Chapter Text
The Sunnyside Kindergarten classroom was a sanctuary of primary colors, the scent of cinnamon-apple snacks, and the soft, rhythmic snip-snip of safety scissors. By 8:15 AM, Euijoo—known to his students as Jju-ssaem—was in his element. He adjusted his oversized cream cardigan, the sleeves pushed up to reveal wrists smudged with green washable marker, and checked his clipboard.
Euijoo was the picture of organized calm—that is, until the front door swung open with a heavy thud that did not belong in a room decorated with felt sunflowers.
In stepped a man who looked like he had been filtered through a Seoul Fashion Week lens and then dropped into a blender. He wore a cropped black leather jacket over a distressed hoodie, silver chains that jingled with every step, and a blonde mullet that was too stylish for a Monday morning. In his left hand, he gripped a cardboard carrier with three cups of iced coffee; in his right, he was gently steering a very small, very sleepy child by the padded strap of a dinosaur backpack.
The man looked around the room—eyes darting from the “How Do You Feel Today?” chart to the tiny, mismatched chairs—and let out a sigh that sounded like a tire deflating.
“Is this the Ladybug room?” The man asked. His voice was a low, gravelly rasp that cut right through the tinkling Wheels on the Bus instrumental playing from the desktop speakers.
Euijoo blinked, his professional welcome smile faltering for exactly one second.
He took in the silver hoop earrings, the sharp, model-like jawline, and the deep, exhausted shadows under the stranger’s eyes. Young. Definitely too young to be this tired, Euijoo thought. He tightened his grip on his clipboard, his mental pen already hovering over a list of assumptions.
Subject 1: The Father. Appearance: Rebellious. Punctuality: Already a problem.
“It’s the Brave Bunnies room, actually,” Euijoo corrected gently, stepping forward. His soft-soled slippers made no sound on the linoleum. “And you must be… Haru’s dad?”
The man stiffened, his knuckles turned white around the coffee carrier. He looked like he wanted to say something—his mouth open, a flash of hesitation crossing his face—but he snapped it shut as Haru chose the exact moment to let out a giant yawn and lean his entire body weight against the man’s scuffed combat boots.
“Yeah,” the man finally muttered, his gaze fixated on a pile of building blocks to avoid Euijoo’s gaze. “I’m the one in charge, for now. Just…tell me where to put the kid and the paperwork I probably lost under the car seat.”
Euijoo’s brow notched upward. He did not like the term the kid, and he certainly did not like the dismissive tone toward the vital emergency contact forms.
“I’m Jju-ssaem, and the kid has a name—it’s Haru. He has a cubby, too. It’s the one with the orange sticker,” Euijoo said, his voice dropping into that specific, honey-coated firmness he used for difficult parents. “And you are Mr…?”
“Nicholas,” the man said, finally lifting his head.
For a moment, the Brave Bunnies classroom felt impossibly small. Nicholas’s gaze was intense—dark, heavy-lidded, and sharp enough to cut through the soft, comforting wool of Euijoo’s favourite sweater. Up close, he smelled like expensive tobacco and cold rain, a stark contrast to the classroom’s aroma of glue sticks and juice boxes.
Euijoo felt a strange, traitorous flicker of heat in his chest. It was a dizzying sensation that definitely had not been there during the morning sing-along.
“Well, Mr. Nicholas,” Euijoo said, clearing his throat and tapping his pen against the clipboard to regain his footing. “We have a lot to discuss—Haru’s transition plan, his allergies, and… our policy on late arrivals. We prefer the children to be here for the Good Morning circle.
Nicholas did not look intimidated. Instead, his eyes traveled slowly from the tip of Euijoo’s neat hair down to a bright green marker smudge on his cheekbone, then back to the gentle, bossy tilt of the teacher’s head. He took a long, slow sip of his black coffee through the straw, the ice clinking loudly in the quiet room.
“Great,” Nicholas drawled, a tiny, challenging smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I haven’t been sent to the principal’s office in years. I can’t wait for the lecture, Teacher.”
He looked down at Haru, his expression softening for a split second as he ruffled the boy’s hair with a hand that was covered in silver rings. “Go on, kid. Go find your orange sticker.”
Euijoo watched him, feeling his orderly world tilt on its axis. “He’s not a kid, he’s a Brave Bunny—and I’m not giving a lecture. I’m establishing a partnership for the child’s well-being.”
“Right, partnership,” Nicholas repeated, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned slightly into Euijoo’s personal space, holding out one of the extra coffees. “You look like you need caffeine more than a lecture, Jju-ssaem. Do Brave Bunnies allow bribes?”
Euijoo looked down at the plastic cup held out between them, the condensation beads trailing down the side. The bribe was a hazelnut latte—sweet, fragrant, and exactly the kind of sugar-heavy lifeline his caffeine-deprived brain was screaming for. For a second, his fingers actually twitched, but his professional pride was a much older, more stubborn habit.
“We don’t accept bribes, Mr. Nicholas,” Euijoo said, quickly clasping his hands behind his back to anchor them. He offered a smile that was polite but held a clear, sharp edge. “And we certainly don’t encourage partnerships that start with missed paperwork and iced coffee as a distraction from the rules.”
Nicholas let out a short, dry laugh, the sound vibrating low in his chest as he pulled the drink back. “Tough crowd,” he muttered, the straw clicking against his teeth. “I thought you teachers were all about sharing and caring.”
“We are. We share responsibilities,” Euijoo countered, his voice remaining level even as his heart performed a strange, traitorous little somersault at the way Nicholas’s eyes crinkled when he laughed.
He stepped to the side, his soft cardigan swishing as he made a subtle, sweeping gesture toward the door. It was the Teacher Move—the polite but firm eviction. “Now, Haru is finally settled at the block table, and the school day has officially begun. Which means adults who aren’t on staff need to head out to let the children focus.”
Nicholas did not move immediately. He lingered for a beat, his gaze drifting over Euijoo’s shoulder to where Haru was tentatively stacking two red blocks, looking small and overwhelmed in his oversized dinosaur backpack. For just a heartbeat, the cool guy bravado in Nicholas’s shoulders dipped. A flash of genuine, wide-eyed anxiety crossed his face—the look of a man who realized he was leaving a piece of his heart in a room full of strangers and glitter.
He masked it quickly, taking a sharp, aggressive sip of his coffee.
“Right, got kicked out. Got it,” Nicholas muttered. He adjusted the collar of his leather jacket, the silver chains on his belt clinking a sharp, metallic rhythm that felt far too loud for a room meant for naps. He looked at the door, then back at Euijoo, looking suddenly unsure of his own feet. “What time do I…you know. Come back for the rescue mission?”
“Pickup is at three o’clock sharp,” Euijoo said, already turning to head back toward the colorful chaos of the classroom. He paused, though, looking over his shoulder. The Jju-ssaem side of him—the part that could not stand to see anyone, even a prickly guy in a leather jacket, look that worried—leaked through his expression. “He’ll be fine, sir, truly. He’s a part of Brave Bunnies now.”
Nicholas did not respond with words. He just gave a sharp, awkward nod, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, and turned on his heel. Euijoo watched the silhouette of the leather jacket disappear through the glass, the heavy thud of the entrance door marking a definitive end to the morning’s disruption.
The silence lasted all of three seconds.
“Jju-ssaem!” A tiny voice chirped from the floor, followed by the frantic waving of a hand covered in blue paint. “That man with the yellow hair! He forgot his bag!”
Euijoo looked down. There, slumped against the cubby marked with the orange sticker, was a high-end designer messenger bag. It was sleek, black, and expensive-looking—certainly not the kind of thing that contained snacks or juice boxes.
Euijoo sighed, a long, weary sound as he rubbed a thumb against the bridge of his nose. He looked at the bag, then at the clock, then at the green marker smudge that he could still feel on his cheek.
“It’s only eight-thirty,” he whispered to himself, reaching down to retrieve the forgotten bag.
It was going to be a very, very, very long day.
𐙚⋆.˚
The afternoon at Sunnyside Kindergarten was always the loudest hour.
It was the re-entry phase, where the calm of naptime was replaced by the frantic energy of twenty toddlers being shoved into coats. Euijoo was in the thick of it, kneeling to zip up a jacket while simultaneously reminding a student not to eat the decorative rocks.
The door opened. It did not fly this time—it was a cautious, almost hesitant push—but Nicholas’s presence still felt like a lightning strike in the middle of a garden.
He looked… different. The leather jacket was off, draped over his arm, and his blonde hair was shoved back with a pair of designer sunglasses. He looked like he had spent the last six hours fighting a losing battle with a spreadsheet.
“The bag,” Nicholas said, his voice cutting through the chaos of chirping kids. He did not move past the doorway, standing there like he was afraid he might accidentally knock over a display of pipe-cleaner animals. “I left a black bag here this morning.”
Euijoo stood up, smoothing his cardigan. He did not hand it over immediately. He walked over to his desk, picked up the sleek bag, and held it to his chest like a shield.
“I have it,” Euijoo said, his tone still professional, still a little guarded. “Though I’m surprised you noticed it was gone. You seemed quite preoccupied with your coffee this morning.”
Nicholas’s jaw tightened. He stepped into the room, his combat boots clicking on the floor. “Look, it was a rough morning. I just need the bag. My… work is in there.”
“Work?” Euijoo tilted his head. He looked at the high-end leather, the expensive bag. It did not look like the bag of a typical dad. “I’ll give it to you, but first—the paperwork, Mr. Nicholas. We can’t have Haru leave without the signed transition forms—it’s a safety issue.”
Nicholas reached into his back pocket and pulled out a piece of paper that had seen better days. It was folded into a tiny square and looked like it had been sat on. He handed it over without a word.
Euijoo took it, unfolding it slowly. He intended just to check the signature, but his eyes naturally drifted to the Emergency Contact section.
Guardian Name: Nicholas Wang
Relationship to Child: Uncle
Euijoo’s thumb hovered over the world Uncle. He felt a small, uncomfortable twist in his gut—the realization that he had spent the whole day judging a careless father who was not a father at all. He looked up at Nicholas, expecting to see a smug look or an explanation, but Nicholas was just staring at Haru.
Nicholas was not looking at Euijoo. He was watching Haru across the room, his expression unreadable—a mix of exhaustion and a very quiet, very hidden kind of devotion.
“I’m his guardian for the month,” Nicholas muttered, as if sensing Euijoo’s eyes on the form. “My sister had an emergency. I’m just… trying to keep him alive until she gets back.”
The admission was not a soft reveal—it was defensive. It was a warning for Euijoo not to push him.
Euijoo handed the bag over, his fingers brushing Nicholas’s for a fraction of a second. The heat was there again, but this time it felt more grounded. “You should have said something, sir. I would have been… less firm about the class rules.”
Nicholas slung his bag over his shoulder, the heavy leather hitting his hip. He looked at Euijoo, his dark eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. “I don’t need special treatment, Teacher. I just need to get him home before he decides to draw on my wall again.”
He did not wait for a reply. He whistled—a sharp, cool sound—and Haru came sprinting over. Nicholas scooped him up with one arm, his strength surprising Euijoo, and headed for the door without looking back.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Nicholas,” Euijoo called out, his voice a bit softer than before.
Nicholas paused at the door, his hand on the handle. He did not turn around, but Euijoo saw the corner of his mouth twitch—not quite a small one, but the ghost of one.
“Three o’clock sharp, right?” Nicholas tossed back over his shoulder.
Then he was gone, leaving the scent of cold rain and expensive cologne lingering in the doorway.
Euijoo stood there for a long time, the crumpled form still in his hand. The room was finally quiet, the scent of apple juice and rain slowly settling into the carpet.
He looked down at the tiny silver star sticker on his wrist. It was slightly lopsided, placed there with great solemnity by a little girl named Minju right before naptime.
“Jju-ssaem is the bestest listener,” she had whispered, her voice full of toddler-gravity. “Even when our stories are long, you don’t look at your phone. You get a star today.”
He ran his thumb over the metallic surface of the sticker. He had worn it like a badge of honor all afternoon, completely forgetting it was there. He wondered if Nicholas had seen it—if the man with his designer bags and silver chains had noticed the cheap, shiny reward given by a child who just wanted to be heard.
He looked at the signature on the paper again. Nicholas Wang. The handwriting was rushed, leaning heavily to the right, full of a nervous energy that did not match the man’s stoic face.
Euijoo sighed, folding the paper neatly and tucking it into his pocket instead of the filing cabinet. He had a feeling that the partnership he had mentioned that morning—the one he had used as a professional shield—was going to be a lot more complicated than he had thought.
Nicholas was not just an irresponsible dad. He was an uncle who was out of his depth, a man who smelled like rain and spoke in defenses—and as Euijoo looked at the empty classroom, he realized he was not just interested in Haru’s transition anymore.
He was interested in the man who did not even know he had left his most important work sitting next to a pile of finger paintings.
𐙚⋆.˚
Nicholas’s apartment was less of a home and more of a gallery. It was a sprawling, high-end loft with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city lights, polished concrete floors that echoed every footstep, and sharp-edged designer furniture that cost more than Nicholas’s first car. Expensive camera lenses and fragile art books sat on open shelves, perfectly curated and entirely too reachable for a four-year-old.
It was a space built for a man who spent his life being looked at, not a man who spent his afternoon picking soggy broccoli out of a rug.
Right now, Nicholas was sitting on that very rug, staring at a plate of lukewarm dinosaur nuggets like they were a puzzle he could not solve. He felt like a fish out of water in his own living room.
“Nini! Nini, look at the fire!” Haru chirped. He lunged forward, shoving a piece of paper directly over Nicholas’s open laptop screen. “Jju-ssaem help me draw a dragon. It has orange scales because Jju-ssaem likes oranges the best. He said it’s a brave dragon like me!”
Nicholas blinked, his heart skipping a beat as he gently nudged the crayon-smeared paper aside to save his work. “Orange scales—very technical, kid, and it’s Nicholas, remember? Big word, Nich-o-las. We talked about this when you came to my house.”
“No, you’re Nini,” Haru said, matter-of-factly. He climbed onto Nicholas’s lap, smelling like school glue, cedar mulch, and the faint, sweet scent of the outdoors. “By the way, Jju-ssaem is really pretty! He has the softest sweaters in the whole world and gave me a big hug when I got sad and missed Mommy. He also smells like cookies, Nini.”
Nicholas felt a strange, tight pull in his chest. He pictured the man in the cream cardigan again—the way those sharp, bossy eyes had gone soft the second they landed on Haru. Euijoo seemed so… steady—like the kind of person who never lost his keys and always had a spare band-aid in his pocket.
“He’s a teacher, Haru. Being nice is literally his job description,” Nicholas muttered. He picked up his phone, but instead of checking his manager’s messages, he found himself scrolling to the photo he had snapped of the classroom’s contact board. He zoomed in on the small, candid photo of Euijoo pinned to the corner. He looked annoyingly pretty even in a low-resolution printout.
“Taki-ssaem is super fast! Like a ninja!” Haru continued, bouncing so hard that Nicholas had to grab the boy’s waist to keep him from headering into the marble coffee table. “Taki-ssaem did a bunny dance while we finished our juice boxes. He says Jju-ssaem is the mommy of the class because he fixes everything, and Taki-ssaem is the cool brother.”
Nicholas snorted, a real, uncurated laugh slipping out before he could catch it. The mommy of the class. It was a ridiculous title for a grown man, but somehow it fit perfectly. Euijoo had that quiet, nurturing weight to him—the kind of authority that made Nicholas want to stand up straighter and apologize for the general mess of his life.
“Nini? Why are you making that face?” Haru asked. He reached up, poking Nicholas’s cheek with a suspiciously sticky finger. “The mean face you make when the cameraman tells you to stop blinking?”
“I’m not making a face, Haru. I’m just tired,” Nicholas lied, gently lifting the boy off his lap and setting him back onto the rug.
He stood up, his joint popping, and he walked over to his messenger bag—the one Euijoo had held onto all day like it was a piece of evidence. He pulled out his tablet to start editing his latest shoot for a streetwear brand, but his thumb caught on something rough on the shoulder strap.
He looked down. A crumpled silver star sticker clung stubbornly to the expensive leather. Nicholas reached out, rubbing the edge of the cheap metallic plastic.
Jju-ssaem.
Nicholas let out a long, ragged breath, leaning his forehead against the cool, industrial glass of the window. He was a professional—he had a campaign for Paris to finalize by midnight, yet here he was, wondering what brand of laundry soap a kindergarten teacher used to make his knits smell like vanilla and safety.
“Nini? Is Jju-ssaem coming over for dinner?” Haru asked from the floor, his eyes wide and hopeful. “I want to show him my LEGOs.”
“No, Haru,” Nicholas said, his voice coming out a little too quick, a little too defensive. “He’s just… your teacher. We’re partners for the school stuff while your mom is away. That’s all it is.”
He looked back at the star on his bag. It looked ridiculous against the black leather, but he did not peel it off. He had a sinking feeling that this partnership was going to be more taxing than any high-fashion editorial he had ever shot.
𐙚⋆.˚
The Brave Bunnies classroom was a distant memory by 10:30 PM.
Euijoo was curled up on his sofa—a soft, navy blue velvet that actually felt like a hug—wearing a pair of thick wool socks and an oversized gray sweatshirt. A half-peeled tangerine sat on a small ceramic plate next to him, the citrus scent light and sharp in the quiet apartment.
He was doing his nightly ritual: scrolling through the #SeoulFoodie tags on Instagram, looking for a new bakery to visit over the weekend. He had a weakness for anything involving cream cheese and a good view—but as he refreshed his Explore page, the algorithm decided to throw him a curveball.
Between a video of a fluffy Samoyed and a slow-motion shot of tteokbokki, there was a photo that made his thumb freeze mid-swipe.
It was a stark, black-and-white shot. A man was leaning against a brutalist concrete wall, a cigarette tucked behind his ear purely for aesthetics. He was wearing an oversized trench coat and heavy silver chains that caught the studio lighting with a cold, metallic glint. His hair was a sharp, platinum blonde mullet, and his gaze was so piercing that it felt like he was looking through the screen and directly into Euijoo’s living room.
The caption was short: Monochrome Muse. Paris soon.
Euijoo blinked, squinting at the screen. He recognized that jawline. He recognized that slight, defiant tilt of the head.
“No way,” Euijoo whispered to the empty room.
He tapped the profile. @nicolookbook
1.2 million followers.
Euijoo felt a sudden flush creep up his neck. He scrolled through the feed, his eyes wide. There was Nicholas—or Nico, according to the comments—striding down a runway in Tokyo. Nicholas was posing for a high-end watch brand. There was Nicholas, looking untouchable, expensive, and devastatingly cold.
He looked nothing like the man who had been out of breath while asking for the forgotten bag. He looked nothing like the guy who had scuffed combat boots and a dinosaur backpack gripped in his hand.
Euijoo looked down at his own wrist, where the faint, sticky residue of a silver star remained.
“I lectured a celebrity,” Euijoo groaned, burying his face in his hands. The realization hit him like a physical weight. “I told a world-class model that his boots were a playground hazard. I gave him a talk about punctuality.”
He thought about the way he had talked down to him—the partnership speech, the firm tone about classroom rules, and the way he had practically shooed him out of the room like a misbehaving student. To Euijoo, he was just a prickly, disorganized guardian who happened to be very handsome.
Now, that handsome had a name, a massive following, and a career that involved being the center of attention.
Euijoo tossed his phone onto the cushion, his heart racing a little too fast. He picked up a segment of his tangerine, but he could not even taste it.
Tomorrow morning was going to be incredibly awkward, he thought.
𐙚⋆.˚
The next morning, Euijoo was a perfect picture of professionalism.
He had buttoned his soft pink cardigan all the way to the top, the wool against his neck, though his posture was so stiff that it felt like he was wearing armor. He stood by the classroom door, his clipboard held firmly against his shield like a literal shield.
When the heavy entrance door thudded open, Euijoo’s heart did a traitorous skip. He did not look up immediately; he could not. All he could see in his mind’s eye was that black-and-white photo of Nicholas—the silver chains, the sharp gaze, the million followers.
“Morning,” Nicholas muttered.
He looked… human.
He was wearing a simple black hoodie and slightly baggy trousers, but even in lounge-wear, his proportions were striking. He was holding Haru’s hand, his fingers loosely intertwined with the boy’s small ones in a way that looked protective, if a bit awkward.
“Good morning, Mr. Nicholas,” Euijoo said, his voice a few octaves more formal than usual. He kept his eyes fixed strictly on the ‘Check-In’ column of his clipboard. “Haru, please head to the cubby area. Taki-ssaem is waiting to start the morning activity.”
“Jju-ssaem! Look!” Haru shouted, hopping on one foot to show off his sneakers. “I put them on all by myself! No help from N—” Haru caught himself, glancing up at Nicholas. “—no help from anyone!”
“Very good, Haru,” Euijoo said, finally looking down, offering the boy a warm smile that did not quite reach the man standing behind him.
Euijoo felt Nicholas’s gaze lingering on him—heavy, confused, and questioning.
“Everything okay?” Nicholas asked. His voice was low, and he took a half-step forward, unintentionally encroaching on Euijoo’s personal space.
Euijoo stepped back instantly, the clipboard crinkling against his sweater. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you. We have a busy curriculum today, and since Haru is still adjusting to the new environment and the language, I want to make sure I’m fully available to assist him.”
It was not a lie. Euijoo had been paying extra attention to Haru all morning. He knew how hard it was for a child to move to a foreign country, navigating a world that did not sound like home yet.
“Right, assist him,” Nicholas repeated, his brow furrowing. He looked like he wanted to ask something else—maybe why Euijoo would not look him in the eye—but he just tightened the strap of his messenger bag. “I’ll be back at three.”
“We’ll be ready,” Euijoo replied, already turning toward the center of the room. “Haru, come see! Taki-ssaem found the wooden blocks you liked yesterday.”
Nicholas lingered in the doorway for a second longer, watching as Euijoo knelt on the colorful rug. The teacher was already deep in conversation with a group of children, his voice dropping into that gentle, patient melody that seemed to make the morning chaos disappear. Nicholas felt a strange prick of exclusion, a feeling that he was the only thing in this room that did not fit, before he finally turned and walked out into the hallway.
Once the door clicked shut, Euijoo finally let out the breath he had been holding.
“Okay, everyone,” Euijoo said, clapping his hands lightly to gather attention. “Since we have a new friend who moved from very far away, who can show Haru where we keep the blue play-dough?”
He spent the next hour sitting on the floor with Haru and a few other students. He watched Haru closely, noticing the way the boy hesitated before speaking, his little brow furrowing as he tried to remember the Korean words for ‘more’ or ‘help’.
“It’s okay, Haru,” Euijoo whispered, leaning in as they worked on a small clay project. He reached out and gently smoothed over a crack in Haru’s lopsided clay house. “You’re doing so well. We're all learning together, okay?”
Haru looked up, a small, shy smile breaking across his face. “Jju-ssaem is nice. Better than the mean cameras.”
Euijoo paused, his fingers still in the clay. “Cameras?”
“Uncle says cameras are loud,” Haru muttered, distracted by a rolling pin. “But school is quiet, I like it here better.”
Euijoo felt a pang of sympathy. He thought about the high-end, concrete apartment he had imagined Nicholas living in—it must be so different for a child who just wanted to play with blue dough and sit in a soft cardigan’s shadow.
He made a mental note to check in on Haru even more throughout the day—not because of who his uncle was on social media, but because Haru was a little boy in a big, new world—and Euijoo was the one responsible for making sure he felt at home in it.
𐙚⋆.˚
Nicholas spent his lunch break in a daze, sitting in a makeup chair while a stylist fussed over his hair. Normally, he was the ultimate professional—still, silent, and focused. But today, his brain was a chaotic loop of high-pitched toddler voices and soft, pastel knits.
“Jju-ssaem is pretty, Nini! He’s the prettiest person I’ve ever seen after Mommy.”
Haru’s voice was stuck on repeat in his head, and the worst part was that Nicholas could not even mentally argue with a four-year-old. He had spent the whole morning trying to figure out why Euijoo had been so cold at drop-off, but every time he tried to think about it, he just saw the way the morning light had hit that cardigan.
It was not just any cardigan—it was pink.
Not a bright, ‘look-at-me’ neon, but a muted, dusty rose—the kind of color that looked like a quiet sunset. It was oversized and fluffy, making Euijoo look like someone that you could actually lean on.
Nicholas had a secret—it was a secret that his manager, his million followers, and his cool leather-clad persona would never survive: he was obsessed with pink. Not the flashy kind, but the soft, comforting aesthetic of it. He had a hidden folder on his phone of pastel clouds, and a single pair of pink silly socks that he only dared to wear inside his own penthouse.
And seeing Euijoo in that exact shade? It felt like a targeted attack.
“Nico, chin up. Don’t go soft on me,” the stylist snapped, clicking her fingers in front of his face.
Nicholas blinked, forcing his reflection back into focus. In the mirror, he looked sharp. He was wearing a structured black suit with silver pins—expensive, cold, and exactly the ‘Nico’ everyone expected to see.
But Euijoo looks like home, he thought, then immediately wanted to slam his head against the vanity.
“Is the AC too low?” his manager asked, walking over with a clipboard. “You’re looking a little flushed, Nico. We can’t have you looking red for the jewelry close-ups.”
“It’s fine,” Nicholas muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just didn’t sleep much. Long morning.”
The shoot was a blur of shutter clicks and repositioning, but between every flash, Nicholas kept seeing the way that pink wool had bunched at Euijoo’s wrists when he checked his clipboard. He kept thinking about how the rose color made Euijoo’s dark hair look even deeper, his skin even clearer.
He is pretty, Nicholas finally admitted to himself, his heart giving a slow, heavy thud. Haru is not exaggerating. He’s actually devastating.
It was a different kind of beauty than what Nicholas was used to. It was not curated or polished by a team of ten people—it was just… there. It was in the way Euijoo tucked a stray hair behind his ear while listening to a child explain a drawing. It was effortless.
By 2:00 PM, Nicholas had finished his job. He stripped off the suit and threw on his usual black hoodie, but for the first time, his cool clothes felt like a clumsy disguise. On the way to the school, he stopped at a fruit stall, his eyes locking onto a box of premium tangerines. They were bright, vibrant, and—more importantly—they were the color Euijoo seemed to like.
Maybe if I bring these, he won’t look at me like a problem he’s trying to solve, Nicholas thought.
He caught his reflection in a shop window and tried to pull his Nico face—the sharp, untouchable stare that sold magazines. He adjusted his bag and smoothed his hair, trying to ignore the fact that his pulse was racing over a man who spent his mornings singing the alphabet.
He was not going there as a model. He was just Nicholas, the uncle who was way out of his league, carrying a box of fruit and hoping a teacher in a pink cardigan would finally look at him again.
𐙚⋆.˚
Nicholas sat in the driver’s seat of his SUV, the engine idling in a low, rhythmic hum. He had been parked across from the kindergarten for twenty minutes, watching the steady exodus of parents and their kids. He saw Taki-ssaem lead a final, energetic group to the gate, high-fiving them before the sidewalk finally went quiet.
He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked tired—his eyes lacked that sharp, Nico intensity, replaced by the weary slump of an uncle who spent his lunch break googling how to peel fruit without breaking the skin.
Just talk to him, he told himself. Don’t be weird.
He grabbed the box of tangerines and finally stepped out of the car.
The classroom was unnaturally still when he pushed the door open. The morning’s chaotic energy had settled into a soft, golden hum. The only sound was the scratching of a pen and the low chatter of Haru, who was sitting on the rug right next to Euijoo’s desk.
Euijoo was focused on a stack of reports, his head down. He was still wearing that pink cardigan, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
“You’re late,” Euijoo said. He did not look up, his pen never pausing. His voice was not angry—it was just steady.
“I know,” Nicholas said, his voice sounding too deep for the small, quiet room. He walked over and set the crate of tangerines on the corner of the desk. “I was… caught up with something.”
Euijoo finally looked up. His eyes landed on the bright orange fruit first, widening slightly at the vibrant color against the wood, then he looked at Nicholas.
“Tangerines?” Euijoo asked, his professional mask flickering.
“Haru said you liked them,” Nicholas muttered, shoving his free hand into his hoodie pocket. “I figured, since I’ve been a bit of a disaster with the paperwork… it was a courtesy. For the class, or for you.”
Euijoo reached up, his fingers brushing the waxy skin of one of the fruits. He did not say anything for a moment, and the silence stretched, heavy and thick. Nicholas felt his heart hammering against his ribs.
“I was a bit short with you this morning, Mr. Nicholas,” Euijoo said quietly. He looked up, and for the first time, he did not look like a teacher. He looked like a guy who was just as exhausted as Nicholas was. “I’m sorry. I had a lot on my mind.”
Nicholas leaned against the edge of the desk. “Is that why you won’t spare a glance towards me this morning? Because of the stuff on your mind?”
Euijoo’s breath hitched. He looked at the tangerines, then back at Nicholas’s sharp, expectant face.
“You’re a hard person to look at sometimes,” Euijoo admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “You don’t exactly blend in here.”
“I can try to blend in more,” Nicholas said, his voice dropping an octave. “And… you can drop the formalities, by the way—the ‘Mr. Nicholas’ thing. I’m pretty sure we’re around the same age. It makes me feel like I’m in trouble.
Euijoo let out a small, breathless laugh, his eyes crinkling. “Okay. Nicholas, then.”
On the rug, Haru was ignoring his LEGOs, leaning his chin on his hand as he stared up at Euijoo. “Jju-ssaem, do you like cats or dogs?”
Euijoo turned his head, his expression softening instantly. “I like cats, Haru. Why do you ask?”
“Nini likes cats too,” Haru said, his chin resting in his palms. His eyes darted to Nicholas for a split second—a flash of “oops” crossing his face—before he looked back at the teacher. “Do you live in a big house with lots of colors? Or is it quiet like this?”
The air in the room seemed to be still.
Nicholas felt his entire face go hot, a prickling heat crawling up his neck that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun. He had spent the entire car ride yesterday—and most of this morning—firmly telling Haru that Nini was a home-only name. That in public, he was Nicholas or uncle.
He was an adult and certainly had an image.
“Haru,” Nicholas cleared his throat, the sound sharp in the quiet classroom. “What did we say about nicknames?”
Euijoo’s head snapped back toward Nicholas. His eyes were wide, drifting from Nicholas’s blushing ears down to the silver accessories on his fingers.
“Nini?” he repeated, the syllable sounding entirely too cute coming from his mouth.
Nicholas shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets, looking everywhere but at Euijoo. “It’s… a family thing. He’s supposed to call me Nicholas or uncle in front of people.”
Euijoo did not mock him. Instead, a small, genuine huff of a laugh escaped him—the kind of sound that felt like a secret being shared. “I think Nini suits you much better than Mr. Nicholas, actually.”
“Don’t start,” Nicholas muttered, though the edge was gone from his voice. He felt exposed, like the black hoodie and the designer bag were suddenly transparent, revealing the Nini underneath, who probably spent his Saturday mornings watching cartoons with a four-year-old.
Haru, sensing the shift but not quite understanding the embarrassment, pressed on with his mission. “Do you have flowers at your house? Nini only has gray walls, and it’s boring.”
“It’s minimalist,” Nicholas corrected weakly.
“It’s a small house,” Euijoo said, reaching down to ruffle Haru’s hair, his gaze still flickering back to Nicholas with an amused glint. “But it has a lot of books and a very small balcony with flowers, yellow and white ones.”
“Yellow and white,” Haru repeated, nodding solemnly as if he were memorizing it for a test. He stood up, clutching a lopsided LEGO tower. “Nini! Jju-ssaem says his house has flowers! Can we get flowers?”
“We’ll talk about it in the car,” Nicholas said, quickly scooping Haru up to prevent any further leaks of his private life. The boy’s small weight settled onto his lap, and for the first time, Nicholas did not feel like he had to stand so stiffly.
He looked at Euijoo—really looked at him—and noticed the way the pink of his pink cardigan seemed to glow in the late light. It made the teacher look approachable, more human.
“Come on, kid. Let’s go home,” Nicholas said. He looked at the box of tangerines, then back at Euijoo. “See you tomorrow… Euijoo.”
“See you tomorrow,” Euijoo replied, his voice soft, his eyes still dancing with the Nini revelation. “Thank you for the tangerines, by the way.”
As the door clicked shut, the silence of the classroom felt different. It was heavier, yet somehow warmer. Euijoo picked up one of the tangerines, turning the fruit over in his palm. It was still warm from the sun in Nicholas’s car, the waxy skin smelling faintly of citrus and something expensive—like the cologne Nicholas probably did not realize lingered everywhere he went.
“Nini, huh?”
Euijoo nearly jumped out of his skin, the tangerine slipping from his hand and rolling across the desk.
Taki was leaning against the doorway of the supply closet, a stack of nap mats balanced precariously under one arm and a mischievous, wide-eyed grin on his face. He had clearly been there for at least the last three minutes.
“Taki,” Euijoo said, his voice jumping an octave as he scrambled to retrieve the rolling fruit. “I thought you were in the staff room.”
“And miss the premiere of The Teacher and the Model? Not a chance, hyung.” Taki dropped the mats with a loud thud and sauntered over, his eyes darting between the box of premium fruit and the slight flush creeping up Euijoo’s neck. “Since when do we get courtesy crates of top-tier tangerines? Usually, we just get half-eaten granola bars and apologies for late pickups.”
Euijoo shoved the tangerine back into the box, smoothing his pink cardigan as if that would somehow hide his heart rate. “He felt bad about the paperwork. It’s just a polite gesture between a guardian and a teacher.”
“Right, very polite,” Taki drawled, picking up a tangerine and tossing it into the air. “Is it also polite the way you’ve been staring at that door for the last thirty seconds? Or the way your voice goes all soft when you say his name?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Euijoo muttered, turning back to his reports, though his pen was shaking.
Taki leaned over the desk, dropping his voice to a mock-whisper. “Euijoo hyung, listen to me. I’ve seen a lot of parents. I’ve seen the tired ones, the grumpy ones, and the ones who try to flirt to get out of late fees, but that man? He looks like a guy who just walked into a glass door and is trying to figure out if he’s dreaming or bleeding.”
Euijoo finally looked up, his brow furrowing. “He’s just overwhelmed, Taki. He’s looking after a child in a foreign country, of course, he’s out of his element.”
Taki let out a snickering laugh, covering his mouth.
He knew exactly who Nicholas was—he had recognized the blonde mullet and the sharp profile from his Explore page weeks before Haru even stepped foot in the school. He had not told Euijoo. It was much more fun watching his hyung accidentally lecture a celebrity.
“Oh, he’s definitely out of his element,” Taki laughed, heading back toward the supply closet. “But it’s not the country he’s struggling with. It’s the teacher in the pink cardigan—and also, Nini? If I ever call him that, do you think he’ll punch me or just cry? Actually, don’t answer that. I know he would cry.”
“Don’t you dare to call him that,” Euijoo warned, though he could not help the small smile that tugged at his lips.
“No promises!” Taki sang out, disappearing into the hallway. “By the way, you’re still blushing! It matches the cardigan perfectly!”
Euijoo groaned and buried his face in his hands. He looked back at the box of fruits. Taki was loud and annoying, but he was rarely wrong about people. He looked at the silver star sticker on his desk—the one that had fallen off Nicholas’s bag.
He did not put it in the trash. Instead, he tucked it into the back of his clear phone case, hiding it behind the plastic. Just a small, shiny secret.
𐙚⋆.˚
Three weeks had turned the ‘Monochrome Muse’ into a regular fixture at Sunnyside Kindergarten. The heavy SUV did not idle across the street anymore; Nicholas was usually the first one at the door, leaning against the brickwork with a coffee in one hand and Haru’s tiny, battered lunchbox in the other. He had become a part of the morning landscape, a sharp contrast to the soft pastels of the school, though even that was starting to change.
The Nini secret had long since been compromised. Haru had seen to that, chirping the name so often that even Taki had started using it when he felt particularly brave—usually resulting in Nicholas pulling his hoodie strings tight to hide his red ears.
But the real change was in the secret exchange. Haru had become a tiny, unintentional diplomat, carrying bits of information between the high-end loft and the kindergarten like they were precious stones.
In the quiet moment of the morning drop-off, while Euijoo knelt to help Haru struggle out of his puffy winter coat, the boy would lean in close, smelling of strawberry toothpaste and secrets.
“Jju-ssaem,” Haru would whisper, his eyes wide with the gravity of his mission. “Nini doesn’t wear the scary black suits at home anymore. He only wears the big, soft shirts now. He told the mirror that they were ‘Euijoo style’ because they’re fluffy like yours.”
Euijoo would feel a familiar heat rise to his cheeks, his fingers fumbling with a zipper as he tried to reconcile the image of a high-fashion model talking to a mirror about fluffy shirts, just to impress a kindergarten teacher.
It was not just the clothes, either. Haru made sure Euijoo knew exactly how much effort went into those daily peace offerings.
“Nini bought the tangerines with the leaves again,” Haru announced one afternoon, pointing a sticky finger at the crate on the desk. “He spent ten minutes at the market picking the best ones. He said the ones without leaves look sad and lonely, and Jju-ssaem shouldn’t have sad fruit.”
Euijoo had looked at the vibrant green leaves and realized that Nicholas was not just bringing snacks anymore; he was bringing carefully curated pieces of his time.
Back at the high-end loft, the exchange went both ways, usually over a plate of half-eaten nuggets. Haru would swing his legs under the table, watching Nicholas scroll through his work emails with a focused, sharp expression.
“Jju-ssaem says he didn’t like the loud city,” Haru would pipe up, shattering the professional silence. “He said he likes the quiet flowers best. He has a little balcony with yellow ones that he talks to.”
Nicholas would freeze, his thumb hovering over his phone screen, as he mentally added ‘buy yellow flowers’ to a list he was not ready yet to admit existed.
Haru’s favourite intel to report, however, was usually about Nicholas’s appearance.
One evening, while Nicholas was trying to brush the knots out of his blonde hair, Haru giggled and pushed his hand away. “Jju-ssaem said your hair looks cool when it’s messy like mine! He said it looks like a bird’s nest, but a good one.”
Nicholas had caught his reflection in the hallway mirror—blonde hair sticking out in three different reactions, eyes tired but somehow brighter—and for the first time in his career, he did not feel the need to reach for the hair wax.
If the pretty teacher liked the bird’s nest, then the bird’s nest was exactly what he was going to wear.
𐙚⋆.˚
By the end of the third week, Nicholas had mastered the art of being the late pickup. He did not even have to try; he just naturally lingered until the other parents had cleared out, giving him those ten minutes where the school was just a quiet, golden space.
Nicholas walked in, the bells on the door jingling softly. He was not wearing leather today—he was in a thick, light blue-colored knit sweater that made his sharp features look unexpectedly soft. It was the kind of sweater that you wanted to lean into.
“You’re staring again,” Nicholas said. His voice had dropped into that relaxed, gravelly tone he only used when the room was empty. He walked past the cubbies and leaned against the edge of Euijoo’s desk, close enough that the scent of his cologne—mixed with the faint smell of cold air—drifted over.
Euijoo did not even try to hide his smile. He leaned back in his chair, a half-peeled tangerine sitting on a napkin in front of him. “I’m not staring. I’m observing the changes in your wardrobe. It’s very… domestic, Nicholas. Are you trying to blend in with the Brave Bunnies?”
“It’s comfortable,” Nicholas countered. He reached down, naturally stealing a segment of the fruit. He did not ask anymore—he just took it, his fingers brushing against Euijoo’s palm in a way that felt practiced and familiar. There was no jumpiness, no sudden pull-away. Just the quiet, grounding warmth of skin on skin.
“Haru is in the back, helping Taki wash the paintbrushes,” Euijoo said, watching Nicholas eat the tangerine. “He’s been very talkative lately. He told me you’ve been practicing your drawing at home.”
Nicholas nearly choked on the fruit. He coughed, looking at the ceiling as if it might save him. “He told you what?”
“He said you tried to draw a cat, but it looked like a sad potato,” Euijoo teased, his eyes crinkling into that crescent shape that Nicholas secretly lived for. “Is that true? The Nini is struggling with a potato-cat?”
Nicholas groaned, burying his face in his hand while the other remained resting on the desk, inches from Euijoo’s sleeve. “That kid surely has no loyalty, literally none. I was trying to draw his favourite plushie to make him stop crying about his Mommy, but it’s harder than it looks to get the ears right.”
“I could teach you,” Euijoo offered softly.
Nicholas looked up, his dark eyes locking onto Euijoo’s. The teasing air shifted, turning into something steadier, more fragile. “Hm? You’d take on a student who fails at potatoes?”
“I’ve taught four-year-olds how to draw suns that look like fried eggs,” Euijoo laughed, though his voice was quiet. “I think I can handle a world-class—” He caught himself before saying model, the secret he had been keeping for weeks burning on the tip of his tongue. “—I can handle you. You’re not as difficult as you want people to think.”
Nicholas tilted his head, noticing the way Euijoo’s pink cardigan was slightly unbuttoned at the top today, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone. “You’re always handling me, Euijoo. Late paperwork, late pickups, Haru’s tantrums… I’m surprised you haven’t banned me from the building yet.”
“I thought about it the first day,” Euijoo admitted, leaning in just an inch closer. “But when you brought the tangerines, and you let Haru call you Nini in front of everyone. It’s hard to be the ‘Principal’s Office’ teacher to a guy who is secretly a softie.”
Nicholas let out a quiet, genuine huff of a laugh. He reached out, his thumb tracing a small, invisible line on the wooden desk, moving closer to Euijoo’s hand until their pinkies were almost touching.
“Only for you,” Nicholas whispered, the words hanging heavy in the afternoon light. “Don’t tell Taki. I have a reputation to maintain.”
“Your reputation is currently covered in purple glitter, Nicholas,” Euijoo pointed out, gesturing to a stray spark caught right on the man’s collar.
Before Nicholas could react, Euijoo reached out. It was a slow movement, deliberate. He brushed the glitter away, his fingers lingering for a second on the soft knit of Nicholas’s sweater. It was a silent acknowledgment—the walls between them were not just down; they were gone.
“Nini! Are we going? Taki-ssaem says I washed all of the brushes!” Haru’s voice boomed from the hallway, running to both adults in the classroom.
They pulled apart just enough to look professional, but the air between them remained charged, vibrating with everything they had not said yet.
“See you on Monday?” Nicholas asked as he stood up, scooping a damp, paint-smudged Haru into his arms.
“Monday,” Euijoo confirmed, his voice a little breathless. “And don’t forget, Haru. It’s your turn to bring the snack for next week’s playgroup.”
Nicholas paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder. The light from the hallway caught the silver in his hair, making him look like that Monochrome Muse for a split second, before he smiled—that lopsided, Nini smile.
“If I get Haru to bring more tangerines, is that cheating?”
“It’s a bribe,” Euijoo smiled back, his heart feeling twice its normal size. “And I guess, it’s working perfectly.”
𐙚⋆.˚
Saturday in Seoul was for two things: sleeping in and finding the perfect pastry. Euijoo had spent his morning doing exactly that, scrolling through his saved #SeoulFoodie posts until he found a small, hidden gem in Yeonnam-dong known for its tangerine-cream scones. It felt on-brand, so he had pulled on his favourite oversized knit—the one with a soft, buttery yellow—and made the trek.
The cafe was exactly his style: warm food, low-fi music, and a tiny balcony overflowing with dried flowers. He had just received his iced americano and a plate of scones, settling into a small corner table to enjoy the quiet, when the bell above the door did not just jingle—it practically screamed.
“I said we’re here! Look, Nini! The orange sign!”
Euijoo’s heart did that familiar, treacherous skip. He did not even have to look up to know who it was.
Nicholas looked like he was at the end of his rope. He was wearing a heavy black trench coat over a simple white tee; his blonde hair was a mess that looked suspiciously unbrushed. He was being dragged through the door by a very determined Haru, who was still wearing his dinosaur-themed pajamas under a puffer jacket.
“Haru, we are not—we can’t just—” Nicholas stopped mid-sentence, his eyes scanning the room for a quick exit before they landed directly on the corner table.
He froze.
“Jju-ssaem!” Haru shrieked, his tantrum vanishing instantly into a toothy grin. He broke free from Nicholas’s grip and bolted across the room, nearly taking out a small table of university students. “Jju-ssaem is here! Nini, look! I told you the orange sign was a lucky sign!”
Euijoo caught Haru just before he collided with the table, steadying his coffee with his other hand. “Haru, what are you doing here—and in your pajamas?”
Nicholas approached the table slowly, looking like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He looked exhausted, the sharp lines of his face softened by a visible layer of dealing with a toddler since early in the morning fatigue.
“He saw the orange sign when we drove past,” Nicholas explained, his voice sounding raspier than usual. He did not wait for an invite; he just collapsed into the chair opposite Euijoo, burying his face in his hands. “He started crying, like real, heartbreaking tears. He said Jju-ssaem told him oranges were for weekends. I didn’t have a choice, and didn’t even get to change out of my house shirt.”
Euijoo bit back a laugh, sliding his plate of scones toward the center of the table. “I might have mentioned that tangerines are a Saturday treat. I didn’t realize it would cause a city-wide emergency.”
Nicholas peeked through his fingers, his dark eyes landing on Euijoo’s yellow sweater. He went quiet for a second, his gaze lingering a bit too long on the way the color made Euijoo look like a patch of sunlight in the dim cafe.
“You look…” Nicholas started, then cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. “You look different, you know, without the clipboard.”
“And you look like you haven’t had caffeine in forty-eight hours,” Euijoo countered gently, before gesturing to the counter. “Go order something. I’ll keep the dragon-pajama warrior occupied before he tries to climb the pastry display.”
Nicholas sighed, a small, lopsided smile finally breaking through his exhaustion. “You’re a lifesaver, Euijoo. Seriously. Don’t let him eat the decorative flowers, please.”
As Nicholas walked toward the counter, Euijoo watched him. Without the model lighting or the professional backdrop, Nicholas just looked like a young guy trying his best. He looked… domestic. He looked like someone who had forgotten to look in the mirror because he was too busy making sure a four-year-old had his shoes on.
“Jju-ssaem,” Haru whispered, leaning over the table and pointing a finger at Nicholas’s retreating. “Nini didn’t wash his face today. He just put on the big coat because I wouldn’t stop screaming. He has sleepies in his eyes.”
Euijoo giggled, covering his mouth with his hand. “That’s our secret, Haru. We have to let him be a little messy on Saturdays.”
“And!” Haru added, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he leaned in even closer. “Nini was looking at your picture on the phone this morning. The one where you’re holding the bunny. He thought I was asleep, but I saw.”
Euijoo’s heart stopped. He felt the heat rush to his face, a deep, burning pink that matched the strawberry jam that was being displayed on the cabinet behind the counter. He looked back at Nicholas, who was currently ordering his espresso, completely unaware that his four-year-old wingman had just dropped a nuclear bomb of information.
Before he could process that bombshell, he heard a frustrated sigh from the counter. Nicholas was tapping his card against the reader, his brow furrowed.
Beep. Beep. The sound of a declined transaction. Nicholas tried again, his face going from pale to dusty red. He started rummaging through his trench coat pockets, looking increasingly panicked as a small line began to form behind him.
Euijoo did not even think. He stood up and hurried to the counter, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “It’s on me, Nicholas. Don’t worry about it.”
“No, Euijoo, I have the money, I just—I think my international card is locked because of the upcoming flights,” Nicholas hissed, his voice hushed and embarrassed.
“It’s fine, really,” Euijoo insisted. He leaned over, reaching past Nicholas’s shoulder to tap his phone against the reader. For a second, they were pressed close—the scent of Nicholas’s skin, warm and slightly salt-tinged, clouding Euijoo’s senses.
The payment cleared with a cheerful ding.
“I’ll pay you back,” Nicholas muttered, looking at his boots. “I’m a disaster today, seriously.”
“Consider it interest on the tangerines,” Euijoo teased.
But as Euijoo pulled his phone back, he realized he had not closed his apps before he had rushed up. The screen flared to life in the bright cafe light, and right there, front and center, was the @nicolookbook profile. Specifically, a photo of Nicholas in a sheer black shirt, looking devastatinglyhandsome and completely untouchable.
Nicholas’s eyes dropped to the screen.
The silence between them at the counter became deafening. The barista looked between the two of them, then back at the espresso machine.
Euijoo’s thumb frantically swiped the screen black, but it was too late. Nicholas had seen it. The Nico in the photo and the Nini in the messy trench coat were staring at each other through the digital glass.
“So,” Nicholas said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerously soft register as they walked back to the table. “You sure do a lot of research on your students’ guardians on the weekend?”
Euijoo felt like his blood had turned into carbonated water. He sat down, staring intently at his scone. “It… the algorithm showed it to me. I was looking for food.”
“The algorithm is very specific,” Nicholas noted, sitting down opposite him. He did not look angry—he looked amused. A small, knowing smirk was playing at the corner of his mouth, the kind that made him look exactly like the model in the photo.
Nicholas put a double espresso and a steaming hot chocolate for Haru on the table. “Haru, sit properly,” he murmured, before turning back to Euijoo. “So, Yeonnam-dong. Is this your usual Saturday haunt, or am I interrupting a very important food-blogging mission? Or perhaps more… research?”
“I’m just a hobbyist,” Euijoo said, trying desperately to regain his dignity. “And you’re not interrupting. It’s actually… nice, even if you caught me being a bit of a creep.”
“Is it nice?” Nicholas asked, his gaze settling on Euijoo’s face, ignoring his coffee. “Because I’m pretty sure I look like a wreck. I haven’t even had time to fix the mess today, and not exactly ‘Instagram-ready’.”
Euijoo reached out, his hand hovering near the table before he pulled it back. “I told you, Nicholas. It suits you better than the hair wax in those photos.”
Nicholas stared at him, his espresso forgotten. The noise of the cafe seemed to fade away.
“You’re dangerously nice, Euijoo,” Nicholas said, his voice dropping into that quiet, private register. “It’s making it very hard for me to maintain my scary uncle image. Especially when you know all my secrets now.”
Euijoo smiled, picking up a piece of his scone. “That image died the moment you brought me tangerines with the leaves still on them. You’re stuck being Nini now, regardless of how many followers you have.”
Nicholas laughed—a real, deep sound.
The quiet bubble of the cafe was shattered by the sharp, persistent vibration of a phone against the wooden table. Nicholas’s brow furrowed as he pulled the device from his pocket. The moment his eyes hit the screen, the relaxed Nini warmth vanished, replaced instantly by a tight, guarded mask that looked far more like the face in the Instagram photos.
“I have to take this,” Nicholas muttered, his eyes offering a quick, silent apology. “It’s my manager.”
Euijoo nodded, watching through the glass as Nicholas stepped onto the tiny balcony. His voice was a sharp, rapid-fire whisper, and even from a distance, Euijoo could see the tension radiating off him. Nicholas paced the small space, his hand running through his messy hair until it stuck up at even wilder angles, his shoulders hiking up toward his ears.
When he finally stepped back inside, the Nico jawline was back—tense, frozen, and strikingly sharp. He sat down heavily, but he did not reach for his espresso.
“Everything okay?” Euijoo asked, the lightness of their afternoon together evaporating into the chilly Seoul air.
“Paris,” Nicholas said, the word sounding like a curse. “The campaign moved up. I have to be there in three days. They booked the flight for Tuesday morning.”
Euijoo’s heart sank. Tuesday—that was barely enough time to pack a bag, let alone reorganize a life. “That’s… that’s fast.”
“It’s impossible,” Nicholas hissed, his hands clenching on the table. “I have three days to find a nanny who won’t traumatize him. Someone who can handle the school runs and the tantrums and the…” He stopped abruptly, glancing at Haru.
The boy had stopped eating his scone, his little face solemn as he watched his uncle with wide, knowing eyes. “You’re going on the big bird?” Haru asked, his voice small.
“Just for a little bit, Haru. I’ll find someone nice to stay with you,” Nicholas said, though his voice lacked any real conviction. He looked at Euijoo, and for a split second, the Monochrome Muse was gone, replaced by a man who looked like he was drowning. “I don’t even know where to start looking. My sister trusted me with him. I can’t just leave him with a stranger I found on an app.”
Haru suddenly stood up on his chair, his dinosaur pajamas crinkling under his puffer jacket. He did not look at Nicholas. He looked directly at Euijoo, reaching out with his tiny hand to grab the sleeve of the buttery yellow sweater.
“I don’t want a nanny,” Haru announced, his lower lip wobbling dangerously. “I want to stay with Jju-ssaem.”
The cafe seemed to go unnaturally silent. A spoon clinked against a cup in the distance, but at their table, time had simply stopped.
Nicholas blinked, his mouth hanging open slightly as he processed the demand. “Haru… Jju-ssaem is a teacher, and he has a job. He can’t just—”
“I stay at the school! Then, I go to the house with the yellow flowers!” Haru insisted, his voice rising in that stubborn, frantic way that meant a tantrum was only seconds away. He looked at Euijoo with absolute, heartbreaking trust. “Jju-ssaem is the best listener. He can take care of me. Right, Nini? Tell him!”
Euijoo sat there, frozen, his mind racing through a million reasons why this was a terrible idea. He thought about his quiet balcony, his small apartment filled with books, and the silver star sticker currently hidden behind his phone. He looked at Nicholas—the man who looked like he was one more piece of bad news away from a total breakdown—and he realized he did not want the bubble to burst just yet.
“Huh?” Nicholas breathed, the word barely a whisper of air.
“Huh?” Euijoo echoed, his eyes wide and searching Nicholas’s face for a sign that this was all a joke.
In the middle of the crowded Yeonnam-dong cafe, with the scent of tangerines and espresso lingering between them, the world-class model and the kindergarten teacher just stared at each other in stunned, deafening silence.
𐙚⋆.˚