
“You have work—”
“I don’t, actually.” He was scheduled for a dance practice, but last-minute photoshoots or something canceled it. Chan’s long since stopped asking for details he doesn’t care about. The important thing is the studio doesn’t need Chan until 3PM, and he’s already said he’ll be late because of picking Jihoon up from school. “I’ll take the boys to school. You nap, and I’ll wake you up in time for lunch.”
The exhaustion must be worse than Chan thought, because Jihoon-ssi hardly puts up a fight. He lets Chan guide him to the nest, where he swaps the alpha for the two boys. They get ready with little fuss, and then Chan drops them off. He opts to do a bit of shopping before going back home, lengthening the nap, but eventually Chan makes his way back home. He makes some gimbap for lunch and then heads into the nest room to wake Jihoon-ssi.
He looks younger in sleep, Chan thinks. Brushing hair from his eyes, Chan traces the planes of Jihoon-ssi’s face to memorize them.
“Wake up, Jihoon-ssi.” Chan shakes him, careful to be gentle, and gets a disgruntled noise in response. “You need to eat before we pick up the kids.”
“Shouldn’t you be calling me hyung by now?” Jihoon-ssi’s voice is rough with sleep, and Chan resists the urge to lean down and scent him. “You don’t need to be so formal, Chan-ah.”
“Okay, Jihoon-hyung.” Chan laughs, because truthfully he mostly started doing that to keep the older Jihoon separate from his son. “You really do need to get up, though.”
They look at each other, and Chan thinks the tension between them should snap. It’s a moment made of finely spun sugar, stretched gossamer-thin and liable to float away at any moment.
“And if I asked to kiss you?”
The ceiling didn’t have answers for Chan, but he thinks he knows the answer anyway.
Chan swallows. “I would say yes.”
Jihoon-hyung’s hands are calloused but gentle against Chan’s face as he draws them together. His lips are chapped, and the kiss is clumsy with sleep, but it feels like spring blooming in Chan’s heart.