Chapter Text
Chan learned pretty quickly that having two kids doesn’t always mean they’ll be the same.
Mornings proved that…..
Han woke up like a firecracker loud, bright, and already halfway into his day before Chan’s brain had fully turned on. He talked while brushing his teeth, while putting on his socks, while eating breakfast, while not eating breakfast because he’d gotten distracted explaining an elaborate story involving dragons and grocery stores.
Changbin, on the other hand, moved slower. He sat at the table with his shoulders hunched, carefully peeling his banana instead of biting into it, eyes flicking up every so often like he was checking whether today would be a safe day or not.
“Bin,” Chan said gently one morning, sliding a plate of toast toward him. “You good?”
Changbin nodded, but didn’t look up.
Han noticed immediately.
He leaned halfway across the table, voice dropping. “You can have my jam if you want.”
Changbin blinked. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Han said with a shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. “I like butter more anyway.”
Chan watched the exchange quietly, something warm blooming in his chest. He was worried, really worried about how Han would handle not being an only child anymore especially so quickly. But instead of jealousy, Han was brighter.
After breakfast, chaos resumed as usual.
Han raced through the hallway with his backpack half-zipped, Changbin following more carefully, stopping twice to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Chan herded them both toward the door, tying one shoe, then the other, juggling reminders like second nature.
“Lunchboxes?”
“In my bag!”
“Homework?”
“Finished!”
“Bin, you okay?”
Changbin hesitated, then nodded. Chan crouched in front of him anyway, adjusting his collar, giving him a quick, reassuring smile.
“You can always tell me if you’re not,” Chan said quietly.
Changbin’s fingers curled into Chan’s hoodie sleeve. Just for a second. Then he let go. “Okay.”
Those small moments,the almost, were where Chan felt the weight of being their new family the most.
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That afternoon, things went wrong.
It started with a game.
Han had invented it, of course. Something loud and imaginative that involved cushions as mountains and the coffee table as “lava.” Changbin joined in, laughing, a sound that was still rare enough that Chan paused to listen whenever he heard it.
Then Han changed the rules.
“No, you can’t jump there anymore,” Han said, planting himself squarely in front of Changbin. “That spot’s mine.”
Changbin froze. His smile faded.
“But… you said-”
“I changed it,” Han insisted. “You’re out now.”
Changbin’s shoulders curled inward. He stepped back, eyes shiny but stubbornly quiet.
Chan felt it immediately.
“Hey,” he said, firm but calm. “Pause.”
Han frowned. “But Appa-”
“No buts,” Chan said, kneeling between them. “We don’t play games where one person suddenly doesn’t get to belong.”
Han opened his mouth, then stopped. He glanced at Changbin, and really looked at him this time.
Changbin stared at the floor.
“I… I didn’t mean-” Han muttered.
Chan softened. “I know. But intent doesn’t stop hurt.”
There was a long silence.
Then Han shuffled closer to Changbin. “You can still play,” he said, quieter. “I won’t change it again.”
Changbin hesitated, then nodded.
Later that night, when the boys were tucked into bed, Chan lingered longer than usual.
Han rolled onto his side. “Appa?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Am I still your kid even if Changbin’s here?”
Chan’s chest ached. He reached out, smoothing Han’s hair back. “Always. Nothing could change that.”
Han smiled, reassured, and drifted off quickly.
In the other room, Changbin was still awake.
Chan walked in and sat on the edge of his bed. “You okay?”
Changbin picked at the blanket. “I thought… when I mess up… you’d send me away.”
Chan stilled. Then he leaned down, voice steady and warm. “Hey. Listen to me. You don’t get sent away for mistakes. Not here.”
Changbin looked up, eyes wide. “Promise?”
Chan nodded holding out his pinky. “Promise.”
Changbin relaxed, just a little but wrapped his tiny pinky around Chans.
Later, the apartment was quiet.
Chan sat on the couch, exhaustion settling into his bones. Two kids. Two different histories. Two different ways of needing him.
It was messy. Loud. Emotional.
But when he pictured the morning without Han’s chatter, or the evenings without Changbin’s quiet presence beside him, the thought felt wrong. Empty.
He smiled to himself, staring at the darkened hallway where two bedroom doors stood slightly open.