Chapter Text
one.
Jeonghan’s not sure he’s ever been this exhausted before - and with the way his life is now, that’s saying a lot.
He can barely keep his eyes open as he drives, can’t even focus on the pop music playing quietly through the car speakers - even if it is more for him than for Dasom. The longer he sits here in the driver’s seat, fatigue trying its best to weigh him down, the more the steering wheel looks like a viable spot to nap. And that’s obviously not good, but last night had been another sleepless one - work and school piling up until he felt like he’d drown but there was nothing he could do.
At least you’re not hungover, his mind tries, and he figures that’s one ray of light. Really, with how everything is lately the desire to drink himself stupid every night is definitely more appealing than it used to be. But he can’t do that, at least not as often as he’d like to. For a lot of reasons.
“Hannie?”
Reason number one.
He glances into the rearview mirror but Dasom isn’t meeting his eyes. Not like he can see hers anyway - with her long black hair covering most of her face he can’t even gauge her expression. She’s resting her little head against the window, a flurry of movement in her lap as she plays with her fingers. And like this, she just looks so small. Younger than her age. Jeonghan knows that has to do with her size - God she’s so tiny for a six year old - but it still makes his heart ache.
His heart is always aching lately.
“Yeah baby?” he asks after turning the music down even more, trying to simultaneously focus on the road and his niece - daughter? - in the backseat. Like this he can better hear the rain pouring down around them, sounding like thunder on the car roof. “Are you okay?”
She shakes her head.
Jeonghan sighs. And on autopilot he runs through the list of usual questions to try and pinpoint what’s wrong. Did you not get enough sleep? Are your shoes too tight? Is it the rain? Are you too cold? Too warm? Is the music too loud?
Each one of them warrants another shake of her head or a soft “no” whispered through a sheet of thick black hair.
Really, Jeonghan’s pretty certain he knows what the problem is. It’s probably the same thing that’s been weighing him down all week too - as if he doesn’t have enough stress to begin with. “Are you worried about today, baby? Seeing the new doctor?”
A moment, a beat passes by uneventfully. Filled with the sharp sound of rain above them.
Dasom nods.
Jeonghan’s body deflates just a bit. “We talked about this, Sommie,” he tries, his voice as gentle as possible. “I know you don’t like seeing all these doctors - I don’t either, baby - but they’re just trying to help you. I’m just trying to help you. It’s my responsibility as your - your…”
Her what? Uncle? Father? Guardian?
It’s been eight months and he still feels so out of his element.
“Baby, it’ll be good for you,” he finishes.
He glances into the rearview.
Dasom still hasn’t really moved, except for her nervous fingers.
“Besides,” he tries, “my professor said this one is young.” Inexperienced. “He might be able to help you.” Misdiagnose you.
“I want my mommy,” Dasom whispers, small voice thick with tears she won’t shed. Never sheds.
I want her back too, Jeonghan almost says. But he doesn’t. He just gives Dasom a soft smile she doesn’t see and tries to refocus on the road in front of them, no matter how blurry it is.
He holds Dasom so close as they walk from the car to the office, keeping her as dry as he can under their one umbrella. His school bag is slung over his other shoulder, weighing it down with an ache he’s used to at this point. And Dasom clings to him, little arms wrapped in a vice grip around his neck.
For a moment it’s just the two of them (like it’s been for months). Just the two of them against the rain and the cold.
And then they step into the office.
It’s warm in here. The kind of warmth that feels so inviting. Like home.
Somehow, with just one hand, Jeonghan manages to close the umbrella and slide the compact thing back into his bag. And then he takes better stock of the area around them.
The waiting room is lit rather warmly too, with an assortment of mismatched, but comfortable-looking chairs. In one of the corners, next to a bookshelf, sits an array of pillows and stuffed animals and in another corner there’s a play table, full of LEGOs and blocks. Adorning the walls are posters and art of various characters - princesses, Anpanman, Marvel superheroes. Baby animals too. All in all it looks exactly like the other offices they’ve been to the last few months. Though Dasom’s eyes do light up at the number of books on that bookshelf.
Holding tight to her still, Jeonghan approaches the check-in desk. Besides the young man sitting on the other side, Jeonghan and Dasom are the only people here - which is the beauty of early appointments on the weekends (and Jeonghan sends up a grateful thought that waking up at seven for something not school related isn’t on Dasom’s list of things to fight Jeonghan on).
And with bright eyes, the young man, whose name tag reads “Seungkwan”, looks up at them. He sets aside the book he was reading - Jeonghan can all but see Dasom eyeing its hundreds of pages with wide, curious eyes - and breaks into a bright smile that crinkles his eyes.
It’s infectious in a way that makes Jeonghan irritable - he doesn’t feel like smiling right now, nor does he really have the energy, but he does anyway.
Dasom buries her face in his neck.
“Good morning!” Seungkwan chirps at them both. “Do you have an appointment with us today?"
Jeonghan nods, the words already tumbling out of his mouth before Seungkwan finishes speaking. He just - they’ve done this so much. “Yoon Dasom, an eight a.m. with Dr. Choi.”
(The fifth Dr. Choi they’ve seen overall.)
Dasom’s fingers bunch in the collar of his shirt.
He rubs her small, tensed back.
She’s so tense always so tense she’s six years old why is she so tense
Seungkwan types something into his computer and smiles again. “Ah yes! It looks like Dr. Choi isn’t quite in yet - he texted me that he was almost here a couple minutes ago - “
There’s a sudden burst behind them and for a moment the warmth in the room is broken by the cold howl of the wind, the pouring rain outside - and then they’re all safe again as the doors close once more.
Jeonghan turns to see a man that can’t be more than a few years older than him rush in. He’s in a black hoodie but his dark hair is wet, sticking to his forehead, dripping onto his round glasses… Truly, he looks like a certifiable mess (if there’s anyone who has the authority to diagnose that, it’s Yoon Jeonghan). And then he smiles. Somehow, it’s a lot more infectious than this Seungkwan’s - no, this smile makes Jeonghan blush with its intensity, its sincerity.
He can’t look away.
“Are you Jeonghan-ssi?” the newcomer asks, in a smooth, deep voice.
He nods. “I am. You must be… Dr. Choi.”
This doesn’t bode well. Dasom’s possible new psychologist showing up almost late, soaking wet, in a hoodie?
Do they even bother staying?
“I am!” the new man - Dr. Choi, it would seem - responds, and then his big brown eyes fall a bit to Dasom’s curled, clingy form.
He doesn’t look at her the way some of the other psychologists have. Like she’s something to dissect. An anomaly.
No, Dr. Choi’s gaze is soft and warm. Kind.
“And you must be Dasom.”
She tries to bury herself deeper into Jeonghan’s grip and his heart clenches for putting her through this. For forcing her to come to these appointments when they never do any good. When they never help the way she needs.
And if Dr. Choi’s fazed by the way she ignores him, he doesn’t show it. Just turns those kind eyes to Jeonghan. “If you two are ready, I’ll take you back now.”
Dasom whines quietly, just low enough that only Jeonghan can hear it. And he sighs. “Give us just a second, Doctor.”
“Of course,” he says with a nod. “Uh, if you two would rather come back on your own when you’re ready, I’m in room two.”
For a moment, Jeonghan watches him walk away and subconsciously his brain registers the fact that this Dr. Choi is wearing loose-fitting jeans and Converse as well. But he doesn’t have time to process what that means because Dasom clings to him even harder, even tighter, squeezing the bones in his neck to the point where it almost hurts.
“Baby,” he whispers, turning away from Seungkwan. And at this point his motions feel robotic. He rubs her back, bounces her gently, combs slow fingers through her thick hair. They do this so often. “Baby, it’s okay. We’ll do whatever you want after this, remember? Ice cream, or a nap, or we can watch the bunnies.”
The bunnies referring to an old National Geographic DVD Jeonghan had found at a thrift store two years ago. It’s entirely in English but that hasn’t stopped it from becoming Dasom’s favorite movie.
And even at its mention she perks up a bit. Releases the chokehold she has on him. Pulls back with wide, misty eyes and he takes this opportunity to kiss her.
“You’re so brave, Dasommie,” he murmurs, leaning in to press their foreheads together. “My sweet, brave girl. You do so well, baby, and you can do this today. I’ll be right there with you.”
Just like he has through everything.
Dasom nods.
“Are you ready, baby?”
She nods again, though this time she’s a lot more hesitant.
And so they go back. The hallway is short, with two rooms on each side, and the door labelled “2” is decorated on the outside with an assortment of stickers and pictures much like the ones in the waiting room. Jeonghan bites back a wry chuckle as he opens the door.
Dr. Choi is bustling around his office like Jeonghan does around the house when he forgets he has a guest coming over. And at the sound of the door closing he snaps straight up and meets Jeonghan’s gaze with a flustered smile.
“Let’s do this,” he says, like they’re here for a movie and not a therapy session.
Jeonghan sighs softly.
Dr. Choi motions to a soft-looking couch on the other side of his desk and Jeonghan is able to sit down without jostling Dasom too much. But still she clings to him, content to keep her face buried in his neck.
Which isn’t exactly conducive to meeting new people. Especially new people who are supposed to help her navigate the heavy trauma her six year old brain refuses to process.
Or so Jeonghan’s been told.
He pats her back as he meets Dr. Choi’s warm gaze. “Baby, how do we greet strangers?”
She shakes her head.
The smile gracing Dr. Choi’s features only grows.
I’m glad someone’s amused.
“Yoon Dasom,” he says quietly, working to keep his voice gentle so he doesn’t push her. “How do we greet strangers, baby?”
She sighs, like she’s annoyed with him (her sass is going to be the death of him, he just knows it), and then shifts halfway so that at least Dr. Choi is in her peripheral vision. And Dr. Choi kneels in front of them. God, he looks so eager. Bright, wide eyes, soft smile. But to his credit he doesn’t push Dasom either. Doesn’t ask her for more than she can give. So they all wait. They wait until Dasom works up the courage - tugging desperately at her fingers all the while - to face Dr. Choi fully. But Jeonghan knows she isn’t meeting his gaze; her eyes are either closed, downcast, or she’s hiding behind her hair.
It’s a start. One that was nearly impossible eight months ago.
And then she’s digging her fingers into Jeonghan’s leg and he reaches down to stroke them, to ease the tension there before she scratches him bloody.
Again.
“Dasom?” Dr. Choi asks softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “Can I call you Dasom?”
She nods.
His smile widens. “Thank you. Dasom, my name is Dr. Choi - well that’s really more of a title but…” He blushes a bit in his own awkwardness and Jeonghan bites back a smirk. This guy… “Anyway. When you’re ready you can call me Dr. Choi if you want. Or Seungcheol - that’s my given name. Or even Cheol, which is a nickname.”
She nods.
So does he. “I want you to know that I’m not going to push you, Dasom. I’m here to help you, as long as that takes, whatever you need. I am here to support you, just like your Jeonghan. We will do this at your own pace. Do you understand?”
She nods a third time, small fingers finally relaxing beneath Jeonghan’s.
“Good,” Dr. Choi says. For a brief moment his eyes flick up to Jeonghan’s and they regard each other. There’s something about his gaze, something that leaves Jeonghan aching in a way he can’t describe. And he’s not sure why. If it’s just him, if it’s Dr. Choi - if he feels it too.
If it’s even anything.
In that same moment Dasom curls back into his neck and Jeonghan’s thoughts are cut short - just Dasom - as he strokes her hair, murmurs soft words of praise that he hopes don’t sound cursory to her at this point. A patch of color catches his eye and he glances over at a small table, much like the one out front, with a box of assorted markers on top of it, next to a stack of printer paper.
“Look baby,” he murmurs, patting Dasom’s back encouragingly, and she ever so slowly looks up from Jeonghan’s neck. “Dr. Choi has some markers. Do you wanna go draw?”
She sits quietly on his lap and just looks at the setup for a few silent moments. And he can see the wheels turning in her head, as she thinks. As she analyzes. After a glance at him she carefully slides off his lap and makes her way on slow, uncertain legs towards the table. Jeonghan doesn’t look away until she sits herself comfortably on one of the plastic chairs and reaches for the tub of markers and a piece of paper.
When he glances over at Dr. Choi, he catches wide, inquisitive eyes and blushes. “Uh, thank you for seeing us today. Dr. Song really had nothing but praise for you.”
He smiles bashfully, ducking his head beneath a mop of damp, curling hair. “Thank you for taking a chance on me. I know I’m young and inexperienced, actually Dasom is my first ever client - “
Jeonghan bites back a sigh.
“ - but I’ll try my best.”
So did all the others.
“That’s all we can do, right?” Jeonghan says instead. And he takes a few moments to get comfortable on the couch, crossing and uncrossing his legs several times before he opts for simply placing his feet on the floor in the end.
Dasom sits quietly, markers scratching lightly across the paper.
Dr. Choi watches him with careful eyes.
And Jeonghan hates it. He’s always hated psychologists, always hated being analyzed. Examined. Like an animal in a zoo. Thankfully, most of the others tended to ignore him but this Dr. Choi… Jeonghan’s not sure what to make of his gaze. But it makes him simultaneously want to shrink into the couch or stare back out of spite.
“So,” Dr. Choi says as he looks at his computer. “We talked a bit on the phone but there are a few things we need to take care of before we start. We’ll - “
“I know,” Jeonghan says, not unkindly. “We’ve done this a lot.”
He gives a slight smile. “So you said on the phone.” He clicks on something. “Dasom’s full name is Yoon Dasom?”
“Yes.”
He types that in. “Birthdate?”
“Oh-one-oh-nine-fourteen.”
He types that in. “And you are her father?”
Jeonghan glances over at Dasom digging for a specific marker. No doubt blue, her favorite. “According to the paperwork I filed a few months ago, I am her legal guardian. But I guess I’m also her uncle.”
Dr. Choi’s long fingers still on the keyboard though his eyes remain on the screen. But if there’s something he wants to say, he doesn’t. He just takes a breath and continues typing. Jeonghan’s grateful, even though they’ll have to discuss that later. He’s just… not ready now.
They go through the basics - address, phone numbers and emergency contacts, emails, etc. The responses come out automatically, Jeonghan hears the monotone rasp in his voice. And then Dr. Choi sits back with a soft look on his face.
Dasom reaches for a new piece of paper.
“So,” Dr. Choi says again, “why don’t you go ahead and tell me as much as you can about Dasom? Just… anything that comes to mind.”
Jeonghan cocks an eyebrow at this. “You’re not gonna ask any specific questions?”
He shrugs a bit, reaches out to brush his drying hair out of his eyes, out of his glasses. “I might if anything comes to mind. I just… I want to hear about her in your words. I want to hear what you think is important. I know - because you told me - you’ve done this a lot. So I’m not gonna ask you a bunch of stupid, repetitive questions you’ve heard a hundred times before. Obviously they didn’t get anyone anywhere.”
“That’s true,” Jeonghan sighs. And then his mind goes into information mode, trying to sift and figure out what to tell, what to talk about.
There’s so much.
But Dr. Choi sits quietly, just watching him with those eyes.
Dasom bites her lip as she draws.
Jeonghan draws a breath in and meets the doctor’s gaze. “She’s always been so smart, so bright. Ever since she was born. And - and until what happened she never had problems talking or communicating.”
He nods. Types. Sighs. “Are you ready to talk with me about what happened? It’s something we should at least address early on so that I know what I’m working with but…”
Jeonghan opens his mouth and then stops. None of the others have asked him that. They just assumed he could. They just… asked it of him. “Yeah,” he says mechanically. Scared of what he might say if he actually thinks about it. One of us should be able to talk about it.
Dr. Choi looks at him again, in that diagnostic, yet kind, way. Like he’s trying to see through to his soul but not in a ‘break him in half, see what makes him tick’ kind of way. Like he cares.
How strange.
“Only if you’re sure,” the doctor says. “I know on the phone you said she’s all but stopped talking, so obviously whatever happened…”
“Her mother died,” Jeonghan says quietly, the words tumbling out and he doesn’t really stop them because at this point, it feels like everyone in Seoul knows. So what’s one more person? “My - my younger sister. Accidentally overdosed on sleeping pills and Dasom… Dasom found her.”
Something falls on Dr. Choi’s face and he turns soft, wide eyes towards Dasom for a quiet moment. And the urge to sweep her back into his arms, to let her bury her face in his neck and hide her from the world and its pity is so strong Jeonghan almost does it. But he doesn’t; he just stays where he is and pretends like he doesn’t notice that Dasom’s stopped drawing.
“That’s horrible,” Dr. Choi whispers as his expressive eyes flick back to Jeonghan. “How long ago was this? A few months, you said?”
He nods. “Eight,” he responds around the seemingly perpetual lump in his throat.
“And ever since she’s had issues communicating?”
“Mostly in class and with strangers,” Jeonghan says. “She still talks to me but it’s… it’s not a lot. And usually not more than a whisper unless she’s really excited about something.”
Dr. Choi nods thoughtfully, lips pursed. And then he goes back to typing.
Dasom goes back to drawing.
Jeonghan breathes a soft sigh of relief.
“She seems to enjoy drawing,” Dr. Choi comments quietly.
Their eyes meet and something in his warm gaze tells Jeonghan that that’s it, that they’re not talking anymore about her mutism or what she went through today.
And Jeonghan’s grateful. Because he’s not sure he has it in him, really.
So they spend most of the rest of the hour just talking about Dasom. Anything that comes to Jeonghan’s mind, he says. They talk about her love of drawing, how Jeonghan reads aloud to her every night, how she makes sure Jeonghan eats enough at dinner. That she hates crowds. That she worries more than she should. That she doesn’t smile anymore. And Dr. Choi writes it all down. Sometimes he makes comments, but they don’t seem probing, analytical. No, it feels more like he’s just engaged in what Jeonghan’s talking about. Like they’re old friends catching up.
Really, everything about this Dr. Choi has that feeling. From his warm eyes, his handsome face and fond smile to his slightly oversized hoodie and smooth, sincere voice… he’s not like any other psychologist Jeonghan has ever encountered. And he can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not. If he likes that. But he is easy to talk to, Jeonghan finds. Like the professional barrier that should’ve been put up between them never was.
During a lull in the conversation, Dasom slides off of the chair with all her papers in hand and immediately climbs back into Jeonghan’s lap. She’s antsy, eyes darting around quickly, restlessly, and Jeonghan sighs.
“We’re almost done today, baby,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss the top of her head. “Just a few more minutes, okay? You’re doing so well.”
She thrusts the papers into his hands with a shy look and Jeonghan takes them.
And just like they do at home, as if pretending Dr. Choi isn’t even here, Jeonghan looks through them with her. One of the first therapists they met said doing this was good, that they should keep up routines no matter where they were, no matter who they were with - that that would help Dasom feel safe anywhere.
Unfortunately for them, that same therapist had asked one too many times to see Dasom’s artwork.
They hadn’t been able to return to her office without Dasom crying in fear.
For all of their sakes, Jeonghan hopes Dr. Choi keeps his mouth shut and just lets them have this moment.
Like usual, Dasom’s work features animals. Specifically, rabbits. White rabbits, brown rabbits, spotted rabbits. Rabbits sleeping, rabbits eating, rabbits hopping. They’re honestly precious and Jeonghan looks through them with a smile on his face, as Dasom rests her head on his shoulder.
“Look how talented you are, baby,” he murmurs. “And look at all your bunnies. Do they have names?”
“Bunnies?”
Dasom tenses at the sound of Dr. Choi’s voice.
Jeonghan looks up at him, at the bright, youthful look on his face, and it’s not fair that this man is so handsome. So warm. “Bunnies are Dasom’s favorite animal. Right, baby?”
She nods.
Dr. Choi’s smile widens even more than Jeonghan thought was possible, crinkling his big eyes almost completely shut. “I have two bunnies myself. Do you want to see some pictures of them, Dasom?”
Dasom perks up again.
Jeonghan bites back a smile of his own, placing Dasom’s papers on his lap to rub her back. “Dr. Choi asked you a question, baby. Do you wanna see pictures of his bunnies?”
She nods once more.
And then, looking more like a gleeful child than a psychologist with a doctorate degree from Yonsei University hanging up in his office, Dr. Choi makes his way over, phone in hand. Again he kneels in front of them and holds out his phone, already unlocked and bunnies waiting onscreen, for Dasom to take. And after some gentle encouragement from them both, Dr. Choi’s eyes quite literally sparkling, Dasom begins swiping through the pictures.
And Jeonghan looks with her. One of the rabbits is massive, a soft tawny color with big, wide ears, and the other is a lot smaller with floppy ears and a lot of fur. Jeonghan thinks he knows what breeds they are - Dasom can list them like the alphabet - but he isn’t sure.
Besides, with the excited way Dasom gasps when she sees them, well…
Dr. Choi just laughs, a soft sound that somehow manages to shake his shoulders. “They’re cute, huh? Do you know what breeds they are, Dasom?”
She nods, eyes glued to the phone. “Flem - “
And her voice dies in her throat as quickly as it came, along with the glimmer of hope in Jeonghan’s heart at hearing her sweet voice full of excitement, full of - of life.
But Dr. Choi doesn’t seem fazed by it; he just nods with that gummy grin. “You’re right. Bean is a Flemish giant and Boop is an American fuzzy lop.”
“Bean and Boop?” Jeonghan parrots as he raises an eyebrow.
On his lap, both of Jeonghan's arms wrapped around her small body, Dasom relaxes again.
“Yeah,” Dr. Choi says and there’s that look again. The one that makes Jeonghan’s throat close up and he can’t even begin to explain why. “My friend’s sister named them - she’s from America and said those would be very cute names.”
Jeonghan nods and ever so gently rests his chin on the top of Dasom’s thick black head of hair. “Aren’t they precious, baby? What do we say to Dr. Choi?”
“It’s okay,” Dr. Choi cuts in before Dasom can even open her mouth (like she would). “Really, she doesn’t - doesn’t have to talk to me yet.” And then he grimaces, a soft pink blush dusting his cheeks. “I mean - I’m sorry, Jeonghan-ssi, I didn’t - I didn’t mean to invalidate your, um, your parenting, um…”
Just like that he’s the young man he looks like: nervous and flustered and so endearingly awkward, Jeonghan can’t help not being mad at him. Really, he wouldn’t have been mad in the first place. Just irked.
But if this is how Dr. Choi wants to do it, if not pushing Dasom is what he thinks will work - then that’s exactly what they’ll do.
He just hopes it works.
“Don’t worry about it, doctor,” Jeonghan says softly, offering him a smile as Dasom continues looking at the rabbits. “I didn’t take offense to it. Besides, you’re right.” He reaches a gentle hand up towards Dasom’s hair to play with it, letting the thick strands sift between his fingers the way she likes. “Dasommie, you don’t need to talk yet, okay baby? Don’t feel like you have to.”
She hums quietly in response, focus decidedly elsewhere now that the danger of thanking Dr. Choi is gone.
Dr. Choi just looks at Jeonghan for another moment, pretty eyes curious, before turning his attention back to Dasom. And he sits like that for their last minutes, on his knees in front of them, telling Dasom stories about his rabbits. She listens intently, even if she doesn’t comment - Jeonghan can tell because, for once, she’s not a ball of tensed up six year old on his lap.
She actually feels somewhat like she used to.
Honestly there are snippets of that more often than Jeonghan usually seems to remember: when they’re (he’s) cooking and he ends up with some kind of ingredient all over his clothes and she giggles so loud and bright, just like her mother; when her teacher said they would go on a field trip to the zoo and she’d spent all night talking to Jeonghan about what animals she hoped to see there (she’d had a panic attack maybe fifteen minutes into the trip so he’d had to take her home, unfortunately); when they finished the first Harry Potter book and she wanted to stay up all night and talk about it.
That’s why it hurts so bad to see her like this. And a part of him refuses to believe it’s her new normal, that she won’t always be like this.
There’s a lot of evidence to the contrary though.
Eventually their time with Dr. Choi ends and Jeonghan bids him good day with an all but vibrating Dasom buried in his neck. In the waiting room he fishes out the umbrella and waves to a smiling Seungkwan (who waves back). And it’s not till it’s just the two of them in the car, Dasom all buckled and ready to go, that Jeonghan says something.
“Did you like him, Sommie?”
He pretends like his heart isn’t pounding, waiting for a response, please say yes.
She sits quietly for a moment, rain thrumming on the car’s roof. And then she meets his gaze. “He has bunnies,” she whispers. “I like - I like the bunnies.”
That’s enough.
Sometimes Jeonghan feels like a shell of a human being. Nights like these especially.
Graveyard shift at the convenience store down the block, half of his mind at home with Dasom, the other half engrossed in the textbook in front of him, he feels like he’s not really living. That he’s just… existing. The lack of sleep doesn’t help, nor does the homework. But it’s a lingering feeling, one he always seems to have when it’s late at night and he’s alone with his thoughts.
Really, he’s not even sure why convenience stores are open this late - who needs ramyeon at one am? - but he tries to tell himself to be grateful because if they weren’t… well he wouldn’t have a job. And who knows where he and Dasom would be living, then.
He sighs and tries to get himself to focus fully on the same paragraph he’s read four times in a row, but his head is starting to ache beneath the bright fluorescent lights and he just wants to sleep. He’s been up since six a.m. on four hours of sleep and no amount of “free” (stolen where the security cameras can’t catch him) coffee is helping.
It never does.
Post-appointment had found them snuggled up on the couch eating ice cream and watching The Bunnies even though it was maybe ten am and ice cream isn’t breakfast (you try telling that to an anxious six year old), and then Jeonghan dove right into homework while Dasom napped. He’d gotten behind during the week so a nap for himself was totally out of the question and before he knew it it was nine pm; time to lock up the apartment and leave Dasom with his phone and the store’s number on speed dial just in case.
Nights like these, Jeonghan also feels like a bad father.
Uncle. Guardian. Whatever he is.
Not for the first time in the last hour the words on the page look more bleary than sharp and he closes the book with a huff. Fuck Korean history, really. Why’d he have to pick such a stupid major? Hell, why’d he have to be born in such an old country? If he were born in the United States he wouldn’t be having this problem. You know if he was one of those kids that was at all close with his parents he might send them a not so sarcastic text asking why the hell he was born in Seoul and not -
The bell above the door jingles and Jeonghan snaps to attention, unfortunately conditioned to do so after seven months here. He pushes his stupid textbook out of sight as he waits for his new, hoodie-clad customer to either leave or bring something to the counter.
Or rob him.
Sighing he tries his best to push the thought from his mind - just because it happened down the street doesn’t mean it’s gonna happen to you. Just because the robber was in a black hoodie and it was late and… and…
His hand shakes as he reaches just below the countertop, to make sure the panic button is still there. The one he’s never had to press. God, just the thought of needing to push it brings a tightness to his chest but he tries to breathe through it.
Especially as the big, hoodie-clad man begins his journey to the counter, a collection of energy drinks tucked between one arm and his body and then a few packs of ramyeon in his other hand. He stops at the counter, deposits his items, tugs down his black mask and -
“Dr. Choi?” Jeonghan frowns.
The look on his handsome face - wide eyes, jaw dropped - is almost laughable until he regains his composure, and then Jeonghan feels bad for wanting to chuckle. He’s tired - the dark circles under his eyes that Jeonghan didn’t notice earlier, still hidden behind thin, wire-frame glasses, the soft smattering of stubble on his jaw, the sleepy slope of his eyelids - all in all, he looks more like a college student than a psychologist.
Especially when you factor in the Red Bulls and kimchi ramyeon.
And the blush painting his cheeks.
“Uh, I didn’t know you worked here,” Dr. Choi murmurs quietly. “Otherwise I would’ve… you know, not dressed like this.”
Jeonghan doesn’t have the heart - or the energy - to point out that it’s almost exactly what he wore this morning, just with ratty sweatpants instead of loose jeans, so he just gives him a soft smile as he reaches for the Red Bulls to ring them up. “It’s okay. It’s like an alternate universe in here. I’ve seen a couple of my exes in here buying condoms with their new boyfriend next to them and they pretend like they don’t know me. It’s wild.”
Dr. Choi smiles that warm smile of his and just like that, all of Jeonghan’s anxiety is gone.
He moves his other hand from the panic button.
“If I saw any of my exes in my line of work,” Dr. Choi says, reaching into his pocket for his wallet, “I don’t think I’d be very excited about that.”
“Is it ever exciting to see an ex?” Jeonghan responds, talking over the sharp beep that comes as each item is scanned.
He sighs lightly and takes his card out. “You can, um, you can call me Seungcheol if you want, by the way. Dr. Choi is - “
“What, your father?” He grins at his own stupid joke.
But Seungcheol doesn’t smile. Actually his face kind of falls a bit, like it did when Jeonghan brought up his sister. And then Jeonghan feels bad again.
See? Shell of a human being.
“What are you doing up so late, Seungcheol?” he asks in the awkward silence that follows.
“Can’t sleep. Stressed.”
He starts bagging Seungcheol’s items and meets his tired gaze. “You know, you should see a therapist about that.”
This time his dumb joke makes Seungcheol smile, the one that leaves Jeonghan’s stomach fluttering, and it feels like the first win he’s had all day. “Speaking of, how’s - how’s Dasom?”
“She’s good,” he answers truthfully, as his mind sorts through the rest of their day. “So excited about your rabbits, so thank you. I think we’ll be staying with you for a while.”
It was meant to be a simple comment, something easily brushed away, but Seungcheol seems to latch onto it as his eyes shine in the washed-out lights. “Yeah? I’m glad to hear it. I think I could really help her. At least, I-I want to.”
Jeonghan announces his total and Seungcheol pushes his card into the chip reader gently. “Thank you,” and it comes out quieter than he wants. More vulnerable. “She… she needs it.”
“I have a theory, actually, on how to do that.” When the machine beeps he removes his card and meets Jeonghan’s eyes. It feels strangely intimate, making eye contact over an unhealthy assortment of energy drinks and instant noodles with his niece’s therapist at one-oh-six in the morning at his place of work. But intimate nonetheless.
“What’s your theory?” Jeonghan asks softly, feeling only a little bit entranced by the light in Seungcheol’s big, brown eyes.
He leans forward like he’s sharing all the secrets of the universe, and Jeonghan feels drawn to him, the soft curve of his plush lips as he smiles, the way his two front teeth seem moderately bigger than all the rest. He blames it on the late hour and the lack of sleep. “It revolves around you, actually.” And before Jeonghan can even respond, he continues, “Obviously you and Dasom are incredibly close and she feels comfortable around you - comfortable enough that you’re probably the only person she speaks to on a regular basis. Which leads me to my theory: if she sees that you’re comfortable around me… maybe she’ll open up to me in a way she didn’t with the other therapists.”
It’s not a bad idea, if Jeonghan’s being honest. He’s just not sure… “How would we go about it, though?”
He shrugs a bit. “Maybe next session we’ll talk more about you, if you’re okay with that.”
Jeonghan bites his lip as the thought strikes a new chord of anxiety in his heart, reverberating through his body in pangs of breathlessness. “Um, I don’t - “
“Don’t worry,” Seungcheol says quietly, seriously. “I’m not going to psychoanalyze you. We’ll just talk and let Dasom know that I’m a friend. Someone she can trust.”
Before he can even really process it, Jeonghan finds himself nodding. It’s just something in Seungcheol’s face, his voice, that makes Jeonghan agree to anything he says.
What was that word he said? Trust. That’s it - Seungcheol seems trustworthy.
Sincere.
Smiling softly, Seungcheol reaches for the bag at the same time that Jeonghan pushes it towards him - and their fingers brush.
Jeonghan bolts a bit at the warmth from Seungcheol’s skin; it’s been far too long since he’s felt something like it and butterflies form in the pit of his stomach. But then the sensation’s gone as quickly as it came as Seungcheol pulls the bag from the counter and it clinks with the cans. “See you next week then, Jeonghan-ssi. But make sure you call the office ASAP to schedule the appointment, okay?”
Jeonghan watches him go and he has the sudden, sinking feeling that maybe they’re biting off more than they can chew with this Dr. Choi.
He blames the late hour.
And the lack of sleep.
“You’re not prepared to care for a child, Jeonghan.”
He’s in all-black, a suit he hasn’t worn in two years, blonde hair in his eyes and he feels wrong. Out of place. “Then you take her,” he snaps, staring at his hands in his lap.
“You know we can’t - “
He laughs at this. It’s a bleak, sad sound that echoes through the empty room. Just outside are Seoyeon’s closest friends, their extended family. Her daughter. And in here, Jeonghan wants to cower. Wants to hide. Wants to be selfish and cry and scream because how could Seoyeon be so goddamn stupid? Wants to cry and scream because he’s lost his best friend in the entire world and it feels like nothing will ever be okay again. “She’s your fucking granddaughter - “
“Do not speak to your mother like that, Yoon Jeonghan.”
He rolls his eyes, refusing to look up. “Why not? I stopped considering you my parents the moment - “ A sigh escapes his lips. Now is not the time nor the place; Seoyeon wouldn’t want this. So he stands up, gives his parents one last look, and heads for the door. “I don’t want to hear from either of you after this. As far as I’m concerned… Dasom and I only have each other.”
The saddest part? He hears no arguments from them. Not that he thought he would, it’s just… it might’ve been nice.
The door closes behind him with a sharp click and Dasom’s waiting out in the main funeral hall. Alone. He scoops her up and lets her bury her face in his neck.
“Come on baby,” he whispers, “let’s go home.”
She doesn’t respond, but she clings to him like a lifeline.
The next week, the sun is shining but there’s a biting cold in the air since it’s early March and Jeonghan again holds Dasom so close, but mostly to keep her warm in her coat. She’s definitely overdue for a new one but there’s not a lot of room in the budget so he’ll just wait till the after-winter sales. Seungkwan greets them with another heartwarming smile, cooing over the crappy braid Jeonghan put Dasom’s hair in (Jeonghan shoots the young man a grateful look) and this time Seungcheol isn’t late. Nor does he look as messy. Actually this time he looks a little more like Jeonghan would expect a therapist to look.
He should know. He’s met more than twenty in eight months.
Soft brown hair curling in his glasses, dressed in slacks with a light gray long-sleeved shirt tucked into them, Seungcheol looks professional - and oh so handsome. The kind of handsome Jeonghan wants to keep to himself, as his own selfish crush, because it’s been months since someone made him feel like this (but nothing can come of it for… for more reasons than Jeonghan wants to list). Seungcheol greets them both with a smile, though Dasom doesn’t see it, and with that they head back again.
At least this time, Dasom isn’t trying to crush Jeonghan’s neck in her little arms. He’s definitely grateful for that.
While he and Seungcheol talk, Dasom once again takes up residence at the drawing table, hands moving furiously as she sketches and colors. Truth be told, Jeonghan’s never seen her work with such concentrated passion before and more than once he loses track of his and Seungcheol’s conversation because he’s too busy watching his baby. And when she turns to look at him, ears and cheeks tinged red under his gaze, he asks if she’s having fun.
She always nods and then puts her pointer finger up to her lips: secret.
Jeonghan just grins to himself.
Sometimes Seungcheol asks her a question and she responds with a shake of her head or a nod, whatever the answer might require. And to his credit, Seungcheol only sticks with yes or no questions. Easy things that hardly pull her attention from her drawings.
When they leave that day she approaches Seungcheol with her head down and hands him some of her papers.
According to the childish, ungodly noise Seungcheol makes, she drew Bean and Boop. Several times. Seungcheol also tells him this, grin wide and gummy, waving the papers too quickly for Jeonghan to actually see them.
But his heart warms all the same.
And then Seungcheol kneels in front of her so they’re sort of eye-level, even though she continues to duck her head. He’s got such a tender look on his face, gaze soft and entreating.
“Dasom, these are incredible,” he says quietly. “You are so talented.”
It’s all she can talk about on the way home, sounding more excited and livelier than Jeonghan’s heard her in weeks.
Jeonghan can’t get Seungcheol’s sweet, gentle smile out of his head.
And then two days later, that Monday, Jeonghan’s forced from his Ancient Korean History class at nine-thirty with a call from Dasom’s principal.
By the time he gets to the campus he’s cold and tired and angry enough to fight whichever teacher it is that sent Dasom to the principal’s office this time. Apparently it shows on his face because Principal Hong stops him just outside his door, with placating hands and a beseeching look on his young, handsome face. The usual. But Jeonghan’s too mad to notice, hands shaking, and he’s tired of this.
“Who was it this time?” he demands. “I thought I made it clear to Park last time that Dasom doesn’t - “
“Jeonghan,” Joshua says quietly, firmly, and in this moment Jeonghan knows they’re here together as friends. Not as principal and parent.
So he takes a breath, and then another one.
His hands stop shaking.
“I’m sorry you had to come down here,” Joshua murmurs, reaching out to squeeze Jeonghan’s shoulders, “but she kept saying your name, that she wanted you here. She wouldn’t calm down, I didn’t know what else to do - “
“It’s okay, Shua.” Jeonghan exhales slowly as the white-hot anger in his system slowly starts to melt away into concern that burns just as brightly. “Is she all right? What happened?”
“They had a substitute today.”
Jeonghan’s heart sinks and he looks towards Joshua’s office door, wanting nothing more than to scoop Dasom up into his arms and hold her tight. “I want to see her.”
Joshua nods and turns to open his door. Poking his head in he says, “Dasom? Jeonghannie’s - “
He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before Dasom bursts out of the office and launches herself right at Jeonghan, all thirty-five pounds of her.
He catches her gratefully, letting her nuzzle into his neck, and he leaves kisses up and down the side of her head. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here. You’re okay.”
She sniffles and his heart breaks.
“Jeonghan,” Joshua says quietly again, in that way that makes Jeonghan feel like he’s being scolded. But he knows it comes from a good place, because Joshua’s been nothing but gracious and supportive the last several months. He’s gone from kindly strict principal to one of Jeonghan’s closest friends in that amount of time.
He even knows what Dasom’s giggle sounds like.
“We need to talk,” he murmurs. “In my office, please?”
But as close as they are, his job comes first.
Jeonghan can’t blame him.
Holding a still-clinging Dasom to him, Jeonghan follows Joshua into his office and sits down in one of the not-so-comfy chairs opposite the desk. The air in here is cold - it looks more like a college professor’s office than a primary school principal’s.
Dasom breathes heavily against his neck.
“I’ll get right to it,” Joshua says as soon as he sits down, and he looks all business. Frighteningly so. “We need to find a more permanent solution to this, Jeonghan. This is the second week of the semester and she’s already been sent to my office. I don’t need to tell you that we can’t have a repeat of last year - “
Jeonghan bites his lip as the memories come back. Missing the first half of the semester just to be sent to Joshua almost every day when she came back because she was “ignoring the teachers” or scaring the other kids with her panic attacks.
Because no one tried to help her. Or could.
“ - so something needs to be figured out.”
“Like what?” Jeonghan bites, wrapping an arm around Dasom’s small frame, and he can’t stop the anger that resurfaces. “I’m trying everything I can think of, Joshua. I’m trying everything that’s been suggested to me. So if you have any goddamn bright ideas then tell me. Because I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”
Dasom whines at the snap in his voice.
He shushes her with gentle kisses to her cheek.
For a moment Joshua just sits quietly. He glances at his computer and then back at Jeonghan and he doesn’t like what he sees there, in his gaze. “There’s always special education.”
His words hit like a blow. “She’s not disabled, Joshua. She’s just… she’s…”
“I know that,” and now he’s speaking softly again, and Jeonghan’s reminded of all the times he’s broken down in Joshua Hong’s arms, all the times Joshua’s had to pick the pieces of him up off his office floor. “Han, I know that. But they’re equipped to deal with her there.”
“No they’re not,” he whispers. “They’ll treat her like they treat all of those kids: like she’s stupid. Because she doesn’t talk they’ll write her off as a lost case and she…” Tears threaten, forming a lump in his throat that burns. “Do you know that we finished the first Harry Potter book a few weeks ago? And she comprehended every word?”
Joshua sighs heavily and looks away, towards one of his bare, white walls. “Jeonghan…”
“I’m trying my best. Dasom’s trying her best. Just like all of these kids.” He sniffles, trying to hold back tears he won’t shed in front of Dasom. “She just… she has special circumstances.”
“Are you still seeing Dr. Kim?” he asks gently, meeting Jeonghan’s increasingly watery gaze.
He shakes his head. “He kept insisting she was autistic and refused to treat the root of the problem. But… but we’re seeing someone new. We like him a lot. Don’t we, baby?”
She nods and her grip on him loosens at Seungcheol’s mention. “Bunnies,” she whispers.
“That’s right, baby. He has bunnies.” He draws back to kiss her forehead and then he looks at Joshua. “Just - please be patient with her, Shua. Please. I think this new guy could really help. It just takes time.”
Joshua sighs heavily and runs a hand down his face. But there’s nothing mean or unkind on his face. And Jeonghan’s so goddamn grateful for it, he’ll always be grateful for Joshua. He just needs to get better at showing it. “Okay,” he says. “But only because Dasom is Seokminnie’s favorite girl, right?”
She lifts her head when Joshua mentions his husband and nods. “I miss Uncle Minnie,” she whispers.
And like he always does when Dasom speaks, Joshua smiles. It’s got a sad twinge to it. “I know you do, sweetheart. He misses you too. Maybe you’ll have to come over and we’ll babysit soon. How’s that sound?”
Jeonghan hears what he doesn’t say: you could use a break.
What would he do without Joshua Hong?
Dasom nods and goes back to hiding in Jeonghan’s neck. Because even though she’s pretty comfortable in Joshua’s presence there’s only so much she says in front of him.
Again, it’s a step.
He rubs her back in silent praise, in silent comfort for his next words, and he actually dreads them because he knows just how Dasom will react and it’s going to destroy him, the way it always does. “Baby, I have to go back to class now.”
Immediately her arms tighten around his neck and she shakes her head.
His heart breaks just a little more, dropping to the pit of his stomach even though he should've seen this coming. Two steps back. “Come on, Sommie. We both have to go back to class.” He pulls away to look at her, putting on a smile in the face of her soft eyes, shimmering with tears. “You’re my brave, strong girl, aren’t you baby?”
Dasom shakes her head again, lower lip wavering as she bunches her small fingers in the collar of his shirt. “No, Hannie. I can’t.”
He leans his forehead against hers, rubs her back, strokes her hair. Anything he can think of, everything that usually works. But she’s trembling in his arms, struggling for breath, sobbing in front of his eyes, and he hates himself. Hates himself for not being able to help her, hates himself for not being what she needs.
“Hannie, stay,” she whispers, voice cracking through her tears.
He gives in. God, he’s not strong enough for this. Not strong enough to be firm, like a good father. He just nods and kisses her forehead, and somehow this feels like a loss. “Yeah baby, I’ll stay. We’ll go home, okay?”
As they stand up from the chair Jeonghan avoids Joshua’s kind yet disapproving face. They’ve started this conversation before - “You need to be tougher with her, Jeonghan” and then “I’m trying my best, Joshua” and they leave it at that.
But it weighs on Jeonghan’s mind the rest of the day, as he stays home from his classes to be with his baby.
They tell Seungcheol about it at their next session, their third. Well, Jeonghan does; Dasom just buries her warm, blushing face in his neck while they discuss it. And, as expected, Seungcheol is hardly disappointed.
“I wish people understood you better, Dasom,” he says quietly with big, sad eyes hidden behind those glasses. He looks so heartbreakingly upset. “And there will always be people who don’t get what you’re going through. But I do. Jeonghan does. We will always support you.”
She nods against Jeonghan’s throat.
“I am proud of you for going back to school,” Seungcheol continues, hands clasped on the desk. He hasn’t looked away from Dasom’s tiny form ever since Jeonghan brought this up. “Even if Jeonghan made you.”
Dasom nuzzles into his skin, and he pats her back. Gives Seungcheol a soft grin, which he returns. And it sets butterflies free in the pit of his stomach. As usual.
“Actually Dasom,” Seungcheol says as he stands up, “I want to try something if you’re willing.” He opens up one of his drawers and pulls out a composition notebook. And then he approaches them with soft, careful steps as Dasom sort of turns to face him.
Already they’ve come far, a lot farther than Jeonghan thought they’d be at three weeks in. Because Dasom actually, fully faces him, holding onto Jeonghan’s hands at her waist. She won’t make eye contact still but facing him is enough for now. More than enough. And it’s a testament to Seungcheol’s kind demeanor; to his efforts to make Dasom feel comfortable. Already it seems to be working the way he wants. Though there have been a couple other therapists they got to this point with. They just… messed it up somehow.
Jeonghan prays to whatever deities listening that Seungcheol doesn’t mess this up.
He kneels in front of them, like he always does, and smiles up at Dasom. “Here,” he says as he hands her the journal and she takes it with slightly tremulous hands. “I want you to use this. If you can - and you can use Jeonghan to help you if you want - I’d like you to keep a journal and write in it every day. About anything. You can write about bunnies, you can write about school, you can write about Jeonghan. Anything you want, Dasom.” His smile widens into the soft, serious one - the fact that Jeonghan can recognize his damn smiles now… “And I know you can write in this because you’re so smart, aren’t you Dasom?”
She nods, squeezing Jeonghan’s hands.
“And next week, I’ll bring supplies so you can decorate it,” Seungcheol continues. “Any way you want it. I’ll even bring bunny stickers.”
Dasom squirms in Jeonghan’s lap, a contented hum escaping her lips.
Seungcheol grins at her, and then at Jeonghan.
He can’t help the way his heart flutters. But at Dasom’s happiness or Seungcheol’s handsome smile, he’s not sure.
Maybe both.