and this universe loves you; she holds you in her hands.
today, on your 30th birthday, i sit here with an empty page, but a head full of words i can never express. how would i even be capable? that's how you are and that's what you do; you make your people go speechless about you. you come, you know without listening, you provide, you nurture, you heal. and so you know, you try and you do it perfectly well even when you don't notice, even when you refuse to notice. this life really is like a river, and you come as we need; as rain, as a boat, as a fish, as a storm. no matter what you are, you are always here. you love, you make a life spawn into something a heart always desired, you make this head bloom, you make this skin blossom and reach to its fullest. your love refines, and so does your existence. may you never lose being you, and keep holding your world in your little hands. and this universe loves you; she holds you in her hands.
happy birthday to the living scripture of healing love, you'll always be a kind of love alone, and even when you don't see your light, it still matters.
Title :: Future nostalgia
Classification :: Time Travel AU • Domestic Fluff
Summary :: A little boy arrives at Hogwarts claiming you and Professor Jeon Wonwoo are his parents, turning your lives upside down.
Word Count :: 11k words
series masterlist ✦ svt masterlist
Genre: Hogwarts AU • Domestic Fluff • Time Travel • Parenthood
Trigger Warnings: Child in distress (temporary separation from parents) •Memory alteration/partial memory loss • Mention of pregnancy
A/N: Fic's a little cliche, but I wholeheartedly believe in Soft!Dad Jeon Wonwoo. Give me your kids wonu ;p what who said that huh
I actually have no idea how kids are...
The rain had been falling since the afternoon, turning the castle windows into rivers and made the corridors smell of wet stone. You had stayed later than usual in the greenhouses, repotting a stubborn batch of mandrakes for the second-years who would be arriving in a few weeks, and by the time you climbed back up to the staff quarters your boots were soaked through and your cardigan smelled like fertilizer.
You almost didn't hear it, a small sound, like a hiccup, half swallowed by the storm.
You stopped in the corridor outside the professors' wing, wand raised, and found a child tucked against the cold stone wall. He couldn't have been older than five or six, curled into himself with his knees drawn to his chest, dark unruly hair plastered to his forehead, his clothes damp at the shoulders and his cheeks pink from the cold. He was fast asleep despite all of it.
"Oh, dear."
You crouched beside him, carefully brushing the wet fringe away from his forehead. When he didn't stir, your first instinct was to get him warm.
Slipping your cardigan from your shoulders, you wrapped it around the tiny frame before gently lifting him into your arms. He was surprisingly light, his small pruned hands clutching at the fabric as he slept.
You hurried straight to Professor McGonagall's office.
She opened the door before you had even knocked twice. Her eyebrows lifted at the sight of the sleeping child bundled against you.
"I found him outside the professors' quarters," you explained. "He was freezing."
McGonagall's expression immediately hardened into business.
"Bring him inside."
A fire crackled in the grate as you settled the boy onto the sofa, rubbing gentle circles over his back in an attempt to warm him. McGonagall cast several warming charms over the room before turning to Filch, who had appeared in response to the commotion.
"Mr. Filch," she said briskly. "Gather available staff. Immediately."
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
It didn't take long. Within a few minutes, half the staff room had gathered, which was really only about nine people. McGonagall stood at the head of the room in her tartan dressing gown, looking like she would very much like to be back in bed. Flitwick hovered by the fireplace. Hagrid took up an entire corner simply by existing.
You looked down at the boy again, and something about him nagged at you. The straight dark hair, the soft feline shape of his eyes, even the slight downturn of his mouth in sleep, all of it reminding you vaguely of someone you passed in the corridors without really seeing. Before you could chase the thought further, he stirred. His nose scrunched, his fists rubbed sleepily at his eyes, and he blinked up at the unfamiliar room.
"Sweetheart, are you o—"
You never finished the question. He launched himself at you, small arms winding around your neck with startling strength, nearly knocking you backward as he buried his face against your shoulder. You went rigid with shock, hands hovering uselessly over his back, before instinct took over and you held him.
A broken sob escaped him. "Mama..." he hiccupped, the word breaking beneath another sob. "I looked everywhere for you."
Within seconds he was crying in earnest, hot snotty tears soaking into your cardigan, his fingers clutching at the fabric as though letting go would make you disappear. You looked up helplessly at McGonagall, at Flitwick, at anyone who might explain this. Nobody could, and the words you meant to say, that 'there had been some mistake', died in your throat against the completeness of his devastation. You gathered him closer instead, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades.
"Shh... it's alright," you murmured softly. "You're alright now."
When you pulled back to look at him, his cheeks were wet, his nose pink from crying and cold, and he couldn't have been older than five.
"What happened, sweetheart? Are you hurt?"
He only shook his head against your shoulder, one last shuddering sob escaping before his breathing evened into sniffles.
McGonagall stepped forward, her voice gentler than you had ever heard it. "Dear boy. What is your name?"
He loosened his grip enough to look at her, wiping his eyes on your cardigan sleeve. "I'm Woojin."
The room visibly relaxed. At least he was coherent.
"Woojin. That's a lovely name," you said.
"You named me, Mama," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, then added, generously, in case you needed the rest, "Appa told me that."
"Do you know where your parents are, Woojin?" McGonagall asked. She was the only one composed enough to keep making sense of things.
Woojin looked around, found you first, and pointed. "Mama." Then his gaze slid past everyone else to the office door, just as another professor hurried in, wand still lit from the dark corridors, and his face lit up entirely.
Professor Jeon Wonwoo had barely crossed the threshold before the boy collided with his legs. "Appa!"
His eyes widened behind his glasses, genuine shock flashing across his usually unreadable face as he instinctively looked up at the people in the room, then back down at the child attached to him.
"Mama found me," Woojin said into his trousers, voice thick with tears, "but I was so scared," his hands tightening in the fabric as if to reassure himself Wonwoo was really there.
"I—" Wonwoo started, and had nothing to follow it with. His hand hovered a moment before settling gently on the boy's back. "I've got you."
McGonagall's eyes moved from the child, to Wonwoo, to you, and back again. The only sound left in the room was Woojin's sniffling. She removed her spectacles, pinched the bridge of her nose, and exhaled slowly.
"My office. Now. We have quite a bit to discuss."
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
"Home," Flitwick pressed gently, kneeling to Woojin's eye level, though they were nearly the same height already. "Can you tell us where home is, dear?"
The boy gave him a look that suggested this was a very silly question. "Hogwarts," he said. "Obviously."
"And your parents teach here? At Hogwarts?"
The little boy nodded as an answer.
McGonagall let the silence settle for a moment, studying the little boy who had long since abandoned any attempt at sitting properly. Woojin had curled into your side, one cheek resting against your shoulder while his small fingers remained stubbornly hooked around Wonwoo's sleeve, as though he needed to reassure himself that the two of you were still there. Whatever fear had reduced him to tears earlier seemed to have eased now that he was between the people he believed were his parents.
"Woojin," she said at last, her voice gentler than ever, "can you tell us a little about your parents?"
The effect was immediate. His face brightened so completely that it chased away the last traces of tears, and he twisted around to beam at Wonwoo with open admiration. "My appa's the best wizard ever," he said, stretching his arms wide. "Appa teaches defence and all the big kids like him." He giggled to himself before adding in a conspiratorial whisper, "Some people think he's scary, but they're just being silly. Appa's not scary."
A ripple of restrained amusement passed through the room, though Wonwoo looked as though he wished the stone floor might kindly open beneath him.
"Appa used to be a Auror" Woojin's hands flew up to illustrate every word. "He caught lots of bad people and fought bad monsters." He glanced proudly at Wonwoo again. "Mama says he's the bravest." He nodded, satisfied he remembered it right, and declared, "I'm gonna be bravest like him when I'm big."
You felt the weight of every professor's gaze drift toward Wonwoo, whose composure faltered just enough that his eyes lifted, almost involuntarily, to meet yours.
McGonagall let the silence pass before turning her attention back to the child. "And your mother?"
Woojin smiled just as brightly. Without hesitation, he leaned back against you until his head rested comfortably beneath your chin, as though he had occupied that spot a hundred times before. "Mama teaches Herbology," he said happily. "I go to the greenhouses with her sometimes and I help" He puffed out his chest with quiet pride. "I can water the plants all by myself now." Then he sighed dramatically. "But I'm still not allowed near the bitey ones. Mama says I'm too little."
Hagrid let out a booming laugh.
"Yer mum's got the right idea. Best keep away from the chompy ones till yeh're bigger."
A few quiet chuckles escaped around the office despite the increasingly impossible nature of the conversation.
Professor Flitwick smiled warmly, "Do you like living at Hogwarts, Woojin?"
"Mhm!" Woojin nodded enthusiastically, his feet swinging beneath the sofa. "I see Mama every day. And Appa." He began counting on his fingers. “Sometimes Appa takes me to the library, and..." His eyes suddenly found McGonagall again. "You always give me biscuits."
For the first time that evening, McGonagall looked genuinely surprised. "I do?"
He nodded so enthusiastically his fringe bounced. "The round buttery ones. You keep them in a tin," His voice dropped into another confidential whisper. "You say not to tell anyone, 'cause then everyone will want your biscuits."
The corners of McGonagall's mouth twitched despite herself. "I see."
Her gaze lingered on the three of you before she rose, smoothing her dressing gown. "I believe it would be prudent to contact the Ministry."
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
By the time the initial shock had settled, it was well past midnight. The Ministry had been contacted, preliminary statements had been taken, and despite an office full of brilliant witches and wizards, no one seemed any closer to understanding how a little boy claiming to be your son had appeared outside the professors' quarters.
Woojin, meanwhile, had reached the end of a very long day. His head kept drooping against your side before jerking upright again, only to repeat itself moments later.
McGonagall noticed it too. "I believe that is enough for one evening," she said, closing the folder before her with quiet finality. "The rest can wait until morning." Her gaze softened as it settled on Woojin.
"The poor boy needs sleep."
The question that remained was where, exactly, he was meant to sleep. He couldn't spend the night in an empty classroom, and neither of you thought he should be alone. Instinctively, both of you looked down the corridor beyond McGonagall's office.
Two doors.
Professor Jeon's quarters.
Professor Lee's quarters.
McGonagall rose from behind her desk and crossed the room, crouching carefully until she was level with the boy.
"Come along, dear," she said kindly. "Why don't you spend the night in my quarters? I've a spare room, and we'll have a proper breakfast in the morning, along with the biscuits you like."
Woojin only shuffled closer, wedging himself between you and Wonwoo, refusing to let go of your sleeve. "No," he said, quiet and almost frightened. "I wanna stay with Mama and Appa."
McGonagall didn't seem offended in the least. If anything, her expression only softened further. "I see," she said, and looked between the three of you. "Well. That does complicate matters somewhat."
For the first time that evening the reality of it settled over you differently. You barely knew Professor Jeon. Outside departmental meetings and the occasional polite exchange in the Great Hall, the two of you had scarcely spoken in the two years you had both worked at Hogwarts. He kept to himself, and you had long since accepted that as simply the way he was. And now the two of you were discussing sleeping arrangements for a child who believed he was your son.
"Professor Jeon," you started, awkward. "You've still got to deal with the Ministry tonight, don't you?"
"I'll need to make a few reports and statements," he agreed.
"I'll take him tonight," you said, glancing down at Woojin, who was fighting to keep his eyes open. "I've looked after children before. My younger brother practically lived in my room until he was eight."
“Are you certain?” Wonwoo studied you a moment, that thoughtful, unreadable look of his, carrying the peculiar feeling of being carefully weighed. "You have had a long evening as well”
"I'll manage."
His gaze dropped to Woojin, whose fingers had found their way around both your sleeve and his own. After a long moment he inclined his head. "Thank you." It sounded almost strange coming from him. "Professor Lee, if anything comes up..."
"I'll come and find you."
He nodded once. "I'll be awake."
The exchange lasted barely a minute, and yet, as you left McGonagall's office, you realized it was the longest conversation the two of you had ever had. Behind you, his door closed with a quiet click.
You didn't expect the night to be particularly difficult. You had practically helped raise Chris. Children, you thought, weren't entirely unfamiliar territory.
You did not, it turned out, know how this child worked, not yet
The cot took only a flick of your wand to assemble. It was small, comfortable, tucked beside your own bed.
"There we are," you said softly.
Woojin looked at it, then looked at you. Before you could persuade him otherwise, he padded straight past it, climbed into your bed, disappeared beneath your blankets and patted the mattress beside him with sleepy certainty.
"Mama."
With a quiet sigh, you extinguished the bedside lamp and slipped beneath the blankets yourself. You let him sleep beside you today. Tomorrow, surely, things would be less strange.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
He was asleep almost before you settled beside him.
One small hand remained stubbornly fisted in the fabric of your nightshirt, refusing to let go even in sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night he shifted closer, inch by sleepy inch, until his cheek rested against your shoulder as though he'd been searching for it all along.. Then came the tiny sniffle
His brows pinched together and a soft, heartbreaking sound escaped him. A quiet, muffled sob of a child caught in the middle of a bad dream, crying without ever fully waking.
Something inside your chest gave way and you brushed your fingers gently through his dark hair, careful not to wake him.
"Hey," you whispered into the darkness. "It's alright sweetheart, you don't have to be scared."
You drew the blankets a little higher around his shoulders.
"I've got you."
Gradually, the little frown disappeared. His breathing evened out once more, warm against your shoulder.
Sleep never came quite so easily for you.
Instead, you lay awake listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, unable to stop thinking about the woman somewhere, who had tucked this little boy into bed every night before somehow losing him.
Whoever she was...
She had to be terrified.
You hoped someone was telling her he would be alright.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
Morning came too early. For one disoriented moment you couldn't remember why your shoulder ached, or why someone else's breathing filled the quiet of your room. Then you looked down and remembered everything at once.
Getting yourself ready was one thing. Getting Woojin ready was another entirely. You had barely managed your own cardigan before he darted away from the chair you'd been coaxing him toward for five minutes, hairbrush still useless in your hand.
"Come here, sweetheart. It'll only take a minute."
"No." He stopped just out of reach, arms folding with all the seriousness a five year old could summon. "It hurts."
"I'll be gentle."
"Appa does it better." He patted his own unruly hair. "He makes it look like his."
"I'm afraid I don't know how your Appa does it," you admitted, smiling despite yourself, which only earned an offended huff and a turned away face. With a sigh you reached instead for the toothbrush you transfigured the night before. He accepted it obediently enough, until he looked down and his expression crumbled into disbelief. "This isn't my dinosaur one. Uncle got it for me. I can't brush my teeth without it."
"You absolutely can."
By the time someone knocked, you had given up on your own appearance entirely and opened the door mid argument about whether teeth brushing was optional. Wonwoo stood in the doorway, and whatever he had meant to say caught somewhere behind his teeth. His gaze swept over you, barefoot, hair damp and half brushed, cardigan buttoned askew, as though he couldn't quite reconcile the polished colleague he knew with the woman standing in front of him, harried by an impossible five year old before eight in the morning.
"Sorry," he said after a beat. "McGonagall says the Ministry's arrived. I thought," his gaze slid past you to where Woojin was attempting to hide the toothbrush under a cushion, "..do you want some help?"
"Please," you said, with real feeling, and stepped back to let him in.
He turned out to be considerably better at negotiating with a five year old than you expected, crouching to listen with total seriousness as Woojin explained the importance of the dinosaur toothbrush. Whatever quiet bargain passed between them, worked. Within minutes Woojin had surrendered the hairbrush without complaint, sat patiently while Wonwoo worked through the tangles of his hair, and agreed the substitute toothbrush could be ‘just for today.’
"I've been trying to do that for twenty minutes," you said, watching them in mild disbelief.
"He was very reasonable," Wonwoo said.
Woojin, delighted to have both of you in one room, skipped over. "Mama slept in again," he informed Wonwoo happily, without a trace of malice. "She's always late. But I didn't wake her up. I was good." He recited it like a familiar house rule. "'Let Mama sleep. She needs it more than we do.' Appa you always say that."
"Very good," Wonwoo agreed, straight faced, and caught your eye over the boy's head. Heat crept up your neck.
"I don't always sleep in," you muttered, reaching for your bag. "At least, I don't think I do."
You thought you caught the corner of his mouth twitch and you cleared your throat before the little boy could say something even more embarrassing.
"...We should probably head down for the meeting."
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
The Ministry officials arrived right away, after reading Professor McGonagall’s letter.
They introduced themselves as members of the Department of Mysteries, though none of them elaborated on what that actually meant. Dressed in unassuming grey robes and carrying curious brass instruments that hummed softly in their hands, they transformed an unused classroom into a temporary examination room and spent the better part of the morning trying to determine exactly who—or what—Woojin was.
Woojin, for his part, found the entire experience fascinating.
Outside the classroom, you waited with your arms folded tightly across your chest, listening to the occasional burst of childish chatter through the half-open door. Professor Jeon stood beside you in companionable silence, close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed.
"They keep looking at him like he's a puzzle to solve," you murmured.
"They're trying to understand him," Wonwoo replied quietly. After a pause, he added, “If any of them are unkind to him, I intend to say something about it, regardless of rank."
You looked at him, surprised by the protectiveness in his voice.
One by one, the possibilities were eliminated.
Memory charms.
Polyjuice Potion.
Transfiguration.
Illusions.
Every test reached the same conclusion.
Finally, the lead official requested a private meeting with you, Professor Jeon, and Professor McGonagall.
"There is no indication," the witch began carefully, "that this child has been altered or fabricated through magic."
She placed two sheets of parchment on McGonagall's desk.
"We also performed a magical signature analysis, and the child's magical signature naturally carries traces of both parents."
She looked between you and Wonwoo. "Woojin's magical signature matches both of yours."
"...No," you said quietly, staring at the parchment for another long moment before shaking your head.
"There has to be some mistake." Your eyes flicked helplessly between Professor McGonagall and the woman seated across the desk. "We've never..."
The words lodged stubbornly in your throat.
Beside you, Wonwoo spoke before you could force yourself to finish.
"...We're just acquaintances."
You looked at him gratefully, and nodded.
"We work together," he said, almost absently, as though saying it aloud would somehow make the conclusion change. "We've never been anything beyond colleagues."
Silence settled over the office.
The official folded her hands neatly atop the desk.
"There is no known spell capable of forging that result," the lead official said carefully, in the privacy of McGonagall's office "As far as the Ministry can determine... this child is biologically yours."
You found yourself reading the report again, despite already knowing exactly what it said, as though the letters might have changed in the last few seconds.
Beside you, Wonwoo removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose before putting them back on again.
"Time," McGonagall said eventually, "is the only variable I can think of that would explain a child appearing who is, biologically, already yours, when neither of you has so much as had dinner together."
You, sitting very straight in your chair with hands folded tightly in your lap, felt something in her chest go strange and light and frightened all at once. Beside your, Wonwoo hadn't moved, but anyone could see, in the careful, controlled stillness of him, that he was thinking exactly as fast and exactly as far ahead as you were.
"We'll investigate the how," McGonagall said, not unkindly. "In the meantime, the boy has made his preferences extremely clear, and I see little value in fighting a five-year-old’s instincts when they've so far been correct about everything else. Professors Jeon and Lee, until we know otherwise, I'm placing him in your joint care."
The meeting dissolved not long after.
Outside, Woojin was exactly where you left him, on the stone bench with Hagrid, legs swinging as the gamekeeper showed him something cupped in his enormous hands. The moment he spotted you both, a wide smile appeared on his face. "Mama! Appa!" He slid down and trotted over, slipping one hand into each of yours as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Hagrid chuckled as he rose to his feet.
"Kept 'im company while yeh lot were busy," he said. "Good little lad, this one."
"Thank you, Hagrid," Wonwoo said sincerely.
Hagrid waved it off with a smile before lumbering away, leaving the three of you standing together in the quiet corridor.
“Finished?”, Woojin asked curiously, looking up at both of you. "I'm hungry."
You exchanged a brief, helpless glance over the top of his head with Wonwoo. Neither of you had the heart to tell him that nothing was finished at all.
"Come on," you said eventually, squeezing his little hand. "Let's get some breakfast."
After everything the Ministry had just told you, trying to make sense of the impossible on empty stomachs seemed like a particularly poor idea.
Woojin started happily swinging your joined hands as the three of you started down the corridor. You'd barely made it a few steps before he stopped so abruptly that you almost walked straight into him.
"...Mama?"
You looked down. "Hm?"
He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, glancing briefly at Wonwoo before leaning closer to you"...I need the toilet."
There was a beat of silence.
Then, despite everything that had happened that morning, you let out a chuckle.
You caught yourself just in time, smoothing your expression before he could mistake it for teasing.
"Right," you said with all the seriousness you could manage. "That does seem rather urgent."
Beside you, Wonwoo cleared his throat, though you caught the faintest hint of amusement softening his otherwise impassive expression. It was such an ordinary problem, contrasting everything the two of you had been dealing with since the night before.
"I'll meet you in the Great Hall," he said.
"We'll be there shortly." You smiled gently at him.
The moment you took a step, Woojin immediately began tugging you along with considerably more urgency than before.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
The Great Hall was mostly empty this early in the term, the students not due back for another week. It was, you thought, the only mercy available to you that morning.
A handful of professors had already gathered at the staff table, breakfast spread lazily before them.
At one end, Quidditch coach, Kim Mingyu was halfway through his toast, chatting idly with Wonwoo.
"So," he said around a mouthful, "I heard something interesting happened last night. They say you've got a kid now." He grinned. "Shame I missed it. Would've loved to witness the birth."
"Shut up and eat your breakfast," Wonwoo said flatly, not looking up from his coffee.
At that moment you stepped in with Woojin marching several paces ahead, waving at each professor as though he'd done it every morning of his life. Then his eyes landed on Mingyu and lit up entirely. "Uncle Gyu!" He barreled straight into him.
Mingyu froze with his toast halfway to his mouth. "Uncle?" He looked from the boy clinging to his side, to you, to Wonwoo. "Jeon. Care to explain why your alleged son thinks I'm his uncle?" But Woojin was already climbing onto him, fists in his robes, and whatever surprise Mingyu felt lasted about two seconds before dissolving into delight.
"You promised you'd take me flying," Woojin reminded him, very seriously. "Yesterday. You said."
"I did?" Mingyu blinked.
"Yesterday," Woojin reminded him very seriously. "You said."
Mingyu looked helplessly towards Wonwoo. "...Did I?" , his attention back to Woojin, who was waiting with unwavering confidence.
"Well... Clearly I'm a man of my word " He grinned. "how about after breakfast?"
Woojin gasped happily before scrambling down again. He hurried straight over to Wonwoo, climbing onto his lap without invitation and cupping his face between both tiny hands.
"Appa," he asked earnestly, "can I go?"
Then he twisted around to look at you.
"Mama?"
For a split second, you froze. Your instinct was to say yes. Then another thought occurred to you.
You had absolutely no idea whether you and Wonwoo had rules about things like this.
"Eat first," you said instead.
Woojin's smile faltered.
"But—"
"You've hardly eaten," you said gently. "Finish your breakfast, and then you can go."
You looked across him, at Wonwoo. "Do you think that's alright, Professor Jeon?" The title felt strange after "Appa" only moments earlier.
Woojin's shoulders slumped, appealing wordlessly to the other parent, but Wonwoo only said, "Mama's right," and the boy sighed and hopped down, taking an exaggerated bite of his sandwich.
Mingyu laughed. "He's definitely your son."
You chose not to ask which one of you he meant.
The moment he was done eating, Woojin was on his feet before anyone else had even pushed back their chair.
"I'm done!"
Before either of you could say another word, Mingyu had already scooped him effortlessly onto one shoulder.
"Come on then, Mini-Jeon."
Their laughter echoed across the Great Hall as the pair disappeared towards the doors together.
Which left the two of you alone at the staff table, breakfast half eaten, with a conversation neither of you had quite prepared for.
"We should talk about how this is going to work," you said.
"Yes," Wonwoo agreed.
You looked at each other, two colleagues who three days ago had rarely exchanged more than polite greetings. "Whatever happens, however he got here, however the Ministry sends him back, he's still five," you said. "He doesn't understand any of this. He's frightened. The least we can do is make sure he feels safe until it's over."
"I agree," Wonwoo said, without hesitation, resting his forearms on the table, already thinking ahead. "The students return next week. Until then, one of us can always be with him."
You nodded. "If I have no lessons, he can stay with me in the greenhouses."
"And during my free periods..." His gaze drifted towards the doors Woojin had disappeared through. "...I'll take him."
You let out a breath, some of the panic that had lived in your chest since the boy first wrapped his arms around your neck finally easing. "So we'll just figure it out."
"We will."
For now, at least, neither of you had to figure it out alone.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
The week that followed should have been simple. But, it wasn't.
You settled into the arrangement, Woojin's mornings in the greenhouses, coloring at a little workbench while you repotted seedlings, his afternoons in the Defence classroom with Wonwoo, parchment and crayons spread while lesson plans got written around him. The handovers were brief and polite. Professor Lee. Professor Jeon. A quick word about whether he'd eaten or napped, and then one of you would return to work while the other walked away with his small hand in theirs.
It was practical and organized. Exactly what two colleagues might come up with facing an impossible situation.
It should have worked. Instead, almost without either of you noticing, Woojin began to change.
The chatter went first, the little stories that used to tumble out of him without pause, about Fang, about Uncle Gyu and flying, about Flitwick's levitating feathers, grew fewer and fewer until most meals passed in near silence. Then the smaller things. He stopped reminding you that you supposedly gave him a flower from the greenhouse every day. He stopped correcting Wonwoo when he forgot some detail his Appa should have known. By the end of the week he barely touched his food. There was no tantrum, nothing dramatic to point to, just a boy shrinking a little further into himself each day, his smiles rarer, his laughter quieter, the brightness that had burst into your life outside the professors' quarters slowly dimming.
You noticed it and so did Wonwoo. However, neither of you could figure out why.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
The greenhouses had long since emptied one evening, the last gold light fading from the grounds, when you noticed the silence first. Usually Woojin waited on the bench outside, legs swinging, ready to show off whatever he had drawn. Tonight, he wasn't there. A tiny sniffle carried through the quiet instead. You found him curled against the doorframe, knees to his chest, small shaky sobs escaping into his sleeves.
"Woojin?"
His head lifted just as hurried footsteps rounded the corner, Wonwoo, who had come to collect him for dinner, stopping short at the sight. The two of you exchanged one panicked look before crouching together. Your hand found his shoulder. "Hey, sweetheart. What's wrong?"
That was all it took. He threw himself into your arms, shaking, and you wrapped him up while Wonwoo lowered onto one knee, palm circling slow between his shoulder blades. "What's wrong, buddy? Tell us."
It took a long moment before he could speak. "How long," he hiccupped, "are you gonna stay mad at each other?"
You blinked in surprise. "What?"
"Mama and Appa..." Another sob broke through before he could finish. "...You're mad."
"We’re not angry," you said immediately, looking helplessly towards Wonwoo before turning back to the little boy. "Sweetheart, I promise I'm not—"
"Mama liar." The words landed like a slap. He'd never called you that before.
He shook his head, tears spilling fresh. "You call Appa 'Professor.' Mama never calls Appa 'Professor.' You don't eat breakfast together. And Appa doesn't come get you after the greenhouses. You don't read me stories together. You don't say goodnight together." His voice kept dropping. "You don't even sleep in the same house."
His breath hitched high and miserable. "Did I do something? I'm sorry..."
Your heart broke clean in half. Beside you Wonwoo had gone rigid. "You didn't do anything," he said, low and fierce. "Nothing about this is your fault. You didn't make us angry."
"We're not angry with each other," you said, brushing the damp hair from his face. "Do you want to go home? Hm?"
The words hung heavily in the evening air.
Woojin's shoulders trembled as he looked desperately from one face to the other. He sniffled, slipped one small hand into yours, then reached for Wonwoo's with the other and he began walking.
You and Wonwoo exchanged one confused glance before following, letting the little boy lead you through the quiet corridors of the castle, never once hesitating, until he stopped outside a familiar door. Professor Jeon's quarters.
Only then did he look up at the two of you, still holding both your hands.
"...Home."
You went in. There didn't seem to be any other option.
Wonwoo's quarters were, nearly identical in size and shape to yours, and almost entirely bare of anything personal. There was a neat stack of books, a single armchair, a room that looked like it belonged to a man who spent as little time as possible actually living in it. Woojin stood in the middle of it, small and confused, turning in a slow circle.
"Where's my room?" he asked. "Where's my toys?"
There was nothing to show him, no room, no toys, no trace of the boy he was, only two adults trying to comfort a child for the absence of a life that hadn't been built yet.
You knelt and wiped his face with your sleeve. "Sleep for tonight. Tomorrow, I promise, we'll get you new toys. A whole room full, if you want."
He considered this gravely and nodded. "Promise?"
"Promise," Wonwoo said, and meant it in the particular, unshakeable way you were coming to learn was simply how he meant everything.
Satisfied, Woojin rubbed his eyes, yawned, and padded toward the bedroom as if he knew every step by heart, climbing beneath the blankets before either of you reached the doorway. He scooted to the center and patted the empty space on either side. "Can I sleep in the middle tonight?"
The room fell silent. You looked at Wonwoo. He looked at you.
"...The middle?" you echoed weakly.
Woojin nodded, it was the most ordinary request in the world for him.
You hesitated until Woojin had disappeared almost entirely beneath the blankets, only his sleepy little face peeking out.
Leaning towards Wonwoo, you lowered your voice to little more than a whisper.
"...What do we do?"
"He's already distressed," he murmured finally. "If we tell him no now..." He didn't need to finish it. "Stay here until he falls asleep."
You nodded. "Just until he falls asleep."
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
Morning came slowly. You woke first, it taking a long moment to place the unfamiliar mattress, before you felt something warm and heavy draped across your waist. Woojin had migrated in the night until he was sprawled almost entirely over you, one leg thrown across your middle. You smiled, then glanced past him and froze. You didn’t realise that you had accidentally fallen asleep last night beside the two boys.
Wonwoo was asleep on the other side of the bed. Without his glasses, without the polished look he carried through every staff meeting, he looked... younger somehow. One arm was thrown over his head, the other resting loosely near Woojin.
And beside him, Woojin slept exactly the same way, the same arm flung above the head, the same slight parting of the lips, even the same faint crease settled between their brows. It was almost unsettling, how alike they looked.
A strand of dark hair had fallen across Wonwoo's forehead, obscuring part of his face. Before you could think better of it, your hand lifted almost on instinct, fingers moving carefully toward the loose strand.
The moment your fingertips grazed his hair, brown eyes blinked open.
You stilled, like a deer caught in headlights. ”Oh”
“I was just..observing” Then, quietly, you murmured, "...He sleeps like you."
His eyes flicked to Woojin's arm still flung over, then back. "Does he?" His voice was rough with sleep, deeper than you had ever heard it.
"The same expression and the same way he throws his arm over his head."
He looked at the boy a long moment. "I never would've noticed," he said, in his raspy voice. Neither of you spoke after that. Between you, Woojin sighed contentedly in his sleep and burrowed closer, anchoring himself to both of you at once.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
You went to Hogsmaede the very next morning, all three of you, to fulfil previous night’s promise of getting toys and clothes for Woojin.
The first stop was a children's clothing shop, and within minutes you'd disappeared into the racks. "Woojin, come here." You held a tiny knitted jumper against his front. "Oh, look at you. You're adorable."
"I look handsome," he corrected.
"You look very handsome."
Before you could admire him any longer, the jumper disappeared from your hands. Wonwoo had taken it without a word, turning it over to inspect the label before feeling the fabric between his fingers. Satisfied, he placed it into the trolley while you wandered off again.
"Oh! Woojin, come look at these."
The pattern repeated itself half a dozen times, socks embroidered with broomsticks, robes so impossibly small they made you coo, a knitted hat with bear ears, you and Woojin gasping over each discovery as though it outdid the last, while Wonwoo quietly sorted excitement from practicality behind you, checking sizes and seams before either dropping an item in the trolley or returning it to the shelf.
At one point you and Woojin reached for the same pants at the same moment, looked at each other, and said "in the trolley" in perfect unison. Woojin dissolved into giggles. So did you. Wonwoo paused with another mini sweater halfway to the trolley, watching the two of you laugh over something so inconsequential, and thought, though he didn't say it, that even if Woojin didn’t look like you, he had definitely inherited your joyful personality.
Without a word, he set the pants into the trolley and followed after the pair of you once more.
By the time you finished buying clothes, toys, bedding, books, and enough school supplies, the afternoon had slipped quietly into evening.
Dinner was at a little restaurant tucked between a bookshop and an apothecary, warm with the smell of fresh bread. Until your meals arrived, Woojin had already begun drooping where he sat beside Wonwoo.
He lasted about halfway through his dinner before his cheek settled onto the tabletop with a tiny sigh, the glass of pumpkin juice still clutched loosely in one hand.
You smiled fondly. "I think someone's reached his limit."
Wonwoo glanced over and without disturbing him, he quietly slid the abandoned food onto a plate before pulling the glass of pumpkin juice safely out of the boy's reach.
Only then did he look back at you.
"So," he said, the first time he'd ever started a conversation without prompting. "Did you always want to teach?"
You blinked, pleasantly surprised.
"I think so," You traced absent-minded circles around the rim of your mug. "Professor Sprout was my favourite when I was here. She made everyone feel like they belonged in her classroom. I wasn't particularly talented at first. I nearly killed a Venomous Tentacula in second year."
"...Impressive."
"It wasn't on purpose." You laughed. "I just remember thinking, if I could make one student love Herbology the way she made me love it, I'd have done something worthwhile."
"I imagine you already have." He said it so plainly it took you a second to realize he meant it. "And you?" you asked. "Woojin mentioned you being an Auror."
"I joined the Ministry after graduation." He leaned back slightly.
"It felt like the right thing to do. I was good at it." There was no arrogance in his words, just facts.
"But..." His gaze drifted briefly to the little boy asleep beside him, “eventually I realized I couldn't protect everyone. Perhaps I could teach someone else how to protect themselves instead. So I came here."
You looked at Woojin, asleep between you, utterly convinced this thoughtful, reserved man was his father. "I get it why he looks at you the way he does. Like you can fix anything."
"...I hope," he said quietly, "...I never give him a reason to think otherwise."
By the time you started back toward the castle, Woojin had gone entirely boneless with exhaustion, walking between you with a hand in each of yours, until somewhere along the path his feet simply stopped moving altogether and Wonwoo swept him up without breaking stride, settling him against his shoulder and he was asleep before you'd cleared the gates.
"I'll take him tonight," Wonwoo said quietly, adjusting his hold on the boy. "You should rest. You both used up too much energy while shopping.”
You didn't argue. You walked back to the castle beside him in comfortable, unhurried silence, watching and admiring the way Wonwoo had stepped up into his role so effortlessly.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
Students returned the following week, and it took less than a day for the entire castle to discover that Professor Jeon had, apparently, acquired a child.
Woojin looked so unmistakably like Wonwoo, same eyes, same careful, watchful stillness, the same particular way of tilting his head when he was thinking. The resemblance alone silenced most speculation. It took a little longer for anyone to connect the boy to you, mostly because you and Wonwoo had been so studiously careful in public, but it happened anyway, and by the second afternoon the whole school seemed to know that the small boy trailing Professor Jeon between classes called Professor Lee "Mama."
Your brother heard it from three people before lunch and arrived at your Herbology classroom at a dead run.
He burst through the door mid-lesson, loud and dramatic as ever, and you rounded on him without missing a beat. "I am teaching, Chan, go back to your dormitory or I will hex you where you stand."
But Woojin had already spotted him from his corner table, where he'd been colouring quietly through the lesson exactly as he always did. "Uncle Dino!"
Chan blinked. "Huh—?" But the boy had already crossed the room and grabbed his sleeve, tugging him down into the corner with the urgent, conspiratorial whisper of a child sharing a secret.
"Why are you at Hogwarts?" Woojin whispered. "You're supposed to be at work."
"What work?" Chan asked, faintly dazed, crouching properly now, studying the boy's face with growing, dawning confusion. The resemblance to Wonwoo really was uncanny. "How old are you kid?"
Woojin held up five fingers. "Five. I'm a big boy."
The class had, by now, entirely abandoned any pretence of working. You dismissed them five minutes early out of pure self-preservation, and the moment the door shut behind the last student, Chan rounded on you with the full, righteous fury of a man who has just done extremely questionable maths.
"Five years?" he demanded. "You hid a child from me for five years? I'm telling Mum and Dad."
You smacked the back of his head without much force and dragged him toward the door, explaining low and fast everything that had happened. His expression cycled through disbelief, alarm, and fascination. "So he just appeared? In a corridor? And nobody's told Mum and Dad?"
"McGonagall wanted to keep it contained until the Ministry understood what they were dealing with," You said, moving down the row of Mandrake pots with the automatic efficiency. "There's nothing to tell them yet. There's nothing certain to tell anyone yet."
"There's a child, noona. That feels fairly certain." He lowered his voice, glancing at Woojin, who was very obviously listening despite pretending otherwise. "Does he — does Professor Jeon know? Properly know? Has he said anything? Because if he's making you handle this on your own while he just stands there being broody and unreadable like he always—"
"He's been extremely present, actually," you said, sharper than you meant to, faintly surprised by your own defensiveness. "He is good with both of us."
"So you and Professor Jeon..." He said the name like it tasted strange. "He barely talks. Is he good to you? Because I don't care if it's the future or the past or whatever timeline nonsense this is, if he ever—"
"Chan."
"I'm just SAYING—"
"Uncle Dino and Appa are best friends," Woojin announced, from where he'd resettled himself contentedly on the crate beside him, "Appa says you're the little brother he never had."
You couldn't help smiling. Somehow, it was comforting to know that somewhere in some timeline, your brother had found a best friend in Wonwoo. You hadn't expected that of all things, but it felt right.
"That's not—" Chan opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "That doesn't sound like Jeon Wonwoo at all—"
"Was I not supposed to say that?" Woojin asked, blinking up at him, entirely innocent, already sensing from the sudden stillness in the room that he had said something he wasn't meant to.
You closed your eyes briefly and reached for patience.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
Woojin settled, in the weeks that followed, into the rhythm of the castle so completely it became hard to remember what Hogwarts had looked like without him.
One evening the greenhouses had gone quiet, students long gone, the castle settling into its nighttime hush beyond the glass, when the door creaked and Wonwoo stepped inside.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
"You aren't." You glanced up from the moonlily buds you were coaxing open.
"I came to see if you were still here," he said. "Woojin was asking where you were."
Your expression softened. "Is he alright?"
Wonwoo sat on a stool, pulling it closer to your set. "He waited up." said, the corner of his mouth lifting,"..but ended up falling asleep."
You smiled to yourself. "I'll apologise in the morning for making him wait up."
"He won't remember."
His gaze drifted to the flowers. "What are these?"
"Moonlilies. They only bloom after sunset, rather boring during the day." Your fingers brushed a pale blossom as another unfurled beside it, silver petals catching the moonlight through the glass roof.
"They're beautiful," he said.
"They're my favourite." You gestured at the rows stretching deeper into the greenhouse. "They'll keep blooming another hour or so. If you ever can't sleep, you can come see them."
Something unreadable crossed his face. "I'd like that."
The quiet settled again, comfortable, until he spoke. "Hold still." You blinked, and he leaned closer, reaching up to brush his thumb across your cheek. "There. You had mud." Your heartbeat became unexpectedly hard to ignore. He seemed entirely unaffected, or simply very good at pretending otherwise.
After a moment, as though the question had only just occurred to him, “Do you have a partner?"
The question caught you so off guard you laughed. "No."
"No one waiting for you?"
"No."
He nodded once. "I've been thinking," he said. "About Woojin. He still wakes some nights expecting both of us, and we keep sending him between two rooms." He paused. "I was wondering whether we should ask Professor McGonagall if our quarters could be connected. So he has one home."
The thought lingered longer than you expected. It wasn't technically moving in together, just one home, for a little boy who couldn't understand why his parents lived apart. "I think he'd like that," you said.
"I do too."
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
McGonagall agreed the next morning with the look of a woman who'd been waiting rather a while to be asked, and the magic took most of an afternoon, walls softening, a doorway blooming where there had been solid stone, two sets of rooms folding into one home neither of you had entirely built on purpose.
You brought Woojin to see it after dinner. He walked in ahead of you, and the moment he crossed the threshold he simply lit up, spinning in a delighted circle.
You brought Woojin to see it after dinner. He walked in ahead of you and lit up completely, spinning in a circle. "My house is back!" He threw his arms around the couch. "I missed you, home!" then, abruptly, "Where's Seol?" already forgotten in the next breath as he sprinted for the bedroom that had once been yours.
"Mama, Mama, this is my room!" he announced, bouncing on the bed with total confidence, and you didn't have the heart to correct him, didn't particularly want to.
He herded you both through the rest of it with the brisk, self-appointed authority of a very small landlord, and finished by planting himself in front of what had been Wonwoo's door alone,until that afternoon, pointing inside. "Go to your room. Goodnight, Mama." He rose on his toes, pulling you lower and pressed a firm kiss to your cheek, then did the same to Wonwoo, who accepted it with startled, helpless tenderness. Then Woojin stepped back, arms crossed, and looked between the two of you expectantly.
"Now your turn," he said, like this was simply the next obvious step in the routine.
You and Wonwoo looked at each other. A warm flush crept across your cheeks, his ears turning red in similar fashion.
"...Oh," you managed intelligently.
Beside you, Wonwoo looked equally flustered, clearing his throat as though searching for words.
Before either of you could decide who was supposed to move first—
"Fast," Woojin giggled, looking at the pair of you like you were being terribly silly. He pointed at his own cheeks with both hands. "Goodnight kisses!"
You closed your eyes for the briefest moment. Wonwoo quietly looked at the ceiling.
"...Right," you mumbled.
Woojin waited patiently while the two of you recovered enough dignity to lean down and kiss one of his cheeks each
Woojin dissolved into delighted laughter. "Silly Mama and Dada," he announced, thoroughly unbothered by the fact that you'd both gone crimson and speechless, and skipped off to his own room without a backward glance, leaving the two of you standing in the doorway in the sudden, charged quiet he had left behind.
Neither of you said very much, after that. There wasn't, really, anything sensible to say.
You ended up in the same room. It seemed the simplest arrangement now that the quarters had become one home instead of two, and neither of you had the energy to overthink what that might mean.
He was careful with you. Quiet, steady, bringing the same attentiveness he brought to everything, and you found you trusted it completely, the way you had found yourself trusting nearly everything about him these past weeks without quite noticing when it started. His hand found yours in the dark. Sleep came slowly, not from discomfort, but from being suddenly, acutely aware of each other in a way you hadn't been before. Eventually, exhaustion won and you both drifted to a quiet sleep.
Woojin woke sometime after midnight.
He padded sleepily into the hallway, rubbing one eye with the back of his fist. The door to the bedroom stood slightly ajar.
He peeked in. Moonlight spilled across the room, and his parents were asleep, your back against Wonwoo’s chest, his arm loose around your waist, both of you breathing with the heavy rhythm of people too tired to notice how close you had ended up. His sleepy face broke into the biggest grin. "You’re back," he whispered, and climbed carefully onto the bed, curling up in front of you instead of between you, pulling your arm over himself with practiced familiarity, asleep again within seconds.
Wonwoo woke first in the morning. Woojin lay between you now, not separating you, but tucked safely in front of you, your arm around him, his own arm still loose around your waist. Three people. One tangled shape on the bed.
He watched you both breathe a moment, then reached up and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before settling back against the pillow. For once, he felt no urgency to get up. Morning could wait.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
With Woojin increasingly absorbed into afternoons with Uncle Dino or Uncle Gyu, you and Wonwoo found yourselves with actual unclaimed hours, and neither of you was quite willing to waste them.
It was Wonwoo who moved first.
He started appearing at the greenhouse door with two steaming cups of tea, lingering awkwardly in the doorway until you looked up from your work.
"Thought you might want company," he'd say, as though that alone explained why he crossed half the castle during his free period.
More often than not, Woojin would toddle over the moment he spotted him, abandoning whatever stick or flower had captured his attention. Wonwoo would wordlessly scoop him with one before handing you your tea. Within a week the gesture had become second nature.
A few days later you found him asleep over a stack of essays, quill still loose in his hand. You slipped his glasses off his face and set them beside the parchment before nudging his shoulder.
He blinked awake, disoriented, and you told him plainly that he needed to go to bed.
"I still have—"
"You've been raising an energetic five year old all day," you said, folding your arms. "The essays can wait."
He looked at you for a long moment, and something in his expression softened before he admitted, voice still thick with sleep "I don't mind either of your energies," he stifled a yawn, stretching his arms "..makes me happy."
You had absolutely no idea what to do with that so you said nothing at all.
He still insisted on staying up most nights to finish grading, so eventually you started bringing your own work into his office instead of arguing about it. Neither of you said much once you were both settled. He would shift his chair a little closer, you would spread your parchment across the corner of his desk, and the two of you worked in companionable silence until the candles burned low.
He began walking you to your classroom afterward too, even though the route took him the opposite way from his own. He never explained it beyond insisting he would get to his class eventually, and eventually, it seemed, always meant after he'd seen you safely to your door.
On the colder mornings you were the one who stopped him and Woojin halfway across the courtyard, pointing sternly at the hat dangling forgotten from Woojin's hand until he groaned and put it on. Then you turned the same look on Wonwoo.
"You too."
He blinked in suprise."...Me?"
"You'll both catch cold," you said, and without another word pulled his scarf a little tighter around him.
He noticed things before you did. A quill running low on ink would be quietly replaced on your desk overnight. If you skipped lunch, a neatly wrapped sandwich would turn up in the staff room by early afternoon, and you'd know without asking where it came from.
You noticed things too. Whenever he buried himself in paperwork through mealtimes, you started simply setting a plate down beside him in the Great Hall and waiting until he ate it, ignoring whatever protest he tried to offer. Woojin, already halfway through his own shepherd's pie, took to backing you up without being asked, informing his father solemnly that Mama had said to eat, so he should eat.
Wonwoo accepted defeat every time.
Across the table, Mingyu had taken to watching these exchanges with an unbearably smug grin, and one evening he finally said aloud what he'd clearly been thinking for weeks, “I love your little family
You and Wonwoo looked up in perfect unison.
"We're not—"
"...a family?" Mingyu finished for you, smiling into his drink. "Right."
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
Slowly, the conversations that had once ended after a polite greeting stretched into long ones. Silence stopped feeling awkward between you. You learned that Wonwoo didn't speak often, not because he had nothing to say, but because he waited until something was worth saying. He learned, in turn, that you talked enough for the both of you, wandering easily from Herbology to your brother's latest letter to a book you read years ago that had suddenly reminded you of a student.
Most people interrupted you eventually. Wonwoo never did. He listened with his attention fixed solely on you. Over time you began to notice the small things about him that anyone else might have missed: the faint lift at the corner of his mouth, the thoughtful hum whenever he disagreed, the way he would bring up something you had mentioned days earlier as though it had never once left his mind.
Somehow, without either of you deciding it, spending time together stopped feeling like an obligation born from impossible circumstances. You began to look forward to it instead.
One evening, while Woojin sat between you at the table stubbornly sounding out a picture book, you found yourself watching Wonwoo rather than the page. He guided the boy through each difficult word with endless patience, never frustrated, never rushing him, and the thought left you before you could stop it.
"I think I understand now," you said, "why I'd marry you."
You looked at him, a little embarrassed after the words left you, and Wonwoo looked completely caught off guard.
"I think I do too." He held your gaze for a long, quiet moment.
Then, almost shyly, he looked back down at the book beside him, where Woojin was still waiting, for his appa to help him with the next word.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
The best afternoons belonged entirely to Woojin.
They usually started with a game of tag across the grounds, Wonwoo pretending badly not to be fast enough to catch him, until somehow you were running too, laughing while Woojin shrieked with delight between the two of you.
Someone always tripped eventually, usually you, and Wonwoo would stumble trying to catch you before all three of you went down together in the grass, Woojin throwing himself on top of the pile with a triumphant declaration that your pile was now a hamburger.
You and Wonwoo dissolved into helpless laughter beneath the weight of a giggling five year old.
It was in moments like these that you had to remind yourself, gently and every time, that none of it was permanent.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
The Ministry officials returned in early October with answers at last.
An illegal Time-Turner experiment had torn open a fracture between two points in time. Woojin had wandered too close, slipping through before anyone could stop him. He had never belonged in this timeline—not because he came from another world, but because he came from several years ahead.
Somewhere in that future, two frantic parents had spent weeks searching for the little boy who had vanished without a trace.
"There is a window," the lead investigator explained quietly. "We can safely return him."
The witch hesitated before continuing.
"The timeline will... protect itself afterwards."
You asked her what that meant.
"Everyone’s memories won't disappear all at once," she said. "But as the fracture closes, they'll begin to blur. Faces first, then conversations. Eventually it will feel more like something you dreamed than something you lived."
Woojin would forget these months too. He would remember growing up exactly as he was meant to. As far as he would ever know, he had never been here at all.
It was supposed to be a kindness, yet it felt unimaginably cruel.
The walk back to the castle was silent.
That night, neither of you slept much. Woojin, blissfully unconcerned, lay between you talking about things that happened that morning-- Uncle Gyu teaching him Quidditch fouls, Uncle Dino taking him along with his friends to Hogsmeade. Every ordinary little story landed somewhere deep inside you, each one another reminder that there was an entire life waiting for him beyond your reach.
Eventually his words grew slower, each sentence interrupted by a yawn, until they dissolved into sleepy murmurs. Within minutes he was asleep between you, one small hand fisted loosely in the fabric of Wonwoo's sleeve.
You watched him for a long time. Then, unable to stop yourself, you gathered him carefully into your arms and pressed your face into his soft hair. The first tear fell before you realized you were crying, and you tried to stay quiet so you wouldn't wake him.
Beside you, Wonwoo didn't say a word. He simply moved closer until your shoulders touched, then wrapped one arm around both of you, drawing you and the sleeping boy against his chest. You felt his chin come to rest lightly atop your head. For a while there was only warmth, and the quiet understanding that for one more night, the three of you were still here. You leaned into him, having a final night with the family you had briefly been allowed to borrow.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
The Astronomy Tower was quiet at dawn.
Woojin stood between you, one hand tucked into yours and the other in Wonwoo's, looking more curious than frightened.
"Will you be okay?" you asked softly.
He looked up at you with complete certainty. "I'll see you for dinner."
The words caught somewhere behind your ribs. Wonwoo crouched down in front of him and smoothed a wrinkle from his little jumper, telling him gently that his mum and dad had been looking for him. Woojin frowned, as though the sentence didn't make any sense at all
"You are my mum and dad."
You dropped to your knees beside Wonwoo, your shoulder brushing his.
"We are," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Just... a little earlier."
Still not able to grasp the meaning, he wrapped both tiny arms around the two of you together, deciding it probably wasn’t that important anyway.
"I'll see Mama and Appa for dinner,” he mumbled into the hug.
The Ministry kept its promise. The memories faded carefully over the following days, lifted away one by one until neither of you could remember the name of the child you loved, only the shape he had left behind.
Some things, however, refused to disappear. Whatever the timeline had taken, it hadn't touched what you and Wonwoo now shared. Somehow, without either of you noticing, Wonwoo had become the first person you looked for at the start of every day, and you had become the place he returned to at the end of it. Neither of you questioned when the castle had stopped feeling like home, and each other had quietly become one instead.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
Several years later, you stood in the kitchen of the house you shared with Wonwoo and eventually made your own. Morning sunlight spilled across the wooden table, where a list of baby names lay abandoned between two half-finished mugs of tea.
Absentmindedly, your hand rested over the gentle curve of your stomach.
Wonwoo looked up from the list and asked if you had any favourites. You tapped the parchment with the end of your quill, thinking, and the name left your lips before you could even reconsider it.
"...Woojin."
You frowned slightly, almost amused by yourself. "I don't know why," you admitted. "It just... feels right."
He looked at the name for a long moment before a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I like it too. It somehow feels perfect."
Neither of you questioned it. Some things had long since stopped needing explanations.
Outside, Seol tore happily through the garden after a fluttering butterfly, barking with the same boundless enthusiasm she had since she was a puppy. You watched her through the window until you felt familiar hands settle gently around your waist from behind.
"You've been standing too long, baby," Wonwoo murmured against your ear, pressing a small kiss to your jaw.
"I'm pregnant, not made of glass."
"I know," he said, guiding you back toward your chair anyway, one hand settling over yours where it rested against your stomach.
"You fuss too much, honey," you said, though there was no real complaint in it.
"So I've been told."
You laughed softly and turned in your seat to face him. He knelt without a word, the way he always did lately, resting his cheek on your stomach a moment, like he was listening for something.
You laughed softly and turned in your seat to look at him properly. He caught your gaze almost immediately.
"Baby," he said, kissing over the curve of your stomach, "can you tell your mama to stop staring at me?"
You let out an indignant laugh. "I think I’m allowed to stare at my handsome husband."
The faintest blush made his ears turn red. You smiled, softer now, and settled your hand over his where it rested against your stomach.
"You're going to be such a wonderful father, Won." You said it so simply, like you already knew, and subconsciously you did. "I just know it."
For a moment he only looked at you, like he couldn't quite find the words for what that did to him. Then he straightened, tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, before leaning down to meet your lips.
The kiss was slow and careful. One hand cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing gently along your cheek, the other gripping the armrest of the chair to avoid hurting you. When he finally pulled back he only went as far as your forehead, staying close, breathing you in like he wanted to keep this exact moment a little longer.
"I love you," he murmured against your skin, quiet and certain, like it was the easiest true thing he had ever said.
"I know," you smiled, your hand finding his jaw. "I love you too."
His hand found your stomach again unconsciously, just as something shifted beneath it. Both of you went still.
"Did you feel that?"
A small kick answered for him. Wonwoo huffed out a soft and a little disbelieving laugh, and bent down to press yet another kiss to your stomach, murmuring something against it too quiet for you to catch. You covered his hand with yours anyway, content to let him have the moment.
Outside, Seol barked triumphantly at nothing at all. Inside, your home was warm with morning light and love, that the two of you had spent years quietly building.
And somewhere in that warmth, already loved before he had taken his first breath, a little boy was about to come home to the family that had always been his.
End.
📖 Before you leave Owl's Library, consider returning this record to the shelves with a reblog so other readers may find it.
"hey, mom?" were the first words high school volleyball ace ryomen sukuna remembered uttering that time. sukuna tried not to sound hopeful when he said it. but he couldn't help it. not when he was this vulnerable. especially when the person he's talking to was the mother he had longed for.
he sat alone on the wooden bleachers after volleyball practice, one arm draped over the ball resting beside him. most of the team had already left. the echoes of sneakers squeaking across the gym floor had faded minutes ago, leaving only the distant hum of the air conditioning and the occasional bounce of a forgotten ball somewhere in the building.
the afternoon sunlight filtered through the high windows, painting streaks of gold across the court. on the other end of the line, his mother sounded distracted, though not intentionally so. "hey, sweetheart. sorry for picking up so late. dad and i are cleaning up."
he swallowed. "we've got regionals this saturday."
there was a brief pause on the other line.
"really? that's wonderful. congratulations!"
sukuna stared down at the polished floor. he already knew what was coming. still, some stubborn part of him refused to stop asking. he still had that hope, that foolish yet strident hope.
"i was wondering if you and dad could come. its uh, a great time. its probably the first time you'll see me do what i can do, so....if you and dad can come, that would be awesome."
the silence that followed lasted less than two seconds. but it was more than enough of a response. he knew it, he knew it was coming. sukuna closed his eyes. there it was. that crushing tension...that brutishly familiar feeling. the one that always arrived before the actual answer did. he could feel the tightening of his chest, the glassy tension watering up his scarlet orbs.
"i'm sorry, sweetheart." his mother's voice softened immediately. "your father and i are leaving tomorrow morning. there's a medical mission scheduled for the weekend."
of course there was.
there always was.
like there always was.
"oh. i see. sorry, uh...i must have disturbed you both." sukuna tightened his grip around his phone. "where....where are you going this time?"
"dad says that it would be somewhere in southeast asia this time. it will be a long trip from where we are now in the west bank, sweetheart."
he nodded automatically despite knowing she couldn't see him. his father was a gastroenterologist. his mother was an orthopedic surgeon. they spent more time in hospitals, clinics, and remote communities than they did at home. people depended on them.
people needed them. he knew that too well. they weren't fooling around. they weren't missing his games because they didn't care. they weren't skipping his matches because they didn't love him.
they were helping people.
saving people who needed help.
doing something genuinely good.
which somehow made it harder to be upset.
because what kind of selfish person got angry over that?
still, he was still a boy. a boy who has spent years and years hoping to have a mother and a father by his side in these important moments. on parents day, grandpa came with him. on children's day, your parents were the ones who gifted him something. he loved them, he loved you. but he couldn't help wondering what it would be like to have the two of them by his side. to feel normal like all those other kids.
"we'll try to make the next one, sweetheart." his mother continued in a breath of rush. "i promise."
the next one, huh? sukuna couldn't remember how many times he'd heard those words. after middle school tournaments. after recognition ceremonies. after birthdays celebrated through rushed video calls from hotel rooms. after every event that had started with him glancing toward the entrance and ended with him pretending he hadn't been looking.
the next one.
the next one.
the next one.
eventually, the phrase had started sounding less like a promise and more like a habit. an intoxicating habit that his parents somehow cannot shake of. a habit he had gotten used to accepting without any other word.
"it's okay, mom....we can't do much about it." he said. "i hope you and dad are alright. you both are probably exhausted too. and busy at that. can't do much about that."
and in a way, it was. because he understood. he really did. his parents weren't bad people. they were probably two of the best people he knew, at least that's what he believes even if it was confusing, even if it hurts to think about. but maybe that was the problem.
it would've been easier if he could hate them for it. it would have been easier to lash out at them, better to let himself get hurt and maybe to hurt others in some other way like he used to do. instead, all he could do was understand. and forgive it all. and all over again hurt in the silence.
"are you sure?" his mother asked quietly, seeming to stop all that she was doing. "sweetheart, you know if—"
sukuna forced a smile she couldn't see. "yeah. i'm sure. don't worry about it too much. grandpa and [name] will be there. they'll cheer me on."
his mother seemingly didn't know what to say about that. instead, the conversation continued for another minute. she asked about school. then about volleyball and his college prospects.
and then about whether he was eating enough.
the same questions she always asked whenever they managed to find time to call him. the same things a stranger would ask to another stranger. those were the topics of conversation by the end of it all. and then the call would grow cold feet and all the sudden, it would just end. the screen would go dark. and then, ryomen sukuna, seventeen years old, would just sit there by himself to reflect and then to cry and then wash his face. just so no one would notice how puffy and red his eyes were, like he had done for his whole life.
all the sudden, the gym felt emptier than before.
for a long moment, sukuna simply sat there staring at his reflection in the black display.
sometimes he wondered if something was wrong with him. he had parents. and they were alive. they loved him. at least he was sure they do.
they do things all parents do. they remember to pay the bills, they send money home even if sukuna doesn't want to touch any of it. they sent birthday gifts, even if they don't really know what he likes. they called when they could. they remembered every major holiday, every occassion he has going on.....no, well, that one is a lie. they don't always remember.
he sighs. from the outside, it probably looked like he had everything. but sometimes it felt like they were ghosts. ghosts that haunt him as much as ghosts that he finds himself chasing.
but then again, that's just how things went. they were people he heard about more often than he actually saw. people whose faces lived inside photographs and video calls. they were people who existed somewhere out there in the world, but never quite where he needed them to be.
yet sometimes he hated thinking that. it made him feel guilty every time. because there were kids who would've done anything to have parents like his. kids who would've traded places with him without hesitation.
that's the question he asks himself all the time. why? why did it still hurt? why did he still find himself searching the crowd at every game? why did he still ask? why did some stupid part of him keep hoping that this time would be different?
"well." the voice startled him out of his thoughts. "that call's not gone as expected, huh?"
sukuna glanced toward the doorway. "old man, why are you here? what the—"
"aren't you too down for someone on a high after that win, boy?" his grandfather was leaning against the frame with a newspaper tucked beneath one arm.
judging by the amused look on his face, he'd heard far more of the conversation than he was supposed to. sukuna narrows his gaze, trying hard not to let the tears fall. he clears his throat. his grandpa grunts.
"good thing your favorite grandfather doesn't have any plans." his grandfather says, standing in front of his grandson. "wipe that sweat off your face."
sukuna snorted, but still...he listens. he grabs the towel on his bag and wipes his face dry. "you're my only grandfather that's still alive."
"exactly. makes me your favorite by default. you've got no choice, boy." the old man walked into the gym and sat beside him on the bleachers. "i'll be there on saturday."
sukuna blinked. "you don't have to. i know you have card games at the neighborhood club. you don't miss any games. don't want you to—"
"augh, pipe it down, boy." his grandfather cuts him off, shaking his head. sukuna glares at him. "i'm here for a reason. do you think i'd miss watching you terrorize innocent teenagers with a volleyball?"
"okay, that's an insane reason to be here."
his grandfather scoffed dramatically. "not if im here to support my grandson. someone has to lose and they might as well lose."
despite himself, sukuna laughed. he couldn't believe those sort of words came from his grandfather. yet all at once, he could. the man was too much of an unpredictable sort of geezer. still, it made the tightening at his chest feel a little bit better.
the old man nudged his shoulder. "i'm serious, boy. you can do it. you'll do great. with or without them. we're here for you. so, don't think much on it, alright? there's someone waiting for you there."
for the first time since the phone call, some of the heaviness in his chest eased. he slowly nodded at his grandfather, who patted his shoulder, a grin on his face. "thanks, gramps."
"besides, i'm sure i'm not the only one." his grandfather added casually, "your little girlfriend will probably be there too. that girl's going to be holding up her big banner with your name on it—"
the relief vanished instantly and replaced just as fast with a red faced horror. "oi, old man, what the fu—"
"no cursing at me, boy. not today at least."
"you can't just be saying things like that!" sukuna says, knowing fully well that even his neck and ears are red.
his grandpa looked confused. "well, isn't she your girlfriend? you didn't introduce [name] to me for nothing."
"......that's besides the point!" he bit the lower half of his lip, suddenly standing up to meet his grandfather's face head on, still red as a ripe tomato. before long, he lowers his head into his arms. "shit....."
his grandpa ignores him entirely and shrugs. "she's deserving of the mention here, kid. she comes to all your games, makes sure your water bottle's full of cold water, makes sure there's electrolites, snacks on your bag—"
"she's also the manager of the volleyball club!" he couldn't help but argue, rather weakly, if one was being honest. "she....she...."
there was too much overwhelming feeling at the concept of you doing that just for him. he liked the feeling of being so well cared for and loved by you. but the thing is, it's overwhelming. it's just something he couldn't help but describe without words. not even properly like this.
you do so much for him, quite more special than what his grandpa was describing. yet it was just....he doesn't know what to do. how could one be so confident with the one they love, now that theyre comfortable, yet be so contradictory to the world about the love he was so proud about?
his grandfather grunts amused. "i'm sure the fact that she always sits near your side of the court is a complete coincidence, isn't it?"
sukuna groaned and dropped his face into his hands once again, shaking his head. his grandfather laughed loud enough for it to echo through the empty gym.
at that moment, the world felt weightless. just a while ago, the world felt like it was crashing down, not feeling whole. and yet, the thought of his grandpa being there, and most of all, you being there, it made it all feel so freeing. the feeling was mad, everything about it was unexplainable. but even with the pain, it felt good. it felt so good to be so wanted.
a little moment passed before sukuna found himself laughing too. because maybe his parents wouldn't be there. maybe they never would be. but there were still people who showed up. people who chose to stay. people who made the effort.
and for that moment, sitting beside his grandfather while being mercilessly teased about you, the empty seats didn't feel quite so painful. his grandpa squeezes his shoulder. sukuna lifted his head, removing his hands from his face.
"you're doing good kid."
sukuna didn't know what to say.
but it was obvious, what he thought.
the eyes, they always tell.
to his grandfather, it was more than enough.
years later, the captain of the tokyo great bears, volleyball player ryomen sukuna had found himself sitting in another set of bleachers. well, not bleachers exactly. but it was close enough that the position of that moment made him reflective as then when he sat on those high school bleachers.
the kindergarten auditorium had tried very hard to look elegant, but there was only so much anyone could do when the audience consisted of excited parents and the performers consisted of five-year-olds wearing oversized costumes held together with safety pins.
the massive room buzzed with conversation, reverberating through the velvet lined walls. many of the parents chatted while adjusting cameras and their phones. all the teachers hurried back and forth behind the curtains, stressed looks on many of their faces.
somewhere nearby, a child was crying because they had lost a paper crown. another child was loudly announcing that they needed to use the bathroom immediately. it was chaos, absolute and uncontrolled chaos. anyone would have been in thier right mind to leave.
one could say he should be practicing like all the national other teams, for the olympic qualifying rounds. but he couldn't help it. he didn't want to have this special day to overlap with something this important. it may not be important to other people, but it was important to him.
this was worth cancelling practice for. because ryomen sukuna wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else. this is where he would rather be right now, for his family, for his daughter. this is where he ought to be.
you slid into the seat beside him, balancing a bouquet of flowers in one hand. the moment you sat down, you noticed the familiar posture. your husband had his arms folded, with his back as straight as a ruler, his scarlet eyes fixed firmly on the stage.
you couldn't help but smile tenderly at the sight of him so focused. it was just like his volleyball practices, when he's trying to get down something the coach said about the game play. but this time, it was for his beloved daughter. he wanted nothing more than to capture every moment, as if it was a move that would win his team the championship.
"you know, my love, this is rare." you said casually, "i'm still shocked you actually cancelled practice for this."
sukuna glanced at you. "why?"
"because you're you." you tell him, grinning. "you love to get the job done and you love to make sure things get results. you take practice seriously, my love. i know you. you've never done this before."
he frowned, which only made you laugh harder. "babe, this is the real shit. this is important. im not gonna be absent to kumibear's first dance recital."
"your team looked devastated." you giggled. "its interesting. they usually hate practice, but they seemed devastated. i think that you've mellowed after 'kumi was born."
he waves it off, probably unable to register what you mean. being so focused on the stage. he nods. "they'll survive. it's not like they aren't going to sleep this day off."
"one of them looked like he was about to cry. wait....wasn't satoru also crying then?"
"nah, he's dramatic. and it's probably not even about having no practice. he's probably crying because his ex is finally giving him a chance and he finally could ask her out because of the day off."
he snickers. "and everyone else, well, those idiots can get over it. its one day....not like we'll fail to qualify because we didn't practice one day."
you snorted. "well, i suppose you're right."
sukuna looked back toward the stage as teachers adjusted microphones and arranged props. "we can miss one practice. just this once. let me have this."
your eyes soften at your husband, your free hand reaching over his to squeeze it. "you do deserve it, my love. you always have."
he smiles as he turns to you. "i know. that's why i'm happy."
as he said that, the lights started to dim slightly. he removes the side that separated your chair and his and pulled you closer. you laughed quitely as he wraps his arms around you. you put the flowers on the empty side and then leaned against your husband's body.
conversation throughout the auditorium began to quiet. the teachers started ushering children into position behind the curtain. instantly, sukuna's attention sharpened. you could practically see it happen.
his sharp scarlet eyes shifted toward the stage. his shoulders straightened. his entire focus narrowing to a single point. you followed his gaze. you lift your head as you whispered. "you're nervous."
"i'm not nervous." he shakes his head. "i'm fine."
"you're absolutely nervous." you whisper lowly. "i can tell, your tense my love."
"it's a kindergarten recital."
"exactly. so why are you tense? there's no award ceremony for it."
his jaw tightened. you grinned. "my love."
"what?" he looks down at you, confused.
"she's dancing to a song about vegetables. with everyone else. this is a group effort."
"and? i wanna see her do well."
you leaned closer. "you're acting like she's about to perform at the olympics and needs to bring the gold medal."
he didn't answer immediately, his face red with blushing. you smiled, shaking your head as you leaned on his body once again, your hand free from his grasp. but he hasn't moved from his position. instead, his scarlet gaze remained fixed on the curtain.
waiting.
watching.
expecting.
when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before. ".......i just don't want her looking for us and not seeing us. i want her to see us real fast and know that we're here cheering for her."
the words hit you so unexpectedly that your teasing vanished. you lifted from your position and looked at him. for a moment, neither of you spoke. because you understood immediately. he wasn't talking about the recital. at least not anymore.
he was talking about every game he'd ever played. every tournament. every ceremony. every moment he'd searched a crowd filled with strangers. hoping, just once, that his parents would be there too. like everyone's parents were.
your hand found his once again, his fingers intertwined with yours automatically. a habit built over years. you smile at him reassuringly. "don't worry. you raised her well. she knows that we'll be there. so don't think her eyes will fail her now. she's like her dad, she has eagle eyes. so, she'll see us, my love. it's okay."
his thumb brushed gently across your knuckles. "i know, i know....but i guess i needed to hear that. thank you, babe. you always calm me down."
you pressed a kiss on his cheek. "of course, my love. im always here for you, no matter what."
the curtain finally opened. and there she was. ryomen sukumi was standing near the center of the stage in a bright yellow costume that was apparently supposed to make her look like a sunflower.
she looked ridiculous.....just absolutely ridiculous. the costume was too big on her. one side of the petals was slightly bent. and somehow she had managed to put one shoe on backwards.
but sukuna was happy about that. because in his eyes, even in this mismatched outfit, even if she looked ridiculosu, everything about her was perfect. everything about it was incredibly perfect. sukuna couldn't help but smile.
the moment her eyes swept across the audience, she spotted the two of you. her entire face lit up. she waves towards the two of you, grinning from ear to ear. "she found us, my love. i told you!" you whispered, waving back to her.
sukuna's chest tightened. sukumi immediately began waving even more wildly. so wildly in fact that she completely ignored whatever instructions her teachers had given beforehand. several parents laughed. a teacher gently tried to lower her arms and did so multiple times. but sukumi only waved harder.
you couldn't stop smiling. you pulled out your phone and started taking pictures and videos. beside you, sukuna lifted his hand and waved back immediately. without hesitation, without embarrassment. without caring that several other parents had turned to look. all that mattered was that she could see him wave back and happily so.
the second sukumi saw her loving dad wave back, her grin doubled in size. and just like that, she relaxed. the nervousness disappeared from her shoulders. the uncertainty vanished, the issues with the big costume being too much for her all, ones which made her throw a tantrum five minutes ago, had all but disappeared.
because she had found what she was looking for. her parents were there, watching her. they were there, exactly where they were supposed to be, smiling from the bottom of their hearts, ignoring the world, and focusing their eyes on their beloved daughter alone.
in a few moments, the new music started to blast into the speakers. they start to transition from acting into dancing. if it could even be called dancing. half the children forgot the choreography within thirty seconds.
one little boy wandered toward the wrong side of the stage. another became distracted by something on the floor. a girl near the front spun enthusiastically in the wrong direction for nearly the entire performance. but your daughter sukumi wasn't much better.
she missed several steps and almost instantly forgot part of the routine. your little daughter spent an alarming amount of time looking directly at the audience instead of her teacher. but she was laughing and she hasn't stopped waving at the two of you.
it was the cutest thing sukuna had ever seen. he watched every second. every spin. every mistake. every laugh. every time she glanced toward the audience just to make sure the two of you were still there. and every single time she looked, she found him.
waiting.
watching.
present.
for her.
you looked away from the stage for a moment, just taking in the time to look at him. his expression had softened completely. the intimidating volleyball god. the man who terrified opposing teams. the man who rarely smiled in public. every bit of that man was gone.
instead, he was replaced by a father completely enchanted by his daughter, overwhelmed by the love he had for his daughter, you would have thought when he screamed "you're doing great sweetie" as he took out his phone to record, that he was crazy. but he was far from crazy. he was just a father who loves and loves wholeheartedly.
you squeezed his hand. "you're smiling."
"am not."
"you are." you shake your head at your husband, putting down your phone, laughing. "gosh, you're such a tsundere, my love."
he didn't seem to register what you said as he took another angle for the camera to capture your daughter's memories in. "i'm not."
"your face hurts from smiling."
"babe. no offense, but i'm trying to focus so stop talking, i want to hear her sing." you laughed quietly, but you stopped, letting him focus on capturing performance "go kumibear! you're amazing! yeah, twirl that twirl, baby girl!"
many of the parents giggled, as you do. but everyone felt good about it. they may love their kids, they may want to be there for their kids, but you knew that no one could love their kids more than your husband loves sukumi. not even close.
when the performance finally ended, the auditorium erupted into applause. sukumi immediately started searching for the two of you again. sukuna stood before anyone else both hands raised high, happily applauding as though she had just delivered the greatest performance in history.
sukumi beamed at her dad and soon enough was resting in his arms, lifted up by his muscular, tattooed arms, being spun as he kissed her cheeks, making her giggle. you laughed, capturing the moment on your phone.
"you did such a good job, kumibear!"
"papa, did you see me? did you see 'kumi dance and act?" she excitedly asked. "did you enjoy it?"
"papa did see you, kumibear. you waved at papa, remember?"
"ohhh, that's right." she giggled, causing him to smile. "did you like it?"
he grins at her. "of course i like it. but tell you what, i love it more! you did so well, pretty. papa is happy that kumibear is so good."
sukumi smiled, bright and satisfied. "'kumi's happy, papa! you love it, lots! that makes me so happy!"
sukuna laughs at his daughter. "well, i'm glad that it makes you as happy as i am."
you moved forward as you put your phone away. before long, you were placing a kiss on your husband's cheek and your daughter's own face, still holding the bouquet. "oh, you two are just so cute."
sukumi gasps, seeing the flower. "mama, is that for me?"
you smiled. "yes, kumibear. it's for you. mama got you your favorite color too. pink!"
she kicked her feet, asking for her dad to put her down and sukuna does. he watches as sukumi jumps into your arms, making you laugh as you balanced her and the bouquet. your daughter kisses you as you two talk about the performance and how proud you were of her.
as he watches the two of you, suddenly, for the briefest moment, sukuna remembered another gymnasium. another set of bleachers. another version of himself. a teenage boy staring toward an empty seat. just waiting for things that maybe would never come.
the memory flickered through his mind and disappeared just as quickly. because unlike then, he wasn't the one searching anymore. unlike then, the seat wasn't empty. and it will never be.
as long as he's here, as long as he could love you enough, love sukumi enough, and always show up, it would be a good life. it would be a happy home. that's all that matters, no matter what else comes his way.
he moves towards you, and feeling him behind you, you couldn't help but smile. he smiles as he leans forward and kisses you on the lips. you grinned wide as you kissed him back. sukumi who was focused on her little bouquet, looked at you two and made a disgruntled sound.
"papa's giving mama cotties!"
the two of you part, and ended up laughing at what she had just blurted out loud. he shakes his head as he leans down to pick her up carefully and moves closer to you. "but papa has no cooties, kumibear. and besides, papa loves mama a lot. that's just another way of showing her that i love her a lot."
"but all boys have that!" he looked perplexed and that made you laugh.
"now where are you hearing that?"
"the other girls in school say so! they said kissing boys gives you cooties!" sukuna shakes his head exasperated at her words, making you laugh even harder.
"okay, they're right. no kissing boys. they all suck. but papa doesn't have cooties. papa is cool and he loves mama."
sukumi turned her head slowly, so very slowly. it was the kind of slow, suspicious turn that immediately made both of you nervous. she stared directly at her father. sukuna stared back. for a moment, neither of them spoke. it was then sukumi narrowed her scarlet eyes.
"but papa is a boy."
you immediately snorted. sukuna looked personally offended. "i am not just a boy, kumibear."
"you are."
"i'm your father."
"that's still a boy."
you nearly doubled over laughing. sukuna shot you a betrayed look. but that was too much. you only laughed harder. "don't look at me, my love." you managed between breaths. "she's got a point."
"she does not."
"she absolutely does."
sukumi nodded enthusiastically. "see? mama knows."
"your mama encourages bad behavior."
"hey, i do not!" you argue.
"that's because mama is smart." the response from sukumi came so quickly that even you blinked. "papa is a boy!"
sukuna looked horrified. "absolutely not, kumibear. papa is not in that category!"
"absolutely yes."
"you don't even know what we're talking about anymore."
"i know mama is smart, though!"
you grinned triumphantly. "i like this conversation. well done, kumibear. mama is happy." sukumi grinned at you and blew kisses. "okay, mama is going to buy you ice cream later, okay?"
"yay!"
"of course you will."
you grinned at him and winked. "with your card, my love!"
sukuna shifted her more comfortably on his hip as the three of you slowly made your way out of the auditorium. around them, parents were still gathering about with their children, still taking photos, and congratulating teachers. several kids were still running around in costume, seemingly fueled by unlimited energy.
sukumi wrapped her arms around sukuna's neck. "papa."
"what?"
"did you have cooties when you were little?"
you immediately covered your mouth. sukuna looked ready to walk directly into traffic. "no, papa didn't have them. not even when papa met mama, no."
"never?"
"never."
"not even once?"
"not even once."
sukumi gasped dramatically. "wow."
"what's wow about that?"
"that's lucky."
"it's not luck."
"then what is it?"
sukuna opened his mouth and then paused. he had words in his head but nothing in his mouth, so closed it again. because how exactly was he supposed to explain this?
you were already laughing before he even attempted an answer. "good question, my precious kumibear. tell us, papa. what do you mean by that?"
"don't encourage her."
"why? i'm curious now."
sukuna looked at you flatly. "you are the least curious person here. well, at least with this situation we have here."
you grinned at him. "i don't know. maybe you were born immune."
"immune to what?"
"cooties."
he sighed heavily, the kind of sigh that came from years of loving you. "you're both impossible."
"mama says that's because we're related."
"that's not how genetics works."
"genetics?"
sukumi perked up immediately. "what's genetics?"
"don't answer that."
"why?"
"because we're standing here and its not going to be appropriate."
"that's fair."
sukumi hummed thoughtfully before suddenly remembering something. "but if papa doesn't have cooties, why do you kiss him?"
sukuna nearly dropped her. you laughed so hard you had to grab his arm to steady yourself. "what kind of question is that?"
"i'm asking. kumibear is curious!"
"i can see that." sukuna says to her, grumbling.
"well?" she looked between the two of you expectantly.
waiting, in the way children always did when they asked a question they genuinely wanted answered. sukuna looked at you. you looked at sukuna. neither of you wanted to be the first one to answer. which meant, naturally, sukuna lost. he always lost. especially when it came to the two girls in front of him.
"because...because...." he began carefully, "when you love someone, sometimes you want to show them."
sukumi listened seriously. "with kisses?"
"among other things."
"like hugs?"
"yeah."
"and flowers?"
"those too."
she thought about that. "and ice cream?"
you immediately nodded. "especially ice cream, baby."
"that's not the point."
"it absolutely is." you say to him.
sukumi gasped. "then i show people i love them all the time!"
you smiled. "you do, kumibear. me and papa are so happy you are so loving."
she giggled, happy with the compliment. "you know, i gave uncle yuuji half my cookie last week."
"that's very loving." you say enthusiastically.
"and i shared my crayons."
"also very loving." sukuna says with a pleased nod.
sukumi looked extremely pleased with herself. sukuna couldn't help smiling. because she was right. children had a way of simplifying things that adults spent years overcomplicating.
to her, love was sharing snacks. sometimes its saving someone a seat at the lunch table. sometimes its making sure its safe to cross the street by holding someone's holding hands. or even offering crayons so they could draw together.
it was simple.
it was so honest.
so uncomplicated.
much like the way she loved.
and much like the way he loved her.
"so, papa....." sukumi concluded confidently. "i can kiss mama because i love her, right?"
"yes." he nodded back at his little girl.
"and i can hug mama because i love her."
"yes, you can do that too."
"and papa can kiss mama because he loves her."
"yes, because papa wants to show mama he loves her a lot." he says with a grin, which made you playfully roll your eyes as you hit him softly on the arm. "what? that's true."
"but i still shouldn't kiss boys at school."
you nodded. "yes, kumibear, that's correct."
sukuna suddenly got serious. "yeah, baby. they're all ugly and stupid. they should not even be near you. boys shouldn't be around you, kumibear."
sukumi seemed just as serious. "and because they have cooties."
before you could answer, sukuna spoke first. "but most especially, kumibear, its because they're annoying and stupid. so don't go near boys, okay? they'll infect you with stupid boy cooties."
you burst out laughing at his words. sukumi gasped, her face petrified. "really? boys have that!"
"absolutely."
"all of them?"
"every single one."
"hey."
sukuna glanced at you. "what?"
"you were once a little boy too."
he shrugged. "and i was annoying. what else can be said about that? i changed, though."
you snickered. "alright, fair. but to be fair, you were very annoying."
"extremely." he nodded back at you. and then looked at sukumi. "that's why you should stay away from boys, kumibear. boys all have stupid boy cooties and way badder cooties!"
sukumi giggled. "papa had cooties."
he groaned. "i did not."
"you did."
"i didn't."
"you did."
"kumibear."
"yes?"
"i'm literally carrying you."
she immediately wrapped her arms tighter around his neck. with her big scarlet eyes, she looks at him tenderly. sukuna had no chance of winning. not one bit. that made you laugh.
"because i love you. so papa wouldn't let me fall, won't he?"
the words came so naturally and so casually. those were the kind of things children said without realizing how much weight those words carried. sukuna went quiet for a second, eyes widened and flustered. even for just a second, he was too stunned to speak.
but you noticed. you always noticed. his hand moved gently against her back and steady, protective. but most of all, certain. his eyes, the same eyes he had given her, shown in the best lights. he smiled at her. "i love you too."
sukumi smiled and pressed her cheek against his shoulder, all too completely content and safe. as the three of you continued walking out the building and toward the car in the parking lot, sukuna found himself thinking about all the years he'd spent searching crowds.
all the years he'd spent wondering whether someone would show up. whether someone would stay. whether someone would choose him. he'd spent so much of his childhood looking for love in empty seats.
now he carried sukumi in his arms, walked beside her and held her hand. he heard her laugh. he had the pleasure of being a part of everything that she was. it was such a good feeling.
and every time he looked at you and sukumi, he felt the same thing. there was no absence and there was no disappointments. there could be longing. but each and everytime, there would be certainty. he was sure of that.
ryomen sukuna, who walked so far to get here, was finally here where he was meant to be.
"papa, kumibear has a question."
he looks at her as he buckles her into the carseat. "what is it, kumibear?"
"will kumibear get cooties if she kissed a girl in the cheek?"
he looks at you.
then back at sukumi.
you started laughing.
"oh, dear....you have stuff to deal with, my love."
sukuna's face was stupified. "what? what does that mean, 'kumi?"
"i like sakura, the one i seat with!" she beamed.
sukuna lowered his head. "i didn't know i have to warn off little girls too...."
Tired of people classifying Levi as the mean brooding guy-
If you watch the whole show and sit there and tell me Levi is an asshole? You clearly didn't pay attention.
Throughout the whole show, the entirety of Levi's character is established as the protector. Levi is not a selfish person, he is a selfless person. He fights for humanity; not for himself. His entire character arc with zeke is rooted in his promise to Erwin.
He cares so deeply and that is what makes him the strongest. He wouldn't be the strongest if he didn't have the rage and the pain and the determination that comes with love.
Levi is not a stone cold brooding morally grey character. He is a man that cares about people in ways that people never cared for him.
Not to mention, he has a sense of humor! He is a sassy man.
He has lived a tragic life, but he lived. He lived longer than all of him comrades. Developed relationships with them just to be unable to save them. Levi is not a mean man, he is a man who has been through more than people could imagine.
"Was? ...please ..she is beautiful, but not like those girls in magazines. She is beautiful, for the way she thinks, She is beautiful for the sparkle in her eyes when she speaks about anything she loves. She is beautiful for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad. No, she wasn't beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She is beautiful, deep down to her soul ....
She is the love of my life"
The man: Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, John Price, Jason Todd, Sam Winchester, Higuruma Hiromi, Halsin, Astarion Zayne, Sylus, Xavier, Levi Ackerman, Simon Riley, Johnny Mactavish, Leon Kennedy, Aizawa, Dabi, Hawks, Rafayel, Cooper Howard, Logan Howlett, Aemond, Nikto,
first year high schooler ryomen sukuna was starting to think volleyball had ruined his life. but it was not because he disliked it. if anything, the thought was opposite. quite annoyingly, he liked it far too much. much more than he thought he would possible. and frankly, it wouldn’t have been what he expected more than a year and a half ago for himself.
he liked the impact of a perfect spike against his palm. it just felt too good, feeling that satisfying burn in his muscles after practice. he enjoyed watching the ball slam into the floor hard enough to make people flinch.
in some ways, there was something addictive about becoming stronger at something so quickly, about seeing people stare at him with the same mixture of awe and caution they always had. except now it was on a volleyball court instead of outside convenience stores after fights.
volleyball had also introduced him to a very specific problem. that was the unbeatable concept, the most unfathomable concept in the universe. the push and pull of destiny, the endless crash of the waves. the concept of love….the concept of you.
it was something that he would have never thought of years ago, especially a year and a half ago. he wasn’t the type of boy who could have ever been good at being gentle, let alone be willing to let his guard down and be vulnerable for anything, for anyone.
but somehow, ever since he started dating you, the former red eyed devil of the streets, that young delinquent he was, was no longer there. Instead, all that remained is this young man, this ryomen sukuna who had been acting like a complete idiot. a complete, embarrassing, hopeless idiot, who was head over heels in love with you.
and the worst part was that nobody could even believe it. nobody at school would ever imagine the infamous former delinquent ryomen sukuna, the guy teachers kept an eye on out of habit, the guy with tattoos peeking from beneath his uniform collar, the guy who looked mean even while half-asleep, was internally losing his mind because his girlfriend looked too cute holding a pen.
he could not believe it at first, but he quickly realized that he was now that sort of boy he used to think were just fools. he was now constantly looking up, waiting for you to be in his bird’s eye view, hoping to catch a glimpse of you and be relieved.
you sat in the gym almost every afternoon during volleyball practice, student council work spread neatly across your lap while you waited for him to finish. sometimes the manager would offer you a chair closer to the heaters during colder days, but you always stayed near the court because, according to you, “i like watching my boyfriend play” and you repeated that all the time. which was a killer line.
because that sentence alone had nearly gotten him on his knees and made him realize that he couldn’t breathe the first time you said it. then each time you had said it, it had him fighting for his life. he couldn’t believe it. he was a boyfriend, and let alone, your boyfriend.
he couldn’t go without you now.
he just knows that he can’t do things without you.
how could he, when you are everything good in life?
today, practice had run late.the weather outside had shifted colder with the approaching rain, and even inside the gym, the air carried a chill that lingered against sweat-damp skin. the windows had fogged slightly near the corners, sunset light filtering weakly through the gray clouds overhead.
sukuna was exhausted, beyond comprehension. he could feel the way his head was fuzzy and light-headed. he dropped onto the bench beside you with a low exhale, towel hanging around his neck while he rolled one sore shoulder. his practice shirt clung slightly to his back, still damp from drills.
you looked up immediately from your paperwork. “there you are, i couldn’t see you.” you said softly. “i thought you left. its a good thing i saw your bag in here.”
“had to do the drill outside, for terrain practice.”
“you were doing extra spikes there, huh?”
“tch. coach asked, so i don’t panic when if the volleyball floor isn’t even.”
“you scared two first-years, i heard. you kept asking the senpais for help and you kept glaring at them.” you couldn’t help but say in a light tone. “you could have smiled a little you know.”
“they’ll survive without it.” he says as he takes his water bottle. “‘sides they aren’t you. why should they get my smile?”
“i suppose that’s fair enough.” you tell him. “though, you hit one hard enough that he ducked before the ball even crossed the net. be a bit more mindful next time.”
“he should learn instincts then.”
your lips twitched faintly, the one you had been suppressing for a little bit now. sukuna watched the tiny smile form and immediately felt that stupid feeling in his chest again. god, there it was.
that thing. that unbearable tightness whenever you looked amused by him.
he clicked his tongue and grabbed his water bottle instead, trying to ignore the fact he was staring. you noticed anyway, because you always noticed. you blinked your eyes adorably and you tilted your head slightly. “what?” you asked.
“nothing.”
“you’re staring again.”
“no, i’m not.”
“you absolutely are.”
sukuna glared at you weakly before unscrewing his water bottle. unfortunately, the moment his fingers curled around the cold metal, he remembered something. he looked at your hands for a moment. he starts to think for a moment, about the way you hated the cold.
it wasn’t dramatic, it wasn’t unreasonable either. and you don’t complain about it often. but he could just feel it, he could just see it. you couldn’t cope. you just got quietly miserable whenever temperatures dropped even slightly.
you tucked your hands into your sleeves. your nose turned pink. you complained under your breath about frozen fingers while trying to maintain your usual composed student-president image.
and sukuna, sukuna thought it was the cutest thing he had ever seen in his entire life. which was a serious problem. because now every time the weather got cold, every time a place felt cold, or when something was too cold to the touch, he couldn’t stop paying attention to you.
a few weeks ago, you’d grabbed his hand while walking home after rain. his muscular fingers had still been freezing from carrying an iced drink, and you’d immediately jerked in surprise before pouting up at him.
“your hands are cold, ‘kuna.” you’d complained quietly. “now mine are cold too.”
you hadn’t even sounded upset. if anything, you’d sounded clingy, almost like you expected him to fix it. sukuna had spent the entire night afterward staring at his ceiling because the memory kept replaying in his head.
now it had permanently altered his behavior, his train of thought, his perspectives. so while you sat beside him in the chilly gym, absentmindedly rubbing your sleeves over your hands for warmth, sukuna’s brain short-circuited instantly.
fuck, there you went again.
you looked too cute.
way too cute for him to handle.
you didn’t even realize you were doing it either, perhaps that was the worst part. your brows furrowed slightly as you tried warming your fingers beneath your sleeves while still reading over council papers, and sukuna physically had to look away for a second because something about it hit him directly in the chest.
how was anyone supposed to survive dating you?
“how are you cold already, babe?” he muttered roughly.
you glanced at him with mild offense. “because it’s freezing.”
“it is not.”
“‘kuna, i can literally see my breath outside.”
“that’s normal.”
“it shouldn’t be.”
you tucked your hands farther into your sleeves stubbornly, shoulders hunching a little against the cold air. and that, that right there nearly killed him. ryomen sukuna stared at you for a long second before dragging a hand down his face.
fuck it all, it was too much.
you were adorable.
actually adorable.
he hated this feeling. hated how soft you made him feel. hated how his chest kept tightening over things as stupid as your cold hands. before you could notice the crisis happening internally, sukuna abruptly started rubbing his palms together.
you blinked. “what are you doing right now?”
“nothing at all.”
“you’re aggressively warming your hands.”
“i said it’s nothing.”
then, dissatisfied, he shoved both hands underneath the collar of his shirt to warm them properly against his skin. your eyes widened slowly as realization hit your face all at once.
and then you smiled. you couldn’t help it, you couldn’t help look at him so fondly.
“oh my god…” you whispered.
“don’t.”
“you’re warming your hands up for me.”
sukuna wanted the floor to open beneath him. “you’re cold, okay?” he muttered defensively, refusing to look directly at you now. “you hate cold stuff.”
your expression softened so visibly it made his stomach flip. “‘kuna…”
“it’s annoying watching you complain.”
“i complained once.”
“you looked miserable.”
“because i was cold.”
“exactly.”
you stared at him for a moment longer, something unbearably affectionate settling in your expression. then you laughed quietly under your breath, so softly, it felt like a feather had landed on his skin, carefully placing its tenderness against him. sukuna felt like his organs were rearranging themselves.
“you’re seriously so sweet, aren’t you, kuna?” you said.
sukuna almost choked. sweet? him? absolutely not. “you’re hallucinating, babe.”
“you’re warming your hands because mine get cold.”
“you act like you’re dying every time the temperature drops below twenty.”
“because cold weather is evil.”
“there’s something wrong with you.”
“you still like me.”
unfortunately, that was true. painfully true. and there was nothing he could do about it. sukuna finally pulled his hands back out from beneath his shirt before awkwardly holding one toward you, still refusing eye contact. “here.”
you looked down at his hand, then back at him. and suddenly your entire expression melted. sukuna immediately knew he was finished. because there it was again. that look. that impossibly soft, affectionate look that made him feel like he’d been punched directly in the chest.
carefully, you slipped your hand into his. the second your fingers touched, your eyes brightened slightly.
“they’re warm.” you said quietly.
the happiness in your voice over something so small genuinely made sukuna’s brain stop functioning. fuck. fuck, you were cute. you held his hand with both of yours now like you were stealing his warmth, shoulders relaxing immediately.
“‘kuna, you’re so good at everything you know?” you murmured, looking absurdly content, “how could you just fix everything so easily? you’re like a healer…..no, no, you’re like my personal heater.”
that did it. that actually did it. sukuna felt his entire face heat instantly as he stared at you in disbelief. you were holding his hand against your cheek now, eyes half-lidded in comfort from the warmth, and sukuna genuinely thought he might die right there in the middle of the gymnasium.
how could someone act like this and not realize what they were doing to him? how could you just cross the boundaries and make the greys turn into a rainbow? his heartbeat was so loud it was annoying. you noticed his silence and blinked up at him innocently. “what?”
you laughed softly again before squeezing his hand tighter, still warming your fingers against his palm. and sukuna, he couldn’t do anything else. sukuna looked at you curled against his warmth like trusting him came naturally, like loving him was easy, and felt something helpless bloom painfully inside his chest.
because nobody had ever needed gentleness from him before. nobody had ever looked this happy just because he remembered something small about them. he stared at your intertwined hands for a moment before muttering under his breath, almost too quietly to hear, he says, “you’re gonna ruin me.”
you blinked. “hm?”
“nothing.”
but you smiled anyway, like maybe you’d heard him after all. and while the gym buzzed faintly around you with distant voices and squeaking shoes, ryomen sukuna sat there completely lovestruck, warming your hands between his own like it was the most important job in the world.
“i really do like you, ‘kuna.” you whispered to him softly, feeling warmth all over your face. “i promise, by next week…i’ll figure out what my nickname is for you….it can’t just be you who has a cute one for me.”
he could feel his blush intensify. he lowers his head. “y–you don’t have to say shit like that—fuck….”
“‘kuna, are you okay?”
“I…i’m fine! just…just keep letting my hands warm you, okay?....i warmed my hands to touch you….just…just let it warm you up.”
"alright, alright....tsundere."
"i am not a tsundere—babe!"
"hm...i believe you."
he blushed even more.
he knew you were right.
he just won't admit it.
".....just keep warm, okay?"
"okay." you smiled.
epilogue
years later, olympic volleyball legend ryomen sukuna still warmed his hands before touching yours. it had become such an ingrained habit that he no longer consciously thought about it anymore. whenever the weather turned cold, whenever rain tapped against the windows or winter air slipped beneath doorframes, his body simply moved on instinct. rub his palms together. warm them against hot water or the fabric of his sweater. then reach for you.
you noticed every single time. this morning, rain drizzled softly outside the apartment while pale gray light filled the kitchen. the heater hummed near the corner, but apparently not enough for you, because you stood near the counter bundled in one of sukuna’s old hoodies with your hands tucked deep into the sleeves.
your nose was pink from the cold. sukuna thought you looked ridiculous. ridiculously cute for your own good. you frowned down at your coffee mug like it had personally betrayed you. “why is the floor cold?”
“because it’s winter, babe.” sukuna answered from the table without looking up. “bound to be cold iike this.”
“well i don't like it.....winter is evil.” you sniffle.
“you say that every year.”
“because every year it’s true.”
he finally glanced toward you then and immediately felt that familiar ache settle warmly in his chest. years later, and you still looked exactly the same whenever you were cold. the tiny pout. the way your shoulders hunched slightly. the way you curled your fingers into your sleeves like a disgruntled cat.
sukuna had once believed he would eventually grow used to loving you. nstead, it seemed to get worse with time. he still is overwhelmed each and every time by how much he feels for you, by how deep the depths get when it comes to you. yet he wouldn't trade this for the world. not one bit.
you sighed dramatically before shuffling toward him across the kitchen. “my hands are freezing.”
“that sounds like a personal problem.”
“you’re so mean to me.”
“do you want some hot cocoa?”
“.....yes, please. thank you.”
“already have it on the kettle, babe.” he says from his seat, smiling. “give it a few minutes, okay?”
“......okay.”
almost instinctively after that, you still moved directly between his legs where he sat at the table, leaning against him automatically. sukuna’s hands settled on your waist without thought.
then, after a brief pause, he clicked his tongue softly and pulled one hand away. you watched silently as he reached toward the sink, running warm water over his palms for several seconds first.
a smile slowly spread across your face. “still doing that, huh?” you asked quietly.
sukuna dried his hands with a towel before looking back at you. “doing what?”
“warming your hands before touching me.”
“your hands get cold.”
“so?”
“so i don’t like when you complain about it.”
you laughed softly beneath your breath, and sukuna immediately felt his heartbeat stutter in the same humiliating way it always had.
he still remembered being sixteen years old and internally panicking in the school gym because your fingers had gotten cold from his.
now, years later, he was married to you, living with you, waking up beside you every morning and somehow he still reacted exactly the same.
you reached for him the second he held his hands out, slipping your smaller freezing ones into his warm palms with an immediate relieved sigh. “there he is.” you murmured happily. “my human heater.”
sukuna rolled his eyes, but his grip tightened automatically around your fingers. then he noticed the tiny pleased smile spreading across your face while you warmed your hands against his.
fucking hell.
still cute.
still unfairly cute.
he leaned down to kiss your forehead, already feeling that familiar helpless warmth blooming in his chest, when tiny footsteps suddenly pattered through the path of the hallway.
both of you turned. ryomen sukumi stood there sleepily in oversized bear-print pajamas, one tiny fist rubbing against her eye while her stuffed rabbit dragged limply behind her.
sukuna froze immediately. because somehow, every single morning, seeing his daughter still caught him off guard. one-year-old sukumi was so much like you it was honestly ridiculous.
your rounded cheeks. the same whimsy in your eyes. your adorable expressions. your habits. especially your habits. she may be his carbon copy but everything she is, all he can see is you and only you.
right now, she stood in the middle of the hallway with her tiny hands shoved deep into her pajama sleeves exactly the same way you did. same pout too. same betrayed expression toward the cold air.
sukuna physically felt something cave in his chest at the sight. you noticed immediately and bit back a smile. “good morning, kumi, my baby.” you said softly. “you're already up?”
sukumi looked at you with watery sleepy eyes before mumbling miserably, “cold…”
and there it was. that same exact tone you used every winter morning. the kettle was sounding but all he could hear was that sound, like back then. that tenderness of his heartbeat at the sight of this wonder. sukuna stared at his daughter in complete silence while realization slowly settled over him all over again.
she was exactly like you, in everything.
sukumi waddled farther into the kitchen before lifting both tiny arms upward dramatically. “mama…'kumi cold.”
you crouched instantly, brushing her messy hair back. “your hands are cold?”
sukumi nodded sadly. “very cold.”
sukuna watched the entire interaction with narrowing eyes as he turned off the kettle. he could not take his sight of you and sukumi. because she even complained like you. this was unbelievable. and yet all he could think was, how wonderful this was. how the two pieces of you two made someone as lovable and tender and cute as you, his beloved wife.
you glanced over your shoulder at him, visibly trying not to laugh. “my love.”
“don’t.”
“you’re making the face again.”
“what face, pray tell?”
“the one where you realize your daughter inherited all my habits.”
“she’s dramatic.”
“you think i’m dramatic too.”
“because you are.”
before you could argue, sukumi suddenly turned toward him instead, tiny hands still hidden inside her sleeves “dada, dada.” she mumbled.
sukuna’s expression softened immediately despite himself. “what, kumibear? what do you need from dada?”
“warm, kumi...kumi want warm.”
goodness gracious.
he was doomed.
completely doomed.
because now she was looking at him with the exact same expression you used whenever asking him to warm your hands. same hopeful eyes. same tiny pout. same complete trust that he would take care of it. sukuna exhaled slowly through his nose before crouching in front of her.
“c’mere, kumibear.”
sukumi toddled forward instantly. and before even touching her, sukuna rubbed his palms together first. almost as if she just knew fully well that this was the best thing she can do to put herself at ease, almost so instinctive that she curls intp his warmth immediately.
he does same thing he’d been doing for years. he puts his warm touch on hers. you watched quietly from nearby while he carefully took sukumi’s tiny hands between his own warm ones.
the second the warmth reached her fingers, sukumi visibly brightened. her little shoulders relaxed. her eyes widened slightly in relief. then she smiled so big, so comfortably.
and sukuna genuinely thought his heart stopped. because it was your smile. exactly your smile. when gratitude was shared, when good moments were experienced, when love was wholeheartedly given without any boundaries. this was you. all that he had loved of you, in your daughter's smile.
“warm, dada.” sukumi whispered happily before immediately pressing his hands closer against her cheeks. "kumi loves."
you made a tiny strangled sound beside him, clearly trying not to laugh at his expression. sukuna glanced up at you flatly. “don’t start.”
“you look emotional.”
“i’m not emotional.”
“you absolutely are.”
because he was.
he really was.
he couldn't help it.
this was everything.
all he wanted then, as a kid.
he had it now, with you.
sukuna looked back down at sukumi happily holding his hands against her face while leaning trustingly into his warmth, and suddenly he was struck with the overwhelming realization that this was his life now.
you. your daughter. these cold hands every winter morning. the tiny domestic moments that somehow felt bigger than anything else. and worst of all, he loved it to bits. he loved all of it so much it honestly made him feel sick sometimes.
you moved beside him then, resting your chin lightly on his shoulder while sukumi continued clinging to his hands. “look at her, my love.” you whispered fondly. “she does the same face i do.”
“yeah, she does.” sukuna muttered quietly, unable to stop staring at her. “i noticed.”
you smiled knowingly. because you understood exactly what was happening to him. years ago, sixteen-year-old sukuna had nearly combusted over you holding his warmed hands in a cold gym after volleyball practice.
now he sat on the kitchen floor with your daughter clinging to his palms the exact same way while you leaned affectionately against his shoulder, and somehow he was even more hopelessly in love than before.
"does kumibear want hot cocoa too? like mama?"
sukumi nodded against him. "cocoa, papa."
"that sounds wonderful." you whispered, pressing a kiss on his shoulder.
thank you for enjoying this little tidbit of lovesick!!! this was something thought of by a reader of lovesick and i decided to make it something to me.
i sat about it for a whole night, thinking about what the warmth of hands meant to me. in those quiet stretches that evening, im reminded of the warm, genuine tenderness my first love always carried my hands with. im reminded of my father stroking my head with his warm hands, in that rare moment in my youth when he was there, caring for me. in some way, this meant a lot to me. reflecting on those imperfect, yet impactful moments where i was loved. and warm hands touched me, reared me, took me into this moment right here. perhaps thats what this meant to me.
in a perfect world, i would have what volleyball sukuna and astrophyscist reader have in these pages. i would have something that endures the way their love does, the way their devotion, their warmth does. and in my own way, as im sure the dear reader who told me about this thought she had, is the magic we spread into the world, to hope everyone has something like this too. something so happy, something so loving, so warm.
𝓱usband!kento who presses a quick kiss to your temple every morning before leaving for work. it’s an unspoken habit, one he never forgets no matter how early he has to leave. if you stir awake while he’s pulling away from you, he’ll murmur a soft “go back to sleep, love” before slipping out the door.
𝓱usband!kento who speaks to you calmly even on his worst days!!! he could never bring himself to raise his voice at you no matter how tired or frustrated he was :( he absolutely refuses to let you become the outlet for his anger.
𝓱usband!kento who only shows his sense of humor around you. his dry, borderline terrible dad jokes that often make you snort are reserved solely for your ears. and when you tease him about how funny he actually is, he’ll only raise an eyebrow before saying, “i’ve got a reputation to maintain. can’t have others knowing i’m actually this amusing.”
𝓱usband!kento who notices when something’s wrong before you mention it. his gaze softening slightly before asking, “do you want to talk about it?” and if you don’t, he doesn’t push— instead he’ll stay patient until you’re ready to open up about whatever’s been bothering you.
𝓱usband!kento who listens to you ramble about anything and everything after a long day. he’ll loosen his tie, roll up his sleeves, and give you his full attention by keeping his eyes on you; nodding along to every word while actively hearing you talk about your day, your coworkers, or even the random documentary you watched the other time. kento loves hearing you speak even when you think you’re talking too much.
𝓱usband!kento who still gets you flowers even when there’s no special occasion. sometimes it’s a small bouquet of roses, while other times it’s just a single stem he saw on his way home from the supermarket. he’ll pass it to you with a faint softness in his expression as he says, “… this is for you, love.” you now have a collection of dried flowers tucked away, each one from a different day he thought of you.
𝓱usband!kento who goes to great lengths to ensure you feel comfortable & fulfilled. he takes care of things without making a big show of it, choosing to ease your burdens wherever he can by helping you with the house chores sometimes, and making sure you don’t overwork yourself too much since he’s more than willing to provide for you both.
⨳ 𝓷𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i actually do miss writing for kento…
credits to im4yeons for the pink cream & star divider, polka dot floral frame found on pinterest ♡
