Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The clock on the wall ticked too loudly. Joshua’s eyes kept drifting to it even though he didn’t want to. He sat slouched into the couch, one leg bouncing so fast his sneaker squeaked against the floor with every shake. 

The office smelled faintly of lavender and disinfectant, a strange mix that he always thought shouldn’t work together but somehow did. The window blinds let in narrow strips of afternoon light, soft enough not to sting his eyes, but bright enough that he couldn’t disappear completely into the corner like he wanted to.

Dr. Nim sat across from him in her usual armchair, notepad balanced on her knee, pen tucked loosely in her hand. She didn’t write much. She never did unless Joshua was really spiraling. Mostly she just sat there and looked at him like he was worth the wait. Like if it took him fifteen minutes to say a single word, that was fine.

Joshua picked at the edge of his sleeve. “It’s been a year.”

The words surprised even him. He hadn’t meant to start like that, but they slipped out, clumsy and sharp, landing in the space between them.

Dr. Nim tilted her head slightly, dark hair brushing her cheek. “Since you went to live with Seungcheol and Jeonghan?”

“Yeah.” Joshua shifted, hoodie string wrapped tight around his finger. “A year last week. I… I remembered because they made cake. They said it wasn’t about counting the time, just celebrating that I’ve been with them. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. That it’s been a whole year and I’m still…” He trailed off, leg bouncing harder.

Dr. Nim’s voice was steady. “Still what?”

Joshua swallowed. His throat felt too tight, like the words might get stuck. “Still broken. Still… me.”

Silence pressed around him, but not the bad kind. The kind where he knew she was letting him finish, waiting for the rest.

“I thought maybe after a year I’d be better,” Joshua said, his voice thinner now, stretched. “Like… less scared all the time. Less… me. But I still freeze up at school when the teacher calls on me. I still get stomachaches before I go anywhere new. I still wake up at night and can’t breathe because I think I’m back in—” He cut himself off, shaking his head quickly. “I don’t know. I thought maybe I’d be normal by now.”

Dr. Nim shifted forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees. “Joshua, can I tell you something important?”

He didn’t look up, just nodded.

“You are normal,” she said gently. “You are a boy who went through very hard things. Your body and your mind are still learning how to feel safe. That doesn’t make you broken. It makes you human.”

Joshua’s chest ached. He wanted to believe her, but the word human felt too big. “They're so patient with me,” he whispered, almost ashamed. “They never yell. They never get tired of explaining things a million times. They always ask before they touch me, and they wait when I need to calm down. They tell me I don’t have to be perfect. But sometimes…” He finally lifted his eyes, dark and glossy. “Sometimes I wish I could be the son they actually want.”

Dr. Nim didn’t flinch. “Why do you think you’re not?”

Joshua fumbled for words. “Because I’m… hard. They could’ve adopted a kid who’s easier. One who doesn’t cry in the middle of the night or panic in grocery stores or skip meals because he forgets he’s supposed to eat. One who doesn’t have to go to therapy every week just to keep his head straight. They could’ve had someone who doesn’t…” His voice cracked. “Who doesn’t make everything so heavy.”

He blinked fast, dragging his sleeve across his eyes before anything could fall. He hated crying in front of people, even her, even after all this time.

Dr. Nim’s tone was soft, but precise. “Joshua, I’ve met Seungcheol and Jeonghan. I’ve seen them with you. Do they ever make you feel like you’re too heavy?”

Joshua hesitated. His chest said yes, but his memory said no. “They say I’m not. They say I’m worth it. But… I don’t know if they really mean it, or if they’re just saying it because they don’t want me to freak out.”

Dr. Nim tapped her pen gently against her knee, not impatient, just rhythmic. “Sometimes believing people love us is the hardest part, especially when we’ve been let down before. It takes time. It takes practice.” She leaned back slightly, still watching him. “Can I tell you what I notice about them when they talk about you?”

Joshua’s stomach twisted. “What?”

Her voice warmed. “They light up. Not in a fake way. In the way people do when they talk about something precious. They don’t see you as broken. They see you as their son. Even when you struggle. Especially when you struggle.”

Joshua’s breath stuttered. The word son landed like a weight he didn’t know how to hold.

“But what if I mess it up?” he whispered. “What if one day they get tired? What if I’m too much?”

“That fear is part of your story,” Dr. Nim said calmly. “But it doesn’t mean it’s true. Families aren’t about being easy. They’re about being together through the hard parts. You don’t have to earn their love by being perfect. You just have to keep showing up. And you do. Every single day.”

Joshua stared at the carpet. The words felt too big to swallow, but part of him wanted to.

Dr. Nim let the silence sit for a moment before she added, “Can I share a strategy we’ve been working on for your anxiety? Something you can use the next time those ‘what if’ thoughts come?”

Joshua nodded slowly.

“Instead of trying to push them away, I want you to notice them and name them. Like, ‘That’s my what-if voice again.’ And then remind yourself of what’s real. For example: ‘What if they get tired of me?’ That’s the what-if. But what’s real is: They’ve stayed with me for a year. They tell me I’m their son. They’re patient when I’m scared.’ Can you try that right now?”

Joshua shifted, tugging harder at his sleeve string. His voice was small, but he tried. “What if they… don’t want me anymore?”

Dr. Nim nodded encouragingly. “And what’s real?”

“They… they’ve stayed,” Joshua said hesitantly. “They never… they never gave me back.” His throat tightened. “They signed papers. They adopted me.”

“That’s right,” she said softly. “That’s real. And every time your what-if voice gets loud, you can come back to that truth. It won’t make the fear vanish right away, but it reminds your body that you’re not in danger anymore.”

Joshua breathed out shakily. “It feels stupid when I say it out loud.”

“It’s not stupid,” Dr. Nim assured him. “It’s practice. Just like you practice breathing when you’re anxious, or grounding with your senses. The more you practice, the easier it becomes to believe it.”

Joshua nodded faintly, but his leg kept bouncing.

“Tell me,” she said gently, “what’s been hardest for you this month?”

Joshua thought for a long time. His head felt crowded, but one memory pushed forward. “School. There was a presentation. I couldn’t… I froze. My chest hurt so bad I thought I was gonna throw up. Dad picked me up early, and I felt so… small. Like I ruined everything.”

Dr. Nim’s gaze was steady. “Did he say that?”

“No. He just rubbed my back and said he was proud of me for trying. But I wanted to do better.” Joshua hunched deeper into his hoodie. “I always want to do better, but my body won’t let me.”

“Your body is protecting you the only way it knows how,” she explained. “When you freeze, that’s your brain saying, ‘This feels unsafe.’ It’s not your fault. But we can teach your body new ways. Do you remember the grounding trick with the five senses?”

Joshua nodded, mumbling, “Five things I see, four things I touch…”

“Exactly,” she said with a smile. “Next time you feel yourself freezing, try naming those things quietly to yourself. It gives your brain something safe to hold onto. And even if you can’t finish the presentation, you’re still practicing. That matters.”

Joshua’s eyes burned. He hated how much her calm voice made him want to cry.

After a while, she asked, “And what’s been good this month?”

His first instinct was to say nothing. But that wasn’t true. He thought of Jeonghan sitting on the floor beside his bed during a nightmare, reading softly from a book until Joshua’s breathing slowed. He thought of Seungcheol cooking pancakes shaped like stars because he’d once mentioned he liked looking at the sky.

He swallowed. “Sometimes… I feel safe. For a little while. Like when appa tucks the blanket around me, or when dad makes me laugh. It goes away fast, but… it’s there.”

Dr. Nim’s smile was warm but not overwhelming. “That’s not a little thing, Joshua. That’s healing. Safety doesn’t come all at once. It comes in moments, and those moments grow.”

Joshua pulled his knees tighter to his chest. “But what if it stops growing?”

“Then you’ll still have them. And they’ll help you find more. Healing isn’t about never being scared again. It’s about learning you don’t have to face the fear alone.”

Something in Joshua cracked then, quiet but sharp. His eyes blurred. He didn’t wipe them this time. He just sat there, breathing unevenly, while Dr. Nim gave him the space to not be okay.

After a long silence, she glanced at the clock. “We’re almost out of time, but before we finish, do you want to set one small goal for this week?”

Joshua sniffled. “Like what?”

“Something gentle,” she said. “Not fixing everything. Maybe… when the what-if voice gets loud, you’ll try the naming trick once. Or maybe you’ll share one good moment with Seungcheol and Jeonghan. Just one.”

Joshua thought about it, chewing on his sleeve. “I could… tell them when I feel safe. Even if it’s only for a second.” His voice was small. “They’d probably like that.”

Dr. Nim nodded. “I think they would. And it will remind you too, that safety is real.”

The clock ticked again, louder now that he knew the session was ending. Joshua’s stomach knotted, like it always did when he had to leave the one place he could say all the ugly things out loud.

But as he stood, pulling his hood tighter, Dr. Nim gave him a look that felt steady. “Joshua, you’re not failing them. You’re showing up. That’s what makes you their son. Not being perfect. Just being here.”

He nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. 

When he stepped into the waiting room, Seungcheol was already there, leaning against the wall with his phone in his hand. He looked up instantly, smile easy and warm. Jeonghan was sitting nearby, jacket folded neatly across his lap. Both of them stood when they saw him.

Joshua’s heart squeezed. The fear didn’t disappear. But the truth whispered louder: They stayed. They’re still here.

“There’s my guy,” Seungcheol said, tucking his phone into his pocket. He didn’t step forward too quickly, just waited in that patient way of his.

Jeonghan stood too, jacket folded neatly over his arm. His smile was gentle, not too bright, not too heavy. “Hey, sweetie. How’d it go?”

Joshua swallowed hard. His throat was still thick from the session, his chest tender from everything he’d said. He wanted to give them a clean answer, something simple like fine or good. But the word that came out was small, uneven.

“Hard.”

Jeonghan’s smile softened even further. He shifted the jacket into one hand so he could reach the other out, palm open, offering. Not pushing. Just there.

Joshua hesitated, then slipped his fingers into the space. The warmth that met him nearly undid him all over again.

Seungcheol noticed but didn’t comment, just reached out to ruffle the hood lightly. “Hard’s okay,” he said, voice calm. “That’s what it’s for.”

Joshua blinked fast, trying to keep it together. His lips parted before he could stop himself, the word wobbling out, unpracticed but real. “Appa.”

Jeonghan’s eyes shone, but he didn’t squeeze tighter, didn’t react too big. Just bent his head enough to brush his cheek against Joshua’s hair. “Yeah, I’m here.”

Joshua turned slightly, voice smaller, breaking around the edges. “Dad?”

Seungcheol exhaled through his nose, steadying, like he had to keep his own chest from caving. “Always,” he said.

The word settled between them, fragile and permanent all at once. Joshua couldn’t look at either of them for a moment. His face burned, his chest aching in ways he couldn’t name. He wanted to hide, to disappear, but he also wanted to hold onto the warmth of their voices forever.

Jeonghan crouched slightly so they were eye level. “Do you want to talk about it now, or later at home?”

Joshua shifted, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Later,” he whispered.

“Later’s fine,” Jeonghan said immediately. “No rush.”

Seungcheol gently nudged him toward the door. “Let’s get out of here then. Fresh air’ll feel good.”

They walked out together, Joshua pressed between them like the world was a little less sharp when their presence flanked him. The sun had dipped low, painting the sky in streaks of orange and violet. The air was cooler than inside the office, and Joshua let himself breathe a little deeper.

He felt wrung out, like he’d left too many pieces of himself in that room with Dr. Nim. But as Jeonghan’s hand brushed against his, and Seungcheol held the car door open with an easy patience that said take your time, something steadier whispered under the ache.

He wasn’t leaving empty. He was leaving carried.

The car ride was quiet, the kind of quiet that wasn’t empty but careful. Joshua pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the backseat window, watching the city blur by in streaks of light and shadow.

Sometimes after therapy, he wanted to talk. Sometimes words spilled out before he could stop them, raw and clumsy, needing to be heard. But today, he felt like he’d already said too much. Like every thought had been wrung out of him, and what was left was just quiet.

Seungcheol didn’t fill the space. His steady hands rested on the wheel, his gaze flicking occasionally to the rearview mirror, not in worry but in quiet check-ins. Jeonghan sat turned slightly in the passenger seat, not watching Joshua outright, but close enough that Joshua felt him there.

Halfway home, Jeonghan reached back, hand palm-up on the edge of the seat. Joshua hesitated only a second before sliding his fingers into it, holding on just enough to feel grounded.

When they pulled into the driveway, the porch light clicked on automatically, warm and golden. Home.

Seungcheol turned off the engine and glanced back. “Want to head straight inside, buddy?”

Joshua nodded, small and quick.

Inside, the house smelled faintly of laundry detergent and sesame oil. Familiar, comforting. Joshua slipped out of his shoes by the door while Jeonghan hung up his jacket. Seungcheol set his keys in the little ceramic dish on the shelf, the one Joshua had once accidentally chipped and then spent three days convinced they’d be angry about. They hadn’t been. They’d laughed, kissed the top of his head, and told him, “You just made it unique.”

“Do you feel like tea?” Seungcheol asked gently, already moving toward the kitchen.

Joshua shrugged, but his eyes followed him. “Okay.”

Jeonghan guided Joshua toward the couch. “Want the blanket?”

Joshua nodded again, softer this time. The blanket was already there, folded over the armrest. Jeonghan draped it around him carefully, not too tight, leaving plenty of space for Joshua to adjust it himself. Joshua burrowed into it, pulling the edge up near his chin.

The sound of the kettle humming filled the room, a low, steady background noise. Joshua let it wash over him. His body felt heavy in that strange way it always did after therapy, like he’d run a marathon without moving.

Jeonghan sat beside him, not touching, just close. “You don’t have to tell us anything right now,” he said softly. “But we’re here.”

Joshua tugged at the blanket edge. His throat still felt thick. “I already told… everything,” he murmured, voice muffled.

Jeonghan nodded. “Then maybe it’s a night for resting.”

Seungcheol came back with a steaming mug, setting it carefully on the table in front of Joshua. “Chamomile. With honey. Just like last time.”

Joshua’s eyes flicked to it, then up at Seungcheol. “Thanks Dad.”

The word came out quieter than a breath, but it landed like a stone dropped in still water.

Seungcheol’s hand rested briefly on the back of the couch, not close enough to touch but steadying all the same. “Anytime, son.”

Joshua ducked his head, hiding deeper in the blanket. His chest ached again, but this time it was different. Softer.

They fell into their familiar routine, the one they’d built carefully over the year. After therapy nights, there were always small comforts: tea, warm food if Joshua wanted it, quiet music in the background, no questions unless he started them.

Tonight, Jeonghan flicked on the little lamp in the corner, casting the room in amber light. He pulled a book from the shelf, not one they had to read, but one they sometimes did, slowly, a few pages at a time. “Want me to read?” he asked.

Joshua hesitated, then gave a tiny nod. So Jeonghan read softly, his voice low and even, filling the spaces without crowding them. Seungcheol settled into the armchair, pretending to focus on his phone but really listening too, the corners of his mouth softening at every small shift of Joshua’s posture.

By the time the mug was half-empty and Jeonghan had read three pages, Joshua’s head had tilted against the back of the couch. His eyes stayed open, but his body had loosened, the sharp edges of anxiety worn down into something closer to tired.

Jeonghan closed the book gently. “Sleepy already?”

Joshua blinked, reluctant but resigned. “Yeah.”

The routine carried them upstairs. Seungcheol brushed his teeth alongside him, making exaggerated faces in the mirror until Joshua snorted despite himself. Jeonghan laid out pajamas on the bed, the soft cotton ones Joshua always reached for when he needed comfort.

They didn’t hover. They didn’t rush. Just stayed close, steady, familiar.

When Joshua finally crawled into bed, the lion plush already waiting by the pillow, Jeonghan tucked the blanket lightly around his shoulders. “You know where to find us,” he said softly. “Love you.”

Joshua nodded, staring at the moon-shaped nightlight glowing on the dresser. His chest was still heavy from everything he’d said that day. The fear was still there, whispering what if, what if, what if.

But over it, another truth pulsed steady: They stayed.

And as he drifted, caught between exhaustion and safety, Joshua let himself believe it for just long enough to fall asleep.

____________

The alarm on Joshua’s nightstand buzzed at 6:45, a low hum that rattled against the wood until he fumbled to shut it off.

For a moment, he just laid there. Heavy. Like his whole body had been filled with wet sand overnight. Therapy days always did this to him. The next morning felt like dragging himself through fog, every limb unwilling, every thought tired before it even began.

The ceiling above him was pale gray in the early light. He tracked the faint cracks in the paint with his eyes, breathing slow, wishing he could simply stay there. Stay cocooned in the warmth of the blanket Jeonghan had tucked around him the night before. Stay where the lion plush still guarded the pillow, soft and floppy from too much hugging. Stay where the what-ifs couldn’t reach so loud.

But school didn’t wait.

A soft knock came at his door. “Morning, buddy,” Seungcheol’s voice called gently. Not cheerful, he never overdid it on post-therapy mornings, but steady. “Time to get up.”

Joshua groaned into his pillow. He didn’t move.

The door creaked open anyway, just a crack. Seungcheol peeked in, hair messy from sleep, still in his own t-shirt and sweats. “Do you need a minute?”

Joshua rolled onto his side, the blanket tangled around him. “…Yeah.”

Seungcheol nodded like that was perfectly fine. “Okay. Ten minutes. I’ll start the eggs.”

The door clicked shut again, and Joshua sat up slowly, fighting the urge to lie back down. His chest felt tight, like his heart had been running all night while he was asleep.

He slid out of bed, dragging the blanket with him for a second before forcing himself to drop it back onto the mattress. His body felt clumsy, stiff. His feet shuffled against the carpet as he pulled on jeans and a hoodie from the drawer. The mirror above the dresser caught him briefly. Pale face, dark circles under his eyes, hair sticking up. He looked like he felt. Worn thin.

By the time he shuffled down the hall, the smell of breakfast drifted up from the kitchen. Eggs, sesame oil, a hint of toast. 

Jeonghan was already there, leaning against the counter with a mug of tea, his usual scrubs replaced with a soft sweater and jeans. He smiled when Joshua came in, not too wide, just gentle. “Morning, sweetie.”

Joshua mumbled something that might’ve been morning and slid into his usual seat at the table.

Seungcheol placed a plate in front of him: scrambled eggs, rice, a few apple slices cut into neat wedges. “Try to eat a little, okay?"

Joshua stared at the plate. His stomach churned the way it always did after therapy nights. Tight, unsettled, like food would just sit there like a stone.

“I’m not hungry,” he muttered.

Jeonghan sipped his tea. “That’s okay. But your body needs fuel, even when your stomach doesn’t want it. Just a few bites?”

Joshua picked at the rice with his fork, not looking up. The texture stuck to his tongue, hard to swallow. He forced down three bites before pushing the plate away, guilt curling in his chest.

Seungcheol didn’t push. He just nodded, sliding the plate closer to himself. “Good try. Want me to pack you something smaller for lunch?”

Joshua shrugged, the universal answer for I don’t know, don’t make me decide.

“I’ll put in a granola bar and some fruit,” Seungcheol said simply. “Easy stuff.”

Joshua rubbed his eyes. He hated how much effort everything took on mornings like this. Just sitting upright felt like work.

Jeonghan crouched beside his chair, resting one hand lightly on the table. “Still feeling off?”

Joshua nodded, eyes still fixed on the half-empty plate.

“You don’t have to be perfect today,” Jeonghan said softly. “Just get through the pieces one at a time.”

Joshua’s throat tightened. He wanted to say I’m trying. He wanted to say I hate feeling like this. But the words got stuck. Instead, he just nodded again.

Seungcheol checked the clock. “Seven-twenty. You’ve got time.” He slid a water bottle across the table. “Don’t forget this.”

Joshua shoved it into his backpack, already stuffed with notebooks and the sketchbook Jeonghan had slipped in last week when he’d had a hard day at school.

“Are you still okay riding your bike today?” Seungcheol asked.

Joshua thought about it. Riding his bike usually helped. The air, the rhythm, the small bubble of space it gave him before school walls closed in. He nodded faintly.

“Your helmet’s by the door,” Seungcheol said.

Jeonghan straightened, brushing a hand lightly across Joshua’s shoulder. Careful, waiting for permission. When Joshua didn’t flinch, he let it rest just a second longer. “You’ve got this,” he murmured.

Joshua’s chest ached at the words. Did he? He wasn’t sure. But their belief in him felt like something to borrow when his own was too small.

He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and headed for the door. Seungcheol followed, handing him the packed lunch and the helmet. “Eat when you can, okay? Even just the granola bar.”

Joshua nodded, fumbling with the strap. He pulled the door open. The morning air hit him, cool, fresh, carrying the faint scent of dew and cut grass. He stepped onto the porch, helmet dangling from his hand. His bike waited at the end of the path, chain glinting in the early sun.

Behind him, Seungcheol’s voice called softly, “Proud of you, buddy.”

Joshua froze for half a second, throat closing around a lump. He couldn’t look back. Couldn’t let them see the way the words hit too hard. He slid the helmet on, tightened the strap, and climbed onto the bike. The first push of the pedals was heavy, but then the rhythm caught, wheels spinning, air rushing past his face. 

The house shrank behind him, safe and warm, a soft anchor he carried in his chest as he coasted down the street. He wasn’t ready for the noise of school. He wasn’t ready for the eyes, the questions, the endless stretch of the day.

But he was moving. He was going. And sometimes, that was all he could do.

Joshua locked his bike at the rack out front, fingers fumbling with the lock even though he’d done it a hundred times before. His chest was already tight, like it always got before the first bell. 

The chatter of students spilling into the building pressed at his ears. Laughter too loud, footsteps too fast, lockers slamming sharp as thunder. He hunched deeper into his hoodie and slipped inside with the current, eyes glued to the floor tiles.

The hallway smelled faintly of pencil shavings and cafeteria grease. Posters for the upcoming talent show screamed in neon letters from the walls. SIGN UP NOW! SHOW YOUR TALENT! Joshua’s stomach lurched. The idea of standing on a stage in front of people made his skin crawl. He pressed faster through the crowd until the noise thinned.

By the time he slid into his classroom, the room was half full. Groups clustered in corners, voices overlapping. Joshua slipped into his usual spot near the back by the window, the one that let him stare outside when the walls felt too close. The desk beside his was empty, as it always was. Six other seats were too, but his carried an invisible border. Most kids respected it without question.

He set his notebook down, flipping to a blank page. The ritual steadied him: open notebook, sharpened pencil, head down. If he looked busy enough, maybe no one would notice the way his fingers trembled, the way his stomach churned.

The bell rang and Ms. Kim swept in, papers under one arm, glasses slipping down her nose. “Alright, settle down,” she said, tapping the desk until the noise dulled. “Before we start, I have an announcement.”

Joshua’s grip tightened. Announcements meant change. Change always made his chest clench.

Ms. Kim gestured to the door. “We have a new student joining us today. Please be respectful."

The door opened and in walked… sunlight? That was the only word Joshua could find. The boy who entered seemed to carry brightness in with him. Tall, broad-shouldered, his grin wide and easy. His hair caught the light like it belonged there. He waved once, casual and confident.

“Hi,” Johnny said, voice warm and booming just enough to carry. “I’m Johnny.”

A couple kids snickered. Someone in the front muttered something under their breath. Johnny just grinned bigger, like none of it touched him.

Ms. Kim pointed toward the desks. “There are several open seats. Johnny, you can take any of them.”

Six choices. Joshua prayed, actually prayed, that Johnny would pick one of the front ones. Somewhere near the chatter, near the kids who lived in the spotlight without burning up.

But Johnny’s gaze swept the room once, unhurried, and landed in the back. On him. Joshua’s stomach dropped.

Johnny waltzed toward the empty desk beside him, backpack slung over one shoulder, sneakers squeaking faintly. He stopped at the desk, looking right at Joshua.

“Hey,” Johnny said, voice quieter now, but still impossibly warm. “Mind if I sit here?”

Joshua froze. The what-if voice screamed in his head. Say no, he’ll notice, he’ll talk to you, he’ll see through you. But his throat locked. He couldn’t make the words come. So he shrugged.

Johnny smiled like that was all the permission he needed. He plopped down, dropping his bag to the floor, stretching long legs under the desk like he owned the space already. Books scattered across the surface in an easy sprawl. He hummed under his breath as he got settled, tapping a rhythm against the wood.

Joshua turned back to his notebook, heart pounding so hard it made the pencil quiver in his hand. His bubble had been broken.

“Thanks,” Johnny whispered, leaning just slightly toward him. “I hate sitting in the front. Too many eyes.”

Joshua blinked. He risked a glance, just for a second. Johnny didn’t look like someone afraid of eyes at all. He looked at home, comfortable. Like the world bent to make space for him. But maybe that was the difference. Johnny chose the back while Joshua just hid there.

Before he could think of a response, not that he would’ve spoken it out loud, Ms. Kim clapped her hands. “Books out. Let’s get started.”

Chairs scraped, paper rustled. The room shifted back into its usual rhythm. Joshua tried to focus on the board, on the neat lines of Ms. Kim’s handwriting, but Johnny’s presence was like a small sun burning in his peripheral vision. He could feel it, the warmth, the movement, the quiet hum under Johnny’s breath.

Joshua scribbled the notes mechanically, words blurring together. Every so often, Johnny tapped his pen on the desk, the beat cheerful and careless. Once, he dropped it. The clatter made Joshua flinch, but Johnny just grinned, scooped it up, and whispered, “Oops. Sorry.” His tone carried no embarrassment, like mistakes were just… nothing.

Joshua’s chest tightened. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen someone so unafraid of being seen.

When Ms. Kim turned back to write on the board, Johnny leaned a little closer, his whisper cutting through the quiet. “Hey, do you get this?”

Joshua blinked at the page. His pencil hovered over the unfinished notes. He didn’t trust his voice to work, so he just nodded once, sliding his notebook slightly toward Johnny so he could see.

Johnny’s grin widened. “Thanks, man.” He scribbled quickly, copying the line, then pushed the book back with a little tap of gratitude.

Joshua’s pulse stuttered. The contact was nothing, just a touch of paper against his hand, but it buzzed through him like a spark. He ducked his head deeper, writing fast enough to look busy again. 

The morning crept by in a haze. Joshua kept his eyes on his notebook, filling page after page with half-legible notes just to keep his pencil moving. If his hand was busy, maybe no one would notice how his leg bounced beneath the desk or how tight his chest felt.

Johnny, on the other hand, seemed built of ease. He leaned back when he wrote, twirled his pen between his fingers, tapped his foot in time to some rhythm only he could hear. Twice, he whispered a quick question, “What page?” or “Did she say number four?”, and both times Joshua just nodded and pushed his notes toward him. Johnny thanked him like they were already teammates.

Joshua couldn’t figure it out. People weren’t supposed to look at him like that, like he wasn’t a mistake for taking up space. These were high schoolers. No one cared who he was if he didn’t talk or put himself out there. Yet here he is.

By the time the lunch bell rang, Joshua’s stomach was a knot. He slipped through the halls quickly, dodging the clusters of kids filling tables in the cafeteria. He never ate in there if he could help it, too much noise.

Instead, he took his usual path to the courtyard. A half-broken bench under a maple tree had become his safe place. From there, he could see the edges of the soccer field, the traffic humming faintly beyond the fence. No one usually bothered him.

He set his backpack down, pulled out the granola bar Seungcheol had packed, and unwrapped it slowly. Even the smell of it made his stomach turn, but he took a bite anyway, chewing carefully, trying to make himself swallow.

“Hey!”

Joshua startled so hard he almost dropped the bar.

Johnny stood in front of him, tray balanced in one hand, grinning like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Is this seat taken?”

Joshua blinked at the empty bench. Then back at Johnny. He opened his mouth to say yes, to lie, but all that came out was silence.

“Cool,” Johnny said easily, dropping onto the bench without waiting for an answer. His tray clattered with a sandwich, chips, and a carton of milk. “Man, this place is loud. I swear I lost five years of hearing just walking through the cafeteria.”

Joshua stared at him, granola bar halfway to his mouth.

Johnny tore into his sandwich, talking between bites like they’d been friends forever. “So, have you been here long? You don’t look like the kind of guy who’d pick the back of the class just for fun.”

Joshua shifted, shrinking into his hoodie. “…A while.”

Johnny nodded, as if that was a full story. “Cool. Guess you’re the local expert then. You’ll have to show me which teachers are strict and which ones will let me slack off.”

Joshua blinked. Was he… joking? His tone was light, teasing, but not cruel. Like he just expected Joshua to keep up.

“I… don’t know,” Joshua muttered. His voice was barely above a whisper.

Johnny just grinned wider. “Guess I’ll find out the hard way.” He crunched into a chip, dusted crumbs off his hands, then tilted his head toward Joshua. “Do you always eat out here?”

Joshua’s throat tightened. He hated questions, hated the way they made him feel exposed. But Johnny’s tone wasn’t prying, it was curious, like he actually wanted to know.

“Sometimes,” Joshua said softly.

“Smart,” Johnny said, leaning back on the bench. “Way better than shouting over fifty kids and smelling pizza grease.” He stretched, arms long, body loose in a way that made Joshua feel like stone. “Mind if I join you tomorrow too?”

Joshua froze. His brain scrambled for an excuse, something that would keep his bubble intact. But Johnny was looking at him with that open grin, like he’d already decided, so did he really have a choice?

“…I guess,” Joshua murmured.

Johnny beamed. “Great. You’re officially my first friend here.”

The word slammed into Joshua’s chest. Friend. Like it was that easy. He ducked his head, chewing the last of his granola bar slowly so he wouldn’t have to answer. 

The afternoon dragged. By the third period, Joshua’s brain was foggy, his pencil dull, his focus slipping. Therapy hangover days always hit hardest the more he had to keep himself upright. He fought to keep his head up, scribbling notes he wasn’t sure he’d be able to read later.

Johnny, meanwhile, seemed endless. He answered a question out loud, wrong, but with such bold confidence that even Ms. Kim laughed before correcting him. He doodled in the margins of his notebook, a quick messy sketch of what looked like a dragon breathing fire on their math problems. He whispered a joke to the kid in front of him, who chuckled so loud the teacher had to shush them.

Joshua sat silent, hidden in his corner. But every now and then, his eyes drifted sideways. To the dragon sketch. To the way Johnny tapped his pencil in time with his humming. Just trying to think why this kid was so… unique.

When the final bell rang, the halls exploded with noise. Joshua packed slowly, letting the rush of bodies thin before he left the classroom. His chest still ached from the day, every sound too sharp, every movement too much.

Instead of heading straight for the bike racks, he followed the familiar path down the quieter hall to the counselor’s office.

Ms. Lee was already waiting inside, her desk scattered with colorful pens and a bowl of candy she always offered first thing. “Hey, Joshua,” she said warmly. “How was today?”

Joshua shrugged, dropping his bag beside the chair. “…Okay.”

She smiled knowingly. “Okay’s better than bad. Anything you want to talk about?”

Joshua picked at the edge of his sleeve. “Just… tired.”

“You did have therapy yesterday,” Ms. Lee said softly. “Did you manage lunch?”

He nodded. “Granola bar.”

“Good job.” She slid the candy bowl a little closer, like she always did. “Want one for the walk out?”

Joshua hesitated, then picked a small chocolate, rolling it in his hand.

Ms. Lee leaned back. “I’m glad it wasn’t too bad. And you have been managing without stopping by between classes, so there’s a step.”

Joshua’s throat tightened. He nodded again, not trusting his voice.

A knock came at the door. Seungcheol’s voice followed. “Hey, we ready?”

Joshua turned. Seungcheol stood in the doorway, one hand still on the frame, his smile steady and warm. Relief rushed through Joshua’s chest, loosening something tight.

“Yeah,” Joshua whispered.

Ms. Lee gave him a soft look. “See you tomorrow, Joshua.”

Joshua slipped his bag on, chocolate still clutched in his palm, and followed Seungcheol into the hall. His dad ruffled his hood lightly, not too much, just enough to remind him he was there.

“Long day, huh?” Seungcheol said as they walked.

Joshua nodded, the lump in his throat making it hard to answer.

“That’s alright,” Seungcheol added. “We’ll head home. Your appa got off early and made dinner.”

Joshua let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Home. The word felt like a soft place to land after a day of noise and new faces and what-ifs.

And maybe, just maybe, tomorrow wouldn’t be so heavy.

Chapter Text

The week slipped by faster than Joshua expected.

Therapy Monday had been hard, Tuesday quieter, Wednesday blurry, and by Thursday, he’d almost convinced himself that he could breathe again. Now it was Friday, the day he’d been dreading all week. The day with two tests stacked back to back like someone had planned it just to see if his stomach could handle it.

He stood at his locker, fingers twisting the dial of his combination lock, trying to remember which number came next. His brain always got foggy on test mornings, thoughts tangling up into knots.

Twenty-four. Turn right. Then twelve. Left. Then…

The lock clicked open. Relief flooded his chest, too big for something so small. He grabbed his math notebook and shoved it into his bag, glancing down the hall.

Kids moved like a current, laughing, bumping shoulders, already talking about the weekend. Joshua stayed close to the wall, keeping his space small as he wove through them toward class.

He’d reviewed his notes last night, carefully, until the lines blurred together. He knew the material. He really did. But that didn’t stop the buzz under his skin, the familiar hum of anxiety crawling through his ribs.

When he walked into class, Johnny was already there.

He was leaning back in his chair, spinning a pencil between his fingers, chatting with the kid in front of him about something that made him laugh, loud and unrestrained. His laugh always caught people off guard. It wasn’t like the quiet, controlled ones Joshua was used to. Johnny’s laughter filled the room, cracked it open, made other people smile without meaning to.

He spotted Joshua right away. “Hey!” he called, grin stretching wide.

Joshua gave a small nod, his version of hello, and slid into his seat by the window.

Johnny tilted his chair back slightly, turning just enough to face him. “Are you ready for this?”

Joshua shrugged, pulling his pencil case out. “Maybe.”

Johnny chuckled. “That’s more confident than I am. I didn’t study half as much as I should’ve for coming in halfway through the course.”

Joshua looked up, surprised. Johnny never seemed worried about anything. “You didn’t?”

“Nope.” Johnny grinned like it was something to be proud of. “I tried, but I got distracted watching videos about ancient pyramids. Have you ever gone down those rabbit holes?”

Joshua blinked. “Not… really.”

Johnny laughed again, easy and bright. “You should. I swear, the stuff you find at 2 a.m. is life-changing.”

Joshua couldn’t help it. A tiny, quiet smile tugged at his mouth before he could stop it. Johnny caught it, eyes lighting up.

“There it is,” he said softly, like he’d been waiting for it since they first met.

Joshua’s ears burned. He ducked his head quickly, pretending to straighten his notebook.The bell rang, saving him from having to respond. 

Ms. Kim clapped her hands once to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, everyone. Test time. Clear your desks except for a pencil.”

A low chorus of groans filled the room. Joshua exhaled slowly, sliding his books into his bag and keeping only his pencil and eraser out.

Ms. Kim passed out the papers, face-down. “Don’t start until I say so.”

Joshua’s hands were already clammy. His pulse thudded behind his ears. He took a deep breath, grounding himself the way Dr. Han had taught him a thousand times.

When Ms. Kim said, “Begin,” he flipped the test over.

The first question stared up at him: Simplify the equation.

He knew this. He could do this. His pencil moved carefully, his handwriting small and neat, numbers lining up perfectly in columns. His leg bounced under the desk, but his breathing stayed steady.

Halfway through, he risked a glance sideways.

Johnny was bent over his paper, brow furrowed, lips moving as he counted under his breath. His foot tapped in a rhythm that made Joshua’s chest tighten. It wasn’t loud, but it was there. Johnny’s energy filled the air even when he was quiet.

Joshua went back to his paper, heart still racing, but not as wildly.

By the time the clock ticked to the last ten minutes, he’d finished all but two questions. His brain felt fuzzy, like a static hum had settled inside his skull. He reread the problems, eyes burning.

He could ask for more time. Ms. Kim never offered before the test ended, she always asked afterward, in that quiet way she did, careful not to draw attention. 

But maybe today he didn’t need it. Maybe he could finish on time, like everyone else. His pencil scratched faster.

When the bell finally rang, the noise of shuffling papers and scraping chairs filled the air. Joshua sat frozen for a second, staring at his test. His stomach twisted, unsure if the relief he felt was real or borrowed.

Ms. Kim came by, collecting papers. “How’d it go, Joshua?” she asked softly.

He swallowed. “Okay, I think.”

Her smile was small but genuine. “You did great. You worked really hard this week. I could see it.”

Joshua’s chest ached at the words. Compliments always made him feel like he’d been caught doing something secret. 

He nodded, muttering, “Thank you,” before stuffing his things into his bag.

Johnny bumped his shoulder lightly as they left the room. “Did you survive? Because I don’t think I did.”

Joshua gave a weak smile. “Barely.”

Johnny grinned. “Barely still counts.”

By the time lunch rolled around, Joshua was exhausted. Tests always did that. Left him feeling hollowed out, even when they went okay.

He sat at his usual bench under the maple tree, unpacking his lunch. Jeonghan had made rice and grilled chicken, neatly packed in the small bento box. The sight of it made his throat tighten, the care in it, the familiarity.

He’d just taken his first bite when a familiar voice called out, “Hey! My favorite quiet guy!”

Joshua turned to see Johnny striding across the courtyard, tray in hand, grinning like the sun.

He didn’t ask this time, he actually only asked that very first time, and dropped onto the bench beside him, tray clattering. “Do you always eat here? I checked the cafeteria first to make sure and it was like trying to survive an avalanche.”

Joshua blinked. “Yeah. It’s… quieter here.”

“I’ve noticed.” Johnny cracked open a juice box, stabbing the straw through with theatrical precision. “You know, I think you’ve got this figured out. You and me. The outdoor dining club.”

Joshua huffed something that was almost a laugh.

Johnny glanced sideways at him. “That’s a yes, right? We’re totally co-presidents now.”

Joshua shook his head, but his lips curved. “I guess.”

“Perfect.” Johnny leaned back, stretching his legs out. “So, how was the test? You looked super focused.”

“It was okay.”

“Okay’s good,” Johnny said easily. “I probably bombed the second half, but I’m counting on my charming personality to balance it out.”

Joshua rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. 

Johnny caught it instantly and gasped dramatically. “Was that sass? Did you just sass me, Joshua?”

“I—” Joshua stammered, embarrassed.

Johnny laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “No, no, keep it. I like it.”

Joshua ducked his head, cheeks warm. He wasn’t used to this. Someone teasing him without cruelty, someone who treated his small reactions like treasures instead of inconveniences.

They ate in a comfortable rhythm after that, Johnny doing most of the talking. He talked about a movie he wanted to see, about his old school, about how he accidentally joined the drama club because he thought it was an improv class. Joshua mostly listened, but he didn’t mind. Listening felt safe when the voice he was listening to didn’t demand anything back.

When the bell rang, Johnny stood and grabbed his tray. “See you in history, co-president.”

Joshua blinked, then smiled, a real one, small but bright. “See you.”

The rest of the day blurred again. One test, one essay, the usual exhaustion that followed too much concentration. But it wasn’t the same kind of drained he used to feel.

Johnny had a way of making the air lighter. Even when Joshua didn’t talk, even when his thoughts curled inward, Johnny’s chatter filled the silence without crowding it. It made school… survivable.

By the final bell, Joshua’s shoulders ached. He packed his bag slowly, moving through the motions of his routine. As usual, he walked to the counselor’s room instead of heading for the door.

Ms. Lee looked up from her computer and smiled. “Hey there, Joshua. How’d the day go?”

Joshua sat in his usual chair, fingers playing with the zipper on his bag. “Okay. We had tests.”

“Two, right? That’s a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“You did great just making it through,” she said softly. “That kind of day can take a lot out of you.”

He nodded. “I… didn’t need extra time today.”

Her eyes warmed. “Really? That’s wonderful, Joshua. See? Progress doesn’t always mean it’s easy, sometimes it just means you handled it differently.”

Joshua’s throat tightened. “It still felt hard.”

“It’s allowed to,” Ms. Lee said. “You did something hard, and you did it anyway. That counts.”

He nodded again, voice too small for words.

There was a knock at the door.

Seungcheol’s voice floated through. “Hey, can I steal him?”

Ms. Lee smiled. “Perfect timing, as always.”

Joshua stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Seungcheol grinned at him. “Hey, champ. You survived the week.”

Joshua’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “Barely.”

Seungcheol chuckled. “Barely still counts.”

Joshua blinked, startled. It was the same thing Johnny had said earlier. The coincidence warmed something in his chest he couldn’t name.

They walked toward the doors together, Seungcheol matching his slow pace. “Jeonghan’s cooking tonight. He said something about kimchi stew and homework bribes.”

Joshua rolled his eyes faintly. “That’s not a bribe.”

“It is if he’s trying to get you to do math before dinner,” Seungcheol said, grinning.

Joshua laughed softly, a sound that always surprised him. It felt lighter leaving his chest.

As they stepped into the fading afternoon light, the week’s noise started to fade. The ache in his chest loosened. He’d made it through the tests. He’d talked a little more. He hadn’t frozen.

The car was warm, sunlight spilling through the windshield in long gold streaks. The low hum of the radio filled the silence, tuned to one of Seungcheol’s easy playlists. Soft acoustic songs that blended into the background like breathing.

Joshua sat in the passenger seat, backpack on his lap. His body buzzed with the quiet exhaustion that always came after test days. His brain felt wrung out, but the hum of anxiety had finally quieted to something small and far away.

Seungcheol drummed his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. “Did Ms. Lee say you worked hard today?”

Joshua shrugged. “I guess.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Seungcheol said, glancing at him with a grin. “Two tests in one day, though? That’s brutal.”

Joshua smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

“You get to rest this weekend. No negotiations.”

Joshua’s lips twitched. “You always say that, and then Appa gives me extra reading.”

Seungcheol laughed. “That’s because your Appa’s definition of resting includes ‘stimulating the mind.’”

Joshua let out a small laugh. They turned into the neighborhood, the houses familiar now, each one with its own little front garden or crooked mailbox. The kind of quiet, safe street he used to think only existed in TV shows.

When they pulled into the driveway, the smell of dinner hit him before they even opened the door: spicy, savory, warm. Kimchi stew.

“Appa’s in the zone,” Seungcheol murmured as they stepped inside.

Jeonghan’s voice came from the kitchen. “Don’t touch anything yet, it needs five more minutes!”

“I wasn’t even in the room yet!” Seungcheol called back, feigning offense.

“You’re always thinking about it!” Jeonghan shouted from behind the counter.

Joshua snorted softly, slipping off his shoes by the door. The familiar back-and-forth between them filled the house with an easy kind of noise, the kind that didn’t hurt his head.

Jeonghan appeared a second later, wiping his hands on a towel. His hair was tied up messily, a little piece falling over his forehead, and his cheeks were flushed from the heat of cooking.

“Hey, baby,” he said, smile softening when he saw Joshua. “How was school?”

Joshua set his bag down by the couch. “Okay. We had tests.”

Jeonghan winced sympathetically. “Two, right? Do you think you did okay?”

“Barely.”

Seungcheol laughed as he headed toward the kitchen. “That’s apparently the phrase of the day.”

Jeonghan tilted his head. “The phrase of the day?”

“Ask your son,” Seungcheol said, grabbing a spoon from the drawer before Jeonghan swatted at him.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, turning back to Joshua. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Joshua hesitated, then smiled a little. “My friend said it.”

Jeonghan’s brows lifted slightly. “Your friend?”

Joshua froze. He hadn’t meant to call Johnny that, it had just slipped out. The word felt strange and heavy in his mouth. He looked down at his socks, suddenly self-conscious.

Jeonghan didn’t push. He just leaned against the counter, smiling softly. “That’s new.”

Joshua shrugged, cheeks warm. “His name’s Johnny. He’s… new.”

Jeonghan nodded slowly, like he was storing the name somewhere safe. “That’s nice, sweetie. What’s he like?”

Joshua thought for a second. “Loud.” Then, quieter, “But… nice.”

Jeonghan’s smile widened, gentle and knowing. “Loud and nice isn’t a bad mix.”

“Yeah,” Joshua murmured.

Seungcheol peeked around the corner, spoon in hand. “Who’s loud and nice?”

“Johnny,” Jeonghan said. “Joshua’s new friend.”

Seungcheol’s grin brightened instantly. “Oh, the kid from school? The one who sits next to you?”

Joshua blinked. “How do you—”

“Ms. Lee mentioned you’d been sitting with someone new,” Seungcheol said easily. “She said he’s good for you.”

Joshua’s stomach twisted. “She said that?”

“Yeah.” Seungcheol winked. “She said you even smiled in her office on Wednesday. That’s big stuff.”

Joshua groaned softly, hiding his face in his hands. “Does she tell you everything?”

“Only the good stuff,” Seungcheol promised. “The moment you start a biker gang, I’ll be the last to know.”

Jeonghan snorted. “A biker gang? He rides a blue bicycle with a basket.”

Joshua’s face turned red. “It’s practical.”

“Adorable,” Jeonghan corrected, brushing a hand through his hair as he turned back to the stove. “Dinner’s ready, by the way. Go wash up.”

Joshua headed to the sink, scrubbing his hands while Seungcheol and Jeonghan bickered about who got to serve. The warmth of the house wrapped around him. The clink of dishes, the smell of stew, the soft music Seungcheol always played during dinner.

When they sat down, Jeonghan ladled generous portions into their bowls. Joshua waited for both of them to start before taking his first bite. The broth was rich and spicy, the kind of warmth that spread all the way to his chest.

Seungcheol leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “You’re officially off duty this weekend, Joshua. No tests, no pressure, just whatever you want to do.”

Jeonghan nodded. “Maybe a movie night?”

Joshua smiled faintly. “Okay.”

“And maybe invite Johnny sometime,” Seungcheol added casually, sipping his tea.

Joshua choked on a piece of tofu, coughing hard. “What?!”

Jeonghan swatted Seungcheol’s arm. “Don’t scare him.”

“I’m not!” Seungcheol laughed, hands up in surrender. “I just said maybe.”

Joshua’s face burned. “We’re not… it’s not like that.”

Jeonghan reached over to pat his hand gently. “We know. Don’t worry, honey. Your dad just gets excited when you talk about someone new.”

“I do,” Seungcheol said unapologetically. “Sue me for being proud.”

Joshua ducked his head, but he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips. He spooned another bite of stew, the heat filling his chest.

Dinner drifted into quiet conversation. Jeonghan talking about work, Seungcheol teasing him about forgetting his lunch, Joshua listening with the easy comfort of routine. Every now and then, he caught himself thinking about Johnny. His laugh, his easy way of fitting into spaces Joshua still stumbled through.

When the dishes were done and the house settled into its evening rhythm, Joshua curled up on the couch with a blanket. Jeonghan sat beside him with a book; Seungcheol sprawled on the floor, half-watching the muted TV.

The world outside faded into soft quiet. For the first time all week, Joshua’s body didn’t feel like a knot of nerves. He felt full. Not from the food, but from something gentler. Something that hummed under his skin, warm and new.

He didn’t know what it was exactly. Friendship, maybe, or just the feeling of not being so alone at school anymore.

But as he leaned into the couch cushions, eyelids growing heavy, he thought of Johnny’s grin, Jeonghan’s quiet smile, Seungcheol’s laughter, and the steady rhythm of the life he was still learning to believe he deserved.

________

The house was quiet when Joshua woke up.

Soft morning light filtered through the thin curtains, painting pale gold streaks across his blanket. The clock on the nightstand read 8:07, later than he usually slept, but still early enough that the world outside hadn’t fully stirred yet.

He stretched slowly, the sheets rustling beneath him, and for a few seconds just listened. The distant hum of the fridge, the low creak of the house settling. No voices. No footsteps.

Jeonghan must’ve already left for work.

That thought carried a familiar ache, not sharp, just the kind that tugged gently at the edges of his chest. Saturday shifts meant Jeonghan would be gone until the afternoon. But even in absence, his presence lingered. Joshua’s eyes flicked to the corner of his desk where a folded note sat, pinned under a small paper crane.

He smiled softly, pushing the blanket off and crossing the room. The handwriting was neat, a little rushed.

Good morning, sweetie. There’s leftover pancakes in the fridge if you’re hungry. Be good today. Love you —  Appa ❤️

The small heart at the end made his stomach flutter, like warmth expanding in his ribs.

He padded out of his room barefoot, the wood cool under his feet. Seungcheol was in the kitchen, still in his T-shirt and joggers, hair sticking up like he’d slept on the wrong side of the pillow.

“Morning, buddy,” Seungcheol said when he spotted him, voice still rough with sleep. He was leaning against the counter, sipping from a mug that said World’s Okayest Dad.

“Morning,” Joshua mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“You hungry? Appa made his famous pancakes before work.”

Joshua hesitated, then nodded. “A little.”

Seungcheol grinned and gestured toward the fridge. “Help yourself. I’ll heat them up.”

While Seungcheol pulled the pancakes from a container and tossed them onto a skillet, Joshua sat at the table, tucking his feet up under the chair. The smell of butter filled the kitchen, sweet and rich.

“You sleep okay?” Seungcheol asked without looking over.

“Yeah,” Joshua said softly. “Better.”

“That’s good,” Seungcheol said, flipping a pancake. “I was thinking of running a few errands today. Grocery store, car wash, maybe swing by the hardware place. Want to come?”

Joshua hesitated. His instinct was to say no, to stay in, keep things predictable. But something in him felt different today. Lighter. Maybe it was the sunshine spilling through the window, or the quiet stillness of the morning, or the small courage he’d been collecting all week without realizing it.

He nodded. “Okay.”

Seungcheol turned, eyebrows lifting. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Joshua repeated, a little firmer.

A grin spread across Seungcheol’s face. “Alright then, partner. Pancakes first, errands second.”

He slid the plate onto the table and sat down across from Joshua. They ate quietly for a while, the kind of easy silence that didn’t need filling. The pancakes were still fluffy despite being reheated, Jeonghan’s secret was always extra butter and vanilla extract. Joshua drizzled syrup carefully, watching it pool along the edges.

After breakfast, Joshua rinsed his plate and started to retreat toward his room out of habit, but Seungcheol’s voice stopped him.

“Hey better grab a jacket. It’s chilly today.”

Joshua nodded, half-smiling. “Okay.”

He changed into jeans, a soft hoodie, and his worn sneakers, the ones Seungcheol had bought him last spring, claiming they made him “look like a cool teenager.” Joshua had laughed at that, but secretly, he’d liked it.

When he came back to the living room, Seungcheol was zipping up his jacket and jangling the car keys. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

They stepped outside together. The morning air was crisp and bright, the kind that smelled faintly like wet leaves and sunlight. Joshua squinted against the glare as they walked down the driveway. The car gleamed faintly, freshly washed from last week’s rain.

Inside, Seungcheol’s playlist hummed softly through the speakers , an old mix of soft rock and mellow pop songs. Joshua settled into the passenger seat, tucking his hands into his sleeves.

Seungcheol glanced at him as he pulled out onto the road. “Are you okay with a few stops? It won’t be long.”

“Yeah,” Joshua said quietly. “It’s fine.”

Seungcheol smiled. “Good. I could use the company. Your Appa always disappears in the hardware store for hours.”

Joshua laughed softly, imagining Jeonghan inspecting every brand of lightbulb before making a decision.

The first stop was the grocery store. It was still early enough that the aisles weren’t crowded. Joshua pushed the cart while Seungcheol checked the list on his phone. The rhythm of it felt steady, not overwhelming like it used to.

“Grab a couple of those apples,” Seungcheol said, nodding toward the display. “The good ones, not the bruised ones.”

Joshua inspected them carefully, turning each one in his hand before setting them in the bag.

“Man of precision,” Seungcheol said with mock admiration. “Appa would be proud.”

Joshua smiled faintly. “He always says that.”

“Yeah, he does,” Seungcheol said, chuckling. “You two have the same ‘examining something like it’s a science project’ face.”

Joshua rolled his eyes. “We do not.”

“Oh, you absolutely do.”

They moved through the aisles: eggs, milk, rice, a new box of tea Jeonghan liked. Seungcheol hummed under his breath, tapping his fingers on the cart handle. Every so often, he’d toss something in that wasn’t on the list like cookies, chips, or a bottle of soda.

“Appa’s gonna yell at you,” Joshua warned.

“He’ll forgive me when he eats half the cookies,” Seungcheol said confidently.

By the time they checked out, Joshua’s shoulders were relaxed, the tension that usually lived there melted away. Being out with Seungcheol always felt safe. He never rushed, never scolded, just moved through the world at a pace Joshua could keep up with.

They loaded the groceries into the trunk, and as they pulled out of the parking lot, Seungcheol glanced sideways. “You seemed happier this week.”

Joshua blinked. “I did?”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol said. “You smiled more. Even at dinner last night.”

Joshua’s fingers tightened around his sleeve. “I guess.”

Seungcheol’s tone stayed light, careful. “Johnny’s a good kid, huh?”

Joshua’s heart stuttered. “He’s… loud.”

Seungcheol laughed softly. “Loud can be good sometimes. Keeps things interesting.”

Joshua looked out the window, watching the buildings blur past. “He talks a lot.”

“And you don’t,” Seungcheol said, smiling. “Perfect balance.”

Joshua’s lips twitched, but he didn’t answer.

Seungcheol reached over, turning the volume of the radio down just slightly. “You know… it’s okay to let people in, Josh. It doesn’t have to happen all at once. Just little pieces. One conversation, one lunch, one smile. That’s how trust grows.”

Joshua’s chest ached at the softness in his voice. “I know.”

“I can tell he likes you,” Seungcheol added, grinning. “You’ve got that mysterious quiet-kid vibe. It’s powerful.”

Joshua snorted, startled into laughter. “No, it’s not.”

“Sure it is,” Seungcheol said. “I had it when I was your age.”

“No, you didn’t,” Joshua said immediately, shaking his head. “You probably talked too much, like Johnny.”

Seungcheol gasped dramatically. “Wow. Betrayed in my own car.”

Joshua laughed harder. A real laugh this time, sharp and bright. Seungcheol grinned wide, satisfied.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said softly.

By the time they got home, the sun had climbed higher, casting warm stripes across the floor through the kitchen windows. Joshua helped unpack the groceries, stacking the apples neatly in the fruit bowl while Seungcheol put away the rest.

Afterward, Seungcheol stretched his arms over his head. “Alright, mission accomplished. You want to watch something before Appa gets home?”

Joshua hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”

They settled on the couch, a bag of chips between them, an old animated movie playing on low volume. Joshua curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked up, a blanket over his knees.

Halfway through, Seungcheol glanced down at him. Joshua was still watching, but his eyelids were drooping, his body finally giving in to the week’s exhaustion.

Seungcheol reached over quietly and pulled the blanket higher, tucking it around Joshua’s shoulders.

“Good job this week, buddy,” he murmured.

Joshua didn’t answer, already half asleep, but the corners of his mouth curved slightly, a quiet peace settling across his face.

The movie was still playing when the front door clicked open.

The sound was soft, careful, like someone who didn’t want to disturb the peace. Jeonghan stepped inside, the scent of hospital soap still clinging faintly to his scrubs. His hair was loose now, falling around his shoulders, and a small smile tugged at his lips when he saw the living room.

Joshua was curled up on the couch, blanket pulled up to his chin, fast asleep. The afternoon sun poured through the window, painting his hair in faint gold. One of his hands was still clutching the corner of the blanket, the other dangling off the edge of the couch.

Seungcheol looked up from his spot on the floor, a mug of tea beside him and a pile of folded grocery bags at his side. He smiled when he saw Jeonghan. “You’re back early.”

Jeonghan nodded, slipping his shoes off quietly. “We got ahead on rounds, so they let me leave after lunch. Didn’t want to jinx it by staying.”

He padded closer, setting his bag down gently before glancing toward Joshua. “He asleep?”

“Out cold,” Seungcheol murmured, voice softened. “Didn’t even make it halfway through the movie.”

Jeonghan’s smile deepened. “He looks peaceful.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol said quietly. “It’s been a good week for him.”

Jeonghan nodded, leaning against the back of the couch, watching the slow rise and fall of Joshua’s chest. “I could tell last night. He smiled more. Laughed, even.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol said. “And he actually came with me to run errands this morning. Voluntarily.”

Jeonghan’s eyes widened slightly. “He did?”

“Yep,” Seungcheol said, grinning. “Didn’t even hesitate. Helped me pick out apples like it was a mission from God.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly, covering his mouth. “That’s our boy. Always meticulous.”

Seungcheol’s expression softened again. “He’s really starting to settle, Hannie.”

“I know,” Jeonghan whispered, gaze distant but full. “Dr. Nim called me yesterday after their session. Said he’s been more engaged lately, less avoidant, more open. Still anxious, but… trusting more.”

“That’s good,” Seungcheol said, relief flooding his tone. “He deserves to feel safe.”

“He’s earning it one small day at a time,” Jeonghan said quietly. “Dr. Nim said it’s slow work, but it’s real.”

There was a small pause, filled only by the faint sound of the TV’s low dialogue.

Seungcheol took a sip of his tea, thoughtful. “Oh, his social worker called me on the way home yesterday. Just a quick check-in. Wanted to know how he’s adjusting to school.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“She said the teachers report he’s been doing well. Participating a little more. Keeping up with work. And of course, Johnny.”

“Ah,” Jeonghan said, smiling softly. “The loud and nice one.”

“That’s the one.”

“He seems good for him,” Jeonghan said. 

Seungcheol nodded. “Joshua talking a little about him today. He reminds me of you, actually.”

Jeonghan blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah. Loud, friendly, charming enough to get even a quiet kid to smile.”

Jeonghan laughed quietly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” Seungcheol said warmly. “He’s helping Joshua find his rhythm, even if they just met.”

The two of them stood in quiet for a moment, watching Joshua sleep. He looked younger like this. Softer, all the tension melted from his face.

Then Jeonghan’s voice broke the stillness, light and casual. “You know his birthday’s coming up, right?”

Seungcheol blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—what? When?”

“Next week.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” Jeonghan said, chuckling softly. “He’ll be sixteen."

“Sixteen?” Seungcheol repeated, as if the number itself was unbelievable. “How—he’s already—wow.”

Jeonghan smiled at his expression. “I know. Our little teenager. Can you believe it?”

Seungcheol leaned back against the couch with a faint groan. “Barely. Feels like we just got him, and now suddenly he’s halfway to adulthood.”

Jeonghan crossed his arms, eyes softening. “Halfway, maybe. But he still curls up with a blanket like a little kid.”

“True,” Seungcheol said with a grin. “A well-behaved kid at that.”

Jeonghan tilted his head, smirking. “Why do you sound disappointed?”

“I’m not disappointed,” Seungcheol said quickly. “I’m just saying… we could let him rebel a little. You know, sneak an extra dessert, stay up late, play loud music, something teenager-y.”

Jeonghan snorted, stifling a laugh. “You want to encourage bad behavior as a gift?”

“I’m saying it’s healthy,” Seungcheol argued lightly, grinning. “Gotta balance out all that politeness somehow.”

Jeonghan shook his head, smiling so wide it reached his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m fun,” Seungcheol corrected. “There’s a big difference.”

Jeonghan laughed under his breath, glancing back toward the couch. “Don’t torture the boy. But… maybe we can give him something better.”

Seungcheol looked up. “Like what?”

Jeonghan hesitated for a moment, his expression softening with that quiet tenderness that always surfaced when he talked about Joshua. “A birthday. A real one.”

Seungcheol’s grin faded into something gentler. “You’re right.”

“We never celebrated his last one,” Jeonghan said quietly. “Everything was still new then. The paperwork, adjustments, figuring out routines. We didn’t even realize the date until it had passed.”

“I remember,” Seungcheol murmured. “He didn’t say a word about it.”

“He wouldn’t have,” Jeonghan said. “But I think this year… he’s ready.”

Seungcheol nodded slowly. “So what are you thinking?”

Jeonghan’s smile brightened. “Something small. Just us and the others, so he can see the kids. Maybe that Johnny kid. A cake, some food, music. Nothing overwhelming.”

“I like that,” Seungcheol said softly. “A full day for him. Laughs, presents, people who care.”

“A real celebration,” Jeonghan said. 

For a moment, neither spoke. They both looked toward Joshua again, still fast asleep, hair messy, face relaxed in a rare moment of peace.

Seungcheol exhaled, a quiet, content sound. “Sixteen. God, I can’t believe it.”

Jeonghan smiled. “You’re officially the father of a sixteen year old.”

“Don’t remind me,” Seungcheol groaned playfully. “I’ll start finding gray hairs by morning.”

Jeonghan leaned down, kissing his cheek. “You already have three.”

“Traitor,” Seungcheol said, mock-gasping.

Jeonghan chuckled softly, brushing his fingers over Seungcheol’s hand. “We did good, you know. He’s growing. Healing. Slowly, but surely.”

Seungcheol’s eyes softened, following the gentle rhythm of Joshua’s breathing. “Yeah,” he whispered. “We really did.”

And in the quiet afternoon light, the air warm, the house filled with the faint hum of home, they both knew that next week, when candles flickered and laughter filled these walls, it wouldn’t just be Joshua’s birthday they’d be celebrating.

It would be the first time he truly knew what belonging felt like.

Chapter Text

Monday always came too soon.

The alarm buzzed against his nightstand, a low vibration that crawled under his skin before the sound even reached his ears. Joshua groaned, burying his face in the pillow for a few seconds before finally turning it off.

His room was still dim, early light pushing faint streaks through the blinds. For a moment, he just stared at the ceiling taking in that soft gray quiet before everything began. Mondays always felt heavier than they should. Not because anything was wrong, exactly. Just because they were Mondays. The start of everything.

He sat up slowly, the blanket falling into his lap. The lion plush was half-tucked under his arm, a relic of comfort he hadn’t grown out of needing yet. He set it gently back on the bed, smoothing its mane with his thumb before standing.

The hallway was cool under his feet, and the smell of toasted bread drifted faintly through the air. Jeonghan was in the kitchen.

That was unusual for a Monday morning. Usually it was Seungcheol who handled breakfast while Jeonghan got ready for work. But today, Jeonghan stood by the counter in soft sweats and a loose white t-shirt, hair pulled into a low bun, reading something on his phone with his glasses halfway down his nose.

He looked up the second Joshua padded in. “Morning, sweetheart.”

Joshua blinked at him, still sleep-dazed. “You’re home.”

Jeonghan smiled. “Surprise.” He set his phone down and picked up a slice of toast, handing it over. “Your Dad had an early shift today, so he left before sunrise. Said he had a few things to handle before his meeting.”

Joshua nodded, accepting the toast. “Will he be back later?”

“Mm-hm,” Jeonghan said, flipping the egg in the pan. “He’ll pick you up after school today, remember? You’ve got therapy this afternoon.”

Joshua’s stomach tightened at the reminder. Therapy Mondays always lingered in the back of his head like a shadow.

Jeonghan caught the small flicker in his expression and softened. “Hey,” he said gently. “It’s just another Monday. You’ve done a hundred of them. You’ll be okay.”

Joshua nodded, taking a quiet bite of toast. The crunch filled the silence between them, the kind of silence that was comfortable, not empty.

Jeonghan moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, humming under his breath as he packed a small lunchbox. “I made you rice and dumplings today. Thought I’d mix it up a bit.”

Joshua smiled faintly. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Jeonghan snapped the lid on and slid it into his bag. “And your Dad took your bike out of the trunk before he left. It’s by the porch.”

Joshua blinked. “He remembered?”

Jeonghan chuckled. “He always remembers. You know how he is about your routines. If you’re riding to school, he wants it ready before you even get up.”

Joshua looked down at his toast, smiling into the crust.

Jeonghan leaned against the counter, watching him with that soft, quiet pride that made Joshua’s chest ache in the best way. “You’ve seemed better lately,” he said. “Even on Mondays.”

Joshua shrugged, embarrassed. “It’s just… been fine, I guess.”

Jeonghan grinned. “Fine is good. I’ll take fine any day.”

Joshua finished his toast and slipped his backpack on. The weight of it settled across his shoulders like muscle memory. Jeonghan handed him his lunchbox, wrapped neatly in a small checkered cloth.

“Don’t forget to eat all of it,” Jeonghan said, tone half stern, half teasing. “Or your Dad will think I failed you.”

Joshua rolled his eyes softly. “He’ll just say I’m being picky again.”

“He’s not wrong,” Jeonghan said, laughing.

Joshua smiled, small but real, and stepped toward the door.

Jeonghan followed, standing in the doorway as Joshua slipped on his shoes. The air outside was still cool, the faintest chill of spring hanging on the breeze. His bike leaned neatly against the porch railing, chain freshly oiled, tires full.

Jeonghan handed him his helmet. “Be careful, please.”

“I will,” Joshua said, strapping it on.

Jeonghan reached out and smoothed a hand gently over his hair, tucking a stray piece behind his ear. “You’re doing great, you know that right?”

Joshua ducked his head, mumbling, “I’m trying.”

Jeonghan’s voice softened. “That’s more than enough.”

Joshua climbed onto his bike, balancing his bag carefully against his back. He turned the pedals once, then looked up. “Bye, Appa.”

“Bye, baby,” Jeonghan said, smiling. “Have a good day.”

Joshua nodded and pushed off, the tires crunching against the gravel of the driveway. The street was quiet, morning light spilling golden over the houses.

As he coasted downhill, the wind tugged gently at his hoodie. He could still feel Jeonghan’s voice in his chest. Warm, steady, the kind of comfort that stayed with him long after he’d turned the corner.

The air slid past his cheeks as Joshua pedaled toward school. Morning traffic was light. Just a few cars passing, the occasional bark of a dog echoing from a backyard. His backpack thudded softly against his spine with each bump in the road. The rhythm of pedaling, the sound of tires on asphalt, it all blended into something steady, grounding.

He could already see the tall iron fence of the school ahead, the familiar blue gate swung open for the morning rush. Students clustered near the entrance, some laughing, some half-awake, coffee cups in hand.

Joshua slowed down as he approached the bike rack, and that’s when it happened.

“Whoa! Watch out!”

The voice came from nowhere, followed by the blur of another bike swerving wildly toward him. Joshua jerked the handlebars instinctively, tires screeching. His front wheel caught the edge of the small gate with a dull clang, and he wobbled before catching himself, one foot hitting the ground.

For a second, everything went still. The sudden burst of adrenaline thrumming in his chest. Then came the voice again, panting and full of panic. 

“Oh my god, dude, I am so sorry!”

Joshua turned, already recognizing the messy brown hair and the too-bright grin that followed it.

Johnny.

He’d half-jumped off his own bike and was rushing over, eyes wide. “Are you okay? I swear I didn’t see you, I was looking at—well, not important, but I definitely wasn’t trying to kill you, I promise.”

Joshua blinked, heart still racing. “I’m fine,” he said, voice small but steady. He glanced down at his front wheel. Nothing was bent and he didn’t see any damage. Just a scuff on the gate.

Johnny exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Man, you’ve got reflexes like a ninja. If that were me, I’d be on the ground crying for mercy.”

Joshua huffed softly. “You weren’t watching where you were going.”

“Guilty,” Johnny said, holding up both hands in mock surrender. “But in my defense, this school has way too many squirrels. One darted across the path, and I panicked.”

Joshua tilted his head, unconvinced. “There are no squirrels here.”

“There was! I swear!” Johnny said, grinning despite himself. “Okay, maybe it was a leaf. A fast leaf.”

Joshua shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

Johnny caught it instantly. “Hey, that’s a smile! I’ll take it. It’s my official ‘apology accepted’ sign, right?”

Joshua rolled his eyes. “Maybe.”

Johnny laughed, grabbing both bikes and wheeling them toward the rack. “Deal. I owe you one. I’ll buy you, like, an extra milk at lunch or something.”

Joshua followed, watching him fumble with the locks, somehow managing to get his own sleeve caught in the chain in the process. “You really shouldn’t multitask,” Joshua muttered, crouching to help untangle it.

Johnny grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m starting to see that pattern.”

Once both bikes were locked, they fell into step toward the main building. The hallway buzzed with morning chatter, lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking against the tile. Joshua always found it overwhelming at first, but walking beside Johnny made it quieter somehow. His voice filled the space just enough to make the noise feel less sharp.

“So,” Johnny said, adjusting the strap of his backpack, “what’s the chance of Ms. Choi giving us another surprise quiz today? Because I’m about to bet my last brain cell she does.”

“She said no more quizzes until the new unit,” Joshua replied softly.

Johnny snapped his fingers. “See? This is why we’re friends. You actually pay attention.”

Joshua shrugged. “Someone has to.”

Johnny laughed. “True. You can be the responsible one. I’ll be the comic relief.”

They reached the lockers, the metal doors gleaming faintly under the fluorescent lights. Johnny’s was just a few down from Joshua’s. He’d requested it that way last week, claiming “locker buddies make school suck less.”

As they opened their lockers, Johnny kept talking. A stream of small stories and half-finished jokes. “So my mom tried to make green smoothies this weekend. Except she used cilantro instead of spinach. I thought I was drinking soap. I nearly cried.”

Joshua snorted softly, caught off guard. “That’s disgusting.”

“Right? I told her! But she said it was ‘fresh.’ Fresh doesn’t mean inedible.”

Joshua’s lips twitched. “You survived, though.”

“Barely,” Johnny said dramatically. “It’s a miracle I made it to school today.”

Joshua shut his locker with a quiet click, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are, walking beside me,” Johnny said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Which means you’re stuck with me now.”

Joshua didn’t answer, but his small smile lingered as they headed toward their classroom.

The day stretched ahead, the same long Monday it always was, but it didn’t feel quite as heavy with Johnny beside him, filling the air with easy noise that somehow made Joshua’s silence feel like part of the rhythm instead of a flaw.

The rest of the morning passed in pieces. Classroom chatter. The scratch of pencils. The distant hum of the hallway.

Joshua sat near the window again, his usual seat, sunlight spilling across his desk in quiet streaks. Johnny sat beside him fidgeting with his pen, doodling in the margins of his notes, and whispering small jokes that made the corners of Joshua’s mouth twitch even when he tried to focus.

Ms. Choi’s voice filled the room as she reviewed the lesson, and Johnny leaned in at one point, whispering, “Okay, what are the odds she gives us homework over four pages? She’s planning something. I can feel it.”

Joshua glanced at him sideways, whispering back, “She’s just teaching.”

Johnny gasped quietly. “That’s what she wants us to think.”

Joshua shook his head, trying to hide his laugh behind his hand. Johnny looked so proud of himself that it made the smallest, warmest ache bloom in Joshua’s chest. The kind that came from feeling seen, even for a second.

By lunch, the halls were loud again, but it didn’t sting as sharply as it used to. Joshua sat at his usual bench outside under the tree, the one that had slowly turned from a place of solitude into a shared spot.

Johnny showed up a few minutes later, balancing his tray and a juice box precariously on one hand. “There you are. I was about to send a search party.”

Joshua raised an eyebrow. “You knew where I’d be.”

“True, but that doesn’t make the drama any less important.” Johnny dropped onto the bench beside him, grinning.

They ate and Johnny talked. About the science project he still hadn’t started, about the kid in gym class who thought dodgeball was a full-contact sport, about his dog who had eaten an entire sock last night and was now under veterinary supervision.

Joshua listened, quiet but attentive. Every now and then, he added something small, a nod, a comment, a soft chuckle, and each time he did, Johnny’s grin widened like he’d been waiting for it.

By the time the bell rang, Joshua found himself almost reluctant to leave. It wasn’t a loud feeling. Just a quiet one, the kind that slipped under his skin and stayed there.

The afternoon was slower, heavier, as Mondays always were. The weight of therapy lingered at the back of Joshua’s mind like a cloud, even as he tried to focus on class.

By the last period, his pencil was tapping anxiously against the desk, his stomach tight with that familiar unease. Therapy days always made time feel stretched. The hours dragging longer, the thoughts louder.

When the final bell rang, a rush of relief and dread tangled together in his chest. He packed his bag methodically, slipping his notebooks in by size, checking twice that his lunchbox was gone. Routine helped. It always helped.

Johnny was waiting near the door, spinning his keys around one finger. “Hey, are you riding home now?”

Joshua froze mid-motion. He’d forgotten Johnny usually rode too.

“Yeah,” Joshua said slowly, adjusting his backpack strap.

Johnny’s grin brightened. “Then let’s ride together! I can show you the back route, it’s way smoother than the main road. No potholes, no death traps, just glorious asphalt.”

Joshua’s chest tightened. He wanted to say yes. He really did. The thought of coasting beside someone instead of alone should’ve felt easy. But his mind was already spinning. Therapy, the counselor, Seungcheol waiting to drive him, all the things he couldn’t explain.

His throat closed. “I can’t.”

Johnny blinked, confused. “Oh. You got something after school?”

Joshua nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just… something.”

Johnny’s face flickered, not disappointment exactly, but a flash of surprise, then easy understanding. “No worries, man. You’ve got your mysterious after-school life. I respect that.” He laughed, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

Joshua nodded again. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

Johnny grinned, giving a little wave before heading toward the gates. “Try not to crash into me next time, okay?”

Joshua managed a small smile. “You hit me.”

“Small details!” Johnny called back, laughing.

And then he was gone, swallowed by the flow of students spilling out of the building.

Joshua stood there for a second, backpack heavy on his shoulders, the noise of the hallway dimming around him. The smile faded.

Something small and uneasy twisted in his stomach, the kind of ache he didn’t have a name for. He’d told Johnny no, and Johnny hadn’t pushed, hadn’t asked again. Just accepted it and moved on.

And that should have been good. It should have been what Joshua wanted. But as he walked down the hall toward the counselor’s office, the thought wouldn’t leave his mind.

Did Johnny not care? Was he just being nice because it was easy? Did I do something wrong?

The questions buzzed like static, building behind his ribs, tight and restless. He reached the counselor’s door and paused with his hand on the handle, his heart thudding unevenly in his chest.

For a moment, the world felt too bright, the hallway too loud, his pulse too fast. He took a breath. Then another. He pushed the door open and the calm he’d been holding onto all day started to tremble.

The counselor’s office was warm and bright, sunlight spilling through the blinds in thin lines. The soft hum of a small air purifier filled the corners, steady and calm, but to Joshua, everything felt too loud. He hesitated in the doorway, hand still gripping the strap of his backpack like a lifeline.

Ms. Lee looked up from her desk. Her eyes flicked up, her mouth parting into a smile, but then it faltered when she saw him. It wasn’t disappointment. It wasn’t even surprise. It was concern. But the small shift in her expression, that half-second pause, was enough.

Joshua’s stomach dropped. His heart stumbled once, twice, and then started pounding so fast he could barely breathe.

To him she looked disappointed. Because he’d walked in shaking. Because he wasn’t calm. Because he wasn’t normal anymore.

The thought hit hard and heavy, and everything after it blurred.

“Joshua?” she said softly, standing up from her chair. “Hey, are you okay?”

Her voice was gentle, but to him, it came through thick and distorted, like sound underwater. He wanted to answer, wanted to say yes, but his throat had closed. His chest was tight, his hands trembling around the strap of his bag.

Her chair squeaked softly as she rounded the desk, moving slowly, carefully. “It’s alright,” she murmured. “You’re safe here, remember?”

Joshua took a step back without meaning to. His mind was spinning, thoughts overlapping, too fast, too loud. He could still hear the students outside in the hall, laughter and footsteps echoing, lockers slamming. The sound hit him in waves. His breathing picked up.

Too loud. Too bright. Too much.

“Hey,” Ms. Lee said again, her voice lower now, softer. “Breathe with me, okay? Let’s sit down for a minute.”

She gestured toward the couch in the corner, but the movement made Joshua’s pulse spike again.

He couldn’t sit down. He couldn’t move.  If he sat, it would mean he was breaking down again, and she’d tell someone, and they’d all think he couldn’t handle anything, not even a stupid Monday.

“I—I’m fine,” he managed, voice cracking. “I’m okay.”

“I know,” she said gently. “But you don’t have to be okay right this second. You can just—”

But her words blurred out, replaced by the rush in his ears, like wind, like static, like everything inside him had started screaming all at once.

He wanted to leave. He wanted to fix it. He wanted to stop shaking. But his thoughts were tripping over each other.

She saw you come in like this. She’s gonna call your dad. You messed up again.You were supposed to be better.

His breath came in short bursts now, chest rising too fast. His fingers tingled. His vision pulsed at the edges.

Ms. Lee’s hand moved slightly, reaching toward her desk, and he flinched.

“It’s alright,” she said again, calm as ever. “I’m just calling someone to help, okay?”

But the word calling hit him like a strike.

She was calling his dad. She was calling Seungcheol to tell him he’d done something wrong, that he couldn’t handle himself, that he was a problem again.

“No,” he gasped, voice trembling. “No, I’m okay, I’m fine, I promise!”

“Joshua, breathe,” she said softly, phone already in her hand.

He shook his head so hard it made the room tilt. “Please, I’m fine! I didn’t do anything—” His voice broke into a sob. “I was good! I was being good!”

Her eyes softened even more, her tone still steady, still calm. “I know, sweetheart. You’re okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

But he couldn’t hear it, not really. All he could hear was his own heartbeat pounding like thunder, his breaths coming too fast. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, spilling before he could stop them. 

“Please, don’t call him,” he cried, hands fisting in his hoodie. “I didn’t mess up! I’m fine, I swear!”

“Joshua, honey,” she said, kneeling now, voice trembling with empathy. “I’m not mad. No one’s mad, okay? You’re just having a hard moment.”

But her words barely reached him. His body felt disconnected, like his heart was somewhere else, racing ahead without him. He could barely breathe, could barely see through the blur of tears.

She spoke softly into the phone, murmuring something about him being safe, about needing a little help. Her voice was low, careful.

He thought he heard her say Seungcheol’s name, and that made his chest seize again. “Please,” he begged through shaking breaths, “please don’t tell him I messed up—”

And then through it all he could the footsteps. Quick, heavy ones down the hall.

The door opened and Seungcheol’s voice cut through the air like warmth breaking through stormclouds. “Hey, hey. I’m here. It’s okay.”

Joshua’s head snapped up.

Seungcheol crossed the room in seconds, crouching right in front of him. “Josh. Look at me.”

Joshua tried, but everything was swimming. His vision blurred, his chest tight. He couldn’t tell if he was breathing too much or not enough.

Seungcheol reached out, not touching, just holding his hands open between them. “Can I?” he asked softly.

Joshua nodded, barely.

Seungcheol took his shaking hands gently, his palms warm, grounding. “Breathe with me, okay? Just like Dr. Han showed us.”

Joshua’s breaths came in sharp gasps. “I—can’t—”

“You can,” Seungcheol said, voice low, steady. “You’ve done this before. In and out. Come on. In.”

He inhaled, shaky, uneven.

“Good,” Seungcheol whispered. “Now out.”

Joshua exhaled in broken bursts, his shoulders trembling.

“There you go,” Seungcheol murmured. “That’s it. Again.”

He matched Seungcheol’s breathing, slowly, painfully, the air catching in his throat but making it out anyway.

The panic didn’t vanish, it never did that easily, but the world started to refocus. The floor steadied under his feet. The buzzing in his ears quieted.

When his sobs finally broke, they were small and choked, like apologies he couldn’t form. “I didn’t mean to— I just— I tried to be good—”

Seungcheol’s voice softened even more. “You are good, Joshua. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I—”

“No buts,” Seungcheol said gently, brushing a tear off his cheek with his thumb. “You got overwhelmed, that’s all. It happens. You’re safe. You hear me?”

Joshua nodded weakly, trying to catch his breath.

Ms. Lee stood a few feet back, her face filled with quiet worry but also relief. She met Seungcheol’s eyes and gave a small nod, silently confirming he had things under control.

Seungcheol squeezed Joshua’s hands once more. “You did the hard part, okay? You came here like you know too and we got you the help you needed,”

Joshua sniffled, wiping at his face. His whole body still trembled, but the shaking was smaller now. Seungcheol stayed crouched beside him, never rushing, never pushing. Just there.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Joshua let himself lean forward, just slightly, until his forehead rested against Seungcheol’s shoulder.

Seungcheol’s hand came up to the back of his head, fingers threading gently through his hair. “You’re alright,” he murmured. “I’ve got you, okay? Just breathe.”

And Joshua did. Slowly. Painfully. But real. Until the tears stopped coming, and the world stopped spinning quite so fast.

Ms. Lee had quietly stepped back as Joshua’s breathing evened out, giving him and Seungcheol space. Now, as the silence stretched, she moved closer again.

“You’re doing great,” she said softly, kneeling beside them. “Do you think you can sit with us for a bit?”

Joshua nodded slowly, pulling back from Seungcheol’s shoulder. His face was blotchy from crying, eyes red and damp, but the trembling had mostly stopped.

Seungcheol helped him stand and guided him to the small couch against the wall. Ms. Lee sat across from them, hands folded gently in her lap. The clock ticked quietly in the corner.

Nobody spoke for a moment. Joshua focused on the texture of the couch fabric beneath his palms, tracing the lines of the weave with his thumb. His chest still hurt, but the air didn’t feel like glass anymore.

Ms. Lee broke the silence softly. “Joshua, would you like to talk about what happened? You don’t have to, but sometimes it helps.”

Joshua hesitated, his throat tightening. “It’s… stupid.”

Seungcheol leaned in slightly. “Hey,” he said gently. “If it made you feel this bad, then it’s not stupid.”

Joshua’s fingers twisted in his sleeve. He stared down at the floor, voice so small it barely reached them. “It’s just… dumb.”

Ms. Lee smiled faintly. “That’s okay. Dumb things can still hurt us sometimes. You can tell us anyway.”

He swallowed hard. His heart thudded unevenly again, not panic this time, just embarrassment. “It was… Johnny.”

Seungcheol blinked. “Johnny?”

Joshua nodded weakly. “We… we were talking after class, and he asked if I wanted to ride home with him. But I couldn’t. I have to come here on therapy days or when you pick me up, and I didn’t want to say that. So I just said no.”

Ms. Lee’s expression softened. “That makes sense. You didn’t want to explain more than you had to.”

Joshua nodded again, still staring at his hands. “But then he just said okay. He didn’t… he didn’t ask why or anything. He just said, ‘See you tomorrow,’ and left.” His voice cracked slightly. “And I don’t know, I thought— I thought he’d ask again, or something. Or… try.”

Seungcheol blinked, confusion soft and kind. “Wait,” he said, trying to follow. “So… you’re upset because he took no for an answer?”

Joshua’s face flushed immediately. “See? It’s stupid.”

“No, no,” Seungcheol said quickly, shaking his head, his tone warm. “I’m just trying to understand, that’s all. You thought he’d… push a little right?”

Joshua’s shoulders hunched. “I guess. I don’t know. Everyone else usually gives up on me. They stop trying. He didn’t even ask what I was doing. Just said ‘see you tomorrow’ like he didn’t care.” His voice cracked again, smaller now. “And I know it’s dumb. I know it’s just one thing, but it felt like— like maybe he’s done with me already.”

The words hung heavy in the quiet room, fragile and real.

Ms. Lee leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle. “That’s not dumb, Joshua. You’re not overreacting. You wanted to know you mattered enough for someone to notice. That’s not silly at all.”

Joshua’s eyes stung again. “But it’s not his fault. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No, he didn’t,” Seungcheol agreed softly. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt you. Those feelings can both be true.”

Joshua sniffled, scrubbing his face with his sleeve. “I just— I hate that it made me panic. I was fine, and then suddenly I wasn’t. And now I just want to hide and never come back.”

Seungcheol smiled faintly, shaking his head. “Change schools? Over a boy who didn’t argue with you?”

Joshua’s mouth twitched. “It sounds dumb when you say it like that.”

“Because it is dumb,” Seungcheol said, teasing lightly. “But it’s okay to have dumb feelings sometimes. We all do.”

Joshua looked up through his lashes, half glaring through his tears. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Never,” Seungcheol said, smirking. “Just trying to get you to laugh again.”

It worked. Barely. Joshua let out a weak exhale that was almost a laugh, almost a sob.

Ms. Lee smiled softly, relieved. “You’ve been holding in a lot, Joshua. That’s a lot for anyone to manage.”

He nodded, whispering, “I don’t want him to think I’m weird.”

Seungcheol put an arm lightly around his shoulders. “You’re not weird. You’re sensitive. You feel things deeply. That’s part of what makes you you.”

Joshua’s throat tightened again, but this time it wasn’t panic, just the raw ache of being understood.

For a while, they sat quietly. The kind of silence that meant safety, not avoidance.

Eventually, Ms. Lee stood. “You did the hard thing, Joshua. You got through the worst part. That’s what matters.” She smiled softly at him. “You can go now if you’d like. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Joshua nodded, still a little shaky, and gathered his things.

Seungcheol stood too, waiting until Joshua was ready. When they stepped out of the office, the halls were mostly empty, the late-afternoon light slanting in through the windows. The noise was gone. The air felt still again.

They walked side by side toward the exit, Joshua’s steps small and tired. When they reached the car, Seungcheol opened the passenger door and waited until Joshua slid inside. For a minute, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the faint clicking of the blinker as Seungcheol pulled out of the lot.

Halfway down the road, Joshua spoke quietly. “Do I really have to go to therapy today?”

Seungcheol glanced over at him, reading the exhaustion in his face. “Do you think you’ve had enough talk time for one Monday?”

Joshua gave a tiny, tired laugh. “Kind of.”

Seungcheol smiled, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder gently. “Then no. We’ll skip today. Dr. Han will understand.”

Joshua let out a shaky breath, part relief, part disbelief. “Really?”

“Really,” Seungcheol said. “You don’t always have to push through, Joshua. Sometimes, resting is progress too.”

Joshua leaned his head against the window, watching the world blur by in streaks of fading gold. 

By the time they pulled into the driveway, the late-afternoon sun had dipped low enough to cast the house in warm orange light. Joshua could already see Jeonghan’s car in its usual spot, the curtains drawn halfway open.

He followed Seungcheol up the front steps, his body heavy but calm now. That peculiar exhaustion that always followed after panic, like every muscle had been wrung out.

The door clicked open, and the familiar scent of home. Soft detergent, lemon cleaner, and something faintly floral wrapped around him like a blanket.

Jeonghan’s voice came from the kitchen. “You’re early!”

He stepped out a second later, dish towel in hand, hair tied loosely at the back of his neck. His eyes went from Seungcheol to Joshua, and his expression softened instantly.

“Oh, honey,” he murmured, crossing the room in a few quick steps. “What’s wrong?”

Joshua barely had time to drop his backpack before Jeonghan’s arms were around him, warm and firm. The towel still smelled faintly of soap and rice. He closed his eyes and let himself melt into the embrace.

Seungcheol’s voice came from behind them, quiet but reassuring. “He had a bit of a rough afternoon. Ms. Lee called me in while I was in the office to get him. He had a bit of a panic, but we got through it. But we think he has enough for today so we decided to skip therapy this week.”

Jeonghan’s hand moved to rub Joshua’s back in slow circles. “You did so well, sweetheart. I’ll call Dr. Han and let her know you’re skipping today. She’ll be glad you rested.”

Joshua mumbled against his shoulder, “I didn’t want to skip. I just didn’t want to go now. Or today.”

Jeonghan pulled back just enough to look at him. “You’re not skipping, love. You’re taking care of yourself. That’s different.”

Seungcheol nodded, setting his keys on the counter. “Exactly. Therapy’s a tool, not a rule.”

Jeonghan smiled softly at that. “That’s good. Did you come up with that yourself?”

“Maybe,” Seungcheol said, smirking. “Maybe Dr. Han said it once, and I’m just stealing her wisdom for brownie points.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes affectionately. “Typical.”

Joshua watched the exchange quietly, his heart still uneven but warmer now. The sound of their voices, the way they filled the room, the way everything slowed down, it all made the air feel breathable again.

Jeonghan guided him toward the kitchen table. “Sit and rest a bit. We’re making bibimbap tonight. You can help me chop the carrots if you want.”

Joshua hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

Jeonghan smiled and handed him a small cutting board and knife, the familiar rhythm of home life already settling back in. The kitchen light glowed soft and golden, and the faint hum of the washing machine echoed from down the hall.

From the laundry room came Seungcheol’s voice: “Why are there three socks in here that don’t match anything? Are they breeding in the dryer again?”

Jeonghan snorted. “You probably folded one wrong last week.”

“I don’t fold things wrong!”

“You absolutely fold things wrong,” Jeonghan called back.

Joshua’s knife paused mid-slice, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You do too,” he muttered quietly.

Jeonghan gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Traitor! You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Joshua looked up, that small shy grin lingering. “You always win, though.”

Jeonghan’s eyes softened immediately, the playful pout breaking into a smile. “That’s true.” He leaned over and kissed Joshua’s hair. “Smart boy.”

From the other room, “I heard that!”

“You were supposed to!” Jeonghan yelled back.

Seungcheol appeared in the doorway a moment later, holding a laundry basket full of towels and mismatched socks. “Why are you two ganging up on me?”

“We’re educating you,” Jeonghan corrected, slicing mushrooms with a practiced flick of the wrist.

Joshua laughed softly, the sound small.

Seungcheol smiled at the sound, that little note of peace he always recognized, and set the basket aside. “You okay, kiddo?”

Joshua nodded. “Better.”

“Good,” Seungcheol said, ruffling his hair. “Because I was about to bribe you with dessert.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “Bribe him for what, exactly?”

“For not crying in my car,” Seungcheol said casually.

Jeonghan smacked his shoulder lightly with the dish towel. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably effective,” Seungcheol replied.

Joshua shook his head, trying not to smile too hard. “You two are weird.”

Jeonghan sighed dramatically. “He’s adapting too well. He’s starting to sound like us.”

“Next step,” Seungcheol said with mock solemnity, “sarcasm.”

Joshua laughed again, that quiet, light sound that made both of them glance at each other and smile without saying a word.

Dinner came together slowly. Jeonghan sautéing vegetables while Joshua arranged toppings in neat, color-coded piles. The smell filled the kitchen: sesame oil, soy sauce, and the faint spice of gochujang warming on the stove.

Seungcheol finished folding the last of the laundry and came to lean against the counter, stealing bites off the cutting board when he thought Jeonghan wasn’t looking.

“I saw that,” Jeonghan said, not even turning around.

“You’ve got eyes in the back of your head,” Seungcheol muttered.

“Parental instinct,” Jeonghan replied smugly.

Joshua grinned, setting another plate on the table. “Appa wins again.”

“Always,” Jeonghan said, winking.

They ate together at the table like they always did. No big talk, no lectures, just stories from the day and easy laughter. Seungcheol told them about a client at work who accidentally called him “sir” three times in a row, Jeonghan teased him about needing a name tag, and Joshua mostly listened.

After dinner, while Jeonghan washed dishes and Seungcheol put leftovers away, Joshua dried the plates, the air warm with the sound of clinking porcelain and the hum of domestic life.

No one mentioned therapy again. No one needed to. Because sometimes, healing wasn’t in the hard conversations or the breakthroughs. Sometimes, it was just in coming home to laughter, to safety, to people who stayed when he needed them to.