↱SACCHARINE↲ ⇾woojoong⇽

dream

[ ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚ ]

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It was a process.

Just like everything in Hongjoong's life, it had not been an easy decision to adjust to.

Things had been overwhelming at first, and for a while Hongjoong wouldn't speak whenever they would visit, too afraid that he'd burst into tears and never be able to stop.

He'd watch the two little girls play in silence with a fond smile, laughing and drawing his legs into his lap when they would nearly collide with his limbs while running around wildly.

It made him wonder what it would have been like to grow up with a sibling to play with.

What he would have been willing to do to make sure they didn't live as miserably as he did.

He knew he would have protected them, and as Hongjoong watched the older daughter smile as her sister crawled towards her with shaky legs, he realized he didn't have to imagine it any longer.

For a while Hongjoong simply listened.

Observed the conversations Wooyoung initiated effortlessly, becoming warm and light whenever his words would bring laughter into the air.

Wooyoung would often help cook dinner, and Hongjoong would stay in the living room with the girls, managing to catch bits and pieces of conversation that floated in from the other room, aware that he should join but feeling unable at the same time.

It was odd at first, but they grew accustomed to it.

They didn't try and reach for Hongjoong anymore at the front door, opting to smiling kindly, and never tried to start a conversation they knew the boy wouldn't have the stability to finish.

He was in a state of shock that came as a surprise to no one, lips practically sealed with mind numbing nerves, but no one pushed and no one judged, and there was nothing but welcoming kindness.

This continued on for the first few visits to his fathers home.

Once a week, every week.

But eventually, slowly, Hongjoong relaxed, and on the last day of September, he travelled with Wooyoung to Busan with nothing but excitement.

They drove through the city and arrived at their doorstep with hands interlocked, and after a month of visiting the family and coming up helpless, when the door opened, Hongjoong stepped inside and hugged his father for the first time in ten years.

He started crying within seconds and didn't stop until he was physically drained, eyes red and sensitive against the home's warming lights.

His father had held him and gripped the back of his neck with his hand, a feeling that was familiar and yet had been forgotten years ago, lost somewhere in the blur of insignificance that used to consume his life.

Hongjoong believed he finally understood why the word 'home' was so much more than a paint chipped house.

It was hardly even about the house at all, and Hongjoong was able to not only grasp that reality, but also grasp a sense of belonging with his father's arms around him.