Chapter Text
〉| 29TH OF APRIL 2025 |〈
"(6:20 a.m)"
Minho was never a morning person. It didn't matter how many times older adults listed the virtues of early mornings, for him, the fact that he’s asked to be functional before 6 a.m is a crime.
He valued his sleep too much… that and the fact that he was incapable of going to sleep at a decent hour. Perhaps that’s why it wasn’t a huge surprise to those close to him what, when he graduated from high school, he confessed he wanted to dedicate himself to.
And how can someone who hates early mornings become a doctor?
Well, on top of being a sleepyhead, Minho was stubborn. Therefore, despite all the comments, he managed to survive four years in college. And even so, his career isn’t what ended up adjusting his alarms and his routine.
Between his shifts in the cafe-bar, his responsibilities as an independent adult and spending quality time with his son, sleeping the recommended eight hours a day was a complete luxury. The small apartment in which he lived was the perfect image of his tight schedule: a bunch of unwashed cups on the countertop, his backpack on the floor and a badly folded children’s blanket on the sofa. He didn’t have much time to relax. Therefore, when his phone vibrated for the fourth time that morning, Minho swore he was going to throw it across the room. He took the day off since he was attending an activity with Jungwon in the garden, so he was certain he had deactivated his alarm last night.
He groaned lazily when he couldn’t ignore the sound anymore.
The apartment was dimly lit, barely illuminated by the pale light that filtered between badly closed curtains. The distant murmur of the city started to creep through the open window, mixed with the timid singing of a couple birds. So he could assume it was still quite early.
He moved between the blankets and stretched out his arms. He felt the floor next to his bed, searching for his phone. His brown hair was ruffled, falling on his forehead in messy locks, and his face still wore the accumulated fatigue of the last few days. When he had the phone in his hand, he checked the screen: which confirmed it wasn’t an alarm, but instead the missed calls of one of his friends and colleagues, Hyunjin. Frowning, he searched through his notifications until he found what he thought was the origin of the calls.
…
…
“Shit…”, he whispered.
He rubbed his face with his free hand in a clear sign of frustration. His fingers pressed his swollen eyes hard. Suddenly, the dream of a day off disappeared. His mind recalled the expression of excitement that Jungwon’s face had drawn days ago, when he learned that his dad would go to the garden with him. He remembered how the boy had jumped on the bed with a huge smile, squeezing in his hands the wrinkled invitation he had brought from the garden. If he was being honest, he didn’t remember exactly what was celebrated that day, but clearly it was related to the event that he could no longer attend.
Because his boss was right. And, on top of that, because even if he rather be present for his son, he didn’t have the luxury of loosing his only source of income.
He had no choice.
The sensation of defeat slid down his chest, thick and silent. He turned to the digital clock placed on the nightstand. His shift started at 7:30, but it took at least half an hour in public transport and he hadn’t even prepared breakfast for his son, not to mention he hadn’t even got to explain the situation to him. The red numbers of the clock relentlessly flickered, making Minho too aware of the passage of time.
…
...
He let out another deep sigh. He created a mental list of how he could announce to his son that he wouldn’t be going with him, but nothing felt right. His conscience didn’t allow him to. However, a small part of his mind still remembered the theme of the activity, or just the memories of his childhood, reminding him over and over again not to repeat the past. That was how a pattern began. In his head, his voice making promises intermingled with blurred images of afternoons alone in his childhood house, and school events seen from the farthest seat.
The sound of a broken crockery snapped him out of his introspection, making him rub his face again while whining in a low voice. He was tired and grumpy, as if he needed to know at that moment what Sonnie had broken. He then stretched his arm towards the opposite side of the bed, finding the space still warm. However, it was empty. The subsequent silence felt heavier, as if the entire apartment held its breath.
“Jungwon!”
He sprang up, barely managing to put on his slippers. He ran to the kitchen, where a disheveled Jungwon in pajamas observed him from on top of a chair, moved from the dining room to the front of the cupboard. The boy had wide eyes and red-colored cheeks, he supposed from the surprise and the embarrassment of having woken up his father. His hands, small and clumsy, still held a metal spoon. Meanwhile, the cat watched from the floor, where the remains of a bowl and part of a cereal box were spilled.
When he looked into his eyes, the boy began to cry.
“Oh no, Wonnie.”, Minho whispered as he approached his son and lifted him. “It was a mistake, it’s okay. You don’t have to cry about it.”
Followed by Soonie, he carried Jungwon in his arms, heading to the living room, trying not to fall with the pieces of the bowl that crunched under his slippers. He sat in an armchair, accommodating the smaller one on his lap. He hugged him tightly, rocking him and humming one of his favorite songs to calm him down. A couple of minutes passed before what followed. The melody was barely recognizable, a faltering whisper that was lost between the other’s sobs.
When the only thing leaving the boy were small hiccups, Minho spoke, taking him by the cheeks to clean the traces of tears with his thumbs.
“Wonnie, if you need something, you can ask for help. You don’t have to do things by yourself.”
Jungwon bulged his lower lip in a reproachful gesture. “It wasn’t for me. Wonnie did it to make breakfast for daddy, like daddy does for Wonnie.”
Minho smiled at these words. Although his son learned to speak from a very young age, he still had trouble referring to himself in the first person. He left a kiss on the forehead, also combing his rebellious hair. The sweet aroma that always seemed to cling to him enveloped Minho.
“It was a gift for me.” He stated. The younger nodded repeatedly in response. “But we can cook breakfast together. You’ll help me, that way it’s still a gift.”
Jungwon looked at him with indignation.
“But then it won’t be a surprise.” He muttered, looking down and frowning with a bitterness that made the elder melt.
Minho let out a laugh before lifting his son to his chest again, rocking him and leaving several loud kisses on his round cheeks (those that bothered Jungwon so much). Jungwon stirred around in his arms, trying to free himself from the love attack, but in the end, he decided to capitulate, opening his little arms and returning the hug. The heat of his tiny body, a healing balm slipping between the cracks of his fatigue.
After staying in silence for a couple of seconds, the boy started to speak.
”Daddy.”
“Mmm?” Minho murmured absentmindedly.
“Happy Father’s Day.”
And Minho’s smile evaporated.
Of course, that was today’s celebration. That’s why he had done the festivities in the garden: Seongwha, Jungwon’s teacher, had invited all the dads to celebrate it. His mind went blank. If he sent his son alone, not only would he break his dreams, but he would be forced to see all his friends accompanied. And, damn it, he knew how much that scarred a child. It’s a type of wound that didn't make a sound, that never bled, but stayed forever.
“Thank you, Wonnie.” He whispered in a quiet voice. “You are the best gift that I have.”
The boy smiled with pride, clinging tighter to his father’s body.
They stayed like this for a while, until the clock in the kitchen chimed the hour with a little ring, like it does every half hour. A gentle reminder of what time it is… Minho was going to be late.
He had to make a decision.
He sat up slowly. Happy Father’s Day. His heart thundered in his chest, while those four words repeated endlessly in his mind. He began to open his lips to start explaining, to tell him that because of work, because of that the hour, that he’ll make up for it later, to try and justify himself… but his son looked at him, with those tiny eyes still damp, but with a smile filled with an excitement so genuine, that he immediately knew he couldn't do it. He couldn't disappoint him. Not today, at least.
He breathed heavily, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders, but even so, he found new strength in his chest. He knew what he had to do.
“You know what, Wonnie?” He said, caressing Jungwon's cheek. “You should come to work with me today.”
Jungwon’s eyes widened. “Really?”
Minho nodded, making sure his doubts didn’t reflect in his voice.
“We can’t go to the activity in the garden, but we can spend the day together.” He explained. “Plus, Hyunjin and Yeji have been insisting for a couple of days that they want to see you again. What do you think?”
Jungwon laughs really loudly before lunging at him, with an excitement so intense as if he were invited on an epic adventure.
Maybe, in his innocent mind, that’s what it meant. An expedition to the strange world of adults, accompanied by his greatest hero.
“Yes, yes, yes! Thank you!”
Minho closed his eyes, holding him firmly. His fingers trembled a little bit, but they were more relaxed. Today, there would be more clients, and he still didn't know where to put his son during such an agitated day. But right now, it didn’t matter to him. The only thing that mattered was this hug. Because, even if sometimes he failed as an adult, he couldn’t afford to fail as a father.
No, not when the one who hung on his neck trusted him so blindly.
...
…
"(7:35 a.m)"
Getting ready was a complete race.
Minho barely found time to bathe and dress Jungwon in his favorite sweatshirt (the one that was based on his favorite cartoon, with an embroidered wolf and rabbit), finding his uniform, making breakfast, cleaning the pieces of the broken bowl, and the spilled cereal. They didn’t eat more than one slice of toast with butter and a glass of milk, half finished, but his son seemed so happy that he didn’t complain about any of this. Anyways, some of the boys who worked in the kitchen would end up giving him bread.
The trip on the metro was quite peaceful. His son held his hand during the whole trip, he attentively observed every station, and swung his feet that hung from the seat. The older, on the other hand, reviewed the path to follow. His boss never had any trouble that he brought his son to work; in fact, Jungwon had been there on more than one occasion. But he knew that the conditions today weren’t the best to do it.
The cafe-bar was still dark when they arrived. However, the door was already open, indicating that at least Wooyoung or one of the kitchen boys was already there. He let go of the breath he had been holding because he managed to arrive even before the twins. They entered with soft movements, and Minho turned on the lights one by one, revealing the warm interior that really characterized the place: the chairs were still on the tables, but the aroma of butter, cinnamon, and other ingredients was already slipping out of the kitchen.
“This is daddy’s workplace,” whispered Jungwon, who saw the cafe with the same astonishment as the first time. In his arms, he squeezed a toy car that he insisted on bringing in his hand, and not in the backpack like the rest of the toys he brought.
Minho nodded with a smile.
“Here we are, this is Kakurega. Although right now it looks half asleep.”
The boy looked at him, alarmed. “Daddy, it’s going to sleep a lot. You have to wake it up!” He exclaimed, raising his free arm as if he were ready to shake the walls.
Minho let out a laugh.
They entered the break room, where Minho put away the coats and the bags in his locker. He bunched up his shirt, and he crouched down to the height of the boy.
“Do you want to help me?”
The boy nodded with enthusiasm. His dad ruffled his hair before starting.
While Minho took down the chairs and checked the machines, Jungwin organized the straws, sugars, and the rest of the condiments on the table set up for them. He did it with a lot of care, the tip of his tongue peeking out of the corner of his lips as if he were painting. He named everything in a low voice, with this singsong tone that he used every time that he did an important activity that he didn’t want to mess up. “The blue goes here, the red goes there.” “Small sugar, big sugar.” “Where does this go? Daddy knows for sure.” The cafe, which was quiet before, slowly fills with the whistling of the kettle and the whispers of the child.
They spent almost ten minutes this way when a pair of siblings entered the door, the older singing an unknown melody that he suddenly stopped at the sight of the smaller known figure.
Hyunjin, tall like a stick, already wearing his uniform under a large beige coat, with his hair drawn in a half ponytail that lets us see his expressive face. By his side, Yeji walked with swift steps, her hair arranged in two small braids and her face adorned with a wide smile, which illuminated any place.
“Are my eyes deceiving me?!” Hyunjin exclaimed, opening his arms for the boy.
“Jinnie-hyung! Yiyi-noona!” Jungwoon yelled, let go of the straw that he was holding, and ran to greet them. Hyunjin lifted him without any effort, and Yeji bombarded his cheeks with noisy kisses (which he doesn’t avoid; he has a soft spot for the woman). The small boy laughed loudly, shrinking in Hyunjin's arms like it was a game.
Minho, behind the counter, couldn't help but smile at the scene. All his friends and acquaintances have a special love for his son, and this couldn’t make him happier. Even if the day was very chaotic, seeing Jungwon so happy soothed him.
“Did you bring him as a gift?” Hyunjin asked Minho, giving the boy to his sister, who seemed to be in a bubble of affection. “I’m thinking of kidnapping him one of these days, but I think Yeji already did.”
“Don’t you dare dream about it, you two.” Grumbled Minho, although still smiling.
When the siblings put away their stuff and started their tasks, Wooyoung exited the kitchen with the first batch of melon breads in his hands. The three adults greeted the younger. After his 20th birthday, he dyed his hair red. His peaceful expression changed to one of surprise when he saw the boy.
“Wonnie! Are you here to supervise the shift?”
“Oh, hi Woo-samchon! Wonnie is going to help daddy.” He responds seriously as if he were assigned a sacred mission.
Wooyoung tightened his lips to avoid slipping out a laugh. He ruffled Jungwon's hair and threw a complicit smile at Minho, who only sighed.
“Only until the madness starts.” He corrects.
“No problem, hyung. Without a doubt, you can prepare the dough for the cinnamon rolls,” joked the younger, to which the boy nodded with shining eyes, firmly believing in those words.
The rest of the employees arrived in the final minutes, who greeted Jungwon with surprise and joy. Minho listened to more than one "samchon" and "imo" that his son directed at the rest of the workers, since the younger trusted them a lot. He came and went as if he already knew who he could follow so as not to get in the way of the preparations.
It was in the middle of this calmness that Christopher arrived. He closed the door carefully, greeting those he crossed without interrupting his colleagues in their tasks. Minho clenched his jaw when he saw him, inevitably noticing the boxing gloves in his hands. In reality, it’s difficult not to notice him: tall, with wide shoulders and a restrained walk, his black hair, slightly wavy, falling on his forehead, and a serene expression that seemed imperturbable. He was dressed in the same uniform as everyone else, but something in the way he wore it made him effortlessly stand out. And not in a good way.
Saying he knew him would be lying, but he didn't want to do it either. Bahng was an excellent waiter and certainly was likable and respectful during his shifts. But the reason why he keeps his knuckles covered, Minho finds it uncomfortable.
What happened in the basement of the cafe wasn't exactly a secret, like the second job of the stranger. And nobody seemed upset with this.
But Minho, yes.
There was something in the way Christopher smiled at others, in his almost meticulous silence, that made him untrustworthy. Also, there was a contrast: the calm he kept during the day with the fierceness of his job at night. Or maybe the fact that Jungwon already knew his name, and treated him with the same confidence as the rest of the employees of the place.
Minho gulped when he heard their latest interaction.
“Hi, Chris-samchon.” Jungwon greeted from a little bench in the bar, swinging his feet with excitement.
The man mentioned lifted his gaze, somewhat surprised. He smiled immediately at the boy.
“Oh, hi Wonnie. Are you going to work today?”
The boy nodded repeatedly. “Wonnie came to help daddy. And to eat bread.” He added, as if both tasks were equally as important.
“Then I’m sure the shift will turn out perfect.” He winked.
Unlike the others, Chris didn’t shake his hand or ruffle his hair. Although it sparked an immense tenderness within him, Chris maintained a certain distance from his colleague's son, reflected in the complete avoidance of physical contact with him. He wasn't stupid, he knew it was shocking in contrast to his appearance, more still his interactions with the younger. That’s why he didn't insist. And Minho noted it. This distance was discreet, almost imperceivable, but present. And in part, he appreciated it… Although it also irritated him. He didn’t understand why Chan couldn’t simply relax.
Not with him.
“Minho.” Chris greeted politely.
Minho responded with a small nod. “Christopher.”
…
"(8:00 a.m)"
When it was the indicated hour, Kakurega finally opened its doors to the public. The first client arrived only minutes after. Then another. And another. In less than half an hour, the cafe-bar already overflowed with voices, steam, and the unmistakable aroma of toast and desserts. Behind the bar, at a short table that they had borrowed, Jungwon kept himself entertained with colored pencils and small pieces of paper that Yeji had saved from the reserve, quite unaffected by the bustle that surrounded him. With his legs hanging and his tongue between his lips in concentration, he scribbled energetically, without looking up except to choose another color.
He gave each employee a personalized drawing, made improvised figures with a small set of cubes, and played with his racing cart. However, after almost three hours of the shift, he got bored with his activities. Therefore, he didn’t take long to become part of the scenery for the customers.
It was impossible not to notice the small figure moving between baristas and waiters. His hair only barely peaking out on top and the side of the tables, but his enthusiasm transformed him into a constant little companion. From time to time, he offered the condiments that he had set up before, while repeating the "have a nice day" that he heard from his dad every time he served an order.
An older woman, who asked for an Iced Americano and a donut to go, smiled sweetly at him when Jungwon passed her a straw and a sugar packet.
“And who is this attentive little guy?” She asked, looking at Minho, who was in charge of serving the order.
“Oh, he’s my son. He’s accompanying us today.”
“Ah, that's why he's so handsome!” The woman exclaimed without losing her smile, she looked back at the boy. “And what’s your name, sweetheart?”
The tiny boy blinked and pointed to his chest proudly.
“Wonnie.”
The woman laughed at the gesture. “Wonnie, are you going to be a barista like your dad?”
The boy nodded vehemently.
“Wonnie is going to be the boss!”
For some reason, the boy’s words were heard throughout the cafe-bar, which resulted in a gentle guffaw across various tables. Minho lifted a hand to his face, delighted and embarrassed at the same time, more still when he saw the woman throw a very generous quantity of tips in the jar. Even some clients at far away tables came to see him, smiling with tenderness, seeing the tiny head look out to observe who was laughing.
Jungwon left the bar to throw something away in the trash. He received greetings and smiles from various clients who saw him pass by. A young couple offered him a high five, which he excitedly accepted, almost stumbling over his own feet to accept it.
”Thank you so much for your care, boss Wonnie,” said the boy with his girlfriend before leaving, while Jungwon did a brief bow and returned beside his father.
Jungwon looked at the attendees until he stopped by an elderly woman sitting near the window, who was knitting peacefully. Realizing the attention from the boy, she called him with a smile and a small movement of her head. The child complied immediately with the gesture.
“Look, I don’t know which color is better. Can you help me choose?” She asked when he stood next to her.
Jungwon nodded and furrowed his brows while examining the skeins. He lifted his index finger to his lips in a pensive gesture. Smiling, he pointed to a dark orangey tint.
“This one is very pretty. It’s like Yeji-noona’s hair.”
“Oh, what good taste you have,” responded the woman with a solemn gesture, like it were a critical election. Jungwon nodded, satisfied.
While this was happening, Minho stayed a little quiet, observing how easily his son received laughter and affection. Jungwon was like a small, brilliant spark in this sober cafe, spreading positive energy to those who crossed him. And he couldn’t feel prouder. He watched him with an order half done in his hands. A soft smile escaped without permission, same as the heat in a recently served cup.
“I see that there are more tips today,” Hyunjin remarked, shaking him from his thoughts.
Minho smiled. “I think his presence had a helping hand.”
“If he continues like this, we’re going to win the employee of the month award,” Yeji added, picking up a pair of orders to bring to the tables.
The other employees laughed at the comment.
…
…
"(9:10 p.m)"
The cafe-bar closed its doors ten minutes ago, but the work inside it continued on. The last cups were being cleaned, the chairs were being placed on top of the tables, and the steam of the cafeteria began to dissipate into the silence of the night (if you ignore the loud sounds from the basement that he had already started to hear). Little by little, the workers left, leaving only Minho with Jungwon and the twins.
Yeji and Hyunjin offered to help him close the establishment, but after urgent calls from their mom, they ended up leaving earlier. This didn't bother him, after all, it was his turn to close today because of his schedule. Plus, the Hwangs always sought out to accompany him until the end of the work day, with the excuse that his shifts were more intense and frequent than theirs. Before leaving, Hyunjin sent him a message, an important warning. However, Minho ignored it to continue his tasks before checking his phone.
…
…
While Minho occupied himself in the area where the coffees were prepared, Jungwon woke up from his resting place. He managed to stay awake almost all day, so when it was 20:00, his social battery was almost dead. Therefore, he ended up sleeping in one of the chairs in the room, covered with a pair of blankets that one of the employees of the place had lent him. He carefully left the room, not without putting on his shoes like his dad always told him. He went to see him when a buzzing sound coming from an open door caught his attention.
He pushed it cautiously. He was met with a staircase which seemed to lead to the basement of the place, from where he heard loud music mixed with screams of many people. He looked back before observing the staircase again: curiosity ended up winning over him.
What happened there was an open secret for the workers of the place, including Minho. It was the reason why he intended to keep Jungwon far from his night shifts, the reason for his discomfort when faced with Christopher’s presence. The place was very hidden, with the odor of sweat, cigarettes, and cheap beer. It was, neither more nor less, the epicenter of the most famous clandestine fights of the city. The home of all those who at one point dreamed of the big leagues of boxing, wrestling, or the rest of the martial arts, but life had stopped, laughing in their face.
Jungwon regretted instantly of having gone down. Men and women, lightly dressed in leather clothes or extravagant and exaggerated cheap jewelry, were screaming and laughing loudly, while drinking different drinks from cans. The music rumbled with such force that the poor boy couldn’t manage to distinguish any particular sound. He felt dizzy, even more so with different smells he didn’t know, but definitely didn’t like, flooding his nose. He felt small and lost and wanted to leave. However, he ended up crashing into a man at least three times taller than him.
To the boy, the man was simply terrifying. His bearded face looked tense with his furrowed eyebrows, and the chains on his neck jingled along with his violent movements, searching for who had crashed into him. He then bumped into the small body next to him.
“Ha, ha, ha! What do we have here?” The adult knelt to the boy's height, making him retreat and collide with another body. A woman turned around, facing the young boy as well.
“Oh! You’re lost, my boy!” She let out, bulging her lips in a burlesque way.
“Hey! Since when is this a playground?!”
The bustle didn’t take long to arrive. A group of adults gathered around him, scaring the minor even more. Some yelled questions about where the boy came from, while others laughed at his damp eyes and his red cheeks.
On the other side of the basement, a discussion ended.
“Your knuckles are already broken! Stop being stupidly stubborn and leave the fight to Jisung!”
Chris silently watched as Felix finished wrapping his left hand with a bandage. His knuckles already hurt, but not as much as the look of contained fury the blond threw at him between rapid and clumsy movements. Beside him, Jisung and Changbin kept their mouths shut, exchanging uncomfortable glances. The discussion between the two Australians had been going on for a while, but nobody seemed ready to concede. Therefore, the two fighters were afraid of making the situation worse with a comment from them.
The older understood why his friend was worried. Of course. He wasn't a stranger to danger, nor to wear and tear, nor to the tiredness that he dragged in his body as if it were lead. But also, he couldn’t refuse the offer. Not when the sum he had been promised could make a difference. Not when he had already made the decision. And not, when he knew how violent his opponent was, he kept inside his panic of seeing his two younger friends facing that beast.
Felix, for his part, appeared about to collapse. Pacing from side to side, unable to stay still, as if movement was his only way to avoid exploding completely. The Australian suddenly turned, unable to contain himself anymore.
”Lix, I understand your point, but…”
“No, you aren’t understanding anything!” Felix cut him off, with a yell trembling with anger and fear. “You fucked up, Chris! Do you want them to escort you in a stretcher again?!”
Chris gritted his teeth and lowered his gaze for a second, as if weighing the words.
“I don’t want to.” He admitted, with a very low and harsh voice. “But I prefer that than asshole getting enraged with Jisung or with Changbin.” He looked up at his friends, firmly. “I know Yoon, it’s not the first time that I’ve fought against him. The worst he can do is leave me lying down for a week.”
Felix laughed nervously. The older was right, but this didn't diminish his own panic.
“What they’re offering doesn’t cover the rest of your debt. This is stupid. Changbin and Jisung are just as capable of winning it.”
Chris laughed, turning his head to the side, tired. “You think that this is only about the debt? You think I’m that selfish, Lix?”
The atmosphere immediately became tense. The younger fighters lowered their eyes. Nobody else spoke. They didn’t know what to say.
Then, like a gust of wind, a general murmur grew around them. The habitual noise of the basement was replaced by a sound more high-pitched, confused. Something wasn’t right. The three reacted at the same time. Changbin stood up suddenly, knocking down his chair. Chris did the same with furrowed eyebrows, while Jisung climbed onto a chair to try and see above the crowd gathered in the right sector of the basement.
“What the fuck is going on?” Felix whispered, still panting, advancing a few steps before Changbin stopped him, grabbing his arm.
A woman moved just then, and that was when they saw him. At the center of all the turmoil, as if the whole world had forgotten that he did not belong there, was a boy whom Jisung did not know. Alone. Terrified.
“There’s a child here!” He exclaimed, turning to Chris.
A child.
A child?
No, it can’t be.
His stomach tied itself in a knot. His heart, a bomb.
“Shit… Jungwon!”
The name shot out of his lips, from the depths of his desperation. And before anyone could move, Chris was already running. Attacking sweaty bodies, pushing without asking for permission. It didn’t matter. He didn’t see anything else but that small body shrunken in the chaos.
“Jungwon!” He yelled, his voice splitting the dirty atmosphere in two.
The boy recognized it immediately.
“Chris-samchon!”
And then they flew to each other. Jungwon hung at his neck, and Chris held him as if his life depended on him. The little boy trembled, his face full of tears and his body tense, completely upset. Chris felt something break inside him. And what emerged wasn’t fury, it wasn’t rage, it was a nonnegotiable instinct. He held him against his chest, stroking his shoulders, surrounding him like a living barrier against him, and this place he never should’ve been in. Jungwon clung to him like he was his only hope.
Like he was his refuge.
He took him to a calmer corner, away from the crowd that was still whispering about the strange image of the oldest fighter in the place holding a tiny boy. The music had stopped. Only remained the awkward buzz of forced silence.
Chris turned with the boy still clinging to his neck, until he was facing the man who had addressed Jungwon. He looked at him coldly, with a tense calm.
“What shit were you planning on doing?” he demanded, trying to control his tone of voice.
The guy shrugged his shoulders, laughing arrogantly.
“It was just a joke, relax, man.” He raised his hands, as if that was enough to not be destroyed. “Don’t hold him so close to your chest.”
“A joke? With a 3-year-old child?”
Chris squinted his eyes, and the other's smile grew. A cruel glint ignited in his eyes.
“Now I understand why you’re so upset. I didn’t know you took care of children.” He said very slowly. “Relax, I don’t want to wake, 'The Beast.' Much more in front of minors.”
The crowd around him laughed, because it was normal to want to anger the fighters before the fights. However, Chris’s nickname felt like a dead weight. His jaw tightened.
The Beast.
He hadn't heard it in weeks. Months, maybe. But in this place, with people who came for blood and morbidity, that person continued living. Because it started as a nickname, and with time became a figure. And although it had been imposed on him, although he tried to avoid it for a while, he ended up assimilating it. It was a name that was whispered when he went up to the ring, like a warning. An omen. A reminder of the type of man he became.
Chris looked at the man without saying a word. The man grinned, convinced he had won something.
But, just in that moment, the little boy removed himself from his arms, still clinging to him, whispering to him that he was afraid and that he wanted to leave. And then, Chris heard him. Beyond the circumstances in which they were, if Jungwon wasn’t scared of him, it was because, maybe, he wasn’t The Beast. That violent figure wasn’t more than a performance, a character that he interpreted to survive, but it didn’t need to be his reality.
He could choose not to be it.
He knew then that he couldn’t stay. He couldn’t fight tonight. He had something much more important to resolve before returning to a ring.
Jisung and Changbin arrived at his side, breaking the moment like a gulp of fresh air.
The older gulped, still with Jungwon clinging to his chest. The boy continued to tremble. His small hand was squeezing the fabric of his shirt.
”One of you feeling ready to fight today?” He asked, looking into their eyes.
Jisung turned his head, surprised.
“Chris…” he whispered, as if not believing what he heard.
But Chris didn’t repeat the question.
“I can,” Changbin responded.
Chris nodded with a small nod of the head, grateful. No need to say more; Changbin’s eyes spoke for themselves. He was going to fight in his place, and he would do it with his characteristic strength. He was the best. Chris knew that he couldn’t give his all tonight, not after holding the tiny boy clinging to his neck.
“Thank you, Binnie.” He whispered, his voice hoarser than usual.
“Go.” Added the younger. “He needs his dad. And you need to clear your mind.”
Chris lowered his gaze. Jungwon's small figure curled up against his body, hiding his face in his neck in search of consolation. His heart was beating fast, and it wasn’t the typical adrenaline before a fight. It was fear. Guilt. Instinct. Things he never thought he would feel so intensely, but that now traversed him with the full violence he once used in the ring.
Without letting go of the child, he turned on his heels and started to walk forward. The people parted, seeing him arrive. Some still whispered things, angry seeing the fighter they bet on leave the place. But Chris couldn’t care less.
He carefully walked up the stairs, making sure that Jungwon didn’t hit himself against anything (because yes, he never tried to leave his arms). The buzzing was left behind, drowned out by each step they climbed. When they finally reached the first step, the atmosphere dramatically changed. It was more peaceful, warmer, and more grounded. He breathed in deeply and noticed for the first time how much he was shaking.
He crossed the doorway in the direction of the cafe area, where the smell of freshly ground beans continued floating in the air like an anchor to the routine. He didn’t take long to see him: Minho, from behind, cleaning one of the machines in deep concentration. Still unaware of what had just happened to his son.
Chris gulped, took two more steps forward, and then spoke.
“Minho.”